Название: After The Dark
Автор: Cynthia Eden
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
Серия: Killer Instinct
isbn: 9781474068673
isbn:
“How many shots did you take?”
She tried to pull away from him.
“No, damn it, let me help you.” And then they were walking to the door—together. His car was at the curb. That fancy Benz. He had such a plush job. Good for him... He’d gone to Princeton on a scholarship, same as her. Two kids with brains who’d fought their way to the top of the class rank. “I’ll take you home. You sleep this off, and tomorrow, tomorrow, I will hear your theory, okay? Tomorrow, I will help you.”
Nausea rolled in her belly. She didn’t think she’d eaten that day, and she really didn’t want to vomit all over his plush leather interior. So Samantha sank back into the seat and closed her eyes. She didn’t speak while he drove, but all too soon, Cameron was stopping the vehicle. Her eyes cracked open as she peered through the window. “This isn’t my house.”
“No...because while you were sleeping—”
She hadn’t been, had she?
“I drove by your place. Reporters were camped out on your doorstep. So I brought you here.”
Her hand lifted and slid over his cheek. She smiled at him. “See, when you want to be, you can be nice.”
He laughed, the sound almost harsh. “I know you go for the good-guy type, but that isn’t me.” He jumped out of the car. Cameron hurried to her side, but she’d already let herself out, thank you very much. A light dusting of snow fell onto her as she stood on the sidewalk. Winters in DC. So very different from her time growing up in the Deep South.
“You can stay in the guest room,” Cameron said as they walked toward his front door. He unlocked it and ushered her into the warmth of his house. “Unless, of course...”
She stopped and glanced up at him.
“Unless you want to sleep with me.”
Samantha blinked at those words. She hadn’t been with Cameron—not intimately—in over a year. Not since I met Blake. She and Cameron were safely in the friend zone. A zone she intended to keep occupying. They’d always been better friends than lovers. “I’ll take that guest room.”
His jaw tightened. He pointed down the hallway. “You know where it is.”
Right. Because she knew his place, inside and out, just as he knew hers. “Thanks for being a friend, Cam. I don’t have many of those left.” She turned from him and began to shuffle her way down the hall.
“Blake Gamble is your friend.”
His words stopped her. “I don’t know what Blake is,” she said honestly. “He was my partner—”
“Come on, Sam. He’s just your type. The good kind.”
She looked over her shoulder. Was that an annoyed tone in his voice? Odd, Cameron never sounded angry. Not with her.
“Maybe you don’t really want someone good, though,” he continued, voice nearly growling. “Did you ever think that? You spend so much time profiling others...you should take a long, hard look at yourself. Why do you think you belong with a true-blue sort?”
I know why... “Good night, Cameron.”
“We both know you like the dark. Nothing wrong with that. After all...” His lips curved in a mocking smile. “Isn’t that your name?”
She hurried down the hallway. Shut the guest room door. And—
The bed was already made, the covers pulled back, and a glass of water even sat on the bedside, as if Cameron had known she’d be there that night.
But he said he only brought me here because reporters were at my house.
Samantha hesitated.
Or maybe...maybe Cameron—in his ever-so-controlling way—had always intended for her to stay at his place after he’d learned about the bloody details of her day. She knew his protective instincts had a tendency to kick into overdrive where she was concerned.
She yanked open the door. Cameron was across the hall—about to enter his bedroom. “You know I hate being manipulated.” Her hands were on her hips. Her eyes narrowed on him.
“I do.” He nodded. “And I hate for my only friend to suffer alone.”
“I’m not your only friend.” Cameron had a freaking entourage of women following him around. “Tomorrow, I am so going to kick your ass.”
His lips hitched into a half smile. “No, you aren’t. But thanks for the warning.”
She stepped back and slammed the door shut. Samantha toed off her shoes, ditched her pants, drained that glass of water and fell asleep—wearing just her shirt, her bra and her panties.
* * *
IT WAS THE thirst that woke her later. Always a side effect of whiskey shots. Samantha’s eyes cracked open, and she climbed out of bed, her throat absolutely parched. The empty glass sat by the side of the bed, seeming to mock her. She stumbled to the door, then made her way—as quietly as possible—down the hallway and into the kitchen. After guzzling two glasses of water, she propped back against the counter.
The clock on the microwave told her it was nearing 4:00 a.m. Far too early. Or late, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Unfortunately, now that she was awake, her mind was already spinning, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to shut down again and go back to bed.
No blood on Allan. That was why the scene was so wrong. He had a dead woman at his feet, blood splatter all around her, but no blood was on him.
Not until he’d been shot by Blake. And then—once the guy had killed himself, Allan’s blood had been everywhere. So by the time all of the other agents had swarmed to the scene, the place had looked like a bloodbath.
She put her empty glass in the dishwasher and padded into Cameron’s office. She sat down in his leather chair, and it squeaked softly beneath her weight. She didn’t bother with a light but just moved his mouse so that his computer would wake up. Illumination immediately flooded out from his screen. His two screens. What an ego.
A faint smile curved her lips as she typed in the password for his system. Cameron was such a Greek mythology junkie. She knew that Hades was his password of choice—for pretty much everything.
The password got her access, but before she could click the internet icon...
Another file opened on his desk. A file that must have still been in use when Cameron last operated the computer. And that file...
It’s the dead girl. A close-up shot of Amber Lyle, the girl who’d been sprawled at Allan’s feet. Her eyes were closed, the wound at her neck gaping, and the blood...
Samantha leaned closer to the screen even as every muscle in her body clenched. Cameron shouldn’t have that picture. It looked like a crime scene photo. It should be classified. It shouldn’t be—
A trophy.
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