“She picked you out for Emerson, didn’t she? Probably thought you would fit her. Only you didn’t. You just disappointed Emerson.”

  “How dare⁠—”

  “Ease up, stud. Not talking about sexually, though, clearly, you disappointed her that way, too.”

  Nathaniel huffed out a breath.

  “You stole her work.” He remembered Emerson’s anger. “Broke her trust. You can’t do that with her. She’s not big on forgiveness.” Was that why he had been so careful to put all of his cards on the table with Emerson? Because he’d realized that about her from the beginning? Trust is important. And too damn fragile.

  Gray decided to share a few details, just to see what reaction he could get from Nathaniel. “The senator wanted me to be a puppet on her string. Reporting every action Emerson took at the FBI.” Gray shrugged. “I told her to fuck off. Doesn’t mean others at the Bureau aren’t still reporting to the woman, though. And I can’t help but connect the dots right here, right now. Yesterday, I tell my superiors that I’m taking a new case…” A case that hadn’t been on the FBI’s radar at all, something personal because of Cassius. “And then you walk in my door today. Spouting about how you should be working with me, and it shouldn’t be Emerson. So I’m guessing something changed in the senator’s world. She wants Emerson out of the FBI. She thinks playtime is over. The senator sent you to take Emerson’s place.”

  Nathaniel didn’t deny the charge.

  “I wasn’t wild about Emerson being my partner, not on day one.” Truth. “But no one will take her place. She wants to run this mission, then she’ll run the fucking mission.”

  “I can help.”

  “No, you can get in my way.” He considered the matter. “You can also piss me off. Piss off Emerson, too. We don’t have time to waste on that BS. So get in your Benz and get the hell out of here. Your services are not needed.”

  But Nathaniel lingered. “You don’t understand. You can’t count on Emerson. Her mother—look, the senator is worried. It’s Emerson’s life on the line, all right? The senator is worried that Emerson is⁠—”

  He broke off.

  Gray stared him down. “Don’t leave me in suspense. Just what is it that the senator fears? Because one day, she’s demanding that I work with Emerson, and then I turn around and have you shoved in my face. A man can get whiplash for that type of exchange.”

  “I’m not here to watch you. I’m here…here to watch over Emerson.” Nathaniel smoothed back his hair. “The senator is worried that Emerson may be…fracturing. There is a family history that you do not know about.”

  Actually, he did.

  “And the senator is concerned that Emerson may be following in her father’s footsteps. Starting to suffer from paranoia. Having delusions. The senator is worried that Emerson is slipping into the darkness.” Sympathy deepened his voice. “Someone has to help Emerson. Someone has to watch over her. With my qualifications, I’m the perfect man to assist her.” His hand fell back to his side.

  So Gray stared him dead in the eyes—dead in the prick’s lying eyes—and called, “Bullshit.”

  Nathaniel’s mouth opened, then closed. “Excuse me?”

  “Bullshit.” He thought that was pretty clear, but just in case, “Bullshit.” The third time he said it, he did it just for fun. “Emerson isn’t slipping into any darkness. You’re also the last man who can handle anything about her. And here’s a pro tip for you.”

  “What? I-I’m telling you the truth!”

  “No, you’re not. And about that pro tip…” He pointed toward the guy’s hair. “When you lie, you smooth your hair. Dead giveaway.”

  “I—” Nathaniel’s hand began to rise, but he caught himself.

  “It’s been fun. Nope, it hasn’t been. It’s just been annoying. Don’t let me see your ass again.” Gray turned away. He’d gotten too many lies from that conversation, but he was pretty sure that he had discovered one truth.

  The senator was screwing around with FBI business. That would be stopping.

  And the only person who would be handling Emerson?

  It’s gonna be me.

  Two minutes, his ass.

  Chapter Nine

  “Do I think some people are born evil? Hell, yes.”

  – Gray Stone

  Emerson’s breath sawed in and out. She couldn’t believe that Nathaniel had come to see Gray and then showed up on her doorstep. The bastard was trying to discredit her with Gray.

