Then Emerson tipped her head back. Those plump, red lips of hers curved just the slightest bit, as if she’d enjoyed tasing the asshole. Slivers of dark hair slid over her high cheekbones, and she blinked her big, bright blue eyes at him. Sapphire blue. Yeah, fine, maybe he’d looked up that exact shade because her eyes were so distinct. His buddy Tyler had blue eyes, but they looked nothing like Emerson’s. Emerson’s eyes stared straight into your soul.

  “He wasn’t freezing,” Emerson murmured. “So I stopped him.” She frowned down at the shaking man. “Did I stop him too hard?”

  Gray bounded toward her. Put himself between Emerson and the still trembling perp. Then he snapped the second cuff around Jake’s left wrist even as the man bellowed and threatened and started screaming that Emerson would be next.

  The hell she will, you bastard. You will never touch her again.

  “You’ll pay, bitch! You’ll pay! I’ll fill you with so many h-holes that you’ll be begging me to stop. You’ll cry and bleed, and I w-won’t care. Just like the others—you’ll end up in a shallow grave, and no one will care! I’ll throw you away like the garbage that y-you are!” Some of Jake’s words shook and stuttered with his trembles.

  Every muscle in Gray’s body locked down as he glared at the monster on the floor of that garage. One squeeze of the trigger, and there is one less nightmare in the world.

  “Don’t.” For Gray’s ears alone. Emerson’s low, husky voice. Her soft fingers fluttered down his back and sent a weird, electric charge cascading through him in the wake of her light caress. It was a charge he felt every single time they touched. Hugely problematic.

  But, then again, this was Emerson. Everything with her was problematic.

  His breath huffed out. “You get to tase people, but I have to hold back?” In what world was that fair? Oh, wait, he knew. The world where he’d been forced to take on a partner he didn’t want.

  “You got to shoot him once already.”

  He had.

  “And we both just got his confession.” Her fingers fluttered over Gray’s back one more time.

  His teeth snapped together.

  “Let’s call it a win, shall we?” Emerson murmured.

  His head turned toward her. He towered over Emerson, even when she wore her heels. The woman always seemed to wear heels. Even at the most inopportune of times. “He had a screwdriver shoved under your chin. That’s not a win.” Not by any definition. Anger rumbled in each word. “That’s an assault.”

  Her eyes widened as she searched his gaze. “Grayson?”

  He’d told her over and over again to call him Gray. Just Gray. “It’s not a win.” Flat. “It’s the last mistake he’ll ever make.”

  Gray thought she’d back away from him.

  She didn’t. Emerson stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

  The hell, no, he wasn’t. “His last mistake,” Gray gritted out, “and yours, too. Consider our partnership over.”

  And, for the first time, real horror filled her gaze. She hadn’t been horrified when she’d been grabbed by the serial killer. Hadn’t looked horrified—or even particularly afraid when the freak had shoved that screwdriver beneath her chin but now…

  Now…

  Horror flashed in her incredible eyes.

  So did fear.

  Then she shook her head. Squared her shoulders and said, very, very definitely, “We’re not over, Grayson.”

  “Gray.” Fuck. How many times did he have to tell her? Gray. If she called him Grayson and she was Emerson, they were too fucking sing-songy with their names. Too coupley. Too—ah, fuck it. “Gray.”

  The serial killer at their feet began to whimper. Somewhere in the distance, sirens screamed. Emerson ignored everything else as she stared straight into Gray’s eyes and promised him, “We’re just beginning.”

  Chapter Two

  “Hell, no, I don’t want a partner. Someone to get in my way? Slow me down? Piss me off? Someone I have to hand-hold every single minute? Sounds like hell. Thanks, but no thanks.

  I work best alone. So…fuck off.”

  – Gray Stone, FBI Agent

  Emerson Marlowe paced the small confines of her motel room. One foot in front of the other. Over and over. She reached the wall on the right, the one with the peeling paint and the slightly lopsided picture of a sunflower in the middle of it. She stared at the sunflower. Turned on her heel. Marched back across the room. Her heels made no sound as they tapped across the threadbare carpeting, but an air-conditioner—a window unit—hummed from nearby. She was in a small Tennessee town. Briar, Tennessee.

