to work him to get information, but they were not going to have any sort of real, personal relationship. She didn’t do personal relationships. She kept her distance from people for many, many reasons.
Fumbling a bit, her hands slid around his waist, but she didn’t hold that tight.
“Tell me the name of your hotel.”
There were several just up the road—a line of them that looked out over the beach. “West Winds.”
She would not hold him tighter.
The motorcycle shot forward and her arms tightened around him, holding him in a death grip and smashing her body against his. He zipped through the town, not actually going too fast but...it was strange being on the motorcycle with him. The wind whipped at her, and the motorcycle vibrated beneath her. He was strong and solid in front of her, and Casey found herself thinking that...maybe, if it were a different time, if this were a different place...she and the FBI agent might not have found themselves being adversaries.
They might have been something a whole lot more fun.
Too soon, he was braking in front of her hotel. Other reporters were staying at the hotel, at least five she knew from previous jobs. And both her producer and her camerawoman were there—plenty of people that she knew. It was a safe place.
Josh killed the engine and put down the kickstand. She realized she was still holding him, and Casey let go quickly, nearly jumping from the motorcycle. Josh didn’t move, but she could feel his gaze sweeping over her. A bit nervously, Casey pushed the helmet back at him. “Th-thank you.” She hated that stutter. She never stuttered. Or at least, she worked hard to make sure she didn’t. When she’d been younger, that stutter had always come out when she’d been afraid. Back then, she’d had plenty to fear. The nightmares had plagued her every night for a solid year during college.
He put the helmet on the back of the bike. He studied her a moment and the waves crashed in the distance.
Should she just walk away? Probably.
“You don’t think it’s odd?”
“What?” She wasn’t sure she followed him.
“All of you reporters...” He gestured to the hotel behind her and she knew he’d realized other press personnel were staying in that same location. “You all came rushing down here weeks ago to cover the Theodore Anderson case.”
Theodore Anderson. She crossed her arms over her chest. Yes, he’d been the reason she was first sent to Hope. He’d been arrested and linked to the abduction and disappearance of several young girls in the area. Many of the crimes had occurred years ago, but only recently had he been linked to the kills.
The saddest part of the case? At least to Casey? The man had killed his own daughter. Christy Anderson had been murdered by her father when she was just thirteen years old.
Theodore had made headlines when he was arrested, and, yes, the reporters had all flocked down to cover the case when he went to trial. He’d been found guilty on all counts, and Theodore Anderson would never see the light of day again. Originally, the press had focused on Theodore, but it hadn’t been long before someone else started stealing the Front Page...
The Sandy Shore Killer.
“What are the odds,” Josh continued in that deep voice of his, “that in this sleepy little town, there would be not just one sadistic killer...but two?”
She licked her lips. “Considering how rare serial killers are...I’d say those odds should be astronomically low. But then...you’re FBI. You should know better than I do.”
“They are astronomically low. Coincidences like this one don’t happen.” Flat.
“But...it is happening.”
“Something set this guy off. Something brought him here...” His head turned and he gazed at the hotel behind her. “Can’t help but wonder...if it was you.”
She backed up a step. He knows. He dug into my past. He dug too deep. He found out what I did—
“You and all the reporters,” he continued as his hazel gaze slid back to her. “He didn’t like the fame that Theodore Anderson was getting, so he decided to steal the spotlight. And you and your buddies—with your twenty-four-seven news coverage—you just fed his beast. You made him more determined to get the attention he wanted.”
Casey shook her head. “You think this guy came here because of the reporters? Is that the theory the FBI is running with?”
His hand lifted and his fingers curved under her cheek. “We’re off the record. Way, way off...”
His fingers were faintly callused, a little rough against her skin.
“As I said, it’s highly unlikely we’d have two serial killers in the same town. That just doesn’t happen. Serial killers are rare to begin with and this...it isn’t by chance. Your ‘Sandy Shore Killer’ was drawn here for a reason.”
“Have the victims been connected in any way?” She had to press for more details.
“You know about the victims already. Attractive women in their twenties, all single, all visiting the area—no close personal ties here. And that’s all I will say about them now.”
His hand dropped away from her cheek and curved back around his handlebar. He revved the engine again.
Right. He was leaving. “Thanks for the ride.”
His gaze raked over her. She wondered... Did he feel that odd, thick tension between them? The heated attraction that seemed to fill the air?
His hazel stare burned.
He did.
“Good night, Casey.”
He felt the attraction, but Josh just wasn’t going to do anything about it. Those rule-following FBI guys. They weren’t her type. Or at least, they shouldn’t be.
“I’ll wait until you’re inside before I leave.” He paused a beat. “A gentleman never leaves before a lady is safely inside.”
“Is that what you are? A gentleman?”
He seemed to consider that. “Perhaps I could be whatever you want me to be.”
Casey turned away and hurried up the steps that led to the hotel. When she was in the lobby, she glanced back at him. He was still sitting on the motorcycle, still staring at her. Still looking far too sexy.
She lifted her hand and waved.
He frowned, gave her a small wave back, then drove away.
A few people who she recognized filled the lobby, and she inclined her head toward them as she headed for the elevator. The doors dinged open and when she slipped inside, Casey immediately ditched her heels. So much better. When she reached her floor, she carried her shoes in one hand, letting them dangle and bump against her leg. She was on the top floor, one that gave her a great view of the beach. She used her key card and slipped inside. The room was dark and ice-cold because she’d left the air-conditioning unit on
