The next time he fucked her, the shoes were staying on. “Just what way am I looking at you?”

  Her lips pursed. “You’re not doing it anymore. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  He shouldn’t have been looking at her like she was his dream. This situation was about business. About victims. Not about him and his fantasies with Emerson. “Our second couple—Zac and River Turner—gave us an agenda to follow.”

  She nodded. “You mentioned in the briefing today that River posted her activities to her social media profiles.”

  “Right. So we’re going to do exactly what River did. The sunrise yoga. The stand-up paddleboarding. You, not me. River’s husband never got near the water. He just watched from the beach. I’ll do the same.”

  Emerson winced. “Paddleboarding. I’m sure I won’t wind up even a little soaked.”

  “Then there’s the spa. River specifically mentioned a masseuse named Angel in one of her social media posts. But we can’t start all this work until tomorrow. It’s our honeymoon night. If we’re suddenly hot and heavy on the activities, it might raise suspicions. After all, we are supposed to be deeply, deeply in love.” He put his hands on the edge of the bed, on either side of her hips. He leaned in close to her. “I’m not supposed to be able to keep my hands off you.”

  She glanced down. “They are not touching me.”

  No, they were not. But he very much wanted them to be touching her.

  “Rylan is on the grounds,” Gray said because he hadn’t given her this update yet. “He checked in an hour ago.”

  Her gaze was still on his hands.

  “Agnes and Trinity will be arriving a bit later. Their cover is that they are on a ladies’ getaway. Rylan is here under the guise of participating in a golf tournament.” Gray paused. “And Malik is holed up close by. Keeping out of sight, but he’ll come forward if we need him. He’ll be our primary tech support while we are at the resort.” Made sense because Malik was a freaking tech genius. The guy wanted more field time, but his skills with computers were pretty damn priceless.

  “You said none of the attacks actually happened here. The couples were all killed shortly after leaving the resort and returning home.” She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “So we should be safe here. I mean, that’s even provided that we attract the killer’s attention.”

  “Sweetheart, you attract attention wherever you go.” To be clear.

  “Is that a compliment? Or a criticism?”

  “You’re fucking beautiful, and you know it.”

  She smiled at him. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

  No, it wasn’t sweet. Maybe it would have been sweet if he’d left out the “fucking” part, but he hadn’t. Because he was gruff and rude, and he felt too big as he towered over her. Too big, too…wrong. Everything in his life seemed to have been about violence and pain, and Emerson—she needed something good. Something to light the shadows that came so often to her eyes. But he wasn’t light. He wasn’t good.

  He also damn well wasn’t going to give her up. So, yeah, he was a bastard. He’d never claimed to be otherwise.

  Emerson studied him. “Would you like for me to tell you that I think you’re fucking handsome?”

  Her words caught him by surprise.

  “Because you are.”

  “Emerson.”

  “Gray.” Her hand rose. Pressed over his heart.

  Back away. Back. Away. He started to retreat.

  Her hand fisted in his shirtfront. “So we’re going to stay here all night? Pretend to be newlyweds who can’t keep their hands off each other as we wreck this suite?”

  That was one option. But… “When things quiet down at the resort, probably after midnight, we’re sneaking out. We’ll investigate the entire property. We’ll start by assessing all of the locations that River documented on her honeymoon trip.”

  “Oh, Gray, you have the best honeymoon ideas.”

  She wasn’t mocking him. She was dead serious. Excitement gleamed in her eyes. That was the thing about Emerson. She loved the hunt just as much as he did.

  And he loved that about her.

  Fucking hell. Gray’s breath hissed out. His hands clenched around the covers.

  “Gray?” Worry crinkled her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

  He shot away from the bed. Away from her. “Time to review the case files.” He backed up. Fast. A couple more extra steps.

  “Now?”

