Kissing the Killer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Barone Crime Family) (29 page)

I
watched
as Easton drove away, the car kicking up dust behind it.

There had been an instant change in him as soon as he’d gotten on the phone with his mother. Something serious had happened, but he didn’t seem willing to talk about it. That seemed pretty average for Easton; he was more interested in keeping everything locked away.

Part of me wished I hadn’t told him to answer. Part of me wished we had stayed there a while longer, seen where that kiss was going to go.

I had a pretty good idea. I could still feel my soaking pussy, could still feel the lingering chill of his lips against mine, the thrill in my whole body as he pressed himself against me. I had never had a guy take me like that before, but I absolutely loved it.

We could never tell anyone about it. We could never do it again, really. We were stepsiblings, and I could only imagine how our parents would react if they found out.

I needed to be careful around him. He really was teaching me a lot about what it meant to be an agent in the field, but he was dangerous. My feelings for him were dangerous. Everything swirling around us was laced with danger and excitement, and I was beginning to wonder if that was what attracted me to him.

I walked inside the house and into the kitchen, dropping my bag on the ground with a huff.

“Something wrong, honey?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Dad. You scared me.”

“Sorry about that.” He moved away from the window, a drink in his hand. “Easton drop you off?”

“Yeah, he did.”

He nodded. “Susan called me. Apparently something happened in town. A girl got killed.”

I felt a sharp freeze run down my back. “Really? Here?”

“Yeah, I know. Apparently it’s pretty bad. They wanted Easton to come take a look, see if he could help.”

I shook my head, at a loss. “That’s crazy.”

And it explained why he wanted me to lock all the doors and to set the alarm. Easton thought Seed was back, and he probably thought this murder was connected.

“Honey? You okay?”

I looked up, snapping myself out of it. Dad was staring at me, a concerned look on his face. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Sit down. I’ll make you something to eat.”

“No. That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I insist. I haven’t cooked for my daughter in . . . how long?”

I smiled softly and sat at the island. “Years at least.”

“Years. How did that happen?” He began to rummage through the refrigerator.

“Dad, how did you and Susan meet?”

He emerged with an armful of ingredients and began to cook. “Well, let’s see. We’ve known each other for a long time. You know how Mishawaka is.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“But the first night we start seeing each other, well that probably started at a fundraiser.”

“And how did you know that you wanted to marry her?”

He paused mid-chop and raised an eyebrow at me. “Why are you asking?”

“I don’t know. I’m curious.”

“Well,” he said, resuming, “that’s a hard one. I guess at a certain point I realized that I was happier with her than without, and I wanted to do something to make that feeling real.”

I nodded. That made total sense, though it was a little strange hearing my father say it. Actually, we’d probably never had a conversation like this in our entire lives.

The smell of cooking slowly began to fill the room. “How is working with Easton?” Dad asked.

“Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“He’s a little . . . difficult.”

Dad smiled. “So I heard from Susan. But apparently he’s very good.”

“He is, actually.” I paused, not sure how much I wanted to tell him. “Did you know that he helps some of the local people out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he does jobs for cheap.”

“Sounds interesting. What did he do recently?”

Dad began to sauté some vegetables while a pasta began to cook in a large pot. I felt my stomach grumble as I realized that I was way hungrier than I had realized.

“Well, he helped one family out with a tough landlord. It was pretty amazing.”

Dad nodded. “Sounds like a good guy.”

“Do you know why he left the FBI?” I blurted out.

I had no clue why I’d asked him. I already knew the story, more or less. I’d seen it in that file, the file I wasn’t supposed to know about.

But I wanted my hunch confirmed. I wanted someone else’s take on the whole thing, because so far Easton was nothing but a mystery to me. He kept himself wrapped up so tightly that no matter how much I wanted to unravel him, he just wasn’t going to budge.

“Nobody told you yet?” Dad asked.

“No. And I’m not going to ask him.”

“Probably a good decision,” he said, laughing. “Well, from what Susan told me, Easton was involved with serial killers.”

I nodded. “He told me that.”

“About a year ago, he was hunting down a particularly nasty guy. Really disgusting apparently. Anyway, Easton got really involved with this case, really into it. He ended up finding the guy, but instead of waiting for backup to arrive, he charged in and tried to capture the guy himself.” Dad stopped what he was doing and looked at me. “His partner got killed in that confrontation, along with the murderer. Easton resigned after that, although they were probably going to let him go anyway.”

“Wow,” was all that I could say.

It wasn’t a new story for me, but hearing it from my dad made it all the more real. For some reason, part of me figured Easton couldn’t have done something like that, couldn’t have gone through that.

But he had. He had made a mistake that had cost the life of his partner, and now he was wallowing in it.

Worse, he was dealing with it all over again. Because the killer he’d thought was dead had come back.

“I don’t know how much of that story is true, though,” Dad said. “It comes second-hand. Maybe even third-hand.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“I’m surprised Susan didn’t tell you.”