  But Gray isn’t falling for Nathaniel’s tricks.

  Nathaniel. Smart. Deviously so. Driven. Driven to steal other people’s work. Manipulative. He’d sure tricked her into thinking that he might actually care about her, only for her to find out that he’d been using her all along.

  Her mother had been furious when Emerson had broken things off with Nathaniel. Emerson, on the other hand, had just been relieved.

  Only now he’s showing up at my door. Nathaniel could just stop that crap. They were not working together. She hurried through the condo. Darted in her bedroom and rushed straight through to her attached bathroom. She wanted to splash some water on her face and get her control back before Gray arrived back at her place.

  He’s giving me the chance to work undercover with him. I will not screw this up. I will not⁠—

  Her heart seemed to stop. Emerson had just looked into her bathroom mirror. A mirror that reflected her fractured image back to her. Fractured and distorted because the mirror had been smashed. Cracks ran across its surface like hundreds of tiny spiderwebs. Her hand lifted, as if she’d touch one of the cracks. But she stopped before making contact. Fisted her hand.

  Then she was running out of her bathroom and back into her bedroom. Rushing toward her dresser and the mirror connected to it. She hadn’t even glanced at the dresser before. Or its mirror. But now her focus was on it completely.

  Fractured. Smashed. A dozen broken images of me.

  Her head shook. One mirror being smashed…okay…maybe some random accident had happened.

  Uh, exactly how did a random accident happen, Emerson? When you weren’t even here? So the accident theory was weak, granted, and when you added the fact that it wasn’t just one mirror that had been shattered, but two…

  She backed away from the dresser and its mirror. Her steps were much, much slower now. Her heart thudded in her chest. This had…happened before.

  Her hand rose to her neck. Slid around to the lower right side. A small scar. Barely an inch. Usually hidden by her hair. An old scar.

  I got away.

  She backed up more, then she turned and lunged. One more mirror in my place. In the small, half bath off her den. Her heels tapped over the flooring as she raced for that bathroom. She threw the door open.

  Broken. Twisted. Spiderwebs across the surface. Except a big chunk of the mirror was missing. Right in the center. A big chunk, maybe six inches long and two inches wide, was missing. And she thought of another time. Another place.

  When a chunk of a broken mirror had been used like a knife.

  She retreated from the bathroom. The drumming of her heartbeat was far too loud, and her right hand touched the scar on her throat.

  That long ago night, the broken piece of mirror had been placed against her throat. It had cut into her, deep enough to make her bleed. To leave a scar.

  A hand touched her shoulder. “Emerson⁠—”

  She screamed and grabbed for that hand. She twisted and heaved, and her foot went beneath her attacker’s ankle. She was going to take him down and get out. He wasn’t going to hurt her again. She would not let him hurt her.

  But her attacker remained upright. He shifted his position, dodged her attack, and suddenly, Emerson was up against the wall. He’d moved lightning-fast, and he had her hands pinned on either side of her head.

  “Emerson,” Gray snapped.

  She blinked. Her breath heaved.

  Worry had a faint line slanting between Gray’s brows. “No way did you just get the sudden, random urge to spar me.”

  Her heart was about to shoot out of her chest.

  “What’s happening?” he demanded.

  “L-look at the mirrors.”

  “What?”

  “The mirrors.” Her wrists twisted in his hold. He didn’t let go. “They’re all broken.” Or at least, she thought they had been smashed.

  No, no, don’t second guess yourself. The breaks are real. Someone smashed the mirrors. But in order to do that, someone would have needed to break into her home.

  What if he’s still here? She hadn’t searched the rooms thoroughly. When she’d arrived, Nathaniel had come pounding at the front door right after she and Gray had entered the condo. There had been no time for a search of the premises.

  And that was why she’d freaked and attacked Gray when he touched her. Because she was so afraid the attacker was still in her home.

  “Your mirrors are broken?” The line between his brows deepened. “And that made you try to toss my ass on the floor?”

