“I want to talk with you.” Her mother’s shaking voice. “Alone, Emerson.”

  “I have a meeting.”

  “Please.”

  Whoa. Stop. Had her mother just used the p-word? Emerson’s head swung toward Gray. “Give us a moment?”

  He nodded. “I’ll wait outside. Been wanting to have myself a chat with Owen.” But he frowned at Maxine. “Don’t get Emerson upset. I will not be amused if you do.” He slid out. Shut the door behind him.

  The classical music kept playing. Emerson was sure the music was supposed to be soothing. She felt far from soothed.

  “He’s quite…protective of you,” her mother noted.

  That was one way of putting it.

  “You didn’t tell me about the threat in your motel room,” Maxine added.

  “I just did.”

  “No, Gray just did.”

  Right. Emerson glanced toward the tinted window on her side of the limo. Beyond the glass, she could see Gray talking with Owen. Gray’s expression was very intent, but she couldn’t hear the words he spoke.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Maxine wanted to know.

  She rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m the reverse girl who cried wolf.”

  “What?”

  She kept watching Gray. He seemed pissed. Not good. “I’ve told you about the monster, over and over again. You never believed me, even though he was right there.” She bit her lower lip. “In The Boy Who Cried Wolf, the boy was making up the story. No one believed him when he really needed help.” Her head turned so that she could see her mother again. “Each time I cried out for help, the monster was actually there. No pretending. Only you never believed me. So I stopped crying out. What was the point? Help wasn’t going to come, so there was no need to cry out.”

  “You’re sleeping with the senator.”

  Owen cocked one eyebrow. “You’re sleeping with Emerson.”

  Gray nodded. He also let out a brief sigh. “You and I are going to have a problem.”

  “Because you’re an asshole?”

  “Sure, that’s one of the reasons.” The street was quiet. They were about one hundred feet away from the entrance to the FBI office. “The other reason is that you didn’t track down the sonofabitch who cut Emerson all those years ago. You left him loose.”

  Owen edged closer. “I tried to find him.” His gaze darted around the street, seemingly searching for threats before he nodded and his sharp gaze swept back to Gray. “There was no trace of the bastard. No prints. No sign of forced entry. Nothing. We had a great security system. He got past it. Either he was freaking Houdini or⁠—”

  “Don’t say Emerson made it up. I’m not in the mood for that crap. You don’t believe it. I don’t believe it. So spare me the BS story that her mother has fed you and her.”

  Owen’s lips thinned.

  “You must have looked for him since the initial attack. He’s been breaking into her home. He’s been following her. No way do you just ignore the continuing threat to her.”

  “She’s had extra security over the years.” Grudging. “Some of the security personnel…perhaps caught sight of someone once or twice. But he vanished before they could get close enough to apprehend him.” The lines near his mouth deepened. “However, we have no reason to believe any potential attack from her youth⁠—”

  “Potential, my ass,” Gray cut in.

  “—may be tied to any other…incident in her life.” Again, he surveyed the street. Always seeming to stay on guard like a good SEAL.

  Gray wasn’t impressed. “Really? You gonna say that bull right to my face?”

  Owen centered his focus on Gray. “Emerson likes to study dangerous people. It makes sense that some of those people might develop an attachment to her. Case in point…” His stare raked over Gray.

  “I’m definitely dangerous. And attached. Good for you to realize it.”

  “Does Emerson realize it?”

  He wasn’t going to touch that, not yet. “Your extra guards saw someone tailing her, but you just thought that was—what? Recent psychos? That’s the story you’re going with? The woman just collects psychos the way some people collect stamps?” Did anyone even still collect stamps these days? Was that a thing? Collecting psychos certainly was not a thing.

  “Psychos.” Owen laughed. The sound held little amusement. “Is that really an appropriate, technical term for an FBI agent to use?”

  Gray shrugged. “It’s a term that I use for some jackass who gets off on terrorizing Emerson. You got a problem with it? With me? Prepare to be shocked, but I don’t really care.”

