# WATCHING

## Calle J. Brookes

## LOST RIVER LIT PUBLISHING, L.L.C.
WATCHING

Copyright © 2012 by Calle J. Brookes

REV ED: 2020

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For information contact:

www.callejbrookes.com

Book and Cover design by C.J. BROOKES

First Edition: APRIL 2012

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PFRS12020

# Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Epilogue

Also by Calle J. Brookes

# Chapter One

_THANK_ _God_ _it wasn't her child's crime scene they were hiking toward_. That thought ran continuously through Dr. Georgia Dennis's mind as she picked her way over fallen branches and loose rocks, only steps behind her partner.

What would the girl have felt as she'd been forced up this hill? What fears would have run through the child's mind as the leaves cracked beneath her feet, as the mud slipped out beneath her steps? Had her hands been bound the entire time? Had she lost her balance? Had he pushed her down? How would the UNSUB—the Unknown Subject—have controlled his... _catch_?

Georgia's breath caught in her throat as she tried to put herself in the girl's shoes. She pushed away the feelings the girl's parents must have felt, though those thoughts threatened to choke her. How could someone do this? To a child? How could he do this and not think of the pain and terror the child would be experiencing? _How_? "He may be a sadist or a mission killer."

"Any evidence to back up your theory so early in the investigation?" her partner and supervisor, Michael Hellbrook, asked.

"Method of death...sir."

"Continue. Talk it out for me." Impatience was evident as he waited for her to climb the log.

The local agent, Elias Stanton, had met them at the base of the mountain to lead them to this crime scene. He darted nervous glances between her and Hellbrook. The tension between her and her supervisor was old news to her, something that just _was._ She hardly noticed it anymore.

Georgia adjusted her backpack, scanning the overgrown trail for any signs of the killer the locals may have missed. She continued on. Her foot slipped on a loose rock, and she kicked it aside. Had the killer considered that stone? Had he carried the rocks with him up the trail? "Stoning. It's a traditional method of killing, used as far back as biblical times. A young girl, just becoming aware of her sexuality. He sees it, decides to cleanse—therefore, mission killer. He could also be a classic sadist. Someone who wandered into the idea of stoning, possibly by throwing rocks at a small animal—or even a smaller child. Someone who enjoyed watching his victims suffer. Someone who picked those who couldn't retaliate. Or those he put into positions where they couldn't fight back."

"So someone who enjoyed hurting others?" Confusion tinged the local's tone. It didn't surprise her. Many agents—even if they were good agents—struggled with the idea of profiling. That was changing, of course, but it would still take time.

"Yes. And he's raging against all females, especially those similar in type to the four victims. Were there any signs of sexual assault?" Georgia hated to ask, especially since the victims, in this case, were all teenage girls. She hated when the victims were kids, always imagining her four-year-old son, Matthew, in their place. Imagining herself in their parents' places.

That was what she took from each case that dealt with children—the pain on the parents' faces. That pain haunted her.

She slipped her hand into her pocket, running a finger over the toy car her son had tucked in there that morning before they'd left the house.

_He_ was why she did this. For each of these monsters she took off the streets, the chance that one would get her baby lessened. She never lost sight of that. Her son would not be a victim. Not like she had been.

"Preliminary findings were inconclusive. Our medical examiner was nervous about doing an extensive autopsy. They're waiting for our go-ahead to bring in our own medical examiner." Hellbrook barely looked at her. That also didn't surprise her. They didn't have the strongest of relationships, by any means.

His fault.

She'd tried. Until she'd just given up even trying with him at all.

"And nothing's been found in the seven hours since we were first notified?"

"Uh...no, ma'am."

Georgia kept her eyes on Hellbrook's back as she followed him and the other man when they began hiking again. "I take it our medical examiner is on the way?"

Calling for one would have been Georgia's job had she been left behind at the precinct. She normally handled the miscellaneous tasks that other agents didn't have time to handle. That was her normal lot with Hellbrook's team. Six months since she'd been assigned to his unit, and today was the first he'd let her out of the precinct. He'd had no choice—his customary partner was too sick to leave the precinct, and there were too many crime scenes for the rest of the team to cover.

She hated that it had come down to necessity for him to grant her request—one she'd made on every new case—but she was glad he finally had. She wanted to do her job, all aspects of it. And she really wanted the creep who'd targeted these four little girls for his sick game.

She wanted to be out there, needed to be out there, stopping the monsters who preyed on the weak. That was why she'd joined the FBI in the first place. That was why she'd studied hard and earned two doctorates by the time she'd hit twenty-five.

"Of course. Come on. It'll be sunset soon, and we need to get what we can before that point."

Georgia hurried to keep up with him as his long legs ate up the trail. She understood his impatience; she needed to be at the scene just as much as he, but both she and Stanton were struggling to keep up. What good would that do Hellbrook?

Hell kept one eye on Georgia, wanting to make certain she—the smallest member of the team—could handle the hike to the first crime scene. The animal trail they followed was not an easy path for any of them, was actually dangerous, but the petite Georgia would have a tougher time. She had to stretch in a few places or climb over logs and rocks that he and Stanton had little difficulty scaling.

He wanted to grab her arm and drag her along. He had always been an impatient man, especially when on the hunt for child killers. He forced himself to keep his hands off his partner, letting the local agent help her when needed.

Hell sensed the other man enjoyed helping her. Why wouldn't Stanton? Georgia was...beautiful. In more ways than the most obvious.

She would fight like the devil if he ever offered to help. That was mostly his fault for the way he'd treated her over the last six months, and he knew it. Habits were hard to break. Even for him.

"He's athletic," she said when they took a short break. "Comfortable in this area."

"Local," Hell added. It had been a tough climb for them, and he suspected it would get worse. The man they were searching for would have known that. And would not have attempted the climb if he hadn't thought he'd be able to complete it. Confidence? Arrogance? Or just skilled? "Stanton, how much farther?"

"The pit's about another mile or so. Three or four decades back this area was mined for fill dirt. These pits scar the hills. Most are overgrown now. Most are filled with water. Terrain made it difficult to dig large holes around here, so there are quite a few smaller ones. Steep-sided and not very wide at the bottom. Made it easy for the guy to trap these kids and use them for his target practice. First body was found in a forty-foot hole. Cadaver dogs sniffed her out."

They hiked the rest of the way in silence. Hell ran a quick eye over his partner, making sure she was still with him. She looked fine, as if she'd barely broken a sweat. She looked better than fine, if Hell was being honest. She always did. Had he ever seen a woman look so put together when climbing through the mud-drenched woods? Only Georgia Dennis, princess of the FBI division her father had created.

The late April sun tangled in the dark-brown curls poking out the back of the FBI-issue cap she wore, distracting him for a moment. Dr. Dennis was an incredibly attractive woman; Hell couldn't deny that. He had been aware of that from the moment they'd first met. Even when dressed in nondescript jeans and windbreaker like she was today, that small, exquisitely formed woman with pale skin and dark hair had a way of drawing male eyes. Had a way of tempting male hands to touch, to stroke. To tangle in that dark hair.

The crime scene was as the photos had portrayed and taped off with standard yellow police tape. They stepped up to the barrier and studied the forty-foot hole. Hell's stomach clenched in reaction; he'd struggled with heights since the age of five when he'd fallen out of a second-story window.

Georgia suffered no such weakness. She fingered the crime tape and peered down into the pit with careless disregard that she was four stories above the bottom. "The hole's what? Forty feet deep?"

Both Stanton and Hell nodded.

"Still, with the overgrowth on the sides, the grade's about fifty-to-sixty degrees. The fall would injure, but probably not kill," Stanton said. "We figure the guy used these pits as a type of holding pen."

"An organic cage, hard for his victims to escape, but not impossible," Georgia said, her tone full of disgust and fury. Hell understood. He felt the same. "He likes to play games."

Hell itched to grab the handle of the black backpack she wore everywhere and yank her back to his side. And hold her there. Far away from that damned edge. She stepped back seconds before he acted on that impulse.

She turned to Stanton. "How many miles from the other three crime scenes?"

"Six miles. Is that important?" Stanton asked.

"It may tell us something later. No detail is too insignificant at this point." The nerves in Hell's stomach loosened as Georgia took another step away from the edge.

"Has anyone other than the search teams and the local ME and deputies been down there?" Georgia asked.

"No, a spring snow came in on the heels of finding the first and second bodies. Then there was the race of keeping up with the body count. Last two victims went missing two days ago and yesterday. Both bodies were found yesterday evening less than six hundred feet apart." Stanton peered over the side once more. "Why?"

"Because we need to go down there." She didn't ask or wait for Hell's permission, ducking under the crime tape and disappearing from his view within seconds.

Hell cursed before following. "Dennis, you could have waited for permission!"

She moved quicker than a damned goat, the weeds, brambles, and mud slowing her only slightly. Hell stumbled the last few yards, then stopped a foot from his wayward agent and glared down at her. "Next time, Dr. Dennis, you wait for my orders before entering a sealed-off area—especially one forty feet down! What if you'd fallen?"

"Yes, sir. Next time you and I are at a crime scene together, I will be sure to ask your permission before entering."

Her words held something Hellbrook couldn't quite identify. He glared. He didn't need this problem, even if he currently needed her. "See that you do. I'd hate to have to explain to your father why I let you fall off a cliff."

She mumbled something under her breath that he swore was _he'd assume you pushed me!_ Surely, she hadn't said that? Did she honestly think that? He might not like her, but he certainly didn't want to see her harmed. "Excuse me, Dr. Dennis? What was that?"

"She could have climbed out, sir." Georgia stepped away from him, then shielded her eyes from the sun. She stared up the side. "Why didn't she?"

Hell mimicked her actions, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on her if they remained partnered up for the investigation. Something in his gut told him he'd need to. Hell always trusted his gut. It had gotten him this far. "There were no drugs in her system—at least, according to the preliminary autopsy. Estimated time of death was midevening, day after disappearance."

"Question is—was she already dead when she entered the pit or did he stone her while she was down there?" Georgia pulled on a pair of latex gloves as she spoke, handing him a second pair.

"Probably waited until she was down here. Either rolled her, carried her, or simply pushed her over the edge. The growth would have slowed her enough to not kill her outright." Hell pulled on his gloves. He examined the disturbed spot where fourteen-year-old Hailey Ann Michaels's body had landed for the final time. That poor child hadn't deserved to be tossed aside like a man's trash. Hell would find him and render him as insignificant as garbage. Hailey Ann deserved that much and so much more. "When she was awake and aware enough he began pelting her with these."

He motioned to the palm-sized stones that littered the area. He grabbed one and examined it.

"Why couldn't she have hidden until he grew tired and left? Or did he just wait? There're several places a girl her size could have hidden. Maybe he waited until she'd almost made it out and then pushed her down? That demonstrates an extreme amount of patience." Georgia mimicked him, grabbing another stone. Her brown eyes narrowed as she eyed him. Her hand clenched on the rock. "Go back up...sir."

He considered, wondering if she planned to heave the rock at him. Her eyes were cool, her face a mask of professionalism. But there was something in her eyes. Hell mentally shrugged, then nodded. He wasn't familiar enough with her style while in the field to know what she was thinking.

He'd never had her out in the field, either with him or any of the other CCU members. Not once since she'd been transferred to his team. She'd not been in the field with him since the afternoon they'd been with Agents Brockman and McLaughlin on a Seattle rooftop, working a joint case just days after they'd met. A sniper they'd been chasing had put a round through Georgia's right shoulder. He'd never forgotten—still had nightmares—about her blood staining his favorite leather jacket, of how pale and small she'd been as he'd used his body as a human shield between her and the shooter. Had she not turned at the last second, she'd have been dead. He'd also never forgotten how she'd trembled against him as he'd carried her to the waiting ambulance ten stories below. How light and insubstantial she'd felt as she'd clung to him, her arm clenched around his neck. How she'd not made a single sound.

He shifted almost unconsciously, putting his body between hers and the top of the pit as he climbed. He hated having her out here, exposed.

He was silent as he climbed the incline. It wasn't an easy climb for him—and he made every effort to keep his body in optimum physical shape. The job demanded it. It would not have been an easy climb for a petite and terrified teenage girl.

He turned back and looked down at his agent. She looked even smaller than he knew her to be, and she was no bigger than any of their victims. "Now what, Doctor?"

"Can you see me here?" she yelled back at him before moving to various places in the pit. It was only about thirty feet in width, but the overgrowth—even beaten down by the last remnants of melting snow—would have provided some potential covering. Georgia stepped behind the largest copse of weeds and brambles. All he could see of her was the black ball cap.

"Now what?" he yelled.

"Stand back!" She let the first stone fly. It missed Stanton and him by three yards.

Hell cursed, "Dammit, Dennis!"

He may have imagined it, but he heard a wicked feminine laugh come from the pit. He and Stanton moved back several dozen feet.

"Try it again!" he yelled, and she pelted more stones over the edge. She did this for a good five minutes before he called a halt. "All right, that's enough! You've proven your point. Now get back up here!"

"Yes, sir!"

Hell moved back to the rim, watching each move she made. She had more time to deliberate than the victims would have had, and she had the benefit of being an adult in prime physical shape—and she was armed. Those facts gave her an edge the girls wouldn't have had. The terror the girls would have experienced was missing. Hell watched Georgia's body movements, the way she had to stretch to grab exposed roots and rocks that may have provided Hailey Ann with handholds had the girl climbed the incline.

Georgia misjudged, missing the exposed root she'd grabbed for. Hell tensed. She slid, and he bit back another curse. She took the next ten feet more carefully, then reached for another root near the top. Both he and the shorter Stanton leaned down to offer her a hand up. Stanton was too short to be much help, so Hell stretched out a little farther, trying not to think of the drop behind her. The muddy edge crumbled beneath her as Hell's hand met hers.

He cursed again; he used his hold on her hand to pull her the last few feet—clearing the rim and jerking them both away from the edge, taking the yellow crime tape with them. His arm rested around her waist, and her head was tucked beneath his chin. They both breathed hard. Her front was pressed against his chest, and her feet dangled several inches from the muddy ground.

"Agent Hellbrook?" Her voice wobbled a bit. She pulled against his hold. He lowered her, sliding her body against his larger one, letting her feet hit the grass. "Why didn't she hide or fight back? She could have. How did he stop her? Or was she just too damned terrified to resist?"

"That's a question the autopsy and forensics team may be able to answer," Hell said as she replaced her bag over her shoulders.

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "We need those autopsy results as soon as possible."

"Yes, I think we've gotten all we are going to get here. Let's go. We'll head into town and meet up with the medical examiner." Hell motioned her down the path in front of him and behind Stanton. It was going to be a long hike back.

# Chapter Two

GEORGIA estimated she'd spent one-eighth of her career in morgues. It never got easier and was much worse when the bodies of children were laid out on the sterile tables. She took several deep breaths before pushing open the sterile metal door that led into the county coroner's office.

The medical examiner looked hard at work, and Georgia felt a rush of relief hit her at the familiar face. Dr. Julia Bellows was one of her two closest friends and had been for years. They'd been roommates at Quantico, as well. Georgia was always glad to see her, though it was infrequently. "Jules, it's good to see you. How are you?"

"Breathing. Which is more than I can say about these poor girls," the slightly taller brunette said with a long sigh. Four bodies were laid out on four metal exam tables, three of them covered with sheets. "George, it's good to see you, too. Wish it was under better circumstances."

"Dr. Julia Bellows, this is my supervisor, Unit Chief Michael Hellbrook; Hellbrook, Dr. Julia Bellows, special agent and girl genius."

"Dr. Bellows, it's nice to meet you. What have you got for us?" Hell asked, his words polite and purposeful.

"It's not good." Jules shook her head, her eyes sadder than usual. "Let's start chronologically, shall we? Hailey Ann Michaels. Age fourteen. Brown hair and blue eyes. One hundred eight pounds. Her last meal was plain cheese pizza and waffle fries. And what appeared to be an M&M ice cream sundae. Time of death was nearly ninety-six hours ago. Faint ligature marks were found under the skin of both wrists, but that is the least of it. Under the bruising were signs of fondling and sexual molestation. No rape or penetration."

Jules kept her voice flat and clinical; Georgia knew it was her friend's way of coping with the daily traumas she'd seen. Georgia knew the other woman had seen so much. It was a wonder Jules stayed sane. Georgia couldn't do what her friend did. She could catch the killers, but she could not deal with the dead. "Anything stand out, Jules?"

"Official cause of death was cranial trauma to the front right occipital lobe. The victim was knocked unconscious and slowly died from the bleeding within the brain. Along her body were numerous bone fractures, though most were hairline, particularly around the ribs, wrists, and arms. Where she held her hands up to defend herself. No foreign DNA or other samples were found on her body," Jules said.

"Go on." Hell and Georgia followed her to the next table. The doctor pulled the sheet back, exposing the body of the next girl. Georgia recognized her as Kirby Jaysons.

"Time of death, approximately seventy-four hours ago," Jules began listing her findings. "Similar ligature markings, on both wrists. A faint burn on the left outer side. Cause of death, internal injuries to the lungs due to broken ribs, bleeding in both the liver and spleen. Also, signs of sexual molestation, but no forced intercourse. Had several fractures in similar positions to the first victim. Also had several signs of previous fractures, possible abuse. I'm not sure if it's case relevant."

Georgia looked at the girl's face, seeing the smattering of freckles over the small nose. Her little boy Matthew had freckles. _She_ had freckles like that. Still did, under the makeup she used to cover them. Why? Why would someone seek to hurt something as innocent as a child? To use them and discard them?

It was a question she had tried for fifteen years to answer.

"I'm still in preliminary stages on the final two victims." Jules moved the sheet back up to cover the teen. "I wanted to prevent any further degradation of evidence on the first two. I'll get you my findings as soon as I'm finished."

"Thanks, Doctor." Hell nodded. "I'd appreciate it."

He started to the door, but Georgia didn't follow.

Georgia waited until the door closed before speaking. "You ok?"

"As good as can be expected," Jules said. "You?"

"I'm ok. Keep busy." Georgia shrugged. "It helps."

"Maybe for you. Hellbrook still giving you trouble?"

"He's apathetic now. It's better. But the six-month assignment ends pretty soon." And her father had promised her that if it hadn't worked out with Hellbrook's team, she could have a team of her own to lead. That was what she wanted, and she knew—and no one else could deny—that she had earned her own team.

"Then you'll get your own team?"

"If I want."

"This is serious then," Jules said. "Tread carefully, George, real careful. I've heard things of Hellbrook and the bureau considers him a legend. I'd hate for you to end up being the squeaky wheel, especially with PAVAD being such a new division. That would seriously suck for you and your dad."

"I know," Georgia said. It would. Her father had created the Prevention & Analysis of Violent Acts Division, and it was still in its infancy. It couldn't afford any major upsets. Hellbrook could be a definite upset.

If Hellbrook took exception to her getting her own team—the way he'd reacted when she'd been assigned to his team—it could upset the entire scale of the division. Not to mention her career.

He despised her enough to do just that. Hated her, hated her father. And made no attempt to hide that hate. How many times had he accused her of nepotism? Of hindering the team? Too many times for her to count.

"I know," Georgia said. "In the meantime, I'd better catch up with Hellbrook. He's likely to leave me behind."

Jules threw out one hand and waved the pencil in it with impervious command. "Go. Be gone. The murdered never sleep. I have work to do."

Hellbrook waited inside the small office they'd been given, files spread over the table. She watched him through the small window for a moment before entering. "Agent Hellbrook, sir."

"Dr. Dennis." His face closed up and a considering look came into his eyes. Georgia tensed, then cursed at the instinctive reaction to him. "Is everything ok?"

"Just some family business." Georgia bypassed the table with the autopsy results spread over it. She wasn't ready to see those photos yet, not after seeing the girls' bodies on the tables. She stopped by the window, stared out at the barren fields surrounding the police station and the lab.

"You're related to Dr. Bellows?" Surprise was evident on his face.

"No. Not really." She didn't want to get into it. Not with him.

"So how was it family business then?" He was as persistent as a damned terrier with a rat. Always was. Why couldn't he just give her a break sometimes? He moved to stand beside her, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at her. Crowding her. Intimidating her.

"Her husband was the brother of my fiancé. Before he died." She threw the words at his insensitive head, taking only small satisfaction from the surprise on his handsome face. "I took ten minutes to catch up with one of my closest friends and my little boy's only aunt...sir. Will that be a problem?"

"Your fiancé died, or his brother?" Hellbrook's voice came out garbled. She tilted her head back to see his face fully. He was so damned big, standing over a foot taller than she and being broad-shouldered and built like a damned Mack truck. It was no wonder it was so easy for him to intimidate. She'd always hated large men.

" _Both_. They died together."

"When?" he asked. Was he that unfamiliar with her history? She thought everyone on the team knew.

"How long ago, you mean?" Her eyes returned to the window, and she tried to convince herself that he wasn't that close to her, that it wasn't the man she'd fought with for months standing within reaching distance. She wished it was Bryan so close.

All her hostility evaporated as she remembered that day three years ago. Her differences with Hellbrook seemed so insignificant compared to that. So petty. So unimportant. Why did Hellbrook matter so much? Her voice was soft when she answered. "Car accident, three years ago. We were on our way to the mall—Jules and I were in the car behind them. Bryan had Mattie in his car, backseat, of course. Jules and I saw it happen. I ran to the car and pulled Mattie out of the back. He was screaming for his daddy. Jules tried to help Bryan. Her husband was already dead. There was nothing either of us could do. For either of them. Jules never got over it. And that's how I got my son. He was Bryan's, not mine."

He surprised her by covering her shoulder with one large hand. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Georgia. Both—all three—of you. And thank God you weren't in that car. Your son is lucky to have you."

Her second least favorite pastime was riding in a car with the great Michael Hellbrook. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the Rapid City police department or since he'd offered her comfort. Hellbrook had offered her comfort. It was almost unimaginable. Had he even offered comfort to her when she'd been shot? She didn't think so.

She knew he was capable of it. He was excellent with Agent Sparks, their teammate. Carrie was a bit different—Georgia suspected the younger woman was on the autism spectrum—and Hellbrook was almost insanely protective of her. He'd comforted Carrie on so many occasions. He'd comforted K.D. as well. Even Zeke and Josh had received support from their team leader. That compassion had just never been turned in Georgia's direction. She knew why—he'd thought she'd gotten her position because of her father, rather than on merit. The first few months with his team she'd tried to prove differently. Now, it didn't matter. Now she just wanted to stop the UNSUB from hurting anyone else, then get through the remainder of her time with the CCU.

"Why isn't he raping them?" she asked to break the stilted silence.

"Hmm?" Hellbrook looked over at her, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other beating out an absent rhythm against the console between their seats.

"I said—why isn't he raping them?" Georgia's eyes scanned the road as she spoke. "He's molesting them, but not raping. Why?"

"Physically incapable. Maybe impotent?"

"No. I don't think so. If it was impotence, I think there would be no sexual component whatsoever. I think he'd try to hide it. Or...the sexual component would be exaggerated from an attempt to compensate. We know this man is probably a traditionalist; the stoning tells us that." Georgia's focus sharpened on the road in the distance. Had she seen movement?

"He'd be doubly concerned with preserving his perceived masculinity. So either no sexual component at all or an exaggerated one," Hellbrook said. "This bastard registers somewhere in between."

"Rape is about control while sexual molestation is more about gratification," Georgia added, eyes trained on the side of the road ahead.

"So...pedophile."

"He may be a repeat offender." Georgia flipped open her cell, intending to call Carrie to check the registry. Carrie handled most of the team's computer analysis, and she was phenomenal at it. It took her a quarter of the time it would take Georgia to do the same task. And Georgia wasn't a slouch at computers, by any means. She often handled computer tasks for the team when Carrie was unavailable. She'd also been the secondary computer expert for her last team. "No cell reception. I thought the division was supposed to be getting satellite phones?"

"I put in the request to your father six weeks ago. Denied until this summer—funding, supposedly. We're only an hour away from Carterville. Reception is better there," Hellbrook said. "What do we know about pedophiles?"

"That they—stop the car!" Georgia yelled.

Hellbrook jerked the SUV to the shoulder.

Georgia had her seat belt off and her door open almost before he shoved the vehicle into park. She pulled her Sig Sauer from its holster less than two seconds before Hellbrook's door opened.

"Have you lost your ever-loving mind?" He was steps behind her, but Georgia ignored him, scrambling down into the ditch. She made soft, reassuring sounds low in her throat as she knelt.

She heard Hellbrook's quiet _son of a bitch_ as he realized what she had found. "Georgia, I still have no cell reception. We're going to have to get her into the SUV."

The woman was a mess, her face bloody, eyes dark and wild, even in the fast-approaching evening light. She kept whimpering, her arms wrapped around her stomach, body curled almost in a fetal position as she huddled into the side of the drainage ditch. Georgia was amazed she'd even seen the woman, dressed as she was in dark clothing and no jacket. It was only the garish whiteness of the woman's arms that stood out against the dark mud of the ditch.

"Miss, can you stand?" Georgia kept her weapon by her side, not wanting to frighten the woman more. She managed to get the woman to her feet, taking the brunt of the woman's weight.

Hellbrook stayed at her side, vigilant. He kept his body between theirs and the majority of the road, eyes watching for some sign of who had done this to the woman.

"We are going to take you to the hospital, get you taken care of, ok? I'll stay with you. You won't have to be alone, I promise. But we have to get to the car first. We'll do it nice and slow, ok?"

Hellbrook remained silent, and Georgia was grateful. The last thing a victim of assault—and the holes in the woman's clothing and the dark bruises told her exactly what type of assault it had been—needed was a physically daunting male overwhelming them.

The woman was crying, soft whimpers that tore into Georgia's head. She'd almost been in this woman's position once, and she never forgot the fear of that day.

To this day, Georgia struggled when faced with sexual assault victims. On the CCU, Compton or K.D. usually handled interacting with victims. On Georgia's former team, Ana Sorin had had that horrible privilege.

At the hospital, Georgia stayed with the woman the entire time, holding her hand while they removed her torn clothing, ran X-rays, and took photographs, before running a full sexual assault and rape exam. After the woman finally drifted into a medicated sleep, Georgia slipped out to the waiting room and the waiting unit chief.

Hellbrook was on his cell, but he ended the call when he saw her. He stood when she entered the room.

Georgia ran one hand over her eyes, hoping he couldn't tell she'd cried with the woman a few times. "Any news?"

"No, and Dan's called it for the night a few hours ago."

"We're now at least two hours from the motel." It was well past midnight. Had she ever been so exhausted? Not in recent memory.

"Are we done here?" Hellbrook nodded toward the bay of exam rooms.

"For now." Georgia grabbed her backpack from the chair behind her unit chief. "Someone will have to do a more extensive interview sometime in the morning."

"Let's go then. You can fill me in on the drive." He held her windbreaker out to her.

He didn't speak again until they were on the highway. "You acted incredibly reckless several times today."

Georgia kept her gaze unwavering on him. She didn't want to fight with him—not now, not after what she'd just seen. Just remembered. "How exactly was I reckless?"

"Climbing down into the crime scene. That wasn't reckless?"

"I was doing my job. How was that being reckless? When in the field, is it not standard procedure to examine the crime scene from every possible angle and from every player's viewpoint? I know it was on Mal's team." Georgia did not feel like arguing. She hadn't been reckless. She'd been doing her job. "Or was it reckless only because I did it before you could command it, sir?"

"Stop calling me _sir_ all the damned time. We both know you're only doing it to annoy me. Jumping from the car without securing the scene—what would you call that?" His hands clenched on the wheel and she heard the bite in his words.

She didn't want to argue. Not then, not after the day she'd had. "I was thinking I saw someone in need of help. Perhaps I did rush a bit. I was armed—and not alone."

"What you were was reckless and stupid. Next time, you wait for my orders—or I'll start cuffing your ass to my side. Got it?"

"Got it, Unit Chief Hellbrook, sir. Next time I'm in position to do my job, I'll wait for your permission first."

"See that you do. Or I'll see to it that the only job you have with PAVAD is in archives, princess."

# Chapter Three

"JULES? Hey. Anything?" Georgia hijacked the woman as she came out of the morgue early the next morning. Her visit served two purposes—she'd get the final autopsy results on Stephanie Miller and Lindsay Graywater, and she could spend a few minutes with someone who wasn't Michael Hellbrook or a member of his team.

"Hello, Georgia; a good morning to you, too," Jules said.

"Good morning, Julia." Georgia drew out the words exaggeratedly.

"So you are a bit grumpy—otherwise, you wouldn't call me Julia." Jules's mouth twisted in semblance of a smirk. "Well, I spent the last two hours cutting open a victim who couldn't talk to me."

"Anything?" Georgia followed the pathologist down the narrow hallway to what masqueraded as a break room. A chip machine, a soda machine, and a mini-fridge were the only occupants. Georgia retrieved a candy bar from the vending machine and sat down across from her friend. "Anything useful at all?"

"Third girl—sexually active. Six weeks pregnant, even." Jules purchased a soda. "She was still in junior high, George."

Georgia rubbed her brow, pinched the bridge of her nose before taking a bite of her candy bar. "Any signs of abuse?"

Jules shook her head no.

"Was she raped?" Georgia asked. Jules didn't say, but the look on her face was all the confirmation Georgia needed. She made a note in her file, sick as she thought about it.

"Bruising was fresh. Other than that, everything was similar to the previous victims. No discernible differences. Fourth victim was the same, minus pregnancy and rape. Both died from internal injuries suffered during the attacks."

Georgia sighed.

"This sucks," Jules said. It was the only thing said for a moment. Georgia agreed.

"How hard did the rocks hit on average? Each rock maybe weighed five or six pounds. The borrow pits were approximately twenty to forty feet deep, depending on soil type, age, and overgrowth. How fast was the bastard throwing them? How fast would it have to be to cause enough damage for four girls to bleed to death internally, or to cause a severe concussion capable of leading to death?" Georgia would be the first to admit she was not strong in math. But Jules was.

"My expert opinion?" Jules put her soda down on the table in front of her. "Pretty damned hard."

"And accurate. He'd not want to expend too much energy by not hitting his target," Georgia said.

"True. But motivations are more your field than mine."

"But I will never understand this kind of motive." Georgia sighed, drumming her fingers on the table between them. "Killing four teenage girls. All small build."

"Not a one of them was taller than five foot four," Jules confirmed. "Weight was less than one hundred and fifteen pounds. Small framed. All brunettes."

"Why this typology?" Georgia asked, her stomach twisting as she looked at Jules.

"Easily controlled, maybe?" Jules shook her head, sending honey-brown hair falling out of the bun she'd used two pencils to secure. Georgia would never understand Jules and pencils. "I doubt I'd be able to carry someone any bigger than the victims; not that far up the mountain. Remember when you fell in Yellowstone?"

"Yes." Georgia remembered it well. It was the last vacation they'd taken together. They'd been camping, and she and Jules had woken early to take a quick bath in the stream. Georgia had slipped, twisting the heck out of her ankle. Jules hadn't wanted to leave her behind to go get Bryan or Rick, so she'd carried Georgia back. It hadn't been easy. "You carried me on your back because any other way I was too heavy. So that could be a factor."

"You've lost me," Jules said. "What factor?"

"He may be a smaller man," Georgia began. "One who feels inadequate when dealing with a woman of average height?"

"Small-man syndrome." Jules nodded.

"The smaller the man, the more controlling he seems to be with his woman possibly?" Georgia said, from personal experience. Bryan, who'd stood under six feet, had never had any issues with height, his or hers, but the guy she'd dated before him had been barely five foot six. And he'd watched her every move. One reason why they hadn't dated for very long.

They talked a bit more, only about the case and Georgia's recent problems with Hellbrook, but nothing about the past. It saddened Georgia to see how her friend had closed herself off from even talking about her husband.

Jules had once been a bright, vivacious woman who'd drawn all the attention effortlessly in her direction. But then the accident had happened, and Jules had turned to her career in the pathological departments, moving to cut up dead people rather than deal with real living ones. Georgia didn't know how to help her; she was marginally better herself. She'd been Jules's partner-in-crime. The two of them had had so many misadventures Rick and Bryan had joked for hours about them, about having to step in and save them. Like in Yellowstone and in so many other ways.

And it was true; Bryan had been Georgia's savior in a lot of ways. He'd made her see the _real_ her, without the baggage associated with having a politician for a mother and a super-agent father. He'd let her be herself, understood her particular brand of humor. Her need to fuss over him and his infant son occasionally. The need to just escape it all once in a while. To run away. Georgia was really good at running away from things. Even if no physical withdrawal took place.

Until the day Bryan and Rick had died and she could not run. Jules had withdrawn, cutting herself off from everyone, Georgia and Matthew included. Georgia had turned her every thought to suddenly caring for an orphaned toddler, to making double funeral arrangements and keeping a close eye on Jules. It hadn't been easy. For any of them.

Jules was so alone, except for Georgia and Matthew. Bryan's mother was elderly—and wanted nothing to do with the only living ties to her sons. She'd not spoken to Georgia, Jules, or Matthew since the double funeral.

Georgia didn't care about Bryan's mother's coldness for her own sake, but Matthew had deserved better. And so had Jules, who'd gone out of her way to be a good daughter-in-law to the woman.

Thinking of the little boy made her homesick, and she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She pushed number one on speed dial and waited for her father to pick up.

"Daddy?"

Hellbrook rounded the hallway corner right outside the state police's morgue as a familiar voice said _daddy_.

Georgia stood next to the window, looking out on a small, muddy courtyard. She had her phone clutched in one hand. The other traced absent circles on the windowpane. It told him a lot about the relationship she held with her parent, that familiar child's term. Daddy's little girl. Princess. He paused, shamelessly eavesdropping on her conversation.

"Can I talk to him?" she asked, her face relaxing into a small smile which widened after a moment. "Hi, baby! Mommy misses you, too. Are you being good for Grandpa?"

Hell stepped back until he was partially blocked by the corner he'd rounded. He'd rarely seen this side of her. She rigidly kept the subject of her son to herself; he'd heard her mention the little boy maybe two-dozen times in the last four months. He'd seen him only a handful of times, as well. And those had been when they'd had spur-of-the-moment cases where he'd had to call the team in. She'd been forced to bring the child to the CCU where her father, or Ana Sorin would pick him up.

Whenever Hell had gotten close to the boy, Georgia would move her son, arrange things so that the child spent as little time near Hell as possible. He knew it was deliberate, and he chalked it up to how he'd treated her since that first moment.

She was a mother instinctively protecting her cub, even though she had to know he'd never do anything to hurt her son. Yet if what she'd told him recently was true, the little boy wasn't even hers biologically. Even though the dark eyes were similar. She must have loved the father quite a lot to agree to take the child. It was a big responsibility and probably not easy with the kind of job they did. He admired her for that.

He was well aware of the dangers of this type of work. That was another reason he left her behind at the station houses whenever he could. Georgia, more than anyone else on the team, had a valid reason to be kept as safe as possible.

"Mommy will be home very soon. No, probably not today. Or tomorrow." She sighed, lowered her head to rest against the window. Hell moved closer. "Mommy misses you, too, baby. I love you, Mattie."

Hell stepped up behind her as she snapped the phone closed. He reached one hand up, rested it on her narrow shoulder. Her body tensed. Her hands went into an immediate defensive position. His own muscles tightened instinctively. "Georgia?"

Her body relaxed. "Agent Hellbrook, sir. What are you doing here?"

"I've called in for auxiliary teams from the division. Your pal Brockman and the rest of his team will be meeting me here as soon as their plane lands. Stephenson's team as well." Hell dropped his hand as she turned to face him. Her eyes were clouded, and he fought the urge to run a hand down her arm. To hug her. To touch her and tell her everything would be all right, that he'd get her home to her child soon.

"You think it's necessary at this point?" She tucked the phone back into the pocket of her navy trousers.

"Yes. The terrain is too spread out for one team to effectively cover it all. Dr. Bellows find anything?"

"Yes. One of our victims was pregnant." Georgia grabbed the file folder she'd placed on the window sill and flipped it open. "Everything else was about the same."

"I hate it when it's kids." He shook his head and then moved to read over her shoulder. A floral scent that he had long associated with her hit his nose—and filled his head.

"So do I." She stuck her hands into her pocket and then pulled a small object free. She hesitated before moving it where he'd be able to see it. He looked closer, trying to identify it. It was a small car, the size of a nickel. "It's Matthew's. Came out of his children's meal. He put it in my backpack, so he wouldn't 'losed it.' It's been in there since yesterday."

"Reminds you of why you do this?" He took the toy from her, fingers brushing hers, and examined it. It was small, yet the message it represented weighed so much more.

"Reminds me of why I joined the bureau at all. He's such a good little boy. He deserves a safe world in which to grow up. They all do. They shouldn't be lying in a morgue." She took the toy from him, her soft hand brushing against his rougher one. He captured the fragile touch, holding her for a moment. It was the first time he'd ever touched her in an unprofessional capacity. The kiss of her skin against his burned him.

"I understand, sweetheart. I do." He let her hand drop, feeling awkward at the endearment that had slipped free. He'd never called a teammate _sweetheart_ before. Their eyes met for a moment. "Ready?"

"Ready."

She did her best to avoid Hellbrook as he and Stanton prepared the combined teams for an update later that afternoon.

"If everyone's ready to begin..." Stanton motioned for the room to quiet. Georgia stepped closer to the front, nodding at several familiar faces mixed with the locals. Unit Chiefs Stephenson and Brockman had arrived at seven that morning, bringing with them a dozen PAVAD agents. Jules had slipped in for the briefing as well. Almost sixty agents and locals now waited to hear what the Complex Crimes Unit had to say.

Hellbrook caught Georgia's eye, motioning for her to join him with an arrogant jerk of his head. She kept her face and expression neutral, hoping not to betray the sudden nerves that hit her. Crowds intimidated her and had for years.

Hellbrook nodded toward K.D., and the younger woman clicked the projection screen on. Photographs of the first crime scene had everyone quieting.

"Five days ago, fourteen-year-old Hailey Ann Michaels was waiting for her uncle to pick her up at the Carterville Public Library. By the time her uncle arrived, Hailey was gone. Last witness places her on the steps at approximately nine fifteen when the librarian locked the doors for the night." K.D. began the rundown to ensure everyone in the room knew the details.

Hellbrook picked up the thread when K.D. forwarded the slides to show Kirby Jaysons's school photo. "Hailey was the beginning. In the time since she disappeared, three more teenage girls have been taken—all petite brunettes—and all found in the same manner as Hailey. All were stoned to death."

Stephenson, a tall, blond agent a decade older than Hellbrook but with only about half Hellbrook's success, snorted. "Hold up—stoned to death?"

"Yes, Agent Stephenson," Georgia said. "From the ME's report and these particular crime scenes, the cause of death on all four victims was repeated injuries from five-to-eight-pound stones thrown with significant force. Multiple fractures and internal bleeding. These were not quick deaths. These children suffered. Greatly."

"Crazy, sick bastard," Stephenson said. Georgia agreed.

"So what are we looking for?" Georgia's former roommate Ana asked, looking directly at Georgia. They'd been partners on Georgia's former team. Now Ana headed that team since Malachi Brockman's promotion to unit chief. Georgia had been expected to take Mal's place, but she'd been transferred to Complex Crimes instead.

"Most likely a white male, twenty-five to forty," Hellbrook said as Georgia grabbed a marker and listed the characteristics on the whiteboard beside him for those agents and LEOs who liked to take notes. "He's athletic, probably deceptively so. These girls weren't drugged, and the abduction sites showed no signs of struggles. Which suggests that they either went willingly, or he had a nonviolent way of forcing their compliance."

Georgia paused her writing to add, "The victims most likely knew or recognized the UNSUB, and he's someone people are accustomed to seeing, both around town and with girls this age."

Hellbrook spoke a bit longer and then concluded with one more note for the locals. "You know this UNSUB. Now it's a matter of finding him."

# Chapter Four

HE'D never understood it, and Hellbrook's psychobabble didn't help make it any clearer. What kind of bastard got his rocks off torturing little girls? There were plenty of women in this world who'd give it up for next to nothing; why didn't the psycho screw around with one of them? Leave the little schoolgirls alone?

Thank God he just had the one boy. Girls were so much more vulnerable. Easy fucking targets, every last one of them. Even those surrounding him at the moment. _Especially_ those surrounding him, as they'd put themselves in the line of fire.

Women had no business in law enforcement. It was way too dangerous. He knew that from bitter experience. Hadn't he tried to get Linda to leave the going-in-the-field to the male agents? She'd been so determined; his advice hadn't mattered, his ten years' experience on her meant little. She should have listened. Maybe then that bastard wouldn't have been able to...

He shook off thoughts of Linda; now wasn't the time. She'd consumed his thoughts for too long, as it was.

He watched some of those women around him as he shuffled his case notes. He was a man. Watching women was what they did. Hellbrook's little brunette had to stretch to reach the top of the whiteboard where she was pinning a photo of one of the child victims. Ridiculous that she was even there to begin with.

Edward Dennis's influence.

He could pick her up one-handed. Probably bench-pressed more weight than her and the medical examiner she spoke with combined.

Now _there_ was a plain little mouse. Couldn't compare with Hellbrook's brunette.

Hellbrook's brunette. Hellbrook got his own unit and national accolades. And he got the only daughter of one of the top agents in the country assigned to his team. A stint in the CCU would send her sky-rocketing. Like everyone had probably intended when she'd joined the bureau. She'd have it made for the rest of her career—Princess of PAVAD.

It wasn't right. He'd worked his ass off to get where he was. And he'd been trying for months to get his son's personnel jacket read by Dennis. Kept getting the damned runaround. Funding, his ass. They had money for Hellbrook's jet, didn't they?

No other team had a private jet.

Why should his son be stuck in an Idaho resident office while Dennis's daughter had spent her entire career in her daddy's shadow? He'd sent his boy to Harvard! Yet those like Hellbrook and Dennis's daughter got everything handed to them.

They had a circle of agents surrounding them now, the superheroes, the center of the action.

While he and his got grunt work. Again. What a waste of time, talents, and bureau money.

He looked at the closest member of his team. "Get the car."

The boy knew not to argue. He'd been on the team long enough to know how things worked. His three agents were good at their jobs; two were well-seasoned, respectable agents and the boy showed a huge amount of potential. They were all three respectful and knew how to follow orders. Good agents.

He just wished those higher up the food chain recognized that. Instead, he and his were doing grunt work. Again.

# Chapter Five

HELLBROOK didn't say anything to her until the conference room had cleared.

"Did you find out anything more from the hospital?" He took the copy of the autopsy reports Jules had provided from Georgia's outstretched hand.

"Spoke with the attending physician. Her name is Katherine Montehue. She's thirty-four and a native of Carterville. She works as a nursing assistant at the town's only medical facility." Georgia opened her notepad where she'd recorded the information, more to avoid his eyes than to peruse the data. "The SART exam tested positive. Ligature marks on both wrists, and burns. That's consistent with our UNSUB. No broken bones, though there were several areas of severe bruising."

"We need to speak with her."

"I've already spoken with the floor nurse and agreed to call when we are about an hour out. They've sedated her and will need to wake her." Georgia slipped her files and laptop into her backpack before leading the way out of the conference room. "I'm ready when you are."

"Good. Let's go."

Hellbrook took one look at the woman lying on the hospital bed and summed her up quickly—Katherine Montehue was a hard, bitter, and brittle duplicate of the woman standing at his left. Based on looks alone, she could have been Georgia Dennis's sister. That was his first impression. His second was that she stood at a polar end from Hailey Ann Michaels and the rest of the UNSUB's victims.

Georgia took the lead. "Ms. Montehue, Agent Hellbrook and I have a few questions if you're feeling up to speaking with us."

"I don't remember much." Her tone was harsh and bitter. No one could fault her for it, least of all Hell. She'd been through enough to make anyone bitter.

"We'll make it very brief." He kept his tone soft and unthreatening.

"Shoot. Ask away. Not like anything's private now, anyway." The woman looked toward the window, but Hell didn't miss the way she gripped Georgia's hand.

"Katherine, what was the first thing you did when you arrived at the Turn Around Bar?" Georgia asked.

"Restroom." The word came out quietly.

Hell gave the nod for Georgia to begin the cognitive interview. They'd walk the victim through her actions and perceptions from several hours before the actual attack. It would serve dual purposes—helping to relax the victim and give them additional insight into the UNSUB and what actions of the victim, if any, may have contributed to her being chosen. It could have been based on typology alone—she met the physical type he wanted.

"I want you to think back to the moment you left the restroom. How did you get back to your table?" Georgia's voice was soft, encouraging.

"Walked through the tables. It was the only way back to our table."

"Who was at the tables? Did you recognize anyone?" Georgia asked. "Katherine, you said _our_ table. Who was with you?"

"Becca and Jenna. My friends."

"Ok. Let's keep going. You've stepped out of the restroom. Who do you recognize?" Georgia continued.

"Jed Cooley and Nancy Smith. They both work in my building. I wondered if Jed's wife knew he was with Nancy. And then I saw her kissing Nancy's husband at another table. Swingers, I never would have expected it of him. Her, yes. Even Nancy, but never Jed." As she spoke, Katherine relaxed slightly.

Hell kept quiet, impressed with Georgia's skill and manner. And compassion. It was written on her face.

"Did you speak to anyone?" Georgia asked.

"No waved and smiled, until..."

"Go on. Until?" Georgia looked at Hell, and his fingers tightened on the pen he was using to take notes. They were recording the interview, but written notes were often as important.

"There was this guy." A tear slid down Katherine's cheek, the only outward emotion she'd expressed since they'd begun the interview.

"Is that the man who hurt you?" Georgia leaned toward Katherine, her hand tightening on the woman's when Katherine started moaning and keening.

"No. It wasn't him," Katherine said.

"Tell me about the man, the guy you talked to," Georgia said.

"He's shy. Gawky. Awkward. But his eyes were always nice, and he was hot. Big and blond. He's the old-fashioned type. Always said thank you. He's not the usual kind of guy you find in the Turn Around, you know? Guys like that barely exist anymore. At least not for me." Katherine's words came out flat and monotone. Hell recognized it as the coping mechanism it was.

"I do understand. Please go on."

"I stopped to talk to him, offered to buy him a drink—I'd decided to go for it. What did I have to lose, right? We laughed, talked. Then he had to leave. He actually asked if I had a ride home. I said yes. I didn't realize Jenna had left. She'd thought I was going home with him. She didn't even ask me. But he wasn't that kind of guy. So I was alone, outside."

She paused and Georgia handed her a glass of water from the nearby table. "Can you tell me what happened next?"

Katherine was shaking her head before Georgia had finished voicing the question. "No, not really. Someone hit me. Behind me, and that was all I remember."

She'd given them nothing. Hell stepped out into the hall twenty minutes later, cell half to his ear when Katherine called out. "Agent Dennis?"

Georgia turned and stepped back in the room. Hell listened with half an ear through the slightly opened door.

"It was my fault, wasn't it?" He heard her ask of Georgia. "If I had gone with that guy...or stayed inside..."

"No. _Absolutely_ not. It doesn't matter what you did or where you were—he hurt you and took away your right to say no, to protect your own body." Georgia's voice held a fervency and a pain that had Hell's attention sharpening. " _He_ made it so you could not fight, made it about his needs. The fault is entirely his. And when we catch him, and we will, then we will be taking away his choices."

"How can you be so certain? You do this all the time, right? Neither of us is that stupid—these bastards get off all the time. He's out there, and he will keep doing it. Over and over and over. And if not him, there will be two dozen more like him. But how the hell can you tell which guy is a bastard and which isn't?"

Hell heard Georgia's sigh. "Men like this, Katherine, they do exist. Probably more than any of us really want to imagine. But...this is what my father told me—the good guys, they far outnumber the bad. Don't let this man take everything from you."

Her voice was zealous, and Hell knew then that it wasn't her years as a psychologist speaking. It was something far more personal.

"And how well did that work for you?" Katherine asked.

"My father had one more thing to add; he told me to feel my bitterness but not to let it _fill_ me, to let it drown me. Even though I had every right in the world to be bitter and angry and hurt. He said that if I did choose to dwell in bitterness that I was letting the bastard win."

"Did they get the guy?" Katherine asked the question that was in Hell's mind.

"Yes. My father—he's an agent, as well—he got him. That doesn't mean I have forgotten. Or that I don't still see his face when I close my eyes at night."

"It's not easy, is it? Not as easy as your dad said."

"No. And many women don't ever move on...still others...others use it. They help other victims go on, live their lives in spite of what happened to them." Georgia's voice held passion again.

"How old were you?" Katherine asked. "When it happened."

"I was sixteen. It's been fifteen years and four months. And two days," Georgia said. Hell felt nausea roil in his stomach. "I can't stop counting. I probably won't ever."

"You grew up to catch them, didn't you?" Katherine asked.

"I grew up to stop them."

Hell fought the sick feeling in his gut as he digested what he'd learned. He had seen so many crime scene photos with young victims, had spoken with so many sexual assault victims, that his mind immediately could transpose Georgia's face on any one of the victims'. It made sense to him now: the way she avoided being touched even casually by the men she worked with, the obsessive control she exhibited over her emotions during cases, her father's overprotectiveness, her avoidance of contact with victims.

She came through the door, her face pale but determined. Hell started, jerking.

She straightened and her dark eyes held a wary challenge. "Hear anything that interests you, Agent Hellbrook, sir?"

"Nothing that you have to tell me about." He only hoped his voice didn't come out as strangled as he felt.

# Chapter Six

SHE'D survived the breakfast and briefing, survived the victim interview and the rest of the afternoon back at the scene where they'd found Katherine Montehue. She'd even survived partnering Hellbrook this far. What she might not survive was an evening at the Turn Around Bar.

The Turn Around was a knock-off, downtrodden copy of one of Georgia's favorite hangouts in St. Louis. Smokey's was a fun, welcoming, after-shift hangout for local law enforcement and feds; the Turn Around catered to a different set. Most of the clientele familiar with law enforcement got that familiarity through being on the wrong end of the handcuffs. A pale sheen of neglect painted the structure, both inside and out. But in this rural area if you wanted to go out and have a few drinks, the Turn Around was the only affordable option.

Cigarette smoke rolled so thickly Georgia's throat clenched and she coughed. Her companion—dressed ultracasually for Hellbrook in jeans, pullover, and leather bomber jacket that he used to hide his Sig Sauer—leaned down to look at her.

"You ok?" he asked. As if he cared. They'd decided to play it casually. To appear as any other couple out for after-work drinks.

"Yes. If you count not breathing as ok." She readjusted the denim jacket she'd borrowed from K.D. for the evening, making sure it covered the holster on her waist. The jacket was too long, so she figured it did the trick.

"I know what you mean. Think we can find a clean table?" He stepped closer, his large hand hot on her lower back as he led the way to a table near the center of the Turn Around's main level. Hellbrook smelled good and clean—a direct contrast to the rest of the Turn Around—and Georgia fought the absurd desire to move even closer. It took ten minutes for their server to approach them.

"What can I get for you folks?" The waitress's words held a suspicion they'd expected. In this area, strangers most likely stood out, and Georgia wasn't immune to the mistrust or speculation on the middle-aged woman's face.

"Water. Bottled, preferably," Georgia said.

"We have tap. That good enough for you, sweetie?" Georgia could swear she heard the woman snort.

"Do you have canned soda?" Georgia ignored Hellbrook's smirk. No doubt he'd spent his fair share of time in places like the Turn Around.

"Cola, diet, or lemon-lime," the waitress said. "What will it be?"

