Sweet Revenge

Chapter 20

Laney’s eyes widened. “We have nothing to discuss.”

Ah, there was the educated tone Matt was beginning to actually like. “Yes, we do.” He’d almost killed three men for threatening her, and he had to get himself under control before he blew the mission any more than he already had. The feelings coursing through him were real and new. If he didn’t deal with them, somehow figure them out, he might be too distracted when he needed to be focused. So she’d damn well help him figure out what was between them.

The front door opened. “We’re closed,” he said.

“Ms. Laney Jacobs?” the newcomer asked.

Matt turned to view a lean man wearing khakis and a polo shirt. “Who’s asking?”

The guy smiled perfectly even teeth. “I’m Zeke Frant from ATW News Source, and I’ve been covering the Sleepy Town Serial Killer case for three months now. Rumor has it Miss Jacobs has been receiving notes, and I was hoping I could interview her.” He dug a tattered notepad out of his back pocket and promptly dropped it on the ground. “Sorry.” Snagging the pad, he straightened back up.

Matt frowned. Those had to be crowns, right? Nobody had teeth so perfect. “Sleepy Town Serial Killer? You come up with the moniker yourself?”

“Yes.” Frant’s narrow chest puffed out. “Catchy, right?”

A reporter was all Matt fucking needed. The kid looked to be about twenty. “Is this your first big story?”

“No. I broke a story about the meatpacking plant in Helena using too much filler.” He reached into his other back pocket to fetch a pair of glasses, which he perched on his nose. “Another story about the mayor of Blankstone growing pot in his basement in southern Idaho.”

“Ahh. Well, no interviews tonight, pal.” Matt glanced at Laney, who was staring at the reporter like a rabbit caught in a trap. “Right?”

She slowly nodded.

Damn it. Where was the woman who lied so easily? The fact that she didn’t want to be interviewed was all but written on her face. He probably had worked her too hard in training, because she looked exhausted.

Matt strode straight at the reporter. “We’ve had a long night, and we’re tired. Now is not the time for an interview.”

Frant backed away, shoving his glasses up his nose. “What time tomorrow shall I come back?”

“We’ll call you.” Matt finished backing the reporter to the door, and he kindly opened it for him. Rain splattered the building, and the wild wind smashed water inside. “Good night.” A hard clap to the shoulder had Frant tripping outside. Matt shut the door and locked up against the storm. “Unbelievable.”

Laney nodded. “That’s all we need.”

If one reporter had caught the scent of a serial killer, more would be following. Matt had to get his picture off the sheriff’s computer and then get Laney the hell out of town. Now.

Smitty whistled a jaunty tune. “More will be coming.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Laney muttered, wiping down the bar.

Smitty’s gray eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Somebody’s having a PMS moment.”

Matt bit back a laugh at the murderous glint that leaped into Laney’s eyes. “Be careful, Smitty. I taught her how to hurt a man earlier today.”

“She’d have to catch me, first.” Smitty threw the dishrag at Laney, who promptly threw it right back at his face. “I’m sorry about the PMS crack. I know you don’t like me to point it out.”

Matt coughed to cover his instant laugh.

Laney turned her glare on him.

He coughed harder.

A sharp rapping echoed on the other side of the door. What the hell? Sighing, he unlocked the door and poked his head outside. “What?”

Frant wiped rain off his face. “I had to call a cab, and it won’t be here for ten minutes. Can I come back inside? I promise not to ask any questions.” The storm picked up behind him, smashing leaves and pine needles against the building.

“Ten minutes?” Matt asked.

Frant shrugged. “The only cabbie in town is named Mario, and I woke him up when I called. He said it’d take him ten minutes to get dressed and drive here.” The reporter hunched his shoulders against the pelting rain. “I’m staying on the other side of town over by the river and didn’t want to walk through this storm.”

“For Pete’s sake, Matt. Let the guy in,” Laney muttered from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and pinned her with a look. Rather, he tried to.

