His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(15)
Author: Shayla Black

“You mean besides the fact that I’ve already told you I’m busting my ass to save you? If I wanted to torture you to a slow death, why would I show you my intentions first so you’d fight me more?”

“I don’t know! If you’re a deranged killer, you’re not exactly logical.”

He shook his head, looking as if he were grappling for patience. “Let’s just say that I work for a government agency and that I’m the one wearing the white hat in this scenario. I generally try to avoid bodies, unless they belong to bad guys. Ballerinas don’t usually fall into the ‘most wanted’ category.”

“Then explain this to me. You drugged me—”

“Sedated,” he corrected.

“Whatever. You take me from my house and life without first uttering a word to me. If you’re the good guy here, why didn’t you just try to talk to me and explain the situation?”

“Let’s role-play this scenario. I walk up to your door and knock. You answer like I’m a pesky salesman or someone trying to change your religion. You ignore me. I doubt highly you invite me into your house so we can have an in-depth conversation about dead bodies.”

Okay, he had a point. “So you just abducted me? You didn’t even try the logical approach.”

He sighed. “We’ll continue the scenario. After you slam the door in my face, then the real killer either breaks in or draws you out, and next thing I know, I’m looking at another gruesome crime scene photo. You don’t like my methods. I get that. But I’m not going to apologize for wanting you alive.”

“What’s the rationale for trying to convince me I’m someone other than who I am?”

“A little thing called the truth.” He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry. I know you’re confused. This situation is difficult and stressful. It doesn’t bring out the best in either of us. I’m not trying to be harsh or behave like an ass. We’re up against someone sick, and time isn’t on our side. So when you challenge me, I get flippant and sarcastic. This isn’t how I wanted our discussion to go. I know I’m asking you for a lot of trust. I wish this was easier and we had more time to debate, but we don’t.”

The apology disarmed her, and Bailey wasn’t sure what to make of him. Yeah, he’d behaved a little like an ass, but what if anything he said was true? What if someone was coming for her?

“If I listen to you and I can prove that I’m who I claim to be, will you let me go?”

“As soon as I can figure out who’s responsible for all the bodies and stop them, sure.”

“Why are you doing this? Why aren’t the police involved?”

“The bodies aren’t in any one town or area. And when it involves something that’s a potential threat to national security, it’s way beyond local police.”

“National security?” Now she knew he had to be off-kilter. “How do you think I can possibly threaten the country?”

“Not you, others. I can’t say more now. I’m still waiting to confirm who’s behind all this.”

“That’s convenient,” she drawled.

“Look, I’ve been chasing these people from D.C. to Miami. The latest body today was in Mobile. We’ll hear about one in Oklahoma shortly.”

Whoever he was, he really believed what he was saying. In fact, he was downright passionate about it. That didn’t make him less crazy, but if her only avenue out of here so far was to prove that she was Bailey Benson and no one else, then she’d do that.

“I don’t know exactly what proof you need that I am who I claim to be. I have a birth certificate and a Social Security—”

“You do, and they were all courtesy of your adoption and Uncle Sam.”

“No, you’re wrong. I—”

“Well, the woman I’m looking for isn’t any of the girls already dead. If the bastards responsible for these murders had found who they’re seeking, they wouldn’t still be looking. By the way, all the victims were your age, give or take a few months. They were all adopted somewhere around December 1998. They—”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I wasn’t adopted.”

“Are you sure? That’s why I asked about your earliest memory.”

“And I told you.”

“You don’t remember anything at all before losing that tooth? Anything?”

Not anything real. “Do you?”

“I don’t have a nut job or two hunting me, so what I remember is irrelevant.”

“How do you know this isn’t the work of some serial killer?”