"I'll take a cola and a glass of ice. Better make it two colas. Thank you." Hellbrook ordered a beer and some nachos. He wouldn't drink the beer—the reason behind Georgia's second cola request—but because they were in a bar, it was expected one of them would order alcohol.

She waited until the woman had left before turning to Hellbrook. He dwarfed the booth he sat in, the table edge resting against his chest. She scooted the table more in her direction—she had plenty of room in the overly large booth—and her damned feet didn't even touch the floor. "Small, crowded."

"Yes. And that is good for us. Ups the chance someone saw something that will be helpful." He ran his long fingers over the scars marring the worn wood tabletop.

"True. Let's work it out." She rearranged the tattered Miller Lite sign so that it hid the overflowing ashtray. Disgusting. "What did Katherine do first?"

"Restroom."

They both looked around until they found the flashing lights that pointed the way. Georgia considered. "Speaking of which...I'll be back... Michael."

"Be careful."

"Always am when in a restroom. You never know what could happen."

That felt weird, she thought, as she wove through the tables toward her destination. She'd never thought of Hellbrook as a _Michael_ before. She'd never heard anyone call him anything other than Hellbrook or Hell in the entirety of their acquaintance. But for tonight, he'd thought it would be a good idea to play it as a date, and Hell and Hellbrook didn't exactly shout date to anyone who'd overhear them. She wondered briefly if he instructed all his dates to call him _Michael_.

She drew men's interest wherever she went. Hellbrook wasn't blind to that. He watched the men around her as she walked through the crowd, looking for any who seemed too interested in the petite, brown-eyed brunette.

He had never been more aware that she fit the victimology than he was right then.

She turned down the hall toward the restroom as a blond woman stepped up to his table. "Hello. I'm Jenna."

"Hello, Jenna." Hell's attention shifted quickly as the name sparked recognition.

"That your girlfriend?" She moved closer, angling her body beside his booth seat. Then she gripped the back of the seat and leaned forward enticingly.

Her chest was nice, he decided, but Georgia's was nicer. And less augmented. "I'm Michael Hellbrook. A friend of Katherine Montehue's; do you know her?"

"Yes." Jenna's eyes darted away. Her mouth thinned. Hell interpreted the look to mean she was feeling guilty, and the reminder of her friend made her question what she was doing. Good, this woman was old enough to know not to approach strange men in bars.

"So is that woman your girlfriend? You two don't look like you're together."

"Oh, we're together. In a way." Hell reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open quickly, flashing the bureau ID and badge. "She's my partner. We'd like to ask you a few questions. Please."

He kept the questioning low key. "So on the night Katherine was attacked, you and she were left here alone, correct? Tell me what happened."

Five disgusting minutes later, Georgia closed the door behind her. She spotted the brassy blonde occupying her seat from clear across the bar. It wasn't hard to miss the way the blonde tilted her head to one side, the way she leaned over the table in an over-the-top, look-down-my-top manner.

Georgia resisted the urge to snicker. The blonde did an obvious job of showing Hellbrook the goods up for grabs; the ploy almost pathetic in a way. Georgia's lips twitched again at the resigned look on her partner's face. This wasn't the first woman she'd seen drawn to Hellbrook's leonine good looks. The copper hair was eye-catching enough. Add in the tall linebacker build, the dark-blue eyes, and the hunter look he wore effortlessly, and he drew many female eyes. The blonde wasn't even the first she'd seen give him a sneak peek. That was one reason she suspected he took K.D. with him on interviews—after all, what woman could really expect to compete with the gorgeous, intelligent, genuinely sweet K.D.?

She was so focused on the blonde and Hellbrook's reaction, purely for curiosity's sake, that she didn't see the male hand reaching for her until it was too late to avoid it. She found herself pulled onto the lap of a thin, slightly disheveled man who smelled of onion rings, sawdust, cigarette smoke, and cheap beer. And mint chewing gum.

He grinned at her. It wasn't a bad grin, but it wasn't anything remarkable either. "Hey, little darlin'. Wanna dance? I'm Ernie and you're cute. I love little women!"

She doubted he meant the novel. "No, thanks, Ernie. While I appreciate the offer, I'm with someone tonight." She pointed a hand in Hellbrook's direction. He was still focused on the blonde and hadn't noticed Georgia's situation.

"He doesn't seem to care. Why else would he be with Jenna? She's been with everybody. Even girls." Ernie nodded...earnestly. "Come on, sweetie. Dance with me."

Georgia had little trouble extricating herself from Ernie's loose grip. He wasn't a large man. She fought the urge to laugh at the pouting expression that hit his face. "I'm not that kind of girl, Ernie. I don't go to a bar with one man and dance with another."

"You sure? I've been told I dance real good."

Jenna recapped what Katherine had said, and from what Hell could glean, this woman wouldn't have noticed anything that didn't serve her own purpose. She wasn't much of a friend. He checked his watch, then flicked his eyes back toward the restroom. It was taking Georgia a while to return. And that made him nervous.

The smoke cloud hanging over the entire bar made it difficult for him to see her, but Hell eventually found her. "Excuse me. My partner needs me."

He left Jenna sitting at their table, a relieved expression on her face. He didn't have to turn around to know the blonde slipped out the instant his back was turned.

He followed the path between their table and the restroom. A tall man—thin, slightly unkempt, several degrees past drunk—blocked his path. "What's your hurry, cowboy?"

"Move," Hell growled, now able to see Georgia in the midst of four men, a clear look of irritation written on her face. Hell threw a threatening glance at the man in his path. "Now."

The man moved.

"No, thank you." She shook her head as she tried to move beyond the table. It wasn't her first time in a bar—or the first time a drunk had hit on her—so it didn't bother her. Irritated, yes. Bothered, no. One of Ernie's friends used a booted foot to block her path. One look at his face told her he was neither as drunk as Ernie, nor as affable.

"If not Ernie, then dance with me." He stood, towering over her. What was it with tall men in her life lately?

"No. If you'll excuse me, I want to return to my table." Her voice cooled. Her spine stiffened. She braced for things to turn ugly.

"No. I say you dance with me first," the man said.

"She said no. And so did I." Hellbrook's voice came from behind the man, cutting and vicious.

Georgia shivered. She'd seen serial killers and junior agents shrink back in fear when Hellbrook used that tone. Ernie's friend smirked. Georgia wondered if he realized how large of a man, how large of a threat, stood behind him. He was tall. But Hellbrook was taller. Larger. Far more dangerous. "And that's supposed to mean what?"

"That you are going to step out of Georgia's way, and we'll all go on with our nights," Hellbrook said.

It didn't take a profiler to predict what happened next. The man rounded on Hellbrook, swinging at the larger man. Hellbrook blocked the first swing with his right hand, then slammed the man's captive forearm to the tabletop in front of a wide-eyed Ernie. Ernie and one of his remaining two friends stood, all serious now and aggressive. They moved on Hellbrook with stunning intent. He took a hit directly to one eye and another to the ribs.

"What the fuck? Bastard has a gun!" One of the men yelled when he spotted the Sig Sauer beneath Hellbrook's coat. He backed up a step, the move mimicked by Ernie. The fourth man finally stood and grabbed the man facing Hellbrook. His words were low and reasonable. Sober and calm.

"A gun, cuffs, and a badge," Georgia said over the sounds of several patrons moving away from the tables. "And he's not the only one."

Ernie shook his head. "She didn't look like a cop to me! But...if she wants to cuff me, I'll let her."

# Chapter Seven

THE crowd stepped back, giving their small group a wide berth. Hell felt the eyes pressing in on him as he jerked the final idiot back, avoiding the fist aiming for his face. His left eye already burned where the bastard had landed one lucky punch.

What brave—or drunken—onlookers remained, Georgia efficiently moved them on their way. Hell had to admire her composure. She didn't look like she'd even noticed that she had men fighting to dance with her. Or that Hell was relegated to the role of valiant protector. He fought a snort at the images that evoked. She was the type of woman a man would slay dragons for; but he doubted she'd ever want _him_ acting as her knight errant.

"Sit down." He pushed his attacker into a chair, ignoring the man's two-word reply and one-finger gesture.

"We could call our friend Stanton," Georgia said, her voice cool over the smoke of the bar. "Book these morons on assaulting an officer. What is the going rate for attacking federal agents these days? You're the one with the law degree."

"I believe it still starts at five years." Hell pulled out a chair for his partner with a flourish. She sat after giving him a regal nod. Hell's bloodied lip quirked. The woman sure knew how to play the princess. He'd use that to his advantage. With men like Ernie and his baboon friends, a princess was way out of their reach. Above them. They'd give them the information they needed just to receive Georgia's approval. To have her look at them. At least Ernie, and maybe one or two of his friends. The big guy who'd challenged Hell, he would give them nothing.

"So. It's either five years or fifteen minutes of conversation." Georgia leveled a look at the four rapidly sobering men. A dark brow rose in question. She gave them a superior and haughty look. "What will it be, gentlemen? Either you finish out the night—and the next five years—in a cell because of the bruises you put on my partner's face, or you help us out."

"We didn't know he was a cop, lady." Ernie put his hands up then dropped them to the tabletop. "Honest."

The other two were silent. The belligerent one sneered. "What do you want to know, baby?"

"Baby? Do I look like a _baby_ to you?" She looked at Hell with a slightly indignant look in her eyes. He knew it was an act, as he knew that the man had deliberately tried to rattle her. Looking at the two of them side by side and anyone would automatically assume that Georgia was the weak link. She was a small, delicate, reserved female—by appearances—while he was a large, forceful male. He would command attention in any setting. Now he used that to his advantage.

Letting her interview Ernie and his buddies meant they'd be off center. Gave the control to Hell's team. At that moment, Georgia was the captain.

"That's not what I would call you. _Sweetheart_ , maybe. Or _princess_. You are more like a princess, I would think. Having us lesser mortals bowing before you, that's something I could see you doing. What do you think? Ernie, does my partner fit the role of a princess?" Hell focused on the weakest link with unerring skill. "What, no answer? You were certainly interested in her earlier. Interested enough to try to dance with her, even though she told you no."

"I wanted to dance, that's all," Ernie mumbled the words. His two buddies were silent, nerves visible for even a junior profiler to see. The belligerent one rocked in his chair beside Hell's. Hell kept part of his attention on that man, knowing he posed the biggest threat.

Hell had insulted his masculinity by beating him. And that stung the man. Hard. He was big enough and strong enough that few men probably had beaten him before Hell.

"Maybe you wanted to dance with Katherine Montehue." Georgia pulled a photograph from her pocket and laid it before the men. "Last night."

"Kathy?" The belligerent man straightened in his chair, his booted feet clunking against the wood floor. His face lost all animosity, then all color, as he looked at the small snapshot showing the brown-haired woman and her bruises. "What happened to my sister?"

Hell and Georgia shared a look. They definitely hadn't expected that curve. Georgia's demeanor instantly turned soothing. Hell had to admire that. She easily could have shot the man moments earlier, yet now she sought to comfort. "Your sister is in the hospital in Rapid City."

"What happened to her?" The man had tensed, all his attention focused on the sole woman at their table. Now only concern was in his voice. "Was she hurt?"

"Last night, your sister was taken from the parking lot at this bar." Hell began, turning his body to block the other man's in case he reacted with rage. "There is no easy way to say this. Your sister was raped and beaten. Georgia and I found her along the highway and took her to the hospital ourselves. We are here looking for information from those who may have noticed something. Were the four of you here last night?"

"No. I wasn't," the victim's brother said. "I was going to be, but I hooked up with a lady after work. Met her at the trade show. We hit it off. Dammit, not Kath."

"I was here," one of the silent men now said, a taller, solidly built blond man in his early forties. He'd been the one to try and stop the others' from challenging Hell earlier. Hell saw that he was pale as he stared at the picture of the victim, then alternated glances at the victim's brother. "I spoke to her. I didn't know she was your sister, Keith."

"You spoke with her, yet this still happened?" Keith's voice held anger and anguish, and Hell tensed, afraid the man would lash out at his buddy for failing to protect the victim. "Who the fuck would do this to a woman like Kath?"

"That's what we are going to find out," Georgia said. She turned to the man who Hell suspected was the nice, shy man Katherine had been flirting with before the attack. "We need you to tell us what you know."

"Katherine and I hit it off real well. I honestly didn't know she was your sister; I would have given you the heads-up or something first, Keith."

"We know Katherine told you she had a ride home last night after you offered," Georgia said. "She told us that. She also told us that she wasn't aware that her ride had left."

"Jenna." Keith's voice grew harsh. "She would have been with Jenna. And Jenna probably hooked up with someone and left her. Like always."

"And Rebecca Curtis," Georgia said. "They thought Katherine would be getting a ride home with—"

"Albert Gaudet, ma'am. Most people call me Al. If I had known, I would have given her a ride home. I wouldn't have left if I had known she was alone." The man was miserable, and Hell felt for him. He was blaming himself for what happened to a woman he'd liked, a sister of a friend. A double blow.

"And what is it you do, Al?" Georgia asked.

"I'm a subcontractor, mostly. I build houses. It's a good living." He kept his eyes trained on the photograph still on the table. Hell unobtrusively pulled it from view. There was no need for the two men to have to see it. They'd probably never forget the image, anyway.

"We need to know if you noticed anything or anyone giving Katherine more attention than they should have been. And can you remember who all was here?" Hell asked.

"No. I'll admit I usually don't come here. But last night, I lost a job I'd been bidding on, and I didn't feel like sitting at home. So I got in my car and ended up here. Katherine bought me a drink, and we talked. I offered her a ride home, but she refused. Said her friends would be expecting her to go with them. I had an early-morning estimate on a job, so I left around nine. My company had the winning bid. So we came out tonight to celebrate. I'm their boss." He nodded at his friends. "Drinks were on me."

"I want you to think back, Al," Georgia said. "Was anyone staring at you and Katherine last night? Paying any more attention than they should have been? Anything, anyone, strike you as unusual?"

He shook his head. "Nothing I can remember. The truth is I was so focused on Katherine that anyone could have walked by stark naked, and I doubt I would have noticed."

They got nothing more from Gaudet or Keith, or any of the other patrons of the Turn Around. They stuck around until closing time, ignoring the hostile looks sent their way. Ernie, Gaudet, Keith Montehue, and their fourth buddy left shortly after the interview. Hell strongly suspected at least two of the men would be on their way to Rapid City.

"She's got a family who loves her. She didn't mention her brother," Georgia said later that night as they were driving back to their motel.

"No. But it's good she does. That will help in her recovery, having someone who obviously loves her there with her. And Gaudet, ten to one says he'll go see her." Hell sighed. Had the attack not happened, Katherine Montehue could very well have formed a lasting relationship with Albert Gaudet; as he was a friend of her brother, their paths would most likely have crossed again eventually.

"Probably bring her flowers," Georgia said.

"Yes."

"There's hope for Katherine, isn't there?"

He barely heard the words, but he heard the pain beneath them. He dropped a hand to cover the one resting on the credenza between them. "Georgia, remember that Katherine's alive and she has a family who loves her. There is always hope."

# Chapter Eight

THE next day dawned cold and bright. Georgia was one of the first ones in the motel's parking lot, joined minutes later by Jules.

"George. Damn, it's cold out here." The native Florida girl shivered, even beneath the thick knit sweater and twill coat she wore. Jules had always complained about the cold.

"It is. I'm starving. How about breakfast?" Georgia motioned toward the small diner that had provided all the teams' meals since their arrival. It was your typical country diner, serving plenty of meat loaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes, plus a wide range of breakfast fare twenty-four hours a day. "I'll buy this time."

"I'm up. Did you find anything good last night at that bar?" Jules asked. She pulled the hand-knit hat down tighter over her ears, leaving only the ends of brown hair visible.

"Not really. Ran into the victim's brother. And the man she'd told us about, but learned nothing about the UNSUB. This guy blends in." Georgia smiled at the middle-aged waitress as she and Jules settled into a small booth near the front window.

"And what does that tell you?" Jules removed the hat, and Georgia realized the other woman already had a pencil stuck behind one ear, the end showing chew scars. Black-rimmed glasses hid her hazel eyes to some degree. Her clothes were nondescript and functional. Not the least bit attention grabbing. Not like the Jules Georgia remembered. Georgia said nothing, though. Jules would have to heal in her own way.

Georgia's cell rang, and she grabbed it, expecting it to be Hellbrook. It wasn't.

"Dad." She felt the smile hitting her face as her father gave her a quick rundown on the two most important men in her life. "He did? Let me talk to him."

It took what seemed like forever for the little voice Georgia loved so much to sound through the phone. She hit the speaker button and placed the phone on the table between her and Jules. "Hi, Matthew! Guess what? Aunt Jules is here with Mommy. Can you say hi?"

_"Hi, Aunt Jules! I missed you! Are you helping my mommy catch the bad guys?"_ Matthew's voice was always at a high decibel and full of excitement. She missed him. So very much.

"I sure am, Mad Matt. What are you doing today?" Jules asked, leaning closer to the cell.

" _I'm looking at pictures of puppies. For_ Grandpa. _He needs a puppy for when he's alone. You know, when I'm at home with my mommy. Grandpa needs a little puppy. I don't want Grandpa to be lonely. Do you?"_

"No, of course not. But shouldn't your grandpa be the one picking out a puppy if he's going to get one?" Jules asked as dark shadows fell over their booth. Both women looked up to see Hellbrook and Malachi Brockman looking down at them. Georgia put a finger to her lips and then motioned to her cell. Both men nodded. Georgia felt uncomfortable as she slid over making room in her side of the booth for Hellbrook to slide in, Mal taking the seat next to Jules.

Both men focused their attention on her cell, with curiosity in their eyes. Georgia was struck again by how damned attractive the two men were. Good looks, great bodies, and the look of natural leaders, Mal and Hell were drawing the eyes of several of the locals, women and men alike. The diner had been flooded with curiosity seekers since word had spread of the teams' arrivals. And most of that attention was now focused on their table. Georgia felt those eyes keenly.

"Since he's the one who will have to take care of it," Jules told Matthew.

_"Oh, no. I promised Grandpa I'd help him. I'm a good helper, Aunt Jules."_ The little voice turned solemn. _"Just ask my mommy. I helps all the time."_

"I will." Jules's eyes sparked with a touch of humor.

_"Maybe you could help me and Grandpa convince my mommy that a puppy is a good idea?"_ A hopeful, and childishly manipulative tone hit the little boy's voice.

"Matthew, I thought we'd talked about this?" Georgia fought a full-blown laugh. Matthew had tried the same conversation on Ana several times in the last few months. For some reason, he thought that recruiting all his relatives would convince her to get him a puppy. "You need to stop asking your aunts and uncles to talk Mommy into it. We'll get you a puppy when Mommy thinks you're ready for one."

His birthday was in two weeks, and Georgia had already paid the deposit on a twelve-week-old puppy who'd been born at the St. Louis animal shelter. For a generous donation, they'd agreed to board the dog until she could get it to a vet for immunizations and until the party.

_"But when will that be, Mommy? Tomorrow? I think I'm real ready for one!"_

"Hi, Mattie," Mal said, and Georgia smiled at him for distracting the child.

_"Uncle Mac-eye! You helping Mommy catch the bad guys, too?"_

"Sure am, buddy." Malachi smiled. Georgia was ever thankful for the dark-haired, blue-eyed man who'd been her unit chief before Hellbrook. He'd been a good friend and had formed a close relationship with Matthew. Even though she was no longer on his team, Georgia had encouraged a relationship between her son and Mal. He was a man she wanted Matthew to emulate. "What's this about a birthday I hear is coming up?"

_"Two weeks! Then I'll be growned up. You're coming to my party, right?"_

"I sure am. If I don't have to go catch bad guys, I'll be there to help you open your presents," Malachi said.

_"Awesome! I think Grandpa is getting me a new bike."_

"Matthew, what makes you think that?" Georgia shook her head. They had gotten him a new bike.

_"'Cause I founded it in Grandpa's garage. He didn't hide it real good."_

Georgia frowned. Matthew wasn't allowed in the garage unattended. "Matthew, why were you in the garage without Grandpa?"

_"Uh-oh."_ An angelic quality hit his voice. _"I was playing super-agent, Mommy. Catching bad guys like you and Grandpa."_

"Matthew, where was Grandpa when you were playing super-agent?" Georgia asked in the tone that she knew mothers everywhere used with misbehaving little boys. "Tell me."

_"Grandpa was at work."_ Guilt was evident for everyone to hear. _"Rosa was making macaroni and cheese."_

"Were you supposed to sneak away from Rosa?"

_"No, Mommy. And I gots in trouble, too. She wouldn't let me watch TV for two whole days!"_

"Good. You remember that. You have to mind Rosa like you do me and Grandpa, remember?"

_"Yes, Mommy."_ He paused a moment. _"Mommy, I miss you. When are you coming home?"_

"As soon as I can, sweetheart." There was always a knife that went through her when she was away from him. "Mommy has to go now. Can you say goodbye to everybody? Agent Hellbrook's here, too."

_"Hi, Mr. Giant!"_ Matthew had always viewed Georgia's new unit chief with awe. He was the tallest man Matthew could ever recall seeing, though he'd only met Hellbrook a handful of times.

"Hello, Mr. Matthew."

_"Grandpa says I has to hang up now and go get ready for preschool. He's going to be the special reader today!"_

"That's sounds like fun, sweetheart. Goodbye, and I love you!" Georgia said. It had been her turn to read a story at the preschool, but her father was once again filling in for her. He was wonderful. She couldn't raise Matthew without him. Period. "Say goodbye now."

_"Goodbye, Mommy. Goodbye Aunt Jules, Uncle Mac-eye, and Mr. Giant! Catch all the bad guys real good!"_

Georgia clicked off the cell, once more reminded of why she did this job. It was to keep kids like her son safe and happy as long as possible.

"So what are you getting him?" Jules asked.

"A new bike." Georgia smiled, shaking her head at how inquisitive her child was. "And a puppy. She's already picked out and being boarded until the party."

"Finally gave in, did you?" Mal laughed. "What breed?"

"Well, he's always been drawn to a certain pair of beasts that somebody lets him play with. Points out every black-and-white dog with even a remote resemblance." She raised an eyebrow at the owner of those particular dogs. "So I found a border collie puppy."

"Excellent choice. It'll require some training, but it should be able to keep up with Mattie." Malachi nodded. "I'll help, of course."

"That's what I thought." She'd hold him to it. His dogs were wonderful animals, and she wanted the same for Matthew.

She slid the phone into her pocket as their breakfast arrived. She looked at her partner for the day. "So what are we doing today?"

Hell looked at the woman beside him as he sipped his coffee. "We need to focus on some of the girls' friends. Those that were with them before the abductions."

"Haven't those girls been interviewed enough?" Brockman asked; it was his team that had done the most recent interviews.

"I have a gut feeling that somebody has the information we need to connect the dots," Hell said. He considered Brockman a friend, and a good agent, but at times, Hell was hit with an irrational irritation regarding the other man. He was smart enough to know that it had to do with the woman sitting at Hell's left.

Her kid called Brockman _uncle_. That bothered Hell. He remembered a few nonrelative _uncles_ during his own childhood, though his mother had always made sure they were serious relationships before Hell met them. Logically, Hell knew there was no more than friendship between Brockman and Georgia. Still, it grated.

"You think one of them saw something?" Brockman asked. He reached across the table and helped himself to the bacon on Georgia's plate. Both men knew she didn't like eating cooked meat in the mornings, but it had come with the meal. He turned to the woman on his right, motioning to the half-eaten breakfast before her. "You going to eat all that, Julia?"

"It's Jules. And no. Help yourself, since you're obviously starving to death." Hell wondered if the others caught the dry sarcasm.

Brockman helped himself, taking half of the gravy covered biscuits from the woman he'd met the day before. "Thank you, my dear. All right, Hell. Lay it out. What makes you think something is missing?"

"Other than the fact that we can't nail this bastard down, you mean?" Hell started in on his own biscuits. He was starving. The food at the Turn Around had been less than ideal. "We had four teenage girls. All out in dark, empty parking lots. All public places. And we had Katherine Montehue—also in a dark, empty parking lot of a public place. Before the abduction, Katherine had spent the evening flirting and getting to know the man she'd met. My question is, what was each of the four girls doing in the hour or two prior to the attack? Common victimology question."

"Hailey Ann Michaels was at the library. She'd met three friends, a female and two males," Brockman said. "The next victim, Kirby Jaysons, was at the local sub shop. Abducted shortly after the shop closed at ten pm. She'd been on a first date with a young man from the town's only private school. He was a year ahead of her."

"Lindsay, the victim who was six weeks pregnant," Georgia said. "She was outside the mall, waiting for her mother to pick her up after she'd been at the movies...with two girlfriends. They'd met up with a group of older boys. Lindsay's mother was the last to pick up her child, as she worked a late shift at the grocery store."

"And Stephanie Miller—our oldest victim at the age of seventeen—her car was found outside the school. She'd stayed over to watch her boyfriend try out for the baseball team. He'd decided to go out with his teammates, after promising to call her before going to bed that night," Hell added.

"There's your common thread." It was the medical examiner who said it.

"What?" Hell looked at her.

"I said, there's your common thread."

# Chapter Nine

HE needed coffee. Hot, black, something to wake him up. He hated cheap motels with their accompanying cheap mattresses and cheap, threadbare blankets. His back would probably hurt for weeks after this. Half the PAVAD agents were already scarfing down the greasy fare that passed for food in this bumfuck town.

He was used to light, whole wheat muffins, flavored with the perfect blend of lemon and cranberry from the coffee shop next to the St. Louis field office. He and Linda would go there every day. This dive ran to more disgusting and traditional breakfast grease. Bacon and egg and heart-attack on a platter.

His team was crowded around a table near the back, but he didn't join them. The boy—same age as his own son—was making time with one of the local agents, a pretty little redhead with the look of Brockman's Agent Sorin. He didn't want to interrupt the boy's game. Besides, he needed some time to himself to get his thoughts together for the upcoming day.

The princess was enthroned in the corner booth. All prim and perfect in one of those pantsuit things some uppity women liked. Linda had had two, both for court appearances and press conferences. She'd looked nice. Younger than her forty years. He'd always enjoyed peeling her out of those things. In his opinion, she'd looked ten times as good in her suits as the princess looked in that one.

Hellbrook sure seemed hot after her lately. Was keeping her at his side every minute. He looked around, not seeing the man in question for a moment. Then he snickered as Hellbrook slid into the booth beside the princess, cuddling up against her side. Did they think they were hiding it? Doing a piss poor job of it. Was Hellbrook sticking it to the princess at night, too? Wonder what Daddy Dennis had to think of that. Definitely no love lost there.

A smart man didn't screw around with the daughter of his boss. That way only led to trouble. Linda had just been a field agent he'd met when she transferred to his pal Whiler's team over a few years ago. She wasn't anybody too important on the food chain.

She had been important to him.

Damn; he missed her. Sometimes, he thought he could still smell, still feel, all that honey-brown hair of hers that smelled so much like strawberries.

With her, he'd broken his vow to not screw around with female agents. He'd always preferred secretaries and support staff. Had even before he'd divorced his wife, to be honest. He should have stayed to the rules. Then maybe Linda wouldn't have felt the need to go on that op.

It was his fault. His.

He shook off his memories, focusing on the princess again. Hellbrook was plastered to her side while they talked to the great Dr. Brockman and that puny little medical examiner mouse.

Now there was a contrast to the princess. Little mouse was completely unremarkable. Still, he preferred a woman with her lack of pretensions than one like the princess. He'd bet _that_ one was extremely high maintenance. Hellbrook was welcome to the princess.

The mouse actually had pencils stuck in the knot of her hair. He wasn't sure why, but he found that oddly charming. Intriguing.

He wasn't into perfect porcelain dolls like Hellbrook apparently was. He preferred a real, warm woman complete with flaws beneath him. Like Linda. Linda had been perfect for him.

Damn, he missed her.

# Chapter Ten

"THE woman at the bar, flirting with that guy, right?" Jules said as everyone turned toward her in surprise. "First victim at the library with two boys. Two boys, two girls. You do the math. At that age, they are thinking of the opposite gender. Guarantee there was some serious flirting going on. The second victim was on her first date. Probably some flirting there as well. The third victim was the only one obviously sexually active. Ironically, she was the youngest. At the movies with older boys. I remember a few times in a darkened theater—and I was well past the age of thirteen."

Georgia snorted, recalling one particular incident in a movie theater about five years ago. "Jules, you were well over the age of twenty-one. Got yourself banned from the theater, remember?"

"Stuff it, Dennis. If I recall correctly, you were on the opposite side of the theater that night, engaging in your own...activities, thank you very much." Georgia ignored the snorts from the two men. "And I'm not the only one with a lifetime ban from that theater. Anyway...the fourth victim? She was watching her boyfriend in an athletic trial. Part of her would be wanting to distract him at that age. She'd be preening, trying to catch his attention on the field, to prove she was as important as a sport. And then if they engaged each other afterward, since they were already in a relationship, there would have probably been some public display of affection. Major flirting."

"Wow. Nice call, Jules," Georgia said, then looked at her partner. "I can't believe we missed it."

"Sorry, head girl. Didn't mean to steal your thunder." Jules used her fork to block the one Mal was aiming at her uneaten cinnamon roll. "Just seemed a little obvious to me."

Nobody took cinnamon from Jules—Georgia knew that from long experience. At Mal's disappointed expression, Georgia handed him her own roll.

"So what type of UNSUB has problems with women and girls flirting?" Mal asked, tearing the roll into bite-size pieces. He shot a smirk at Jules as he popped a piece in his mouth.

"One raised in an extremely traditional home environment." Georgia pushed her plate aside before pulling a notebook out of her bag. "Probably not his biological relatives. Possible foster child. One taken in by exceedingly religious foster parents at an age where he was capable of remembering his biological family—possibly a brunette mother who he felt a great deal of anger for."

"If the foster parents were strict, moralistic, and kept him for a long while, they could have influenced his view of his mother in a negative manner," Mal said. "Could've taught him that his mother was possibly a sinner."

"If she was a single mother with a history of multiple partners, and he was old enough to remember that and want to please his adoptive parents, then that could explain it," Hellbrook said. "Georgia, get Carrie to pull all South Dakota's Department of Social Services records from fifty years to twenty years ago for this area and the surrounding states that pertain to male children."

"Gotcha. We are looking for a white male, brunette, though his hair could have been a lighter shade. He would have been possibly in late early childhood to middle childhood. Ages six to nine, I'd say." Georgia made more notes across the pad.

"Expand that to age eleven to be sure," Mal said. "If the child was emotionally and developmentally delayed he could have been older."

"True." Georgia scratched out the nine and wrote an eleven.

"Narrow the search parameters to those of males, only children, adopted or fostered by members of more religious parents," Hell said, mind running through the scenarios. "Those who may have adopted through church agencies or had references from fellow congregationers. Those who may have taken in large numbers of children. Also, have K.D. check into hospital records for the same time period. We are looking for a cross-reference. These parents would have felt that to spare the rod would have spoiled the child."

"One of the victims—Hailey Ann—was highly active in her church," Brockman said. "I'll take Ana and Dakon. Do another round of interviews. I'll give you my Tompkins to help your Sparks get the records together."

"Excellent. Georgia, let's roll." Hell spared one more glance for the diner. Most of the PAVAD agents were busily eating, files clutched in hands and determined looks on faces. Their dedication was evident. The diner had become an extension of the St. Louis bullpen in many eyes. Hell felt a keen sense of pride, knowing he was a part of the best division in the nation.

"Hellbrook? Keep close tabs on Georgia." Brockman stood when Hell did, pulling out his wallet and dumping enough cash on the table to cover the four breakfasts. Hell thought that was fitting since the other man had eaten off three of the plates.

"Excuse me?" Hell heard the indignant breath from the woman sliding out of the booth behind him. She turned to Brockman with a look of irritation on her face, and her lips thinning. It was nice to see any kind of tension between her and Brockman.

"Now don't menace me, love. You heard me, Hell. We know this bastard wants small female brunettes—well, the only two I've seen playing for _our_ side are these two right here. And Georgia has a higher likelihood of crossing the UNSUB's path than Julia." Brockman nodded toward the medical examiner as she stood. "I figure this one's safe in the precinct in Rapid City, although I can donate my Wilkins to go with her. But Georgia..."

"Can take care of herself," Georgia said as the medical examiner crossed her arms and glowered up at Brockman. Brockman now had two females glaring at him.

"By not being stupid." Brockman smiled down at Georgia, then brushed a kiss against her forehead. "Which we all know she is not."

"I'll be careful." Georgia gave in, surprising Hell at how quick the capitulation came. "You know I will."

"Good."

"Can we get going now?" Georgia asked, looking at Hell. "Every minute we stand here is a minute wasted."

# Chapter Eleven

HE wasn't exactly the kind of guy who'd frequented many libraries, yet that was the assignment he and his had been given. Canvassing the area because the great Hellbrook and Brockman finally determined this bastard had watched the victims for a time before he acted.

He snorted. Big surprise there. He could have figured that out days ago.

He kept the boy with him and sent his other two to the library's second-floor fiction section. The first victim, Hailey Ann, had been researching a social studies project. He and the boy would focus their attention on the visitors to the library's nonfiction section.

The library wasn't very full, half a dozen patrons at most. That was a shocker in itself, as it wasn't even noon. The first three they spoke with gave them nothing they didn't already have, and the next three knew nothing at all.

Another wasted fucking day. He bet Hellbrook was getting somewhere. Front of the action, the center of attention. Glory hound. He wasn't stuck in a damned Podunk library interviewing old men who had nothing better to do than to hang out in the fishing magazines all damned day.

"What do we do now, boss?" the boy asked after they'd finished with the last patron.

He tossed the boy a book from the nearest shelf. "You brush up a bit while I go get us some lunch."

" _Spanish for Dummies_?" The boy read the title before tossing the book to the table, then pulled some money from his wallet.

He waved it away. The kid still had student loans to pay. "It's on me this time."

Not like he couldn't spare it. His bills were paid, thanks to the insurance policy Linda had named him on.

When he returned with four value meals from the nearest McDonald's, the boy had the Spanish book open and was practicing his verbs aloud, oblivious to the looks he was getting from the library staff and patrons. He smiled. The kid certainly knew how to follow orders.

He dropped the food, ignoring the library's No Food sign—not like they'd kick him and his out—on the table. The boy dropped the book and attacked the food. Kid would have a heart attack by the time he hit forty, with all the French fries and junk he ate. He thought about lecturing again, but, well, dammit—he wasn't his kid to worry about. Boy was at least twenty-six or twenty-seven years old. He wasn't his damned mother.

He looked around the library. Damned place was now half full—women and children.

"Homeschoolers," the boy said. "We've talked to all of them already."

His team knew what to do. "Anything good?"

"No, nothing we don't already know. Nobody saw nothing and when-will-you-stop-them type stuff."

"Figures." He ate his chicken sandwich slowly, taking time to savor it. He didn't allow himself fast food very often. He'd almost finished when movement caught his attention.

A thirty-something woman and six kids ranging from teen to infant had taken over the largest table. He studied them, more out of boredom than anything else. The oldest wasn't the mother's. He'd bet good money on it. Didn't share a single physical feature with the mother or the other kids for that matter, dark where they were all fair. The three boys were dressed conservatively in polos and khakis. The girls were much more modest, in plain, long-sleeved shirts and long skirts.

Their hair was scraped back ruthlessly. All the children were pale as if they saw little sunlight. Neither the mother nor the eldest girl wore a hint of makeup. He brushed them off as some of those ultrafanatic over religious types.

He hated talking to those kind of nuts—always made him feel they thought they were better than him and his.

He nodded at two of his agents. They knew what to do. And they did it. He and the boy went back to observing.

They made the mother uneasy when badges were flashed. The oldest girl's eyes widened, and she paled. She lowered her head when the mother shot her a sharp look. They'd be little help. He kept half an ear on their conversation—it was a small library after all—as he mulled over what they already knew.

Hellbrook had said this guy was known to the locals.

The girls would have seen the guy around. He would have been at the library at least once in order to grab the first girl. Why? Just to choose his first victim?

He called the boy back to the table from where he'd wandered over to the dating manuals. Did the kid think he needed help with that little local redhead? Funny. If the boy truly didn't have those skills, he could give him a few pointers.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Get the list of everyone who checked out or returned any materials for the entire month leading to Hailey's visit."

"Gotcha, boss."

The woman's voice rose and drew his attention again. She had the oldest girl by the arm. Her voice was snappish and had him feeling for the girl. Bad enough to be the odd one out in a dozen kids, but to have that look sent her direction. He felt for her. The woman shook her again. "See to the lessons, Hannah!"

"Yes, ma'am." She nodded a few times and then approached his table. She pointed to the Spanish book the boy had left. "Excuse me, sir. Can I have that book? It's time for Ezra's Spanish lesson."

He nodded, another rush of sympathy hitting him. Her words had been so hesitant.

"Thank you." She reached for the book, and he slid it a bit closer. Her hand closed on the spine as her shirt sleeve fell back.

Bruises—long, finger-shaped marks—covered the little girl's skin.

He said nothing. He had to remind himself that she wasn't why they were there today.

But dammit! He hated when kids were hurt. Especially by those who should have protected them.

Twenty minutes later, he gave orders to his three to carry on without him. He'd head back and catch up with those local agents. See if they'd learned anything new.

The girl, Hannah, was by the restroom, clutching the baby against her with one hand and holding the littlest girl by the other. She stopped when she saw him, to let him pass in front of her.

Her head lowered, as did the little girl's. "Sir, excuse us. We didn't mean to get in your way."

"You didn't. It's ok, honey. You've got your hands full there. How old is the baby?"

"He's three months old this week."

"He's beautiful."

"Thank you." Polite and differential, she led the child around him.

His hand shot out, stopping short of touching her arm. She just looked at him, fear in pretty hazel eyes. Hazel, like his Linda's had been. Linda would have wanted him to help this girl. He knew it.

He dropped his hand to his pocket and pulled out his business card. He handed it to her. "You need any help, you call this number. You hear me? Anything, anytime. I'll do what I can. Everybody deserves to be safe. Even you and those two there. If someone is hurting you, there are people out there who can and will help. Starting with me."

# Chapter Twelve

THE rest of that day was a bust. They were able to confirm the flirting theory, but it was taking Carrie and J.T. Tompkins hours to gather the social service reports from the Dakotas and surrounding states. Hell and Georgia spent most of the day reviewing internet correspondences and weeding through acquaintance interviews taken by Stephenson's team, focused on any with an overtly religious tone.

A call came in around six that evening that galvanized Hell into action. Another body had been found sixty-five miles from Carterville in Spurgeon Quarry.

Georgia was on her feet before Hell disconnected the call. She had her bag and jacket over her arm and her file in the opposite hand.

They used the drive to review what they had.

"Did you get anything new from the hospital?" Hell asked. She had called to check on Katherine Montehue shortly before they'd left.

"No. And I don't understand why he raped her and the third victim but not the others—is he devolving?"

"Devolving from murder to rape? Not likely." What even a week ago would have come out with derision was now a comment. It had gotten easier, he realized, to be in her company. Despite a reckless streak that he wouldn't have guessed at, Georgia was an excellent agent. She'd probably earned her spot in PAVAD. He felt like an idiot remembering some of the things he'd thought and said about her in the last six months. Not that she'd made it easy on him either. She'd irritated him from the first day they'd met—and she'd managed to annoy him every day since then.

"Agreed." He could hear the hesitation in her voice, and he glanced at her.

"Go on." He kept his tone as encouraging as possible. He knew it would take him a while to mend the fences he'd broken between himself and this enigma of an agent. "You're wanting to say something. I'm not going to bite your head off if I don't agree."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Her words held no hostility, no rebuke. Just factual.

Heat hit the back of his neck, and for the first time he felt acute embarrassment for the way he'd acted toward her. "No, it wouldn't, would it? How about I promise not to bite your head off for the next little while?"

"I would appreciate it." She watched him for a moment before continuing. "She's older and the injuries aren't as severe, but she was raped. And one of the girls was, too. Add in that she's the same general build and coloring as the younger victims, it's logically the same UNSUB, but a part of me is thinking copycat."

"Why? Work it out for me." Hell turned the SUV onto the narrow dirt road that wound partially up the mountain. Their body was located a quarter mile off a remote stretch of a rancher's private drive. In the encroaching shadows of evening, Hell didn't want to miss the final turn off. They could end up lost out there for hours.

"The difference in victimology. It's subtle, but there. She's twice the age of all the other victims. And they were taken in relatively innocuous locations. She was taken from a bar. Big difference and much bigger risk." Georgia flicked on the small book light, illuminating the file she held. She made a small chart as she spoke. "She was raped, which is slightly different. But she got away. Our UNSUB is now practiced, experienced; I doubt a victim would get away from him without the circumstances being extraordinary. How many of the case details have been leaked to the media?"

"It hasn't exactly been kept quiet." Hell's mouth twisted. Locals were watching every move the PAVAD agents made. "And so far, it doesn't seem to be a sophisticated crime. So copying it with the information already available wouldn't be too difficult."

"So why do most copycats do it?" Hell asked.

"Thrills. Curiosity. To hide another crime. To kill someone close to them and deflect suspicion. Glory and attention seeking." Georgia tapped her pen on the console between them. "Who, though?"

"What if it's not a copycat? What if it's the same UNSUB, but victimology is changing?"

"Why would it change?" Georgia paused for a moment, her pen still. "Where did the first four disappear from? Movie theater parking lot, sandwich shop parking lot, high school parking lot, and library parking lot. Katherine Montehue was in a bar parking lot."

"Public places," Hell said. "All were out later than they should have been, between the hours of ten and one. All were alone. parking lots were relatively empty."

"Only one teen could drive. So who was supposed to pick up the other three victims?" Georgia asked. "So if a woman was alone in a parking lot, and he happened by? Maybe he's escalating, and any female of the same general build would do?"

"We need to find out why they were waiting alone that late at night," Hell said.

Georgia flipped open her cell. "I'll call Dan and Carrie, have them start on it...No, I won't. No cell reception."

"As soon as we get home, I'm getting those sat phones. This is ridiculous. Our team needs to be in communication at all times."

They met Stanton and his partner, Handers, as well as Unit Chief Stephenson alongside the road ten minutes later.

"Stephenson, I didn't know you'd ridden along with Stanton," Hell said, once he saw the blond agent he'd worked with off and on for years.

"I asked to be shown around the area. Figured it would help me get a better handle on things." Stephenson shrugged. The beam from his flashlight nearly blinded Hell when the other man raised his hand to wipe his brow. "I grew up in a place similar to this."

"Good. So you'll have some insight into what motivates someone from this area."

"Possibly." Stephenson turned to Georgia, a tone entering his voice that Hell didn't like. "Dr. Dennis."

"Stephenson." She didn't use his title, and her own tone was cool, polite. But what Hell found the most telling was the way she stepped closer to him and away from Stephenson. It was an instinctive move on her part, an indicator that she felt some threat and saw _Hell_ as a source of safety. From Stephenson.

Hell rolled his shoulders back before sheltering her with his body with only a small shift. A small step in her direction would block any threat to her. He'd not heard of any disagreements between her and the other team leader, and he made a silent note to keep an eye on the two of them.

"Unit Chief Hellbrook, sir." Handers waved up to the path with the flashlight he held. "We're pretty sure this is one of yours."

"Just pretty sure?" Georgia pulled a smaller flashlight from the never-ending depths of her black bag. "Why the qualifier?"

"It's not a girl, ma'am." Handers moved a little too much into Georgia's space for Hell's liking, crowding her between the two of them. Her shoulders stiffened. Was she always like that with men? Why hadn't he noticed before? It made sense with what he knew now. Hell straightened, put his left hand on her left shoulder. Handers stepped back. "Least, not that we can tell, anyways. Been here for at least a month. But everything looks like the other girls."

"Georgia, check the perimeter and with the local LEOs. Find out who reported it. I will check the body." Hell knew that often the first to find turned out to be the first suspect. Often the only suspect. He removed the hand he'd placed on Georgia's shoulder.

"No problem." Division of labor would make the processing of the scene go by much more quickly.

Hell and Handers hiked the quarter mile to the dump site. He was vaguely aware of Georgia and Stanton coming up slowly behind them, working about three feet apart, Stanton apparently helping her work it out in her mind. He knew Georgia would be running through what must have happened that day, her brain cataloging every minute detail. First from the UNSUB's viewpoint and then from the victim's.

It took them three hours to profile and process the scene the way Hell wanted, even with the added help of Stephenson, Stanton, and Handers. Hell profiled the body positioning, the dump site, and the distance from town, roads, and other dwellings.

He then set off into the woods, working on what path the man must have taken. Last he'd checked, Georgia was talking to the four on-scene local law enforcement officials, looking for a tiny nut of information that would prove probative. Hell could see the beam from her flashlight—a more white than yellow like the other agents'—wave around ever so often.

There wasn't too much they could really do in the dark, not without somehow getting floodlights up there. Which Hell couldn't see happening anytime soon. They'd have to come back in the morning for a more detailed examination of the scene.

The town medical examiner—a former veterinarian—had collected the woman's body two hours after Hell and Georgia arrived. He'd be taking her back to Rapid City where Dr. Bellows and her assistant waited. Hell would have preferred to have Bellows been the one to collect the body in the first place, but the town police had already acted on it before the CCU agents were notified. It had taken Hell pulling his federal jurisdiction for the town officials agreeing to take the body to Bellows. Once the body was on its way, the remaining locals left, after being cautioned to not speak with anyone but Hell's agents regarding the case.

Handers, Stanton, and Stephenson left, taking separate vehicles. Hell gave last-minute instructions to the two officers assigned to guard the site for the night. Forensics teams would be out early the next morning to scour the countryside for any clue to the woman's identity or who had killed her.

# Chapter Thirteen

HELLBROOK must be crazy, letting the princess wander these woods with just the handful of agents around.

Too damned dark, for one thing. Too damned dangerous for her.

She was so damned small, as small as any of the victims. Same coloring, too. And now they knew the bastard got off on women, too. Not just little girls. Stupid of Hellbrook not to keep her by his side. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. Girl might think she could take care of herself, but that was just foolishness talking.

If Hellbrook wasn't going to watch her, then _he_ would. He offered to help her act out the attack, but she declined. Said he was too tall. He covered a snort; he was as tall as Hellbrook. Bet she wouldn't mind working with that sonofabitch. Still, he stayed close, and it didn't matter whether she liked it or not.

When the princess was nearly finished, she went in search of Hellbrook. He waited until she found the unit chief then took off toward the vehicles.

Damned Hellbrook hadn't checked on the princess even _once_ the entire time they'd been on scene. How would Hellbrook have felt if something had happened to her? The way it had happened to his Linda?

He'd turned his back on her for a second, and some dopehead bastard had pumped six nine-millimeter rounds into her. He'd held her until she'd bled out. He could still see the stain of her blood on his palms. There had been so damned much of it.

It would serve Hellbrook right. Somebody should teach him to value his woman a bit more.

It took him seconds to have his knife hilt deep in first one of Hellbrook's tires and then the other.

He'd show Hellbrook that _his_ woman wasn't always safe. Maybe then the other man would learn.

# Chapter Fourteen

GEORGIA already waited inside the warm confines of the SUV—as they'd worked, the temperature had continued to drop, and Hell had forced her to wait in the vehicle while he gave last-minute instructions. She hadn't liked his orders, but Hell was the boss, and he'd reminded her of that. He finished giving the locals instructions before walking to the vehicle and his partner. It didn't take a profiler to see that she was fighting exhaustion, and probably hunger as well. It was nearing midnight, and they had only had five hours to sleep after returning from the Turn Around the night before.

Hell climbed in the driver's seat. "Sleep in an extra hour tomorrow, Georgia. I think you've earned it."

"And will you be sleeping in?" she asked around a yawn.

"No."

"Then neither will I."

Hell remained silent as he put the SUV into gear. Stubborn woman. Exhausted, but refusing to admit it. Why? Because that was a sign of weakness? A lack of control? Georgia prided herself on her control, didn't she?

Georgia finally fell asleep, her head leaning against the side of her seat, her face turned toward Hell. She hadn't lasted long after he'd pulled the vehicle back onto the dirt road. Hell smiled when she hummed a bit and released a sigh. He turned the heat up, pointing the vent more toward his colleague.

The SUV jerked, and he tightened his hold on the steering wheel, forcing his attention back to the road. He slowed his speed.

The SUV jerked again, and he pulled off the road, onto a small muddy shoulder, to allow any other traffic to pass. Not that there was any. The gravel road was silent, deserted; they had been the last to leave the site.

His passenger woke. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure." Hell threw the SUV into park and pulled the emergency brake. "I'll need you to hold the flashlight."

"You know...I've seen horror movies that start out just this way." She grabbed her flashlight with one hand and opened her door with the other.

Hell laughed. She'd said it with so much levity, but he hadn't missed the way she pointed the flashlight in both directions of the highway. She was a little spooked. And he had to admit, dark, deserted gravel road, no one around for miles—it did evoke memories of slasher films and real-life crime scenes they'd both seen too many of. "That's not helping, Georgia."

"So change the tire and let's get back to civilization?" Her words were both a question and a suggestion and had him laughing full out. So finally something scared the good doctor? Who would have expected her to be afraid of the dark?

"Stay close if you're that afraid, Dr. Dennis. I'll protect you."

"Haha. I can protect myself. But you, sir, you make a pretty big target." She shivered in the cold air, causing the flashlight to wobble.

Hell said nothing else, his attention now directed to the rear tire. He swore, all joking stopped. "Georgia, the tire's been slashed."

She straightened, going from shivering woman to prepared agent in less than a second. He heard the sound of her pulling her weapon from her holster, and she moved to stand at his back. "Can you change it or fix it?"

"I don't know. I'll check the spare."

"And the rest of the tires. If they slashed one, they may have done more."

And they only had one spare.

"Not one tire, both rear ones. Cut, enough that with the road pressure, they'd go flat." He slammed a hand against one tire. "Dammit."

"Who, you think?"

"Either the UNSUB or someone with a beef with law enforcement. There's more than a few in this area with distrust of the federal government." Hell wiped his hands on a rag that he'd pulled from the back of the SUV.

"With only one spare we're screwed."

"We could call for an agent to come get us." Georgia pulled her phone from her pocket.

"Cells are useless. No signal." Hell checked his just to be certain. "We have three choices. Stay with the vehicle, hike back up to the site, or head toward town and hope we find a building. Or whoever did this."

"You're telling me that even though we're forty minutes driving time away we're stuck out here?" Georgia asked. "Great. Great. And you told K.D. not to wait up for us, didn't you?"

"That about covers it." Hell watched her, face remaining inscrutable. "So what'll it be then?"

"Don't look at me!" Georgia shook her head. "You decide. No matter how we look at it, I'll probably be outvoted."

"We should stay with the vehicle. On the chance that Dan or Brockman comes looking," Hell said, looking around the site. They were in an advantageous spot, able to see anyone approaching by car or foot. The only hindrance would be the darkness surrounding them. "We've probably got about three hours' worth of gas. We should save that in case the temperature drops even more."

Ten minutes later, they had cleaned out the back cargo bay of the large SUV, shoving the equipment into the front passenger seat. Georgia was thankful it was a huge vehicle, and with them removing the tire iron and basic tools and supplies, there was a considerable amount of space. Still, it would be cramped for both of them.

Nearly an hour of stilted silence passed with them crammed in the cargo bay. Hell kept his eyes on the area outside their vehicle, his weapon close at hand, always conscious of the woman beside him, her eyes dark and mysterious in the glow of the interior light.

