3. Crossroads

3 CROSSROADS

Keaton

Our killer had been on the loose a whole lot longer than local authorities initially thought. When Nelson began to search the database for cold cases within a hundred-mile radius where the victims were missing their left ring finger, the hits started coming in fast and furious. It would take days, maybe weeks, to weed through them all but so far, seven more women had been added to our victim board in the forty-eight hours since we’d been pulled into the investigation Koen had dubbed “the Truck Stop Slayer.” Seven women whose lives were snuffed out in a brutal fashion.

“You ready to get out of here yet?” Noah rounded the corner from the bathroom.

The rest of the team had taken off twenty minutes before to grab dinner from Chip’s deli a block down the street from the office. I couldn’t seem to get out of my head long enough to join them, which was why Noah had stayed behind. He knew I needed time and space to work through the implications that there was someone out there following in my father’s murderous footsteps, he simply refused to let me do it alone.

“Yeah.” I blew out a harsh breath and shut the lid to my laptop.

“Good, because I have a hankering for one of Chip’s double-decker BLT explosions.”

“Go on without me. I’m gonna head home, watch a bit of mindless TV, then hit the hay.”

“No can do. I was given strict instructions to drag your grumpy ass along.”

“By who?”

He leaned a hip against the edge of my desk and cocked a brow.

“Lanie,” I concluded.

“Yup, and there’s no way I’m risking her wrath, best friend or not. She’s like the Hulk on steroids when you piss her off.”

His description was spot on. Lanie was a Rottweiler in a French bulldog body. She may only be five five and a buck thirty soaking wet, but I’d seen her take down men almost double her size without breaking a sweat.

“You’re a chickenshit.”

I stood, snatching my jacket from the back of my chair, then followed him out the front door.

“I value my life. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Noah.”

A busy day of sorting through case files meant less time for my thoughts to drift off to the elusive Henley Graves. Now though, my mind was overloaded with the only two images of the brunette beauty I’d been able to uncover during my search. Her senior picture from Lansdowne High School in Baltimore and of course her driver’s license photo, which was sitting on my kitchen counter .

Two days ago, I took Sammy up on her offer to enlist Nelson to do a deep dive into her background. Using FBI resources for personal reasons was frowned upon in most offices, however, once I explained the entire situation to Duncan and Waverly, they were more than happy to lend their support.

What we’d uncovered was both tragic and mysterious. She was an orphan, having lost her mom five years earlier. There was no father listed on her birth certificate and other than her maternal grandparents—who didn’t appear to be in the picture—she was all alone in the world. Within weeks of the funeral, she moved several states away to attend Marshall University. Her tuition, room, and board were covered by multiple high-dollar merit-based scholarships, which explained how someone with virtually nothing could afford to go to such an expensive institution. That’s when things got a little hazy. Her grades were good, like top-notch exemplary, yet according to the school’s formal records, she was expelled six weeks before for plagiarism. Red flags started flying all over the place. Something strange was going on.

“Did you get any answers from the professor?” Noah’s question brought me out of my musing, just in time to walk through the door of the deli.

I’d set up a meeting with one of her professors, not only to get a feel for the type of person she was, but also to see if she had any friends in the area she may have stayed with after the expulsion. The girl lost everything with one accusation and from what I’d learned, she had been on track to have an incredible career as a social worker.

“Nothing that made any damn sense.”

Obviously, the excuse of wanting to find her in order to return her license wasn’t fooling anyone, myself included. I had no idea what I’d do when I actually located her, I just knew deep down in my soul that Henley was placed in my path for a reason, and I wanted to know why.

“Over here,” Sammy yelled out over the clatter of the dinner crowd.

Giving her a wave, Noah and I stood in line at the counter to place our order. He reached for his wallet to pay, but I waved him off, then requested my sandwich be made “to go.”

“Seriously, man? You’re already here. The girls are worried about you.”

“Only the girls?” I smirked.

“Whatever. Stay for a while or don’t.” He shrugged. “It’s not like you’ve got somebody waiting for you at home.”