  “Go look.” Her voice was too husky.

  Slowly, he let her hands go. Frowned at her. “I don’t like it when you’re scared.”

  Yes, well, she wasn’t particularly fond of the feeling, either. Her hands dropped.

  Only for him to immediately manacle one wrist again. “Where I go, you go.”

  That sounded like an excellent plan. He led the way to the half bathroom. She edged in behind him. Saw the shattered mirror and their twisted reflections.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t break the mirror?” His voice had gone grim.

  Emerson shook her head and told him, “The bedroom.”

  “Right. Stay behind me, would you?” He bent, and his right hand pulled out his gun from the holster on his ankle. His left maintained that unbreakable, manacle grip on her wrist.

  He crept toward her bedroom, moving soundlessly, and she stepped out of her heels so that she, too, would make no sound. He glanced back at her, and his frown seemed to deepen as he noticed that she suddenly was smaller.

  Then he was in her bedroom. She’d left the door wide open. He eased toward her dresser. His jaw hardened even more as he took in the broken mirror above the dresser. Emerson pointed toward the attached bathroom.

  He sees it, too. The broken mirrors are real. Someone came in my home. Broke them all.

  Not just someone.

  “What in the fuck is going on?” he rasped. Then in the next instant, “I’m searching the condo.”

  Yes, good, brilliant. They should search the condo. They headed out of the bathroom. He let go of her wrist, but she quickly grabbed his arm. “A chunk of glass was missing from the half bath. Be careful. He used the glass like a knife before.”

  Silence.

  Then, utterly lethal and rumbling with rage, “Before?” Gray repeated.

  She let go of him. Her fingers rose to her neck. Slid over the faint scar. Emerson nodded. “Before. Y-years ago…”

  “He’s a fucking dead man.”

  “You didn’t have to bring me to your place.” Emerson stood right beside the couch in Gray’s den, with her overnight bag near her feet. “We both checked my home. The intruder was gone.” Her gaze tracked around the room. Lingered for just a moment on the wide bookshelves to the right. Her eyes seemed to take in each book. For just a moment, he could have sworn that her lips even moved as she began to count the volumes there.

  One, two, three…

  Gray’s teeth snapped together. Emerson counts when she’s stressed or scared. A habit he’d picked up on early in their partnership. And he knew with certainty that she was terrified right then. How could she not be? Some sick sonofabitch had broken into her home. Shattered her mirrors.

  He was furious that she’d been terrorized. Add the fact that this shit had happened to her before? Oh, the hell, no. Every protective instinct that he possessed was in overdrive. Then again, his protective instincts were always on high alert where Emerson was concerned.

  He’d insisted on calling the cops. Filing a B&E report with the local cops, though they’d been pretty useless on scene. There had been no sign of a forced entry at Emerson’s place, and the cops hadn’t exactly bought that someone had just come inside in order to break some mirrors.

  Gray bought the story. The mirrors had been a message. A taunt. A threat. All of the freaking above. Those broken mirrors terrified Emerson. Exactly what the perp had wanted.

  “Let me be very clear.” He knew his voice was too rough, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about that situation. He felt rough. He’d tossed his dirty coat after entering his home. Taken off his ankle holster and secured his weapon, too. Now Gray jerked at the buttons on the ends of his sleeves. With quick, angry motions, he proceeded to roll up both sleeves. “There is every need for you to stay with me. Someone broke into your house tonight.”

  “Yes.”

  Just that. Her eyes—solemn, scared, sad—held his.

  “He was good enough not to leave any marks at the doors, and he didn’t set off your alarm.” He’d watched her disarm the alarm right after their arrival at her condo. “That means you’re not dealing with an amateur.”

  She shook her head, sending her hair sliding over her shoulder. Her hand rose to her neck. Then dropped almost instantly as if she’d just caught herself.

  Screw that. He marched toward her. A hard, angry stride. His hand lifted toward her.

  Emerson flinched.

  Her flinch cut straight through him. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never do that.” One vow he’d made long ago…

  You never, ever hurt someone weaker than you.

