The Girl Next Door. Cynthia Eden
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remember his face?”
“I remember the feel of his hands grabbing me. I remember the rasp of his voice, but his face?” If only. “No, I don’t remember that. I’m not even sure if I saw him. I was hoping that maybe you’d seen something.”
“You were the only thing I saw.”
He turned away from her. Cooper spent a few moments in silence as he finished preparing their meal.
“It could’ve been a mugger,” she said to his back, as he reached for some plates. “I didn’t have a purse with me, so maybe that’s why he ran after I passed out.”
“It could have been.” He shut the cabinets with a rough motion of his hands.
“It could also have been the killer.” That was her fear. Her suspicion. “I think he escaped the apartment by climbing down the fire escape. He fled through that alley. Maybe he dropped something. Maybe he had to go back for it.” She followed him to the table. “Or maybe he was just one of those guys who enjoys going back to the scene of the crime. Someone who likes to watch the cops spin their wheels and come up with nothing.”
He pulled out a chair for her. “Is that what the cops have?”
She eased into the seat. “Lane says there aren’t any suspects. No prints, DNA or any other evidence was left at the scenes.”
He sat across from her. He picked up his fork.
“I went back to all the crime scenes—” Gabrielle began.
The fork clattered against his plate.
“I didn’t break in,” she rushed to clarify, realizing how he must have interpreted her words. “I looked behind the buildings. Kylie Archer’s place had a fire escape, too. The killer could easily have escaped on it.”
“Lockwood didn’t have a fire escape.”
“No, he didn’t.” The spaghetti smelled fabulous. “But then again, maybe that’s the reason why Lockwood’s front door was smashed in. The attacker didn’t have any other way to get inside, so he had to use force there.”
Cooper ate in silence.
She took a bite of the spaghetti. He hadn’t been lying. It was fantastic. “I’ll have to make you one of my cherry pies,” she said, sending him a nervous smile. “You did dinner, so I can do dessert.”
His head tilted. His eyes heated, the blue getting even brighter. “Sounds like a date.”
“I—” She nearly choked on the spaghetti. “I have a proposition for you.”
That half smile flashed again. Did he have a dimple in his cheek? It looked like he did.
Sexy.
“I’d love to hear the proposition.”
He made it sound...hot. It wasn’t. She put her fork down. “I want us to work together.” She tried not to let the words come out as desperate.
He kept eating.
“I think we could make a good team. We could keep investigating the cases and find the killer—”
“I’m not in the market for a partner.”
Okay. He was going to make her lay everything out for him. She’d have to show that desperation, after all. “But I am in the market for some protection.” Because she was afraid, and Gabrielle didn’t want to let the fear stop her from doing her job. “I think someone has been watching me. I think he has been watching me.”
* * *
“TELL ME AGAIN...” Dylan Foxx began as he narrowed his eyes on Rachel Mancini. “Why is Cooper having a cozy dinner with the reporter? He’s supposed to be keeping her out of this mess and not—”
“—seducing her?” Rachel finished. She’d seen the way Cooper looked at the other woman. She knew exactly what was on his mind.
Dylan shut the door of his office. They were in the EOD headquarters, a place most civilians would never visit. Actually, most civilians would never even know of its existence.
The EOD was a hybrid organization, one composed of former members of various military branches. The EOD had been founded and was still led by Bruce Mercer. The EOD was far off the books, and the agents took jobs that no one else could handle.
Jobs that often ended in violence. Death.
The EOD agents were the ones who went out after the hostages that couldn’t be rescued. They were the ones who eliminated the most dangerous threats in the world.
Right now, unfortunately, one of those threats came from within.
A rogue agent.
Suspicion was rampant in the EOD. Trust, the cornerstone of the agency’s success, was being shattered. If you couldn’t trust the agent who had your back in the field, how were you supposed to complete the mission?
Rachel sank into the chair near Dylan’s desk. She trusted him 100 percent. But she wasn’t ready to extend that trust to all of the agents at the EOD.
They all knew how to kill, lie and keep secrets.
Someone was using those deadly skills.
“I could see them through the window,” Rachel murmured. Not that she enjoyed the Peeping-Tom bit. “They went into the kitchen and the guy cooked.”
“Cooper?” Dylan’s dark brows shot up.
She nodded. “Maybe he’s just trying to get under her guard. The lady has proven to be pretty resourceful.”
“The lady’s dangerous.” He threw himself into the chair near her. Leather groaned. “I ran down her bio. She’s got a trail of awards behind her and a reputation for being a real bulldog when it comes to her stories. She’s latched on to our killer, and I don’t see her just backing away now.”
Not even after a trip to the hospital.
“The more time she spends with Cooper, the more likely she is to discover that his cover is a lie.” Dylan ran a hand through his black hair. “The last thing we need is her trying to air a story on the EOD.”
“We aren’t on her radar.” Rachel had done her own research on Gabrielle Harper. “She works to help victims. She’s not even thinking about us.”
“Not yet, she isn’t. But if she’s used to uncovering secrets, how long do you think it will be before she senses Cooper is hiding something from her?”
“Well that depends,” Rachel said as her gaze held his, “on just how good Cooper is at lying. It’s been my experience that some men are extremely talented when it comes to deceit.”
There was a sharp rap at the door.
Dylan held her gaze for a moment longer. “You know you can trust me.”
Yes, she did, as a partner, as a friend.
As a lover?
No, she couldn’t risk that. She’d gone down the wrong path with a lover before. She still had the scars to prove it—scars that marked her on the inside and out.
She cleared her throat and called, “Come in!”
The door swung open. Aaron “Deuce” Porter stood on the other side of the threshold. His green gaze swept between them. “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” His voice was low.
“You’re not,” Rachel said flatly.
Deuce’s lips twisted a bit. Deuce had been with the EOD for years—long before Rachel had come aboard. She’d worked several missions with him and learned quickly why the brown-haired agent had earned the moniker of Deuce.
The man could blend like no other. Undercover missions were his specialty. He often joked that he hadn’t