“Ouch. Do you want some salt to rub into that insult?”

By rule, I was cautious about dating, which was why it happened so infrequently. I loved women—all shapes and sizes—but the idea of having to share my grisly past with someone I was intimate with was nauseating. In my opinion, there was no quicker way to send a girl running than to tell them you’re the son of an infamous serial killer. Not exactly sweet-dreams material.

My team didn’t agree with my philosophy. In fact, it was a point of contention in many late-night arguments around the office. We were close, like family, which apparently gave them the right to interfere with my love life, or lack of one. I swore if any of them tried to set me up with another one of their friends, I’d scream the roof down. To make matters worse, they roped Waverly and Duncan into the shenanigans. It became a game. They’d even taken bets on how long it had been since I’d gotten laid.

Two years, fuckers. I win.

Picking up the brown bag off the counter, I joined our group across the room. Sure enough, Lanie laid into me as soon as she saw the bag in my hand. I understood their concern, truly I did. If the roles were reversed, I could guarantee you I’d be all up in their business, which was the only reason I’d shown up in the first place.

Tonight, though, the only comfort I needed was a steamy, hot shower and my thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.

There were two things I’d allowed myself to splurge on; my car and my apartment. Otherwise, I lived off the salary I made working for the FBI. I still received a ridiculous amount of money from Renshaw International every month; half of which was placed directly into several investment funds while the other half was redistributed to various charity organizations of my choosing.

Pulling my black BMW X4 into my reserved spot at my complex, I spied the same blue rust-bucket parked in the corner of the lot I’d first seen a few weeks ago when I drove Lanie back to her townhouse a few blocks south of me. She’d had one too many drinks after a night out celebrating our latest takedown. I lived closest to her, so I volunteered to get her home. Since then, I’d noticed it a few other places; mostly large lots in ungated communities.

Stepping out of my SUV with my sandwich stuffed in my briefcase, I started walking toward the front of my building, then veered to the right when I saw movement coming from inside the back of the car. The last thing I needed was to worry whether there was someone freezing to death in my parking lot. I wasn’t being a dick; it was more self-preservation. At least that’s what I told myself when I took the flashlight out of the side pocket of my bag and tapped the end of it against the back window.

“You can’t sleep here. Move it or I’ll have this piece of shit towed.”

The vehicle rocked as whoever was in it climbed over the seat into the front. My hand automatically went to the service weapon on my hip, while I shined the light through the glass. When the window rolled down about four inches, the first thing I saw was a set of tired, emerald eyes. Then I looked closer, nearly stumbling backward when I recognized her face.

“It’s you.”

All this time I’d been chasing my own tail trying to locate this woman, and she’d practically landed on my doorstep.

“Do we know each other?” she questioned, her voice trembling slightly, most likely because I’d scared the shit out of her.

“Sort of?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Look. Why don’t you come out here so we can talk?”

“I’m not in the habit of communing with strangers in dark parking lots, so you’ll have to forgive me when I respectfully decline.”

“I saved your life almost two weeks ago,” I blurted.

The squeak of the car door opening was the only indication she’d heard me. From her license, I knew she was five five and a hundred thirty pounds, yet as she stood less than three feet from me, she appeared so much smaller…more vulnerable. And she was gorgeous. Unbelievably gorgeous.

Not wanting to make her feel cornered, I took a giant step backward, then grinned when I saw the small switchblade nestled in her shaking hands. The knife was no match for the Glock on my hip, however the simple fact she’d armed herself filled me with pride.

“You won’t be needing that.” I pointed to the blade. “You’re a hundred-percent safe with me.”

“Says the guy carrying a gun,” she huffed, her eyes darting quickly to my side, then back to my face.

“I’m an FBI agent, Henley. Here, let me show you.”

Slowly, so as not to startle her further, I reached into my back pocket and withdrew my wallet, flipping open my billfold to show her my identification. For a split second, I thought I’d gained her trust a little, but then I heard her quick inhale when she realized what I’d said. It was her turn to retreat, though the step she took put her back up against the car.

“Wait. How do you know my name?”