She sighed, a haunted expression on her face that reminded him of the woman they'd left at the hospital that afternoon. Hell asked the question before he thought it through. "Was Katherine Montehue right?"

"What do you mean?" Her words were quiet, guarded.

"When she guessed that you..." Dammit, he hadn't meant to bring up what had to be horrible memories for her. But he wanted to know, wanted to understand the woman beside him in a way he hadn't expected.

"That I knew what she was going through? Yes. To some extent. I wasn't raped, if that's what you're asking. But it was close, too damned close. Had my father not arrived when he had, it would have happened. It's not something I like to talk about." Her tone made it perfectly clear she didn't want to talk about it at that moment either.

"Is that why you avoid victims when you can? That's not entirely healthy." He'd wondered before, having noticed that she stayed far away from the victims of their cases. He'd assumed it was because of some coldness or aloofness on her part. But she'd been so compassionate with Katherine Montehue.

"And you're the expert on my mental health? I think we both can say you don't know me well enough to make that claim." Sarcasm was evident now.

It was an obvious defense mechanism. He wondered why he'd never noticed before now. Had he not been looking deep enough whenever he argued with her? "True. I apologize for prying."

"But you're always going to wonder about it. Wonder if it'll make me break while on a case. You'll always doubt whether I can deal with it. Those doubts would find their way into performance evaluations. I'm not stupid, and I'm a psychologist, too, Hellbrook." Her voice rose, yet he had to wonder if it was him she was talking about. It sounded more like she was voicing her own doubts. He could understand that.

"You have to admit, rape is an act that has far-reaching influences, long-term, on a person's psyche." He tried to keep his words nonthreatening. Just a statement that they both knew was correct.

"Yes. And many people triumph over it. I did. People triumph over things all the time."

"Ah, but did it lead to your career choice? That's significant, don't you think?" He didn't know why he pushed, why he couldn't let it drop. It had to have shaped her into what she was. Did she realize that?

"Partially. So why did you join the bureau?" She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him with a challenge on her face.

"I was recruited right out of graduate school. It sounded intriguing at the time. And the bureau financed my law degree four years later." And it sounded exciting and challenging—two things he'd always needed. He'd gotten that with the CCU—and much, much more.

"They must have wanted you pretty badly."

"Apparently, I filled a need. You?" He had been lucky, at first, in his early days, but he'd worked hard since then to achieve what he had. He was proud of it.

"I wasn't recruited, but my application went through pretty quickly."

"Because of your father?" Figured. Edward Dennis doted on his daughter, had probably seen to it that everything she needed or wanted was handed to her throughout her entire life. That was another thing that he'd resented about her early on. He'd worked for what he had, two jobs while in college and grad school. Had tutored on the side when the opportunities arose. He'd not had a college fund, and the scholarships hadn't covered the costs of living. He'd worked.

"No. Actually, he wanted me to set up a private psych practice in St. Louis. He was furious when I told him I'd applied. 'The life of an agent is no life for my daughter!'" She shifted as she spoke, dislodging the blanket he'd insisted she use. "That's what he told me. I found out later it was some of his colleagues who had pushed for me. They thought I'd be like my father. Like investigative skills are hereditary or something."

"I can understand that. He'd want to protect you." He wanted to protect her, and that desire had tripled in the last few days. He had always wanted to protect her, even when he'd resented her. From that first case they'd worked together, he'd wanted to put himself between her and any physical threat.

"Because of what happened to me?" She tensed, and her tone turned heated. "Because I'm a daughter and not a son?"

"No. Don't go giving me the evil eye. I'm saying that a father wouldn't want his child in this business. It's grueling, emotionally taxing, and it takes time away from your family." She was the only one of his agents that had a family waiting for them. Dan had children, of course, but he'd not seen them in fifteen years. Carrie was an orphan, her parents murdered when she was a small child. Compton was like Hell in that he was the only child of a single mother. Both their mothers had passed away, so no one waited on them. Norton's parents were in Detroit, but from what Hell knew, they didn't have a close relationship. K.D.'s parents were in New York, and the woman had confessed to Hell once that they thought she was involved with a law practice in St. Louis.

"Yet it's perfectly ok for my father or men like him to do it. Like you for example?" If possible, her glare intensified, and her spine stiffened.

"Honestly, I don't have anybody to be concerned if I don't come home after a case. My mother died six years ago, and she was it." Unlike her. Georgia had that little boy waiting for her. Hell had never forgotten that. The consuming need to see to it that Georgia returned to that little boy had started on their first case together when that bullet had ripped through her shoulder. Hell's biggest fear as a kid was something happening to his mother and him being left all alone. It was hard not to transfer that fear to any child of a single mother, especially a single mother he was responsible for keeping safe.

"I'm sorry." Her words were soft.

"What did your fiancé think of your job?" It was hard to sustain a marriage with the type of job they had. He knew it, and that was one reason why he'd never tried.

"Bryan? He worried, of course. But he knew I was an agent before we'd even met. So he really couldn't come back and say I had to quit. He fell in love with me as I was, like I fell in love with the pediatrician who loved to laugh and hike and camp and play baseball." A loving smile crossed her lips.

"He was a doctor?" Hell half resented the dead man for being able to put that smile on her face. Had he ever given her a reason to smile—in any way at all? Hell didn't think so.

"Yes. He and Rick had a practice together in Kansas City. Rick was general practice, Bryan pediatrics. Jules had met Rick when she got him to consult on an autopsy of one of his patients. They hit it off so well they were married three months later. I met Rick's brother at the wedding. He'd brought Matthew, and I fell for the kid first. Bryan a day later, I think. People loved Bryan, and I was no exception. Thankfully, it was mutual."

"I'm sorry you lost him." And he was. She changed when she spoke about the man, became animated. Like when she'd spoken of her son in his hearing. She'd loved him; that was obvious. He found himself unwillingly curious about the man—what kind of man had won the beautiful Georgia Dennis? What would it take for another man to win her now?

"Me, too. Matthew won't remember him, and that hurts every day. Bryan loved his son, and he loved me. I do have hours of home video, but it's not the same. Bryan and Rick's mother, she's still living. Hasn't seen Matthew or Jules in at least two years. Doesn't want to. I don't understand that." She shook her head.

"Frozen from the grief maybe." It had hurt her, the woman's neglect. The man's mother would have been someone to share her grief with, someone who understood and knew the man. Hell hurt for her for a moment. When his mother had died, he'd had no other family except some aunts he'd never met. He'd never forget how alone he'd felt. Still, the little boy had had Georgia, and her father. As much as Edward Dennis irritated Hell, he couldn't deny that the man loved his child and grandchild.

He'd learned in the last six months that when Georgia was out of town, Ed Dennis kept the boy. He'd never expected that.

"Yes. But to miss out on Matthew—Jules is the same to some extent. She loves him, but she always keeps a bit of a barrier between them emotionally. Matthew is a carbon copy of his father physically. And his uncle. And that hurts Jules so much. I've tried to help her, but I can't." She sniffed and he jerked his eyes back to her face. He didn't think he could handle her crying. "If possible, I think Jules was hurt the worst of all of us. She's not the same at all. Completely different person. It hurts."

"Just be her friend is all you can do. Hopefully, she'll eventually heal." They sat in silence for a while. And the dark. The temperature was still falling, but Hell had turned off the engine to preserve their gas for the hours when the temperature would turn bitingly cold. He'd also cut the lights to save on the battery life.

"Have you ever been in love, Hellbrook?" Her words came out of the darkness and were soft and hesitant.

"No. I don't think I have. Not to that extent." And he hadn't. For one of the few times in his memory, he felt a twinge of loss at that. He'd had relationships, but none that had deepened past the point of mutual liking and respect. He'd come close once, with a blond stock broker, but then he'd formed the CCU, and she'd been unable to deal with his frequent absences, and he'd not understood her lack of support.

"I never thought I would. Not after what had happened to me and not after the example of my parents' marriage. But Bryan, he was too hard not to love."

Bryan again. "Was it hard to date for you?"

He hadn't expected her to answer, but something about their situation and the night around them had loosened both their tongues. Created an intimacy he couldn't explain. "Yes. Major trust issues. Still have them, to some extent."

"You are very controlled. Were you always that way?" he asked.

"Yes. Remember who my parents are, after all."

"Your dad defines the word _control_." Icy, rigid control that Hellbrook had a difficulty understanding.

"I can still hear the hostility when you speak of him." She shivered audibly, pulling the blanket tighter around her as she leaned against the side panel. Her feet could stretch out and touch the other side. Hell had to keep his knees bent. If they turned and sat against the seats and stretched their legs out toward the rear hatch, he might be able to straighten out a bit. But that would involve them sitting side by side, in the dark, close and even more aware of each other than they were right then. Hell doubted she'd go for that. "What started this...issue...between you and my father? Dan told me it had to do with a case that went sour. He couldn't give me all the details."

"I don't think it really matters now, do you? Your father and I don't get along." He was not going to tell her that her father was responsible for the death of a good agent. Tell her he thought the senior Dennis's reputation was built on other more deserving agents' backs. That was guaranteed to stir up a quarrel he was not ready to face.

"I think it's a bit more than not getting along. You despised me by simple association."

She honestly believed that. He could hear it in her matter-of-fact tone.

"I don't despise you." And he didn't. Hadn't. He hadn't liked the fact that she was Dennis's daughter or the fact that she was assigned to his team against his will when he had stacks of transfer requests from agents wanting and waiting for years to get one of the coveted few spots on the CCU. Yet she'd been put there without Hell's input at all, for reasons he was never given. It still burned, but not as much as it had months ago. Or even a week ago.

"Could have fooled me." Sarcasm dripped from her words again.

"You're not going to drop it, are you?" He tried to stretch his right leg but was unsuccessful. Dammit, he was too old, too big, to be crammed into this damned tin can.

"Not any more than you've dropped the subject of what happened to me." Her voice held a challenge that he was hard-pressed to resist. Her cool aloofness pricked at something inside him and always had.

"And yet you've not told me the entire story, have you?" He'd wanted to shake her up, ruffle those sleek little feathers until he had her hot and breathing heavy. In any way he could. Always had, from the very first moment he'd seen her, standing in a PAVAD conference room, looking cool and sophisticated in a navy pantsuit, with a wild mess of dark curls hanging down her back.

"I will."

"What?" Had he heard her right? His leg twitched again, and he bit back a curse.

"I'll tell you. My father is one of the greatest men I've ever known, Hellbrook. Nothing you ever say can change that."

"I wouldn't want to change that. He's your father, and everyone can see that you are his princess. He loves you immensely." Pampered princess of PAVAD. How many people threw that in her face? Made things hard for her just because of who her father was? He had. How many others? Was that just another reason she kept things so rigidly to herself? She was close to the people on his team, especially Dan. But there was always a barrier between her and the others. Was that because of him, or because she was protecting herself?

"I know. For a while, I didn't think I deserved it."

"Georgia...you don't have to tell me." Now he wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened to her.

# Chapter Fifteen

"MY parents have despised each other since before I was born, I think. That's probably an understatement."

It was an understatement, but she wasn't going to get that deep with Hellbrook. She wasn't entirely certain why she was even telling him in the first place.

"Look, it's none of my business." It was almost humorous the way he tried to backpedal. Served him right; he got what he asked for. He wanted to know the details, why not? She wasn't ashamed of what had happened to her—it wasn't her shame to bear. It was the bastard's who'd tried to hurt her.

"No. I'll tell you what happened and why my father has had the largest influence on my life and why there is no one on this earth I respect and admire more. In exchange, you tell me what happened to cause you two to hate each other." After all this time, she deserved to know what it was about her and her father that was responsible for Hellbrook's actions toward her. Before she left the CCU, she at least wanted to know the truth.

If that meant an equal trade-off, her story for his, then so be it. She'd bare it all for him. Then she could put Hellbrook and his attitude behind her. If had been something she had done, it would have been one thing. But Hellbrook had held a grudge against her before she'd even joined his team. Georgia wanted answers. "You started this line of questioning, _sir_. Now man up."

He must be cramped; he'd twisted his leg three times in the span of a minute. Poor, pitiful Hellbrook, so damned big he couldn't get comfortable. Georgia smirked in the darkness.

She heard his sigh before he continued. "I will if you agree to stop calling me sir all the time. No one else on the team does."

"No one else on the team is the pariah of PAVAD in your eyes."

"You're not the pariah...you're the princess of PAVAD." There was no real hostility in his words, and that surprised her. She was pretty damned certain he'd coined the nickname that she hated so much.

"I've heard that before. Never in a good way. Some people, and not just you, have the belief that I'm only here because of my father. Stephenson, for instance. But that's not true."

"Settle down, princess. I apologize if I ever made you feel that way. And Stephenson is a lazy slob." His words were quick, and Georgia could hear the sincerity behind the apology. It was a first in her memory of their acquaintance he'd apologized to her—and actually meant it.

"I accept your apology, Hellbrook." And she didn't half mind that he'd called her princess absently. There was no rancor behind it. Not this time. But she knew...that was what he called her in his own head, wasn't it? And not in a good way.

"Good."

"Anyway. My mother married and had a child to further her political career. She told me so herself. But that's not at the crux of this story. My parents signed a weird prenuptial back in the seventies that guaranteed full custody of any offspring to the parent who did not file. I've never been able to figure out that, but they did. I think it was to preserve the modest trust funds both sets of grandparents had started for their grandchildren before they died. I was the only grandchild, so it would all come to me. It was controlled by my parents until I hit thirty. Because he didn't want to lose custody of me—he'd been responsible for the majority of my care since I was born—he never filed. Because she didn't want to lose access to the fund she controlled, my mother never filed. He kept me. She also kept her conservative, family-values constituents." And Georgia had benefited by remaining with the one parent who'd loved her. She understood—she'd marry the devil himself if it meant she could keep Matthew. She would do whatever it took when it came to her son's well-being—it was what a parent did. A good parent.

"That makes sense. They both benefited by staying married." His tone still told her he didn't want to hear the full story. Georgia got a fierce pleasure knowing that she had him in her control. He couldn't escape her. It was so reminiscent of the times he'd pulled her aside to lecture her on some failure of hers. She'd been forced to stand and listen because he was the superior agent. But out here, in the dark woods of South Dakota, neither could escape. She liked the power that gave her.

"That's not the word I'd use. At least not for my father. As far as I know, my father was never unfaithful to my mother. He takes oaths very seriously. But I doubt my mother could say the same." She continued the story, wishing only that she could see her boss's face.

"Georgia..."

"A deal's a deal. And I want to know what's between you and my father." Her thoughts suddenly changed from the thrill of their role reversal to the details of that day. Her tone changed, lowered, flattened. "The summer I was sixteen, my mother came to our house for a family vacation. Meaning that it was close to campaign time. Four years earlier, she yanked me out of school and dragged me to DC with her—the political clime was focused on education, and she thought it would look good to have her daughter in a private school in Washington, DC, because she thought the educational system needed reformed. But that's another story. Her arrival was an inconvenience, but my father had threatened her to leave me alone this time."

"Here. You're shivering."

He held something out to her, and she took it without thinking. She started to protest and hand it back when she realized it was his leather coat. His hand pushed hers away, insistent. She covered herself with it, surrounded by the scent of leather and Hell.

"Thank you. My dad had become unit chief and was working long hours, establishing a rapport with his new team. Sometimes his colleagues would drop by the house, bring files, that type of thing." She'd thought nothing of it at the time. Her entire childhood had been mixed with FBI agents. It was the norm for her.

"Yes."

"So my mother became acquainted with some of them. One, in particular, came more frequently than the others. I didn't realize why, of course. I was too involved with school, softball, and dance. Other typical teenage-girl things." Involved with avoiding the woman she really didn't know, really didn't like. She'd resented the intrusion into her life back then.

Things were great between her and her father. He was a wonderful parent. Her mother made things tense for all of them. Still did. Georgia hadn't seen her mother since Bryan's funeral when she'd made a tasteful entrance for the reporters that had followed her from the capitol. Long enough to try to get a photo op with Georgia and little Mattie. "One day after my mother and her lover had argued, he—this guy I barely knew other than that he worked with my father—was waiting in my kitchen when I got off the school bus. I couldn't drive yet. My dad didn't think I was ready. This man was big and strong, and I knew he had to have at least one gun. So I didn't fight him."

"You shouldn't have. If you knew he was armed, you did exactly what you should have." His voice was tight, and once again, she wished she could see his face.

"That's what my father told me, and I realize that now. It took me a while. Anyway, my dad came home early that day. Something he rarely did. Thank God he got there when he did." If he hadn't, Georgia didn't want to think of the alternative.

"He stopped him?" Hellbrook's voice was harsh.

"The man was taking off his underwear when my father shot him. He'd gotten home in time. The rapist had his gun out, had it pointed right at me. I wasn't moving. I was terrified. But my dad came in, and I saw him, and I fell to the side. Relief, terror, I still don't know. I knew I was safe then. But my dad shot him; his blood got on me. It killed him instantly."

"Good. Although I wish the bastard had lingered a bit. Suffered." His voice was so rough, Georgia shivered again. Sometimes, Hellbrook could be a little terrifying. Intense.

Her next words were frank. "Without my dad, I don't know what would have happened to me. Either that day or in the years after. It took me a long time to heal. Years. And there are times when I feel that I haven't healed at all. When it's still raw and right there. Other times, it seems like a real lifetime ago. And I was a lucky one. My father stopped it."

"Thank God."

"Yes." Although it had taken her years to feel that luck whenever she thought about that day. She'd never known what made her father come home that day. She was glad he had. He'd cleaned her up, removed the blood. Called his boss and had a tense discussion that Georgia couldn't remember. Then it was over. Her father had called his younger sister to come get Georgia. She'd spent three days with her aunt Carolyn in Boston. "So about this thing between you and my father..."

"Georgia."

"Don't try to get out of it. I told you my biggest secret." And it had been surprisingly easy to tell him. She wondered why. "The least you can tell me is what happened. Your relationship with my father has colored our relationship since the very beginning. I want to know what had such an impact to last so long. It's been how long?"

"Fifteen years, give or take."

"Almost a lifetime ago." The same as it had been for her.

"Yes. Almost." He shifted against her, this time invading her space even more than she thought possible.

"So...tell me." She pushed against his knee with her foot.

"You're relentless aren't you?" She heard the obvious frustration in his voice and smirked, grateful the darkness hid her from his view. "Now, I understand the menace nickname."

"I love Dan. He's been like an uncle to me for the last six years. I'm glad he is on the CCU." The teammate who'd given her the nickname was another man she admired. He was one of her father's closest confidantes, despite working for Hellbrook.

"Me, too. He's a good man." Hellbrook genuinely believed that. Georgia could hear it in his voice.

"Hellbrook...you're stalling."

# Chapter Sixteen

"FIFTEEN years ago, your father was my unit chief. My first. I was probably one of those agents bringing files over to your father's house. I don't recall ever meeting you, but I did meet your mother once."

She could almost picture him, a young, good-looking wild man of an agent. She'd heard plenty of rumors of a younger Hellbrook, who'd been hell in the field and with the women. He would have caught her mother's eye. Probably would have appealed to her. That thought made Georgia frown. "My apologies."

"Yes, I was less than impressed. Let's say I never vote for her." His voice was hesitant.

"Neither do I. She actually referred to Mattie once as that little adopted boy—can you believe it? Can't even call him by name. Anyway, go on." She didn't hold his dislike of her mother against him. Not at all.

"Your father was a new UC, and I was a new probationary. We were both struggling to outline our fit within the team and unit. I admit it: I was probably reckless as...well, hell. He stuck me with a partner named Stanislaski. We called him Stan, of course." Georgia could hear the admiration in Hellbrook's voice—and the sense of loss. She tensed. "He was a decent agent, enough that people both liked and respected him. I certainly did. He had the respect without the fear. People feared your dad and his reputation back then."

"They still do. I've never understood it. My dad is shy in many ways." Like her. Her father preferred to do his job, to not be the center of attention. Or the one with all the responsibility. But he took responsibility when it was given to him, and he carried it well. Honorably. Nothing Hellbrook could tell her could change that. Nothing.

"He presents with intensity, dedication, drive, often cold and ruthless. Powerful."

"Surely, you didn't fear him?" Not the wild lion that was Hellbrook. People feared him, not the other way around.

"No. I was arrogant enough not to fear anyone back then." Now his words were rueful.

"Still are." As arrogant as the lion he reminded her of. He was an arrogant, bold lion and her father a sleek, controlled panther. Two predators destined to battle each other. Georgia hid a snicker.

"To a lesser extent. But I do have an adult's fears now." He must have been truly uncomfortable. He was so damned big, and the SUV seemed to have shrunk as he kept twisting his legs.

"Don't we both." She had even more since becoming a parent.

"I did respect your father's position and trusted him as a leader." Truth was evident in his tone.

"What changed that?" Earning Hellbrook's admiration was a tough process. Georgia knew that. She'd never managed the task.

"I...are you sure you want to hear this?" He stilled.

"Yes." He couldn't see her nod in the darkness, but she nodded anyway. His reticence made her twice as curious about their history. What was he trying to hide?

"Your father assigned us a task that put us directly in the line of fire. We were under the impression that he and two other agents would be providing backup. So Stan and I went in."

"Ok. Then what happened?" It was par for the course. Every agent knew the inherent dangers associated with the job. Hellbrook and Stanislaski would have. Something must have gone horribly wrong.

"The exchange went down much earlier than we anticipated. About three in the afternoon. We'd expected it to be around nine p.m. We were made, covers blown—which we expected to happen. But we counted on backup. They'd rigged the entire building to explode. Had it been rigged right, I wouldn't be here. But the room we were in and the one next to it went up quick. Only one of our backup agents was there to pull us out. To pull me out, as I was closer to the door. By the time that agent got back inside for Stan, he'd died from smoke inhalation."

"My father?"

"Said he got unavoidably detained. Gave a story that the deputy director and his assistant confirmed. But I knew he was lying through his teeth." She could hear a remnant of the hostility in the back of his words.

Georgia would admit to being a bit confused. Something about his story was...off. "And the third agent—you said there were supposed to be three."

"Emmons? Ironically, he was killed in a traffic accident on his way in that afternoon."

"Oh, no..." Now it made sense. Fifteen years ago. Agent Stanislaski. She'd known him—she could recall that now. Big and blond, a gentle giant who'd had two daughters near her age. A friend of her father's. He'd died? The same day as... "No. He wasn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...my father shot _him_. Shot Emmons that day." Shot him after he'd held her down on the kitchen table, after he'd ripped her softball jersey from her body after he'd touched and bruised her. After Agent Emmons tried to rape her. She shook her head, trying to clear the memories from her mind.

"Georgia, what are you saying?" Hellbrook _knew_. She knew that as soon as he asked the question.

"I'm saying Agent Mark Emmons was the _one_. He was my mother's lover. My father shot him when he tried to rape me. The deputy director decided to keep it out of the main knowledge, to keep it private because of me. Because my mother was in the public eye and it was her lover." Georgia's stomach clenched, nausea threatened as the far-reaching consequences of that day became even clearer. It was still influencing her life. Hellbrook and her father had hated each other since that day... "All this time, you despised my father for protecting _me_."

She said little else in the minutes after that, but neither did Hell. What could he say? It hadn't taken a profiler to hear how the entire story had rocked her. Her voice had trembled, and he'd felt her body shiver where his knee rested beside her thigh.

It had devastated her to learn that someone else besides Emmons had died that day. To hear that Hell had almost died. She hadn't had to say it.

He heard the quiet sound of her tears a half an hour later, and he knew she was crying. _No_. He didn't want her crying because of him.

"Georgia..." He lifted one hand, turned on the overhead book light. Tear tracks glistened on her pale cheeks, and her eyes were filled with emotion. "Don't cry."

"Dammit." She attempted to wipe the tracks away. "It's not fair!"

"I know." Hell felt like shit. He hadn't wanted to tell her, but not for this reason. Not so she could suffer again fifteen years later. "Stop crying. I don't think I can handle it."

"I'm not crying." Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparked. Her eyes continued to well with tears that she furiously wiped away. The sight hurt him. "I don't want to cry. I hate crying. It's pointless. I don't want to know that a man I knew and liked—I played softball with his daughters, slept over at his house, painting my nails and playing with makeup and talking about the cutest boys on the basketball team—died because...that—that everything that's happened between you and my father, between you and me, is because of what happened that day!"

"Not you!" Hell had his hands under her arms and lifted her closer before he realized he'd moved. They were crushed together, her knees bent between his, his head even with hers. He held her six inches from his face. Her eyes widened and she stilled, held in his hands like a rag doll. She didn't pull away. "Because of what that bastard Emmons did! I never would have blamed your father if I'd known, Georgia. Never. You can't seriously blame yourself for what happened."

"I don't, but it still hurts. Had my father not been taking care of me that day..." She took several deep breaths, and he admired the way he could see her composure returning. She was as controlled as her father, yet he admired that fact in her.

"Yes. But if Emmons and your mother hadn't been having an affair would Emmons have gone for you? Georgia, you were a child. A defenseless child. You know that. And your father was doing what any father would do to protect his child. I can't blame him for that; wouldn't even if I could." Hell would blame him if he'd done the opposite that day. Stan had died because of Emmons. Not Dennis. It would take some getting used to, Hell thought, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Dennis had saved his daughter, and Hell would always be thankful for that.

She nodded, pulled in several deep breaths. Her hands pressed against his chest, small and hot through his shirt. "Put me down, please. I think...I think we can both agree that what happened fifteen years ago was horrible. And the only ones to blame are...are Agent Emmons. And my mother."

"It was something your father couldn't control." Hell came to the realization, and he felt some of the hostility—most of the hostility—he felt for the older man sliding away as he gently released his hold on the daughter. "And truth be told, Stan would have made the same decision as your father that day had the roles been reversed. He was a father, too. If I had been your father, I would have done the same. It's time it was put to rest, and if you want, I will apologize to your father for the things I've believed as soon as we return to St. Louis. And I want to apologize to you for the things that have happened between us in the last six months."

She stared at him a moment, and he wondered if he'd struck her speechless. She shook her head. "Don't tell my father I told you. He still feels so guilty for what happened. It was as hard on him, you know? I don't want to dredge up the past."

Hell nodded. She was as protective of her father as the senior Dennis was of her and her son. Hell could see that now. For a moment, he envied them their close little family. It had been a long time since he'd belonged to anything resembling a family. "Understood."

"As for the last six months—I think we both have a clearer understanding of where we stand. I think we can move on, form a mutual respect from here. Don't you?"

"Agreed." Hell attempted once more to relieve the growing tension in his legs. "But Georgia..."

Wariness hit her face. "Yes?"

"Do you mind if we turned a bit? My legs are killing me."

# Chapter Seventeen

IT took a few moments, but they rearranged their bodies and their supplies until he could lean against the back of the driver's seat and stretch his legs out to the end of the vehicle. She was at his side, quiet and subdued.

She shivered and he grabbed the blanket and straightened it over both of them. He shifted his leather coat so it draped over her shoulders from the front. But it was still cold. He reached back and started the engine, doing his best not to jostle her.

Hell liked that it was his coat providing her warmth. He understood what that liking meant, too. He thought over it from every angle, vaguely aware of his companion losing the battle with sleep. A dark head landed on his shoulder, and he jerked in her direction long enough to see that her face was relaxed, the tear tracks nearly gone.

Hell's stomach tightened at how vulnerable Georgia, the princess he'd once thought so pampered, actually was. She'd been through hell in her lifetime and kept that pain so closely locked up that it would never show. He'd certainly only seen the outside, hadn't thought to look at her too closely. Afraid of what he'd see. He'd been an idiot.

He was a master behavioral analyst, and it took little time to break his own behavior into pieces for analysis, and that's exactly what he did.

Objectively, Hell knew he was a man who'd perceived a threat to his status quo and had reacted the way men had for centuries. A threat equaled swift, forceful reaction. He'd reacted, punishing Georgia as a result, often unfairly. No wonder she'd distanced herself from him over the past six months. He pulled her closer when she sighed, surprised when she shifted onto one side. She snuggled half over his chest, draping one leg over his. He adjusted the blanket, then covered her shoulders with the coat, wrapping his arm around her waist under the familiar leather. It was his second leather coat; he'd replaced the first with this one after her blood had ruined it. He still remembered that Seattle rooftop with terrifying clarity.

He ghosted his hands through her hair and then caressed her back when she stirred, when she tensed. Nightmares were the norm for his unit, some of the things they'd seen so horrific they haunted them all, but he suspected it was long ago images that chased her tonight. He did his best to soothe her, and he felt good when he did. Powerful and protective. Right. She settled tighter against him, her hand fisting in the material of his shirt, over his heart.

This was what he'd wanted from the first moment he'd met her. It was time he admitted it. Without the hostility between them, things became quite a bit clearer for him. He wanted Georgia Dennis pressed against him, either sleeping or awake. He wanted her dependent on him for whatever she needed. Hell wanted it so damned much he would fight for it.

And Hell always won his battles.

Hellbrook's arms were around her when Georgia woke the next morning. Her head was snuggled on a firm male chest; and if she wasn't mistaken, a large male hand was cupping and kneading her rear. "Hellbrook...Michael...Hell..."

It seemed wrong to not call him by his first name, considering what his hand was doing.

"Hmmm?" His head was thrown against the back of the driver's seat, his knees were bent, and she rested between them. The hand not on her rear rested on her back, beneath her shirt. His fingers were hot against her skin.

"Hell, wake up!" She tried to pull out of the awkward embrace, but the man beneath her resisted, locking his arms, his hands, in place. Georgia grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

"What?" He jerked beneath her, and Georgia tightened both hands in the cotton over his chest. Dark-blue eyes popped open and stared into hers. They cleared as his wayward hand stilled against her. "Georgia. Yeah."

She knew her embarrassment had to be plain on her face. She felt raw and wounded, shaken after the revelations of their late-night confessions. Now she wished she'd kept quiet, hadn't pushed him into telling her what happened so long ago. The truth really did hurt sometimes. "I won't call it a good morning, but it is morning."

"Dammit; I didn't mean to fall asleep." He didn't release her. The exact opposite; he splayed his fingers, covering even more territory. He used the hand beneath her shirt to lift her until her nose was a hairsbreadth from his.

"Hellbrook? What are you doing?" It came out in an undignified squeak.

"Testing a hypothesis, Doctor." He grinned at her, the expression the most leonine and predatory she'd ever seen. "I spent several hours thinking while you slept. And I came to a decision."

She was his prey; she had no doubt about that. Her fingers flexed against that incredibly hard, strong, hot, male chest. "And what would that be?"

"That one of the reasons for the animosity between us is the heat that's always been there between us. Since the very beginning." The reason in his tone warred with the lust in his words and Georgia fought a shiver.

"Excuse me? What heat?" The heat currently burning her? The scorching heat he emanated? That heat?

"This heat." His hand pulled her closer until his lips covered hers. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened—to protest, to berate him—she wasn't quite sure. He took full advantage, angling his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss.

After her initial surprise at his actions, Georgia had to admit the man could kiss. No wonder he always had so many women fawning for his attention. If he kissed them like this...Georgia could understand it. Her breath sighed out, her eyes closed, she tilted her head, giving him deeper access. One hand crept up to tangle in the copper hair that was a bit too long. Lion-like. They were soon chest to chest, his legs stretched out. His hands guided her knees until she straddled him and then returned to her ass, pulling her up and closer. Until she could feel him.

One of his hands pulled her shirt up high on her back, then both hands were hot against her skin. He snaked one around to her front, teasing against her bra. Skilled fingers slipped beneath the silk. Long fingers touched her, ghosted across her nipple.

It was too much. Georgia pulled back, but only a bit. "What are we doing?"

"An experiment." His hand ran up her spine, stopping to toy with the metal clasp holding the silk in place.

"This is insane!" She was shaking her head even as she arched her spine. Closer. She wanted closer. To Hell.

"Is it? We're both behavioral analysts. Shouldn't we analyze our own behavior? I've been aware of you since the moment we were assigned to that damned task force of your father's. That awareness has grown in the last six months. Admit it. We both know this." His hands slowed, started ghosting across her spine, leaving her bra clasp alone. But still burning.

"Do we? Who says I've been aware of you for the last six months? You're rather arrogant, Hellbrook."

"The truth usually is." He brushed one more kiss over her lips before stopping.

He may kiss like a damned god, but he was her personal devil, and Georgia was too old to be tempted by fire. She was shaking her head as she pulled away from him. "No. We're not doing this. _I'm_ not doing this."

"Sure feels like we're doing something." His words held a touch of sarcasm and male frustration. She looked at him again. His eyes burned with a hot lust that tightened her stomach. He'd never looked at her that way before. Hellbrook was agitated and aroused. Because of her. For her. Georgia shivered. His eyes darkened.

"No, we're not." Her favorite ice-blue bra was partially exposed, and somehow his fingers had started on the buttons of her shirt. The green cotton hung open fully. Georgia quickly pulled her clothes back into place. Clever man, clever hands, damn him. A few more seconds of inattention and he would have had her partially naked. Georgia shivered, his eyes darkened even further. What would have happened if he had had those seconds? She probably would have enjoyed it. She wouldn't deny that—at least to herself. "We're both going to forget this ever happened. We do our jobs, and maybe we do them a little better since we aren't going to be at each other's throats all the time. That's it. End of story."

"Is it?" His eyes followed her hands as they straightened and tucked her shirt into her pants. He smirked, apparently happy that he'd been the one to muss her clothing.

Arrogant male jerk. Sexy male jerk, damn him. "It is."

He said nothing else, but Georgia was aware of him watching her for several long moments. Finally, the silence broke her. "How long do you think we will be stuck here?"

"I don't know. We could be dealing with several scenarios. Our team first because they can't find us. We could be found by some of the local LEOs, or someone could realize we're missing and send out the entire search & rescue divisions. It's seven now, a couple more hours at least."

"Dammit." She couldn't sit there for two more hours, not with him looking so damned smug. He knew she liked kissing him, damn him. She had kissed him back. For a minute, maybe two. Or three. She hadn't exactly been keeping track of the time. She grabbed her bag, withdrew her copies of the case file. "Let's go over it again."

They kept it professional for the next hour until the sound of an approaching engine had them both tensing and grabbing their weapons. Neither had forgotten how they'd ended up stranded in the first place.

Georgia relaxed, seeing a familiar government-issue SUV pull up behind theirs. Three people climbed out. Georgia opened the rear hatch and jumped down. "Hallelujah! We're saved!"

"Rough night, love?" Mal asked, brushing a kiss against her forehead after giving her a quick hug.

Georgia turned in time to catch the look of anger and envy that hit Hellbrook's eyes. He was jealous. Actually _jealous_ of Mal. She filed that fact away for later consideration as she answered her former unit chief's question. She smirked at her current unit chief. "You have no idea."

"What happened?" Ana asked as she scanned the wooded area around the gravel road.

"Rear tires, both slashed. We had only one spare. No cell signal." Hellbrook's explanation was brief. "We expected rescue to come a little later."

"We could leave for a couple of hours if you'd like." Mal bent to examine the SUV's tire.

"No!" Georgia motioned to the woods. "I'm in serious need of a real restroom!"

Mal laughed. "Been a while since we went camping, huh, love?"

Hellbrook's expression darkened, and Georgia sent a challenging look up at him from where she stood between the two men.

"I think we can get this changed." Mal popped the hatch on his SUV and lifted up the back carpet panel to reveal their spare. Since the SUVs were government issue, they were the same make and model. Mal's spare would fit.

"I'm going for a very short walk," Georgia said. "I will return in a moment."

"Not alone. Take Sorin and Dr. Bellows with you." Hell was bent to their SUV's left rear tire. Mal was rolling the other spare to the right rear. "And don't take too long. We've wasted enough time on this case already."

"You might say that. Don't worry. I'm as anxious to get this case solved as you." Probably more so.

She motioned to her two best friends to follow her into the woods. She was doubly anxious to get back to civilization and a hot shower.

Twenty minutes later, they had the tires changed and were ready to head back to Carterville. Georgia ignored Hell for the most part, speaking only about the case specifics. He started the SUV's engine, after wiping his hands on a rag. "Get in."

"I was going to ride with Jules and Ana if that was all right with you." Cool professionalism coated her words, but he wasn't lost to the way her eyes avoided his. She was hiding, right in front of him. Retreating, a defense mechanism that he had expected. Now she was aware of him, and he felt the urge to hunt. He smiled and reminded himself to be patient. He couldn't rush her.

"No. We have things to discuss still." He wasn't letting her hide from him. And that's what she was wanting to do—use her friends to retreat.

She slammed her passenger door with a smart finality that had him shaking his head.

She kept the discussion strictly on the case. Every attempt he made to veer the subject to the two of them, she avoided, evaded.

It was only when they were pulling into the parking lot the motel shared with the adjacent country diner that she spoke. "When do you want to meet? Head to the precinct?"

"As quickly as we can. Under an hour?" That would give him time to shower and dress, get something to eat, and catch up on all the new information from the day before. It would also give him time to cool down. He needed some time away from her to think. To strategize. "We'll grab some breakfast before we go."

She nodded, then unlocked her own motel room. They had adjacent rooms, so he'd hear when she was ready to leave. He'd table that talk they needed to have, at least until they'd both had time to think.

# Chapter Eighteen

HE saw them pull in from where he sat at the diner. He felt an absurd rush of relief—what if the UNSUB had found them stranded alongside the highway?

Sure, the princess had had Hellbrook to protect her, and both were armed, but what if the UNSUB had gotten the jump on Hellbrook? The blown tires alone could have gotten them killed. He hadn't intended that, just wanted to teach Hellbrook a lesson, was all.

He'd been a ball of nerves since he'd overheard the little mouse ME pounding on Brockman's door with a crazy story of the princess being missing.

The worry in the doctor's voice still had him feeling a bit sick with guilt. He hadn't realized she and the princess were such good friends.

He hadn't meant to get the mouse all worked up. Just figured Hellbrook and the princess would be a bit delayed getting back to the motel. Didn't even consider they'd be out there all night.

Still, they both looked just fine, so it wasn't a big deal. They had more important things to worry about. Like catching a killer.

# Chapter Nineteen

GEORGIA slapped a note on Hellbrook's door before crossing the parking lot of the motel to the small diner across the street. She wasn't quite ready to see him face-to-face yet. She'd get breakfast for both of them. Then they could get underway. Catch this guy. Georgia reviewed what she knew of him.

They had an average man, short but athletic, of Caucasian descent running around a large rural area kidnapping and torturing small-framed brunettes whom he must have noticed flirting.

Flirting—one of the most natural acts in the process of finding a mate. Nearly every species on the planet had actions that were designed to entice members of the opposite gender.

She flirted, playfully teased men she felt comfortable with. Not that there were many. But she did flirt. Most people did. Something must have twisted or corrupted somewhere in the UNSUB's past to make him enraged by a female flirting. And that corruption probably took the form of a small-built brunette. It wasn't about teenage girls; it was about petite brunettes who were exhibiting the initial signs of sexual attraction.

But who would have an issue with sexual attraction? Who would think to use such an old method of killing as stoning?

Someone who valued the traditional aspects of the common religion of this area. Of course, stoning was a part of many religious fables and myths, but in this area, Christianity was the dominant religion.

He was someone who had to have seen the victims in a variety of locations, movie theaters, sandwich shop, library, even the high school.

Someone who'd blend in to the community, someone who it wouldn't be surprising to see near a teenage girl. Someone people would almost expect to see near the girls.

She also couldn't forget the Turn Around. The bar didn't fit the other typology of locations. Of course, neither did Katherine Montehue in a lot of ways.

They were still waiting for the information on the still-unidentified body. She pulled her cell from her pocket, pushing number three on speed dial.

Carrie answered on the second ring.

"Any word on the Spurgeon Quarry victim?" Georgia asked, not surprised when the answer was no. "Are you still tracing all disappearances that meet the general build? Might go back another six months."

The man had to have a first kill. And Georgia strongly suspected they hadn't found it yet. Unless the body found in the now-defunct quarry was it. And that body was of a grown woman. So what, besides flirting, made him switch to teenage girls?

Georgia was about to enter the diner when a hand on her back stopped her. She whirled around, taking her phone from her ear, as her free hand dropped to her side where her Sig rested.

The man behind her backed up quickly. "I'm sorry, miss. Didn't mean to startle you. I thought you were someone else."

"That's ok. I'm a bit jumpy." Georgia cataloged the man. He was barely three inches taller than her five two. He was close to Hellbrook's age of thirty-eight. His light-blue eyes showed the signs of severe allergies, watered and red.

He wasn't an attractive man. But he also didn't come across as a threatening man either. His hair was dark. He fit the description given by Katherine Montehue. Georgia fought her body's instinctive desire to tense. A lot of men fit the physical description given by Katherine Montehue. Just because this man had stopped her didn't mean he was the man they were looking for. She'd been trained not to overreact, she wasn't about to start now.

Hell found the note Georgia had left attached to his door five minutes later, and it pissed him off. Was she really that reckless? Did she honestly think that she wasn't vulnerable to this bastard?

She fit the victimology now; he hadn't needed Brockman to point it out the day before at breakfast. This latest find upped their ante because any woman of small stature and dark hair could be a potential target. And it was completely feasible that their paths would cross with the UNSUB's; it was the nature of their jobs. And yet Georgia walked across a deserted parking lot in search of coffee and toast? What the hell was she thinking? Why hadn't she waited for him? He thought he'd made it clear that she was to stay within sight of him at all times.

When he caught up to her, he'd let her know that when it came to the functionality of the team, and her damned safety, he was still in charge. Would always be in charge.

He jogged across the parking lot, biting back a curse when he saw her speaking with a man outside the diner's glass doors. He profiled her quickly, taking in the tense set of her narrow shoulders, the hand resting on the butt of her weapon. She wasn't comfortable with the man. That was apparent. Was it her habitual reaction, or something more? Was she nervous of the man?

Good. Maybe that would teach little Miss Independent to think before acting so stupidly again.

Before Hell could approach, the man nodded, and then loped off the sidewalk to his truck. Hell made an absent note of the license plate and model specifications before storming up to her side. His hand wrapped around her upper arm, and he resisted the urge to jerk her to face him. "Just what the hell were you thinking?"

"About what?" Her face held genuine surprise, and he took a deep breath.

He bit down on the instinctive urge to yell. He always wanted to yell where she was concerned. This time his words came out soft but harsh. "You decide to walk around on your own? Have you forgotten something?"

"Like? I crossed the damned parking lot." Her tone dropped, and frost coated each word. "I can assure you it's something I've done many times in my life—and I looked both ways before I did. Your room was in plain view the whole time. And I knew you'd be along shortly."

"Like the fact that you best fit the son of a bitch's typology? Like the fact that each victim disappeared from a parking lot? Like each victim had contact with a male shortly before their disappearances?" He barely paused for breath, as he pulled her closer. "And let's not forget the fact that the bastard could have been responsible for our being stuck in the middle of nowhere last night? He could be watching us right now. You could be the next target. Dammit, that man you were speaking with could have been him. Did you stop to think about that?"

"And did you stop to think that maybe I can take care of myself? I'm armed and I can seriously kick ass—not to mention that I'm a trained federal agent compared to a scared fourteen-year-old. I don't need a babysitter or a daddy, Hellbrook. I'd think you'd know that. You weren't exactly kissing a child this morning." She pushed against his chest, and he loosened his grip, not realizing he'd grabbed her so tightly. He tried to apologize, but she stormed into the diner before he could. He followed.

"Georgia..." He slipped into the booth across from her.

"What? What do you want now?" She jerked the menu up between them.

He grabbed it and lowered it so he could see her face. Anger sparked in her eyes, yes. But behind it was a touch of hurt. Hurt because he'd doubted her capabilities? "I know you're a perfectly capable agent, but in a situation where you so closely resemble the victims, I'm in charge of keeping you safe. And that's what I'm going to do, whether you like it or not. If you can't play by that rule, you're staying in the precinct. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it pisses you off. Got me?"

"You've been perfectly clear. Now, shouldn't we get going? We've wasted enough time with each other as it is." She turned and nodded at the waitress. Conversation ended.

# Chapter Twenty

GEORGIA avoided Hellbrook for the rest of the morning. She didn't speak with him unless he directly addressed her, and he rarely sought her out.

They'd reverted back to their previous relationship; Georgia was comfortable with its return. It was the norm, the established. It meant no waves in her routine. But she still felt the smallest pinch of loss. When they weren't disagreeing, she'd found she actually liked the man.

That pinch disappeared ten minutes after she'd finished eating the sandwich Dan had placed in front of her. Hellbrook had been in and out of the Carterville precinct, Dan and Mal at his side. His attitude almost dared Georgia to say something, to protest his leaving her behind. She didn't, wouldn't.

She focused on going over witness statements for what felt like the sixteenth time in an hour. Hellbrook snapped his cell shut and then marched over to Georgia with a determined glint in his eye.

"Hellbrook." She kept her tone professional and respectful. No matter what games or weird ideas he got in that annoyingly complex head of his, she was not going to let him call all the shots. Not anymore.

"Dr. Dennis." His mouth quirked, an obvious challenge that made her long to smack him. The man was exceedingly arrogant at times. "That was your Dr. Bellows. They've finished the autopsy on the Spurgeon Quarry body. I need someone to wait here and speak with Bellows in person. That's going to be you. And K.D."

"Hellbrook..." She started to protest, but his raised brow was yet another challenge. Georgia clenched her jaw, then forced herself to relax. What could she say to him anyway that wouldn't be an act of insubordination? He was her team leader, and he'd given an order. She didn't have to like it.

"Don't." It surprised her that he said nothing more. Until she looked at his eyes. He may have sounded mild, but his eyes burned with both aggravation and what could only be _lust_ as he stared at her mouth.

Georgia felt her cheeks heat as she remembered the burning kisses the man had given her that morning. An experiment, he'd called it. And she had to be honest. A part of her wouldn't mind repeating that particular experiment again and again. It had been a long time since she'd...experimented like that.

She had a feeling any other kisses the man gave her would build on that heat. Oh, the variables they could have...

"I'll keep in touch." He nodded at K.D. before looking pointedly at Georgia. She avoided the urge to swallow, instead forcing herself to nod. Hellbrook looked like he wanted to devour her, and she wanted to let him. This case couldn't end fast enough for her peace of mind. If she didn't get away from him, he could end up completely consuming her.

She spent the next two hours trying not to profile herself and Hellbrook. She'd trained in human behavior, so what did their recent actions tell her? Her mind shied away from the answers, but the thoughts of him and the experiment were right there, a temptation that would catch her attention in a weak moment.

She looked up and smiled when a shadow fell over her desk. "Hey, Jules, what have you got?"

Jules was dressed in ratty jeans that Georgia vaguely recalled loaning her several years ago, and a yellow hooded sweatshirt that concealed every feminine attribute she possessed. The sweatshirt proclaimed _I see dead_ _people_. Georgia's heart squeezed, remembering the day she and Bryan had picked it out for Jules's twenty-seventh birthday. Bryan had gotten such a laugh out of it. Jules's FBI credentials hung on a chain around her neck, and her hair was twisted up and held in place by yet another pair of pencils. She carried three large files in her hands. Georgia took one when Jules nodded.

"Plenty. Let's start with the adult victim found. ID is tentative, but from the medical history I'd say it was Claire Reid. Been missing ten weeks." Jules opened a file and pulled out a photocopy of an X-ray. "Ms. Reid, a school teacher from Belle Fourche, Butte County, age twenty-nine, had knee-replacement surgery while in high school. Car accident. I've put a tracer on the manufacturer of the prosthetic. Should be calling back this afternoon. If it's Claire it will be confirmed. If not...prosthetic will confirm the name anyway."

"How did she die?" Georgia asked. This was the body they'd found the night she and Hellbrook had been stranded and it was the first adult victim they'd found. Time would tell if she was their first victim altogether or if the UNSUB had killed even more.

"Crushing injuries. Broken ribs, similar to our earlier victims. And from the position the body was found in, from the impression in the dirt around her, she was lying on her hands when she was dumped. I also found this embedded in the tissue." Jules handed Georgia an evidence bag in which ordinary twine was contained. She'd stuffed it in the sweatshirt's front pouch, of all places. She'd bagged and labeled it properly, Georgia saw, and that was all that mattered. Even if her method of transport was unusual. "Isn't much, but it does indicate that she was bound."

"Our other victims were bound for a period of time, then released before he threw them into the borrow pits," Georgia said. "Wonder why this one wasn't released?"

"I don't know. That's for you, head girl, to figure out. I'm a body girl. But there was also a few other noticeable differences. Including the money shot—enough foreign material for a possible DNA match. Possible, only, as it might be degraded. I've sent it to the lab in St. Louis—via my assistant Mia—for faster typing. I'll let you know when the results are in."

"Any other differences?" Georgia asked.

"Sexually assaulted, and it was brutal. I won't go into the details; it's all there in the reports. But I do know her attack wasn't as cool and methodical as the others. The crushing injuries are smaller, for one thing." Jules motioned to areas around the woman's ribs.

"We believe he's finding the stones he uses before the attacks. Probably stockpiling. Norton and Dan found what they thought would be his next scene—and found several piles of stones. Just waiting." Georgia felt the disgust welling. "He takes his victims when the opportunity presents itself, but once he has them, he has his place all ready for them. Sadistic bastard."

"Albeit the tissue is pretty degraded, the damage to the inner areas and the bones indicate that the first few blows were hesitant. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say they were experimental. And they didn't kill her."

Georgia's hand stilled on the autopsy report. That was different. "They didn't? What did?"

Jules pulled a pencil from her hair and made a notation on the outer edge of her file. "Official cause? Old-fashioned strangulation. My guess is that the stoning didn't work fast enough, and so he did it another traditional way—with his hands around the neck. I'm not a profiler, that's your trick, but my slightly overeducated opinion says this was most likely his first."

"You sure? Of course, you're sure." Georgia knew Jules was very rarely wrong. Not when it involved the victims.

"Pretty much. Where's Hellbrook? You might want to refocus your team's attention on this girl. I brought the giant a file all his own. Think he'd want it gift wrapped?"

"No bow on top necessary. He's out of cell range, dammit." Georgia grabbed her backpack, her phone, and her copy of the reports. She called to K.D., gave her quick instructions, then watched as the blonde swigged some more water and sank into a chair.

Jules stood and watched, using the files she still clutched to fan her face lazily. The Carterville station's thermostat only had one setting—hot. Georgia had quickly learned to dress accordingly. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah. You're coming with. I need a navigator." Georgia grabbed her friend and dragged her to the door.

# Chapter Twenty-One

HE'D always felt at home in the woods; the back country of Arkansas was where he'd grown up. This place reminded him of those days. Nothing but woods and land around for miles, unspoiled by the ravages of people. That was one of the few things he hated about his job, the people. Linda had often teased him about being a misanthrope time and time again.

He heard the sound of someone shouting and he headed in that direction, hoping someone had found something they could use to catch this child-killing bastard.

It was Compton, one of Hellbrook's younger agents. Good enough kid. Quiet type who didn't make waves. Didn't annoy him as much as some of the other young kids coming out of Quantico these days. Kid was yelling for his partner, the hot, curvy redhead who followed Hellbrook everywhere like a puppy. Now _she_ had no business anywhere in the field, too young and not quite right _._ Real good with the computers, though. Going to get someone hurt someday. How the fuck had Compton lost her out here? Dammit, were all of Hellbrook's agents so careless? Especially with the damned women. Women did not belong in the field, period. Hadn't they learned after what happened to Linda nine months ago? They were there that day, weren't they?

