Evidence of Passion (Shadow Agents #7)(10)
Author: Cynthia Eden

“We searched the apartment,” Rachel reminded him. “No one was there. His goal tonight wasn’t my death. He just wanted me to know he was here.”

So now she’d be looking over her shoulder. Wondering if he was close by, watching her.

But she wondered that already. When a man promised to kill you, well, that kind of promise left an impression on a woman.

“He got past your security.” Now Dylan was pacing. He did that when he plotted and planned—quick, tight pacing.

“We know he’s good. The guy’s practically a ghost.”

“He’s good.” Dylan’s lips tightened. “I’m better.” And he headed toward her.

Rachel couldn’t help it, she tensed at his approach.

But all Dylan said was, “Take my bed. I’ll bunk down on the couch. In the morning, we’ll get a plan going, and we will catch this guy.”

Oh, right. He hadn’t been coming over to kiss her. That had been a one-shot deal. Rachel wet her too-dry lips. For an instant, she could almost taste him. Stop it. Stay focused. “I can take the couch.” Dylan was six foot three. His legs would dangle over the end of that thing. He should take the king-size bed. She’d be fine on the couch.

“I want you in my bed.”

Her heart raced even faster. Still from the adrenaline.

His hand lifted, and he brushed back the hair that had fallen over her brow. “It’s going to get worse, Rachel. You know it is. Jack won’t go down easily. The man’s a vicious killer.”

And I once thought I was falling in love with him.

“You need rest. Good rest. Not the kind you’ll find on my lumpy couch.”

They’d watched TV on that couch plenty of times. Horror movies. Baseball games. They’d shared popcorn.

He never kissed me then.

Even though she’d wanted him to do it. She’d wanted his mouth on hers so many times.

“Rachel?” he prompted.

She realized that she was simply standing there, staring up at him. “Ah…you need rest, too. You won’t be able to sleep on the couch, either.”

His smile came then. She hadn’t expected it, and, as always, the sight of that slow, sexy grin made her stomach twist. “Now, Rachel,” he murmured, “are you inviting me to share my bed with you?”

Her breath caught. She felt fire sting her cheeks. “Take the couch.” Rachel whirled and nearly ran into his bedroom.

His soft laughter followed her.

That laughter…it made her feel safe. But then, Dylan had a way of usually making her feel safe. He had from the very beginning. When she’d looked up in that nightmare, when blood had soaked her, he’d been there.

I’m going to take care of you. And he had. He’d stayed with her in the hospital, then later trained her at the EOD. He’d gone on every mission with her.

Dylan was her best friend. She’d forgive him for following Mercer’s orders. A temporary mess-up.

Tomorrow they’d get back to working as a team.

Rachel hurriedly undressed and pulled back the covers. No playing card waited for her this time.

She slid beneath the sheets. They were cool, and the bed smelled of him. Rachel inhaled, drinking in that crisp scent. She pulled the covers up to her chin.

The bed was too big, and Dylan—even though he wasn’t in the room—seemed to fill the space.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm her heartbeat.

* * *

DYLAN STARED AT the closed bedroom door.

He finally had Rachel in his bed.

Only he wasn’t occupying it with her. It figured that would be his luck.

He grabbed some blankets and a spare pillow from his closet then he did his best to bunk down on the couch. Rachel had been right. His legs dangled off the end of that thing.

But comfort wasn’t exactly high on his list of priorities. Taking care of Rachel, that ranked right up at the top of his to-do list.

He shoved a fist into the pillow, trying to plump it up. Fury still heated his blood. The maniac had been in her apartment. In her home.

Had Jack still been near the scene when Rachel and Dylan returned to her place? Watching from a distance?

What if Rachel had gone home alone? Would Jack have tried to make contact with her?

Not on my watch. The guy would discover that Rachel was much better protected this time around. Jack wouldn’t get close to her.

The killer would be captured. Locked up.

And then you won’t ever see Rachel again, Jack.

* * *

RACHEL HAD A NEW LOVER.

Rage built within Jack as he stared up at the dark building. Rachel had vanished in there with the other EOD agent, Dylan Foxx.

Jack knew all about the EOD. They’d been hunting him for years, so he’d done his best to learn all their secrets.

He knew Rachel had joined them. Because of me. Even as he’d fled the U.S., the EOD had recruited her, and his Rachel had only been too eager to join them.

Her first mistake.

And Jack could forgive one mistake.

But two? Two mistakes?

Mistake number two is sleeping with Dylan Foxx. Rachel should know better. She’d promised to be his.

A second mistake deserved punishment. Poor Rachel. But she had a lesson to learn.

His hand lifted and his fingers lightly stroked the scar under his T-shirt. Rachel’s mark. She’d hit him with her bullet, but just like him, she hadn’t aimed for the heart.

Because Rachel knew the truth, just as he did. They were meant to be together. Two halves of a very, very perfect whole. She was the only one who could complete him.

He turned from the building, hunching his shoulders. Dylan Foxx had made a fatal mistake. The man had touched Rachel, kissed her, right there on the street. For all to see.

And I saw.

Until that moment, Jack had thought that the two were just friends. He’d kept such a careful watch on Rachel over the years. A watch she never even realized.

She’d had no lovers. So I was told.

But now, things had changed for Rachel. That change just wouldn’t do. Rachel could only have one lover—and that lover will be me.

Dylan Foxx would need to be eliminated.

Hmmm…perhaps his elimination would be Rachel’s punishment. When Dylan Foxx died before her, Rachel would realize just what a serious mistake she’d made.

Jack whistled as he headed deeper into the night.

* * *

A POUNDING ON his door woke Dylan hours later. He kicked away the covers and, clad only in a pair of jeans, he stomped toward the door. A quick glance out the peephole showed him the identity of his visitor.

Growling in disgust, Dylan yanked open the door. “What do you want?” he demanded.