Kennedy Crenshaw, twenty-four, a young mother who’d still been alive when the cops found her . . . only she’d died an hour later, her body littered with stab wounds.
Janice Burrell, twenty-eight, a divorcée who’d made the mistake of hooking up with Bernie at a bar. He’d stabbed her so many times . . . her blood had covered the walls of the motel room that she’d been found inside.
“He’d said there were more victims,” Cash murmured. “So the FBI worked out a deal to have him moved to a different prison, provided the guy talked and told us where those bodies were hidden.”
Her eyes squeezed together. “You got played. Bernie wasn’t the kind of guy who hid his kills. He wanted everyone to know what he was doing. He was proud of his crimes.”
“I agree,” Cash said, surprising her.
Her eyes opened and locked on him.
“But my boss didn’t listen to me.” The faint lines on either side of his mouth deepened. “Now we’re in a serious clusterfuck situation. The media is freaking. We’ve got manhunts going in the area, and we need to get Bernie Tate back into custody, fucking yesterday.”
Gabe tapped his fingers on the top of his desk. “I explained to the agent here that LOST doesn’t normally hunt down criminals.” His expression tightened as he studied Cash. “Our goal is to help the victims.”
Cash raked a hand over his hair. “And I told your boss that if we don’t stop Bernie, there will be more victims. It’s only a matter of time.”
Ana swiped her tongue over her top lip, feeling the old scar that raised the skin there. “Agent Knox is right. Bernie Tate isn’t going to just disappear quietly into the sunset. He will start hunting again, and he’ll take down as many innocent people as he can.” She strode toward the windows. “Especially since he’s been in prison,” Ana mused. “He’s been away from the blood for too long. He liked the blood, liked the thrill he got from hurting women.” She could see people walking down on the street below. Men and women, going about their normal lives. Having no idea . . .
Danger is everywhere.
“You caught him before, Ana,” Cash said, his voice roughening with intensity. “I think you can do it again. I got the all-clear from my boss to pull you in on this. The FBI wants Bernie back in custody, as quickly and as quietly as possible.” There was a pause. “I need you, Ana.”
She spun around. Her gaze jerked toward him. There was something in his eyes . . .
Cash exhaled on a long breath. “As I told your boss . . . the FBI is willing to offer certain incentives for your cooperation on this case.”
“What kind of incentives?”
Gabe gave a low laugh. “The you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours variety.”
“The FBI is promising help on future LOST cases,” Cash elaborated. “The FBI and LOST have crossed paths plenty of times, and sometimes that intersection has proven . . . painful.”
That’s an understatement.
“We’re offering support to LOST. We’re offering whatever damn deal it takes,” Cash added grimly. “We just need you on board in the hunt for Bernie.”
“The FBI certainly seems desperate,” Gabe said.
Yes, Ana had just been thinking the same thing.
“Don’t have much faith in your ability to bring the guy in, huh?” Gabe asked as he cocked his head to study Cash.
Anger flashed in Cash’s eyes. “Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?”
Let’s do that. She’d never had a lot of patience for bullshit.
Cash pointed at Ana. “She’s the best tracker there is. I still don’t know how the hell she found him before, but time is of the fucking essence. Bernie Tate is missing, and the FBI wants him brought back in. If Ana does the job, the FBI will owe LOST.”
Definitely an I’ll-scratch-yours favor.
“What do you think, Ana?” Gabe asked, drawing her gaze once more. “You joined LOST to find the victims, not to clean up messes left by the FBI. So if you don’t want to take the case, you don’t have to do it.”
Cash growled.
Goose bumps rose on her arms.
Gabe rose to his feet. “Ana’s choice,” he said simply. “I told you I’d give you the chance to lay out the case for her, and I have. What happens next is completely up to Ana.”
Her heartbeat drummed steadily in her chest. She thought of the files on her desk. The victims that needed her help.
And she thought of the women who could die if Bernie Tate was left to run free.
“May I talk to Ana alone?” Cash asked, his voice still rough.
Surprise flashed on Gabe’s face. “Don’t really know why you’d need to do that. Whatever you have to say to Ana can certainly be said to me, too.” Now he slid from around his desk and walked to Ana’s side. His arm brushed her shoulder. “I’ve known Ana for a very long time, and like I told you before, she has my utmost respect. That’s why the choice is hers. If she wants this case, LOST will fully support her. If not . . .”
Cash’s gaze slid between her and Gabe. His green stare hardened. He opened his mouth to speak—
“I’d like a moment with him,” Ana said quickly. Because I’m not sure what Cash may say next.
Gabe’s eyes slowly slid over her face. Whatever he saw there . . . well, it had him nodding. “Getting kicked out of my own office, huh?” A rueful smile curved his lips. “That’s a new one.”
She was so not winning points with him today. “Gabe . . .”
His hand brushed over her shoulder. “I’ll be outside. I need to talk with my assistant, anyway. And . . . Ana . . .”
“Yes?”
“You make the choice.”
He nodded toward Cash and slowly exited the room. Ana didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath, not until the door closed behind him.
Then . . .
She became aware of just how thick and heavy the silence was in that office. She could also feel the weight of Cash’s stare. She made herself look back at him.
“You seem . . . close to your boss.”
Her eyes narrowed. You’d better watch your step, Special Agent. “Gabe is a good man. He wants to help the victims out there.”
Cash swore. “And Bernie Tate isn’t a victim.”
“No, he isn’t.” Her hands twisted together. “But if Bernie isn’t brought back into custody, there will be more dead women left in his wake. We both know that’s true.”