He couldn't remember.

Dammit, somebody should teach Compton and Hellbrook a lesson. Pound it into their heads, if necessary. He grabbed the thick branch lying next to his left foot. Before he knew it, the branch connected with the side of Compton's head. The kid crumpled at his feet.

_Shit!_

He wasn't a killer. He didn't hurt the innocent.

He knelt over the kid, checking for a pulse. Lying there on the muddy ground, the boy looked enough like his son to have his heart squeezing in his chest. What had he done? He hadn't meant to hurt Evan.

_Compton_ ; it was Compton at his feet, not his Evan.

He couldn't let someone find him leaning over this kid. First to find was often the first suspect. He knew that.

He stepped over Compton and headed deeper into the woods. Let someone else find the kid. If nothing else, this would teach Compton to guard his ass a little better.

The next person he saw was the redhead. She had no experience in the woods; that was obvious from one glance.

It hadn't been but seconds since Compton had gone down. Had she seen him hit the kid? If she had, he was screwed. Could kiss his career goodbye. Hell, it might even mean jail time.

But...if they thought the psycho attacked Compton, he'd be in the clear. It was a long way from attacking girls and women to cracking open the skull of a healthy, strong male federal agent, though.

The redhead turned, almost looking right at him. His years of hunting in the woods of Arkansas served him well. Had him behind her in seconds.

She didn't hear him until he had her. He wrapped one arm around her waist, yanked her hard against his chest while covering those damned unusual eyes of hers. They were the color of a good whiskey, but held a touch of innocence that always made him feel guilty for past sins. He'd be up shit creek if the girl got a look at him.

She deserved credit—she put up one hell of a good fight. But he was twice her size, with martial arts training, so strong compared to her. He'd been an agent since this girl was in preschool. That gave him a moment of pause. He tightened his arms around her, over her ribs. Under her breasts.

She twisted, tried to get away. He could feel her trembling, shaking, fighting. She was gasping for breath, and he loosened his hold some. He didn't want her to pass out before he figured out what to do with her. "Damned interfering kid!"

She gave a desperate lurch, pulled them both dangerously close to the edge of one of those pits.

He let go. He hadn't meant to. He closed his eyes when he heard the sound of her body tumbling and skidding down the steep incline. Heard the sharp knife of her scream over the sounds of the South Dakota wilderness.

What if he'd killed her? He couldn't be found near here. That would be bad. If he put some serious distance between himself and the redhead and Compton, it would look like the psycho had jumped Compton to get his hands on the girl.

It wouldn't seriously hurt her. He didn't think. Hadn't the little mouse ME said none of the girls died from the fall directly?

Just got banged up a bit.

He started into the woods to put that distance in place. He fell in the mud, stumbling on a pile of loose rocks and hit the ground hard. His hand landed on one of the stones and the realization hit him. Stoning was the bastard's signature. It wouldn't change in any of his murders, with _any_ of his victims. He had to do it, no matter how much he didn't want to.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

"GEORGIA, I know you half enjoy this outdoor stuff, but I need a break." Jules wiped off her brow—her rain soaked hair plastered to her forehead, and she had pencils sticking out like horns—as Georgia looked at her from three yards ahead. "How much more?"

"Up the path, about two miles," Georgia smirked at her friend, having turned to look at the other woman though she didn't stop her trek up the deer path Agent Handers had pointed out. They'd met him at the end of the access road, where the bureau's collection of vehicles were serving as a makeshift command post. "Man, you've gotten out of shape, hiding down in your morgues. You ok? We've only a little way to go. Handers said they'd be near the second borrow pit. And it's over that ridge—"

A scream colder than the rain interrupted her, and both women stopped. Georgia's weapon cleared her holster, and Jules moved to her side. Jules wasn't armed. "George, that sounded close—"

"Come on! It came from over that ridge!" Georgia crested the small hill. She kept her eyes on the area surrounding them as she crept further into the small clearing, though the strengthening rain made that difficult. Her eyes caught the edge of what she now recognized as one of those damned borrow pits.

Georgia motioned one-handed for Jules to move in. If the screamer was still alive, Georgia wanted to get there before that changed. No sign of the screamer was present until she got closer to the edge, where indicators of a struggle were visible.

Her hand tightened on her weapon as she moved closer. She had a feeling she was about to find another, extremely fresh, victim.

"What is it?" Jules asked, though she kept her eyes on the trail behind them.

"Another pit." Georgia leaned over. Took a look down the hole. "Carrie!"

Carrie lay thirty feet below them and unmoving; it wasn't clear whether she was conscious or not. Or even alive.

"Carrie!" Georgia yelled, but the redhead didn't react. "Dammit, Carrie, wake up!"

Jules started down the sharp, near sixty-degree incline, fatigue obviously forgotten.

Georgia kept her weapon ready as she followed.

It took Georgia longer than she wanted to get down to the bottom of the old borrow pit, rain and mud combining to slow her.

Carrie still had not moved. Georgia reached the bottom, seconds after Jules, and she rushed to the unconscious woman's side. Jules was feeling for a pulse. At the touch, Carrie's eyes popped open. All three women gasped.

"My head hurts. Hurts. Did I miss the party? Feels like Chicago when I was seventeen."

"I think you are the party today," Georgia said, eyes trained on the edge of the ridge as Jules ran her hands over the younger woman's arms and legs. "Where do you hurt?"

"Broken, broken, broken." Carrie yelled when Jules's hand touched her lower left leg. She pulled in a breath and looked at Georgia, visibly pulling herself together—for the moment. "Other than that, I'm ok. I think."

"What happened?" Georgia kept her eyes and weapon ready. Georgia removed her jacket and handed it to the medical examiner without being asked.

"Josh and I got separated somehow," Carrie said. "Then some damned asshole son of a bitch grabbed me and threw me over the cliff before I could even react. Big, too. Big. As big as Hell. Big. Like Hell. Like Hell."

"So where's Josh?" Georgia asked. "Shouldn't he have found you by now?"

"I don't know," Carrie said. "How did you two find me? I don't know."

"Georgie Crockett here followed the trail up the mountain." Jules waved a hand in Georgia's direction as they moved to help Carrie stand. There was no way the two of them could carry her up the incline. They weren't strong enough or big enough. Carrie would have to make most of the climb herself. On a broken leg. In the rain. Dammit. Where were the others when they were needed? "We were looking for Hellbrook."

"Didn't Hell tell you to stay at the station?" Carrie asked. Georgia could see a sheen of panic in her eyes. Hear it in the way Carrie repeated herself several times. The younger woman usually had better control than that. She rarely repeated words, unless extremely stressed. Hurt. "Hell will be mad that you disobeyed him. You're not supposed to disobey him. He's the superior agent. He'll be mad. Hell will be mad."

"He'll have to deal with it. And he's not going to be mad at _you_ ," Georgia said, both to stop Carrie from getting more upset and because it was a nonissue to her. "Who knows how long you'd have been down there if we hadn't. And he told me to wait for Jules's report. Well, here's Jules. And I have her report."

"I think, after this, I'm staying in the office, and never coming out again, never. Never, never, never. If Hell thinks differently—I'll consign him to hell," Carrie said.

"Simple as that, huh?" Georgia wrapped one arm around the younger woman's waist and started toward the easiest path up the hill.

"Nothing in my life is ever easy," Carrie said. "But this time—I'm going insist."

"Good girl," Georgia said. They managed to get her a little closer to the faint trail.

Jules walked on her other side, taking a bit more of Carrie's weight so that Georgia could keep her gun hand free. "Let's get the hell out of here."

# Chapter Twenty-Three

HE was back at that pit a handful of minutes later. He'd actually gotten turned around somehow. Odd, he'd always had a keen sense of direction.

He must be losing it. Losing his hold on things. Needed a break. After this case, he'd put in for some vacation time. Maybe go to Idaho, see his boy for a few days.

He started toward the pit's edge but stopped. Was that voices he heard? Women? He peered over the edge, careful to keep his head below the weed growth line.

The princess and the mouse were crouched over Hellbrook's redheaded pet. Made it riskier, but he still had to do it. He'd just be careful not to do serious damage to them, is all. He had to do it. If he didn't and they connected him to Compton, his career was done, and he could kiss the chances of his boy transferring to St. Louis goodbye. He had to do it.

Nobody said he had to actually _hit_ the women. Just make it look real.

He let the first stone fly.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

THE first rock struck Georgia's left hip. Georgia pulled her weapon while Jules let loose with a creative round of curses and grabbed Carrie to keep her from falling. Jules nabbed the gun holstered at Carrie's left hip and stood in a position that mimicked Georgia's, both brunettes blocking the younger woman's injured body from whoever had lobbed the rocks over the ridge.

Another stone landed near Georgia's foot. "Show yourself, you son of a bitch!"

"Jules! Get Carrie over there!" She motioned to the general area where she knew visibility would be the most limited. "Stay up close to the wall. Keep your weapon ready. He can't keep an eye on all three of us, you hear me? And that's the weakest point for his aim. If you get a line on him, take your shot."

"And what are you going to do?" Jules asked as another flurry of stones rained down upon them. "George?"

"I'm going to have a little fun. Remember—take your shot." Georgia holstered her weapon, knowing it would be useless for her plan.

"Georgia," Carrie said. "Please, please, be careful."

"Jules, get her out of the way," Georgia said.

Her plan must have become clear to Jules; she let out a second round of curses that had Georgia's admiration growing again. Where had the other woman learned those words? Jules moved, quickly following Georgia's instructions.

Georgia waited until Jules and Carrie had followed her orders before moving to the center of the pit. She picked up the first stone—about the size of her palm—and tested its weight, estimated the area the UNSUB was most likely standing in and let the rock fly. She repeated the same gesture as fast as she could, moving from spot to spot. "Come on, you cowardly bastard! Can't you take it when we fight back?"

Harder, heavier stones were her only answer. Throws filled with more and more rage.

She ignored the slight burning in her shoulder as she returned the volley. She'd not played three years of college fastpitch for nothing. Her reward was a satisfying grunt—the only hint one of her missiles had hit home. "Come on! Bring it on! Can't you hit me?"

More rocks landed closer as she darted across the pit from one side to the other. She was glad for the latest assault—her supply of rocks was shrinking. Her arm burned; the stones were twice as heavy as a softball. She saw Jules out of the corner of her eye; Jules stood ready, waiting for the perfect shot—or any shot.

Georgia ran in her direction for a second, long enough to give one more order. "Fire a few shots. Maybe we can draw attention. Whoever else is on this mountain. Somebody has to be nearby."

"Yes, ma'am! You're the boss out here." Jules nodded, resolution in her eyes, her hands steady. Georgia kept throwing the stones over the edge of the ridge—a good fifty feet or more. And they occasionally heard the resulting thuds of stone hitting flesh. She gave as good as she got.

Hell and Dan stared down at the body before them. The woman had been dead for at least two months, if not more; probably half as long as the body they'd found in Spurgeon Quarry. Coyotes and other scavengers had made a buffet out of her remains, and they knew they were lucky to have found that much of her.

From the size of the frame, they estimated she was a small woman, probably no more than five foot four; the hair that remained on her head was dark in color, though the exact shade couldn't yet be identified. It would have to wait until Dr. Bellows and her people cleaned up what was left.

The other agents with them—Brockman, Handers, Stanton, as well as half a dozen resident agents—roamed the scene, cordoning off the area. Hell was about to call it and head back to the police station to see what Georgia and K.D. had found when a man stumbled out of the surrounding woods, dropping to his knees near Norton.

"Dammit, Hell! It's Josh! Josh! Man! What the hell happened?" Norton dropped to the ground next to his friend.

"Josh, where's Carrie? Is she here with you?"

Compton's hands were covered in blood, streaks covered his left cheek. He had mud and leaves in his hair. "She was with me. Then some bastard jumped me. I heard her scream. Find her."

"Dan, stay with Josh; Brockman, let's move. We have a possible agent down out there." Hell was already moving.

He'd made it nearly a mile into the woods at a fast clip, aware of Brockman and the other agents moving at an equally fast pace, before he heard more.

A female voice shouted as a quick succession of shots reverberated through the woods; he veered to his right. Toward the shots. Hell hoped he'd find Carrie in one piece.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

JULES didn't know if she could do it. The angle was bad, the wind was picking up, the rain falling harder, and the clouds were rolling in, making visibility nonexistent. She knew she'd have a freaking hard time seeing the bastard even though less than fifty feet separated them. And it had been several years since she'd had to shoot a gun.

The redheaded agent was behind her, almost rocking back and forth. Jules doubted the younger woman could remain crouched against the steep side of the pit for very much longer. But if Carrie fell down, she'd make a larger target for the son of a bitch. A more defenseless one, since Jules had taken her weapon.

Georgia darted around the pit, never standing in one stop too long, grabbing rocks and throwing as hard as she could. Always belting more and more stones over the ridge—and zooming out of the way of the maniac's own launches. Her volleys were smaller stones, incapable of doing as much damage as his, but she was reaching what she aimed for. Buying them time.

Sometimes, she wasn't fast enough, and Jules would hear the stones hitting her friend, hear the painful responses from Georgia.

How much more could Georgia's body take? Jules wasn't aware that she was mumbling curses under her breath as her hand gripped the barrel of her borrowed Sig Sauer. "Come on. Show your freaking self. Just for a damned second. Show your freaking self."

A furious round of stones belted over the borrow pit's side, two of the four striking home, hitting Georgia's pitching arm, and her right leg. Jules watched her best friend launch a few rocks of her own, before stumbling. Georgia hit the dirt hard twenty feet from her and Carrie. Jules grabbed some rocks and though hers didn't fly as fast or as hard as Georgia's, they were good enough to distract.

"Keep throwing, Jules!" Georgia yelled, scrambling to gather a stockpile of rocks of her own.

Jules did until her arm burned. Georgia's throwing resumed. And then Jules saw it, the man's shirt. Green.

She dropped the rock in her left hand and aimed with her right. Jules squeezed the trigger. _One, two, three_ , like she'd been taught. Only one of her shots hit home, but it was enough. Enough to end this damned fiasco.

They heard the sounds of him running away.

"Oh wow!" Jules rushed to Georgia's side once she was certain the raining stones had stopped, the Sig Sauer ready but now held down at her side. "I've always known you had balls of steel, George. Now you've proven it."

Georgia stood, her left hand rubbing her right shoulder, trying to soothe the burning. She'd not thrown that hard since college. It wasn't a long distance, but she'd belted them as hard as she could. They were heavier than a standard softball. Now she felt the result.

"Listen, I'm going up the hill. Stay down here until I come back. I want to make sure he can't start up again." Those stones had hurt, and the asshole had belted her with quite a few. "And good shot, Jules. I think you may be wasted hidden down with the dead people. I was almost ready to quit."

"I got the bastard," Jules said. It wasn't a question, and Georgia knew it.

"Yes." Georgia started up the incline. Her left hand held tight to her own weapon as a precaution, and she used her right to grab roots and rocks to guide herself up the side. This particular pit was rougher than the previous one she'd explored, even though it was at least ten feet shallower.

Poor Carrie, it had to have hurt like hell falling down the side, with only rocks and briars to break her fall. It was a wonder Carrie wasn't in worse shape than she was. They didn't know if the man was armed, and she wasn't going to risk it. Odds were he wasn't. Otherwise, he would have used it on Georgia—if just to subdue her. She peered over the edge, eyes searching for signs of anyone. He wasn't anywhere to be seen.

They didn't have a choice. Down in the borrow pit, they had been sitting ducks; if he went after a weapon besides rocks, they'd have been easy targets.

She climbed back down the steep hill, slipping as the drizzling rain made the path slick. First order of business was to get Carrie up the side.

"You hit him, Jules, but I don't know how badly. He's not up there. I want us out of this hole before he comes back. Then we can both shoot if we have to." Georgia moved to take half of Carrie's weight. "Let's get her up there."

They half slid back down the incline, and all knew how disastrous that would have been. The pit was already starting to fill up with the rain. Georgia felt every bruise from each stone that had struck her, and supporting the weight of the taller woman wasn't doing any good for her burning shoulder. If they fell to the bottom, Georgia didn't know if she'd be much help getting them to the top again.

With one last heave, she and Jules boosted Carrie clear of the hole. The younger woman stumbled, less than ten feet from the borrow pit's edge. Carrie's right hand twitched against her injured leg, tapping out the _one-two-three-four_ rhythm that would always be Carrie's rhythm.

It was faster than Georgia ever remembered hearing it, and her heart soon echoed the younger woman's tapping. Jules moved into a similar position, eyes scanning the dense woods, one hand gripping the barrel of her weapon, the other holding Carrie's left.

There was safety in numbers, so they'd all stay together. No matter what.

Georgia's body ached. The stones had hit her quite a few times, and now she wondered how much damage he'd done. She knew she had at least two cracked ribs. Her arm burned, but she didn't know if that was from the abuse she'd subjected it to while hurling stones up the hill or from that last hit he'd made before Jules had shot him. It had been a bad hit.

"Hell of a pitching arm you got there." Jules supported most of Carrie's weight, for which Georgia was thankful. "I've always thought so."

"Yeah. It's been a while since I had to do that."

"That was freaking scary."

"You distracted him, and I think I hit him in the head with that one." Georgia motioned to a disturbed mud spot beside their feet. "I think he fell forward."

"And I took the shot." Jules checked Carrie's pulse again. "George, did I even need to take the shot?"

"Heck if I know." Georgia shrugged but stopped midway to wince. "I was wearing down. I couldn't have kept it up much longer."

"You surprised the freaking crap out of me," Jules said. Carrie, eyes closed, kept up the _tap, tap, tap, and tap_ with her right hand. Her left was clutching Jules's and that told Georgia all she needed to know. Carrie rarely touched anyone. "How did you know that would work?"

"When Hellbrook and I were at the first scene, I was at the bottom, and he couldn't see me," Georgia said. "And I wondered about all the stones at the bottom. Why she didn't fight back. I knew I would."

"And you did."

"And I did."

# Chapter Twenty-Six

HELL and Brockman faced the business ends of two service weapons, and they stopped at the sight before them. Carrie was there, a bit worse for wear, as she leaned against Dr. Bellows; Georgia sat in front, her body tense and weapon drawn. Protecting the other two.

Carrie sported several obvious injuries. Georgia, face whiter than Hell had ever seen, sat with one hand wrapped around her Sig Sauer. She jerked at their approach and then relaxed once recognition hit.

"Georgia? What happened?"

"We came up looking for you." It took her a moment to get to her feet. Hell's focus sharpened on the condition of her clothes. He'd never seen the woman look that unkempt. Her jacket was mud streaked, and her hands were filthy. Carrie was in even worse shape. "We had new information. Pertinent information. Then we had a bit of an...incident."

"An incident? I'd call it more than that." Brockman pulled the ME to her feet; she shook off his concerned assistance, her attention focused on Carrie.

Hell reached for Georgia's arm. She pulled away from him, and he paused. "What happened out here?"

Georgia tried to walk away, slipping some in the mud. Hell grabbed her before she could tumble down. She was way too damned close to the edge.

"George will need X-rays, too," Dr. Bellows said as Stephenson and several other agents finally arrived. "Agent Sparks has probable broken ribs and at least one fracture in her lower left fibula. She'll need to be checked for internal bleeding. Georgia, too."

"You weren't hit anywhere, were you?" Georgia focused on her friend for a moment, concern evident. The two were close; Hell had no trouble seeing that when they were together.

"No. I'm smart enough to stay out of the way of falling rocks. Thrown rocks. They hurt too damned much. Arm hurts, though. Did I ever mention that I hate baseball? If mine's hurting, I wonder what type of damage you've done to yours?" Bellows pulled the sleeve of Georgia's windbreaker up as she chattered, exposing Georgia's right arm. Livid swelling was visible, which the medical examiner poked and studied.

"Jules...I'm fine. I swear." Georgia pulled her arm back. "You worry about Carrie. I'll be ok."

Hell stared at Georgia, seeing the way she bit her lip, the way she held herself erect. It didn't take a profiler to see she was lying. For her friend's benefit? Or out of a desire to not appear weak? "Right now, you're going to the hospital with Carrie."

"Where's Josh?" was all Georgia asked. "Is he all right?"

"He's with Dan, getting checked out. He was hit pretty hard on the head and probably has a concussion," Hell said as a dozen agents flooded the clearing. "He's not the ones I'm worried about right now."

"I'm sorry, but it was important."

"What is important now is making sure you aren't injured more seriously. Have you forgotten the cause of death was internal bleeding?" Brockman asked.

"I don't think I'm hurt that badly." She rotated her right arm, but only about half what she should have been able to.

"Georgia, it's obvious you're hurt." It shocked him when he felt more of her weight shift to him. "Quit protesting, or I swear I'll strangle you."

"That's why we came up here." She looked around. "Where's my bag? It's got the files."

"What?" Hell began looking around with her. He saw the bag six inches from the edge of the pit. "There."

Brockman was closest, and he grabbed it, handing it to Hell. He slung it over his shoulder.

"The body from Spurgeon Quarry—strangulation was the actual cause of death. Jules thinks it is the UNSUB's first kill—and I agree. Plus, we have a tentative ID. We need to get people on it as soon as possible. I came up here to tell you, because of the lack of cell signal. You and I both know the significance of a first kill." She rambled the words together around gasping breaths that told him more damage had been done to her than she was letting be known. "I can get started once we're off this mountain."

Bellows darted another look at her before turning back to Carrie. The younger woman had grabbed the doctor's hand, Hell realized. That told him a lot. Carrie didn't touch people often, and when she did, it was people she knew. She didn't know Georgia's friend but apparently felt comfortable with her. Or she was that upset by what had happened.

"No, you won't. It's the hospital and motel for you. In that order. I'll see to it myself." Hell wasn't budging on that. "I'll get Dan and Brockman's team on the first kill."

"But it was my discovery. Mine and Jules. I should be allowed to follow up on that."

"It's nonnegotiable."

"When I have my own team, I hope I'm not as unreasonable as you." She stilled.

Her words stopped him. "Your own team? You see that happening anytime soon?"

Her eyes widened. She firmed her lips. "I wasn't going to tell you yet."

"Tell me what? Something I don't know?"

"I've applied for a transfer." She hesitated before continuing. "My father has agreed. We're working out the details next week."

"Excuse me? Your father has agreed to let you leave the CCU?" Hell lowered his voice. Brockman, carrying Carrie, bypassed them. Dr. Bellows shot them both a concerned look but Hell waved her on. Ed Dennis was still pulling strings, even though he was hundreds of miles away. "And if I block the transfer? Then what?"

"Why do you give a damn whether I leave or not?" She gasped a little after she spoke, distracting him from the conversation. "You have to admit you didn't want me on the team in the first place."

"True. And I regret letting you know that." Hell felt the frustration rolling off his tongue. "How long have you been planning this behind my back?"

"It was behind your back because you were never around me for it to be right in front of you. I've done six months with you now. I don't belong in the CCU, and I'm getting out." Georgia leaned against him as she limped down the deer path. He shot her a warning glare that she ignored. "And I don't need your help. I can walk by myself."

"Fine." Hell immediately stepped back. "Walk then."

She gave it a good shot, and Hell almost laughed at the stubborn determination on her face. She hadn't made it two yards before she stopped and almost fell over. She started again.

"You were saying?" He watched her for a moment, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

She hurt, and he could see it—in the way she favored her right arm, the way she almost hopped on her left foot. In the way the left arm was wrapped tight around her ribs. Guilt sunk in.

He caught her when she tripped again. He walked beside her, a gentle hand on her, not missing the trembling of her thin shoulders. "Georgia, let's get you taken care of, ok? Then we can argue about this until we both turn blue."

She stopped a moment, took several breaths, shallow as if she was afraid she'd hurt something by taking deeper.

"I was about ready to give up, wait until he came closer and shoot him. Then Jules distracted him. I distracted him. Something. Then she shot him. If she shot him, where was the blood?" Her words were devoid of emotion, low, and Hell had to strain to hear her, even though she leaned against him. "I couldn't tell Jules or Carrie, but I was so damned tired."

"But you did great," Hell told her, guiding her over a particularly rough patch of ground. "And we'll get him. Carrie and Compton will be ok."

"I know." She stopped walking a moment, then leaned more heavily on his arm. "I wish we'd gotten him. Then this would be almost over."

"Oh, I'll get him. He's in these woods somewhere and I'll get Stephenson's team plus Stanton's looking for him. Then he's mine." And Hell would have plenty to say to the UNSUB when he caught him.

They crested the hill and looked down at the commotion below them. The first responders swarmed around Carrie. Brockman hovered behind the emergency personnel, talking to Carrie to keep her distracted. Bellows stayed at her side, and Hell could see she was giving the responders clear orders. Dan kept moving between that little crowd and the smaller one surrounding Compton. Hell knew Dan was extremely close to the two youngest members of the CCU.

Georgia's breath caught, and Hell looked down at her. "Is Josh really ok?"

"Kid has a hard head." She wobbled and Hell cursed. He lifted her into his arms, glaring at her when she protested. "It's faster this way; stay still. He's feeling more guilt than pain."

"Because they got separated?" Georgia capitulated, resting her head against his shoulder. Just like she'd done before, after being shot in Seattle.

"And then Carrie got hurt." Hell hitched her closer, the rain making her jacket slick enough he was half afraid he'd drop her.

"Dammit, Hell. It wasn't his fault. You need to tell him that. Make sure he knows. He'll believe you more than anybody. He values your opinion."

"Yes, ma'am." Hell's lips quirked as he carried her a little bit closer. Dan saw him, gaze dropping to the woman in his arms; the older man rushed to them.

"Georgia?" Dan's voice rang with surprise, drawing some attention from the first responders. He tried to take her, but Hell's glare had him backing up, a speculative look on his face. "Are you all right, kiddo?"

"Just a little bruised, Dan," Georgia said. "And my shoulder's on fire."

"What happened?" Dan moved to Hell's side as he carried her to the back of the opened SUV cargo bay. Hell deposited her into the cargo bay, letting her legs dangle. He jerked a hand toward her, motioning for a first responder to see to her.

It took less than fifteen minutes for the responders to determine that Georgia had some cracked ribs and had damaged some of the tissue in her shoulder. The severity of it, and whether there was any internal damage, would have to be determined at the hospital.

It was the same physician who'd treated Katherine Montehue, Hell noticed as he led a limping Georgia into the emergency room at the Rapid City hospital. Carrie and Compton were a few moments behind them in the county's two ambulances, Bellows staying with Carrie to keep her calm.

The ER only had three exam bays, and Hell hoped no one else in the county would have need of emergency care for the next little while.

He had given Dan and Brockman instructions to get the rest of the CCU and all of Brockman's team on the Claire Reid angle, and get Stephenson's team searching the mountain for signs of the bastard who'd hurt Carrie and Compton. And Georgia.

Hell wasn't holding out much hope they'd find him. Stephenson had reported finding no signs of blood, although Dr. Bellows swore she'd hit the man. Hell assumed that her shot had only grazed the UNSUB and the rain washed away all the evidence.

Stephenson had reported that the borrow pit Carrie had been thrown into was starting to fill with runoff, something that Stanton said was a frequent happening with such pits. Hell was thankful Georgia and Dr. Bellows had found Carrie before that happened. There were also no signs of what path the bastard had taken out of the woods.

Despite Hell's claims to Georgia, he hadn't found him. Yet. Hell wasn't stopping until he did.

"Hello, Dr. Dennis," the doctor said a few minutes later as Hell helped Georgia onto the exam table and removed her windbreaker for her. That she let him told him everything he needed to know. "Well, just what in the world happened to you?"

"The man we're after thought it would be great fun to throw rocks at her." Hell didn't give her a chance to speak. "She then engaged in an apparent pitching match, and now her right shoulder is feeling the results."

"And did you get him? Agent Hellbrook, wasn't it?" The doctor took scissors to the ruined cotton shirt covering Georgia's arm and shoulder, rather than having her remove the garment over her head. The swelling was ugly and evident—worse than Katherine Montehue's—and Hell cursed again. He grabbed her free hand and held it, even when she shot him a look and tried to pull away.

"He didn't get him. _I_ did," Georgia said as the doctor began prodding around her tender skin. "I beaned the asshole with my fastball. Several times."

"Fastball? You play?"

"I did. I had a seventy-mile fastball—twelve years ago."

"Have you damaged this shoulder before?" He prodded the tender skin with expert fingers. Georgia's breath hissed out. Her hand tightened on Hell's.

"A bit of torn tissue once; but other than that, I was lucky." Georgia drew in a sharp breath as he prodded deeper. "I've not played in six years, at least. Today was a bit much. Plus those rocks were heavier than a softball. And the trajectory was more up than out."

"I don't think you've torn anything," the doctor said, "but I think you've definitely sprained it and done some soft-tissue damage. I'll want an MRI to be certain."

"How long until it's back to normal?" Georgia asked, eyes meeting Hell's. "I need to be able to work."

"It needs to be kept immobilized, regardless of whether you are working or not," the doctor said. "We'll set you up with a sling for that. Take an anti-inflammatory for at least a week. And try not to exacerbate the injury."

"What about the ribs, Doctor?" Hell demanded, blocking the doctor's exit from the exam bay. "And she was favoring the left leg."

"Let's take a look." He turned and withdrew a dressing gown out of a drawer and handed it to Georgia. "I'll give you a minute to get out of that shirt and pants and into this."

Hell stepped outside the curtain. A few moments later, she said his name. "I'll need help tying this blasted thing."

Hell returned to her side. Her back was revealed to him, bisected only by the frost-blue silk of her bra. Her skin was smooth and unblemished by even a single freckle, the muscles clean and toned. Hell wanted to touch, and before he could stop himself, he did. His hands brushed the nape of her neck, and she shivered, the move tightening his gut. He wanted to drop his hands to her narrow shoulders, pull her back into his chest, and whisper in her ear exactly what he wanted to do to her, with her. To tell her that she was not leaving the CCU, not yet. Not until they figured out whatever this was between them.

He smoothed her dark hair away with one hand, not wanting the long strands to tangle in the knot, before moving down to tie the strings around her lower back. He couldn't resist, and ghosted one hand down her spine. She shivered.

"Hell?" She used his nickname for the first time he could recall.

"Georgia," he said, moving around the exam table to face her.

"Hell." She shivered, a move he felt against his fingertips. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you with your gown. Isn't it obvious?" His hands grasped the edges of the faded hospital gown. He gave it a gentle tug to straighten it.

"If you can't behave, maybe you should go wait in the lobby." She looked at the curtain separating them from the rest of the hospital with a pointed expression.

He chose to ignore it. He dropped his hands. "I'll stay here. I want to make sure you're ok."

"Of course, I'm ok. Why are you doing this?" Georgia asked.

"Doing what?" Hell moved back around to face her.

"This. Being nice. Helping me. Touching me. After being angry about me wanting to transfer out." Georgia waved a hand between the two of them; he reached up to catch it, pull it down, captive in his. "It's disconcerting. You're never nice or helpful with me. I'm not entirely certain you've not been hit in the head or invaded by body snatchers or possessed by some alien life form in the last week. You're just not being the Hellbrook I'm used to."

Hell thought for a long moment before answering. "You don't like me being nice to you?"

"I don't know," Georgia said. "At least, I'm accustomed to the other."

"Well, Georgia—you'll have to get accustomed to it this way. I've decided to stop denying what I want." He wondered if the nerves that tightened his gut were visible on his face as he looked at her. She was muddy and bruised and a general mess, but to him, she'd never looked more beautiful.

The doctor returned, coming in behind her.

"And what exactly is it that the great super-agent Hellbrook wants now?" The look in her eyes told him she knew what he wanted, and it scared her. But she was making him say it aloud. Get it out there between them.

Hell smirked, catching the doctor's eye as he did so. The other man smiled behind Georgia's back. The doctor was perceptive, Hell would give him that. He stepped back out of the curtain with a small nod to Hell.

Hell stepped closer to her and looked down at her, straight into her brown eyes. He kissed her, hot and quick, and knowing he was crossing boundaries before stepping back. "You, Dr. Dennis. I want _you._ And I have from the very beginning."

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

K.D. dozed on the industrial blue couch in the waiting room when he entered, having arrived while Hell was in the exam room with Georgia. Hell left her lying while he waited for word about his agents. He got an update about Compton and Carrie from the floor nurse an hour later, being told he'd have to wait until they were admitted before he could see them. He had nothing else to do but wait. Hell hated waiting.

An hour and forty minutes later, Georgia rounded the corner. Some nurse must have given her a set of disposable hospital scrubs and she'd cleaned up when she'd changed. The blue material dotted with cartoon puppies and kittens was rolled up a few times around her ankles. When combined with the sling holding her right shoulder immobilized, she looked smaller than she was and way too vulnerable for Hell's liking. Hell didn't want to think about what the consequences of tonight could have been.

Hell walked to her, meeting her before she made it halfway into the lobby. "What did he say? The X-rays, MRI?"

"I've two cracked ribs. But they're almost imperceptible. The rest are just bruised. The shoulder should be fine in a week, or a little longer." Georgia yawned, blinked up at him.

"Good." He guided her to the other small couch, and she slid onto the cushion. He followed her down, draping the same arm around her uninjured shoulder, pulling her against the fresh shirt he'd changed into while he waited. He'd been at the job long enough to keep spare clothes on hand at all times.

"Dan and Mal?" she asked.

"Still out, following a few leads," Hell said.

"Anything on Carrie and Josh?" She blinked against the room lights with dilated eyes. They'd given her something for the pain then. He wondered how hard she'd argued against taking them.

"Both are stable and being treated and admitted. They've had to sedate Carrie—which isn't a surprise. She hates hospitals. She was extremely upset earlier, but your Dr. Bellows calmed her down. I'm waiting on more about Josh," Hell said. "Why don't you lie back and rest? I'll wake you when it's time to leave."

"I will. I'm ready for this one to be over, ready to go home." Georgia stretched her legs out in front of her. He echoed her movement.

He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer to his side, ever careful of her injuries. She didn't resist, and he got the impression she needed the contact as much as he did. "Me, too."

"Are we ever going to catch this guy?" Georgia's words were drowsy against his shirt.

"Of course," Hell told her. "This bastard isn't that sophisticated. He's simple. Today, he got lucky. Carrie didn't meet his victimology in any way. Wrong place, wrong time. But he screwed up, and Bellows shot him, and I'm sure you bruised the shit out of him. When we find him, that will cinch it for us. We'll have him."

"Yeah? But when?" Georgia moved her injured arm—held captive in a sterile white sling—closer to her stomach. Her fingers fisted in the shirt covering his side. It was an unconscious gesture, a means of seeking comfort after a chaotic day. Hell knew it, but it thrilled him all the same. She wanted comfort, from him. He was going to give it, however she needed it. "And at what price?"

"I don't know, but I'm tired of paying." He said the words as her body went slack against his and for the second time since the case began, he held her while she slept. It was a few moments before he whispered against her hair. "I'm not paying anymore. And neither are you."

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

THE hospital kept Carrie overnight despite her hysterical insistence that hospitals were bad, putting her in the room beside Compton's. K.D. chose to stay to help keep Carrie calm; the hospital staff let her bunk in the extra bed in the room. The room was comped by the bureau anyway, so Hell had no objections.

Hell had no idea what happened to Dr. Bellows. Brockman had come by, giving Hell a final status report before going back to see Compton for a while. Other than him, Hell had seen no one else from the unit. He assumed Bellows had hitched a ride with Brockman.

He carried an unresponsive Georgia out to his SUV four hours after the hospital finished with her. She hadn't stirred, even when he'd loaded her into the passenger seat and unloaded her at the motel.

Just how empty the motel parking lot seemed struck him as he hurried across it to their rooms. There were little signs of life in either of the motel's two buildings or in the small diner that had been working overtime since the FBI's arrival.

The sun was long down. Dan and Norton were up the mountain, coordinating the search teams with Stanton and Stephenson, searching for some sign of who had attacked the four agents.

Half his team attacked, and he'd not been close enough to do anything about it. To protect them. Guilt was a heavy burden on Hell's back.

He bypassed her door and stopped at his.

"Hell?" The word was a soft sigh, but he heard it and felt it against his neck. He stopped. He hadn't realized she had awakened. "Is there something else?"

"Yes. You're not staying alone tonight." His tone was firm, and he feared for a moment it was too harsh as he waited for her answer. Her argument. Could he, as her boss, order her to stay in his room? Not bloody likely. But he would if it came down to it. Or he'd sleep in hers. "Not with this bastard still out there, possibly watching this motel. You. I'm not taking that risk."

Her mouth opened to protest, but he shook his head. "Either I stay with you, you stay with someone else, or I assign someone to stay with you."

It didn't come down to that. She stared at him, and he could almost see her brain processing his statement.

The UNSUB was still out there—and he had two known victims who had escaped him that fit his typology—the Montehue woman and Georgia. If it meant keeping her safe, he would cuff Georgia's ass to his side, regardless of how much he had to fight her or anybody else.

Then she nodded, closed her eyes, and yawned, giving in.

Hell closed his own eyes for a brief moment, a wordless expression of relief. He shifted her until he could free one hand and had his door swinging open without a sound. "Come on. I know you're exhausted."

"That doesn't even begin to cover it," she said, snuggling her face into his neck. "I need to call my son."

"It's after one." He never expected her to be so docile, and it concerned him. Until he remembered the meds. He sat her on her feet beside the room's only other piece of furniture. The love seat was small and could be described with one word— _ugly_.

"Oh. Right. He's asleep. I'll call him in the morning. Damn, I miss him." She rubbed her left eye, blinked up at him. She stood before him, her eyes half closed and her body swaying. She said nothing else, her backpack still slung over her uninjured shoulder. She stared at the bed, a confused expression in her dark eyes.

"Georgia." Hell had never seen her like that; from the moment they'd first met, she'd always been confident, poised, assured, and decisive. Aware. Even after being shot on a rooftop. He stepped toward her, intending to take her backpack. His hand slid to her shoulder; he grasped the black strap and pulled. She came with it. He reached his other hand up to keep her from falling forward, a quiet laugh escaping.

"Sorry, sir." She shook her head, weaved on her feet. "No, sorry, that's wrong. You want me to call you Hell. I hate being so cloudy. Pills do that to me. Always have."

"Pills and madmen with rocks, I know," Hell whispered, as he lifted her back into his arms. Probably unnecessary to carry her again, but Hell wanted to. Needed to. He needed the connection tonight. The backpack slid unnoticed to the floor as her uninjured arm moved to wrap around his neck.

"You've been doing this a lot," she murmured, and he felt the movement of her lips, the kiss of her breath, against his neck. She snuggled closer.

"Hmm?" She smelled like hand soap, light and floral, from where she'd cleaned up at the hospital. It was different from her normal scent. Hell liked it, liked the contrast.

"Being there. Taking care of me." Georgia's head came to rest on his shoulder as he stood there, uncertain what to do next. "I'm not sure if I like it. Makes me feel...odd."

"Oh? Why?" Hell turned toward the bed he'd occupied the night before. The bed where he'd dreamed of her and him alone in an SUV—without clothing. "Why is that?"

"Because it's not normal. Not _us_. I was accustomed to things before. I got that. Could deal with it. Now...though...you're in my head all the damned time. And you're watching me. With that look in your eyes. I know what it means, too. You don't like me; have always despised me—so why _that_ look?" Her voice held a quality he wasn't used to hearing, but he recognized it for what it was. Georgia was cloudy from the pain pills. And her inhibitions were loosening. Interesting.

"I like you very much." More than liked.

"See what I mean?" Georgia pulled back to look at him, her eyes earnest and sincere—and glazed. He wondered if she'd even remember this in the morning. "Truthfully—I know you don't like me. Six months—and even before—you've made it clear you didn't like me."

"Oh?" Hell's mouth twitched as she nodded. "And why is that?"

"Because...well, because—except for K.D. and Carrie—you don't like women. No room for them. Lack of trust, both sexually and in other arenas. Although you certainly seem to enjoy their attention. You can be harsh and overly critical, judgmental, unwelcoming, rude—especially with women on your own professional level—and you're not very easy to get to know. And then there's the other type of women you interact with. The bimbos who can't help but fall all over the great Michael Hellbrook. I'm not one of those women."

"Profiling me, Georgia?" Her hand had moved from around his neck as she'd ticked off his personality quirks on the fingers peeking out of the sling. He laughed at the familiar gesture, one she did often. But her words had hurt him. Did he present that way to the outside world?

"Of course. It's my job. What I do. And I'm good at it; although I don't think you realize that. Or don't care, because you're still mad at my dad." She frowned at him, fiercely.

Hell laughed; he couldn't help himself. Her expression was a cross between a pissed-off girlfriend and chiding mother rolled in with superior agent.

"Why are you laughing? This is serious. I'm going somewhere where I'll be appreciated instead of being a lackey—or secretary. I'm the senior agent on the team, after you and Dan, and I deserve some respect. Not just the job of collating files." Her words rang with both passion and a hurt that made him feel like an asshole. He'd never wanted to hurt her. "I have to leave. Or I'm not going to have any sort of career at all."

"You don't have to leave, sweetheart. And you're not transferring out. I already told you that. We'll work it out. Later." He waited a few moments, standing there holding her. "And I'm sorry I made you so uncomfortable. I'm trying to change that; can you give me a chance? Georgia?"

She didn't answer, her head lax against his shoulder, a soft, feminine snore escaping. He stood there for a moment. They were alone in his motel room, two of his agents were up in the Black Hills, three others were at the hospital, they had no one in either room on each side of his—and she was injured and asleep.

His sigh was loud in the room as he lowered her to his bed. He removed the sling so she wouldn't get tangled in it if she moved and rolled her onto her side—he'd seen her sleep in that position on numerous long flights—and she murmured in comfort. He slipped her shoes off and brought the blankets up to her shoulders.

He couldn't help himself. He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her forehead. He closed his eyes, staying by her side for a moment. If that bastard had used a gun instead of rocks, she wouldn't be there. It was as simple and terrifying as that. She could have been killed, as could have Carrie. Two of the most important people in his world could have been gone, just like that.

He looked at his bed for the night, the two-seater couch that was not a pullout, and he gave it a lot of thought. He did. But the thought of what he could have lost that day made the decision for him. He'd camp on the floor next to the bed, closer in case she needed him.

He moved over to his ready bag, changing quickly into dark sweats and an FBI-issue T-shirt.

He heard a sigh coming from his roommate, and he jerked around. Her eyes weren't open, but he knew she was awake. "Georgia, you ok? Do you know where you are?"

"Of course. Could you be quiet, please? You're louder than Matthew after he's had a gallon of sugar."

"Sorry. I was getting ready for bed." He moved closer to her. Her eyes popped open.

"I can sleep over there." She sighed the words as her uninjured hand waved in the loveseat's general direction. "You're way too big for it. You'd probably break it."

"Absolutely not. I'm not the one who was used as target practice for a madman. You stay right there." If she insisted, he'd sleep on the love seat or the damned floor. But he hoped she didn't insist. "I'll take the floor."

"I guess you could sleep over here, too," she said, causing him to blink in surprise. He'd hoped, but he wouldn't have presumed. "Not like anyone else will know. If we're going to catch this asshole, we both need to rest. And it's not like we haven't slept together before."

"True. But are you sure? Head clear enough to make the decision?" She nodded. "I don't want you regretting this later."

Hell wasn't stupid—the woman he wanted had just offered to let him sleep beside her. How could he say no?

He was already on the mattress, sinking down beside her. It was a cheap mattress and it tilted, causing her to roll in his direction. Georgia snuggled into him. Her fingers twisted in the soft fabric of his T-shirt.

It was different lying beside her in a bed compared to being huddled under a blanket in the rear of an SUV. For one thing, it was a lot warmer. For another, her injuries had to be considered. He had nowhere to put his hands, as he curled up behind her.

Hell found one solution; he wrapped his left arm around her hips and stretched his right arm above her head on the pillow. He buried his face in her hair and pulled her tight against him. And just held her.

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

HE was one of the last damned agents to get back to the motel. Searching the damned hillside for his own self. What a laugh. His shoulder stung like a pissed-off hornet where that little medical examiner had shot him.

Damned scrawny little mouse. Damned lucky shot. She had been defending herself, so he had to admire that. He'd have done the same. And it had been a damned good shot. That took skill. He'd always admired someone—especially a woman—who could handle a gun. He was proud of her for that shot.

He slammed the door to the SUV before heading to the stairs that led to his motel room. He glanced over his shoulder when he saw another vehicle pull in. The very woman he owed his ruined shirt to climbed out of the passenger side.

He stopped. He thought her room was next to his, though they'd not seen each other even in passing since his team had arrived.

On closer look, she was a pretty thing, if a bit on the scrawny side for him. He preferred meatier, bustier women. Her hair was down, and he'd not seen that before. It changed the look of her. Made her look more feminine by far. Yeah, they'd not met face-to-face. He would have noticed. He lit up a cigarette, adopting a casual manner. He didn't want her to know he studied her.

Instead of climbing the stairs like he expected, she waited until the SUV she'd arrived in pulled back out to the highway. He figured it was most likely one of those local agents who'd gotten stuck with chauffeur duty. What was the little mouse doing? She should have caught a ride with Brockman or someone else. Someone they at least knew.

He watched as she stood staring at the wide expanse of the parking lot before hurrying across it to the diner. Damned place was opened twenty-four hours, something the teams were taking advantage of.

Poor little thing had probably missed her dinner, seeing as how she was busy in the woods shooting people. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of heading to the diner and joining her for a bite. Maybe commiserating with her on their shared shitty day. Flirt her up a bit.

Remind her that she looked a hell of a lot like the victims and shouldn't be out in parking lots alone at night. That was just stupidity on her part.

He decided against it. He didn't have enough information on her, not yet. And he always liked to plan those types of things where females were involved. Worked out better that way.

Who was she? What made her tick? He suddenly wanted to know all about _her_.

Before he thought it through, he had her door opened. He'd not picked a lock in several years, so it took him a moment longer than he expected. Excitement burned through him. It had been a while since he'd felt much of anything besides...anger. Grief.

If someone saw him, their rooms were close enough that he knew it wouldn't strike anyone as odd. They'd probably think he was going into his own room, that's all.

He didn't know if she was going to eat at the diner or get a to-go order so he didn't have too much time to look around and he knew that. Just a quick, cursory glance.

It was a standard motel room, identical to his, with two exceptions. It smelled like a female, and the woman had two framed photographs beside her bed. He picked them up while inhaling, enjoying the soft scent of woman and strawberries.

One photo was of a dark-haired man he didn't recognize. The other was a surprise—the Dennis princess, an infant, and a man, most likely the boy's father. He'd heard through the grapevine the man had died several years ago.

He didn't seem to be anything special enough to attract Dennis's daughter. Interesting. The two men in the pictures resembled each other enough that it was clear they were family. So the mouse ME was related to the princess.

Figured. How else would a woman so young end up being the FBI's top forensic pathologist? Ed Dennis probably had something to do with it.

He pulled the pictures from their frames and flipped them over, looking for names or dates. Just out of idle curiosity, even though he knew he should get his ass out of there.

Ashes from his cigarette fell to the portraits, landing on the princess's face. Melted through the photo.

_Shit._

Now the mouse would know someone had been in her room. Would she report it?

That thought had him pausing. Would they dust for prints? Other DNA? How would he explain being in her room if they did?

The picture frames were the only things he'd touched, and they were made of wood and plastic. She probably used the cheap frames because they traveled well. That was good for him, as they'd burn well, too. He pulled his lighter from his pocket and set the flame to the edge of the photo of the lone man. It took only a moment to ignite. He watched it smolder before throwing it in the metal trashcan beside the ironing board.

He started on the second one and then added it to the top.

He tossed them in the trashcan, following with several pages of phone book and motel directory. He stood and watched the burn for a few moments after a quick glance out her window toward the diner. He could see the bright yellow of her sweatshirt in the front booth. She was eating, so he had several minutes to spare. He'd need it. He needed to erase all signs he'd been in her room. Fire was the only way he could think to do it. He rubbed his head, wishing he'd popped a few pain pills. Damned rocks had hit him pretty hard. Made it hard to think.

He could burn everything she had with her. That would be answer enough. Could destroy any hint he'd been in her room.

But how?

Years as an agent had given him all the tools he'd need. In the bathroom that smelled like woman, he found a travel first aid kit. Inside it, he found two small bottles of isopropyl alcohol.

He carried the still smoldering trash can into the room's tiny kitchenette. He sat it in front of the counter, then led a trail of half the alcohol to the can. He placed the other bottle in the microwave along with his cigarette lighter and used parts of the phone book and a few coffee filters to add to the trail of alcohol that led to the trashcan. He lit another cigarette. Then another and another. Those, he placed close to the path of accelerant but not touching, spaced at equal intervals.

He set the microwave for three minutes. Hit the start button. Jumped out of the way. As he backed away quickly, one kick sent the trashcan tottering, the smoldering remains of her photographs and refuse tumbling out, directly into the alcohol.

He stood outside his door until he heard a rush of explosion. It was quiet, nothing to draw attention as the room on the opposite side of hers wasn't occupied. He'd give it a few moments, maybe ten, to really get burning. Then he'd pull the fire alarm, maybe break down her door for effect. After all, they were neighbors, of sorts.

If anyone found anything, he could always say he went in to make sure she wasn't still in there. To save her, if need be.

It was his job to be a damned hero, after all. No matter how far he'd strayed from that path the last few days, it was still his job to save lives.

# Chapter Thirty

THE alarm woke Hell first. Then the smell of smoke. He jerked up, disoriented when the woman beside him moved. He'd forgotten he slept with her. Thick smoke filled his room, and he moved, jumping from the bed. "Georgia! Wake up!"

She jerked up, confused and trembling. He stepped back from the bed, foot catching on her backpack. He grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed her arm. "Come on. Move. The damned motel's on fire."

The smoke thickened around them, and he knew the fire had to be close, either their room or one of the two beside theirs. She wasn't moving fast enough for him, pain meds making her sluggish.

He grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the door. His free hand fumbled with the locks. It took him longer than he liked. He never let go of her hand.

He flung the door open. Hands were there, pulling him forward. Someone tried to loosen his grip on the woman behind him. He refused to let her go.

"Let her go, Hell. It's ok, boy. You're out of there. Let me have her. I've got her. You're both safe." Hell could make out Dan's reddish-blond hair and green shirt in the street lights. His eyes watered and burned. Coughs wracked his chest, and he heard Georgia in a similar state. He turned to her, pulling her closer and letting her lean against him. His arms tightened around her. He shook his head at Dan, stopping him from pulling Georgia away from Hell and to his own chest.

"Dammit, Hell." Dan's voice broke on the words, and Hell looked at him as the older man's hands fell back. "We thought she was in _there_ alone."

He motioned to the room next to Hell's. _Georgia's_. Reaching flames were shooting out of the room and the one above it, lighting up the dark parking lot. If anyone had been in that room, there wouldn't have been any chance—not at that point.

Hell had saved her life, taking her to his room. The enormity of it hit him hard, and his arms tightened around her.

"I didn't want her to be alone in there." Hell shook, the tremors most likely visible for the others to see. "Not after being injured and a possible target."

"Thank God you had her." Norton ran a hand down Georgia's back. "Thank God."

"Yeah." Hell pulled her from the other man and closer to himself. She went willingly, seeming as in shock as Hell felt. "But what were the odds that her motel room would catch fire _tonight_ of all nights?"

"You think it was the UNSUB?" Dan asked as the sound of sirens blasted through the night.

"Had to be," Georgia said, her own body racked by chills.