“I guess she was protecting Easton. I also haven’t seen much of you guys.”

Dad sighed. “Sorry about that. I know we’re busy.”

“I’m also at Easton’s office all day long, too.”

“True. He’s not working you too hard, is he?”

I blushed slightly and looked away. The memory of Easton’s shirtless body walking through the main office space, of him pressed against me, kissing me, whispering in my ear, it made me have to cross my legs.

“No. It’s fine.”

“Good.”

Dad went back to cooking and I was lost in my own thoughts, trying to imagine what Easton was going through.

I couldn’t decide if I was really in danger or not. I knew that there were real murders happening nearby, but Lester Seed was dead. If it was someone else involved, could they even know of my existence?

Finally, Dad finished the meal. It was this decadent pasta dish with vegetables all covered in an amazing sauce. We dug in together, chatting about pretty much nothing. He talked about his work and I told him some more details about being a private detective. He was surprised by how boring the whole thing actually was.

It felt good to be talking so comfortably with my dad after so many years apart. I had dreaded this moment, when I’d finally be alone with him and have to interact, but it was actually totally fine. I realized that I didn’t hate him, or even dislike him, and that I was glad to be home.

We cleaned the dishes together, joking about the old days. By the time we were finished, I was surprised to see that it was already ten at night.

“Well,” Dad said, finishing his drink. “Time for this old man to sleep.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll finish up down here.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” He kissed my forehead. “I’m really glad you’re home.”

“Me too, Dad.”

“Night.” He turned and walked upstairs.

I began to finish straightening up, drying dishes, when I was suddenly intensely aware that I was completely alone.

I wasn’t very comfortable in the house yet. It just wasn’t what I was used to. It was nice, but it wasn’t home. And so standing there alone in the kitchen after thinking so long about murders and serial killers, suddenly I felt a weird little crawling sensation down my spine.

Like someone was watching me.

I shook my head. That was stupid. I was getting worked up about nothing. I grabbed my phone but had no messages. I was almost done cleaning up; I could retreat to my room soon enough.

As I put the last dish away, I heard it. It sounded like the front door creaking open and shut, but that couldn’t be right.

Had I locked it earlier? I wasn’t sure. I walked toward the short hall that led out to the front foyer, my heart beginning to beat steadily in my chest.

Every floorboard creaked underfoot. The walls loomed large, and I swore I saw shadows moving out of the corner of my eye.

I was being stupid. There wasn’t a serial killer coming in the front door.

“Hey, sis.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I let out a short little gasp and took a step backward, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Easton!” I said. “You asshole. You scared me.”

He smirked hugely, coming into the kitchen. “Good. Just means you’re on your toes.”

He was lugging a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, but he looked tired, even more tired than usual.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

He dropped the bag on the ground. “Well,” he said, “I’m moving in.”

I stared at him for a second, shock mixing with fear. I remembered the kiss, remembered the danger. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Just for a little bit. Just while I’m working this case.”

I cocked my head. “Why?”

He shrugged, avoiding the question. “Nicer here. I can concentrate better.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” I said quickly.

“Not everything is about you, princess,” he said, smirking at me.

I wanted to wipe that delicious grin off his face. I wanted to kiss his lips, make him throw me down against the island and finally feel his fingers against my bare skin.

But I knew I couldn’t. Especially not in my father’s house.

“I’m going to bed,” I said.

“Good. Exactly what I wanted to do.”

“Alone.”

He shrugged as he followed me up the stairs, carrying the bag. “I’ll be right next door,” he said as he walked down the hall. “For when you change your mind.”

I paused outside my door. “Look, about earlier—”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he said softly, his body close to mine. “I’d rather you just show me what you want.”

“We can’t,” I said. “You’re my stepbrother. Our parents are important here. And everyone talks. You know that.”

“I don’t see anybody around right now.”

I shook my head quickly. “We just can’t.” I quickly opened my door and stepped into my room.

“Your loss.” I began to shut the door. “Night, sis,” he said.

I closed it and leaned against the knob for a second before locking it.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I couldn’t believe Easton was staying right next door. He hated his mother and didn’t want anything to do with staying at home, and yet there he was. He said it was to be able to concentrate on the case, but I knew that couldn’t be true.

As much as I wanted him, things were just too tangled. I was afraid of him, if I was completely honest. I was afraid of what I wanted from him, and afraid of his past.

I climbed into bed with a sigh. I just needed to forget about him.

Which was pretty hard, considering we worked together. And he was just next door, his muscular body barely feet away.

I shut my eyes and tried not to remember the way he’d made me feel out there alone together on the bridge.

S
heriff Sloan had
the AC on blast even though the night was relatively cool. We moved through the night, out toward the heavy forest. He took a small detour down a dirt track, almost identical to the one I took earlier.

