Page 8

Chapter 8

The blond-haired, blue-eyed man blocking her path looked much the same as he had two years ago, with the addition of a few more wrinkles across the forehead and dark circles beneath the eyes.

“I heard you were back,” he said.

“Yup, I’m back.” Brenna eased to the side, trying to inch past Victor, all the while wondering what she’d seen in him. Besides being classically good-looking, he was too full of himself with the cocky air of a used-car salesman—nowhere near the self-confidence of a ruggedly handsome man like Nick Tarver.

Nick.

Great. One of the biggest mistakes in her life had to show up at about the worst time he could manage, and he wasn’t moving out of her way. She had two choices. Knee him where it counted or ask him to move. Although her first choice would have been more satisfying, she said, “Victor, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get by.”

“What’s your hurry?” He leaned close and brushed a hair from her face, the overpowering scent of cheap whiskey gagging Brenna. “You and I used to be good together. Don’t you remember?”

“All I remember is that you lied to me.”

“What’s a little lie compared to what we had?”

“One night in a motel?” Brenna let go with an unladylike snort. “Sorry, it wasn’t that memorable.”

“You should be thankful I wanted you.” Victor’s eyes narrowed. “What with your...issues. Good thing we did it with the lights off.”

“Better if we hadn’t done it at all.” She crossed her arms over her chest, reminding herself Victor wasn’t worth losing her temper over. “Now, move.”

“You’re just like them all. Holier-than-thou. It’s people like you that give women a bad name. Think you’re all smarter than us dumb, stupid men.” Before Brenna knew what was happening, Victor shoved her against the wall. “You’re not smarter than me, you know.”

He held her arms so tightly she knew she’d have bruises where his fingers were. And she sure as hell didn’t have to put up with this. With a jerk, she kneed him in the groin. When his grip loosened on her arms, she shoved her hands up between them and brought her fists together and down over his head.

Victor crumpled to his knees, moaning.

When Brenna moved to step around him, he grabbed her ankles and yanked her feet out from under her. She crashed to her knees, wincing as they hit the hard tile.

Crawling up her body, Victor straddled her, sneering down into her face. “Bitch.”

Brenna spat in his face. “Get off me or I’ll scream.”

Victor raised his hand to strike her.

Closing her eyes, she struggled to get her hand loose to block the blow, but suddenly Victor’s body lurched off her.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was Victor dangling from Nick’s very strong arms. “Want to apologize to the lady?” Nick asked, his voice a snarl.

All Victor could do was blink. The fist clenched around his vocal cords cut off any words he might have said.

Nick shoved him to the wall and held his collar tight against his throat. “Get started with your apology.”

“I’m sorry, Brenna,” Victor muttered.

“That’s better.” Nick turned to Brenna. “Special Agent Jensen, do you want to press charges against this man?”

“No.” Her face burned as she climbed to her feet.

Nick scowled at Victor. “I don’t like a guy who beats up or takes advantage of women. So don’t piss me off.” He jerked his hand loose, and Victor all but crumpled at his feet.

“I could press charges.” Victor shot a look of loathing at Nick and then Brenna.

“I could tell your wife.” Brenna climbed to her feet and fixed Victor with a cold, direct stare. “Everything.”

Victor’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. “This ain’t over.”

“Wanna bet?” Brenna brushed the dust from her sweatpants, like she’d brushed him from her life two years ago.

The blond man straightened his collar and ran a hand through his hair, glancing from Brenna to Nick as if they might jump him before he got away. Then with a grunt, he turned and limped away, a little bent at the middle from Brenna’s knee connection to the groin.

Brenna watched until Victor left the bar, avoiding any further conversation with Nick, hoping he wouldn’t ask what she knew he would.

Once the other man was out of the building, Nick turned to her. “Care to explain?”

“Not really.”

“Then humor me and do it anyway.”

As her father would say, a good defense was always a good offense. Brenna summoned all the rightful or unjustified indignation she could muster and answered with an attack of her own. “Look, why do I have to tell you anything? You practically know my life history, whereas I know nothing about you.”

Before Nick could open his mouth to rebut, Brenna jumped in again. “Not to mention, I’m exhausted and starving.” She stopped him with a look and dared him to say anything else about Victor.

“Fair enough.” He took her elbow and steered her toward the bar. “I had them bag our wings so we can take them back to the room. After we eat, you can tell me all about the man who was getting the better of you.”