  Owen nodded. “I like you better than the weak-willed shrink she took up with a few years back.”

  “The one currently in town?”

  Owen gave a slight start.

  “Oh, didn’t you realize Nathaniel had come to Atlanta? Surprise, surprise, he’s here. Skulking around. The senator called him. Sent him running to do her bidding.”

  Owen’s gaze darted to the limo.

  “Your loyalties are with the senator,” Gray said. “Mine are with Emerson. Understand that. I can’t be bought. I can’t be bullied. I can’t be pressured. I’m not Nathaniel Hadaway.”

  “Duly noted.” Owen rolled back his shoulders. “Navy?”

  “Marines.”

  “Huh.”

  “Now that we’re acquainted tell me this…who all was on the property the night that Emerson’s father died?”

  Surprise flashed on Owen’s face. There one moment. Gone the next. “What?”

  “Who all was on the property the night her father died?” The question had been perfectly clear the first time.

  “Why the hell do you want to know that?” A definite edge.

  And that tells me there is more to that night than meets the eye. “Because I’m a curious bastard. Also a tad bit obsessive. A character flaw. My new obsession is Emerson, and I want to learn everything about her. Particularly about the incidents that have left a mark on her over the years. So I’ll repeat, third time being the charm and all of that, who all was on the property the night her father died?”

  Owen crossed his arms over his chest. “Ask Emerson.”

  “She was seven. I figured someone who’d been an adult at the time might have a stronger recollection.” He waited a beat. No answer was forthcoming. “So odd the way you won’t answer such a basic question for me.”

  “Fine. I’ll answer your question. But, in return, you have to answer one for me.”

  He caught sight of Rylan lingering near the entrance to the FBI office. Gray waved him on. After a brief hesitation, Rylan turned and entered the building. When Rylan was gone, Gray told Owen, “I’m feeling generous. Let’s make the trade.”

  “Maxine was there. Both of Maxine’s parents. Emerson. I was there. Two other guards.”

  “And no one tried to stop the man heading straight for the cliff’s edge, eh?”

  “You got one question. I didn’t say anything about answering two.”

  “You’re not even going to name the guards? That’s hardly fair.”

  “My turn.” Owen’s arms remained crossed over his chest. “Why are you obsessed with Emerson?”

  The limo door opened. Emerson appeared. Her face looked strained. Her eyes a bit sad. That was just unacceptable. Instantly, he was reaching for her. Taking her hand. Keeping hold of her. Time for them to get inside for their meeting.

  But Owen moved into his path. “I answered your question, Agent Stone. You really the kind of asshole who doesn’t keep his word?”

  “Gray is not an asshole,” Emerson hotly defended.

  And that was cute and all. It really was. But they both knew she was lying. “Of course, I’m an asshole, sweetheart. Pretty sure that’s one of the traits you secretly adore about me. But, in this instance, I am an asshole who intends to keep his word.” He inclined his head toward Owen. “Why am I obsessed with Emerson? Easy. She’s about to become my wife. What man isn’t obsessed with his bride?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Everyone’s a suspect. From the check-in clerk to the maids to the busy chefs at the on-site restaurants. Every person you see can be wearing a smiling mask but have a monster lurking on the inside. Stay on guard at all times.” – Gray Stone, right before his “honeymoon” trip with Emerson Marlowe

  “Our amenities include horseback riding, sailing, yoga at both sunrise and sunset, bicycle riding, skeet shooting, a world-class golf course, kayaking…” The concierge manager, Hannah McIntyre, stopped to clear her throat. “Although, as a honeymooning couple, you are certainly going to have as much privacy as you would like.”

  Emerson stood inside of the massive resort lobby. Marble floors. Gleaming chandeliers. And… “I’m sorry, but do I hear bagpipes playing?” They’d arrived at Sea Island, a private island off the southeastern coast of Georgia just thirty minutes ago. Right before they’d pulled in and Gray had handed off the car rental keys to a valet attendant, he’d slipped an engagement ring—with a mega diamond—and a wedding ring on her finger. The weight of the two rings was new, and it took considerable effort not to keep wiggling her finger.