  “Now.” A thousand times now. “You need to become more familiar with the couples. Their backgrounds. Their relationships. You heard our friendly concierge manager. Over forty thousand honeymooners have swept into this place over the years. Why were our victims chosen from among them? What made them stand out? I want your take on their lives. You profile the victims. See what’s made them stand out.” He glanced at his watch. “We have a good four hours for review before I want to start searching the grounds. We have a job to do. Time to do it.” His head turned back toward her.

  She sat straight up on the bed. “A job. Right. That’s what we have.”

  Aw, hell. Now that was not what he’d meant. At least, not exactly. “Emerson…”

  She rose. A whole lot slower than he had. “Something scared you.”

  Yeah, you scared me. Not what he would admit. Ever.

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  He did not. Time for distraction. “Want to tell me how the rest of the conversation went with the senator once I left the limo?”

  She hesitated near the bed. “Pretty much how you’d imagine. She told me I was wasting my time. That you were using me. That I’d be in danger if I went into the field with you. That this was not the life I needed.” A pause. “And that you were not the man I needed.”

  That was just annoying. “And why not?”

  “You’re too dangerous. Too unpredictable.”

  So a guy had a few character quirks. Was that the end of the world?

  “I told her that you were exactly what I needed. But then again, I knew that before we met. It’s why I worked so hard to get you to be my partner.”

  And damn if a warm, freaking, weird glow didn’t start to spread through him because Emerson had just said he was exactly what she needed. Okay, okay, maybe he didn’t have to be so hesitant with her. Maybe⁠—

  “You’re a legend when it comes to profiling. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I actually came to a few of your lectures at Quantico over the years. Pulled some strings of my own, and I’d slip into some of the classes you conducted with the new recruits. You’re really quite brilliant when it comes to entering a killer’s mind. The last talk I saw of yours was actually a visiting lecture you did with grad students at Tulane. You were discussing why some serials don’t actually have a cooling off period—because the rush from the kill is so comparable to the high of drugs and that they come to need it all the time after a certain point. Their tipping points. Interesting talk.”

  Emerson didn’t want him for his body. She wanted him because he knew killers. Right. Check. “Sweetheart…” Gray let the endearment slide out because he could always claim it was just part of the cover. “Have you been stalking me?”

  She remained by the edge of the bed.

  “A little bit, you have, huh? Because you wanted to pick apart my mind.” He turned away. “Well, let’s see how your mind is spinning tonight. The files are on the laptop that the helpful bellhop delivered for us.”

  “I wanted to pick apart your mind. I also wanted to jump your body.”

  He stilled. “Your honesty can be surprising.”

  “Would you prefer I lie?”

  “No. Too many other people already do that.”

  “Agree. So how about we both be honest with each other? You’re retreating from me. Why?”

  He didn’t look back at her. “Because we have a job to do.” He should say more. She’d given him honesty. He should do the same. But if he said he was trying not to fuck her senseless…nope, not real tactful. Time to change the conversation. “By the way, Nathaniel Hadaway swears that he only entered your condo when you opened the door for him.”

  “You went to have a talk with him. I knew it.”

  “Then you were correct. I went to have a talk with him,” Gray confirmed. Like he would have left Atlanta without having an intent one-on-one with his new arch enemy. “Nathaniel said he didn’t sneak in and break the mirrors. Claimed he had no idea that anything bad had happened at your place.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I believe that we understand each other.” Nathaniel had been sweating bullets. “I think my reputation precedes me with Nathaniel. He was shaking in his loafers.”

  She rushed toward him. Her heels tapped on the hardwood floor. Her fingers lifted and curled around his shoulder.

  As usual, that touch of hers swept through his whole body. Yep, that’s not gonna change. Fucking her did nothing to ease my attraction. Quite the contrary. Fucking Emerson had only made him want her more. Because he knew how fantastic they would be together.

  “What did you say to him?” Emerson asked.

  “Oh, the usual.” He angled his body toward her. Stared down at Emerson.

  She waited. Didn’t blink.

  Fine. He’d give her a few more details. “Come near my lady, and I will destroy you.”

  Her lips parted.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t threaten physical violence, though, seriously, we both know I could take him.”