“He was not. I was doing fine before you got there.”

Nick smiled. “Do you always argue? Or is it your hunger making you so cranky?”

Brenna grabbed the plastic bag of food from the counter. “I’m not answering any more questions until I’ve had at least six wings and a soda.”

“Deal. Then I’ll insist on full disclosure.”

Despite only three hours of sleep and being knocked on her butt both mentally and physically all in one day, Brenna’s feet felt lighter as she walked to her vehicle. Perhaps she was dizzy from low blood sugar. Or maybe it was because Nick Tarver was teasing her.

God forbid she should make the mistake of falling for a man like Nick.

Rain started falling by the time they got back to the hotel room. When she pushed through the suite door, Brenna wasn't so upset about Nick sharing the set of rooms as she had been at first. With the death of Dr. Drummond and the subsequent office burning, she was glad she wasn't alone. Whoever was doing this thought he was smarter than the best North Dakota and the FBI had to offer.

That he'd felt the need to torch the doctor's office was an indication he might be getting nervous. But they were one up on him. They had the backup file.

While Nick set the food on the table, Brenna pulled out her laptop and plugged it into the wall.

The scent of spicy chicken wings wafted across the little table in the sitting area. Her stomach rumbled in response. "Wow, that really smells good." She set the laptop on the table and reached into the bag for a messy wing. "You want to pop that flash drive in?" she said, licking her fingers.

"Sure." He did as she asked, then keyed in the password when prompted. "We’re in."

Brenna breathed a sigh and leaned over his shoulder. "Bring up the list of patients."

He clicked on a file named Patient Info and a list of names appeared. "Recognize anyone?"

She ran her finger down the screen and stopped. "That one."

Nick leaned close and read aloud, "Greeley, Victor?" He glanced up at her. "You know him?"

"Yeah, he was the guy we ran into at the bar a few minutes ago." She sat in the chair beside him and took off her wet tennis shoes and socks. "He's a jerk, and a real slimy character, but I'd never peg him as a murderer."

"We’ve got to look at all angles. I'm sure nobody pegged the BTK killer as a murderer either."

"And we let him go." Brenna popped up from her seat, pacing barefoot across the carpet. "We need to find him. If he's the killer, he might strike again. Tonight."

Nick noted how Brenna twisted the hem of her sweat jacket and the way she paced. She was nervous, and he wanted to know why. "How do you know him?”

Brenna’s face reddened, and she turned away.

Interesting. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer. When Nick had the next question poised on his lips, Brenna turned and faced him.

“We had an affair a couple of years ago.”

The announcement hit him in the gut. Not that Brenna was any more than a stranger to him. They’d met less than twenty-four hours ago. Not enough time to form an attachment. And Nick wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight. Now, lust was an entirely different matter.

Seeing Victor Greeley straddling Brenna in the bar had been another blow to Nick’s control, but he accounted for his reaction as what he’d do if he found any woman being overpowered by a man. Another thought occurred and made a cold lump form in his gut. “You said something about telling his wife. Is the guy married now?”

“Yeah—and he was married then.”

Nick pushed back from the laptop and stood so fast the chair fell over backward. Without stopping to set it straight, he strode to the window, pictures of another time playing through his memory like slow-motion film. He’d arrived home early to surprise his wife, Trish, with the news he’d gotten the job with the FBI. He could still picture himself hurrying through the house to find her and the look on her face when he had.

“Nick?” Trish had called his name. “Nick?”

Only it wasn’t Trish calling him now.

He shook his head to pull his mind out of that bedroom where he’d found Trish with a man he’d once trusted. A fellow cop, partner and friend—until he’d climbed into Nick’s bed and between his wife’s legs.

“Agent Tarver?” Brenna stood across the room, her arms crossed over her chest, her lips pressed in a hard line. “I’m sorry if that disappoints you. But I can assure you my shortcomings in my personal life don’t interfere with my job.”

“Huh?”

Color spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “The jerk failed to fill me in on all the little details. I don’t normally sleep with married men.” Her chin tilted at a defiant angle, and she straightened her shoulders as if preparing for his censure.

Nick pushed his hands through his hair and looked at her. Really looked at her. “I believe you.”

She stood still for a moment longer before her shoulders relaxed. “Good.”

He walked back to the computer and stared down at the screen. “Were there any other names on the list you recognized?”

“I don’t know. Let me look again.” She had to pass in front of him to get to the laptop. The dark circles beneath her eyes caught his attention.

