Page 76 of The Devoted Game

“He doesn’t act like just a friend, Grace.”

Her teeth clenched to hold back the words that immediately raced to the tip of her tongue.

“I know Pierce,” McBride went on. “He doesn’t look at his students or his friends the way he looks at you.”

“Why did you storm out of Worth’s office?” she tossed back at him. “Looked to me as if you and Pierce have a history of your own.”

“Pierce and I go back a ways,” he confessed. “We weren’t in the same academy class or in the same unit. We just don’t like each other. Had something to do with that whole legend thing. There were a lot of Qs who didn’t like me because of that.” McBride turned in his seat so he could study her. “But Pierce likes you.”

She parked beneath the valet canopy in front of the hotel. “I don’t want to hear it, McBride,” she said with all the fury she could infuse into her tone. “You’re not exactly in a position to judge me or anyone else.”

If he hadn’t been looking at her with those eyes ... with that tiny, tiny glimmer of pain visible there, she might have been able to pretend that she hadn’t hurt his feelings.

All this time he had been making a big deal out of how he didn’t care about anything or anyone. Apparently, his indifference was wearing a little thin ... All those other emotions he conscientiously denied were showing through.

Reminded her a little too much of herself.

To put it his way, this whole thing was truly fucked up.

McBride said nothing more, grabbed his bag—the one that contained the clothes and essentials she had bought for him the day after he’d gotten here—and entered the hotel right behind her. The clerk, who knew her on sight now, passed her the key for McBride’s room the moment she approached the counter. Out of a sense of civility she should have disregarded, she waited while Pierce checked in. They parted ways on the fourth floor. Her job was to keep an eye on McBride. Pierce could take care of himself.

On the seventh floor she led the way to McBride’s room ... the same one they had checked out of about thirty-six hours prior. Worth’s assistant had called and arranged for the room when McBride’s travel plans changed.

Vivian handed him the key and he opened the door, tossed his bag inside, and turned back to her.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in keeping me company at the bar.”

In one express trip her gaze took in the man, from those intense blue eyes, past the ludicrously sexy stubble on his jaw, to the missing buttons of his shirt, down those long jean-clad legs, and back to his eyes. Right now, the way she was feeling it would be damned easy tosay yes ... or maybe to push him into the room and have her way with him. Enjoy those great orgasms he seemed to so easily mine from her.

But she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. “No, thanks,” she told him before his eyes could change her mind. “The only thing I have on my mind right now is sleep,” she lied.

She couldn’t possibly stay and risk letting him too close. That one time was all it took to know that this innately sexy man held the power to take anything he pleased from her.

“Use room service,” she advised. “Less visible. Your guard should be here soon.”

She didn’t like the idea of leaving until Birmingham PD was in place, but staying presented those other perils she was all too well aware of.

When she turned away, he reached out and took her hand to keep her from going. “You know if you walk out now, Pierce is only going to call you and invite you to dinner.”

His fingers teased her hand as he said this, making her heart flutter foolishly.

“And I’ll tell him the same thing I did you. No.”

He held her gaze, unwilling to let her go. “Good night, Grace.”

The vibration at her waist made her jump. She snatched her hand away from his as if she had been caught playing doctor with the boy next door. Pushing all those crazy notions aside, she squared her shoulders and answered the call. “Grace.”

Worth.

“You want me to what?” She couldn’t have heard right.

He repeated his instructions, and she pushed past McBride to get into his room. “Which channel?” She sought and located the remote control for the television and selected WKRT, home of the wicked bitch of the South.

The rest of the world faded away, leaving her mind focused completely on the woman, Nadine Goodman, on her voice coming from the six o’clock news broadcast. McBride took the remote from her and pumped up the volume.

“Agent Vivian Grace, formerly Vivian Taylor of Bessemer, a community just outside Birmingham proper, was the thirteenth and final victim of the heinous serial rapist-murderer known only as Nameless. Even after nearly a decade, the twisted monster’s real name is not known. He existed under a number of aliases and moved from city to city, raping and murdering at least twelve women in only five years. His victims were gruesomely dismembered. More after the commercial break.”

For three seconds, then five, Vivian told herself this had to be a mistake ... it couldn’t have happened. She had been so careful. No one was supposed to know ...