He stepped toward her. “Then you’re going to help me? You could have just said so—”
“There are conditions.” And she hadn’t wanted to discuss these conditions in front of Gabe.
“Name them.”
“One . . . I want honesty from you.”
His eyelids flickered. “Are you saying I’ve lied to you before?”
“I’m saying that the FBI doesn’t always play by the rules. If I’m working with you, if you’re my partner on this, then I need to know I can trust you. I need to know that you’ll have my back.”
“I will.” He sounded so sincere.
She wanted to believe him. “I’ll need access to every bit of intel you have on Bernie, even the confidential material, so don’t think of holding back.”
He nodded. “Done.”
Okay, so far, so good. Time for the last condition. “You don’t mention our past.”
A muscle flexed along his jaw. “Want to run that by me again?”
“I don’t think I need to do that.” She lifted a brow. “I’m absolutely certain you know what I’m talking about. There will not be a repeat performance. If we’re hunting Bernie, that’s all we’re doing. We’ll stay professional, and the past will stay exactly where it belongs . . . dead and buried.”
His gaze slid toward the closed office door. “You don’t want the boss knowing about us.”
“I don’t want anyone knowing my personal business. If you have a problem with that—”
“Easy, Ana,” he said, his voice going a bit soft when he said her name. Soft . . . ra
spy . . . the way he’d said it that long-ago night. “Despite what you think, I’ve never been the type to kiss and tell. Our past is our business, no one else’s.”
“Good.” She gave a brisk nod. “Then it should stay that way.” Ana offered her hand to him. “I think we have a deal.”
Once more, his hand closed around hers.
And, dammit, his touch did make her skin tingle. She’d offered her hand to him again just so she could see, and unfortunately . . .
The attraction is still there. I touch him and my body reacts. I look at him and I need.
But sometimes, Ana’s needs could go very, very dark.
Cash doesn’t know about that part of me. He won’t ever know. Because this case was strictly business. And now they had a deal.
Time to hunt a killer . . . before he took another life.
Bernie Tate groaned as his eyes opened. He expected to see the old, sagging cot above him. His cellmate’s ass would be dragging low over him, but . . .
No, I’m not in that hellhole. Not anymore.
His memory came rushing back to him. He’d been on the transport bus, the only prisoner. The guard had cuffed his hands but left his feet loose. Stupid mistake.
Bernie had waited for the perfect opportunity. Waited for his chance at freedom . . .
He smiled. That chance had come.
There was no fucking sagging cot above him. There was just the rough wood of a cabin. He could smell the scent of a fire burning somewhere close by, probably in the other room. His partner had sure done one fucking fine job of getting his ass to freedom.
Bernie sat up and swung his legs off the narrow bed. He shot to his feet, his stomach growling to remind him that he hadn’t eaten since before he’d boarded that transport bus. Maybe his partner had a meal waiting in the cabin for him. Bernie smiled as he took a few fast steps toward the door.
Then Bernie tripped and he slammed, face-first, into the wooden floor.
“What the fucking hell?” Bernie snarled as he shoved himself up. He was in good shape—he’d made a damn point of staying in shape. Trapped in that prison, all he’d been able to do was work out. Exercise had kept him sane. Exercise . . . and his plans.
He had so many fine plans.
Goal one . . . find the bitch who got me locked up. Make her pay. Make her bleed. Make her scream.
But . . .
Bernie grabbed for his ankle. There was some kind of shackle on him. A cuff that locked around his left ankle and trailed back to the narrow bed. He grabbed the chain and yanked it and the whole fucking bed jerked toward him because the other side of that chain was locked around the foot of the bed.
The door squeaked behind him. His head jerked and his body twisted as he glared at the asshole in the doorway. “Is this some kind of joke?” Bernie shouted. “Get this thing off me!”
Then . . . then Bernie saw the knife. Glinting.
“No joke, Bernie.” His partner stepped closer. The knife lifted. “It’s time for you to pay.”
What? No, no, this wasn’t happening. He was free! He’d gotten away from that rat-hole prison. Away from the guards. He was free—
The knife sliced down toward him. Bernie lifted his hands, trying to shield his face.
The blade drove straight through his left hand and Bernie screamed.
“See,” his partner whispered. “Payback.”
PRAISE FOR CYNTHIA EDEN AND HER NOVELS . . .
BROKEN
“Cynthia Eden’s Broken is what romantic suspense is supposed to be—fast, furious, and very sexy!”
Karen Rose, New York Times bestselling author
“Sexy, mysterious, and full of heart-pounding suspense!”
Laura Kaye, New York Times bestselling author
“I dare you not to love a Cynthia Eden book!”
Larissa Ione, New York Times bestselling author
“Fast-paced, smart, sexy and emotionally wrenching—everything I love about a Cynthia Eden book!”
HelenKay Dimon
“Cynthia Eden writes smart, sexy and gripping suspense. Hang on tight while she takes you on a wild ride.”
Cindy Gerard, New York Times bestselling author
About the Author
Award-winning author CYNTHIA EDEN writes dark tales of paranormal romance and romantic suspense. She is a New York Times, USA Today, Digital Book World, and IndieReader bestseller. Cynthia is also a three-time finalist for the prestigious RITA® Award. Since she began writing full-time in 2005, Cynthia has written over sixty novels and novellas.
www.cynthiaeden.com
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By Cynthia Eden
The LOST Series
Broken
Twisted
Shattered
Torn
Taken
Coming Soon
Wrecked
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Wrecked copyright © 2017 by Cindy Roussos.
taken. Copyright © 2016 by Cindy Roussos. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
Digital Edition DECEMBER 2016 ISBN: 9780062437457
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062437471
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Cynthia Eden, Taken
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