We drove in silence, which suited me. I was not much interested in talking to Sloan. He was a nice enough guy, but he had no clue what he was getting himself into. How could he? Mishawaka rarely saw crime worse than drunk driving.

Tonight, though, Sloan saw the work of a true monster.

After ten more minutes, I could see the flashing red and blue lights of a police cruiser up ahead.

“Line is just up there,” Sloan commented as if I were blind.

“Yeah,” I grunted.

“When was the last time you were on a scene?”

“Not long enough.”

We lapsed back into silence as we slowly pulled up next to a cruiser.

People were milling about everywhere. The crime scene people were wandering around in their anti-contamination suits taking pictures of just about everything while the plainclothes stood around and looked important.

Sloan parked and we climbed out. “She’s just over here,” he said.

I nodded and followed him as we ducked under the yellow police tape line.

I took a deep breath. It really hadn’t been long enough since I was last at a crime scene. Vivid memories came spilling back, memories I didn’t really want.
Martin, his throat bloodied, his skin pale. Seed lying on the ground, unmoving. The other agents and the damn looks they gave me, like I was some scumbag criminal myself
. But I wasn’t that guy anymore.

We picked our way through the small crowd. I caught a few glances thrown my way, but Sloan’s presence meant that they weren’t going to say a word.

Sloan stopped and turned to me. “I heard about what happened with you and the bureau,” he said.

I nodded. “Okay.”

“You ready for this?”

“Let’s get it over with.”

He gave me a long look. Sloan wasn’t such a bad guy, but I would have given anything to get the fuck away from him. He was in his mid-fifties with short-cropped hair greying at the sides and at least an extra ten pounds hanging off his tall frame. We were almost the same height, a few inches over six feet, and he looked like he had been a linebacker in his younger days.

“Come on,” he said, and we walked the last fifteen feet.

And there she was. Lying propped up against a tree was a female, approximately twenty years old. Pale skin, brown hair. Her mouth was open, but her eyes were closed. Her hands were lovingly placed in her lap, and every one of her fingers were removed.

I knelt down next to a tech that was photographing the victim’s hands. “What can you tell me?”

“Victim, female, eighteen to twenty, Caucasian. No I.D. yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“Struggle?”

“No. No signs of a struggle. If I had to guess, I’d say the cause of death was an overdose or a poison.”

I nodded, looking at the girl. She looked like so many other girls I had seen, every one of them so young, none of them deserving what happened.

“Sexual assault?” I asked.

“Signs of it, but we’re not sure.”

I nodded and stood up, slowly walking around the tree.

Everything about it screamed Lester Seed, and also none of it was right.

“What do you think?” Sloan asked.

“I’ve seen stuff like this before.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you know this sicko?”

“Guy’s name was Lester Seed. It was, at least.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Seed is dead.” I paused and looked at him. “I killed him.”

Sloan was quiet for a second, but I could see the faint surprise in his expression. “I knew you had a bust go bad but . . .” He trailed off and gathered himself before starting again. “So this is him then.”

I nodded slowly. “Or someone that worked with him.”

“An accomplice. What’s he doing here?”

“I think he’s sending me a message, Sheriff.”

“What message?”

I looked back at the body, at the poor girl. “That he’s coming for me.”

There was a hush in the woods in that moment as I watched the tech finish up her pictures. She stood and walked back toward the trucks, probably to drop off her film and to grab another camera.

“But you said this isn’t like him,” Sloan said finally.

I nodded. “Seed never left his victims out in the open like this. The ritual dismemberment, the lack of DNA evidence, and the sexual assault are all consistent with Seed, but the way he left the body here isn’t.”

“So whoever this is, they’re changing the pattern.”

“Seems to be the case.” I began to circle the tree again with Sloan in tow. “And if it’s not Seed, then whoever this is may get sloppy. I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of finding something.”

“I’ll tell the techs to keep a close eye out,” Sloan grunted as we stopped walking. “Is he going to do it again?”

I looked him in the eye. “I’d be very surprised if he didn’t.”

“Fuck,” the sheriff said softly.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Fuck.”

There was not much else to say at that point. I promised to send him over my file on Seed, and he promised to share whatever they found. We got back in Sloan’s truck and started heading back toward town.

My mind was a mess, ranging out through the possibilities. Who was killing, if it wasn’t Seed? Definitely someone with a connection to him, but also with a connection to me. Someone that wanted to find me, and to send me a message.

I couldn’t help but start thinking about Laney. I wished I hadn’t answered the phone, wished I had just kissed her instead, told her to stop talking.

But I also knew she was in danger. Actually, my whole family was. I couldn’t rule out the possibility that whoever was doing these killings would come at me directly.

As Sloan dropped me off at my office and I climbed the stairs, I made a decision. I opened my office door and began to pack a duffel bag, hastily throwing stuff in without much thought.

I was going to do something I’d never wanted to do.

I was moving back into my mother’s house.