She rolled her eyes again and tossed napkins into the garbage. “Smitty? Help me with the garbage, will you?” she asked while tying a garbage bag.

The grumbling bartender hefted two bags and followed her to the back door.

Matt glanced down at the reporter. “You can stand inside to avoid the storm, but if I hear one question from you, I’m tossing your ass back outside.”

Frant swallowed, his protruding Adam’s apple wiggling. “Not a problem. Really.” Keeping a wary gaze on Matt, he shuffled inside the door. “I can help clean up, if you wish.”

Matt shut the door. “We’re good. Thanks.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “What do you know about this serial killer?”

The reporter’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just curious, considering my girlfriend is in his sights.”

“Oh. Well, he stalks them by leaving notes, gets bored, and kills them after raping them. No prints, no semen… He’s careful.” Frustration wrinkled Frant’s face. “The victims live in sweet-sounding towns, and they never see it coming. He has to be very meticulous and is an organized serial killer.”

So Frant had done his homework into killer types. “How does he choose the victims?”

Frant lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. All the women are pretty, young, and professional. They’re either business owners or have good careers.” He sighed. “You know, women you’d like to be with. Good ones.”

“How did you find out about the local murder already?” Matt asked.

Frant grinned. “Friend from school works with the FBI. Contacts are what you need as a reporter.” He wiped rain off his forehead. “How long you been in town?”

“Long enough.” Matt glanced at the back door. Laney needed sleep so they could train the next day. “I’d appreciate it if you left Laney out of the paper. She doesn’t need any more interest from this psycho.”

“Well, maybe. How about we reach an agreement?”

Matt turned his full attention back to the reporter. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll sit on the story, on her name, if she’ll give me an exclusive either the second the guy makes a move, or the second he’s caught.” Frant lifted a bony shoulder, his eyes gleaming. “That’s the best I can do.”

What a little weasel. Matt had never liked reporters. “I’ll talk to her and see what I can do.” He stepped into Frant’s space and allowed the killer to show in his eyes. “Though I suggest you refrain from printing anything about my woman.”

To his credit, the reporter kept his gaze. “We all have a job to do, Mr. Dean. This is my calling, and I do it well. Now, where is Miss Jacobs?”

Matt stiffened. Good question. Where the hell were Laney and Smitty? They should’ve been back by now. “Stay here, Frant.” He turned and strode toward the back door.

Laney shot Smitty a hard look over her shoulder as she lifted the lid to the nearest garbage can, allowing the rain fall on her face. The can was full. “Knock it off about the PMS.”

Smitty shrugged and used another garbage can before loping back up the steps and under the awning. “Then stop being so cranky.”

She shut the can and bit back a smart remark about bartenders being replaceable. Smitty was anything but replaceable. So, with a sigh, she lugged her heavy bag several yards up the alley to use Caffe Coffee’s garbage cans since they were rarely full. Rain smashed into her, dampening her clothing. At this time of night, she really didn’t care. Soon she’d be in a hot bath, soaking and relaxing. Dropping in the garbage, she turned and took a deep breath. Honeysuckle and angry nature. Yeah. Nothing like Idaho in the stormy season.

Thunder bellowed overhead, and lightning illuminated the angry sky. She loved a good storm but would prefer to head inside to watch. Skirting a mud puddle, she caught movement from the corner of her eye.

An ignition flared to life before a car door opened, and a body lunged for her.

A gloved fist swung for her face, and with a cry, she ducked. Oh God. The commander had found her. Raw terror froze her for the slightest of moments.

The night narrowed into pinpoint focus. She turned to run, and strong fingers tangled in her hair, yanking her back.

Smitty bellowed and jumped the stairs.

The attacker turned and fired a wild shot.

God. He had a gun. But he’d failed with the shot. No way was this the commander or any of his soldiers.

Focusing, Laney threw an elbow, and her attacker protested with a guttural oof. She glanced frantically toward Smitty to see him on the ground.