  The bagpipe music drifted through the massive, open doors that seemed to lead out onto a balcony.

  Hannah beamed at her. “Yes, we have a nightly performance by our resident bagpiper.”

  A resident bagpiper?

  “He serenades our guests to mark the end of the day.”

  “Lovely,” Emerson murmured, and she meant it. The music was truly lovely, and if she and Gray weren’t there to track down a killer, she could certainly enjoy the performance.

  But…

  They were there to find a killer. They were in the beautiful, posh setting because someone was killing couples, and it was their job to stop that perp. My first undercover mission. The day had been a frantic blur of activity. Her mother’s unfortunate arrival. The meeting with the team. Packing and getting clothes to fit their new personas.

  Gray had vanished for a while. She had her suspicions about what he’d been doing. Maybe a meeting with Nathaniel? A meeting in which he told her ex to stay the hell away? But she hadn’t been able to question Gray about his disappearance because there had been files to read. Material to prepare. They’d had to get a rental car, get on the road and then…

  They’d arrived at their honeymoon destination.

  “I had a friend who stayed here about a year ago,” Gray announced. He flashed a smile at Hannah.

  Hannah’s own grin stretched more even as she leaned over the counter a bit toward him. Probably because Gray was using his meg-watt, extra charming grin.

  Still…He’s married, Hannah. Emerson wrapped her hand around Gray’s arm. She let that lovely diamond catch the light and flash.

  “My friend told me about another fun tradition that you have here,” Gray continued. “He said that honeymooners sign your registry?”

  “Oh, yes.” A quick nod from Hannah. “Our honeymooning guests have been signing our registry since 1940. We’ve had celebrities, we’ve had royalty…” She gave a little hum. “Names are inscribed in the bound books, and couples come back again and again over the years to pull out those books and see their signatures. I had one couple who celebrated their fiftieth anniversary recently! They wanted to see the book to search out their signatures from their time honeymooning with us. Brought their grandchildren with them.” A soft sigh. “This island is made for romance.”

  Well, if Gray’s suspicions were true, it was made for the deaths of certain romantic couples.

  “We have a book for each year,” Hannah informed them. “You’ll be in our current book, and who knows? Maybe fifty years from now, you’ll come back, too!” She brushed back a lock of her hair. “Over forty thousand couples have signed our registry.”

  Forty thousand. Okay. That was quite extensive. Emerson realized Gray had probably asked about the registry because he’d wanted to see if there might be more victims out there for the FBI to discover. And a registry with a list of all the honeymooning couples who’d visited would certainly provide them with a great resource to search out potential victims. But…

  Forty thousand? It would take some serious time to check back through that many people. And, surely, the killer hadn’t been attacking couples for years.

  But the registry would be a good way for a perp to find his prey. Almost like a menu item for the killer. Open a book, pick a couple, plan for them to die. “What, exactly, is included in the registry?” Emerson wanted to know. “Just the names?”

  “Names and towns.” Hannah nodded. “I’m actually in charge of the registry.” More than a hint of pride entered her voice.

  Well, crap. That was definitely like a menu for the killer. He would know which city his prey would be returning to—all the better to make the hunt easier.

  “You’ll sign before you leave the island. And maybe love will bring you back one day,” Hannah concluded brightly.

  “Maybe so,” Gray replied.

  “You’re in one of our best suites. Come, I’ll take you to your room and give you a quick tour on your way.”

  Perfect. Emerson was sure that she and Gray could use that time to grill the helpful concierge manager.

  “Justin?” Hannah waved toward a young man with black hair who waited nearby. “Bring their luggage up, will you?”

  Justin hurried from behind the luggage desk. He wore a dark blue uniform, and his gold name tag was placed above his heart.

  “They are our new honeymooners,” Hannah said. “Mr. and Mrs. Anderson.”