“Easy, Little Bird.” The endearment slipping out as I held my hands up in a placating manner. “I’m the one who found you on the street when your blood sugar was really low. After the paramedics arrived, they wanted to know your name. Your purse was lying next to you so I went through it. I’ve actually been looking for you so I could give you back your license.”

“You have?”

A chill ran through her body, making me realize she was out in the cool air wearing nothing but a long sleeve T-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Even though it wasn’t winter, the temperature overnight would drop into the thirties. No way could I allow her to sleep out in the elements when I had a perfectly unused guest room. Besides, now that I’d found her, I wasn’t letting her go without a fight. Unfortunately, there was a huge obstacle in my path. Henley, herself. Convincing her to come inside might prove to be the biggest challenge of my life .

“Absolutely. Listen, it’s getting cold out here.” Patting the bag which was still slung over my shoulder, I continued, “I picked up a monstrous deli sandwich on the way home. I’ll never be able to finish it myself, so why don’t you come upstairs with me to get your license and we can talk while we eat.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, giving me ideas I should not be having at this stage of the game. My cock twitched behind the zipper of my black cargo pants, rousing from his two year hibernation and fully on board with the direction my mind seemed to be headed.

“Special Agent Keaton Clarke, at your service.”

Those brilliant jeweled eyes locked with mine as indecision marred her expressive face.

“I said it before and I’ll say it as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You’re safe with me, Henley.”

In a voice so quiet I barely heard it, she replied, “I know.”

Henley

I was either incredibly desperate or monumentally stupid, perhaps a bit of both. Mom was likely rolling over in her grave as she watched me stand in a strange man’s apartment—excuse me, penthouse—while he plated two halves of a turkey and cheese club onto paper plates. Except he wasn’t truly a stranger, was he? Agent Clarke had literally saved my life. Did my state of unconsciousness at the time really matter? It still happened and he was still a hero in every sense of the word. A drop-dead gorgeous one at that.

He was well over six feet tall with close-cropped, jet-black hair, soulful dark eyes, and olive-toned skin, which looked like he’d spent too many hours basking in the sun. The beard on his face was neatly trimmed around the sharp angles of his chin, giving it almost a five o’clock shadow appearance. And—Lord have mercy on my soul—when his jacket came off, revealing thick, muscular biceps with lines of black ink swirling around them? Well, let’s just say it took me half a second to remember my own name.

Jesus, what was wrong with me?

“Make yourself at home.” His deep voice echoed through the expansive room.

“Thanks.”

Moving cautiously from the foyer, where I’d purposefully remained close to the door, toward what I assumed was the living room, I let my eyes drift around the massive space. It was very pristine…almost clinical in appearance. Light gray walls which looked freshly painted. A black leather sofa with matching love seat and ottoman, neither of which had any signs of wear and tear, sat in the center of the room. Even the plush smoke-colored carpet didn’t appear as if it had ever been walked on. It almost seemed comical to think of his place as a home, especially when there wasn’t a single picture or piece of art hanging on the walls.

“Did you recently move in here?” The question rolled off my tongue before I could stop myself.

“No.”

I was startled at the closeness of his voice.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He handed me a plate and gestured to a dining area I hadn’t noticed off to the left. “I’ve lived here for six years.”

“Wow. I’ve been here five years. I mean obviously not here in your fancy apartment”—I twirled my finger through the air—“but in Huntington. I’m a student at Marshall, correction, I was a student at Marshall. Now I waitress at Over Easy aannnd you didn’t need to know any of that so I’ll just shut up now.”

He chuckled, pulling a chair out from underneath the four person table for me to take a seat.

“Do you always ramble when you’re nervous?”

“Sorry. Word vomit is kinda my specialty.” I cringed, ducking my head as I felt my cheeks blaze with embarrassment.

“Don’t apologize.” One finger touched the underside of my jaw, tilting my chin up to meet his stormy gaze. “I want to know everything about you.”

“Why?”

“Honestly?” He placed an unopened bottle of water in front of me before moving to the opposite side of the table with his dinner. “I have no idea.”