  “Gray.”

  “I just mentioned that I didn’t like cheaters. I really don’t. He tried to cheat the academic world. He betrayed you. I simply said that if he’d done it once, then I suspect he’s pulled that stunt before. I could dig. I’d find the truth, and whatever reputational clout he still has left in the academic world? I’d make it vanish. Along with that book deal he was bragging about.” Simple. Done.

  “You know exactly what he fears.”

  Sure. He turned toward her a little bit more. His hand rose. Cupped her chin. “That’s the trick, isn’t it? You have to find out what someone wants—what the individual truly wants above everything else.” His thumb brushed lightly along her lower lip. He’d crushed that mouth beneath his own the previous night. And that mouth had been on his dick. Hesitant. So eager. So amazing. “You discover what a person wants the most. Then, threaten to take it away. Because what someone wants most? That thing is also the person’s weakness. You want it so badly that not having it?” He dropped his hand. Took a step away. “Not having it can wreck you.” His head inclined toward the laptop bag that waited near the door with their other luggage. “Time to review files. We’ve got a busy night ahead of us.”

  “What do you want most, Gray?”

  You. His gaze remained on the laptop bag. “To put away as many killers as I can. So let’s hunt this asshole before anyone else dies just because they have the misfortune of being in love.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I don’t remember much about the night my father died. It was storming. I could hear thunder rumbling over and over again. I-I was scared, so I went looking for my dad. I couldn’t find him anywhere. Actually, I couldn’t find anyone, not at first.”

  – Emerson Marlowe

  For a honeymoon, there was a surprising amount of no sex.

  Emerson crept behind Gray as they snuck around the sprawling resort property. They’d spent the last few hours reviewing the case files. Working silently. Not touching.

  Okay, so fine. She’d expected sex on their pretend honeymoon. She got it was an undercover assignment. Understood. But after the previous night, after the way they’d burned up the bed together, she’d thought…

  What did I think? That we would pick up where we left off?

  Not happening. Clearly. Because Gray was…not interested? Because he’d only wanted one time with her? Because…

  She’d disappointed him?

  Emerson had a million questions swirling in her mind, but she kept her lips clamped shut as they maneuvered around the property. Gray had already given her schematics for the resort. They’d seen plenty of maps and layouts online. But he’d still insisted on walking the territory himself.

  She wasn’t even sure what he was looking for.

  Three couples were dead. Three, out of over forty thousand.

  The first couple, Kris and Wendy Prichard, had honeymooned on the island just a little over a year ago. They’d been high school sweethearts. Gone to college together. Got married shortly after graduation. Seemingly, they’d had an idyllic honeymoon. They’d gone home and, two days later, they’d died in a car accident.

  Not some brutal murder. An accident. Or, so the police on scene had thought at the time.

  But Gray had gotten access to a report that indicated the vehicle’s brakes had been useless on the night of Kris and Wendy’s deaths. Despite that revelation, a revelation their own investigation had uncovered, the local cops had clung tightly to the accident theory. Brakes went out. Tragic events happened. There’d been only a minimal investigation. Until now.

  Couple number two on Gray’s list—that would be Zac and River Turner. It had been Zac’s second marriage. River’s first. He’d been a doctor. She’d been an artist. They’d honeymooned at the island about four months prior. River’s social media had been full of happy pictures from the resort. Sunrise yoga. Stand-up paddleboarding. Spa relaxation. Even a pic of River riding a horse on the beach as she grinned from ear to ear. Everything had seemed perfect.

  Then they’d gone home. Two days later—two days—they’d been killed while they were on a morning jog together. Both attacked and brutally stabbed as they ran. Zac had died right there on the running trail. River had made it to the hospital. And only that far. She’d died in the ER.

  The cops on that case had no leads. River and Zac had been running in a park right before six a.m. No witnesses. No leads.

  Until now. Until Gray. Until he’d taken the case because of Cassius. And that led them to the third couple.