“Wait.” He put his hand out and caught her arm. “You look ready to drop. You can have the shower first. We’ll pick up on the rest of this after we get a few hours sleep.”

“Are you sure?” She looked up into his eyes. “If something happens to someone tonight, I won’t be able to live with myself.”

“You’ll fall flat on your face if you don’t get some rest. We won’t catch a killer if you’re in a hospital from exhaustion.”

Her gaze drifted past him to the screen. “I’ll agree to a shower, but then I’m going over the rest of the list before I sleep.”

He frowned but nodded. She was dedicated, and she had the right to be. This was her hometown. Her family lived here. “I’m going to the vending machine for a soda. You want one?”

“Bottled water for me.” She yawned and covered her mouth, her eyes widening. “Guess I’m sleepier than I thought.”

“Go on. I’ll only be gone a minute.”

Brenna was halfway to her room when Nick left the suite. What he needed was another jog around the city to work off the events of the past two days and to drown the memories of his lousy marriage in the run-off from melting snow. But if he left Brenna for more than five minutes he’d be on edge wondering if the killer would make his move.

No, he couldn’t escape his memories any more than he could walk away from one hardheaded, yet vulnerable criminal investigator.

On the walk down the hall, he made note of all the stairwells and exits. He had to keep his mind clear and alert for danger. Brenna’s life might depend on it.

Armed with a soda and a bottle of water, he returned to the room to hear the shower running in the shared bathroom. He kicked off his damp tennis shoes and pulled off the soaked socks he’d been wearing for the past four hours. With a longing glance at the bathroom, he sank into the chair in front of the laptop and clicked on Victor Greeley.

The file contained basic information—name, age, marital status and the reason for visit—marriage counseling.

Surprise, surprise.

Nick clicked on the last set of notes for a session only a month prior and read, G.G. expressed suspicion of husband’s infidelity. V.G. denied. Body language indicates otherwise. V.G demonstrated open hostility at accusation .

“So, he’s still up to no good,” Nick muttered.

“What’s that?” Brenna’s voice behind him made Nick jump.

“Greeley and his wife were in marriage counseling with Dr. Drummond.”

Brenna snorted and bent at the waist to unwrap the towel from her hair. “Like that was going to help. The man doesn’t understand the meaning of fidelity.” When she straightened, her hair fell in wet lengths around her shoulders, dampening the gray tank top she wore with a pair of navy-blue flannel pajama bottoms.

Without makeup and her hair a mess of tangles, she was still a beautiful woman. “I can see why Greeley would find you attractive. I just can’t understand what you saw in him.”

Hugging herself around the middle, Brenna rocked back on bare feet. “As he would put it, I have ‘issues’ of my own.”

What kind of issues could she have? Then he remembered her story. “Do your issues have to do with the fire?”

Her lips pursed and she nodded, her gaze finally connecting with his.

“How long were you in the hospital?” he asked.

“A month.”

“And the burns?”

Brenna tossed her towel over a chair and answered in what sounded like a conversational tone, “Third degree over thirty-percent of my body.”

“Greeley was referring to your burn scars, wasn’t he?” Nick’s hands bunched into fists. “Bastard.”

When Brenna’s lip slipped between her teeth, Nick reached for her bare shoulders. “All I see is a beautiful woman standing in front of me.”

“It’s what’s beneath the clothes that turns men off.” With a shrug, she grimaced and moved away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re dating the wrong men.”

She barked a short, nervous laugh. “That’s what my sister said.”

“You’re sister’s right.”

She spun and walked halfway across the room before she faced him again. “It’s easy for you and my sister to say that. But it’s not so easy to live with the scars.”

“Why?” He stalked across the room and stood toe-to-toe with her.

Brenna backed away. “You have to ask?” She flung her hand to the side. “In a world full of supermodels and perfect people, I’m imperfect.”

He lifted her hand and threaded his fingers with hers, liking that hers were small and pale, yet strong and supple. “You seem fine to me.”

“Because you haven’t seen all of me,” she whispered, staring down at where their hands joined.

“Are any of us perfect?” With his thumb he tipped her chin.