  Gray had chosen Anderson as a fake last name. Way better than Smith, in Emerson’s opinion, and there were still nearly eight hundred thousand people in the US with that last name.

  “They are in the Crystal Harmony Suite.” She pointed to the luggage.

  The Crystal Harmony Suite had been a deliberate choice. It had been the same suite that Cass’s friends, Anzo and Kim, had used on their anniversary trip.

  “May their love be eternal,” Hannah added as she beamed at them.

  Justin grabbed their luggage. “Right this way.”

  Gray lifted Emerson into his arms. Her sweet, sensual scent filled his nose even as she curled one arm around the back of his neck. Emerson laughed and smiled at him, and he tightened his grip on her because for one wild, crazy moment…

  I want this to be real.

  Hannah clapped. “Oh, how wonderful! I’ve got a fabulous feeling about you two! I know couples. I can always tell which ones have staying power, and you certainly have it. It’s in the eyes, you know. You can see when two people are meant to be. After taking over the honeymoon registry, I’ve become quite an expert about this thing. You two are meant to be.”

  He carried Emerson over the threshold. Didn’t let her go. Instead, with the door to their suite wide open and both Hannah and Justin watching, he lowered his head and kissed Emerson.

  Not a light, soft kiss. Screw that. Gray figured that he and Emerson wouldn’t have a light, soft kind of marriage. They would have the kind of marriage where he had to fight not to constantly rip off her clothes and fuck her everywhere. So he kissed her passionately. Mouths open. Tongue tasting.

  “Oh, ahem. Yes, well, I bet you two would like to be alone. There is some champagne chilling and strawberries waiting, and I’ll just close the door, shall I? Come along, Justin, let’s give this couple their privacy. Ring if you need anything at all!” Justin and Hannah retreated. The door closed.

  Click.

  He kissed Emerson a bit longer. Mostly just because he enjoyed tasting her.

  She kissed him back.

  It could be real…It could be.

  Then she pulled away.

  But, fuck it, it’s not real. Just an undercover mission that gave him a glimpse at a life he might be tempted to kill in order to possess. His head lifted. He did go right on holding Emerson.

  “Did she just say there was champagne in here?” Emerson inquired, ever-so-politely.

  “Um.”

  “Did you order the champagne?”

  “Yeah. Kinda something I do.”

  She stared into his eyes.

  He tried not to kiss her again. But her mouth was right there. Tempting. Perfect.

  “Something you do…” Emerson prompted, her voice a careful whisper, “when you are with all of your fake wives?”

  He smiled.

  “That’s lethal. You should be careful when you use that grin.”

  He carried her across the suite and sat her down right in the middle of the big, four-poster bed. “You’re lethal.” He meant that. She was extremely dangerous to him. “Stay there a second, would you, sweetheart?”

  Then he very thoroughly and methodically searched the room for any hidden surveillance material. Cameras. Bugs. Whatever. He was a suspicious sonofabitch. When he was certain the suite was clear, he returned to stand near the bed. And Emerson. “I’ve ordered champagne every time I’ve forced friends to go undercover. Always worked for them, so I figure, why the hell not?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “If you’re honeymooning and you don’t order champagne, it might look suspicious.” The champagne chilled in a bucket near the bed. Two tall flutes waited beside the bucket. “But at least there are no rose petals in here. Heard those can be a pain when they stick to your ass.”

  “What?” Her brow scrunched.

  He ran a finger down the bridge of his nose and remembered a particular conversation with his buddy Ronan. Ah, Ronan. A hitman turned devoted husband. That happened. A guy started playing pretend, and lines blurred. The next thing you knew…

  Your wife is pregnant, and she and your kid are the only things that matter in the world. Mostly because they are your world.

  Ronan had recently told Gray his good news about the baby. And maybe…hell, maybe…

  Am I envious?

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” Emerson asked. She scooted and sat on the edge of the bed. She crossed one leg over the other. Lazily kicked one high heel. Emerson and her heels. She truly had the sexiest shoes ever.