Blood Shall Run (An FBI Romance Thriller Book 15) Page 2

  He didn’t buy it for a second that a working girl didn’t have a quickie in a cemetery.

  Yeah, not for one second.

  Still…

  He grinned at her suggestion. He could see that she was completely laid back with him, especially since she thought it was her idea.

  Yeah, score.

  Oh, this was too easy.

  He was beginning to think he was doing the right thing. Now he could walk her right to the crypt, lure her in, and…

  The deed would be done.

  “Sure. That’s fine with me. I don’t last long when I’m with a beautiful woman. I can tell you’re going to end my night really fast,” he teased, slapping her on the faux leather clad ass.

  Normally, it would be hands off, but she wanted out of those shoes. If it meant spreading it for this guy, in a bone yard, then screw it.

  She was good with that.

  “Let me help you,” he offered, holding out his arm for her.

  Gratefully, she took his gallant offer.

  Hell!

  She wanted to kiss him for giving her a way to balance in those damn shoes. It had been a long time since anyone saw her as anything more than a vagina in sexy heels.

  “Lead the way, m’lady,” he offered.

  He couldn’t help but get excited. While the idea of sex with this woman turned him right off, the promise of the health benefits made him wild.

  It was the thrill of the hunt.

  “You’re quite the gentleman.”

  “I try. I find the world is filled with assholes. I hate that people are cruel to each other. There’s no point. We’re all just trying to survive, right?”

  She agreed. “You’re new around here, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you before.”

  While she was talking, he was cautiously leading her to the place where he’d left the bodies. As of yet, she didn’t seem to notice he was in control, not her.

  Once in position, he’d begin. He had a plastic bag in his pocket, and he was more than willing to bag what he needed and go.

  “You’re right. I’m new.”

  He wasn’t that new, but let her think whatever the hell she wanted. Thank God for ignorant people in the world or she might have recognized him. He spent a lot of time in ‘The Quarter’.

  “This is a nice pace,” she offered.

  “It’s like a romantic stroll on a beautiful night.”

  She giggled.

  It was her last day on earth, and the least he could do was give her a decent memory before he stole her life.

  Right?

  She’d been around the block a few times and deserved that much from him.

  “Here looks good,” she offered, pointing at one of the short crypts. It was adorned with angels, and flat on the top. “We should have some privacy here.”

  Oh, and they’d need it for what he had planned.

  “It’s a perfect spot.”

  Yeah, the dumping location was ten feet around the corner. Why break a sweat? He was going to dump, steal, and run.

  “What do you have in mind?” she asked.

  He looked around, and smiled. “I was thinking something kinky. After all, we’re in a cemetery.”

  She went to protest, telling him that would cost more, but she didn’t have the chance.

  When he turned to face her, she saw it in his eyes.

  The evil was there.

  It scared her.

  The wicked intent appeared out of nowhere, like the mask had been torn off.

  Gone was the gentleman, and in his place was something far more sinister.

  As she opened her mouth to scream, he hit her with his fist. The blow came so hard and so fast, that she fell backward, hitting her head on the crypt.

  She stopped moving.

  The fight was gone from her lifeless body.

  He held his breath for that brief second, making sure she wasn’t playing dead.

  Then he checked on her.

  Kneeling, he listened to make sure no one was wandering around in the cemetery. When there was silence, he knew it was time.

  As he touched her pulse, it told the tale.

  She was gone.

  “I’m sorry for hitting you. I had no choice. As a rule, I don’t like to abuse anyone, including women, but I need to take something you have. I promise I won’t make you suffer. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m sorry.”

  He meant everything he said.

  He felt horrible.

  But, the show must go on. He only had so much time, and it was quickly ticking away.

  With that, he grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her around the corner of the crypt. Once inside his dumping grounds, he sliced her throat to make sure the deed was done. He wanted to keep his promise and didn’t want her to suffer. This seemed the most humane.

  There was no gurgling.

  There was no protest.

  When she fell, she must have hit her head just right.

  Well, that made him feel a million times better. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t. No matter what they would say about him, he wasn’t that.

  He had compassion.

  He was capable of love.

  He cherished this city.

  He was simply a man trying to survive in New Orleans. By survive, he meant beating back the death that was chasing him to an early grave.

  Saying a prayer, he touched her forehead.

  “I’m sorry. You should have checked my front pockets to find the knife—not that you would have gotten away. You were meant to be here with me.”

  Her head lolled to one side, eyes wide with death.

  It was time.

  Silently, he got to work.

  Pulling out the plastic sealable bag, he opened it. This was the messy part, and he was careful not to get blood all over him. It would make the walk home a bitch. Carefully, he carved out the part he needed most. When her blood coated his fingers, he realized that he didn’t bring anything to clean the mess.

  Shit!

  He looked around, seeking something to wipe his fingers on, but then he didn’t want to leave bloody smears.

  So, he licked his finger.

  At first, it was done hesitantly.