Hell tightened his hold even more. "Do we have a report of any injuries yet? The rooms above ours? Brockman's team and the ME and her assistant were on that level as well as you two."

"Brockman's checked in, as have all of his people," Dan said. "The medical examiner a scrawny little thing barely bigger than Ana or Georgia?"

Hell nodded. She was a small-boned brunette...who'd probably shot the UNSUB, and had been a damned sight more accessible than Georgia tonight.

The UNSUB targeting Dr. Bellows wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Hell should have ensured someone was guarding her. "That's her."

"Saw the doctor, then, a little while ago at the diner. Not the assistant. Heard the assistant had some bad burns on her hands and arms. They took her to the hospital already," Dan said, pointing toward the far side of the parking lot. "We had a few with smoke inhalation. Stephenson, and a few others. The little ME was over there, giving first aid."

"Whatever caused this, it was no coincidence." Hell kept his arm around Georgia, partially to keep her from running in the direction Dan indicated and partially to reassure himself that she was ok. That they were both ok.

He looked at her, watching the shadows of the night and fire flickering over her pale face. She stood staring at the burning building. She looked sad, vulnerable, even a little defenseless, and he couldn't stand it, couldn't stand thinking what would have happened if she'd not been with him. He raised his arm off her left shoulder; tucked her injured right one tight against his side. His head lowered, and he kissed her. Her chin tilted toward him, and she kissed him back.

For everyone to see.

# Chapter Thirty-One

DAMN, but his throat hurt. He'd stayed in the mouse's room a little too long for his own good. But he'd ensured that anything that might have his fingerprints or DNA burned. He'd also managed to get back into his own room and grab his bag before it burned.

By the time he'd gotten out, people were shouting and trying to get everyone else out of the building. He hadn't known the fire would spread that fast in only ten minutes. Old damned fucking building. Probably hadn't passed inspection code in years. No one paid him the least bit of attention as he'd joined the mass of agents evacuating.

He snorted, seeing half of Brockman's team in their damned underwear. At least, they were all there. He hadn't wanted to hurt anybody. He'd need to check his own team, too. He coughed, then grabbed his throat when it seized. Tears hit his eyes, and he wiped them with a hand that reeked of rubbing alcohol.

"Are you ok?" A soft, feminine hand wrapped around his. He froze, tears still running down his face. It was her. The _mouse._

Pretty hazel eyes hidden behind black-rimmed glasses looked at him with concern.

"I'm fine. Or I will be, Doc." He almost stuttered when warm fingers gripped his wrist next. Would she feel his now-racing pulse? How long had it been since a pretty woman—no, a beautiful woman, when given a second glance—had looked at him, had touched him?

Not since Linda. So at least six months. That was a long time.

He tried to wave her away, sudden guilt ripping through him. She'd only been protecting herself today. The way he wished Linda had protected herself that day in Little Rock. Why had it made him so angry? The wound on his shoulder was just a little scratch. He could have seriously hurt her today. Her, the redhead, or the little princess.

What kind of man did that make him?

He didn't get his rocks off by hurting women. He didn't.

He despised men who preyed on those weaker than themselves. Dammit, what was he turning into?

She'd been protecting herself and look what he'd done—he'd burned everything she had. Including those photos that obviously mattered to her.

He shouldn't have done that. Dammit, why had he done that?

He shot a look over his shoulder as the fire engines finally arrived. He could have killed someone tonight. Just because of this woman. Who was trying to help him sit on the curb, was trying to take care of him.

He didn't deserve her care, her compassion. "Go, Doc. There are others needing your help more than me."

He damned well didn't deserve her attention.

# Chapter Thirty-Two

FIRE always made Georgia cold. The flames, the destruction, the threat, left her frozen on the inside. Tonight was no exception. She pressed her lips against Hellbrook's, needing the escape for a minute. He provided much needed warmth. Reassurance.

She paid little attention to the agents surrounding them, throwing questions and orders in every direction. Dan was barking orders to junior agents to control the forming crowd and to ensure the other two buildings in the motel complex were evacuated.

None of that mattered to her. Hell must have felt the shivers shaking her; he wrapped himself around her and pulled her against his chest. She could hear, and feel, his heart beating against her. The sound comforted.

Her mind wouldn't let go of the truth. She could have died today—twice. She pulled away from Hellbrook but rested her head against his chest. For a moment while she attempted to regroup.

Every possession the team had was most likely destroyed, but that was easily remedied. She could borrow clothing and shoes from Ana—provided Ana's room made it through the blaze. But her weapon, holster, and badge were still in Hellbrook's room, alongside his. Probably destroyed. Hellbrook's room was gone now. As was Georgia's and Dan's and the two rooms above theirs. Norton's, Carrie's, Jules's and K.D.'s. Hellbrook still had her backpack, so she counted herself lucky. Her laptop was still there, her copies of the case files, and her driver's license and keys, among other things like her flashlight and sunglasses. And her cell phone. Someone called her name over the sounds of sirens.

She hadn't even heard the smoke alarms. If Hellbrook hadn't, would she have woken at all? Probably not. Not in time. He looked over at her, his eyes black in the strange light of the fire, and she knew he could read what she was thinking. Thank God he'd wanted her in his room.

If he hadn't, Matthew would have lost another parent.

Hands pulled her away from her unit chief, and she found herself facing two concerned female faces. Two dear faces, people she could have lost tonight.

"Georgia, am I glad to see you!" Ana hugged her, the small, four-month bump of her pregnancy not hindering her. Jules stared at Georgia, her eyes fearful and wide, her face smudged with soot and grime, still dressed in that yellow sweatshirt. Jules's room was right over hers, Georgia remembered. The flames would have spread quickly. Thank God Jules had gotten out. Georgia hugged her. Tight.

Jules had no one else. Georgia knew that. Her friend's mother and stepfather had died when Jules was in college, and she had no other close relatives. Georgia and Matthew were it.

"I'm ok, Jules. I swear. Hellbrook got us out, and we're fine. I'm ok. I promise." She started coughing, belying her words. Jules and Ana forced her to sit on the curb, Jules going immediately into doctor mode. Georgia waved her away. "I'm ok, Jules. No shortness of breath, no dizziness, no headache. Just slightly hoarse, that's all."

"Are you sure? You and Hellbrook got the worst of it that we know of." Ana pointed toward the motel. "George...this is getting crazy."

Her lips were swollen from his kiss, a visual testament of their changing relationship. Her hair, loose down her back, was tangled from his fingers. Hell watched her as the medical examiner and Agent Sorin fussed over her for a moment. She stood, stepping back from the other two women. She flinched as she raised her injured arm—the one he'd used to pull her out of the burning room.

This case was taking too personal a turn, and it doubled Hell's anger and resolve. Nothing else was going to happen to her, or any of the other members of his team.

Dan stopped him before he could go to her. The older man's face showed an anger Hell hadn't expected. Hell knew it stemmed from Dan's overdeveloped protective streak where the female team members were concerned.

And Dan's being friends with Edward Dennis had transferred his fatherly attitude to Georgia. Still, Hell hadn't expected that sort of anger from Dan. Dan's cell rang, and he turned his back to Hell. He pushed thoughts of the older man away and turned to the women fifteen feet away. He'd deal with Dan later if needed.

She jerked when she was bumped from behind. Hell watched Stephenson disconnect and flip his cell closed before he apologized to Georgia. His team and Brockman's were gathering around their unit chiefs. What remained of Hell's team was doing the same.

Georgia left her friends and walked back to Hell's side. "So now what?"

"Back to the precinct with you. Or the hospital." He'd feel better if it was the hospital. He grabbed a blanket from a passing responder and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"I'm supposed to hide myself away while the rest of you ride off into the sunrise to save the day?"

"I wouldn't put it like that, but yes," Hell said. Removing her from the line of fire was sensible in his book. "This bastard has seen you, and while we don't know the official cause of the fire, it was probably in your room. That tells me that he's gunning for you, and you fit the victimology exactly."

"So I'm supposed to hide?" Her voice rose and, even with the sirens, had several people looking in their direction. "For all we know, this was electrical!"

"No. That would be one hell of a coincidence. You're supposed to be reasonable. This UNSUB is likely to come after you. Therefore, you stay safe—either in the precinct or at the hospital with Sparks and Compton—and an agent assigned to guard you." Hell wasn't budging on her safety.

"Now do you see why I have to leave the CCU?"

"I'm sorry, but any transfer request you put in, I'll deny," Hell said.

He smiled down at her, a look she recognized as Hellbrook at his most determined. She bit her tongue, wishing she could bite back the words.

"My father may have something to say about that."

"Is that what you want people to think? That because you and I couldn't see eye to eye, you ran to your father?" Hell's tone softened, and he leaned down until he could whisper into her ear. "I know that's not what you want. Because it would always be that. Every case you worked, every success, all of it would be shadowed by the fact that Georgia Dennis got where she was through her father. Hardly seems fair, does it?"

"You're a jerk, Michael Hellbrook."

"No. Hate me if you want, but we are not using you as the damned bait." He slipped her backpack off his shoulder and hooked it over her left one. "And this, whatever it is that's happening between us—it's separate from our positions on the team. Don't confuse the two."

"One is part of the other." She tightened her hand on the bag's strap. "I can't forget that. If you can't respect me in the field, why should I respect you in any other way—why should I even consider giving you what you want?"

He stepped back and stared at her, his eyes inscrutable. When he spoke, his words were firm, resolute. "I'm not dangling you for this bastard to catch, end of story. And if you won't stay in the precinct, you'll stay with me. No questions. If this guy is gunning for you, he'll have to go through me first. Understand?"

She didn't have to like it, but she'd do it. Truth be told, Georgia wasn't any too eager to be the bait. But she did want to catch this guy and go home. She wanted her son, her townhouse, the basic normalcy of her life. Hellbrook had skewed that normalcy, and Georgia needed time to regroup. From all of it.

She still hadn't forgotten the words he'd said to her a few short hours earlier in the middle of the emergency room. Hellbrook wanted her. She couldn't believe he'd been so bold as to admit it right then and there.

She should have had some indication, she supposed. She doubted Hellbrook had kissed many of his subordinates—he wasn't that type. She could say that for certain.

What the hell was she thinking? She'd slept with him, in his bed, in his room, and had damned the consequences. They hadn't had sex, but in the way of rumors and gossip, her actions alone were already damning.

So he had a point. There would be talk about how she got her new team, especially if she took it so soon. Either because of who her father was—or because she slept with the legendary Michael Hellbrook. She was screwed either way.

It might already be too late for her reputation. Not only would it get around quickly that she'd not been in her room when the fire started, but the exact location where she was would burn through PAVAD faster than the motel fire in front of her.

Hell had kissed her, right in the middle of twenty-plus federal agents, all of whom either worked with them or knew of them. It was done. The agents back in St. Louis had probably already heard about it; rumors ran that quickly through the division.

A relationship between her and Hellbrook—it had already been confirmed by both their actions. With such a public display, they could do nothing to deny it. And if they tried, people could and would call them liars. There went all of their credibility. Her credibility.

"Come on. I want to catch this bastard." Hellbrook's words were grim, but the hand he placed on her upper arm was gentle. "I'll want you to call the hospital and update K.D. on what's happened."

"And then? Should we leave her with Carrie and Josh?" Georgia slipped her feet into a pair of shoes Ana had somehow found for her, watching as Hellbrook did the same. Ana was definitely resourceful.

"No. We need her at the precinct. Someone overseeing communications is more important now than ever." Hellbrook gave a wordless signal that had Dan and Norton huddling closer around him. Georgia was trapped in the center of her three male teammates. Hellbrook was at her back, his words coming from above her left ear. "Whoever set this may still be here."

"You think so?" Norton tensed for attack.

"Why?" Dan's shoulders stiffened, and his hand dropped to his weapon. He alone was fully dressed, complete with FBI credentials showing. He obviously hadn't been sleeping when the fire broke out.

"He can't not be." Georgia picked up on Hellbrook's thoughts without effort. She studied the various faces of the crowd. What had to be three-quarters of Carterville's residents encircled the motel parking lot. "This UNSUB is a sadist, remember? He lives and breathes for the pain he causes others. Something of this magnitude—especially if he set it—would be the highlight of his year."

"And in order to experience that thrill, he'd have to be watching." Dan's words were grim and angry. The older man had confided in Georgia once that he admired what she, Hellbrook, how they were able to predict the why and how someone would think. He'd also told her that he'd never want those skills for himself and that he preferred to do his work using good old-fashioned police work. He'd spent a decade with the Kansas City police before getting a law degree and joining the FBI.

He preferred to piece together the physical evidence over making what he called guesses into the UNSUB's motivations. Said the monsters' heads were too sick for him to ever want to take a walk in.

"You two, check the perimeter." Hell took Dan's backup piece when the older man handed it to him. "Get the license numbers on all the vehicles in the parking lots and for the surrounding two blocks. Georgia and I will circle around and scan the crowds. Pay close attention to the trucks with campers or older model SUVs."

Georgia nodded at him. "If this UNSUB is here, we'll see it on his face. Excitement, hunger, and fascination. This man will be aroused, at least adrenaline wise."

"Let's catch this bastard." Hellbrook led the way.

# Chapter Thirty-Three

THE first thing Georgia did back at the Carterville police station, after they'd searched the motel parking lot with no results, was take a few minutes in the locker room to shower and change into some fresh clothing. Her arm ached, and without the supporting sling, she knew it was only going to get worse. The donated hospital scrubs were ruined, forever doomed to smell like smoke. She tossed them in the trash but kept her pair of borrowed tennis shoes.

"Ok, Dennis, start talking." Ana used her body to block Georgia's exit from the locker room. Jules sat with arms crossed over her chest, a determined glint in her hazel eyes. She also wore a pair of borrowed coveralls—as did Ana, whose room had been destroyed as well. They all had to roll the sleeves to free their hands and roll the legs to avoid tripping, but at least, they were clean and dry.

"About what?" Georgia avoided looking at them.

"Don't play dumb. You don't do it that well," Jules said as she twisted her now washed hair into a knot and secured it with her ever-present pencils.

"About what? You know about what." Ana smacked the back of Georgia's head. "From the first moment you two met, you and Hellbrook have shot off enough flames and sparks to light a fire bigger than the one that burned tonight. Don't forget— _I_ was there when you met him. Yet a few hours ago, I see you locked into probably one of the hottest kisses I've ever seen with none other than the 'cold, arrogant, son-of-a-bitch bastard' who has made your life a living _hell_ for the last six months. So what gives?"

"I honestly haven't got a clue. He's everywhere. Hard and hot, consuming. Touching me. Making me want to touch him. It's weird. It's different. It's disconcerting." Georgia put her head down on the wooden bench, then stared at the fluorescent lighting above her. "It's too damned hot."

"Exhilarating, exciting, erotic." Ana snickered. "Come on. We've all seen this day coming."

"What? How?"

"From the moment he first saw you—and I was there, remember—Hellbrook has felt very passionately about you. In one way or another."

"Yeah. Passionate disgust, passionate resentment."

"Maybe at first," Ana said. "But after that first week on the task force, I think that changed. He'd watch you."

"He still watches her." Jules widened her eyes dramatically, then batted them. "With those eyes."

"Yeah, making sure I didn't screw up." She looked away from her friends as she lied.

"His eyes would be drawn in your direction, and not just when you were talking. He'd say something, then glance at you to judge your reaction. And he'd tense when you'd enter a room, go on high alert. Hyperaware. Fin first pointed it out, so I started watching him. Hellbrook's wanted you—for a long, long time." Ana nodded and then gave Georgia a pointed look.

"He told me he wants me now."

"Wow. Big surprise. Come on, George. You study human behavior for a living—what have his actions told you in the last six months?" Jules stood then looked down at Georgia from one side of the bench. Ana moved to the other, leaving Georgia staring up at her two closest friends.

"I don't know," Georgia said. "I don't think I've let myself look at him too closely, honestly."

"Why is that?" Ana asked.

"Because I was afraid. He's big, overwhelming, makes me feel small and defenseless. I hate that. I'm not defenseless, haven't let myself be in nearly fifteen years. And I don't like that he makes me feel that way. I'm not sure why he makes me feel like that, or why a part of me may actually like it. Bryan never made me feel like that."

"So you fight Hellbrook. In some way or form, you fight against him," Ana said.

"Yes. Even if it's by keeping a wall between us. I haven't confronted him about leaving me behind; I haven't looked, prodded, our relationship closely for some reason."

"Because you're scared of what you'll find. Scared of what he makes you feel," Ana said. Jules just listened. "Because deep down, I think you have been physically attracted to him for a long time. I've watched you too, you know. You admire what he's accomplished. You enjoy his conversation—even with others. And what woman wouldn't want to touch a man like Hellbrook? One that's alive anyway. And George—you're definitely alive!"

"Why didn't you say something?" Georgia asked. "If it was that obvious?"

"I didn't think you were ready to hear it. I think you needed to hide behind that wall you erected between the two of you because you are afraid of Hellbrook. Afraid of what potentially could happen between the two of you. And you won't admit it, but you do tend to hide when things scare you. At least, emotionally." Ana offered her a hand, and Georgia took it. She sat up.

"No," Georgia said, though she felt her face heat at the lie.

"George..." Jules nodded. "You do."

"Yes," Ana said. "Question is—what are you going to do about it now that you know?"

Georgia didn't have a clue.

Hell had just finished showering and changing into ill-fitting borrowed clothing when Dan and Brockman cornered him in the locker room. Both men had serious expressions on their faces. Hell chose forthrightness. "You're angry."

"Damned straight." Dan shifted his weight from foot to foot. He did that whenever truly angry. It was his inherent desire to fight battles. Dan was one hell of an old warrior. A protective warrior who fought for those he cared about.

"Kissing Edward Dennis's daughter in the midst of a crowd of agents was not the smartest thing you could have done, my friend." Brockman was much more temperate, though Hell could see a mix of resignation and humor on the other man's face.

"I don't want to see my girl hurt," Dan said. "Georgia—"

"What's between us is our business." Hell wouldn't take advice about the situation between him and Georgia, even from men he considered his friends.

"Not entirely. We care about her," Brockman said. "Georgia has struggled, probably more than she will ever admit, with forming her own identity within the bureau and in our division. What would it do to her to forever be linked to you? What would the ramifications of a relationship be? I can guarantee that is something she will have to consider. More her than you—we all know that's the way it works."

Hell thought before replying, knowing the man had something of a point. The last thing he wanted to do was make things difficult for that woman ever again. "I know. I should have waited. Do you think I planned on this?"

"I don't know what you think. I do know how you hurt her these past few months. I know she's been planning on leaving." Dan hesitated as he said this, and Hell's attention sharpened. Did the other man know more about Georgia's plans then Hell did? It wouldn't surprise him. Dan was one hell of a confidant.

"I don't want her to leave. I know she's planning on it." Hell looked across the bullpen as the woman in question walked in with her two friends. All three women looked ridiculously small in their borrowed jumpsuits. Vulnerable and defenseless, though he knew they weren't. Ana Sorin was an expert martial artist, for one thing. As was Georgia, though he'd not given her many opportunities to exhibit those skills. All three were federally trained agents, even the ME.

These women were not defenseless. But to look at them was not to know that.

Georgia watched him, her dark eyes going immediately to him when she entered the room, and he paused for a moment, watching her in return. "I don't want that."

"And what in the hell were you thinking a few minutes ago—kissing her in the middle of local LEOs and other agents. Did you not think about either of your careers? Especially hers. She's younger, less seniority." Dan kicked up again, his words echoing those Hell had already replayed for himself. "If it got around how she was acting with her supervisor—especially while on a case? Do you know what kind of flack she would face—especially if you're not serious about this?"

"I don't care what anyone else thinks," Hell said. But that wasn't true. He cared what she thought. That thought had him tensing. Since when had her opinion become paramount?

"But it's not just you to consider, now is it?" Brockman asked before the three women arrived at their small circle.

# Chapter Thirty-Four

GEORGIA felt exposed and vulnerable in the baggy coveralls, with her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her entire body hurt, she was exhausted, and Hellbrook had her feeling raw.

She didn't feel a thing like a competent agent. Instead, she felt confused, worried, and scared—and she could lay the blame squarely on Hellbrook's wide shoulders.

She had no trouble finding those shoulders in the crowded bullpen. He stood taller than most men in the room; more than that, the man had a presence about him that drew people to him.

Something else she wasn't too comfortable with. That sort of power was intimidating, and she'd lived with it her entire childhood. Her mother drew people that effortlessly—drew people and took what she wanted from them. It had made Georgia leery, in more ways than one.

But Hellbrook wasn't like her mother; Georgia knew that on a rational level. She'd never seen him abuse his power. Except with her.

That thought gave her pause.

Why her? Why had he treated her the way he had, and did he expect things to change between them so easily, so quickly?

It was unrealistic. They both knew that. Both were aware of the psychological and emotional aspects involved in relationships, especially whirlwind.

Georgia knew of the failure rates for whirlwind relationships and those failure rates for office romances as well. She wasn't so sure she wanted to attempt one with a man like Hellbrook, regardless of how attracted she may or may not be.

She'd been with two men in her life, and she'd loved them both. And the decision to enter those relationships had been terrifyingly difficult for her. The biggest risks of her life and she'd lost in both of them, for whatever reason. Been hurt, and she didn't want a repeat of that. But could she stop whatever it was that seemed to be happening between her and Hellbrook? Georgia honestly didn't know.

"We have a name," Hellbrook said from where he stood between Brockman and Dan. The white shirt he'd borrowed from someone was a bit too small and outlined the powerful muscles of his chest. With the two top buttons undone, he looked casual, sexy, and tempting. "Joel Joseph Powers."

"What have we got on him?" Georgia asked, shaking off the thoughts of him pressing against her.

"He fits the profile. Zeke and Stephenson went with Handers to bring him in. He has known Claire Reid since elementary school. Also has priors for sexual assault. Victimology is the same."

"Small brunettes." Mal eyed both Georgia and Jules, a worried look in his blue eyes.

"Who's going to do the interview?" Georgia asked, sending Mal a warning look. When he'd been her team leader, he'd displayed a protective streak, but it had been a mild one. Hellbrook had better not be rubbing off on Mal—Georgia would smack them both.

"I am," Hell said. "You can observe. I don't want you anywhere near this bastard."

"Georgia, love, we think seeing you may trigger him to shut down. This man is reactant, and will be highly defensive. He's a social outcast and a misogynist. It wouldn't be a good idea for someone fitting his profile—especially someone who he has encountered negatively before—to be so highly visible." Brockman stepped closer, and then rubbed her shoulder. Georgia saw Hellbrook's expression darken.

He always had reacted whenever Mal was around her, and never in a good way. It finally made sense to her. _Hell_ was jealous. Possessive. It gave her a little shiver she'd never let show.

"Like I said—you can observe." Hell's voice held a note that had Georgia's eyes narrowing.

"I got that," Georgia said.

"Good." Hellbrook crossed his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels before looking at her intently. "Georgia?"

"Yes?"

"Can I speak with you a moment?" He kept his voice soft, almost coaxing. Hypnotic. Georgia's body stiffened. He wanted something.

"Of course." Her voice was as soft as she followed him out into the hall and to a small office near the end. He opened the door, checking to see if anyone was inside. It was empty, and he ushered her inside. "What's this about?"

"You." He moved closer. "About earlier...about me kissing you...I wanted to apologize."

"For experimenting or for kissing me a few hours ago? What are you apologizing for? I need things clearly lined out. I always have."

"Both. All of it. I shouldn't have put you in that position." He wouldn't meet her eyes. Her own narrowed. This...was not Michael Hellbrook. "It was wrong of me."

Georgia recalled what Ana had said, how he'd watched her, wanted her for a while. So why this sudden change of tactics? "I kissed you back."

"Still, I took advantage...both times."

He lowered his forehead to rest against hers, running one hand down her free arm, the caress deliberate and intimate. She shivered but didn't pull away. "I want you to know that whatever decisions I make involving the team; it is not a direct result of _this_. But it is what I consider the best move for the team to make."

"I'm confused," Georgia said. "I can't deny that. You've been Dennis Enemy Number One for quite a while. It's hard for me to change my thinking overnight. And I've never kissed a supervisor before, haven't even considered it. Let alone had one tell me right out that he wanted me. I don't know how to deal with that. I'm not sure I want to now."

"If you tell me no, I won't like it, but I'll understand, and I'll drop it." He kissed her, hesitantly, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wanted. The moment his lips touched hers, she sighed, allowing him deeper entry. He took advantage of it. She didn't tell him no, didn't pull away.

She just flat out didn't want to tell him _no._ Far, far from it. She wanted his arms around her again.

Her fingers played with the buttons of his borrowed shirt, the new sling putting them at the right height to slip beneath the cotton. Her mouth opened, inviting him in.

She protested as he pulled back.

"We need to stop. We have work to do."

"Yes, sir." This time her words held the slightest bit of humor, came out huskier than normal. Hell's eyes darkened, obvious lust making them nearly black. Georgia felt an answering heat in her stomach. He wanted her, and she wanted him. She would be a liar if she denied those facts. "Whatever you say, sir!"

"Georgia..."

She smirked and then sobered. "I'm not happy about being excluded, but I understand your reasoning. And I'll try to keep from jumping to defensive conclusions where you're concerned. It'll be hard, but I will try. Is that enough?"

"That's all I can ask for at this point. And I know that. Come on. Let's go."

# Chapter Thirty-Five

GEORGIA stood near the one-way glass facing the small interrogation room where Joel Powers sat picking at his fingernails. He fit the description given by Katherine Montehue. Smaller in stature, brown hair, blue eyed. And from the file she'd read, he preferred brunettes of a tender age. His prior victims had been eighteen and nineteen, young and vulnerable college students at the same university where he'd worked custodial. One had ended with a no-contest plea, and the other had been dropped for lack of sufficient evidence. More importantly, he'd attacked them both in empty parking lots.

Hell took the seat in front of Powers. Mal stood by the door, looking calm and almost welcoming.

The two men were a direct contrast from one another on the surface, but Georgia knew that where it mattered, they were very similar. Both were physically daunting men, sexy and attractive in different ways. Both were overprotective, and both wielded that natural power with little effort.

Supermen. She could easily see them both starring in their own superhero movies. Both had hero complexes, the desire to save others in order to feel personal identification. But more than that, they were both honorable men. Even Hellbrook, despite the way he'd treated her for so long, had the deepest sense of honor. One of the things she had always admired about him, even when she wanted to feed him to a pit of snakes. Hell was terrified of snakes, and everyone knew it.

"Joel. How are you? Are you comfortable?" Mal asked.

"What's this about? I'm warning you. I have rights, and I know them."

"That's good, but someone still went over them with you, correct?" Mal had not moved from his casual stance against the door.

"Yes. I didn't do anything. And I don't know nothing."

"That's apparent." Hell arranged pictures of the victims they had positive identifications on. "Do you know these girls? These women?"

"No. Not really. Think that one goes to the same church as my mom." He pointed to the picture of Hailey Ann. "Them others, I don't think I've seen before."

"You live in a small town, and you can't tell me you've seen these girls before? You work custodial at the mall, Joel. Teenage girls, they like the mall. And we know you like teenage girls."

"Not anymore," Powers said. "All they talk about is television and stupid things. I like women my own age or older, I swear. I'm not into little girls!"

"How about this woman?" Hell spread the hospital pictures of Katherine Montehue over the table. "These were taken after someone raped her and beat her. She your type?"

Powers took one look at the pictures and shook his head. Hell laid out one more. Georgia knew it would be the one of Claire Reid's body as it had been found.

Mal moved closer. "That's your old friend, Joel. Claire Reid."

Powers paled, clutched at his stomach with the hand that wasn't cuffed to the table. "Claire? That's Claire? That's sick. Man. Sick."

Georgia frowned. From his mannerisms, Powers was telling the truth. The door behind her opened, and Ana entered.

"Hey, George. How's it looking?"

"Not good. No physical indicators of dishonesty."

"You sure?"

"At this point, yes." Georgia nodded as Hell began laying out the more gruesome photos. "Watch his face."

They did for a moment before Georgia continued. "He's honestly revolted. If he was the UNSUB, he'd have been unwillingly fascinated."

"Unwillingly?"

"He'd be fighting the urge to stare, would be excited—as a sociopath, this is the most likely form of any type of feeling. Powers is not a sociopath. It's not him." Georgia tapped the glass, signaling the men inside that she needed to speak with them.

It was unnecessary; she saw that as soon as Hell's eyes flicked over the glass. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was there. And she knew what he was thinking.

The depth of their latest connection scared her.

Hell followed Mal into the room, pausing in front of Georgia. "You need something?"

"It's not him," Georgia said. "Powers hasn't seen those images before. That last photograph nearly made him vomit—the one of Claire Reid."

"That confirms my opinion," Mal said. "He most likely cared about her, and seeing what was left of her—it wasn't something he was prepared for."

Hell's mouth twisted. "It isn't him. Dammit."

Georgia echoed that thought silently. If it wasn't Powers, how were they supposed to find him now? Powers was the best lead they had had. "We're missing something. I think we need to go over everything we've got again."

"Probably wouldn't hurt. Call K.D., have her round up everyone she can. Refocus the search on Claire Reid's associates and friends. Or even those she may have come into casual contact with."

"You don't think she was a random choice?" Georgia asked, hand reaching for the burner cell she'd stuffed in the pocket of her coveralls.

"Not likely, but the possibility does exist," Hell said. He paused, a considering expression on his face. "Georgia, I want everything—all branches, local, federal, Spurgeon Quarry, Carterville, all of it—coordinating through you from here on out. Sorin and Jacobs will assist. You will serve as the hub."

"Yes, sir." Georgia was dialing before he finished and was barely aware of what she'd said—until his brow rose. She shrugged. "Force of habit, Hell."

"I know. Keep me posted as often as possible."

# Chapter Thirty-Six

GEORGIA was kept busy throughout the rest of the morning and through lunch coordinating all the various teams' information. She paused only when Hellbrook waved a sandwich in front of her and commanded her to eat.

The sandwich was made exactly the way she liked it. That fact scared her; had he watched her that closely the entire time they'd worked together? And she hadn't noticed?

She ate quickly, one hand coasting over the touch mouse on her computer as she read, looking for that elusive key that would help identify the UNSUB.

Hellbrook worked across the room, barking orders into his cell phone while dialing on the desk phone in front of him. She had to fight the urge to stop what she was doing and watch him in action. He was always decisive, the man in charge, and it drew her to him.

She needed to finally admit it—everything about the man drew her, even when she'd been resistant.

"They've found another body," Handers said from his position near Georgia, one hand covering the base of the phone held at his ear. "Just over the state line in North Dakota. The locals and Bismarck resident agents are holding the scene until one of you get up there personally to release it. What should I tell them? Agent Hellbrook?"

She called Hell over and explained the situation as quickly as she could.

Hell looked at the agents in front of him. K.D. could barely go an hour without vomiting, and had reams of paperwork to go through, looking for elusive patterns that the rest of the team might not see. Carrie, pale and sporting a pair of crutches she wobbled dangerously on, sat in front of her remaining computer. She'd lost two in the fire, and he suspected that bothered her more than her broken leg and cracked ribs. She'd arrived with K.D. and had insisted the team needed her. Dan and Norton were back up the mountain with Stephenson's teams. Georgia—she was his only option.

But he wasn't about to send Georgia to North Dakota alone. "Tell them we're on the way. Georgia, grab your bag. Stanton? How fast can you get us a bird to the scene?"

Helicopters were standard in this part of the country. Flight—whether in helicopters or small planes—was a routine method of travel in this area.

"I can have transport ready in under an hour, sir," Stanton said.

Hell nodded. "Good. Tell them Dr. Dennis and I will be on scene as soon as possible. K.D., notify Dan and Norton, Brockman, and Stephenson; let them know what's going on. Also, get Dr. Bellows and have her ready for flight, I want her to personally collect the body. Have Stephenson step up the interviews. Odds are good this UNSUB is one of the five remaining on Georgia's list. And have someone go over the case files for the local agencies in North Dakota as well. If this is the same UNSUB, he may have more victims out of state. Also, check those names connected with Claire Reid that we may have already ruled out—see if they've traveled to North Dakota."

"Yes, sir," K.D. said with a lack of her usual luster.

Georgia hadn't said anything, and Hell wondered if their discussion earlier had made an impact or if she was focusing on the task at hand. This case was starting to take too much out of the team. Georgia's bruises were visible on the pale skin of her forearms—large, ugly bruises that made him angry every time he looked at them.

He wanted this bastard, bad. And when he had him, he hoped he'd have a minute or two alone with the bastard. Just a minute or two; that would be enough. Then it would be that asshole with bruises on _his_ body. In the meantime, they were off to North Dakota.

Georgia hated helicopters. They were too small, too loud, and too fragile for what they were intended to do. Still, she never complained. The birds were another means to an end. If the flight helped them stop this monster faster, then she'd willingly fly.

Hell's hand wrapped around hers, the gesture one of comfort. Her eyes flew to his face, but he'd turned to speak to the pilot through his headphones. Her eyes narrowed as she quickly profiled the man beside her. He'd done it almost without thinking.

He was that tuned in to her, that quickly. Was Ana correct? Had he been attracted to her from the very beginning? Attracted but resentful? It would explain so much.

She left her hand where it was, right under his.

There would be gossip. It ran rampant through the bureau anyway. She'd heard of other intra-bureau romances—some that had failed, and some that had succeeded. Ana and Fin, for one. She had no doubt the two of them would remain together and happy for the rest of their lives. Her former teammate Dakon and her father's assistant Len were another. But did she and Hellbrook have that capability? To risk that was super huge deal for her.

One that required thought. Evaluation. Planning.

The flight was short. Hellbrook lifted her the last feet down from the helicopter's belly, and they hurried toward the waiting locals.

"I'm Hellbrook. This is Dr. Dennis. What exactly have we got?" Hell wasted no time on niceties, and Georgia didn't blame him. The body count was rising too quickly.

"I'm Jones, Bismarck resident agency. I called you out here," one of the three local men said as he led the way to a waiting vehicle. "Young woman. College junior, age twenty-one. Maggie Evans lived with her parents."

"Last seen?" Georgia almost ran to keep up with the group of men as they rushed toward the waiting SUVs of the Bismarck agents.

"Outside her job—local grocery store. Had the early shift. Scheduled to leave around one this afternoon. Clocked out at one-seventeen. Her car was still in the parking lot," Jones said as Hell opened the rear door to the SUV for Georgia, then climbed into the front seat.

"Crowded store?" Georgia asked. That was a difference she wouldn't have expected.

"Relatively. At least for these parts, ma'am." Jones started the engine.

"Security cameras?" Hell asked.

"We're working on them now."

"Anyone see anything? Any customers notice anything out of the ordinary?" Georgia braced her uninjured arm on the door to support herself as Jones rounded a sharp curve. The man drove more fearlessly than Jules, and that was saying a lot.

"We're working on that as well. So far, nothing probative."

"He's escalating," Georgia said. "A daylight abduction, bigger risk. Hopefully sloppier."

"Sloppier?" the agent in the seat beside Georgia asked. "That's good?"

"If he's made a mistake, it could potentially tell us something." Hell shot a glance at Georgia. It also indicated rapid devolvement—the process by which an unknown subject lost control—and that wasn't good. It could potentially mean an even greater number of bodies. If the UNSUB broke pattern, it could also make it more difficult to catch him, as they'd be unable to predict his next victims.

"No offense, Agent Hellbrook," Jones said, "But if this guy's victim of choice is small brunettes, should Dr. Dennis be here?"

"We've discussed this." Georgia was unable to keep the warning out of her tone. "Hell is fine with me being a part of the investigation."

"She's already mostly out of the field due to her injuries. But she's a damned good profiler and has been instrumental in our understanding this UNSUB." Hell's own words contained a clear message. Georgia resisted the urge to roll her eyes at what, to her, was old ground. They'd been over this before, but at least this time Hell was on her side.

"Plus I'm one hell of a shot." Georgia patted the new weapon she'd been issued. PAVAD didn't mess around. Someone had been on the way to their location with copies of credentials and new weapons before the first responders had arrived. She suspected Ana had called Fin to report to him what had happened, and he had ordered it done. "And I've already tangled with this monster and won that battle. He'll seriously reconsider if he even thinks to come after me again. This man is intrinsically a coward. His choice of victim is someone small and relatively defenseless. The one living victim—Katherine Montehue—survived basically because she refused to give in to him and fought back. Hard. That shows he's not ok with direct confrontation. And even at that pit—he never revealed his face to us. Showing he held a great fear of those he sees in authority. Knowing I'm an armed law enforcement agent, he won't risk a direct confrontation at this point."

"So what else does your profile say about this guy?" Jones asked, the skepticism in his voice something they'd both heard before.

"He's small. That's been confirmed by our victim. He's intelligent, uses slightly more complex language than the average laborer. So he's most likely been educated. He also feels that he's doing God's work—a mission, if you want to call it that—by killing these victims," Georgia said.

"Why? These are young girls and young women. How could killing them fulfill some sort of godly plan?" the third agent asked. He was an older man, and Georgia took in the wedding ring on his finger. The man most likely had a few children at home—probably girls, based on his visceral reaction to their discussion.

"The common element beside physical similarities was that each victim in some way flirted or engaged with a male shortly before disappearance," Hell said. "What was Maggie Evans doing before she left work? Who did she talk to?"

"Her supervisor, Gavin Lee. Kid seems absolutely broken up. He's the one who found the body."

"Where?" Georgia leaned forward.

"Here," Jones pulled the car to a stop behind the rear parking lot of a small, independent grocer's store. It looked like any other mom-and-pop business, except for the garish yellow crime scene tape separating it from the crowd of rubberneckers that were present at nearly every crime scene Georgia had ever been to. "Her body was found around three this afternoon when Lee took the trash out. She was between the dumpster and the box crusher. Hmm, hadn't been dead very long. Our best guess was maybe two hours or so before being found."

"We sure this is the same guy?" Hell frowned, and Georgia knew what he was thinking. Nothing so far—with the exception of victim description—matched their bastard's MO in any way. Was this a wild goose chase?

"Pretty sure. We know there are some obvious differences. But the parking lot, and what we think was the manner of death, tells us this is probably your guy. We also found tire tracks where the guy backed in, most likely to dump the body," Jones said.

"Our UNSUB abducts his victims at night, ties them, rapes or molests them, then traps them until he can stone them to death." Hell and Georgia followed Jones across the parking lot.

"She was definitely stoned to death, sir," Jones said as he led them to the dumpster. "Or at least made to look that way. We believe he took her off site, raped her, and then stoned her until she was dead. Then brought her back and dumped her."

"All within a few hours or so? He's devolving, Hell. Rapidly." Georgia took a closer look at the body, trying not to react visibly to seeing the young woman tossed aside like so much trash. She rested on a bag of aluminum cans, her dark hair as long as Georgia's and cut in a similar style. The eyes were wide open in the classic stare of the dead. Many people mistakenly thought eyes closed when someone died, but Georgia knew the opposite.

Bryan's eyes had clouded over, gone sightless as she'd watched. That was something she saw every time she faced a dead body. Something she would never forget.

"Look." She shook thoughts of Bryan from her mind. Now was not the time. She motioned to one of Maggie Evans's wrists. A small piece of twine was embedded in the raw skin. "Similar to that found on Claire Reid. And Hailey Ann."

"Has Dr. Bellows checked in?" Hellbrook asked Jones. "She's the federal medical examiner who's performed our other autopsies. She was taking the second copter. Left about fifteen minutes after we did."

"That her?" Jones pointed to a woman wearing a black jumpsuit with no markings printed on it rapidly approaching from the western parking lot. She was followed by a different assistant than before. Dr. Ripley, the woman who'd originally accompanied her, had suffered severe burns in the fire.

"That's her," Georgia said. "Hell? I think we need to get Jules on this one as fast as we can."

"If he's devolved this rapidly, it's not good," Hell added, moving closer to her unconsciously. She felt his hand rest against her back. Strong. Supportive.

"Jones, have a few of your men take pictures of the crowd," Georgia ordered.

"You think this bastard's here?" Jones's body tensed.

"Relax! Don't give it away!" Hell's hand dropped to his weapon, rested against it. "He's probably watching, needing the thrill from seeing the consequences of his actions. Especially since, at this point, the high he gets from each kill has decreased markedly. That's one reason why he's devolved. He needs the kill more; so much so that he couldn't wait until evening this time. It's about the kill from here on out. The sexual assault is just secondary now."

Georgia echoed Hellbrook's movement, her eyes scanning the crowd from behind the dark glasses she'd pulled from her bag. She cataloged every male she could see, concentrating on those who fit the physical profile the team had already established. She began walking toward where Jules's team was processing the body, aware of Hell walking to the east and the back edge of the parking lot. She heard Hell giving orders in a soft voice to Jones and his two agents, telling them to fill the gaps.

If Hell or Georgia saw the man—and at this point Georgia knew they'd recognize him by the unavoidable fascination he'd have for the victim—they'd be able to trap him between them and signal Jones and his men to close in.

Georgia saw him first. The man's frantic pacing signaled more than normal curiosity for the proceedings. He looked familiar, his dark hair, shorter build, and wider shoulders sparking a hint of recognition. It took her less than ten seconds to place him.

# Chapter Thirty-Seven

HELL saw Georgia's signal from his spot a hundred-and-eighty feet away. He nodded to Jones as soon as he saw what Georgia had found.

They moved in, Jones speaking quietly into his radio.

The man in question didn't appear to notice, his eyes trained on the small-boned, brunette medical examiner as she ordered the body loaded onto a gurney. He was moving closer to Dr. Bellows, slowly, inexorably, agitatedly.

Hell was within one-hundred-twenty-five feet when a loud wail sounded. He jerked his head toward the edge of the police barrier, seeing an older woman trying to push through the crowd. The local sheriff blocked the woman Hell assumed was Maggie Evans's mother as Hell turned his attention back to the man.

His eyes met watery, excited blue eyes. Hell's mind clicked into place.

The man's attention was focused on the body of the latest victim, an unchecked fascination in the proceedings clear on his ordinary face.

He disappeared into the crowd, stepping closer to the body.

Georgia was moving. She moved into the crowd, having just as easy a time as the UNSUB, her smaller body and agile steps finding her the clearest path almost effortlessly. He couldn't see her—or the UNSUB—as the crowd began to jostle, trapping him in its midst.

Hell stopped and yelled to Jones's two agents. "Cut him off at the road! Move, move, move!"

Hell started shoving his way through the people staring at him. "Move! Dammit, move!"

Georgia knew she had seconds to act. The man seemed oblivious to the crowd surrounding him, and that told her that he had completely broken with reality. He was not concerned with the dozen agents and cops surrounding the scene. He didn't care about the onlookers pressing against the crime scene tape. He was focused on whatever he had to have. Whomever he had to have. They had two possible outcomes if someone didn't take control of the situation as soon as possible—the UNSUB would hurt someone else, or he'd hurt himself.

Georgia would by far prefer the latter, but she didn't want the man dead. She wanted him to be forced to sit in a courtroom and have to face the parents and relatives of those children and women he had hurt. She wanted his choices taken from him the way he'd taken his victims'. That's what she'd promised Katherine Montehue.

It was a far greater punishment to force someone to live under someone else's control than to let that person kill themselves using the police as the weapon.

There would be no suicide-by-cop for this monster.

Georgia jerked between two onlookers, cut a diagonal over the asphalt. Her stomach lurched when she realized the man was focused on a _new_ target. He'd slipped beneath the crime tape and was now a direct member of the action.

He had a target.

Jules had her back to the UNSUB, and he was getting closer. She was focused on the work in front of her, unaware of what was happening around her. Behind her.

Georgia ran.

Eighty feet away. She could hear Hellbrook yelling behind her. Jones and his men were on the other edge of the large parking lot moving in the same direction. Toward Jules. But they would be too late. Heartbeats passed. Georgia was fifty feet away.

He was a yard behind her best friend. His face was tight with animosity and a fervent hatred. He held something in his left hand—probably the stun gun he'd used to control his victims—and he was reaching even as he was moving closer.

At that moment, Jules bent down beside the body of Maggie Evans, making furious notes on the pad in her hand. The UNSUB missed her. Inches. Jules was still unaware, intent on the victim before her.

He reached for Jules again. The other woman turned and raised her arms to block the man's assault. Presenting him with the perfect target for the stun gun.

"Jules! Down!" Georgia shouted. "Down! Down! Down!"

Her friend reacted immediately, hitting the concrete beside the victim's body, rolling, and covering her head with both arms.

Georgia leaped over Jules and the body of Maggie Evans.

She hit the UNSUB mid-waist, taking him to the ground. She ignored the jarring in her right shoulder, ignored the burn of the concrete against her elbow and her left knee and the sharp jab of the UNSUB's knee into her abdomen. She even ignored the man's attempts to throw her off of him by bucking wildly.

She had him down, and that's where he was staying.

# Chapter Thirty-Eight

BY the time Hell got through the crowd, Georgia had brought the man to his back, holding him pressed to the ground with her weight. Her knee rested on his ribs. Her good hand was wrapped tightly in the man's hair.

She looked fierce, and Hell couldn't decide if he was proud or angry at her actions. She'd stopped the bastard before he could hurt anyone else. That was what it was ultimately about. He reached her in time to help flip the guy over and snap a pair of cuffs around the UNSUB's wrists. The man lay on the ground, sobbing.

Hell pulled Georgia to her feet, using her good arm as leverage. He searched the crowd. "Jones! Get him out of here!"

Before the crowd turned and realized the man responsible for so many deaths was in their midst. Jones must have understood the necessity. He pulled the UNSUB to his feet, and he and two of his men ushered the man to a waiting SUV. That left Hell to deal with his agent. "Georgia—let's go."

He waited until they reached the second SUV. Jones's people had effectively done crowd control, ensuring that Hell and Georgia had plenty of breathing room. Dr. Bellows hadn't even reacted to the sudden onslaught of drama. She'd stuck by the victim's body until it entered the ambulance for transport. Hell had to admire that dogged determination. She had done her job.

Georgia said very little. He shut the door behind him before he spoke. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No." She watched the first SUV as it pulled out, siren blazing on its roof.

"Are we going to extradite him to the South Dakota facility?" Georgia leaned against the seat as Jones's man guided the car onto the highway.

"For now, I think we'll keep him here. The locals in Carterville are angry. Four teenage girls, two young women, and one living victim in South Dakota, it will take little incentive for them to snap. Even some of the LEOs. I want to do some deep questioning. Ensure this is our UNSUB." He moved closer, pulled her injured arm down slightly. He didn't miss the way she tensed. "Did you hurt yourself?"

He picked up on the way the driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror speculatively. Hell knew what the other man had heard. His voice had dropped intimately. Lover-like and concerned.

They took twenty minutes to regroup once they arrived at the new precinct, to get something to drink and to discuss strategy. It would take double that to process the UNSUB. They didn't even know his name.

"What do you want from me?" Georgia asked the question that had been at the back of her mind since the moment in the ER when Hellbrook had said he wanted her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean _this_. Technically, Hell, we've slept together. Not exactly something I did with my last boss."

"I'm sure Brockman wouldn't have minded." He voiced the one thing about Brockman that had always eaten at him.

"Excuse me?" She grew at least an inch taller when her spine straightened, and she glared at him. Her dark eyes flashed as she moved closer. "What are you implying?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"It wasn't nothing, Hellbrook." She jerked around, turned her back to him. "You know, I can't figure you out."

"How's that?" He didn't know why he'd said anything, especially that part about Brockman. He knew there were no romantic feelings between her and the other man. Those thoughts had been allayed months ago.

"You treat me like a pariah for months and then it goes away. Changes—because you say so? What am I supposed to think? It's not exactly realistic."

"That I finally got my head out of my ass?" He grabbed her by the belt loop when she stepped away from him. "Georgia—"

"And it's as simple as that to you? What about my life, my view on things? You change your mind—get your head out of your ass—and I'm expected to fall in line? You're arrogant, Hellbrook. And that's infuriating." Dark eyes looked up at him, challenge and something more there.

"I wouldn't say I'm arrogant."

"I would. Do you need me to profile you? Let's see—you succeeded at an earlier age than most agents. Twenty-six when you were appointed to the west coast's unit, right? So, there was the prodigy factor. Bound to lead to a bit of overconfidence." She ticked off her points on her fingers with jerking movements. "Then, ten to one, you're either an only child or a firstborn. You are too used to taking control. You have the arrogance that your orders will be followed. And then there is this unit. Founded a decade ago? And mostly on your say-so. Something else to lend arrogance."

"Is that so wrong?" Is that how she saw him? An arrogant asshole? "I worked hard for all of that, and I'm not ashamed of it."

"You shouldn't be. But you also shouldn't assume that because you say so, I'm going to fall in with what you've planned. It doesn't work that way—not even in cheesy romance novels. What are you expecting? Once this is over, we'll go back to your motel room, have wild monkey sex, and everything bad between us will just go away?"

"Excuse me." The flat voice behind them had them both jumping and spinning toward the door. The medical examiner stood inside the doorway. Her eyes were alight with wicked humor. At _their_ expense. "I wanted to let you know the biologicals from your UNSUB will be processed against those left at Claire Reid's scene. And the cause of death for Maggie was strangulation. Apparently, he wanted it done much quicker this time. And now, I'll let you get back to your discussion regarding wild monkey sex. I've prepared the victim for transport and am heading back to Rapid City. George, talk to you later...and enjoy. Wild monkey sex is always fun."

Bellows said it all with a completely straight face, then exited.

"Well," Georgia said. "That was embarrassing. Anyone other than Jules..."

"I'd be stupid to say no to the wild monkey sex." Hell pulled her closer, then tilted her head back with one finger under her chin. "It won't change. And I don't expect you to fall into line. But I'm tired of hiding how I feel. I've wasted too much time by being an idiot where you're concerned. But if you can look at me right now and tell me this is all on my side, then I'll pretend this never happened. We'll go back to being Hellbrook and Dr. Dennis, period."

She bit her lip. Her dark eyes widened slightly. It was clear to him she hadn't expected him to turn the control over to her. "Georgia? Is it one-sided? Should I back off?"

# Chapter Thirty-Nine

SHE hadn't expected that. She should have realized he would turn it around. Hell always took control, even in situations where he didn't feel comfortable. Especially in situations where he didn't feel comfortable. She knew that. She studied his eyes, searching for the truth in the dark blue. A hint of vulnerability, visible around his eyes and mouth, had her softening.

Hellbrook never showed vulnerability. Most certainly not to her. "Why now? What's changed?"

He stepped closer, forcing her to look up at him. "I don't think it's changed that much."

"You've made no secret of how you felt about me. This...this is so different."

"You know what I remember about the first time I saw you?" He had his hands around her waist, had pulled her body against his. She let him, snuggled against him for just a minute. What would it hurt to be held by him for just a moment? It had been so long since she just been held like this.

"What?"

"How together you were. How your teammates looked at you for leadership. How well you fit with them. How neat and sophisticated you looked. How beautiful."

"You hated me. As soon as you realized who my father was."

"I disliked your father, I'll admit it. But my _first_ thought seeing you was that I wanted you. Then I wanted to see if I could shake you up, rock that icy control of yours. That had never happened to me before. Not that quickly. And then, I realized who your father was. And it pissed me off that I wanted Dennis's daughter that much. Talk about a kick to the balls. Then, Seattle happened, and you were so close..."

"Six months, and you've said nothing about it?"

A knock on the door stalled her from answering. Agent Jones stood in the door, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. Georgia knew he'd heard their words. She fought the urge to hide her face behind Hell's shoulder. The Bismarck police station was really not the place for this type of personal discussion.