Fire lanced through her along with panic. Struggling, she managed to throw another elbow. The guy yanked her hair, hard, and snapped back her head. Pain cascaded down her spine.

The bar door opened and Matt leaped outside with a primal roar.

The attacker turned and fired a volley of shots at him. With a cry, Laney jerked her head and shoved back, trying to dislodge the gun.

Matt stalked forward through the storm, toward the shooter, no expression on his deadly face.

The attacker shoved Laney at him and continued to fire.

Laney hit Matt midcenter, and he immediately dropped them both behind a row of garbage cans.

Tires squealed, and the blue SUV ripped down the alley. Black paint covered the windows, and the license plate had been removed.

Matt rolled to his feet and ran after the car, his strides long and sure.

Laney scrambled over to Smitty, who was groaning and sitting up. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Fine.” He pushed to his feet. “I ducked and hit my head. I’m fine.”

Thank God. Laney stood and patted his arm. “Go inside and get dry.” She turned to follow Matt’s progress, her heart beating so hard it was difficult to breathe.

At the end of the alley, the car zipped around a corner. Matt stopped and glanced back at her. Then, with a steeling of his shoulders, he stalked her way.

The reporter shoved open the door. “Oh God. Did I hear shots?”

“Yes.” Laney gently led Smitty over to the kid. “Please take him inside and call the FBI guys.” She had to yell to be heard over the rapidly strengthening storm.

“Will you talk to me?” Franz said with a calculating glint in his eye.

“Inside. Now.” She put as much authority into her voice as she could.

Smitty grabbed the reporter’s arm and all but shoved him inside. “I’m calling the sheriff. He can call the feds.” The door shut with a hard bang.

Laney’s knees gave out, and she dropped to sit on the bottom step, protected by the awning. She turned to watch Matt retrace his steps toward her. The serial killer had almost gotten her. Adrenaline shot through her veins, and her breath panted out. Safe. She was safe.

Matt strode through the rain, his shoulders wide, fury on his face. A man deadlier than the storm raging around them.

He’d saved her.

Without a thought for his own safety, he’d run straight for a shooting gun.

No fear. Only cold, deliberate intent lived in her savior.

He reached her and dropped to his haunches. Then those hands that had been clenched into fists slipped beneath her arms and lifted her with a gentleness that sparked tears to her eyes.

She swayed into him, grounded by his strength. Her hands slid up his chest, and she levered up to her tiptoes. Grasping his thick hair, she pulled his mouth down to hers.

He stilled.

She pressed her wet dress against his length. Heat washed along her front.

With a growl, he slapped both hands against the building, caging her. His lips slid over hers, taking over, taking control.

Fire flushed through her to pool between her legs. Her mind spun, and the world narrowed to razor-sharp focus on the mouth consuming hers. Heat and demand lived in his lips, in the sweep of his tongue through her mouth. He pressed her against the brick, his arm banding around her waist and dragging her closer.

She moaned, and he lifted her, his free hand shoving up her wet dress and caressing her thigh.

Her legs pressed his hips. A hard-as-rock erection pulsed against her panties. Need consumed her until all that mattered was quenching the fire.

He jerked away from her mouth, his chest panting. Slowly, he closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to hers.

His dick jumped against her, and she couldn’t help gyrating along his length.

“Stop,” he whispered, his voice beyond guttural, his heated breath brushing her face. The muscles in his arms undulated as he held himself in check. “Hold still, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t want to.” She tightened her grip in his hair. It felt too good to be alive.

He lifted his head. Lust, need, and regret swirled in his stormy eyes. “It’s the emotion of the moment.”

“No. I want you.” She might not know much, but she knew her own body, and her own heart. “It’s not fear, and it’s not gratitude. It’s you, Matt.”

Sparks leaped through his eyes. Crimson spiraled across his rugged cheekbones as he searched her face. Finally, his lids dropped to half-mast. “Fine. We’re going to call the cops and report this. Afterward… it’s up to you.” Stepping back, he allowed her legs to drop.