  Then, when he began feeling invigorated by the tingle on his tongue, he grinned in glee.

  It wasn’t bad.

  It was like sucking on a copper penny at first, but then he got accustomed to the distinct flavor. The taste was tolerable. Granted, it wasn’t a fine wine, but maybe he was on to something. Scooping out what he came for, he sealed it in the bag and tucked it under his jacket.

  Like a thief in the night, it was time to go.

  Sneaking out, into the dark, he left her there among the decaying bodies of the other victims he stole.

  She was in good company. Her sacrifice was going to heal him or at least prolong the inevitable.

  His death.

  Heading out, he was already feeling better. As he walked through the dark paths of the cemetery he began licking the knife that had been coated with her blood.

  With each taste, he felt lighter.

  Better.

  Healthier.

  It got him thinking. Maybe he was onto something when it came to the blood. Before now, he didn’t taste the fluid. After all, they weren’t fresh. The last woman, he’d over looked it.

  This would take more research.

  He was willing to put in the time.

  He could call it his science experiment.

  If this would help, he could find a way to get their blood too.

  As he whistled a tune, heading back toward ‘The Quarter’, he was going to have a really good day tomorrow.

  He could already feel it.

  And that was a gift in itself to a dying man on borrowed time.

  * * * B l a c k h a w k - W h i t e f o x * * *

  Virginia

  Deputy Director Blackhawk’s

  Home

  As usual, sleep was not his friend.

 
As he lay there in the guest half of Elizabeth’s new home, Chris Leonard tossed and turned in an effort to find a way to escape what chased him.

  He wanted to sleep, but each time he closed his eyes, slipping into the darkness, he was faced with something he couldn’t bear.

  His dead wife haunted him.

  He could hear Cyra’s voice, and she was angry. No, it was far worse.

  She hated him.

  Each night, he did battle over the same horrors. Her death was still haunting him.

  It had been almost four months since he had buried her in the lonely grave, but still, she was harassing him in his dreams. Cyra was relentless.

  It had to be his punishment for not saving her.

  While he was awake, there was guilt, but he was healing. With each day, the pain eased a little more, and he was able to function. Just recently, he was able to go back to work in his morgue.

  Granted, it was baby steps, but he was trying his best to overcome a horrible situation.

  That was all he could do.

  Time healed.

  Right?

  Chris knew he’d never marry again, since he really believed that Cyra had been his soul mate. There would never be anyone to fill her place, and he was more than okay with that. He had love, and he knew what it felt like.

  For that brief couple of years, he was at peace. It was time to move on and take care of his family.

  For now, Doctor Christopher Leonard had other things to worry about.

  His career.

  His life.

  His daughter.

  Staying with the Blackhawks had been a really good choice and cathartic. In a way, their protective circle had healed him. They blocked out the media, kept his personal life private, and allowed him a safe home for his child. Chris would one day find his own place, but right now, he wasn’t ready.

  It was way too soon.

  Yes, he was hiding from reality, but the idea of raising Bethe alone scared him.

  What did he know about being a mother?

  What did he know about taking care of a child? It had been Cyra’s job, not his.

  Now he was trying to find his way through all of this mess, and it was daunting.

  By staying there, Elizabeth was teaching him by just doing what she did best—mothering her baby birds. He watched her day in and day out as she stayed home with their last child.

  He followed her around, studying every move she made, from feedings, to diaper changes, to the moments where she got them all settled and could have a cup of coffee.

  Kids were tough, and he was flying without a net. One slip, and it wouldn’t be him who got hurt. It would be Bethe, and frankly, she deserved better.

  This had been a good decision to follow the Blackhawks to the east coast. He had backup when it got to be too much. Now that he was back at work, Bethe also had stability with Wyler’s daycare.

  She was surrounded by people who loved her.

  In fact, so was he.

  When they moved here, Tony and Jaxon followed to remain on the team.

  Hell!

  Half the lab moved with them.

  FBI West emptied out like rats bailing on a sinking ship. No one wanted to work in a building without Ethan and Elizabeth Blackhawk.

  That said it all to everyone, including Gabriel Rothschild. He had a good thing going for him, and he wouldn’t risk it, so he was cutting them all some slack.

  It was needed.

  They were a hot mess after their last case.

  Despite struggling to get back on their feet, Elizabeth was the jewel in his crown. That gave them some advantages over the other people who worked out of the Hoover building. They’d been there a couple weeks, and hadn’t been out on a case.

  They were waiting to be sent out. So far, Gabe hadn’t handed them a new case.

  Yet.

  Well, they were running with it. It wasn’t often that Gabe cut anyone slack—let alone his investigators.

  The team was finally ready to get to work. Sadly, not everyone who asked for transfer was able to follow the Blackhawks.

  They actually had to turn people away.

  They couldn’t empty out FBI West. The new director, who had yet to be chosen, would be left high and dry. That would make the criminal element’s day.