  Her long lashes flickered.

  “I want to see what happened to you.” I want to utterly destroy the bastard who hurt you. The person who’d smashed the mirrors had been long gone by the time Gray searched the place but…

  Sure seems suspicious as hell that Nathaniel Hadaway was at the scene of the crime. He’d told the cops about Nathaniel. They’d agreed to question the guy, mostly just because Gray was FBI—an FBI agent with a lot of power in that town—and they’d been intimidated as hell by him.

  Gray fully intended to follow up their investigation with a questioning session of his own with Nathaniel.

  “It’s hardly anything now, really. The scar is very old.”

  Hardly anything. Bull. In all the time he’d known her, she hadn’t ever touched the scar. But now, with the events of this night, her fingers kept fluttering toward it. He understood. She’d deliberately trained herself not to touch it, not to draw attention to the scar because she’d wanted to bury that night and the fear it had caused in her. If she’d touched the scar too much, people would have noticed. People like him. And questions would have been asked.

  His secretive Emerson didn’t like it when she was the one asked questions. Too bad, sweetheart. I have a boat load of questions I’m going to ask, and you will tell me everything. Because he had to know every detail about her. If someone was threatening her—and he was certain that someone was, in fact, after Emerson—then knowledge was what he needed so he could stop the creep dead in his tracks.

  “I want to see what happened to you,” Gray repeated. His hand carefully brushed back her hair. The chandelier overhead provided plenty of light as they stood in his den. A place filled with one hell of a lot of personal mementos.

  Emerson’s home had been empty, but his place…it was his refuge. Filled with items that he’d carefully selected over the years. Nothing random. Everything special. If a book made it onto his shelves, it was because that book was a keeper. Something he’d read and reread over and over again. The things he kept always had great value to him.

  But, like Emerson, he hardly ever invited people inside his home. Only a select few crossed the threshold. His Marine brothers. His family.

  Emerson.

  Her head tilted to the side. “You probably can’t see the scar. It’s been years…”

  He could see it. About an inch long. A little white line on her golden skin. His index finger brushed lightly over the scar. He found himself leaning toward her. “What happened?”

  “A slice from a broken piece of mirror.”

  His back teeth snapped together. That was exactly what he thought had happened. “Who did it?”

  Her hands rose. Pressed to his chest. Not to push him away. Not to pull him closer, either. Just to touch him.

  He felt her touch rock through his entire body. Her scent wrapped around him. Sensual. Jasmine. And still somehow—innocence.

  “I-I never saw his face. I was seventeen.”

  Seventeen? What the actual hell?

  “I was at my mother’s home.”

  Her mother’s home? Shouldn’t that have been her home? What an odd way of phrasing things. Gray filed that telling descriptor away, for the moment.

  “I’d come home for the weekend. I usually stayed at a boarding school, but we had a three-day weekend. I didn’t think anyone else was there. Just me. I walked into my bedroom, and I realized the mirror on my wall was broken. Cracked and missing chunks, and I backed away, and as I did…he came up behind me.” She swallowed. “He put the piece of broken mirror against my throat.”

  His muscles locked.

  “I was terrified. I could feel him behind me. He was so much bigger. And he…” An exhale. “I fought him.” Flat. “I’d been trained by my mother’s security staff. When he tried to push me forward, toward the door, I fought him. I kicked and twisted and used my elbows, and I got away.” Her gaze rose to lock with Gray’s. “I felt the mirror cut me. I didn’t care. Blood dripped down my throat when I ran. I got out of the bedroom. I rushed down the stairs. I didn’t look back, not once. I was too afraid he’d be right there. On my heels, slicing at me with that broken mirror. I got to the front door, and I ripped it open, and—my mother was there. My mother and her head of security, Owen Porter.”

  His fingers slid over the small scar once more.

  She shivered.

  “They didn’t catch the bastard,” he said.

  “They didn’t catch the bastard.” Her lips pressed together, as if she was trying to hold words back.