  Anzo and Kim. Kim had been a cop. Anzo had been part of Cassius’s MC. Kim and Anzo had first met when she’d been investigating the motorcycle club. Only instead of arresting the guy for anything, Kim had married Anzo. From the photos that Emerson had seen, the two had looked wildly in love.

  Anzo had gotten out of the MC after his marriage. He’d stayed out, stayed busy opening up a series of restaurants, for five years. Then he and Kim had returned to Sea Island for their anniversary. If you looked at their photos, you would think they’d been deliriously happy. The perfect couple.

  Sure, expressions could be faked. It was so easy to look happy in the two seconds that it took to snap a pic. But…

  I saw the videos, too. Videos from their small wedding ceremony five years ago. Videos that had been taken on their honeymoon. Kim’s father had paid for their honeymoon—their first trip to Sea Island.

  For the anniversary trip, Anzo had proudly footed the bill. Had splurged hard on his wife and ordered all the bells and whistles for the trip. An adoring Anzo had followed his wife everywhere around the resort, always having his phone at the ready, and recorded videos had caught him telling her that he was “the luckiest bastard in the world.”

  After the weeklong trip, Anzo and Kim had gone home. Two days later—because it was always two days as Emerson had discovered when she studied the files—they’d been dead. Anzo had been shot with his wife’s gun. One that she had then seemingly turned on herself.

  Except…

  There had been no gunshot residue on her fingers. And, in fact, two of her fingers had been broken. As if the person who’d shoved the gun into her hand had used far too much force. He’d snapped her pinky and ring finger. Plus, he’d put the gun in the wrong hand. It had been found in Kim’s right hand.

  She’d been a lefty.

  All points that Emerson had learned Cassius had made to Gray in order to plead his case. Cassius had actually done the digging to find the previous two couples, as well. He’d put it all together because the deaths had occurred in different cities, with different cops investigating.

  That was why it had been so easy to overlook the crimes. Different places, different types of kills. Especially the first, staged to look like an accident.

  “Emerson, are you paying attention to anything I am saying?”

  Her gaze had been on the stand-up paddleboard rental booths that waited down on the beach. She’d gotten lost for a moment, imagining Kim smiling at Anzo as she balanced perfectly on the board. He’d filmed her doing that. And… “I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.’”

  He had been lucky. Until the end.

  “I was thinking about the vics,” she said, replying a bit too quickly. But she had been thinking about the victims and feeling so very sad for them all. Lives cut short just when they should have been at their happiest.

  Gray grunted. “For the moment, how about you stay focused on us?”

  She frowned at him. They’d already crept past two of the pool areas, then edged around the tennis court and the pickleball areas. Nothing out of the ordinary had jumped out at them. “What is it, exactly, that we’re looking for in the middle of the night?” Everything was dead quiet. She hadn’t even seen security guards patrolling the grounds.

  “I’ll know it when I see it,” he muttered. He turned and stalked forward.

  “Oh, that’s clear.” She advanced and plowed right into him when he spun around. His hands rose up and clamped around her shoulders.

  She wasn’t wearing her heels. Heels hardly went well with sand, so she’d traded them for flat sandals that strapped around her feet. A billowy skirt. A soft blouse. Meanwhile, Gray was clad all in black. He blended perfectly with the night.

  “I don’t know what we’re looking for,” he added, voice carrying just to her. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t search.”

  Okay. Again, not clear. “Is this going to be a gut-instinct type of situation?”

  His hold tightened on her. “I had to fight for this case at the Bureau. The kills are too scattered. Victims in different states. Different methods of death. If Cass hadn’t come to me, so very certain of his friend’s murder, so certain that Kim hadn’t killed her husband, the perp would still be flying under the radar. I don’t even know if there are more vics. No judge is gonna give me warrants to search here—the ties are too flimsy to order a full search of the resort. And the resort owner will lawyer up way too fast when he finds out what is happening. So you and I have to investigate as best we can. We have to look for something that doesn’t belong. Something that might point us in the right direction.”