  Chris was just lucky that he was the ME Elizabeth wanted on her team. Loyalty aside, they worked well together, and always had. Going back out was going to be a test to their relationship.

  They were both worried.

  It was evident.

  For now, Chris was trying not to dwell on it. At that point, he was focused on healing.

  When the Blackhawks had offered up their home, giving him and Bethe a place to stay, he couldn’t say no. His heart was completely broken over losing Cyra.

  He was a shell of a man, and the act he was putting on was getting harder and harder to pull off.

  He didn’t think anyone was fooled—especially Elizabeth.

  What he needed more than anything was his sister. Elizabeth was more than a boss, co-worker, and friend. She filled a role that had been vacant in his life until she made her presence known.

  Now her love and family were healing him.

  Wyler watched Bethe during the day, along with the housekeeper Ethan had hired. Chris didn’t have to worry about Bethe’s safety. She was behind walls with the people who loved her and would die to keep her safe. He trusted Wyler explicitly. How could he not?

  The man’s love of his grandkids gave Chris peace.

  It allowed him to go back to work, so he could begin to heal his broken life and dreams.

  And that was what the doctor had ordered.

  The team was ready to go.

  Since Ethan was now Deputy Director of the FBI, there was a security detail on his kids. Chris was blessed to have his daughter included in that.

  Living there was a godsend.

  And it was hell.

  He hoped he wouldn’t have to give up anytime soon. He wasn’t ready. Yes, Chris could buy the place next door, but it wasn’t for sale, and it wasn’t exactly next door. Being a power player in DC meant that Ethan had an estate where he could keep his family safe. More money meant more problems.

  Much like Gabe, they were afforded something that came at a premium.

  Isolation.

  Chris was grateful they shared it with him. Honestly, he was skittish.

  He feared what was lurking out there—not for him, but for his daughter. All he wanted was for his child to flourish and not to be punished for his past sins.

  They were numerous.

  Already, Bethe was going to grow up without her mother, and Chris had to bear that cross on his own. After all, Cyra died because of his job. It was entirely his fault. He didn’t protect his wife and child like he was supposed to, and Cyra paid the ultimate price—her life.

  For a while, as he was mourning the loss of his wife, Elizabeth tried to take the blame. He knew her too well, and she was offering him a way out from beneath the mire of guilt, but he wouldn’t let her.

  No, this was all on him, and he had to own it.

  Yes, she killed someone, but he’d made the choice to protect her. When he did that, he knew there would be backlash, and he was living it.

  Now he had to pay.

  Their past choices were the reason he was going to pay his penance, raise his child, and spend his life finding justice while working with the FBI.

  Love had left.

  And he had no need to replace it.

  The adoration he felt for his child, and his family, was enough for him. He had a woman in his life, and she was his sister. Elizabeth supplied the emotional connection he needed.

  As for sex, he wasn’t interested.

  Honestly, he didn’t think he could find anyone who could make his heart happy again. Cyra was his one shot, and now he’d live his life for Bethe.

  Oh, and the dead.

  If he had needs, he’d find a way to fill them, bu
t he truly believed that Feds had no business being married.

  This was the proof for him.

  There would be no more lasting relationships for him. From here on out, Chris had made a decision. He was married to his job, the duty of raising his child, and the family who took him in when he was lost.

  That was it.

  No one could tell him otherwise.

  Getting out of bed, Chris knew sleep wasn’t happening. So, he headed out of his wing of the house and toward the kitchen. He’d make some coffee, pull out some files, and do some work before the day officially started.

  Why not get a jump on the workweek?

  Besides, it was the perfect time of the day. The security detail wasn’t wandering around, the house was silent, and the housekeeper wasn’t there to start making breakfast for the six kids, five adults, and anyone else who wandered through.

  At daybreak, the chaos would ensue, and he wanted to avoid it.

  As he silently trudged into the kitchen, he heard the telltale clicks of a keyboard. Chris didn’t need to see who it was to already knew who was sitting there.

  This happened a great deal.

  Callen, in an attempt to work on his next book, was burning the midnight oil. Only he didn’t go to the office because here, he could be closer to the caffeine.

  It was a sound plan. That’s why he’d vacated his room.

  Oh, and to escape the ghosts who chased him.

  “Hey,” Chris said, dropping his bag on the table.

  Callen glanced up, holding up his one finger until he finished typing his thought. When he was done, he looked up at the man.

  He noticed one thing.

  Chris looked like hell. He’d recently lost weight, his face was gaunt, and his eyes were troubled. No matter how much Elizabeth doted on him, trying to fix her ‘brother’, it wasn’t working.

  Chris Leonard was sinking, and fast.

  “Why are you up?” he asked, checking out the time. It was barely two in the morning, and he didn’t need to ask the question.

  Callen already knew the answer.

  Cyra.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  Callen hated that his friend was being haunted. If there was something to fix it, they would have done it in a heartbeat. Only mourning had its stages, and Chris was still in the first one.

  They were waiting on anger and healing.