  She’d helped stop a serial killer. Helped create the profile on the man. Helped to locate him after she’d been so certain that he worked at a car repair shop. All of the victims had recently had repairs done to their vehicles, and, of course, add in the element that they’d also been found with oil and grease residue on their bodies…

  Tied to a garage. To a mechanic. Had to be.

  But the women had used different garages, so it had taken a bit of time to narrow things down. And then they’d realized that the second victim, Tara Grush, had actually broken down on the side of the road and a “Good Samaritan” had helped her to change her tire and then they’d⁠—

  A hard knock sounded at the door to her right. Emerson stopped mid-pace. Step number thirteen. Yes, she’d counted. She still counted when she was stressed, and it had been a very stressful day.

  The knock hadn’t come from the door that led outside of her room. Oh, no, it had come from the connecting door—as in, the door that connected her room to Grayson’s. Gray. Gray. She was supposed to call him Gray.

  Emerson turned. Stared at the door.

  He knocked again. More impatient. More demanding. Typical impatience from him.

  She’d known this visit would come. Night had fallen. They’d spent hours at the garage, talking with local law enforcement, collecting evidence, and making sure that nothing could be screwed up when it came to Jake Waller’s case. The gleaming lock on the toolbox had been removed, and, inside, they’d found trophies from the victims. Jewelry…and thick locks of hair. Talk about something that would be an easy DNA comparison. The local cops had been shocked to discover the local man they knew was a serial killer. Most of them—and their family members—went to Jake Waller’s garage for vehicle repairs.

  Gray had been adamant that they keep eyes on the prisoner. Jake had been transported to a nearby hospital because of the bullet wound in his shoulder, but Gray had arranged for both a local field agent from the FBI and a police officer to stay with the perp at all times.

  Gray knocked again. Even harder. “Emerson, I know you’re in there.” The doorknob jiggled. “Open up, or else I’ll just pick the lock and come inside.”

  Would he? Curious, she found herself walking toward the connecting door. The lock was incredibly flimsy. A child could probably pick it.

  “Emerson.” A deep, rough rumble.

  One that she clearly heard through the door. The doors, the walls—the motel was paper thin. A shiver slid over her because there was something about Gray’s voice. A dark, dangerous allure that called to her.

  Get it together, woman. He’s your training partner. Not your lover. No matter what kind of awesome fantasies and dreams she might have late at night. They were not involved romantically. Physically. Their relationship was just business. Gray was certainly not interested in anything more.

  The man had literally called her the bane of his existence. Like that hadn’t stung.

  Her hand reached out. Flipped the lock. Yanked open the door.

  And, typical Gray, he filled the doorway. Big, powerful. Too tall. Too muscled. Still wearing his white dress shirt, but he’d ditched his suit coat. His sleeves were rolled up, the collar of the dress shirt undone, and he was⁠—

  Barefoot?

  She frowned at his feet. Was it weird to think that the man had oddly attractive feet?

  “Emerson.”

  Her gaze jumped back to his face. “You’re not wearing shoes.” Usually, Gray was perfectly attired. He liked fancy suits. He liked expensive clothes. He liked his gleaming dress shoes.

  “They had the perp’s blood on them.”

  She nodded. “Because you shoved your foot onto his shoulder and made him scream.”

  A muscle flexed along his clenched jaw. His chin tilted down slightly as he stared at her. His eyes—his eyes were a swirling mix that fell somewhere between gold and brown. In the light, they always appeared more golden, but as soon as shadows crept around, his gaze would go so very dark.

  Sometimes, she could also almost swear his eye color seemed to change with Gray’s emotions. When he was angry, his gaze went extremely dark.

  It was dark right then.

