Evidence of Passion (Shadow Agents #7)(35)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Then he pulled from her. He stalked away from the alley that smelled of blood and death. He jumped in the SUV that he’d taken from headquarters earlier, and he spun out of the parking lot with a squeal of his tires.

* * *

RACHEL COULDN’T SPEAK because of the thick gag in her mouth. All she could do was listen to Jack as he taunted Dylan…and as the killer set the trap to lure him in.

When the call ended, Jack came back to her. She didn’t see the knife in his hand. He’d used it on her moments before he’d called Dylan.

“The agent said you were lovers.”

Rachel didn’t move. He was just a shadow before her. A big, hulking—

A bright light flashed on, illuminating the area. They were in…an office. One that looked as if it was under construction. There were gleaming windows to the left and fresh Sheetrock to the right. Rachel inhaled and caught the scent of—

The river? A faint breeze blew through the window, bringing that scent to her. Jack had said that Dylan needed to drive toward the harbor, and now she realized just how close she was to the water.

She could even hear the lapping of the river outside that window.

“Was he lying? Tell me, Rachel, was Agent Foxx lying?”

She nodded and stared up at him. He still had on the ski mask. All she could see were his eyes. Eyes that were burned into her memory.

The knife came up and pressed against the side of her face. She tensed.

But he just cut away the gag. It fell from her mouth, and Rachel licked her parched lips.

“Tell me,” Jack demanded. “Say it.”

“H-he was lying…”

He stumbled back.

“He was lying,” Rachel said again, her voice stronger.

Because she knew exactly what Jack would do if he didn’t think Dylan’s words were a lie.

“He was lying,” she whispered and she prayed that Jack believed her. Because if he didn’t…

Dylan and I could both be dead.

* * *

NOELLE WATCHED DYLAN rush away. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just go straight into danger.

Into death.

She realized that the EOD wasn’t like the FBI. The FBI was all about rules and regulations. Paperwork. Enough files and forms to choke her.

And the EOD…the agents there seemed to be on a constant adrenaline high. They loved the risk and the battles.

Being in the field was the work they craved.

“What’s wrong?”

It was his voice. Thomas Anthony. He was beside her. Not touching her. He was always so careful not to touch her.

But he seemed to watch her a lot. Noelle knew…because she found herself watching him, too.

“I need to speak with Mercer.” She had to tell him what was happening. All of the EOD agents had trackers implanted on them. When she told Mercer what was happening, they could activate Dylan’s tracker. Rachel’s hadn’t worked, but…Dylan’s will. “Dylan…he just got a call from Jack. He’s going after the killer, without backup.”

Thomas seemed to absorb that. But instead of immediately sprinting toward a car—and to go follow Dylan—he said, “Who says he needs backup? The man knows how to handle himself.”

Shocked, she could only shake her head. “He’s walking straight into the killer’s trap.”

“Dylan is hunting a man that he’s wanted to kill for years. It wouldn’t be wise to get in his path now.”

Noelle backed up a step. “Mercer can activate Dylan’s tracker. We can all follow the signal. Go in. Take Jack down.”

Thomas shook his head. “The instant that Jack sees anyone else there, what do you think he’ll do?”

She hesitated.

“Come on, profiler.” The title was almost a taunt. “Tell me, what will he do when he sees more agents?”

Her skin iced. “He’ll kill.”

“Who will he kill?”

“Dylan.” Thanks to the profile she’d created, she could see what would come all too easily. “If he thinks he can’t escape, Jack won’t go in alive.” He had a narcissistic personality, one that thrived on control. On power.

Prison would take that power from him.

In his last moments, Jack would want to assert himself. He’d want the end to be all about him. He wouldn’t live in a cage.

And he won’t let Rachel go again.

“He’ll kill Rachel,” she whispered. “Then himself.”

Thomas nodded “And that’s exactly why we don’t make the call to Mercer right now. We give Dylan time.”

But time to what? To kill?

Or to die?

Chapter Eight

The new building complex waited right on the waterfront. The scent of the river teased Dylan’s nose as he advanced.

The building was about three stories high. Dylan suspected that Jack would be up on the top floor. A better vantage point. A better spot to watch and see if Dylan followed orders.

This time, he had. With Rachel’s life on the line, Dylan wouldn’t take any chances.

Jack had called him during the drive over. He’d given him terse instructions so that Dylan would locate this exact building. There were quite a few new buildings going up near the harbor. And, this late at night, all of those spots were empty.

Perfect for Jack.

Dylan had listened. Then he’d followed.

Now he advanced toward the building. The main entrance was locked, so he kicked in the door.

The stairwell was dark. But he made his way up. One flight. Two. Three.

The heavy metal door swung open beneath his hands, and he slipped out onto the third floor. It was dark up there, the only light coming in from the moonlight that spilled through windows.

About ten windows lined the left wall. Half of them had already been framed and had glass set in place. The other five were just gaping rectangles that opened into the night.

A breeze blew against him. He had his gun in his hand, gripped tightly. His steps were soft. Careful.

Bright light flooded on above him.

Dylan froze.

“You did better this time,” a hard voice called out.

And then Dylan saw them.

A man stood to the left, positioned in front of a gaping rectangle that would one day be a window. A black ski mask covered his face. His left forearm curved around Rachel’s neck. And he had a gun pressed to her temple.

“This is the point when you drop your weapon,” Jack said.

Dylan put the weapon on the floor.

Jack laughed. “All of your weapons. I’m sure you have backups, right? A good EOD agent would. Probably a knife in your boot. Maybe another gun strapped to your ankle.”