"Yes?"

"The guy's ready. Travis Byrum. Should we lead him in now?" The man avoided looking at her, and Georgia appreciated his discretion.

"Please. Georgia, we'll table this. But we'll discuss it later. I promise." It didn't sound like a threat. It was infused with an intimacy that twisted her stomach.

Jones led the UNSUB into the interrogation room and secured him to the table. They left him there for ten minutes while they discussed what they knew of the man. Thirty-seven years old, Travis Byrum worked as a truck driver for a bulk food company. His route included stops in both states in the geographical area. He'd had prior arrests for civil disobedience, destruction of property, and trespassing. These had morphed into sexual battery, assault, and finally kidnapping and murder? Sometimes it was hard to fathom.

Byrum refused to look at Hellbrook, instead focusing on Georgia the entire time. His gaze burned over her skin.

"I've seen you before." He tilted his head to study her, much like a small dog would do. This man liked to play games. Georgia studied him back.

"Yes. You have. Outside the diner in Carterville, I believe." Georgia kept her tone level. "We never did get to finish our conversation that day."

"Your boyfriend interrupted." Byrum shot a mildly nasty look at Hellbrook where he stood against the door.

"He has a habit of that," Georgia said, just as mildly. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"You reminded me of someone, that's all." Byrum dragged in a deep breath.

"Claire Reid?" Georgia put a snapshot of the teacher on the table between them. He looked at it, his breath stopping for a telling moment. It was only a subtle, split-second moment, but Georgia caught it. He knew her. She shot a look at Hellbrook. He nodded for her to continue. "I have to admit, there is some resemblance between us. Both petite, both dark-haired."

She waited a moment before continuing. "Of course, you knew she was dead when you approached me."

It wasn't a question. His face went blank, his eyes now empty.

"I don't know what you mean. I don't know that woman." Byrum looked away, his words mild and dismissive.

"Yes, you do. I'll read an email a friend of mine found. You'll remember this friend—she's the redhead you tossed over that cliff."

Byrum jerked his attention back to her. "A redhead?"

"Yes. You remember. She was alone in the woods, separated from her partner. You hit him with a large branch."

Byrum's eyes remained blank. This guy was good, Georgia had to admit.

"I wasn't in any woods yesterday. I was on the road." Byrum smirked. "You can call my company."

"We will. Can I ask you a question? Why did you write this to Claire Reid? 'For a woman to express her desire for a man is ungodly, unholy, and leads them both into a sin they should for now and always be ashamed of?' Were you quoting someone, Travis?"

"How did you get that? That was private." Byrum shifted in his seat, then glared at her. "A man has the right to privacy. It's outlined in the Constitution."

"Actually, the Constitution doesn't specifically mention the right to privacy anywhere. That idea has been derived from certain amendments. There is no such thing as a guaranteed right to privacy. And when Claire Reid was killed, it gave us all the right to go through her things. Once you sent this email to her, it became equally her property," Hellbrook said. "Our property."

"So what were you intending when you...emailed this woman you'd never met?" Georgia asked. "How did you get her email address?"

"Message boards," Byrum said. "We met online. I think."

"What type of message board? And I thought you said you didn't know her?" Georgia already had the information. Carrie was extremely thorough, especially when it came to any communication related to a computer or the internet. Both Claire Reid and Travis Byrum were avid dog lovers and had met on a pet lover's message board. Claire had posted pictures of herself with her Labrador.

"About dogs. What of it? Thousands, millions of people meet online every day, many over the subject of pets. Is that a crime?" Byrum's face was blank again.

"Stoning a woman, and then strangling her to death, those are crimes. As are rape, molestation, kidnapping, and disposing of their bodies. Add in the arson and assault on federal officers, Travis, and you're going away for a long time." Hellbrook took the third chair and turned it around, straddling it at the end of the table, between Byrum and Georgia's sides. It was a strong, masculine posture designed to outline the differences between his bold posing and Byrum's cuffed and weaker position.

"I didn't assault any federal officers. I for damned sure didn't burn anything." Still flat. Georgia ran over the signs mentally. He didn't profess guilt, which wasn't out of the norm. Most didn't. But he showed no other reaction. To any of it. Even his spiel about privacy violation had been delivered in a monotone, as if they'd been discussing the weather. Either he was that good at hiding how he felt, or he felt nothing at all.

Classic sociopath, maybe? But that didn't explain the rage she'd seen on his face when he'd been staring at Jules earlier. Rage because Jules had shot him? It would make sense. Still, the man who'd disregarded law enforcement personnel and gone on the offensive was a far cry from the man sitting in front of her.

Did he have that tight of a rein on his emotions? What made him snap?

"But you knew Claire Reid, and you had a problem with her flirting. Who did she flirt with, Travis? You?" Georgia asked. Now was the time for her to go on the aggressive. She knew it. "Why would that prove to be a problem for you? Don't you want women to flirt with you?"

"She didn't flirt with me."

"No? What about Maggie Evans? We know you were there at the store this morning. You made a delivery of frozen pizzas, remember? We've had several positive identifications. We know you saw Maggie flirting with Gavin. They were two young college kids teasing each other. Yet, you had a problem with that, didn't you?"

Georgia leaned in on her elbows, causing her shirt to dip provocatively. She wet her lips, looked up at Hellbrook, and smiled suggestively. Hell smirked; he knew what she was doing, she was sure of it. She tossed her hair over one shoulder. She dropped her voice to a husky purr before turning back to Byrum. "Flirting bothers you, doesn't it, Travis?"

# Chapter Forty

HELL dropped one hand to her shoulder, ran a finger over her neck. She shivered. He kept one eye on Byrum to judge the effect. "I think, princess...I think Travis was upset because Claire and Maggie and all the others weren't flirting with _him_."

"But why would they flirt with Travis? He's so...unremarkable." Georgia smiled, the cold light of _bitch_ in her eyes.

It was such a contrast to who Georgia was, he was surprised she pulled it off as well as she did. Hell shifted in his chair, leaning toward her, willing to help her win this game. "Go on, princess. Tell me more."

"We women know what we want. We want men who stand out. Who are gods among their peers." Her eyes flicked between Hell and Byrum and back. It was obvious who she felt was the superior man.

Byrum's face darkened. It was a small change, but one that Hell's training had him catching quickly.

"Men are not gods," Byrum said.

"No? You don't think someone like my partner here looks like an ancient god? The Greeks or the Romans, perhaps? I can see him as Hercules. He certainly looks the part—broad-shouldered, well-defined chest. Strong. All that copper hair that makes a woman want to run her fingers through it. Picture him outdoors with a great tan going. Yep, definitely my idea of Hercules." It was a wicked little smile she shot at him this time. "How about it, Hell? Want to dress in a toga? I'll feed you...grapes."

The little witch was enjoying this. Hell could see it in her dark eyes. And Byrum was falling for it. Breaking. "Only if you'll dress in similar garb, princess. I can see you as the goddess Diana, you know."

"Oh, can you?"

Did she actually flutter her lashes at him? Hell swallowed a laugh. "Yes. Diana, goddess of the hunt. She was iconized with a bow and arrow. She protected and provided for the weaker ones, including women, children, and slaves. And I bet she looked damned good in a _stola_. You would too, I bet."

"Oooh. I like that image. Me protecting the weaker ones." She cooed, bounced in her chair, a tiny little hop that had all of her feminine goods jiggling. Did that blue bra she wore not support everything? Or was she even wearing it? Hell fought the urge to groan. "I can so totally see that."

"Women who flirt are sluts," Byrum said, pulling Hell's attention. A shade of difference in the other man's tone told Hell that Georgia's tactics might work. Hell kept his reactions nominal.

"Everybody flirts," Georgia countered. "Even toddlers will smile at someone to get what they want. That's a type of flirting."

"That's sick." Byrum's hands clutched the table edge until his knuckles turned white.

"No. That's reality." Georgia's tone changed from coquette to psychologist in an instant. "Even animals flirt. Peacocks, dogs, and insects will flirt to attract a mate. Who told you flirting was bad?"

"It is bad. Sluts. You're a slut, too."

"Really? I've never been called a slut before. I'll have to think about that," Georgia said. "Sexual flirting, by definition, is the attempt to attract a member of the opposite gender in order to perform the act of reproduction and/or mating. Or to have a damned good time."

"We all do it." Hell nodded at his partner. "And some of us do it better than others."

"I'll say," Georgia purred. "Travis, did you know women fall all over my partner here? It's somewhat annoying at times. We were at the Turn Around bar the other night, and some blond bimbo helped herself to my seat. Irritating. Then she had the nerve to lean over and show Hell her cleavage. Like this."

Georgia leaned forward, enough to give Byrum the smallest hint of what lurked under her shirt.

Hell mentally shook himself, directing his attention back to the interview as Georgia continued to speak. He had never been this distracted before. "Is that how it feels to you, Travis, when someone is flirting with another man in front of you?"

"Women shouldn't behave like that." Byrum's words came out nasal and pious. Byrum kept his focus on the woman in front of him. Byrum's breathing had increased only an increment. But it was another step in the direction they needed to lead him. Hell did his best to fade into the background for a moment.

"Then how are they supposed to secure husbands? I'm sure a fine, devout man such as yourself agrees that marriage is the most sacrosanct union on this Earth." Georgia took a pencil from Hell to begin making notes. She let her hand linger on his. Hell grasped the feminine fingers and held them for a moment. She looked back at Byrum before pulling her hand away. He bit back a smirk—she couldn't have been more obvious. "You don't mind if I take notes, do you? I'm not married yet, and I need all the help I can get if I can't flirt. Husband catching is a tough business, and I'm not getting any younger, you know."

"'For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife, and they shall become one flesh.' Matthew 19:5," Byrum said. "Parents should choose, and only then should a child leave their parents' house for adulthood."

"Excuse me? You honestly think a parent should choose the spouse of their child? Did that happen to you?" Hell asked. Records hadn't indicated a marriage for Travis Byrum anytime during the last decade. He'd been found in public records until his graduation from high school, when he'd disappeared off the grid, only to resurface five years earlier as part of a small church, sixty-two miles from Carterville. The church leaders were known to protest everything from gambling to chemical fertilizers.

"Yes," Byrum said.

"You're married? What's her name?" Georgia asked.

"Theresa." He smiled, and his eyes took on a spark that had Hell's attention. The expression was smug, arrogant, and holier-than-thou.

"How did you meet Theresa?" Hell asked.

"She was a neighbor. My parents knew her parents." Byrum's manner told them he viewed his wife as sacred, as better than Georgia.

"How old were you and Theresa when you met?"

"I was twelve. She was ten. We attended the same church," Byrum said. "Her family are good people, strong belief systems, like mine."

"Your adopted family? The Byrums. They adopted you at the age of nine, correct?" Hell asked. Travis's name had appeared in two of the lists Carrie had compiled. Once as a child, when he'd been placed in social services, and again as a repeat visitor to the emergency room in Bismarck. All visits had occurred within a year of his being placed with his adoptive family. "How old were you when you married?"

Hell suspected they'd used corporal punishment mixed with old-fashioned brain-washing techniques to convince the child Travis to follow their beliefs exclusively. Unfortunately, that wasn't unheard of.

"They are my family, and they know what is best for me," Byrum said. "And I was seventeen when my parents arranged my marriage to Theresa."

Hell frowned. Byrum was thirty-seven years old. Was he still taking direction from his adoptive parents, twenty years after he'd married? They'd been in their fifties when they had adopted him, and they were in their seventies now. From what they'd been able to ascertain, Byrum drove his truck during the weekdays and spent his weekends with his parents and his adoptive siblings, of which he was the youngest. No mention was found of a wife, though the profile told them he would have one. Or would have had—past tense. "You're a little too old to be taking direction from Mommy and Daddy, Travis. What happened to Theresa, your wife?"

"Nothing. She is a godly woman." Byrum's eyes watered, and he reached with cuffed hands to wipe at first one then the other.

"How so?" Georgia asked. "What is your definition of a godly woman? Is she meek, mild-mannered? Good housekeeper and all that archaic bunk? Is poor Theresa forced to cook and clean and do nothing unless it reflects well upon you?"

"You're an ungodly woman. I can tell. Your type always reveals." He nodded so sanctimoniously that Hell fought the urge to snort. Judgmental. That fit with their profile, for sure. Had he watched those four young girls, Katherine Montehue, and the other victims all flirting—and passed his sick sort of judgment? Unfortunately, that type of ideology was something Hell had seen before on multiple occasions. Making Travis Byrum just another typical serial murderer. With a slightly higher body count than average. That was it.

"How so?" Georgia looked up from her notes, her manner telling Hell that she was not interested in what Byrum had to say, that she didn't value the man's opinion, that she was humoring him. Judging him and finding him lacking. Downplaying his perceived traditional role. She was aiming well-placed stabs right at Byrum.

Stabs designed to get at the man who had no doubt been raised to believe the man had the final say in things, that a woman should defer to her husband or male relative in every situation.

Georgia turned to Hell. Leaned close enough to whisper, loud enough for the two men to hear. "Tell me, Michael, do I reveal?"

"Oh, I certainly hope so." Hell smiled at her, deliberately giving her a predatory look. "Although I like it when you tease me. Draws the whole exchange out. Don't you agree, Byrum?"

"Men like you are weak, despite your physical size. You are emotionally weak. Easily led by your lust." Byrum turned from Georgia and focused his attention on Hell fully for the first time since the interview began. "I take it you are a highly educated man. Am I correct?"

"You may say that. I have a PhD and a JD. I'm a respected member of my field." Hell leaned forward, not looking at his partner.

"He's a legend in his field," Georgia cooed. "Hellbrook here is a _prime_ catch."

"Whore." Byrum flicked a dismissive glance in her direction.

Hell read the look for what it was. He'd been interested in a woman such as Georgia when she'd first entered. He'd most likely seen her as an enigma—a beautiful woman in a position of superior authority. Something a man like Byrum did not understand. But as the interview had progressed, his opinion of her had developed, and not in a positive way.

"Now I'm hurt...but that is a good idea. Hell, darling, how do you feel about me catching you? You're the right age, the right education, similar career goals, similar socioeconomic background. Although Daddy certainly doesn't like you. That could pose a hindrance, as he's helped me so much in my career. Him being so important. Perhaps I should give this some serious thought, focus my ungodly wiles on you."

Georgia tapped her clear-lacquered fingernails on the table between the two men, drawing their attention in her direction. When had she had time to polish her nails? Had she done it for Byrum's sake? Hell fought the urge to laugh, despite the seriousness of the interview. She'd slipped open a button on her blouse. Her hair was now sexily tousled. An over-the-top sexpot sat in place of the coolly sophisticated psychologist he was so familiar with.

He'd not caught the metamorphosis at all. He wondered if Byrum had. "If you'd like to try to seduce me, go right ahead. I won't fight it—and I probably won't be too hard to seduce. Not for someone like you. I think there may be a supply closet in this building with our name on it...if you'd like to get started."

"When we're finished with...uh...Travis, here. I'll bring the grapes."

She grinned a wicked hot grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. The woman was plotting very specifically what she said, what she did. And it was all designed to ensnare not Hell, but Travis Byrum. Hell had seen that same type of intelligent calculation in her father's eyes on numerous occasions.

Georgia was equally as good an agent as the elder Dennis. Maybe even better.

Hell let a laugh loose. "You're on, princess."

"You'll never be able to speak against sin if you're entertained by it." Byrum looked at Hell with disgust.

"I don't remember who said that." Hell tapped the file on the desk in front of him. "But I don't think that applies to this situation. Flirting is not a sin."

"John Muncee." Byrum sat back in his chair, his smirk now aimed in Hell's direction. "I thought you were an educated man, Agent Hellbrook?"

"I am. But we all know that there are many ways in which someone can be educated. My fields are psychology and the law. Yours is..."

"Theology. It was my calling."

"Yet, you drive a frozen food truck?" Georgia snorted in the most feminine manner Hell had ever heard. "Some calling."

"Quiet!" Byrum barked at her, and Hell straightened. "What do you know of it? Look at you! A little dark-haired, demon-eyed slut who probably slept your way to the top. You're unmarried, probably because no good—no _godly_ —

man would have you. You hide your true nature beneath those bitchy little suits, yet look at the undergarments you choose to cover your most secret places. I bet the bra matches the panties. You whore. Look at you. Look at you! You'll burn in hell with the rest of your kind."

"Actually, I'm not wearing panties, Travis. What does that do to you?" Georgia's voice was a cold contrast to the rising heat in Byrum's. Hell's admiration of his partner grew. "Does that make you hot?"

Byrum's face twisted with rage and disgust, becoming more than plain, becoming only what Hell could define as crazy. Twisted.

"You slut! How dare you use your wiles to ensnare men? You deserve to die. Deserve it!" His eyes widened and spittle flew from his mouth.

"Like Maggie Evans?" Georgia threw the question at him. She leaned forward, both hands on the table, now standing. Dominating the table. Byrum rose to meet her, despite the cuffs that held him.

"Like Claire Reid, Lindsay Graywater? Hailey Ann? Hailey was fourteen years old, Travis. She still slept with a stuffed teddy bear. She was a child! And you killed that child. You are a damned child killer! Yet, you would dare condemn me because I batted my eyelashes at an interesting man? What does that say about you? You will burn in hell, not me!"

Byrum lunged. Hell jerked between the two, shoving his much larger body in front of Georgia.

She kept shouting. "You killed them, Travis! Claire Reid, Maggie Evans, Hailey Ann Michaels, Stephanie Miller, Kirby Jaysons—all of them dead because of you!"

Byrum fought against the cuffs holding his hands, straining toward her. Hell didn't exist for him anymore. "The Bible says 'Kill every woman that hath known man by lying with him! And if, however, the charge is true and no proof of the girl's virginity can be found, she shall be brought to the door of her father's house, and there the men of her town shall stone her to death!' Whores, the lot of them. Whores. They deserved to die. They did, they did, they did."

Hell pushed him back into his chair as Jones and two other agents shoved into the room. He leaned over the bastard until their faces were only inches apart. "The Bible also says 'For God will bring _every_ deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.' God, Travis, _god_. If men are not gods, Travis, who the fuck gave you the right to kill those girls? Who are you, Byrum, to decide who lives and dies? You are not a god! Sit down. We're not done."

# Chapter Forty-One

HE was going over his boys' reports in the middle of the Rapid City police department when a local officer led the children to him.

The bruising on Hannah's face was clear for all to see. She clutched the hand of the little girl tight, and the baby rested in a homemade pouch over the girl's narrow chest. He stood and stepped toward her. "Hannah? Can I help you? Who hurt you, honey?"

She looked at him, eyes wide and nervous. "My...my husband."

He felt his own eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"You said you would help me, that we deserve to be safe." Her hazel eyes burned into his. Linda's eyes in a young, bruised and battered face. Heartbreaking. "I think I can help you if you'll help us. You said we deserved to be safe."

"You do, honey." He jerked a hand at his closest agent. The boy hurried to his side.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take over these reports. But first, I need a doctor in interview room three. A female, as quickly as you can. Hannah and I will be in there waiting."

He got her a soda, settled her at the interview room's table. He got the little girl a coloring book and crayons from a stack on a shelf, then had to show the child how to use them. A child who didn't know how to color—what had her short life been like?

The door opened before he could ask Hannah any questions. His mouse.

"Doc, I thought you were in North Dakota with Hellbrook."

"Brought the victim back for...processing." Her eyes were trained on the children. On the bruises. "I heard you asked for a female doctor. I'm it."

"Yes." He looked back at Hannah, though he wanted to stare at the mouse. Wanted to ask how she was, how her assistant was. He had never meant to hurt _that_ girl. But he had almost killed her. "Thought it would be easier for another female to help her."

The little mouse nodded, her eyes meeting his. She approached the two girls. They both just watched her. The mouse sat down beside the littlest girl, while the eldest held the sleeping baby close to her chest. "My name is Dr. Bellows, but you can call me Dr. Jules. I'm here to help you."

"Jewels like diamonds?" The little girl asked.

The mouse nodded, smiling a beautiful smile. "Yes."

"That's funny." The child giggled, then shot him a frightened look.

His heart broke for her.

"Yes, it is. What's your name?"

"Ruth Mary Byrum. But Momma Hannah calls me Ruthie. I like that best."

"I like Ruthie best, too. Ruthie, I need to talk to the agent for a minute. Can you keep coloring that beautiful picture for me?" The mouse ran a hand over the girl's hair, ignoring the way both girls tensed.

She nodded at him, and he followed her into the hallway. Once the door closed behind him, she spoke. "Georgia and Hellbrook apprehended a suspect named Travis Byrum this morning."

"Hannah said her _husband_ did this to her, and that she could help us. And she looks like the victims." He fought the need to step closer. He could smell her over the coffee and sweat that characterized every police station he'd ever been in. Flowers, strawberries, and woman combined to tease him. Did she realize what she was doing to him? Linda had smelled like strawberries, too.

"Oh, that's freaking nuts. She's what, sixteen?"

"If that."

"And the baby and the little girl?"

"Half of the six kids I saw at the library. Other three are boys. The extremely religious type of family is my guess."

"We'll need someone from the CCU or Brockman's team to assist you with interviewing her. I'm not very good at that part of things." She sighed, looked up at him with those sad, sad eyes.

"Brockman's here somewhere, I'll have someone find him." He wanted to comfort her, to touch her, but he kept his hands to himself.

"I think the little girl has bruises, too. Arms, probably her back, too."

"Dammit, I hate when it's kids." Nothing made him angrier. He'd never once raised his hand to his boy. Ever.

"Me, too. Yet, so many times, it is."

Their eyes connected, and for a long moment, their connection had his chest hurting.

Ten minutes later, Brockman had joined them. Hannah was frightened. He could see that. He did his best to reassure her.

"This is another doctor, Hannah. He's here to ask you some questions so that we can all help you."

Brockman would ask the hard questions so that he could be Hannah's reassurance. Since she'd sought him out.

She nodded. "They will kill me if I stay. They will kill me if they know I came here and brought their daughter."

"We aren't going to let that happen, but you need to tell us everything, ok?" Brockman sat in the chair across from her.

Hannah nodded.

He looked at the little mouse where she stood by the door. "Hannah, honey, we're going to let Ruthie go with Dr. Jules into the next room for a little while, ok? Just so she doesn't have to hear what we talk about."

"She'll be ok with me." The doctor reached for Ruthie's hand. "We're just going next door. We'll color and play for a little bit."

"Just next door?" It frightened both girls. They could all see that.

"I promise." The mouse smiled that smile again.

Ruthie went without a protest, chattering at the mouse about what fun crayons were. Mouse smiled and listened attentively. She was such a sweetheart, a wonderful woman. Beautiful.

The baby fussed, and Hannah soothed him.

"Hannah, how did you get to Rapid City today?" Brockman started the questioning.

"Walked to the highway from our home, then hitchhiked. Theresa was at the prayer circle. It's the only time of month she's not at the house, so I had to go today."

"Who is Theresa? Was she the woman at the library that day?"

"Yes. She's Travis's first wife. I'm the second."

He shared a significant look with Brockman. "Please go on, honey."

"I married Travis after my first husband died, seven months ago."

"How long were you married the first time?" Brockman asked.

"Two years."

"How old were you when you got married?"

"Fourteen, the first time."

"Ok, so what happened today?" Brockman asked.

"I put some of that stuff in the boys' sandwiches. That stuff that makes you have to go to the bathroom a lot. I needed a reason, or else the boys wouldn't let me leave and take Ruthie and Joseph. I told them we were out of medicine, and I'd walk to the store to get them some. Took Ruthie so they wouldn't have to mind her. Took the baby because he's mine, and they weren't going to stop me." Hannah's eyes shone with a determination he admired.

"Good girl," Brockman said. "Can you tell me what happened to your face?"

"Travis came home a few nights ago. He drives a frozen food truck for one of his older brothers. He was angry. Said I needed to be punished, cleansed. So he beat me. Then we went to bed."

He could give one guess as to what happened then. If Byrum wasn't already in custody, he'd derive great pleasure from putting him in his place.

"Hannah, you've been married to Travis for seven months. So he's not your son's father?" Brockman asked.

"No. Jeremiah was. He was Travis's oldest son and my first husband."

"How did Jeremiah die and you end up married to his father?" Brockman made notes on the file in front of him. The man hadn't reacted to Hannah's story in any way, and he had to admire that composure. Even if he didn't personally like the man, Brockman could do his job.

Hannah's head lowered. "I killed him."

Both men straightened. "How, honey?"

"I ran away. I was evil, wicked. Denying the bonds of matrimony my parents had chosen for me. I ran away. I was five months along, and I couldn't stay with Jeremiah and his family. So I ran. Jeremiah found me. We were driving back to the farm, and the car ran off the road. Jeremiah died." The words came out in a rush, and Brockman struggled to keep up.

"And you married his father?"

"Yes. The rest of the church wanted to cast me and the baby out because I was so wicked. Even my parents." She clutched the baby tighter to her chest. "But Travis said the baby would be a Byrum and raised as such. He led the cleansing that night."

"Honey, what's a cleansing?"

"He took off my clothes and tied me to a tree. Then they cast stones. Deuteronomy 17:5 'Then shalt thou bring forth that man or that woman, which have committed that wicked thing, unto thy gates, even that man or that woman, and shalt stone them with stones, till they die.' If it weren't for the baby, I think he would have killed me that day. He had his father marry us instead."

"But Byrum was already married to Theresa?"

"Yes. But it's ok for men to have more than one wife."

"No, honey. It's not. It's illegal." He patted her hand where it rested on the baby's back. "You're not going back there. I can promise you that."

"Thank you. But where will we go? And what about Ruthie? They hurt her all the time, too. Because she's a girl, and girls are wicked. They never hurt the boys, unless it's just a spanking now and then." She began to cry. He passed her a tissue.

"We'll keep her safe, Hannah, I promise." Brockman stood.

He followed Dr. Brockman out of the room and waited until the door closed behind them. "Damn, that's sick."

"Yes. I think he's reenacting the desire to kill Hannah every time he stones one of those girls. His grief over his son pushed him over the edge or unlocked the monster. Those he deems as _pure,_ he doesn't rape. Virgins, which he probably checks to see if the hymen is intact. Those that are not intact for whatever reason, like the little girl who was pregnant or the women, he holds nothing back. Byrum's our guy. He probably beat her when Katherine Montehue escaped." Brockman's eyes burned with an anger he was in agreement with.

"What can we do for those three?" he asked.

"There's a shelter in St. Louis designed for young mothers in bad situations. They live there and work there and learn how to care for their children. I can pull some strings, get Hannah and the baby in. I'll have someone talk to South Dakota child services," Brockman said. "Ruthie, not being Hannah's biological child, will probably end up in foster care."

"But..." A feminine voice said from behind them. The door to the next room had opened, and neither man had been aware. His mouse stood there. "She's so young."

"It's better than where she was," Brockman said. "Did she tell you anything?"

"I took pictures. Beaten, probably a day or two ago." The mouse's mouth firmed. "Probably a regular occurrence. I'd hate to see her go into the system. Children are forgotten there. Can't you do something for her, too?"

Brockman stared at the mouse, a contemplative look on his face. "I may be able to have them all taken into FBI custody material witnesses. At least until we sort out the Byrum family. I can't guarantee it'll be long term or that anything will come of it, but I may be able to get her into the St. Louis area."

"Thank you." The mouse smiled at Brockman, and he felt a rush of jealousy. He wanted her to smile at him like that. _Only_ him.

# Chapter Forty-Two

SHE always experienced a mix of adrenaline let-down and victorious exhilaration when they wrapped up a case. More so in this particular instance. It felt good to be able to do her job again, even if there were injuries. It felt good to make some sort of difference.

Georgia sipped the soda a junior agent had provided as she waited for Hellbrook to finish up with Jones, knowing he was impressed with the other agent's quick thinking on this case. It was routine follow-up and something she was more than glad to let her unit chief handle. She leaned back in the chair, propping her feet on the desktop. Damn, she was tired.

Her mind ran through the information she'd gotten from Mal when he'd called. That poor little girl, forced to live with Byrum. Abandoned by her family in the name of their religion.

She shook those thoughts off. She needed a break from the case, from the sickness that Byrum claimed was right.

She watched Hellbrook through the window into Jones's office for a moment, studying him as clinically as she could. He was just so much more than the men that filled the North Dakota precinct. Hellbrook would draw her attention instantly in a room full of a thousand men. It was just that simple.

That was what scared her more than anything. It hadn't been that intense with Bryan. Not that quickly. They'd been friends, lovers, and partners in so many ways. With Bryan, it had been warmth, comfort, security, combined with a natural sexual attraction.

She would have been happy with that forever. She'd never doubted that.

This with Hellbrook was _fire_. Hot in just a flash of a second. The embraces they shared were burned into her in a way she couldn't recall ever happening with Bryan. But was it just sexual heat?

She didn't know how to deal with that. Could she have a hot affair with Hellbrook and, when it was over, just walk away as if it never happened?

Georgia didn't know.

She closed her eyes and sat for several moments, her mind running over all the possible outcomes of where this was going with Hellbrook. A hot, flaming affair that fizzled within a few weeks was one possibility. A strong one, if she was honest with herself. An affair that was over before it started because she transferred to another unit and they had little time to be together was an equally strong one.

And Georgia knew the truth—an affair was all it could be.

Michael Hellbrook wouldn't want what she could offer long-term, even if she were so inclined. The legendary FBI superhero settling for children's meals and bikes complete with training wheels was not something she saw happening anytime soon.

She could easily see him replacing her father one day. Maybe even more. He could go clear to the top of the top, and that would take dedication and sacrifice of time and energy. Would she be one of those sacrifices, for however much time they engaged in the _whatever_ they were going to engage in?

Heavy thoughts.

Someone bumped the desk. She jerked her eyes open, and her attention went to the amused face of the man in question.

"Taking a break now that the work is done, princess?"

"Something like that." She studied the man and the stack of files he carried. "What's all that?"

"Team reports from Jones's people." Hellbrook's face echoed Georgia's surprise.

"Quite a lot." Twice what she would have expected. They'd only had the one body in North Dakota. "What's up with that?"

"Apparently Jones is a real bureaucrat at heart. And he's good. Being wasted out here."

"Wow. And who gets to go through all these?"

"I do."

"Need some help?" It would take him several hours to go through that stack. And it was already well past seven.

"If you would." He paused, looked at her with a strange glint in his eyes. "It will be good practice for when you get your own team. When was it, next week?"

Her hands stilled on the stack. "Don't start, please. I don't think now is the time or place."

"No. I guess it isn't." He spread his files on the desk between them and pulled up an extra chair. He'd removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his borrowed dress shirt. She recognized it as one of Mal's. It was just a tad too small through the shoulders. Hellbrook dwarfed those around him. Literally, at times.

Could she handle that? If she were to become even more deeply involved with him, there would be times he dwarfed her in more ways than just physically. On the professional front. What about personal?

"I just want to say that I don't want you to go. Not if it's because of me." There was a vulnerability on his face she wasn't used to seeing, and it made her long to touch him.

"It is...and it isn't." She leaned back in the chair to put some distance between them. The desk was too small. He was too close. Crowding her, though he hadn't moved. "I didn't apply for the CCU in the first place, Hell."

"No. You wouldn't have gotten in." His words were frank, and though his honesty stung, she did appreciate it.

"Based on qualifications or paternity? Never mind, I can answer that myself." Georgia kept her attention on the file in front of her and kept her words low. He'd had a grudge against her from the beginning. Why would she want to rehash it now?

"Not entirely. I had a strong team, princess."

"And with me there now, you don't?" Now _that_ stung more than just a little. He must have sensed that. He jerked his head up, and blue eyes met brown.

"I didn't say that! What I said was that the team I had was complete. I don't like changes that blindside me." His mouth quirked in an ironic smirk. "You definitely blindsided me in many, many ways."

"I didn't push for the CCU. I honestly thought I was getting Mal's team when he moved to unit chief of the division for a while." She felt an absurd rush of guilt for pushing the agent she replaced out of her team slot. She hadn't meant to. When first given the assignment, she'd thought Hellbrook's team had had an opening. Not that one was being created especially for her. To cause problems for her father.

She repressed a wince. No wonder he hadn't exactly been welcoming from the very beginning. Had it not been for Dan and Carrie, and even Josh, Zeke, and KD, it would have been horrific that first month.

"So it was your father?"

Georgia instinctively tensed. "Hell..."

"I'm not picking an argument. You were put on my team for a reason. I've always wondered what it was."

"Someone put me on your team to cause strife between you and my father." She hesitated before going further, unsure how he'd take it. She dropped her pen on the table and looked at him straight on. "My father said it was for only six months and then I'd get a team of my own."

"I see. So this, you leaving, has been planned from the very beginning." His face held an expression she couldn't read.

"In a way."

"So it's a matter of your preference or choice now?" His words came out slow and hesitant. Slightly hopeful.

She thought for a moment. Telling him that she wanted out of the unit he'd created against all odds wasn't something she was ready to do. She couldn't hurt him that way. Not now. A week ago, she'd have flung the words at him coated with cyanide if she could. "Yes...I guess it is, then."

His pen was on the table beside hers. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. "And what have you decided? Are you leaving?"

"I don't know. I've not spoken with my father yet." It was an excuse, and she knew they both were aware of it.

"So there may not be a team available."

"No, there might not be."

"For what it's worth, if there is, I think you'll do a great job." He meant it. She knew him well enough now to know when he was lying or hedging. That went a long way to soothing her feelings after his earlier comment.

"Thank you. I hope I will. _If_ there is a team."

" _If_ there's a team," he echoed hollowly, then picked up the pen and began making more notations. She watched him for a moment longer.

If her father were to phone her right then and there and offer her the team of her dreams, would she take the assignment? Georgia honestly didn't know.

She sighed, grabbed her pen, and went back to work on the files in front of her.

# Chapter Forty-Three

**"** I GOT us a suite," Hellbrook said as he maneuvered the loaner vehicle to the motel less than an hour after they finished the reports from the North Dakota agents. It was past midnight, but at least that was one thing they'd not have to worry about in the morning. They'd finalize everything on the Byrum arrest, gather the case files and copies of reports, and rendezvous with the rest of the team in South Dakota. Then it was done.

"A suite?"

"I'm not too comfortable with completely separate rooms, not until we confirm Byrum is our UNSUB. It's up to you which part of the suite I'm in, but we are sharing a suite."

Georgia looked at him a moment, uncertainty gnawing at her. The choice was up to her, and he meant that. Dammit.

"Of course." That was all she could think to say. "A suite is fine. I...uh...need a shower."

"I'll get room service. What would you like?" His tone was level, but it didn't take a profiler to see that he was as aware of the awkwardness as she. Her little game with Byrum hadn't made things easier on either one of them.

It wouldn't be their first time in a motel room together, but it would be the first time they'd both be awake and aware of the attraction between them.

She was more than just aware of him. She felt him in every inch of the suite.

She needed the shower to escape him. She took twice as long as she normally would have, both out of the need to stall and because the bathroom was gorgeous. They usually were at Barratt hotels. Twin jet sprays did an excellent job of washing away the previous few days and relaxing every muscle and soothing every bruise on her body. When she exited into the small sitting room that joined her room with Hellbrook's, she felt loose and warm and feminine.

Hellbrook sat on the couch, suit coat removed, sleeves on his white dress shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms, and his tie missing. His copper hair was highlighted in the low light of the reading lamp beside the couch, and Georgia's mind seized once again on how leonine her boss was.

He was king of the pride and waiting for his chosen female to come to him. He smiled at her, and she half expected him to roar at any moment. "Food will be here in about an hour. They were a bit backed up."

"That's fine. What are you working on?" She sat on the edge of the coffee table, not quite ready to sit on the small love seat beside him.

"Summaries."

Georgia picked up a stack, averting her eyes from his. "With KD's name on them?"

"She has enough to worry about without adding useless bureaucratic red tape."

Georgia picked up a second file. "And Dan? He have enough to worry about, too?"

She leafed through the stacks, finding various reports she easily identified. None had her name on them—or Hellbrook's. "Everyone's but yours and mine?"

"I didn't think you'd appreciate my doing your reports." He stopped writing before looking at her. "Besides, you've always had yours turned in to me before anyone else."

Her way of protecting herself from him. If he'd had cause to write her up, she'd assumed he'd do it. And that would have possibly affected her chances of securing a team of her own. But she hadn't known he did the reports for the others. If she had, would she have let him do hers?

Probably not. She wouldn't have wanted to give him that type of control. "So is this a recurrent theme?"

"Sometimes." He sighed before gathering the files and stacking them in a neat pile. She'd noticed before that Hellbrook liked things organized. He took the last file from her hands, letting his fingers graze hers. "These cases are hard enough, eat up enough of our lives. It's better if I take care of all the reports at once. I usually get copies of everyone's notes. Yours, too."

Because she made sure to cc him on everything. To protect her own ass. Had she been that paranoid, or had there been truth to it? Georgia didn't know. "And it doesn't eat up your time, too?"

"I have the time, and it's not a big deal for me. And it's my unit, my responsibility. Part of leading a team."

He didn't mention her transfer request and neither did she. It didn't seem like the time to bring it up, to cause yet another argument between them. Not when they'd been getting along so well.

"And the fact that it's after midnight and you're doing everyone else's paperwork so they don't have to doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it?"

He was genuinely puzzled, and that stuck with her. It was such a direct contrast to the frightening legend that younger agents whispered about. Who was the real Michael Hellbrook? "When not out saving the world, how do you spend your time? Be honest, Hell."

"I don't know. It's been a while since we've been on long-term stand-down. I have books I read. I write papers, training manuals. I watch the Cards with Dan now and then. Help him with landscaping when he blackmails me into it. That type of thing."

She'd disconcerted him. She could see that. It saddened her, the realization that he was more alone than she would have expected. "Whereas Zeke spends his free time on countless dates, KD does _pro bono_ legal aid, Carrie writes computer software, and Josh has his band and friends, and Dan—"

"Spends almost every spare minute at his home or searching for his ex-wife and his daughters."

"I rush home to Matthew. Everyone leaves you to tie up loose ends."

"Not you, like I said before. And it's part of being their unit chief. I really don't mind, Georgia. I'd do it for any part of my team." He slipped the files into the bag he'd bought to replace the one he'd lost in the fire. "The team—they, you—are important to me. Part of having a healthy, functioning team is having agents with fully rounded private lives. And although that's not the case with Dan—he has extraordinary circumstances—I want to do my part to see my agents have the time for those lives."

"You are a good man, Hell. I've not always seen that, except when you're with Carrie."

"Carrie?" He looked at her, clear surprise and disbelief on his face.

"Yes, with Carrie. You have a protective streak where she's concerned that is very sweet. I used to think it was your only redeeming quality. Since that first case on my father's task force."

"And now?" He smiled, though she could see hints of their remembered hostilities in his eyes. "And Carrie's special."

"Baby-sister special. I know."

"I'm keeping her and KD locked up in offices from now until eternity." His smile slipped. He trailed a hand down the bruise on her arm. "That way, this type of thing won't happen again."

Georgia sighed, but it was because of the look on his face that told her he meant it, that he wanted nothing more than to protect the two younger women from everything.

Dammit. It was how she often felt toward Matthew, and even Jules and Ana. Protective because she loved them. He really did love his team. Had probably been fond of the woman Georgia had replaced when she'd transferred to the CCU. "You can't always protect everyone."

"No? But I can try." He paused, eyed her. "How would you feel about being handcuffed to my side for every case?"

"Infuriated." Her words lacked any heat, and they both knew it.

"But you'd be safe." His hands fell to rest on either side of her hips, and she realized she'd shifted closer to him. She sat directly in front of him.

"And miserable. This..." She fingered the edge of the files sticking out of his bag where it sat on the couch. "Is who I am, too. Just as much as it is who you are. And that's wonderful."

She leaned in, no hesitation in her manner, and touched his lips with hers before pulling back. It was the first move she'd made in this strange dance they'd been doing for days. She didn't understand what prompted it completely, just knew she'd learned something meaningful about the man at that moment. And she wanted to be a part of him, if for only a little while.

It was in what he hadn't said that she saw the truth.

Michael Hellbrook was a good man, one who loved his team. They were a family he'd created for himself, and he sacrificed himself to ensure they could have what they needed.

But who sacrificed for Hellbrook?

She certainly hadn't. She'd concentrated so hard on avoiding him and subsisting on the team that she was as responsible for the antagonism between them. She'd run away again, behind animosity and barbs.

She'd made no attempt to know him, no attempt to alleviate or circumvent the tension. It was as Ana had said; Georgia had been afraid of him. And she hadn't wanted to accept it.

Dammit. She'd made a vow years ago to not let fear rule her decisions or actions. Never again.

"Georgia?" He kept his hands to himself, and she respected that. He wasn't trying to rush her, to take charge like he had during their previous embraces. He must have understood she had to make the first moves in this dance. Thank God for profilers, especially ones who could read a woman's mind.

Her hand went to the top button of his shirt and deliberately set it free.

She thrilled when his breath caught and his eyes widened. His heart rate jumped beneath her fingers, and she laughed, feeling the rush of sexual power that she'd not felt in three years. Her fingers finished the last button, and the white cotton parted to reveal a simple white undershirt.

Hellbrook had figured out her intent, and he rolled those broad shoulders so the shirt fell, landing against the back of the couch. He didn't touch her. "I'm not going to ask what you're doing."

"If you needed to, Hell, I'd be worried." Her fingers went to her own blouse as a sudden rush of nerves hit her. "Let's say I'm expanding on your experiment, adding a very important variable. Taking it to its logical conclusion."

A week ago, she never would have imagined being in this position. Georgia wasn't comfortable with ninety-degree turns in her personal life, and this was a definite one-eighty. Yet, then again—this felt right.

# Chapter Forty-Four

HELLBROOK must have sensed her hesitation. His hand covered hers, and he kissed her, the action slow and deliberate. He touched only her hand and only her lips.

Georgia closed her eyes, her breath sighing out. He tasted of Hell, heat, and spice. He kept the kiss light, inconsequential, but when he pulled back, her blouse was undone, hanging open to reveal her blue bra.

His hands slipped the blouse off her shoulders. "Beautiful."

The look in his eyes told her he meant it, and Georgia felt beautiful. She smiled, slow and deliberate, but said nothing.

He wrapped strong hands around her waist and lifted her from the coffee table and onto his lap, parting her knees so that she straddled him. His fingers burned as they trailed over her spine to play with the fastener holding the blue silk in place. One hand followed the path of elastic around to the front. He cupped one breast, ghosting his thumb over a hard nipple.

Georgia shivered.

He brushed his lips over her neck, the day's growth of beard rough enough against her skin to shoot fire through her nerves. His breath whispered against her ear. "Can I take this off?"

He tugged on one strap.

"No." She arched her back seductively, forcing more of her breast into his large, hot hand. Georgia shook her head, then paused, but only for a moment. " _I'll_ do it."

She ignored the twinge in her injured shoulder as she reached behind her with both hands, flicking the clasp. Her eyes stared into his as she slid the straps down, the bra draping over the hand he'd yet to move. Georgia put her left hand on the coffee table for balance and leaned back to study her partner.

Every inch of her skin shivered at the heat on his face. Her senses bloomed. Her focus expanded to capture the erotic words of Bryan Adams on the sound system, then narrowed to only Hell. The room was hot, her skin suddenly slick and dewy, even though she'd been chilled earlier.

"You are so damned beautiful."

He said it without inflection, in a tone she'd heard so many times delivering profiles or countless facts. That, more than anything, told her he meant what he said.

"Are you with me here, _sir_?" She tugged at his undershirt. "Are you going to do anything besides observe, Agent Hellbrook?"

He stood, the move surprising her for its suddenness. He filled her sight, staring straight down at her. "How far do you want to take this?"

"To the logical, natural end." She started to stand and then laughed when he bent down and lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressed her lips against his before tilting her head back to look into blue eyes. "What about room service?"

"Screw room service. I have a different appetite tonight."

Hell was almost afraid he'd drop her. He sensed a significant change in his partner, something more than an acceptance of the physicality of what they were about to do. It meant so much more than simple sex.

He shifted one hand, dropping it to cup one globe of her ass. Her body was toned and fit, yet so feminine and curved, he was certain he must have died and gone anywhere but hell. His other hand cupped the back of her neck, capturing the silk strands of dark hair beneath his palm. In a few moments, he'd be able to answer the question that had been indelibly seared into his mind.

How soft was Georgia Dennis?

Hell couldn't wait to find out.

Long strides carried them both to the door to his half of the suite. He'd have her in what passed as his bed. His. It was only fitting that he claimed her as his.

He lowered her to his bed and then reached out to flip on the bedside lamp. He wanted to see.

He pulled his undershirt over his head, dropping it carelessly to the floor. He left his trousers on. Hell didn't want to rush her, though she showed no indication of second thoughts.

Her eyes were clouded with only sexual lust. Lust that burned for him. That thought had him dropping his head to meet hers as she rose on one elbow. As his lips captured hers, his hands captured her breasts.

She moaned into his mouth, and he captured her breath next. Her head fell back, exposing her neck to him once again. Her hand twisted into his hair, narrow fingers spreading in the strands.

She pulled him closer.

Hell burned hotter. He slipped the jeans she wore off her hips, revealing a scrap of ice-blue silk that matched the bra perfectly.

"Your turn." She ran her hand down his chest, lazily heating his skin beneath her touch. "Time to show all your...variables."

"Menace." Hell laughed, but he knew when to follow orders. Pants and boxers were soon dropped to the floor, and he was joining her on the bed. His hand trailed over the blue silk she still wore. "How about I eliminate this variable?"

"Please do." She arched her hips, allowing him to slip the panties over her legs. He tossed them to the floor.

He pulled back to look. She was as exquisite as he'd expected. He had to taste.

He started with her lips, then worked his way down, paying careful attention to her neck. He ran his tongue over the hollow of her shoulder. He nipped, scraping his teeth over her skin before exploring lower.

He shivered when her lips grazed his shoulder. She bit him, the wound containing more force than Hell expected. "Hey! Be gentle!"

"Poor Hell." She snickered and then gasped when he pinched one nipple in retaliation. She arched when he soothed with his mouth. Her breath came in quick little rasps that had him smiling.

"Quit laughing." She squirmed beneath him.

"And if I don't?" He nipped her ear, held her still for a moment. "What are you going to do?"

"Strangle you!" She pulled his head up, using her hold on his hair to guide him back to her mouth. "After!"

"You have a violent streak, don't you, princess?"

"Only where you're concerned."

Hell laughed again.

"Hurry!" Her fingers sunk into his hair as she arched under his mouth.

Hell knew when to follow orders, and he'd gladly follow hers. With a hand that shook, he touched the soft skin of her inner thighs. He raised his head and captured her mouth as his questing fingers became more intent.

He tasted her gasp when his fingers found her hot and ready. Her hands pulled at him, nails sharp in his skin.

"Georgia."

"Please." She stared at him. He stared back until her eyes half closed and she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. At that angle, they were a perfect fit.

Hell found the rhythm that suited them both and began to move. He watched her face as he did, as she rose her hips to meet him with each deepening move of his.

When she began to break apart, he knew it. Thrilled in it. Her eyes clouded. Her lips trembled. Her body shivered, and she bucked against him, then stopped. He felt a smile of satisfaction spread across his lips. He'd done this to her, had made the cool Georgia Dennis burn in his arms.

And she was hotter than he could ever have imagined. Hell felt himself begin to burn, then he threw himself into the flames with her.

The phone ringing on the nightstand woke Hell first, several hours later, and he reached for it, vaguely aware of the other cell phone ringing on the opposite table and Georgia's blind grab for it. "Hellbrook."

He listened as Dan filled him in. He ended the call before turning toward Georgia. She'd flipped the light on, then settled against the headboard, blanket pulled to her chest as she wrote on the hotel notepad.

Hell took a moment to study her, to see how she was processing what had happened between them. She must have felt him staring; she turned and faced him. "Back to real life, again, huh?"

"I guess you could say that. That was Dan. The DNA match was conclusive. Travis Byrum raped Claire Reid, and his truck tires match those found at the scene near Kirby Jaysons's body. And traffic cameras put him in the area where Hailey Ann Michaels was last seen. Hannah Byrum confirms everything. We've got him."

Georgia looked at him for a long moment. "And now it's back home to our real lives."

"With a few very important changes."

# Chapter Forty-Five

HELL was six yards from his office when he was stopped by one of the last men he wanted to see the midnight after he'd slept with Georgia.

The head of PAVAD stood six inches shorter than Hell and was almost two decades older. He was wiry, his body still lean and hard even though he was in his mid-fifties. His hair had probably once been the same rich brown as his daughter's, but now it was nearly all silver. The brown eyes were his daughter's, too.

They were cold when they met Hell's. And then Dennis senior got a good look at the woman walking at Hell's side, and his eyes filled with concern. "Georgia, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Bruises, I swear. No blood, no broken bones." Georgia smiled at her father, obvious love on her face. For once, Hell didn't feel the urge to sneer.

Dennis pulled Georgia's chin in his direction, his eyes searching her face. Hell wondered then how Dennis did it—how did he send his only child out to catch the very monsters he wanted to protect her from? "Georgia?"

"Dad, I'm fine. The wrong end of a few thrown rocks." Georgia gave him a look full of meaning.

Dennis looked at Dr. Bellows, who stood at Georgia's left, a clear question in his eyes. Dr. Bellows jerked her head in a nod. Dennis relaxed.

"Dad, I'm ok. What are you doing here? It's late, and where's—"

_"Mommy!"_

The piping voice startled Hell so much he dropped his bag. He felt the brush of a tiny tornado as a little boy with wild blond hair and glasses ran by.

"You're back, you're back, you're back! I missed you, Mommy. I missed you!"

Georgia's eyes glowed. Her whole body shouted her pleasure, her joy, at seeing the preschooler. She dropped her bag and scooped him up to rest on her hip. She danced him around in a small circle. "I'm back, I'm back, I'm back!"

"Grandpa had a job-view." The little boy tangled his fingers in his mother's hair before peeking over her shoulder at the agents who'd followed Hell and Georgia. "Mac-eye! Hi! Hi! Aunt Jules, Aunt Jules, _Aunt Jules_! Did you bring me anything?"

The medical doctor's eyes flashed a pain that was so quick that most would have missed it. Hell caught it and knew what it meant. "Sorry, Mad-Matt. I had to save all my pennies for a really big birthday present for this kid I know."

"Is it me? Is it me? I like really big presents."

Georgia handed the little boy to his aunt. Bellows snuggled him against her chest, dropping kisses to his head, whispering something in his ear.

"That's ok, Aunt Jules. You always give really good presents." The little boy yawned, then reached back for his mother. The two women shifted him seamlessly, Bellows reaching up to remove his glasses and tuck them in Georgia's pocket. A tiny blond head soon rested on his mother's shoulder. Georgia rocked him unconsciously in the manner of mothers throughout history.

Hell found her as sexy rocking her child as he had in a Dakota hotel room.

"Hellbrook, while you're here, I'll need a minute."

Dennis broke into Hell's thoughts, and he felt a moment's rush of guilt. Had Dennis already heard about him and Georgia? Hell's voice came out garbled when he answered. "Of course. Georgia, if you'll wait here...there's one more thing we need to discuss."

Her cheeks turned pink, just the slightest flush. She knew what he referred to. "Yes, but not too long. I need to get him home and to bed."

"This will only take about ten minutes, sweetheart," Dennis said. "But if you'd like, I can take Mattie home with me. Let you rest."