  “My shoes were taken as evidence. I have a backup pair, don’t worry, but I didn’t think it mattered what the hell I wore when I paid you this break-up visit.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “We are not breaking up.” First, they weren’t a couple. Since they weren’t a couple, they could not break up. She took a step closer to him. Even without his shoes, he still towered over her. An annoying trait. She’d always wanted to be taller. Since nature had not seen fit to help her out in that department, she wore her heels as often as she could.

  “Oh, Emerson, we are, in fact, breaking up.” He also took a step forward. Since they’d already been close, his step pretty much had their bodies brushing. Maybe an inch separated them. She could practically feel the heat from his body reaching out to wrap around her. His scent—rich, masculine, and, dammit, sexy—tempted her.

  But, then again, everything about Gray tempted her.

  Unfortunately.

  She kept her chin up. Kept her spine ramrod straight. “You are not going to intimidate me.”

  “I’m not trying to intimidate you.”

  Emerson almost snorted at the denial. “Yes, you are. You’re in my space. You’re towering over me⁠—”

  “Everyone towers over you.”

  “They do not. I am an absolutely normal height for a woman.” She would have just liked to be taller, but she was normal. “You’re coming in here, with your shirt unbuttoned and looking all se—” Wow. Stop. Red light. Serious, red light. Flashing red. She had almost called him sexy. Out loud. To his face. Her eyes widened in quick shock before she whirled away from him.

  Get it together.

  One, two, three, four, five…she hurriedly took steps to put some distance between them. Six, seven, eight⁠—

  The connecting door clicked closed behind her. “Looking all…what? Don’t think I caught that last descriptor,” Gray said. “Please, do not leave a man in suspense.”

  She spun toward him. Glared.

  “My shirt is unbuttoned—the top three buttons—because it’s been one long-ass day.” He rolled back his shoulders. “See, I was forced to take on this partner who had zero actual training.”

  Her hands clenched at her sides. She worked hard to keep her control in place. Truly, she did. She’d worked hard to get along with Gray. But the man was about to push her too far. “I have some training.”

  “You’re not an FBI agent.”

  “I went to Quantico⁠—”

  “For some bullshit special program that your senator mom created just for you. She pulled strings, she shoved you down the Bureau’s throat, and now you’re the unavoidable pain in my ass.”

  Okay, that was the third time he’d called her a pain in the ass. Yes, she’d counted. Her teeth snapped together. “You’re not exactly sunshine and champagne.”

  He blinked. A hint of a smile curved his lips. Only that smile—or what could have been a smile—immediately vanished. “You didn’t follow orders at the garage.”

  The man loved orders. He issued them non-stop. “Were you a drill sergeant?”

  He stared at her.

  “I know you were a Marine. The way you love to bark orders makes me think you must have been a drill sergeant. You have that whole vibe about you.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The term is drill instructor. When you’re talking about Marines, they’re called drill instructors.” Flat. “Drill sergeants are in the Army.”

  “Oh.” She had not known that.

  “I was Marine, all the way. Semper Fi. A Marine, not a soldier. And, no, I was not a drill instructor. What I did is classified, and I don’t share that information.”

  She blinked. “Not even with a partner?”

  “I did not ask for a partner.” His hand dropped back to his side. “Especially not one who nearly got herself killed this evening.”

  Now she couldn’t help it, Emerson snorted.

  He blinked. “What in the hell did you just do?”

  Now she rolled her eyes. “I was in zero danger of dying. You had your gun on the perp the whole time.”

  He took a slow, stalking step toward her. “Jake Waller had a screwdriver shoved beneath your chin.”

  She didn’t need the unnecessary recap. “Yes, I know. I still have the mark to prove it.”

  Something happened to him with those words. His gaze went flat. Hard. Brutally cold and even darker. “What?” he rasped.

  Hadn’t he known that the tool had left a mark? “Not a big deal. Barely more than a scratch. It was photographed, and an EMT treated me while you were talking on the phone.” The brief treatment that had been completely unnecessary, by the way.

  He advanced on her with a hard, angry stride. She held her ground, sucked in a breath, and waited to see what new insult he’d hurl her way.

