hair.
Her smile froze. She expected Sheriff Hayden Black to exit the building.
But the man who came out wasn’t Hayden. The blond hair was a little too dark.
Josh Duvane shut the door behind him. He tensed and his gaze swept toward the right—toward the shadows. Toward her.
He’d changed his clothes again, and now the guy looked more like an FBI agent. Khaki pants, button-down shirt and a holster. A holster that he was currently reaching for as he kept his narrow-eyed gaze in her direction.
“Wait!” Casey called out. She hurried forward with a clatter of her—yes, still wearing them—heels. “It’s just me.”
If anything, his expression became even darker. “Should have known you’d be skulking around.”
“Skulking?” Casey repeated, not liking that particular word choice.
“Yeah, skulking. Hanging around, hoping for a weak link to appear so you can get another scoop.” He put his hands on his lean hips. “I know Finn tipped you off last time.” Josh gave a sad shake of his head. “You like preying on twenty-year-old deputies? The guy is green and you know it. You got him to spill confidential information to you that could jeopardize the case.”
Furious, she kept marching toward him. “I didn’t jeopardize anything! Finn just told me the number of stab wounds that the victims suffered—”
“And you immediately reported it, opening the door for copycats galore to come out and play.”
Her breath heaved out. “You don’t like me.” Were they really back to that already?
“I don’t know you, as you pointed out earlier.” His gaze swept the dark lot. “And, lady, why would you want to be out here by yourself? You know you match the killer’s victim profile, right?”
“I—” Yes, okay, maybe she did know that. But she was at the sheriff’s station. Shouldn’t that be the safest spot in town?
He grabbed her wrist, surprising her. It wasn’t the quick movement itself that surprised her. Rather, she was surprised by how gentle his touch was. His hand wrapped around her wrist, and she felt the faint caress of his fingertips against her pulse point.
A little shiver slid over her.
“Sheriff Black gave advice for folks to be vigilant. He gave that advice to you. And what do you do? You immediately run out and find the first dimly lit, empty parking lot that you can?”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“I’m sure the other victims thought that, too.” His gaze slid around the lot. “Where the hell is your car?”
“My hotel is four blocks away. I just walked—”
“Because you have a death wish?”
She silently counted to ten, then said, “You are getting on my bad side.”
He smiled at her, a quick flash that showed the dimple—no, not really dimple, more like a rough slant—in his right cheek. “When you get angry, your voice goes absolutely arctic.”
Then she must be completely freezing him right then.
“Finn isn’t coming out here. He’s pulling a second shift and, even if he weren’t, the sheriff just gave him orders not to speak to any reporter, including pretty brunettes who smell like candy.”
Her eyes widened. “Smell like—candy?”
“Didn’t realize that, huh? You do.”
Her cheeks were burning.
He turned away, but kept his grip on her wrist and he pulled her toward the far side of the lot. A motorcycle waited there, a big black beast of a bike.
“I’ll give you a lift to your hotel. See, I can be a nice guy.”
He climbed onto the motorcycle and tried to tug her on after him. Casey locked her knees and refused to budge.
He sighed. He seemed to do that a lot around her. “Problem?”
“I don’t like motorcycles.” Yes, she sounded prim and disapproving. So what? She wasn’t sure she liked him, either. She certainly didn’t like his ride. “They go too fast. They flip too easily. They offer zero protection to the rider—”
“Not a risk taker, huh? Guess I pegged that part wrong about you.” His gaze dropped down her body and stopped on her three-inch shoes. “It’s the heels. When a woman wears sexy heels like that, it makes a guy think she may have an...adventurous side.”
“Are you hitting on me? Or insulting me again?” She wanted to be clear. “Because earlier, you said I was a vulture. Now you’re saying—”
He let go of her wrist, but only so that he could hand her a helmet. “This will protect your head and that pretty face of yours.”
“You are hitting on me.” She took the helmet. She did not get on the motorcycle. “Your routine needs work. A lot of it.”
“I did a little research on you since our last meeting...”
Her hold tightened on the helmet. Don’t have dug too deep. Don’t have found—
“You’ve won a lot of awards, haven’t you? Seems you’re the investigative journalist to watch. And you make a habit of going after the darkest killers, don’t you?”
Her heart was drumming too fast and hard in her chest. “I go where I’m needed. You might not like the work I do, but someone has to give the victims a voice.”
“And that’s what you do.”
It’s what she tried to do.
He revved the engine. The bike sounded like a giant, growling beast. “You said your hotel was four blocks away. Hardly far enough of a distance for me to go too fast on that short drive. And if you’re with me...” He gave her that slow smile again, the one that made him look a little less dangerous. Only a little. “I’ll be extra careful. I promise.”
She looked around the parking lot. It was getting darker. A lot darker. And, yes, she did fit the victim profile; she knew it. She was the right age, a stranger, no close ties in Hope... “Don’t go over the speed limit.”
He laughed. It was a strangely warm sound that caught her off guard. “I’m FBI. Trust me—I’ve got this.”
She climbed onto the motorcycle. Her skirt hiked up—up much higher than she’d anticipated—and she knew she was flashing thigh. Her heels settled along the bike, finding safe purchase. She put on the helmet and then her hands kind of fluttered in the air. Should she put them behind her? There was a bar back there. She should probably just grab on to it and hold tight.
“Hold on to me.”
She’d been afraid he’d say that. Casey slowly