"No. I'll take him with me. I've missed him."

"He's missed you, too. Hellbrook, your office?"

"Of course." Hell shot Georgia one more glance, a small smile touching his lips. One he hoped her father didn't understand. She did. He could see it in the way her dark eyes widened slightly. "Ten minutes."

Hell sank into his chair, waiting for Georgia's father to say whatever it was he had to say. He felt awkward in a way he hadn't expected. He'd been angry at this man for so damned long. And in the six months the CCU had been a part of Dennis's PAVAD, they'd spent little time in one-on-one conversation. "What's this about?"

"A few changes around here." Dennis didn't sit, instead standing against the closed door.

"What kind of changes?" The last change this man had made had equaled Georgia being dropped into Hell's lap.

"Funding." Dennis smiled, an expression of mixed triumph and excitement. "All you're asking for plus more. Division-wide."

Hell took the first file from him. What was Dennis saying? "That's great. So now we can finally get the damned sat phones?"

"That and more. About time, too. Tomorrow morning, we'll talk about how the changes will be implemented. I wanted you to have that, to have time to go over it before we talk."

"Of course. Am I getting a few new agents?" He'd wanted at least two. Had asked for that many months ago.

"You might say that. Try two or three full teams to command." Dennis dropped another folder in front of Hell. "This explains a bit more."

Hell couldn't get his mind around it. This was what he'd been envisioning for the CCU since he'd created it. Multiple teams able to mobilize in any of the four directions when a call came in. As it stood, there were many cases they couldn't take simply because their time was consumed with others. But a four-team unit, that would change everything. "How much say will I get in those teams? This going be like your daughter's situation?"

"No. You'll give me your list of preferences, I'll give you mine, and we'll both make the decisions. Although..."

"Although...what?"

"We're losing Brockman and Stephenson's teams." Dennis's face turned contemplative.

"They know yet?" It didn't surprise him about Stephenson's. It wasn't the strongest of teams. But Brockman's group? That would prove a hindrance to the entire division. They were equally as good as Hell's team.

"No. I wanted to speak with you about that first. You've got funding for twenty-two more people. I'd like you to consider absorbing Brockman's team into the CCU. And the agent I interviewed this evening. I'd like him as a potential team leader. Want him to do a tag along on your next case. Len will get you his personnel jacket in the morning. He comes with a high recommendation from Fin McLaughlin. A former partner of Fin's."

"All of Brockman's?" They were certainly familiar with how the CCU operated. They were his first choice as a backup team. And he personally liked and worked well with each member. "Ana McLaughlin and the rest?"

"Yes, on the rest. Except, Ana's CEPD is going under the CHILDS division. Ana's being promoted to head up CHILDS."

"I'll keep Brockman's team," Hell said. He'd rather have a high-functioning experienced team than one he'd have to train and basically babysit for months.

"Thank you."

"I also want Bellows."

"Excuse me?"

"The doctor was a godsend this case. I think having a pathologist of her caliber will be a great benefit. Assigned to the CCU, shared by the four teams. Be an asset all around. And her assistant, Mia Ripley." It made sense to Hell. Plus, he was sure it would make Georgia happy. Her friend Ana would remain in St. Louis, and he'd see about getting Dr. Bellows, too. He liked that idea a lot. And both women were great at their jobs, so it wouldn't hurt the CCU in the slightest. The exact opposite.

"It would be nice to have Julia in the St. Louis area." Dennis seemed to echo Hell's thoughts.

"Georgia would like that, I think. She told me her and Bellows's history."

Dennis stared at him a moment. "Your honest opinion, then? Have you seen enough to determine that Julia can handle the demands of the CCU?"

"Yes, as certain as I am that your daughter can. Plus, the woman seems to have balls of steel."

"She does, indeed. Then I will speak with her. Offer her a position."

"Great. I like the idea. I'll review the applicants tomorrow and make a list of my top forty preferences. Maybe fifty. I've got six times that many recent applicants." It would be a time-consuming process to get just the right blend of agents and talents. But he'd do it.

The CCU would be more than it was now.

He owed that to Edward Dennis. The man had done a lot of political networking in order to get these kinds of funds. Hell knew that. It would have been long and difficult work. And he'd not had to do it, thank God. He didn't have the tact or diplomacy. The older man nodded, then started out the door.

"Dennis?"

"Yes?" The man turned back.

"Thank you."

"You're the best at what you do. And it's needed. It's my job to see to it that this division makes a difference. Now, I believe our ten minutes are up. Best not to keep Georgia waiting." Dennis nodded, and Hell wondered if he was actually uncomfortable with the gratitude.

Interesting. Maybe Dennis was as uncomfortable with recognition as his daughter had insisted.

# Chapter Forty-Six

GEORGIA was waiting for him, settled into her desk chair, rocking Matthew while making small talk with Agent Lorcan. Carrie sat nearby, her attention focused on the computer screen in front of her. Dr. Bellows had disappeared somewhere, and Hell assumed she'd gone with her assistant who'd joined them on the flight back. Dr. Bellows had mentioned driving the younger woman to family in the area, while Dr. Ripley finished recovering from the burns on her arms. Dan was watching Carrie's work.

Hell looked at the computer screen on his way. Carrie was running a photo-aging program. Dan was looking for his family again. He did it almost every spare moment he had.

Hell wished he knew of some way to help his friend find his family. But he'd tried before. Dan's ex-wife had vanished, doing one hell of a job of hiding.

"Carrie, Dan. Go home. You can do that in the morning," Hell said. "Carrie, you are not to rush back to work if you don't feel like it, understood?"

"But I want to. _Want_ to. Don't want to sit at home when I could be helping." She didn't look at him, focused on the screen. He tapped her shoulder until her eyes focused on him.

"Ok. But you're taking it easy. Until you're off the crutches, you're in the office for every case. We'll teleconference if necessary."

Georgia nodded. "He's right, Carrie. Don't rush."

"I won't. But I want to work. You're going to work, right, Georgia? Even though you're hurt, too. So will I."

"Yes."

"But both of you are going to be reasonable, or I'll chain both your asses to my side. Or Dan's," Hell said. "Agent Lorcan, I understand you'll be doing a tag along to see if PAVAD works for you?"

"Yes. I've had another offer from the Indy office. I've friends there, too. But Fin thought this place might be a better fit," Agent Lorcan said from his position in a chair near Georgia's desk.

"Briefing is at nine in the morning," Hell said. "For the rest of you, go home. Get some rest. Dan, you'll see to Carrie?"

"Of course." Dan turned away from the computer just as a photo of a beautiful strawberry-blond woman popped up. Hell would have Carrie print it later. He'd circulate it again. It had been a few years since he'd tried. It wouldn't, couldn't, hurt to try it again. Dan's oldest was probably at least Carrie's age. And Dan had not seen her since elementary school. He felt for the man.

"Good. Georgia, you have your things?"

"Everything I need is right here." She kissed Matthew's blond hair. "And in my bag."

"Why don't you let me carry him? That can't be good for your shoulder. You can carry your bag this time." He held out his arms as she stood.

She handed him her son. "Thank you. But I should warn you, he drools in his sleep."

There was a wet spot on her shoulder. He found it endearing. Why was she so attractive when with the kid? Because it was a side of her he'd seen so rarely? He wanted to know and see everything about her.

Matthew felt warm and slight as he cuddled against Hell's chest. Hell carried him to the parking garage, where Georgia made quick work of pulling the child seat out of her car and putting it in the back of Hell's. He slid the child in, and Georgia fastened him securely. "He'll sleep the whole way home. We can carry him in and dump him in his bed, and he'll not wake the entire time. He's a deep sleeper. A squirmy one, but he stays asleep."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Know you're responsible for another life? I've not had anyone to be responsible for in a long time. Just whatever team I was with."

"It's terrifying. And I wish I had more time with him. But, then again, it's the best thing I've ever experienced. That's something I can't explain." She yawned when she said it. "What did my father want? Does he know what happened in South Dakota?"

"I don't think so. I think he'd have tossed me in the basement dungeons if he had known."

"Haha. There's nothing sinister down there. I think you'd survive. Seriously, is it something you can discuss?" Hell appreciated her way of asking. There were going to be things he couldn't discuss with her if they continued this relationship, things that were specific to the unit.

"I can give you the basics. It'll be common knowledge in the morning."

"And?"

"Your father has secured the funding for three full teams to be added to the CCU." Hell smiled, though he wanted to shout. It was what he'd wanted for so long.

"You're kidding? That's amazing!" She smiled with him, her eyes showing the same excitement he felt. "When?"

"Your father and I will need to go through the applicants to the unit from the last two years—all three hundred of them—and make a list. Discuss each of the potentials."

"Wow. I didn't realize you had that many in line."

"More. I tossed several after you landed in my lap." He smirked.

"Ouch. I'm sorry it happened that way. I think there were reasons. I'm not sure what they were, but I'm sure there were some." Her words were serious, apologetic. He didn't want that.

"I'm glad it did. Although..."

"Although...what?" She'd tensed. He saw that out of the corner of his eye.

"If they were so determined you land in my lap, why didn't they toss you into my lap directly? Would have made things much easier for the both of us. Much more...expedient. And enjoyable."

"You're awful. I can see that going over with my dad really well." She laughed, then sobered. "He'll probably throw a fit when he finds out about this."

"Do you want him to find out?" Hell felt his smile disappear. Did he want that anytime soon?

"I think he'll have to. Don't you?"

"Yes. But not right now. Not tonight." He pulled his personal sedan into the empty space in front of the townhouse Georgia owned. "I wasn't going to leave you alone tonight, Georgia."

"I didn't think you would." She waited while he pulled the little boy from the child seat. Matthew didn't stir. She unlocked the door and led the way upstairs to Matthew's room. They tucked him in together, then she stepped out of the room.

He followed her into the room across the hall. It was delicate and feminine and smelled so much like her that Hell felt his gut tighten with an instant shot of lust.

He dropped his head down, rubbed his lips against hers. Used the hands resting on her waist to pull her up, pull her closer to him. Soon, her hands were fisting in the cotton of his shirt, her lower body tilting in a little closer.

"Georgia?" Hell lifted her. She didn't protest when his hands wrapped around her hips and guided her legs around his waist. "I thought you were tired."

He stepped toward the bed, and then lowered her until her back touched the blankets. His lips pressed a little harder, mouth tasting the barest hint of chocolate and coffee on her breath.

Her hands were insistent as she pulled him down with her. "Not too tired for this."

Hell felt the outline of her small body against him. Then, her grip tightened, she leaned forward, and the moan this time was hers.

His fingers settled on the tight muscles of her ass, flexed, then pulled her taut against his groin.

His hand slipped up, under the red shirt she wore, and ran over the smooth skin of her back. Her left hand rose, clenching in the hair at the back of his neck. Her right soon rose to join it, and she pulled his head down even lower.

"Georgia..." He spoke her name against her lips again before deepening the kiss.

He pulled back, hands slipping her shirt over her head as carefully as he could, mindful of the bruising littering her body. He pulled back to look his fill. She was small, but he'd been correct the last time he'd had her naked beneath him. The curves were exactly right. Perfect. _His_. "You're beautiful."

"A new observation?" she asked. "Just last week, I was the devil."

"Don't get snotty," he ordered, reaching down and nipping her collarbone. She squealed. They both laughed. "A very beautiful, tempting devil."

"Hell." She watched him with dark eyes filled with a hunger he echoed. One he'd thought never to see on her face, but was so glad he did, now.

His fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, the fly on his pants. Soon, he stood by the bed wearing only navy boxers.

"Sweetheart, it's been too damned long." He moved onto the bed fully, his knee sliding between hers and then higher.

She looked up at him, and he was struck again by the depth of sexual need glazing her eyes. She wanted him. He couldn't explain how that made him feel. Ten feet tall? Definitely. Like a damned superhero? Assuredly.

"A day? That's too long for you?" She smirked, then arched as his hand cupped her through her jeans.

"Eternity." He pulled back a little more, hands pausing on the band of her pants. He wanted them off of her, but not if she'd regret it later. "Are you going to be ok with this, with Matthew just down the hall?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath, and the movement of her chest was almost enough to distract him from his question. "Please, Hell."

"If you're sure." His hands made quick work of the denim, stripping her naked in front of him to reveal skin he just had to touch. Again. He did.

Georgia stared at him as he moved over her. The intensity in his eyes shocked her, the depth of whatever he was feeling more than she expected. It wasn't just sex, for either of them. He nudged one knee between hers, then higher. He ran his lips over her shoulder, and she arched her head back, giving him greater access. She shivered at the feel of his tongue on her skin.

Georgia had never been just an observer, and when he moved back to kiss her again, she was ready and waiting for him. Her hands touched him everywhere she could reach. Her lips were as active as his. She bit him, a small wound on his shoulder that she soothed quickly with her tongue. She thrilled at the sound he made when she ran her teeth and tongue over his neck.

He shivered in her arms, and she reveled in the knowledge that she had the great Michael Hellbrook vulnerable and trembling before her.

There was nothing headier than a strong man made defenseless. The power filled her, thrilled her—emboldened her.

She took full advantage of having his entire attention focused on her. She used teeth and tongue, lips and fingers, touching him as hotly and deftly as he touched her.

He used his hands surely, skillfully, used his mouth as freely—both kissing and whispering hot words and even hotter instructions—until she was as mindless as she'd ever been.

When they could both breathe again and she was wrapped in his shirt, she cuddled against him. "Congratulations, Agent Hellbrook."

"On?" His eyes were half closed, the look of a satisfied predator all over his face. His mane of hair stuck up around his head, mussed by her hands.

He was hers. In her bed. Now, she felt like the lioness, satisfied with the prey she'd captured. She kissed his chest, giggling when his heart immediately beat faster beneath her lips. "The success of the CCU. You've earned it."

"Thank you. Now, no more talk about the FBI or anything like it." He pulled her to him, covered her mouth with his. This time, his shirt stayed on her, both of them too impatient to remove it. Georgia fell into an exhausted sleep several long minutes later, held tight against his chest, surrounded by his warmth.

# Chapter Forty-Seven

HELL heard sniffling early the next morning. He turned his head, opening his eyes to see exactly who he'd expected. Georgia's son stood by Hell's pillow, a look of confusion on his face.

"Matthew." Hell didn't know whether to nudge the woman sleeping beside him until she woke or just deal with the kid himself. "Hey, buddy, what's wrong?"

That was all the invitation the kid apparently needed. He climbed onto the bed and over Hell's chest before Hell could even start to wake his mother.

"I hads a bad dream, Mr. Giant." Matthew snuggled into the tiny space between Hell and Georgia before pulling the blanket up over himself and the toy dog he clutched. "Mommy always makes them go away."

"I'm sure she does." Hell felt a moment's panic and eased a hand beneath the blanket to make sure he'd slipped his shorts back on after their last bout before falling asleep. He had, thank God.

"Relax, Hell." Georgia's voice was amused and sleepy. "He'll fall back to sleep in a few minutes. Then you can escape."

"I can honestly say this has never happened to me before." He tried to keep his voice low, but the little boy looked at him, blinking sleepy eyes at him.

"Did you and Mommy have a sleepover?"

"Sure did, Mattie." Georgia ruffled Matthew's hair, then snuggled him closer.

She still wore Hell's shirt.

Matthew was already asleep. Georgia kissed his forehead, her own eyes drifting shut. Hell reached over the child and brushed a hand down her cheek, stopping to ghost a finger over her lips. "Good morning."

"Good morning." She smiled, sleepy and soft. "How many hours until we have to be at the morning briefing?"

"Three."

"Good. Wake me up in an hour or so? I'm exhausted. Someone wore me out last night."

"Will do."

Hell stayed where he was for several minutes though he knew he'd not be able to slide back into sleep so easily. And it wasn't just because he was an early riser.

He'd never felt so awkward or so accepted in his life. For a moment, he was tempted to let himself imagine that these two people were his, and his presence was just the way their life was. Tempting thought. Very tempting thought. Something for him to think about.

He slipped from the bed, grabbing the jeans he'd worn the day before and pulling them on. He'd head down to Georgia's kitchen and see about getting them all some breakfast. As soon as they were on their way to work, he and Georgia would be making some serious long-term plans.

Half an hour later, he had toast made, eggs scrambled, and had found the chocolate syrup to make chocolate pancakes. He was just setting the table when he heard a key in the lock.

Edward Dennis pushed the back door to his daughter's townhouse open.

Hell froze.

Neither man spoke for several long moments. Finally, Dennis closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the silence. Dennis stepped further into the kitchen, took in Hell's disheveled appearance and lack of shoes or socks. The white undershirt. The breakfast laid out that Hell had prepared. Hell knew Dennis would have no trouble adding it all up. Dennis was a smart man, after all.

"I take it you've been here for a while? That discussion you needed to have with my daughter, it turned into an all-night one?"

His words were mild, but Hell didn't miss the anger behind them. Hell straightened, kept his expression cool. He'd known this was going to be a big hurdle. He just hadn't expected to face it quite so early. "Yes."

"Grandpa!" Matthew shrieked the word, running down the stairs and throwing his arms around the older man's knees.

"Hey, Matthew!" Dennis picked him up while still watching Hell.

"I hads a bad dream again," Matthew said. "Mommy and Mr. Giant made it go away."

"Did they? That's good." Dennis's expression darkened even more. "Where _is_ Mommy?"

"She's in the shower. She told me to tell Mr. Giant she'll be down in a minute." Matthew nodded with great importance. "They had a sleepover in Mommy's room last night."

Hell reminded himself that he wasn't an awkward teenager caught out with his first girl, despite the heat that hit his face. He was a full-grown man of thirty-eight. If he spent the night with a woman, that was their business. Not her father's.

Even reminding himself of that didn't lessen the awkward embarrassment he felt staring at that woman's father.

"Pancakes!" Matthew squealed when he saw the food on the table. "Mommy only makes pancakes at special times."

"Matthew, Grandpa and Agent Hellbrook are going to step outside for a few minutes. Can you eat your breakfast like a big boy?" Dennis sat the child in his booster chair.

"Yes. Can I have the chocolate stuff?" Greedy eyes were on the chocolate syrup Hell still held.

Dennis quickly fixed the child's plate.

Hell dutifully stepped outside.

Dennis's eyes were colder than Hell had ever seen them. "Care to explain?"

"No. It's between your daughter and myself." He was adamant about that. Dennis would not influence that.

"How long?" Dennis shot the words through gritted teeth.

Hell had seen the other man upset countless times—had even been the direct cause of that upset a good portion of the time. But never had Dennis looked as he did at that moment.

"A few days." Hell studied the flowers Georgia had planted in the flower box outside her living room window. When had she had the time? This was a home and a family. And if he wanted to be a part of it, Edward Dennis was someone he had to accept. Had to somehow get along with, make his peace with. Dammit, he'd known that. He just hadn't expected it to be at seven forty-five in the morning. "It wasn't planned."

"You know about her transfer request?"

"Yes. It's been discussed."

"So you know she wants out. This your way of changing her mind?" Dennis took a step back, his eyes going from hot anger to cold calculation. "Or is this your way of screwing with her? Confusing her?"

"What do you mean by that? She's more than—" Hell straightened, fist clenching.

"She'd better be," Dennis said, smirking as if he'd gotten an answer he wanted. "I won't have her toyed with. You understand me?"

"She's capable of handling herself and doesn't need you to protect her anymore." Because Hell wanted to be the one to protect her.

"I won't have some dick who has issues with me messing around with her. Not ever again."

Hell understood then. It wasn't Georgia or even Hell himself that Dennis doubted. It was residual guilt. "I'm not Emmons. I have no intention of using Georgia. Ever."

"You know about Emmons?"

"She's told me, yes. I wish _you_ had. I blamed you for Stanislaski for years. When it should have been Emmons blamed." Hell watched as the older man paled, then wrapped hands that trembled around the iron balustrade. "I wish that bastard had lived long enough to really suffer for what he tried to do."

Dennis looked away for a moment. When he looked back at Hell, his expression was more open than Hell had ever seen it. Hurting. "It took years for her to get even close to being the girl she was. And, half the time, I wonder..."

"I wish I had known."

"There are a few things I regret about that day. What happened to you and Stan. He was my friend, did you know?" Dennis's words were soft. Sad.

"No." Hell hadn't known that. Guilt settled on his own shoulders.

"He was. My closest. We went through the academy together, just like Georgia and Julia. Had our daughters around the same time. Lived in the same damned neighborhood. I'd give almost anything to go back and do that day over again. Send an extra man to where you were. Somehow."

"Don't. I don't blame you for what happened. Why would I? You made a choice and protected _her_." He meant it. What had happened to Stan was a tragedy, but the only ones at fault were Emmons, and, to some extent, Georgia's mother.

"Everything else that's happened since then is over and done. This...thing...between your daughter and me? It isn't about that. And it isn't about her leaving the CCU, though I'd prefer it if she didn't. But that's got to be her decision. I won't pressure her, and I won't force her to do anything. Ever."

"That's good to know. Now..." Georgia's voice had both men turning back toward the door. She stood there in the prim little navy suit she'd worn the first time they'd ever met. Damn, he wanted to peel her out of it. Always had. The expression on her face told him she probably wouldn't allow it anytime soon. Georgia did not like being discussed. Hell tried not to wince at the look in her dark eyes.

"If you two are finished discussing my life and what pertains to it, breakfast is getting cold. And the briefing starts at nine. Our boss hates it when we're late."

# Chapter Forty-Eight

MONDAY morning's briefing started like any other for Hell. Except, this time, he was more aware of Dennis's daughter than he was of Dennis himself. Georgia sat on his left only because he'd sat down after she had. The scent of her perfume and the heat of her body served double duty to distract him from the purpose of the weekly meeting Dennis insisted each team attend. She'd said little to him on the drive in. And when he'd tried to explain about the discussion he'd had with her father, she'd withdrawn.

"Well done to Hellbrook and the CCU for their work in the Dakotas catching Travis Byrum." Dennis began the briefing with a recap as he always did. The director nodded in Hell's direction, though his eyes didn't linger on Hell's.

Hell had a long way to go to mend that particular fence. But he would, if he intended for his relationship with Georgia to be a long-term one. This morning was only the first step.

There was nothing casual about having sex with Georgia. It wasn't about sex with her. It was about having a connection to someone, someone who understood exactly who he was.

He wanted that with Georgia Dennis. He wanted what he'd had this morning—minus the visit from her father, of course. He wanted to wake beside her every morning, to watch as she fixed her son breakfast. He wanted to go home with her every night, to worry about bath time and about earaches, about bedtime stories and bad dreams. He wanted what came after the kid went to bed. He wanted to hold her through the night. Wanted her dressed in his shirt. He wanted the right to hold her every night. Hell was tired of being alone, and he wanted Georgia. Period.

But how did she feel about that? He was a profiler. What was her behavior telling him?

He thought for a moment, trying to remain objective. Her behavior told him she was afraid. Afraid of the changes, afraid of him, afraid of the past. Afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of losing control. Of sharing control of a relationship with someone else. Especially someone like him. Georgia was not a dominant personality, though she was far from submissive. She just didn't want to be at the center of every storm.

If he wanted her, he'd have to make her not afraid anymore. Make her not want to run from him. But how did he do that?

He looked at the woman in question, sitting beside him so neat and tidy in the navy suit with a soft piece of eggshell silk under the jacket. Her dark hair was straightened today, soft and sleek looking. When had she had the time to do that? Probably while he'd been on the porch with her father. It was as soft as it looked, Hell now knew that. She was as soft as he'd wondered.

His knee bumped hers under the table, and he hid a snicker. Her entire body stiffened. Her eyes darted toward his. He smiled, then dropped his glance to the small expanse of cleavage left exposed by that silk. If he got an opportunity, he'd explore that silk much more closely later. Like he'd wanted to that morning, watching her as she'd served her father orange juice and wiped Matthew's sticky face before offering Hell more pancakes.

Her cheeks turned pink, and Hell found that intriguing. He dropped a hand to cover her knee, ran his thumb up her thigh.

She sent him a chiding look, her dark eyes widening in warning. Hell didn't care. He knew his hand was hidden from view by the table, and he made certain his expression gave away nothing. He started drawing concentric patterns over the navy cotton, wishing the woman had worn a skirt. She had one in a chocolate brown that he'd always felt highlighted her legs perfectly. Unfortunately, she only wore that skirt on court dates when she'd be giving expert testimony. He'd always thrown those type of consults her way in the past, knowing that he and Compton—the two other psychologists on the team—hated to spend all day in court. He winced when he realized how unfair that had been of him.

She'd never complained, and now he knew that was because she was planning to leave him at the first available opportunity. Because, in her mind, whenever he'd do things like that, she was planning her escape. Preparing to run from him in the end. He wasn't aware that his hand had tightened on her knee until she leaned in against him. "Hell, is everything all right?"

"Yes. Just thinking." He tried to smile at her but didn't think he pulled it off very well.

"Of?"

"You."

"And that makes you have that expression? Not reassuring." She sat back in her chair, her expression one of concern.

"We can discuss it later. In my office, perhaps. A personal consult," Hell said. He'd take her in his office, pull the blinds shut, back her over to his desk, and explain to her that she needed to always wear skirts on Mondays. He'd show her why if necessary— _after_ he explored that silk.

A fun little fantasy that he wouldn't act upon. Not while on the clock, anyway.

"After the briefing?" she asked.

"That would be fine." He smiled wickedly, though his tone was almost bored. He'd spend several long minutes consulting with her.

It didn't happen, of course. Her father caught them as they were gathering their files to leave. "Hellbrook. I need to see you and your team in conference room B."

"Sir." Hell nodded, then turned to the agents beside him. Compton was missing, given medical leave for four weeks. Carrie was back, complete with the two new laptops Hell had requisitioned for her after the fire had destroyed her others, though she wobbled a bit on the crutches. Her presence didn't surprise him in the least.

Hell would admit it. It hurt him to see Carrie injured. Georgia had been correct when she'd said Carrie was special to him. Guilt that he hadn't been able to protect her filled him. "Be there in five."

Hell was stopped by one of the last people he expected to see still hanging around the St. Louis office. Dr. Bellows was once again dressed in that yellow sweatshirt and clutched a thick file in one hand. She cornered him as he and Brockman hit the elevators shortly before the lunch hour.

"Dr. Bellows, I thought you were with your assistant."

"I was. Now I'm officially on vacation. At least through Mattie's birthday party Saturday."

"If you're on vacation, why are you here?" Brockman tilted his head and studied her, much the way Hell had seen him do with suspects.

"Lunch date with the Georgia's father." She shifted her shoulders, subtly—or not so subtly to a profiler—directing her attention straight to Hell. "There was an anomaly I wanted to discuss with you. If that's alright with Dr. Brockman."

Hell shot the other man a look. Brockman actually shrugged, an innocent expression on his face. Brockman seemed to take pleasure in needling the medical examiner. Hell would make a point to grill him about it later. Dr. Bellows seemed to view Brockman as a mildly irritating insect.

"In here." Hell motioned to the nearest office—Brockman's. "What's this about?"

She spread the files out on the desk, then flipped the top one open. "These are the X-rays from South Dakota. A courier brought them this morning, along with George's. As her physician on record, I insist I get copies of everything. From X-rays taken of Dr. Compton's injury, the angle of impact was one hundred eighty degrees—lateral. Whoever hit him was equally as tall as he was. Six three or four. Possibly taller. And probably heavier. Sixty pounds, minimum." Dr. Bellows pointed to the film in her left hand with a gnawed-on pencil that had seen many better days.

Brockman moved to look over her shoulder. He snatched the pencil from her hands. "Travis Byrum was five-foot-five."

"As tall as I am. And he weighs fifty pounds more than I do. Your Agent Sparks outweighs me by thirty pounds, and she's four inches taller than I am."

Hell frowned. "Carrie said he was big."

"She certain?" Brockman picked the scan up, studying it closely.

"Carrie is always certain. She remembers details you and I wouldn't. It's a gift of hers. If she said he was big, he was big. I didn't catch that before now. Dammit." Hell ran through the ramifications in his head. What else had they missed? Had he missed?

"So, gentlemen, I hate to break this to you—" Dr. Bellows closed her files, snatched the pencil back, and stuck it behind her ear.

"We missed an UNSUB," Brockman said.

"Fuck." The word escaped before Hell could censor it.

"I'll call Stanton and Handers, get them back out there." Brockman pulled out his phone.

"Autopsies only indicated one. And that was consistent with all the bodies found. Even the blow to the back of Maggie Evans's head. It came from an attacker near her size," Dr. Bellows pointed out. "And George said the DNA was a positive match. Add in the information you got from Hannah, and it's clear Travis Byrum was your guy."

Brockman nodded. "It didn't profile with more than one UNSUB. The opposite."

"So what does that mean?" Hell asked. "We had one UNSUB responsible for the Dakota killings and another that attacked only my team?"

"I shot the guy," Bellows said. "I know I did."

"But there were no forensics to back that up." Brockman ruffled through the stack of files on his desk before pulling one free.

"Yeah, well. It was raining pretty heavy there for a while." Bellows stood, hands on hips, ready to challenge Brockman. "We all know rain does a number on forensics, now don't we?"

"Byrum didn't have a scratch on him when we picked him up. At least, not any that didn't occur when Georgia slammed him to the concrete. Georgia thought at one point there may have been a copycat. But there was nothing to back it up, so we discarded that theory."

"A copycat with a grudge against your team? Because that's what it's starting to sound like." Brockman tacked his copy of the profile to the bulletin board beside his desk. He took the file from Bellows and added Compton's X-ray. Hell handed him copies of the DNA report. "Think about it. Carrie and Compton attacked. Your tires slashed. Fire that started in Georgia's room—"

"About that..." Bellows handed Hell another report from her files. "I spoke with Agent Stanton. The fire started in room 203, not 103."

"And who was in 203?" Hell couldn't remember.

"I was." Bellows said it without inflection. Like Hell had told Ed Dennis, balls of steel.

"And the fire started in _your_ room?" Brockman's eyes narrowed on her. " _You_ were in the woods when Carrie was attacked. You say _you_ shot the UNSUB. Less than seven hours later, _your_ room is torched. And _you_ fit the victimology."

"Wow. Astounding powers of observation." Her words lacked heat. "So what's _your_ point?"

"Are we absolutely certain Byrum didn't start the fire?" Hell asked. He'd received the arson reports, but hadn't had the time to review them. The rest of the afternoon had been blocked out for him to cross-reference and tie up any loose ends regarding Carterville.

Well, this was one hell of a loose end he now had to tie up.

"I don't think anyone asked him." Brockman pulled out a transcript of the interviews they'd had with Byrum and with Hannah.

"Go back to Carterville. Take the jet. You and Ana specifically. See what you can get from Byrum. Go over everything that happened from the moment PAVAD arrived in South Dakota. Talk to Handers, Stanton, all the agents, and all the locals." Hell wanted to go himself, but their next case had to take priority. DNA was conclusive that Byrum had killed those girls. The theory of a second UNSUB was just that, a theory. And with a limited number of agents, he couldn't justify the entire team returning for only a theory.

"Of course." Brockman made a note on his phone. "You're thinking it was a local LEO or field agent with a grudge?"

"At this point, I don't know. It's as likely as there being two UNSUBS," Hell said before turning toward the silent woman between them. "Dr. Bellows, thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Anytime. Now, if you'll excuse me, Eddie has promised me lunch. Apparently, he didn't eat much at breakfast. Something about his appetite being off and never eating pancakes again. Strange man."

Hell watched her as she left, certain he hadn't heard her right. Certain he'd imagined the wicked spark in her pretty hazel eyes. He turned to the other man. "Did she just call him _Eddie_?"

"I think she did."

"That woman has balls of steel."

# Chapter Forty-Nine

GEORGIA sank onto the leather couch in her father's office. He just looked at her. "Dad."

" _Hellbrook_ , sweetheart? Can I at least ask how the impossible happened?" His bewildered expression was one she wasn't used to seeing on his handsome face. She smiled.

"I'm not sure. And it was more improbable than impossible." Six months ago, six weeks ago, six days ago, if someone had told her she'd be sitting in her father's office talking not about her new team, but about her new relationship with Hellbrook, she'd have told them they were insane.

But now it somehow didn't seem that insane. She shook her head. "No, that's not true. I do know how it happened."

"Care to share? I mean, I'm happy you were—are—ready to start dating again. Bryan wouldn't have wanted you to spend your life alone, or with just Matthew and me. He'd want you to be happy. Even if that meant with someone else. But Hellbrook is not who I would have pictured that person being. Someone like Brockman, maybe. Not Hellbrook. I thought you despised him, to put it mildly." His dark eyes still showed his confusion. " _Hellbrook_?"

She wanted to laugh for an absurd moment. He was a good father. He'd never once mentioned his issues or disagreements with Hell. Was just concerned with how happy she was. If she told him right now that Hellbrook made her ecstatic and was all she wanted from this world, he'd be completely happy for her. Period.

For a moment, she had the urge to tell him just that. And that feeling had her pausing. Why did she have that urge? "Daddy...I didn't despise him. I was afraid of him."

"Excuse me?"

"Afraid of risks. Like always. Personal risks. Even with Bryan, you remember." She'd found the ring Bryan had bought for her in his personal belongings when she'd picked them up at the East St. Louis morgue. She still wore the ring on a chain around her neck, as a reminder that time was precious, and as a reminder that she'd been afraid to get married, afraid of the changes it would bring to her life, her career.

She had been afraid she couldn't make a marriage work. It wasn't like she'd had a great example to follow with her own parents' marriage. Bryan had helped her work through those fears. He'd been holding the ring until she was absolutely ready to wear it. It hurt her that he'd never known she'd gotten to that point. That she'd been too afraid for so long. She'd wasted so much of their time together. She'd vowed not to ever waste time with someone she loved again. But did she love Hellbrook? She didn't even want to think about love yet. But, suddenly, that was all she could think about.

"Yes. But you worked through those fears with him. How did Hellbrook scare you? And what made that change? Why now?"

"I know you don't understand it, but when you look closer at him, it makes the risk less frightening." She loved him. She was in love with Michael Hellbrook. Why hadn't she realized before this moment?

Because she'd been afraid.

"You sound confused, sweetheart. Are you absolutely sure Hellbrook's what you need right now?"

" _Yes_. And he's what I want right now." The words came slowly. Determined, for all that they made her feel ill.

"Is there anything I can say to that?"

"Probably not. When we're together, that tension, the need for constant control is gone, Daddy. I don't feel like I have to watch, weigh everything. If I'm angry at him, I can let him know. In whatever words or terms I want. When I'm happy, it's the same. Just like with Bryan. But different, too. Does that make sense?"

Bryan's love had been gentle, comfortable, for the both of them. It had grown softly. Hellbrook had been a fire that had blinded her for a while. Six months, to be exact.

"Yes, sweetheart. It does." Her dad's smile was slightly sad.

"I'm not sure I want to transfer."

"About that. I was hoping we—Hellbrook and I—could talk you into taking on one of the new CCU teams. I think it would be a good career move for you."

"Does he know?"

"No. Not yet. I wanted to see if you thought you could work for him, just in a different capacity. This was before I found him making pancakes half naked in your kitchen."

"He had on his jeans. I just had his shirt upstairs." Georgia smiled at the pained expression on his face. "I don't know. I want him to have the choice of team leaders. He's worked hard to get the CCU to this point. I don't want to take any control from him. Not now. And I'm not certain I want to be on a different team than him. If I was, we could potentially not see each other for days, even weeks at a time."

"I'd be ok with that."

"Dad..."

She'd learned one thing losing Bryan the way she had. Time with the ones she loved was the most precious thing on earth.

"Think about this very carefully. Because if, six months down the road, you want out of the CCU, I'm not certain I'll be able to arrange it."

"I understand."

"A week to decide, then?"

"I think that will be long enough."

Tonight, she'd talk to Hell. See where he envisioned this thing between them going. Talk to him about her transfer request and what he wanted for the CCU. Give him an equal say in what happened. She didn't need a week. One night would be long enough.

But first, she needed a babysitter. She'd arrange that with Jules while at lunch. Then she'd need to plan.

Thirty minutes after Bellows showed him the X-rays and reports, Brockman and Ana were gone, waiting on the roof for a helicopter to rendezvous with Handers and Stanton.

He was in his office with the door open, going through every report pertaining to the South Dakota case. Had he missed something? Had his attention been so focused on Georgia that one UNSUB had been an easy answer? He hoped not.

The sounds of people in the bullpen just outside his door drew his gaze.

He heard her laugh, the sound sweet and rich. Hell smiled. He'd heard that sound so rarely. He stood, moved to his window to see what had amused her.

She sat on the edge of her desk, her feet swinging where they dangled. The medical examiner and Edward Dennis stood in front of her.

Georgia hopped off the desk, then grabbed her purse. Going to lunch with her father and Dr. Bellows, he'd bet good money on it.

They headed to the elevators, and he watched them, her. She turned back as they waited for the elevator and looked at his office. He made no attempt to hide that he watched her. She smiled, a slow expression that was just for him. It instantly had him replaying the events of the last evening.

The elevator opened behind her, and her father nudged her, diverting her attention away from Hell.

He wanted to be with her, wanted to be the one to make her smile.

He waited impatiently for her return. An hour had never dragged by so slowly. Tonight, he and Georgia were going to have a discussion concerning their futures. The CCU would not factor into it. Even if she left the unit, they'd still be in the same field office.

He could be content with that. He'd prefer she stay with his team, but if she wanted to leave, he could deal with that if he had to. They would still see each other, would still be free to explore this new relationship. Starting tonight.

He ran through what he had to say while reviewing copies of the South Dakota evidence over the next hour.

He'd tell her first that he'd never felt the way he did about any other woman before her. He'd tell her that he wanted the chance to be a part of her life—hers _and_ Matthew's. Tell her that, while he couldn't make guarantees and didn't have a damned road map complete with directions of where they were going, he at least wanted to try for something serious.

Feminine voices just outside his door had him looking up. Georgia and Dr. Bellows stood in his door, snickering at him. How long had they been there?

"Think he's daydreaming?" Dr. Bellows asked. "Bet he wants more chocolate pancakes."

"I wouldn't mind some, myself," Georgia said. "Maybe for dinner."

"Poor guy looks exhausted." Bellows studied him. "George, you should be ashamed of yourself. I think he has an actual hickey on his neck."

"That your professional diagnosis?" Georgia asked as Hell smacked a hand over the area. He'd noticed a red mark in the mirror, but he'd thought his shirt collar covered it.

"Yes, I believe it is." Bellows elbowed Georgia. "Poor guy. Sleep must have somehow been disturbed—by monkeys, maybe. And one must have bit him."

These two little comedians played off each other. That was evident. He'd bet they had driven the Bellows brothers crazy. They'd probably do the same to him. Damn, he hoped.

"Something I can do for the two of you, ladies?" Hell stood and rounded his desk.

"No. Something we can do for you." Georgia lifted the sack she held and placed it on his desk. Dr. Bellows added the cup she carried. "Brought you lunch."

"Thank you." It surprised him, he couldn't deny it. When was the last time someone had done something as casually considerate as buying him takeout? He couldn't remember.

He grabbed her waist, lifted her straight up until her mouth was even with his. She squealed, then laughed when one of her shoes slipped off and hit the carpet. She said his name.

"Close your eyes." He told the now-laughing medical examiner. She did better than that, stepping out of Hell's office and closing the door behind her. That left him within kissing range, complete with privacy. Hell did just that.

After several long moments, he lowered Georgia until her feet were once more touching the industrial brown carpet. "Mmm. Thank you. Very nice."

"You're welcome. But it is just a sandwich." She rooted for the shoe that had somehow ended up beneath his desk. "I also wanted to ask you to dinner. I know this little Italian place. Jules has agreed to stay at the house and babysit."

That sounded perfect to him. He'd wine and dine her, tell her how he felt. Then they'd go either back to her place and kick Dr. Bellows to the curb and celebrate, or back to his condo and celebrate. "That's great. I'll pick you up at seven?"

"Perfect." She smiled and kissed him again. "We've got a few minutes. Jules is probably guarding your door."

Hell would make the most of those minutes.

# Chapter Fifty

HIS office was ten yards past Hellbrook's, and was his haven. He'd always felt like he'd succeeded the instant he sank into his chair. His office wasn't the largest—Hellbrook's claimed that honor. But his was the neatest. He liked order. One thing that he hated, though—his damned air never quite worked right. The closer it got to summer, the more he felt like a damned roasting pig.

It helped if he propped his door open. He did, pausing when the sound of feminine giggles echoed down the hall. Laughter wasn't something he was used to hearing around this place. He stuck his head out his door, and there _she_ was, his little mouse. She was leaning against Hellbrook's door, one hand covering her mouth.

Her beautiful hazel eyes were happy and alive with humor. He stepped from his office and into the hallway. "Uh, hello, Doc. Surprised to see you."

She straightened, her face closing. The sparkle in her eyes faded. Turned to nerves. He was sorry to see it go, to see her afraid of him. Why was she? Did she know it was him who'd thrown rocks at her, who'd started the fire in her room? Who'd hurt her and her friends?

"Hi. I'm in town for a few days. How are you feeling? Any shortness of breath?"

"Huh? Oh...the fire." Guilt had him flushing. She wore that yellow sweatshirt, the one he'd seen her wear before. Probably because he'd burned all her other clothing. Including her underwear. That thought had him shifting nervously. Had she had time to buy more? Red, perhaps? Silk? Lace? "Yeah. I'm, uh, fine. Actually, I was just going to head to the coffee shop on the corner. Would you care to join me?" She hesitated, and it hurt. It wasn't like he'd asked her on a date or anything. It was just coffee. Little mouse should have been flattered he'd even asked. "Never mind. Forget I asked. You're probably busy."

Her soft little hand brushed the skin on his forearm. "Actually, I would, but Ed Dennis has asked that I meet with him in a few minutes."

"About what?" He blurted the question without thinking. Did Dennis suspect him? Was the director going to ask if she'd seen anything? The doctor's eyes turned even more wary. He realized then how the question had sounded. "Sorry. Not my business. How long are you in town for? Maybe we could go to dinner? My treat."

The same lines he'd used on another honey-haired, hazel-eyed lady almost exactly a year ago. He felt the absurd urge to smooth his hair and straighten his tie while he waited for her answer. Nothing had felt more important in his life.

"Honestly, I don't date."

Her tone was flat, but her eyes were filled with a pain he understood. He stepped closer.

"I lost my husband three years ago, and I'm not looking for anyone else. I spend every vacation with my family."

"And they're here? In St. Louis." The princess, probably. The pictures he'd burned were seared into his mind. She'd lost her husband, then. Poor mouse.

"Georgia Dennis is my sister-in-law. Her son, my husband's nephew. I appreciate the compliment, but..."

He grabbed her hand, squeezed it once, only wanting to comfort. It hurt when she tried to pull it away. "I understand. I lost someone, too. She was special. Her name was Linda. If you ever change your mind...Everyone can always use a friend who understands."

He dropped her hand as Hellbrook's door opened. Hellbrook and the princess stood there. Staring at him.

He got it pretty quick and didn't need the smudge of lipstick on the corner of the smug bastard's mouth to figure out Hellbrook had been grabbing a quickie with the princess.

And the little doctor had been guarding the door, giggling like a schoolgirl. He smiled, more at her than anyone else. Charming. Linda would have giggled, too.

Fifteen minutes later, he was waiting outside the door to Dennis's office. The door opened, and there was his little mouse and Dennis himself.

She was hugging him, her arm around his waist. Hugging that bastard Ed Dennis after turning down _his_ invitation. The anger that hit him was boiling. She'd turned him down. Was it truly because of the story she'd given him, or was it because she was already fucking Edward Dennis?

They certainly looked cozy. Dennis's hand rested on her waist. All he'd have to do was slide that hand down a few inches, and he'd be cupping the mouse's ass.

Dennis kissed her! Right on the mouth, right where anyone could see. Less than six feet from where he stood.

Did he respect her so little? Was that why she was still in town? To give Dennis some sort of booty call?

She was the same age as Dennis's daughter. That made Dennis no better than a damned child molester. And she preferred _Dennis_ over him?

"Sir?" The little Asian agent who was Dennis's assistant grabbed his attention. "You can go in now. Director Dennis will join you shortly."

He nodded at her, followed her into Dennis's office. Took a seat on the brown leather couch. Had Dennis and the doctor engaged in an office quickie of their own? The couch would have been the perfect spot for it.

Dennis shut the door after telling the mouse goodbye. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about..."

Did Dennis know? Was he about to be arrested? Had the redheaded girl or that kid Compton seen enough of him to give a positive ID?

Sweat stung his eyes, but he didn't dare reach to wipe it away. Perspiration equaled nerves. Dennis would know that. He swallowed before finding his voice. "What's this about?"

Dennis opened the file and withdrew a stack of forms. "There's no easy way to say this."

He knew. He relaxed his hands, forced his breathing to remain steady. "Say what?"

"We no longer need your team, Roger. It's being disbanded."

"What for?"

Dennis looked at him, pity mingling with a smirk on his face. "Quantico has decided to expand the CCU and eliminate some other units. Yours and Dr. Brockman's, for example."

"Bullshit. My team is just as good as the CCU." If the damned powers-that-be would just look closer, they'd see that.

"No, they're not," Dennis said. "No team is, and the bureau wants to capitalize on Hellbrook's success. This isn't easy for us. I can promise you that."

Sure it wasn't. Hellbrook's team got it all. Dennis's _daughter's_ team got it all. "My agents? What's to happen to them?"

"Transferring." Dennis passed him the orders. It would be his fucking job to tell them. Tell them to kiss St. Louis goodbye. Why couldn't Dennis do it? Fucking coward.

"I see. Brockman's team transferring, too?"

"In a sense. They're joining the CCU," Dennis said. "We're tripling the number of agents in it."

"And myself?" How was he supposed to work with Hellbrook's team, knowing what he had done?

"There's an opening in the Pittsburgh field office for someone with your skills and experience." A final form with his name on it was passed over the desk. He scanned it quickly. It wasn't a promotion. A damned lateral move. Dennis was punishing him. Had the mouse told Dennis of his invite? Was Dennis getting rid of his competition?

"I see." Dennis had to know. Why else would he be sending him away? But just what did he know?

Dennis was afraid to arrest him. That was it. Afraid to let it be known that he, Roger Stephenson, had gotten the jump on half of the great Hellbrook's team. Wouldn't want it getting out. What would that knowledge do for the great Hellbrook's reputation? Couldn't have the poster child for PAVAD looking like a loser.

So they'd toss him and his aside as so much trash. Once again, he and his were taking a backseat to Hellbrook. He didn't hear another damned thing the director said. It didn't matter how fucking good he was. He wasn't Dennis, Hellbrook, the princess, or their pals.

He didn't matter. His team didn't matter. Linda probably hadn't mattered to Dennis, either. Dennis had been her boss, after all. He was everyone's damned boss. He shouldn't have let her out in the field. But she hadn't mattered. None of it fucking mattered now.

# Chapter Fifty-One

SOMETHING was bothering Hell. His eyes weren't the same. They were clouded, introspective. Bothered. And she had a sneaking suspicion that whatever was bothering him centered fully on her.

She resisted the urge to slip her hand into his, to offer him some comfort for whatever it was that troubled him.

She wasn't used to seeing him so melancholy.

Her shoulder bumped his as they filed into the smallest of conference rooms outside the bullpen of the CCU. Her father waited inside, looking handsome and distinguished in a navy suit. He lived for her and Matthew and the FBI. In that order. He was such a good-looking man, her father. She hated that he had always seemed so alone. Was she becoming like him? A single parent, dedicated to her child and her career who, once that child was an adult, would only have that career?

She hoped not. She wanted someone who understood her. Like Bryan had. Like Rick had understood Jules. Like Fin and Ana understood each other.

Hellbrook certainly seemed to understand her. She'd heard his words to her father earlier. He understood how she felt about pressure. And he seemed to be sincere when he'd said it was her decision what happened with her own life. He understood that she wouldn't be pushed or pressured. And though he possessed a complex mind unlike anyone she'd ever met, she'd like to think she understood him.

That had to count for something.

"What's this about?" Hellbrook asked her father, taking a file that was handed to him by her father's assistant, Agent Len.

"The media is calling him The Ghost." Her father said.

"I've read about him." Georgia took her own copy of the file from Agent Len. "They're calling him that because he watches the crime scenes of his previous victims, then chooses a new victim from the people who cross that scene in the following week. Then he stalks the new victim for months."

"Yes. And he's struck again. This time in Kansas City. Our side of the river. I'm pairing your team with Alessandra Brockman and Agent Daviess. Agent Lorcan will be sitting in for this case as well. He's still undecided if the CCU is for him, and I've agreed to let him see how we do things around here."

He nodded at the dark-haired man who'd entered behind Carrie and her crutches. Georgia remembered him from Friday when they'd returned from South Dakota. Her father's midnight job interview.

Her father must really want him for the division to accommodate a late-night interview and allow him to sit in for a CCU case.

Lorcan was an attractive man, probably thirty-five or so, with dark hair and the strangest green eyes Georgia had ever seen. She'd noticed that the night before, while waiting for Hell to finish with her father. He moved with a fluidity that reminded her of Ana and spoke of many years' training in the martial arts. He wasn't as tall as Hellbrook, though it was very close, and he was definitely leaner, rangier. A very dangerous predator, but he had nothing on Hellbrook. Her lion would always win in a jungle fight. Hell was the king of the pride. This guy would prefer to slink around the forest, alone. A tiger, perhaps.

He nodded in their direction. "Hellbrook. Dr. Dennis."

Two other agents followed him in, and Georgia felt a genuine smile hit her lips. Paige Daviess and Alessandra Brockman were partners from the former Undercover Operations division. They were currently without a proper team, though they were often used to fill in for other agents for whatever reasons necessary.

They were two sides of the same coin, and that was reflected in their appearances. Alessandra had the same blue eyes as her older brother Mal, and the build and coloring of a Barbie doll. But she was far from fluff-brained. Her partner was a bit younger, taller, but thinner. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, and pale, Paige dressed only in black—unless the case demanded differently. The black was usually accented with heavy silver skulls or funky crystals, and she marched to her own unique beat.

"George." Paige nodded before turning to help Carrie settle into a chair. Georgia had never quite gotten the full story of how the two younger women knew each other. But Paige was fiercely protective of Carrie. Fiercely, though they'd never advertised their connection. Almost obsessively so. There was a story there—Georgia just didn't know it. "Care, thought you were taking a few days off at least."

"No. Wanted to work. Wanted to." Carrie didn't look up from the file she was reading. Her fingers tapped against the tabletop. "I'm ok, Paige."

"Ok. But don't be stupid." Paige shrugged. "So what's this about, sir?"

"We're going ghost hunting." Hellbrook nodded to Agent Len to begin.

Georgia pushed her worry about Hellbrook aside and focused on the new case. It was back to business as usual. She'd have time later that night to figure out what was weighing so heavily on his mind. The case was local, so they would have some time together in the evenings.

# Chapter Fifty-Two

ROGER called his boys to his office and had them shut the door. This wouldn't take long, dammit. Best to just get it over with.

"What's this about, boss?" The boy, Hartlett, asked. "A new case?"

"No. Dennis gave me the paperwork this morning. This team is transferring out of the PAVAD division. Disbanding."

"What?" Agent Logan, his most experienced agent, asked. "Why?"

"Apparently, we're not as popular as the CCU. They are expanding."

"That's nuts!" Agent Strette banged his fist on the arm of the chair. "We've been here longer than Hellbrook's team."