As she looked into his eyes, her brows furrowed. “Yes.” She tried to jerk free, but Nick refused to let her hand go. “Look at you—perfect hair, perfect skin. You even have perfect eyes.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth. She’d been thinking about him. The idea of Brenna Jensen noticing him warmed his insides—a place that had been cold for too long. Until Special Agent Jensen had shown up, coming home to Riverton to solve a murder. This was her turf. When he left, she’d stay. It was the story of his life, being constantly on the go. It was also the reason his marriage had failed. “And I had the perfect marriage, until my divorce.”

Brenna gasped.

“Just because a person’s appearance is perfect doesn’t make them perfect inside. If I had been perfect, my marriage wouldn’t have fallen apart.” He dropped her hand and hurried toward his bedroom. “I’ll be in the shower. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

Nick stood in the shower for a long time with the hot spray pelting the stiffened muscles of his neck and shoulders. He knew better than to get involved with a team member. Get in, solve the crime and leave. Period. No long goodbyes, nobody gets hurt. Yet, he could feel it happening, and he had to put a stop to it soon.

Then why did he get the feeling he was in line for a lot of hurt in this situation?

Brenna Jensen. Tough, yet vulnerable, all about the job, but always considering the people and town she cares about.

When was the last time he’d felt like any town was home?

He had a place in Norfolk, but that was all it was—a place to live. Why hadn’t he purchased a house and grown roots? Even when he’d been married, he’d only rented, as if he hadn’t expected to stay long. Maybe that was what his wife had figured out before he did. He hadn’t been rooted in their relationship. He hadn’t had any skin in the game.

He hadn’t really loved Trish with that deep committed love that made a man crazy. The kind of love that made a guy follow a woman to a godforsaken town in the frozen north because it would make her happy.

Brenna was the kind of woman who could inspire that kind of love. She deserved that kind of commitment. Not a used up, rootless FBI agent who’d seen one too many horrors to believe in humanity. For a woman with low self-esteem, she had a boatload of guts and chutzpah.

When the hot water turned tepid, Nick shut off the shower and toweled dry. A clean body and dry clothes went a long way toward reviving him. Now if he could get a few hours sleep, he’d almost feel human.

Slipping into a pair of shorts, he opened the door to the sitting area.

The computer monitor was the only light glowing in the room. Brenna lay slumped over the keyboard.

His heart stuttered as he raced to her side. “Brenna?” Had someone gotten in while he’d been taking a leisurely soak beneath the shower? Fear sliced through him, cutting deep.

Her cheek lay against the keys, her breath blowing a drying strand of hair across her hand. Special Agent Brenna Jensen was fast asleep.

Nick drew in a deep breath and almost laughed out loud. Then he collapsed in the chair beside her and dropped his head into his hands. How could he keep his eye on her at all times? Unless he stayed with Brenna every second of every day, she would remain at risk.

In the meantime, she needed to rest. The stress of driving in a blizzard, finding a body beneath the ice and witnessing a building burning had taken their toll on her.

Nick stood and without weighing his options, slid an arm beneath her legs and lifted her.

The scent of herbal shampoo and soap filled his senses. Her sandy-blond hair spread across his chest and arm, the silky strands tickling his skin. He leaned a cheek against the top of her head, giving in to instinct.

Brenna nuzzled closer into the crook of his neck, her mouth touching his skin.

Nick sucked in his breath. The tender texture of her lips sent his nerve endings into overdrive. Jeez, the woman was sexy even while she slept. He held that breath and willed his body not to react, but it was a losing battle. All the blood in his head dove southward, filling his loins, making him tight with need.

It was a good thing Brenna was asleep. Nick could imagine how pissed she’d be if she could feel the evidence of his arousal. They were strangers, for Pete’s sake.

Nick hefted her up a little, marveling at how solid she was. Her thigh muscles were soft but firm beneath the flannel pajamas. His gaze traveled the length of her legs to trim ankles. This tough-as-nails agent’s one claim to femininity was her pink toenail polish.

He smiled as he carried her to her room and laid her on the bedspread. Immediately, she turned to her side, her hand reaching across the empty bed, a frown gently dipping between her eyes. The tank top did little to disguise the turgid peaks of her breasts.

Like a teenage voyeur, Nick couldn’t help himself. He drank his fill of the sight of Special Agent Jensen, the satisfaction he gained far outweighing the guilt. If he wasn’t careful, he could fall for this woman. And where would that get him?

Fatigue pulled at his eyelids, but Nick couldn’t leave her in here, and he didn’t feel like sleeping on the couch in the sitting room. Too tired to care about consequences, he lay down beside her, determined to leave the bed before she awoke the next morning. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.