  Only, he didn’t insult her. Gray stopped right in front of her. One big hand reached out, he caught her chin, bent toward her, and as he angled her chin up even more with a touch that was oddly gentle and incredibly careful, he growled, “Bastard. Why the hell didn’t you let me put a bullet in his brain?” His fingers brushed lightly over the mark. Not a scratch really. The screwdriver hadn’t broken the skin. A purplish bruise.

  She’d always bruised easily.

  His careful touch was doing strange things to her. But, full disclosure, she tended to have that reaction whenever they touched. Her heart raced. Her breath came faster. Tension pooled within her and…

  I get turned on.

  Definitely not the reaction she was supposed to have to her growly partner.

  She hurriedly stepped back.

  His hand lingered in the air for a moment before falling. Fisting at his side.

  “We don’t put bullets in the brains of our suspects.” She thought her voice sounded suitably crisp. Points for her.

  “Jake Waller killed three women that we know about, Emerson. You and I both suspected there were more. Based on all those trophies, we were right. Hopefully, we’ll get him to reveal more about his vics. You saw the trophy case—uh, trophy toolbox. There was a whole lot of jewelry in that case. Lots of carefully preserved hair locks. More than would belong to just three vics.”

  Yes, he was right on that score. But she was also right. “You’re not the bad guy. You don’t get to pull the trigger unless it’s necessary.”

  His brows rose. “Sounds to me like you’re the one giving orders.” A negative shake of his head. “That’s not how our relationship works.”

  So, they had a relationship now, did they? Interesting. Maybe it was time to cut through the BS and get to the heart of the matter. “What is your problem with me?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Oh, she thought he’d heard her just fine. But she’d be clearer. Louder. “You’ve given me grief since the moment we met.” He had. They’d met in person for the first time in a Mississippi jail. He’d been less than impressed with her then. And, apparently, he still was. “I’m good at profiling. I know killers. I found Waller’s trophy box in about five seconds. You should be thanking me.” She nodded. Her careful control might have started to crack. The tiniest bit. Her hands flew to her hips. “Instead, you’re here, doing your big, bad wolf impression.”

  His dark brows flew up. “Say that again?”

  “You’re huffing and puffing and threatening to dissolve our partnership.”

  “You were supposed to stay in the car.” His eyes glittered at her. “You are not an FBI agent. You’re a freelancer who should not be in the field. When I give an order, it’s not for shits and giggles. The orders are to keep you safe. To keep you alive. But if I can’t count on you to follow even the simplest of directives, how am I supposed to trust you?”

  She didn’t need him to hold her hand every second of the day. Or to encase her in bubble wrap. She understood the risks of the job. “I’ve had self-defense classes.”

  His teeth snapped together.

  “I know how to fire a gun. Though you haven’t given me one to use in the course of our investigations yet.”

  “Because you are not an FBI agent,” he repeated. “You got the gig because your senator mom pulled strings and shoved you down my throat. It was either accept you and start babysitting duty or get my ass demoted.”

  Now she blinked. She could feel heat stinging her cheeks. She hadn’t known her mother had used her influence that intensely. She had not realized that Gray had been told if he didn’t accept her as his temporary partner, he’d lose his job. “I’m sorry.” Brittle. She whirled away. Hurried for her bag. Grabbed her phone. “I’ll get this sorted out immediately.” She dialed her mother. Pressed the phone to her ear and heard the rings. One. Two. Three. “You should never have been faced with the possibility of losing your job—wait!”

  He’d just plucked the phone from her. Ended the call. Now he frowned at her. A faint line cut between his brows. “You didn’t know about the demotion bit, huh? That was news to you?”

  Miserable, embarrassed, she shook her head. The burn in her cheeks was even stronger. Not only did my mother twist arms at the Bureau in order to get me the position, she literally threatened Gray. “No wonder you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. Things would probably be one hell of a lot easier if I did. But then again, I’ve never been one for easy. Easy is boring.”

  The phone rang in his grip.