There was such wonder in his voice, along with a hint of vulnerability I’m certain he didn’t mean to project. Whether it was purposeful or not, he’d given me a glimpse of his true self; the one he kept hidden behind carefully constructed walls. Keaton was good to his core. Ten minutes alone with the man and I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, yet something felt off.

His revelation sat heavy on my chest long after we’d both finished our meals. When he told me to relax while he grabbed a quick shower, my feet should’ve sprinted out the front door. Instead, I used the time to try to figure out how I could feel such a powerful pull to a virtual stranger.

He had money, if the opulence of his home was anything to go by, yet he didn’t flaunt it with gold-plated fixtures and diamond chandeliers. Everywhere I looked, there were shades of black; not even a throw pillow or two on the sofa to lend a splash of color to the room .

“You can have my room and I’ll take the guest room tonight.”

My head whipped around when he spoke. Thank God I was sitting down, otherwise I would have fallen on my ass at the sight of him. He was standing at the bottom of the stairway—which he’d told me earlier led up to the master bed and bath—in a pair of dark gray sweatpants with the letters FBI printed along the right side and nothing else except a T-shirt in his hands. The tattoos I’d caught sight of earlier were on full display, climbing both arms and connecting with a larger one that spanned the width of his broad chest. There was something written in the black ink, however the distance between us and the shirt he quickly donned kept me from being able to decipher the letters.

“Um…what the hell are you talking about?”

“Sleeping arrangements.” He looked confused when he replied. “My mattress is more comfortable so you can have it.”

Getting to my feet, I shuffled toward the door, snagging my license off the counter on the way by.

“Listen, Keaton. While I appreciate your offer, there’s no way I can stay here.”

“Why the hell not?” he boomed, making me jump. “Shit, sorry. You don’t ever have to be scared of me, Henley.”

“I’m not,” I whispered.

“Christ, I’m making a mess of this.” He shook his head. “Waverly or Lanie would know what to say to convince you to stay here where you’d be safe and warm.”

“Are they your girlfriends?”

He roared with laughter and by his reaction to the sound, I got the distinct impression it wasn’t something he did very often .

“No, Little Bird. They’re my coworkers, though most of the time they act like annoying sisters.”

It was the second time he’d called me by the nickname, not that I was counting.

“Gotcha.” I reached for the doorknob. “Thank you, Keaton.”

“Won’t you reconsider? Stay the night?” he pleaded, edging a few paces closer.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

He lowered his chin in defeat, but I could’ve sworn as I closed the door between, I heard his deep voice rumble, “Not yet.”

The second time I was awakened by a knock on my window was no less startling than the first. Only this time, the dim light of day helped illuminate the man who was hunched over, peering through the glass, rather than the harsh brightness from a flashlight.

“Morning, Henley,” he called out.

I stretched my lower limbs to ease the tightness, which always came from sleeping in close quarters, before sitting up to acknowledge his presence.

“What are you doing out here so early, Keaton?” His mouth opened, except the only thing to leave it was a stream of smoke created from the contrast of his hot breath against the chill of the morning air as he exhaled. It was then, I noticed a newer model black SUV parked directly beside mine. “Wait, did you stay out here last night?”

He averted his gaze, giving me the answer I sought, which in turn, had a million other questions popping into my head. The first one slipping out so harshly could solely be blamed on the fact I hadn’t had any caffeine. I was not a morning person.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing? Everything?” Keaton began to pace between the two vehicles. “It’s your fault, really.”

Pissed off that I was more than a little turned on over the idea he’d given up his bed to sleep next to me—sort of—I threw on a sweatshirt, followed by my worn-out sneakers and hastily exited the car. I was furious by the time I stomped to his side, mostly because I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to throw down with my federal agent or climb him like a tree.

Whoa. Mine?

Yup. I needed coffee.

“How is any of this my fault?” I walked right into his path, halting his incessant pacing.

“I couldn’t sleep…” he shrugged, “knowing you were down here all alone, completely unprotected.”

“So you what? You traipsed down here in the middle of the night?”

