the man! Before he changed his mind.
Hayden stared into the camera lens. “There is a predator hunting in our city. I would like to ask every citizen to be extra vigilant. If you see anything suspicious, please do not hesitate to call the sheriff’s office. I am working in conjunction with the FBI to track down and apprehend this criminal, and I ask that all individuals—particularly women in their twenties who may be visiting our area—take every precaution—”
“Is that because the Sandy Shore Killer has a special victim type?” Casey cut in. “He only kills women in their twenties? Women who are vacationing in Hope, not locals?”
His eyes glittered. “Turn off the camera.”
Well, at least they’d gotten something. Casey waved toward Katrina and made a quick, slashing motion across her throat.
Katrina’s sigh was very, very loud.
“The Sandy Shore Killer?” It wasn’t Hayden who’d spoken. It was the FBI agent—the USERT supervisor, Josh Duvane. His voice was deep, dark and sexy. Not that Casey found the guy sexy. She was at a crime scene for goodness sake. She had a job to do. She wasn’t there to lust after some agent.
Her gaze swept over Josh Duvane, studying him, assessing him. Tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders. His thick blond hair was still a little wet. His skin was tanned—probably because of all the time he spent in the water—and his hard jaw appeared freshly shaven. He had a faint scar on his right cheek, a slash of white that told her the scar was old. His eyes were hazel. Not a warm and cozy hazel, though. They were stone-cold.
Chilling, she would say.
Or maybe that was just the look he was giving her. Like an ice glare. He’s freezing me out. Because if Casey had to guess, she’d say that FBI Agent Josh Duvane did not like her very much. A pity. When sources didn’t like her, they had a tendency not to share information. She really needed him to share.
“Who the hell gave the guy the moniker of the Sandy Shore Killer?” Josh wanted to know.
She nodded briskly. “That would be me.”
He rolled his eyes and cursed. “Lady, giving the guy attention—”
“Cassandra. Or Casey. Either one works.”
His lips—rather sensual lips, nicely sculpted—pressed into a thin line. “Giving the guy attention...giving him a freaking name...does nothing but feed into his fantasy. You’re building him up when we want to be tearing him down.”
She didn’t let her expression alter. Casey hadn’t wanted to give the guy a nickname, but her producer had insisted. “You can only call a guy the unknown perpetrator for so long, you realize that, right?” She gestured to the beach behind them. “And he does place his victims in the water off the sandy shores here. It seemed fitting at the time.” The name had certainly stuck.
“Vultures like you just do more damage.” Josh turned away from her. “You don’t help anyone.”
She didn’t flinch, but his words shot straight to her heart.
Josh and the sheriff headed toward the parking lot.
“I’m not trying to do damage.” Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut but...no, he’d just insulted her. Casey figured that she deserved a chance to defend herself. “I’m trying to help this investigation. I’m trying to help the victims. They deserve justice.”
Josh put his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. He leaned in close and said something quietly to Hayden. The sheriff nodded and then strode to his patrol car.
Josh turned to glance back at her.
“If looks could kill,” Katrina muttered, “I think you’d be dead on the ground right about now.”
Casey swallowed. She thought Katrina might be right. If possible, Josh’s gaze had grown even colder. “Why don’t you go back to the hotel? I’ll meet you in a little while.”
Katrina nodded and hurried away. She took the camera—and Casey’s microphone—with her. Katrina’s red hair was cut short, a pixie cut that accentuated her delicate features. But there was nothing delicate about Katrina’s personality. The woman was a fireball, and Casey normally loved working with her.
Right then, though, she wanted some space. If she had a chance to speak alone with Josh, she might be able to convince him that she wasn’t the bad guy.
Possibly.
Josh crossed his arms over his chest and studied Casey in silence. She wondered what he was thinking. What did he see when—
“Are high heels really the best choice for the beach?”
She glanced down at her heels. No, they were a terrible choice for the beach. Wretched. But when she’d left the hotel earlier, Casey hadn’t realized she’d be going to the beach. She’d thought that she would see Hayden Black at the sheriff’s station. She’d known she’d be on camera, so she’d had to wear what she thought of as her full reporter getup.
She walked toward him and her high heels wobbled a bit on the uneven pavement of the parking lot. The lot was right in front of the dock—and the stretching, white sand beach waited to the right. The scent of the ocean teased her nose.
“I don’t want to be your enemy,” she said and she gave him what she hoped was a warm smile. She’d practiced that smile a lot when she first started reporting. That smile had taken her from a spot in small-town Illinois to the big-league fame of a prime-time show in New York City. Her smile was warm. Friendly. Approachable. That was her deal—her producer said she was relatable. That she came across as caring.
The truth was...she really did care. Often, far too much. She couldn’t turn off the cases that she covered, and late at night, when she was alone, they haunted her. “I’m not the bad guy.”
“Didn’t say you were.” His head cocked as she approached him.
“You just thought it.” She inclined her head. “And you did say I was a vulture.”
The other reporters were clearing out. The ME had left. The body had been transferred. The sheriff was gone.
Other than a few stragglers at the lot, she was left with Josh.
“I’ve seen your work before,” Josh murmured. “I know plenty about you, Ms. Quinn.”
“Cassandra,” she corrected quickly. “Or—”
“Casey, right.”
His expression was so hard and unyielding. He was a handsome man, but...tough. A dangerous vibe seemed to pulse just beneath his skin.
“You don’t seem to have a lot of respect for reporters,” she murmured, though she rather thought her words were a serious understatement.
He looked at her, considering, and then his gaze darted to the water behind her. He rolled back his wide shoulders and sighed. Some of the tension appeared to leave him. His face didn’t soften but it seemed less...angry? “You know what? It’s my baggage, and I’m sorry.”
Wait—he