“It wasn’t the middle of the night,” he mumbled, looking sheepish.

“Huh?”

“I came down about an hour after you did.”

A fluttering started low in my belly, like a swarm of butterflies were preparing to take flight. I’d had the same sensation the night before, though I’d dismissed it as nervous energy. While there was definite apprehension, I was also highly intrigued and—dare I say it—attracted to the man before me.

“How about I whip us up something quick for breakfast?” He broke through the silence.

“I’m not sure. ”

Wrapping my arms around my waist, I absentmindedly traced the small tattoo on my left hip. Mom’s initials—S.M.G.—with an angel's wing on either side. The colorful ink was a permanent reminder of her unconditional love and the ultimate sacrifice she made to ensure my survival.

“Take a chance, Henley.” He approached cautiously, holding out a hand between us. “I can’t promise you anything beyond basic food and decent conversation this morning, but unless we put aside our fears, we’ll never know if there could be more.”

Could I do what he was asking? It seemed so simple, yet equally monumentous. Like taking his hand might lead to the biggest, most rewarding risk of my life; far greater than the one I took when I packed my bags and moved to West Virginia all those years ago; a grieving teenage girl who’d lost my way. I was at a crossroads, a critical juncture where I could either continue to cower behind a thousand excuses, or take a leap of faith. The first ensured a lonely existence while the other put me on a path of uncertainty. Both were terrifying in my opinion, though nothing was scarier than a future without love.

Under the weight of his pleading stare, my decision was made.

“Breakfast.” I stepped toward him, placing my hand palm side down on top of his.

He smiled wide, squeezing my fingers gently, but what he didn’t do was let it go. Instead, he laced our fingers together and moved toward his building, leaving me with no alternative except to follow.

“Wait.” I pulled away, severing our connection to jog back to my car. Opening the passenger’s side door, I knelt down and began digging through the tote bag from the clinic .

“Henley, hold up.” The heavy thud of his boots echoed on the pavement behind me. “I understand if this is moving too quickly, just please don’t run?—”

Cutting off his words, I jumped up and raised the black case I’d been searching for into the air with a triumphant grin.

“I have to check my blood sugar before I eat. I wasn’t running.”

Keaton skirted the open door, planting one hand on the frame and the other on the roof of the car, effectively caging me in. Being trapped by a man of his size, especially someone I’d just met, should’ve activated my fight-or-flight response. Nevertheless, it wasn’t fear which had my heart rate skyrocketing, leaving me breathless. It was the intense, heated look he was throwing my way.

“Damn, Henley.” He lowered his head briefly before returning his gaze to mine. “Your smile could illuminate even the stormiest of skies. It also makes me want things I have no business wanting.”

“Like what?” I whispered.

As if pulled by some invisible force, we moved as one, the distance between us disappearing in an instant. Our bodies were almost flush, making the extreme difference in our height evident.

Trailing the back of his index finger up and down my cheek in the gentlest of touches, he breathed, “More.”

Waves of desire crashed into my core, both from his caress and his admission. There was no comparison to the all-consuming attraction I felt in his presence. Not even the brief relationship I had in my junior year of high school came close, and I gave him my virginity. Yet, I sensed he was holding himself back.

“And wanting more makes you…” I trailed of f.

“Selfish.” After one last stroke on my cheek, he turned away from me, shoulders hunched. “I’ve got a fuckton of baggage, Henley.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I replied. “You just need to find the right person to help you unpack it all.”

My stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, halting the heavy conversation before I could say anything else.

“Come on.” Keaton took hold of my hand once again. “Let’s get you fed.”

Utilizing the sidewalk, we made our way back to his building. The whole time, his thumb brushed lazy circles on the back of my hand while his head moved on a constant swivel, looking out for whatever danger we might possibly encounter at the ass-crack of dawn. He also positioned himself so his massive body was the closest to the parking lot.

Those actions, while probably instinctual for Keaton, spoke louder than any words ever could. With each step we took, any reservations I had about the man at my side began to fade away until only one thought remained.

I was truly safe with him.