"Yeah. Tell me about it. I've been here eight damned years," he told them. "But none of that fucking matters to Dennis. I'm sorry. Here's the paperwork and your instructions."

"So that's that?" Logan took his file. "Nothing we can do."

"Not a damned thing. You boys finish up the cases on your desk. You have a week until you relocate." He gave a final order.

"What about you, boss?" Hartlett was pale. He knew the boy had liked being in St. Louis, had several friends in the area. It was probably his first transfer since graduating from Quantico.

Boy would need to learn that the fucking FBI owned its agents. Owned them, used them, drained them of everything, took from them all that mattered, and then when they were done, cast them aside like so much trash. "I'm going to be in my office tying up a few things. I'm being sent to Pittsburgh."

He waited until they were gone before lying his head on the desk in front of him.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, Pittsburgh. He could forget about Linda, forget about South Dakota. Forget about Mouse, even. Start over.

He wasn't sure why Mouse was still stuck in his head even though she'd turned him down. He was a man, not a pussy. He could handle rejection from a woman.

But he did miss Linda and was so damned tired of being so fucking alone.

Hellbrook had the princess. Hellbrook had the CCU. Had Dennis's and Washington's approval.

He had nothing.

He had to get out of there. For a while, at least.

The elevator to the ground floor was already occupied when he stepped in. As his fucking luck would have it, it was the princess and Mouse.

He couldn't help but watch the two, compare the two. His little mouse was skinnier, lacked the princess's curves. And she was taller. Just a bit, a few inches, maybe. Her hair and eyes were lighter. Some would prefer the dark exoticness of the princess, but the mouse radiated a sweetness he found irresistible.

She nodded at him when he entered, then turned her attention back to the princess.

"So are you going to take my dad up on the offer, then?" the princess asked.

"I think so. I'd rather be in St. Louis with you and Matthew. And being part of the CCU, well, we both know what that would mean."

Mouse had been offered a position in the CCU. She was staying in St. Louis. Dennis was keeping her in St. Louis. Where she'd be close to him.

He'd be in fucking Pittsburgh. He snarled, then covered it with a cough.

"I have a spare room," the princess said, adjusting that damn black bag of hers over her shoulder. "Two, actually. You can take your pick."

"Actually, your dad offered me the apartment over the garage at his place. I took him up on it. I'd hate to cramp you and Hellbrook's new...um...thing." Mouse grinned. She flashed a look in his direction. He pretended to be caught up in the file he held. "Besides, you and I haven't lived together in years. We'd probably murder each other."

"True. But I'm glad, Jules. Glad you're moving back. I missed you." The princess turned teary-voiced.

"I missed you, too. Although, this emotional dependency thing is freaking sad." Mouse turned serious. "I want to watch Matthew grow up. I need to."

"I know." The princess hugged her as the elevator doors opened. "And he will love having you around again. And so will I. And my dad."

There were tears in Mouse's eyes. He saw when he looked down at her. His heart hurt for her. She really loved the princess.

Still, she would be staying with Edward Dennis? Right there where he could spend time with her whenever he wanted? Could screw her whenever he wanted. Sick. Sick. Sick.

Why would she do that? Was she that confused, hurting that badly over her dead husband? Sure, he missed Linda, but not enough to take up with someone like Dennis.

Dennis was old enough to be her fucking father. Hell, for that matter, so was Roger. He had no business thinking of a woman like her that way.

He was two yards behind them into the parking lot, trying to look like he wasn't following their conversation. His parking space was close to the princess's, that was all.

"You'll be there by six tonight?" the princess asked.

"Yeah. Mattie and I will watch movies and hang out. While his momma sees about getting him a new step-daddy. I get it, Georgia. I really do."

"Oh, dammit, Jules. Am I really that crazy?"

"I don't think so. I like him. Hellbrook is good for you. I think he'll be good for Mattie, too. But are you sure you want to turn down the promotion?"

"Yes. I'm glad my father offered me my own team within the CCU, don't get me wrong. But...if I took it, I'd be gone all the time, would never see Hell. I don't want that."

Fire burned in his gut at the words he didn't have any business listening to.

"Still, you've wanted your own team for quite some time. And there are still two more team leader spots opening up. Are you absolutely sure you don't want one? I think it's yours for the taking."

Mouse's words had him fumbling his car keys.

The princess had been offered a promotion, a team of her own. While he was getting tossed aside. Two openings for team leaders, and he still got Pittsburgh?

Edward Dennis's doing, probably. Him and the great Hellbrook. The little princess had it going for her on all sides. Daughter of the king and fucking the poster-boy prince.

If it wasn't for her, he'd probably be getting a team leader spot in the CCU.

He didn't know why he did it, but when the princess pulled out onto the highway, he turned his vehicle in the same direction. And followed.

# Chapter Fifty-Three

HE stayed outside the princess's house for what he knew was over an hour, watching as she and her boy played a game of kickball. He was a good-looking kid, reminded him of his own boy at that age. Had he ever taken the time to play with Evan that way?

No, he'd always been too busy building his fucking career. Look where that had gotten him.

He'd not had a super dad like Ed Dennis to pave the way for him. When Mouse pulled into the parking spot a few spaces over from where he sat, he hunkered down behind the wheel until both women and the boy went inside. He felt like an idiot. He didn't know why he'd stayed there for so long. For one more glimpse of his mouse, maybe?

Why? Why would she choose Edward Dennis over him? Was he that big of a loser in her mind? She hadn't seemed like the type to care about what a man could do for her career. She hadn't flirted with Hellbrook or Brockman or any of the other male superior agents like he'd seen several female agents do throughout the years.

Because maybe she hadn't had to. Maybe she'd already had Ed Dennis in the bag. Ed Dennis, cream of the crop.

Surely that sweet exterior could not house such a manipulative woman—he wouldn't believe it of Linda.

_Julia_.

She wasn't Linda. She was Julia. Or Jules, like the princess called her. Jules suited her. And Linda was gone. Why couldn't he seem to remember that?

He stepped out of his car and approached the princess's door. He didn't know what he'd say to either woman. Maybe something about how he needed their help with Ed Dennis and was sorry to impose on their plans. He'd heard Mouse say how she wanted to enjoy being with her nephew. Her family.

He knew what it was like to not have much family. Didn't he only have Evan now? Dammit, he missed his boy.

He didn't get a chance to knock. The door swung open, and the little boy darted out, being stopped only by a small feminine hand.

He looked into startled hazel eyes.

"A-agent Stephenson. This is a surprise." Fear was evident behind the thin, black-framed glasses he'd seen her wear on occasion. She grabbed the boy and pulled him behind her, her motion one of deliberate nonchalance.

She was afraid of him. He didn't want that. Never that. "I just...I need to talk to you without Ed Dennis."

"Me? Why?" She stepped in front of the little boy before looking down at him. "Mattie, I want you to go play agent in the house, ok?"

"Ok!" The boy bounced away back into the house behind her.

"What is this about?" Her tone had cooled, and the suspicion was clear on her face. He swallowed to wet his suddenly dry mouth. Did she know?

She had to. Why else would she have pulled the door closed, trapping herself outside with him? She was trying to protect the boy and the princess. Her family. "I need to talk to you."

"About what? A case?" Her tone was still cool, and she held her body in a defensive position. "I think that can wait until later, don't you?"

She tried to step away from him, her hand going to the doorknob.

His hand shot out, wrapped around her arm. "Dammit, Linda, it's important!"

Hazel eyes widened, then narrowed. She studied him like he was a specimen beneath a microscope, started at his head, seemed to catalog his height, his weight. She stared at the hand he still had wrapped around her narrow arm. "I'm not Linda."

No, she wasn't. She was the mouse. Edward Dennis's mouse. Not his, never his. "I'm sorry. But I still need to apologize. Explain...about the fire..."

"Explain what about the fire?" Her stance stiffened even more. " _You_ started the fire. It was you! But why?"

She jerked her arm out of his hand, her body blocking the door to the princess's home. "Leave, now! Before I call Ed or Hellbrook! Go!"

He stared at her a moment, watching as she trembled before him. She was scared, but she was determined to protect the occupants of the townhouse behind her. "Doc...Mouse..."

The door swung open, and the little blond boy called her name. "Aunt Jules! I've been waiting forevers! Come on! Come on!"

The mouse jerked the child behind her, half-pushed the little man into the townhouse's interior. "Run, Mattie! Go hide now! Go! He's a bad man!"

Feminine hands landed on his chest, and she shoved him. Her move did little good. She was so damned small compared to him.

He wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't.

But if she yelled like that again, someone would call the cops. He didn't want her talking to Ed Dennis about him. Not until he could somehow make her see he wanted to make things right.

He had to make things _right_.

He grabbed her shoulder and pushed her backward, into the home. Where it was quiet, private. He closed the door behind him. Mouse grabbed a nearby vase and tried to swing it at his head, but his years of martial arts training when he was younger had prepared him well and had him reacting on base instinct.

His hand was wrapped around her narrow throat before he thought about it. She felt so delicate beneath his hands as he squeezed. The vase fell to the carpet with a soft thud.

"Don't yell. You don't want the princess walking in on us."

His hand dropped to his holster, and he saw her beautiful eyes widen. She shook, and, for a moment, he was afraid she'd break beneath his hands. What was he doing? He didn't want to hurt _her_. But instead of loosening, his fingers tightened. "Do you understand, Mouse?"

She nodded, sending strands of honey-brown hair tickling his knuckles. He stroked the soft skin of her neck soothingly.

"What do you want?"

"Just to talk. Make you understand that I didn't mean any of it. Not like that. Thought we could go for coffee, but..." His eyes stung as he thought of all that he'd done in recent days. That wasn't him. He wouldn't do that. Couldn't. He wasn't aware his hand had tightened on her neck until she coughed. He loosened his hold as he pulled his gun free unthinkingly. Hellbrook was coming to the princess's house and would probably be early.

It was well after six, now. Hellbrook would be there any minute. Why wouldn't he hurry to get to a woman like the princess? Roger didn't want to be caught unawares while he finished talking with the mouse. He whispered soothing sounds to her as he pulled his hand away from her neck. He touched that oh-so-soft, honeyed hair. Stroked.

She was everything a woman should be, his little Mouse. If only things had been different.

Her knee shot toward the underside of his groin and only quick reflexes had him avoiding her blow.

He swung out with his gun hand and connected with her cheek before he thought. Her blood coated the gun he still clutched. She crumbled against his hold.

He had never struck a woman before in his life.

What had he done? His Mouse's blood...Linda's blood. So much fucking blood everywhere. He just stared as the memories bombarded him.

He took several steps back, stopping just inside the kitchen archway as he heard sounds of a woman's footsteps on the floor above them.

The _princess_.

He'd almost forgotten about the princess. She'd be down at any moment. Mouse lay at the foot of the stairs, much like Linda had when the gunfire had stopped that day. Oh, dammit, what had he done?

"Mouse..." He bit back a harsh sob. "I'm so fucking sorry..."

# Chapter Fifty-Four

SOMEHOW, Georgia had **** found the time to fix her hair and dress in a casual-yet-elegant black dress that she knew made her figure look great. She wanted to look her best for what she was about to do. Georgia grabbed an extra blanket from the linen closet and then called out to the woman waiting downstairs. "Jules, how do you feel about me ordering you two a pizza?"

The sounds of crashing sent her running down the stairs.

She stopped abruptly, seeing Jules lying on the dining room floor, her body between Mattie's favorite hiding place and the rest of the house. Georgia stepped closer, halting her instinctive rush toward Jules. There was blood. _Too_ much blood. Someone was responsible—and probably still around. "Matthew? Are you ok? Jules!"

"Don't move and be quiet."

Georgia brought her hands up into a defensive position as Agent Stephenson stepped from the kitchen. Blood coated the hand he used to hold his gun. _Jules's_ blood. She eyed the distance between her and the cabinet where she kept her weapons locked. Could she get it open before he shot her or Jules?

The only answer was a definite _no_.

"Do not move. Or I'll finish off the little mouse. I won't like it, but I will. And then I'll search this place until I find your boy."

Mattie. The door of the cabinet Georgia kept empty for Matthew to play in wobbled, and Georgia's stomach clenched. _Mattie_. No...

She prayed her little boy stayed in the cabinet for a little longer and remained still, quiet. And she hoped he wasn't watching. "Ok. What do you want me to do?"

"Turn around. I need to tie your hands." He stepped toward the drapes, pulled the silk cord free from the closest with a hand that shook. "You and I will be going for a little ride."

"Why? What is this about?" Georgia studied the man she'd only worked with directly a few times. "I'll admit, I'm confused."

"It's about favoritism. And that bastard Hellbrook and your dad." He rubbed his forehead with the back of the hand holding the gun. Georgia's eyes narrowed, her stomach turning as Jules's blood streaked across his forehead. He ignored the blood, almost didn't seem aware of what he had done. "About Linda. About all of it. It shouldn't have been this way. You need to understand that. I didn't mean this."

He was flushed, nervous, not the way she was used to seeing him. He was breaking. Something had triggered this change, had directed his attention toward her, toward Jules.

"Excuse me? Hellbrook? What does he have to do with me?" Georgia kept her gaze trained on him, even though she saw Jules on the floor beside him, saw Matthew's head poke out of the cabinet in her peripheral vision. "I don't understand."

"Don't play the idiot, _princess_. We all know you and Hellbrook are screwing. I didn't figure you for the type, you know? Was it just for the team? The promotion? I heard you talking about it with little Mouse."

Georgia kept her hands still and steady, kept herself from rushing towards her baby. "Ok, Roger. I'll go with you, and we can talk about this. Work this out. I don't know what happened here, but can we get help for Jules first? Call 911? Anonymously."

"I didn't mean to hurt her. Come on. I have to do this. _Hellbrook_...Hellbrook will find and help her. Take care of her." He looked down at Jules, his expression filled with regret. He knelt down and pushed the blood-soaked hair off Jules's forehead before dropping a kiss on her brow.

It sickened Georgia to see it. Had he become obsessed with Jules? He stood up again before Georgia could attack. So caring, so solicitous, yet he refused to get Jules help? Why?

Hadn't she heard somewhere that he'd also had martial arts training at one time? She'd have to time her moves perfectly. He turned toward the cabinet where Mattie was hiding. "I know _he's_ in there..."

"Let's go." She cooperated while he tied the cord around her wrists and led her to the back door. If she could get him away from Jules and away from Mattie, she could begin planning how to take him down. Hell was on his way, would be there soon. He would find Jules and Matthew and help them. They'd be ok. _If_ she got Stephenson away from them.

Then she'd think about getting away from him herself. Her hands might be bound, but her feet weren't.

# Chapter Fifty-Five

HELL knocked once, inexplicably nervous. He felt more scared at that moment than he ever had been as a tall, gangly teenager.

He checked his watch one more time to be certain he was neither too early nor too late. Seven o'clock, and it was five minutes before. Perfect.

He knocked again. No answer; he knocked louder. Hell knew both Dr. Bellows and Georgia should be inside. He tried calling through the door as he knocked one more time. He could see Georgia's car in her parking space. She should have heard his knock.

He pulled his cell free, hitting speed dial number six, then listening as it went straight to her voice mail. He tried Dr. Bellows's number next as he walked around to the back door, thankful the number was still programmed in from South Dakota.

Hell heard a cell ring inside. Every instinct he'd developed in fifteen years as an investigator had him reaching for the Sig Sauer he always wore. His free hand dropped to the knob.

It twisted too easily.

Georgia would never leave her door unlocked, even when expecting company. They'd seen too many cases where children were taken and where women were victimized in their own homes for Georgia to not lock the back door.

He pushed the door open. "Georgia?"

The townhouse was quiet—too quiet. It took seconds for him to move through the utility room, past the living room, and into the kitchen. There was no sign of anyone—Georgia, her son, or Dr. Bellows. That left only the upstairs and the dining room.

Hell's stomach seized when he saw a pair of small, feminine legs visible on the cream carpet between the dining room table and front hallway. Training kicked in, and he rounded the table, dropping to one knee with his back to the wooden cabinets on which Georgia had arranged pictures of her son and various mementos.

He felt a guilty relief that the woman wasn't Georgia, then fear for _both_ women. And Matthew, where the hell was Matthew?

Dr. Bellows was alive, but her pulse was weak and thready. There was a sizable, and growing, amount of blood surrounding her head. She'd been struck hard.

He called for an ambulance and backup, keeping his voice low. Weapon ready, he did a quick visual search of the upstairs, with its four bedrooms and bathroom. There was no sign of Georgia or little Matthew.

He returned to Dr. Bellows, checking her pulse once again. A movement caught his attention and had him jerking toward the cabinet less than a yard from where the doctor had fallen.

A wooden door slowly pushed open—from the inside. Hell found himself staring into the terrified brown eyes of Georgia's little boy.

"Matthew, Mattie. Thank God." Hell knelt in front of the child. The little arms reached for Hell, and he scooped him up with his free hand. Matthew hadn't made a sound. His arms wrapped around Hell's neck, and he sniffled. Tears soaked into Hell's shoulder.

"Matthew, are you hurt? Do you have any owies?" He used the hand not clutching his gun to ruffle the blond curls.

"Mommy," was all Matthew said.

"Matthew, where is Mommy?" Who would take Georgia and leave her son? The dining room showed subtle signs of a struggle, a vase on the floor. There was a hole in the drywall on the wall closest to the door.

"The bad giant took Mommy. After he hitted my aunt Jules." Matthew tried to peek at the woman on the floor, but Hell wouldn't let him. "Is Aunt Jules deaded, too? Like my daddy and Uncle Rick? I don't want her to be deaded, Mr. Giant. I loves her, and she loves me."

"No, pal, but she is hurt. We're going to stay right here with her until the policemen get here, ok? We don't want Aunt Jules to wake up and be afraid, do we?"

"Un-uh." He sniffed again. "Want Mommy."

"I know. Can you tell me about the man who hurt Aunt Jules?" Hell rocked him, keeping Matthew's head pressed to his chest. Matthew didn't need to see his aunt injured on the floor.

Hell had seen enough blunt-force injuries to be able to identify where someone had been struck with a handgun. Thank God the bastard hadn't hurt Matthew.

"Big, Mr. Giant. Big, like you. But fat."

"What color hair did this bad giant have?" Did Georgia's son even know his colors yet? He was only four, his fifth birthday still a week away. Hell didn't know. "Was it brown like Mommy's? Or black like Uncle Malachi's?"

"Yellow." Matthew patted his own head. "Like Mattie's. Kinda. He talked funny."

"Like how? Can you remember the words he used?" Hell wasn't worried about leading the witness, or compromising the court case, or anything like that. He wanted information, and like it or not, the only one with that information was a four-year-old.

The little boy rested his head on Hell's chest, closed his eyes. Hell strained to hear the mumbled words. "The bad giant said d _e didn't mean it. And not lie-ack that._

_Lie-ack_? It took Hell a moment to figure that the child meant _like. Like_ said with a Southern accent. "Who did he say that to?"

"Aunt Jules."

"Where were you?" Hell looked down at the woman. The bleeding was slowing, thank God. But she'd still not opened her eyes. He checked her pulse. It was faint but had steadied since his last check. That was good.

"Playing agent. In there." He pointed at the cabinet. "Then the bad man come."

He started crying again, small sniffles interspersed with larger sobs. Hell rocked and soothed. "Shh. It'll be ok, Matthew. The bad man's gone now. I promise."

"Aunt Jules tried to hitted the bad giant with the flower thing. He-he-he wanted Aunt Jules to go wid him. _Copy_. But out Dennis."

That made little sense to Hell. "What else happened? Where was Mommy?"

"Bad man grabbed Aunt Jules here." A small hand patted Hell's neck as the sound of sirens wailed outside the building. "Then he pushed. Said 'Mouse. Sorry.' Mommy runs, saying, 'Mattie, are you ok?' But it wasn't Mattie who made the noise. It was Aunt Jules when the bad man hitted her."

"What happened next, pal?"

"He hitted Aunt Jules wid his gun. Then Mommy was gone, and Aunt Jules won't waked up. I hid like Aunt Jules told me when the bad man was at the door. She said, 'Go, Mattie. He's a bad man.' I don't want her to be deaded. I want Mommy."

"I know; I'll find Mommy, Mattie. You did great."

Ten minutes later, Hell was explaining the situation to local law enforcement. An SUV pulled up and Agents Lorcan and McLaughlin, as well as Georgia's father, climbed out.

"Hellbrook!" Dennis ran across the lot, hands reaching for the child Hell still held. "Dammit, where's my daughter?"

"Grandpa!" Matthew leaped from Hell's arms into his grandfather's, fresh sobs and tears hitting him. "The bad giant took Mommy and hurted Aunt Jules real bad!"

Hell launched into what he knew, ending on a frustrated note. "Until—or if—Dr. Bellows regains consciousness and gives us more, we have nothing."

Lorcan nodded toward the crew leading a stretcher out Georgia's front door. "Her condition?"

"Blunt-force trauma to the temporal bone. Matthew said the man grabbed her throat, then hit her with a handgun."

"Overkill?" Lorcan asked.

Hell's eyes were trained on the stretcher as it rolled past. The ME was still unconscious. It struck Hell again how small she was, how vulnerable. He wondered if they'd find Georgia in a similar position. If they found her at all.

"I don't know. From what I can piece together, Bellows kept herself between him and the cabinet Matthew was playing in. Georgia wasn't in the room. I'm thinking she was upstairs and came down the back stairs and through the utility room." Hell pictured it in his mind. Who or what had set off the UNSUB? Had he been there to rob or rape? Was it something more personal? Matthew said he'd wanted Dr. Bellows to go with him, so why had he taken Georgia?

"So he wanted Georgia and Julia was collateral?" Dennis asked.

"That's how I saw it," Hell said. "But something Matthew said makes me think he recognized or knew both women."

Dennis pulled his cell from his pocket. Hell listened as he ordered Agent Len to start pulling the CCU's cases for the past twelve months.

They knew the statistics: Women who went missing were more likely to be raped, abused, and then killed immediately in these types of situations. Especially when as much of a threat as a federal agent. "We need to go through all of her cases for the last year."

"And yours. She's been on your team for half that time. Chances are good it'll be your case as well. Probably most likely," McLaughlin said.

"Guy could have a grudge. It wouldn't be the first time I've seen it. Could also be an ex-boyfriend. The kid said the guy knew he was in the condo. So the guy had to know enough about your girl to know the kid lived there. So he probably watched her. Or knew her," Lorcan said. "But if it was someone she knew well, wouldn't the kid have recognized him?"

"Georgia hasn't dated anyone in years, according to Ana. Not since the fiancé died," McLaughlin said.

"Wrong. _I_ spent the night with her last night," Hell said. "It's possible the bastard has a grudge against _me_."

"But you two don't exactly get along. Or haven't. Anyone who knows either of you would know that," McLaughlin said, a few steps behind Hellbrook as they ran into the FBI building. Dennis had taken Matthew to the hospital, then would be joining them. "That changed?"

"Yes, it has."

"When?"

"This last week, this case."

"So if it was a grudge against you, who would know you and Dennis finally figured things out?" McLaughlin demanded.

"Those involved with this most recent case."

"Maybe you need to fill us in, step-by-step." Lorcan pushed the button for the elevator to the sixth floor.

"We got the UNSUB."

"Still, how large of a role did Dennis play?" McLaughlin asked.

"A larger one than usual. She tackled the guy." Hell said, "We were looking for a UNSUB whose victimology focused on brunettes. Small build."

"Small brunettes. You certain you got the right UNSUB?" McLaughlin asked.

"Yes. More than one hundred percent, it was the guy."

"Half your team was injured, right?" McLaughlin's eyes narrowed.

"Yes. Compton, Sparks, and Georgia."

"So this guy what? Went from small brunette females to federal agents within the span of a week?" Lorcan asked. "Big jump."

"Byrum fit the profile and confessed. Case is airtight against him. And we had a family member as a witness. It's not him. Plus, he was a small man with darker hair and eyes. Georgia's son insisted this bastard had yellow hair like his. Not him."

"But—" Lorcan started.

"It wasn't him." Hell's eyes scanned the bullpen, taking stock of the agents still there. Carrie sat at her desk, Dan at her side. Half of Brockman's team were present, as were Alessandra Brockman and Paige Daviess. Stephenson's Agent Hartlett was also present. Hell cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. "Everybody, listen up!"

Everyone jerked to face him. Dan stepped closer. "Hell? What's the matter? Whose blood?"

"Dr. Georgia Dennis was taken from her home about an hour ago," McLaughlin said. "Dr. Bellows was attacked. We need to give this everything we've got to find Dr. Dennis!"

"Is Jules going to be ok?" Carrie asked, worry on her pretty face.

"We think," Hell told the gathering agents. "She's at the hospital now. But now our focus is on finding Georgia."

"What about Matthew?" Dan asked.

"Ed Dennis has his grandson. He was unhurt," McLaughlin said. "But Matthew saw the UNSUB. We're trying to piece together what he knows. See if we can identify this guy and quickly."

"We have any idea of a trigger?" Dan asked. Hell could see the older man was worried, too. They all were.

"No." Hell pulled the whiteboard the center of the bullpen and grabbed a marker. "We have Matthew's statement to go by until Dr. Bellows regains consciousness and can give us more. Locals are canvassing the neighborhood. See if we can get anything."

He started writing what he knew on the board. "Matthew Dennis, he's four, nearly five. He saw a man at least my height. He said fat as well. He also said the man used the word _like_ but with a Southern accent."

"Hell, we need you to tell us what you saw." Dan had his own notebook in his hand. "In Georgia's home."

"The rear door was unlocked. Dr. Bellows was lying on the dining room floor, close to the hall leading to the front entrance. She'd been struck with a blunt object. Probably a handgun. There were signs of a struggle. A dent approximately five feet from the floor on one wall. Probably the point of impact for Dr. Bellows's head." Hell winced when he thought of the damage that could have done to her.

"So Dr. Bellows fought back?" Hartlett asked. "She's the medical examiner, right?"

"Yes. That's her," Hell said. "She's also a fully trained federal agent. And she's highly intelligent and not reckless. She wouldn't have fought unless she thought it was absolutely necessary. She was found in front of a small cabinet where Georgia's son had been playing. Matthew was hiding inside. She was between him and the UNSUB."

"You think he was after Matthew?" Dan asked.

"No. Mattie said he wanted Dr. Bellows to go with him first. I think Matthew said _copy_. Then he threatened Georgia to go quietly, or he'd take her son. He was after the women to begin with."

" _Both_ of them?" Agent Daviess asked. "That could narrow down potential UNSUBs if they both knew him."

"From what I can piece together, he knew them both, yes." Hell didn't know what made him think that, but something Matthew had said was tickling the back of his mind.

"So either they had a common enemy from their past, or it was someone from this most recent case," Dan said.

"What makes you say that?" McLaughlin asked. "Dr. Bellows and Dr. Dennis aren't the type of women to make enemies easily. They're both on the quiet side. Both tend to stay to the background in large groups, mostly out of preference. These are also highly compassionate women. They help others, not harm them. I can't see a common enemy."

"Dr. Bellows had a theory," Hell began. "She believed there might have been a second UNSUB in South Dakota."

"It didn't profile that way," Dan said.

"No. But the X-rays showed that the man who hit Compton was as tall as I was." Hell looked at the one other person who was present in those woods. Carrie just looked back at him, her eyes a pool of fear. "Dr. Bellows and Dr. Brockman thought it may be someone with a grudge against the CCU."

"Someone who _also_ had a grudge against Dr. Bellows?" Agent Daviess asked. "Who would that be?"

"Ana and Mal are in South Dakota trying to answer that very question," McLaughlin said.

"Was it possible this guy followed you back?" Lorcan asked.

"It's possible _we_ took him with us in the first place." Hell's realization came slowly. It was the only thing that fit. "The only ones in the woods that day were _our_ people."

"And the only ones Dr. Bellows would have interacted with at all were our people," Dan said, closing his notebook. "So what all can we lay at this guy's feet? And who was there each time?"

"My tires were slashed." Hell made another column on the board. "Stanton, Handers, Stephenson, and four locals. Left Georgia and I stranded in the woods. But four of those men are big men who would appear around my size to a four-year-old."

"Josh attacked," Dan said. Both he and Hell turned to Carrie. "Then Carrie. And we were all in the woods that day, with the exception of K.D."

"Carrie." Hell turned to his youngest agent. "I need to know everything from the moment you and Josh separated in the woods."

"We'll find Georgia. I know we will." Her fingers automatically tapped out a beat, so furious it echoed Hell's heartbeat. "We will. We will. We will."

"I know." Hell smiled at her, not giving voice to the fear of what condition they'd find Georgia in when they found her. "Think about it for a few minutes, ok?"

"What did the little boy say?" Lorcan asked.

"Big, like me. With yellow hair like his. Blond. Said he was super strong. Picked Bellows up and tossed her into the wall. Adjusting for the fact that Matthew has a child's perception...said he talked funny. So I am assuming some sort of accent. _Lie-ack_. Probably Southern."

Dan wrote on the white board while he summarized. "So...big like Hell, blond like me. Strong."

"Big like Hell. Strong. Like Hell," Carrie parroted. She crossed her arms around her waist, eyes still trained on the computer screen in front of her. She was pulling inward, that complex brain of hers no doubt running over the patterns like Hell had seen so many times before. Agent Daviess shifted closer to her. "Blond, but not like Dan—there was no red. Bad. _Mad_ , like going crazy. I could hear it in his voice."

She repeated the words again. And then again in a stronger, louder voice. " _Hell!_ "

"Carrie, do you know who that is?"

"Yes..." Her whiskey-brown eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to focus. Her fingers drummed even louder against the desk. She rocked slightly as she struggled to formulate her words before the group. She struggled when people were watching her. Hell knew that. And when she was stressed. " _He_ has Georgia."

Hell put one hand on her shoulder slowly, to redirect her attention to him and not on whatever it was she saw in her head. With all she'd gone through the last few days, it was no wonder she struggled to put it into words. Communication was Carrie's weakest point and she was still so vulnerable. The bruises hadn't even faded yet, and they were asking her to recall it. She'd get it out eventually, once she found a way to force it out. Hell knew it was pushing, but they didn't have time.

"Big," Carrie said, so firmly Hell almost jumped. "Strong and spoke with a Southern accent. He apologized. Called me Redbird. Said Hell should know better and should take better care of _his_ women. His arm was around my throat, his other hand on my body. Everywhere. Copped a feel, I think you'd call it." Her body shook, but her eyes were steady now. "He was rambling. Mad. Crazy. We fought. We fell in the mud. But he was so strong. Then he threw me over the cliff. _Stephenson_. Stephenson. It was Agent _Stephenson_ , Hell. I didn't put it together until now. I'm sorry! I should have. I could smell him over the rain; Same cologne. Same as Agent Lorcan's. I don't like it now. It's horrible. Wish they'd change brands." She shot a look at Lorcan filled with wariness. "I didn't understand what he wanted, what he was trying to do. I don't think he _meant_ to push me into the pit. But then I was falling, falling. I hate falling."

"Thank you, Carrie, I'll get him. And he will pay; I promise." Hell's rage choked his voice. Everyone there understood it.

# Chapter Fifty-Six

SHE wasn't stupid **,** and she wasn't weak. Hadn't been since she'd been fifteen years old. She knew who had the most to lose if Stephenson succeeded. Her baby.

Matthew had lost so much already, and now he was old enough to feel the pain and abandonment if she didn't ever get home. Was old enough to remember the bad man who'd taken Mommy away; he would always be afraid. That fear would color the rest of his life. Stephenson was not taking her away from her little boy. He was not doing that to Matthew.

She twisted her arms inward, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, trying to loosen the binding the son of a bitch had used.

All she managed to do was rub her skin raw. But she kept trying and kept trying.

# Chapter Fifty-Seven

HELL stepped deeper into the bullpen, avoiding looking at Georgia's empty desk. He turned to one of Georgia's former teammates, Brockman's computer tech, Tompkins. He'd taken over for Carrie, who just needed time to compose herself. The man looked pale and worried. "Anything here?"

"No cell phone usage that I can trace. Unless he is using a disposable. Which he probably is. He'd know that his cell was traceable," Tompkins said. "I've no record of any calls from him or to him. There was no unusual activity on his credit cards or in his bank account. I'm searching his computer now for anything. It's going to take time. It will take time."

"Do the best you can." Hell told him. He turned to the rest. "I'm going to my office for a bit. I need to think. Work out where I think he'll have taken her."

"Understood." Armitage—one of McLaughlin's men—nodded at him, wordlessly signifying that he'd run things in the bullpen. "We'll get started tracking his movements the best we can. We're rounding up the rest of Stephenson's team, seeing if they may know anything that will help. We've also issued bulletins and press releases to all local and state broadcasting companies and media outlets, all four resident offices, and the Kansas City field office. We've got a call in to Idaho as well. To talk to his son. We've got local agents interviewing Stephenson's parents in the Resident office near where they live."

"I know you're all doing the best you can." Hell's words came out soft, as he turned to walk up the stairs to his office. Dan and Edward Dennis followed him. The door closed behind them. Hell looked at her father for a moment. "I can't find her."

"I told him today that he was being transferred out." Dennis's guilt was plain on his face.

"That may have been his stressor. Following his downward spiral. Losing his position here, the place where he was with the woman he loved. And probably killed..." Dan sank into the chair across from Hell's desk as Hell spoke.

Hell grabbed the file regarding Agent Shanks's death, including a list of her personal effects, assets, and life insurance policies. "She left everything to Stephenson, including her house."

"You think he took her there?" Dennis was on his feet and half out the door.

"It's worth a look," Hell said. "I'm not stopping until I find them."

# Chapter Fifty-Eight

CARRIE watched her hero, her mentor, the one man she admired above all others as he stared at the projection screen. Hell always knew what to do in every situation. He always somehow saved the day, but apparently not this time. Not now that it mattered so much.

Carrie knew she was better than Tompkins, though he was still very good—she knew she was better. Faster. And every minute counted.

Determination filled her, and her hands inched toward her computer. She moved closer to her desk, propping her foot up on a chair and twisting her body into an awkward position as she typed furiously at one of the two new computers Hell had given her to replace the ones that had burned in South Dakota. She'd loaded the program she'd been writing for the CCU on the new laptop that morning, and now she used it to simultaneously search every database within the FBI. Search every record they had of Georgia Dennis and Roger Stephenson. Twenty-two minutes later, she'd found the information she was looking for.

Carrie stared at the data, almost unable to believe—or process—what she was seeing.

Georgia's ID badge had been used to swipe the basement door of their field office one hundred eighty-six minutes after the time stamped on Georgia's initial exiting of the building when she'd left for the night, followed quickly by Stephenson's six-digit access code.

It took Carrie eight minutes to tap into the bureau security cameras, her stomach tied and knotted as she deliberately broke bureau protocol. No one was allowed to hack the company system. No one. But she did it anyway.

If she got in trouble, it would be worth it if they found Georgia. If she lost her job, she'd survive.

The basement housed the main network, was the hub of the entire building's computer systems, electrical systems, and mechanical systems for almost every department. Electrical wires and computer wires of all sorts connected throughout the room. Nothing and no unauthorized people were ever allowed down there. Only engineers were allowed to even get close to it. Carrie wondered what Stephenson could possibly be planning to do down there, and whether Georgia was there with him. He had to put her somewhere, and if he'd driven straight from Georgia's condo to the field office, chances were good Georgia was here, somewhere.

Carrie's computer monitor crackled, and the feed started, showing her exactly what the security cameras had captured. Georgia was there, her body positioned to face the camera. Her hands were tied over her head, but she was alive. A thousand different possibilities ran through Carrie's mind.

She looked up, taking in all the people milling about the bullpen, looking for Dan or Hell and finding them through the window to Hell's office with Georgia's father. She looked back at her monitor as she grabbed for her crutches. Stephenson stepped into the frame.

She cried out, the sound echoing through the somber bullpen.

The new catlike agent, Agent Lorcan, was the fastest as he rushed to her side before the cry had finished leaving her mouth. "What is it?"

"I've found her!" Carrie said it once, then repeated it in a shout designed to draw Hell from his office. "I've found her! I've found her!"

She kept shouting it over and over until Hell ran to her and turned her to face him. "Carrie, where?"

"Basement. He's got her in the basement."

"Where?" Dan demanded, his slight limp from an old injury making him slower than Hell and Lorcan.

"Here! Here! Here! Here!" She pointed to the monitor. "He used Georgia's badge, Hell. He used it to open the basement. So I hacked the security feed! Go, go, go, go, go!"

Hell, Dan, Dennis, and Lorcan were gone before she'd stopped shouting.

Carrie sat, eyes glued to the monitor. There was nothing else she could do. She couldn't follow them to the basement, not with the crutches making her useless. All she could do was watch the events play out on the screen.

# Chapter Fifty-Nine

HE should have told Georgia how he felt. He shouldn't have waited, shouldn't have agreed to take things slow. He shouldn't have wasted so much damned time. She'd been right under his damned nose!

Hopefully, he'd get the chance to show her exactly how he felt.

"What's our first step?" Dan asked. "We go in or—"

"He's planning to shoot your girl. Probably while you watch," Lorcan speculated as they pounded down the four flights of stairs to the basement. "What's the floor plan down there?"

"Three rooms, computer mainframe in the smaller one, to the north. The heating and cooling is located in the larger one in the center. One main furnace, auxiliaries evenly on the right and left, plus back about twenty-five feet. Third room, southernmost, is the backup generator," Dennis said. "Four access doors. The main one, one that leads into the computer room, on from the generator room, and one that leads to the back hallway."

"Back hallway?" Hell asked.

"Used for ventilation and maintenance. There's a backup emergency breaker box in there as well. For the whole building," Dennis said, his tone turning considering.

"Dan, disable the electricity to the basement. Backup lights will come on within ninety seconds," Hell caught the train of Dennis's thoughts. "Disconcert him."

"I'll get Dr. Dennis," Lorcan volunteered. "If you can, keep him focused on you long enough for me to get behind them. I can get behind her. And I guarantee he won't see me."

"I'll be right behind you, Hellbrook," Dennis said, one hand on his Glock. "Ready to take out the bastard if he so much as breathes on her again."

Hell saw the trust and the fear in the older man's eyes as they stared at him. He nodded. "It's the best plan we've got. Let's go."

# Chapter Sixty

"STEPHENSON." Hell stepped inside the final door to the basement. Stephenson stood six inches behind Georgia, clutching his service weapon in a grip that trembled.

Her hands were tied, taut above her head. Her feet dangled above the floor, and Hell knew it had to be killing her injured shoulder to be hung like that. But thank God she was alive and whole and looking at him with a mix of hope, relief, and fear in her eyes.

"Hellbrook." Stephenson's tone was a combination sneer and question. Blood still smeared his forehead. That more than anything told Hell the man was close to losing his tenuous grasp of reality.

"What's this about, Roger?" Hell tried not to look at Georgia again. Didn't want the other man to see how terrified he actually was.

"You know what it's about." Stephenson wiped sweat from his brow before motioning with his weapon for Hell to stop moving.

"There are several things it could be about. Why don't we talk about this?"

"No sense in talking. I'm being transferred. You know that? Dennis told me this morning. Fucking Pittsburgh. Can you believe that shit?"

"They're a good office. Good reputation." Not like St. Louis, but Stephenson and his methodology would have fit well in the older, more traditional office.

"Easy for you to say. Stop moving, princess." Stephenson casually grabbed one of Georgia's exposed elbows, stopping her furious squirming. Her brown eyes met Hell's, pleas in their depths.

"So you're pissed at Edward Dennis? Man, I can understand that. I've been there a time or thousand myself." Hell took a cautious step in Stephenson's direction. He could almost feel Georgia's father crouching just inside the door behind him. Had Stephenson noticed Dennis? Had Lorcan gotten through the back hallway? It would just be a matter of timing on all their parts. "But what does she have to do with it? Punishing the daughter for the sins of the father?"

"Dennis's little princess? She's being offered my position!" Stephenson's words lacked heat, but his gun hand shook.

"I didn't know that."

"Something the great Hellbrook didn't know? I'm...shocked. I'm getting a lateral move while his daughter's getting a promotion?" Stephenson asked the question of the room at large; Hell wasn't even sure the other man had addressed him or Georgia, or someone only Stephenson heard.

"She's a good agent, too."

"You'd say that. I know about you two. Heard Mouse talking about it. You know what happens when you get involved with a teammate, Hellbrook? They _die_. Just like that. And then you're all alone again." He waved the gun closer to Georgia, and Hell pulled in a breath.

"Like Linda?"

"Don't talk about Linda." Stephenson's breath caught. He stepped behind Georgia, pushed her until she swung slightly.

She tried to muffle her cry, but Hell still heard it. Still hurt for her.

"Is that what this is about? Georgia and me? Hurting her to get at me?"

"You and the princess? Thought she hated you, thought she had decent taste. Instead...it's the Poster Boy of the CCU and the Princess of PAVAD. Nowhere for the two of you to go but straight up to the top." The anger was evident in Stephenson's words. Hell's hand tightened around his Sig.

"Maybe so. But we both knew we would be replaced eventually. Younger, smarter agents. It is how the business works. This is not how it should be dealt with."

"Easy for you to say. Think I don't know what it's going to do for your career? Cozying up to the princess and her daddy? Dennis is the king now with Washington. Great Creator of PAVAD. You'll only benefit by screwing his daughter."

"Stop cheapening it, Roger." A hot rush of anger fought with the reasonable tone Hellbrook knew he had to keep. He ruthlessly suppressed it. "There's much more between Georgia and me than that petty shit."

"No?"

"No. I couldn't care less who her father is. I'm with her because I want to be with _her_. No one else. I can't imagine being with anyone else."

"You love her?" Stephenson ran the barrel of his weapon down Georgia's arm. Experience had Hell not reacting though it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

"Yes. I do." And he did. He'd realized it the moment he knew it wasn't her lying bleeding on her dining room floor. Realized what his life would be like if she wasn't there every day. He took another step forward as Stephenson stepped behind Georgia. "You know what it's like to love a woman you work with, don't you, Roger?"

"Stay where you are, Hellbrook. It wouldn't be a good idea for you to move."

"Why? It's obvious you plan to kill her, kill me. Plan to take out Ed Dennis next? Do you honestly think I'm going to let that happen?"

"And how are you going to stop me? I'm mildly curious. We're both intelligent men, after all." Stephenson used Georgia's body as a shield; Hellbrook knew that Dennis and the other men wouldn't be able to get a clear shot with her between them. Where was Lorcan?

"Contemporaries, yes. We've worked together a long time. I have to admit, though, this surprised me. Didn't think you had it in you." Hell stepped farther into the room. Stephenson grunted and Hell stopped moving.

"Have what?"

"A major episode like this. What was the trigger? Georgia and me? The transfer? Maybe it was Agent Shanks's death? Being rejected by Dr. Bellows?"

"Don't talk about Linda."

"Why not?"

"Because none of you are fit to mention her! She was a damned fine agent!" Stephenson jerked Georgia closer, sliding her bound wrists along the pipe he'd tied her to. She kicked back with her uninjured leg, drawing his attention more fully to her. Hell watched Stephenson's grip tighten on the gun as anger filled the older man's face.

"Georgia! Stay still." Hell barked the words, fear making his voice harsh. "Roger, let her go. You have to know that it's only a matter of minutes before the rest of the whole damned bureau find their way down here. What do you think to get out of this?"

"Absolution!" Stephenson yelled, jerking Georgia's hanging body closer.

"What the hell for? Linda Shanks? Did you kill her?" Hell shouted back.

He had to get the man out from behind Georgia. Had to get him where Georgia's father could line up the shot, get him away from Georgia so Lorcan could get her out of the way.

Hell softened his voice to disconcert Stephenson. "I never met her. Tell me about her. What did she look like?"

"Why do you care?" Stephenson asked, stepping out from behind Georgia, rage turning his face a florid purple. Linda. Linda was clearly a trigger.

"Tell me why a woman like Linda Shanks would want a man like you? Tell me why she chose you." Hell stepped closer to Georgia, sensing Dennis stepping closer to the door.

"She never even hit your radar. She was beautiful, perfect. Nothing like the pampered princess here." Stephenson shook Georgia with his free hand. She once again cried out, then kicked at him. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Toward the back entrance to the basement. Hell watched her look up at the rope binding her wrists. She was planning something.

The barest hint of a shadow passed behind Georgia and Stephenson. _Lorcan_. Had Georgia seen the other man?

"Let's strike a deal, Roger. You speak about Georgia with respect. I'll do the same for Linda. I think that's a fair bargain." Hell tried to keep his tone soothing without patronizing. He didn't know exactly what would set Stephenson off again. With Georgia so vulnerable next to Stephenson, Hell would not risk it. "Tell me what she looked like."

A long moment of silence passed, and Hell doubted Stephenson would react.

"Hazel eyes. Soft and compassionate." Stephenson's voice dropped until Hell almost couldn't hear him over the sound of the rushing pipes around them.

By Hell's estimation, Dan had almost had enough time to reach the power source. The lights would be going down any moment. Hell needed to get Georgia out of Stephenson's line of fire, somehow.

"Hazel, like Jules?" Georgia asked. "Jules has hazel eyes."

"Hartlett told us you seemed interested in Dr. Bellows. Did she remind you of Linda?"

"That boy sees too much for his own damned good." Stephenson's voice held real regret. "He's a good kid, yet you and yours never see him. Any of my boys. They're not super agents, I guess."

"Not true. They're all being promoted."

"About damned time."

"Yeah. Dennis told me he finally got the funding he's been asking for. Funding we needed to be able to offer promotions." Any second the power would be going down. And Georgia would be a hanging target. Vulnerable.

"But not for me." Stephenson's tone flattened. Was he actually hurt because he wasn't being promoted?

"Pittsburgh was lateral on paper. But it was a strong assignment. You'd fit well there. And your son Evan was being transferred there at the beginning of next month. Dennis pulled some strings. This how you planned to repay him? By killing his only child?"

"None of that matters now."

"Yes, it does. Put the gun down. Give Georgia back to me and her father. Back to her son. We'll keep this just between us. Your son won't have to know."

"Too late for that. There will be trouble for..." Stephenson's hand tightened on Georgia's waist. "For what I did to Linda...the medical examiner, I mean."

"She was alive when I found her. She's being treated now."

Georgia let out a sobbing breath, shivered. "Thank God."

"I never wanted to hurt her. Never. I didn't mean to burn her pictures either. Know they must have meant a lot to her." Stephenson seemed to shrink into himself for a minute. He straightened, and his hand firmed around the gun.

"They did. They were her husband and his brother."

"How did she lose him?" Stephenson's demeanor changed when they spoke of Dr. Bellows. Sexual fascination mixed with guilt and protectiveness and apology.

Another shadow passed behind Stephenson and Georgia. Closer this time.

Hell nodded at Georgia, wordlessly telling her to keep Stephenson's attention. She blinked, deliberately. She knew something was about to go down. "We were going to the mall to pick out baby furniture. Jules was pregnant. We were in her car. Her husband and Bryan and Matthew were in Bryan's car right in front of us. A drunk driver hit them head on."

"That had to be horrible for her, wouldn't it, Roger?"

"It would have, being a doctor and all, poor little mouse."

"It was." Georgia bit back a sob, drawing Stephenson's attention more fully. Hell knew the man couldn't help himself. It was about Dr. Bellows, and information about her was like a magnet for him. Georgia continued as the shadow behind Stephenson moved closer still. "We couldn't help them at all. Her husband died instantly. I was engaged to his brother. He didn't die right away. I got to say goodbye. To make a promise to take care of his little boy. But Jules, she couldn't help either of them. That hurt her so much."

"She'd have tried," Stephenson admitted, his tone soft and almost reverent. "She tried to help me after the fire. You said she was pregnant. She have a kid somewhere?"

"No. She lost the baby days after her husband's funeral," Hell said, fighting a sense of rising panic. If they didn't get Georgia out of the way soon, she'd be between all of the men when the lights went down. There would be no way to protect her if Stephenson started shooting. Not in the dark. She was literally a hanging target. "She's lost so much, don't you think? Georgia and her son are the only family she has left. What do you think it will do to her to lose her best friend and one of the last connections to her husband? She's an orphan as well. Georgia is it. I know you're a compassionate man—I've always admired the way you are with the victims. Don't make the doctor into more of a victim than she already has been."

"Dammit, I didn't mean to fucking hurt her at all!" Stephenson's shout reverberated off the cement walls.

Hell shouted himself. "But you did. This will hurt her—when she regains consciousness! Do you want that?"

He took another step forward as Stephenson stepped closer to Georgia.

"What about your son? What will he think about this? What will you tell him?"

"None of that matters now." Stephenson was still shouting, but to Hell that was a good sign. It meant the man's attention wasn't as fully on Georgia as it had been. "Not after what's happened. What I've done. To the Mouse."

"Dr. Bellows will recover, Roger. We found her in time. Although...you did hurt her." Hell could just see the shadow that was Agent Lorcan as he climbed the piping directly behind the furnace. The man hadn't made a sound. He was in place. As soon as the lights went down, Lorcan would cut the rope holding Georgia and she'd fall to the ground, giving Hellbrook or her father a clear shot.

"I never wanted to hurt her. Never wanted to hurt the little mouse." Stephenson's breath shuddered out. His hand clenched on his gun. He looked down at it, for only a moment. Then back up at Hellbrook. "Not my Mouse."

"Roger, we all know that. But it's time you stopped hurting her, don't you think?" Hell stepped toward him, wanting to keep him moving forward. Away from Georgia.

"Tell her I'm sorry." He let his hand drop from Georgia. He stepped closer to Hell.

Pressed the gun in his hand against his own head. Horror filled Hell as Stephenson's intentions became clear.

"Roger, _don't_! Don't do this to your son. Think of Evan!" The last thing Hell wanted him to do was commit suicide. And if Stephenson pulled the trigger at the angle he held the gun, Georgia would still be in the line of fire.

"I am." Stephen started to pull the trigger just as the room went dark. Hell dove toward Stephenson.

Both men went down in a tangle of limbs.

# Chapter Sixty-One

GEORGIA knew when the lights went down that they'd have only a few moments until the backup generators kicked in. It was a fail-safe method she knew was designed to ensure the bureau wasn't in a total blackout in times of any possible disaster or a terrorist attack. They'd had something similar at Ana's previous post in Chicago, and the other woman had told her about it. They had ninety seconds before the lights returned. Georgia didn't intend to still be hanging there like a proverbial sacrificial virgin while the knight and the bad guy fought around her.

And she for damned sure wasn't going to be between Hell and Stephenson when the lights came back on. Because Hell would not take a chance shooting if he thought she was between them.

She began swinging back and forth in earnest, hoping the friction against the rough steel pipe would stretch the silk rope from her window drapes enough that she could slip one hand free. She was almost there. Once one hand was free, she'd drop to the ground and roll out of the way. When the lights came back on, she'd be ready to help Hell however she could.

The backup lights came back on as a warm male hand wrapped around Georgia's wrist. She almost screamed at the touch. It came from above her, from the pipes themselves.

She stared through the low backup light into the intense green eyes of Agent Lorcan. Thank God, one of the good guys. Hell and Stephenson fought wildly a yard from where she still hung.

"Hurry, Lorcan!" Georgia shouted as Stephenson's shoulder rammed into her. Hell was clearly keeping the upper hand, but both men fought with intense desperation.

Lorcan's knife sliced through the rope, sending Georgia toppling to the floor just as Stephenson stood.

Georgia landed a foot from him.

Stephenson grabbed her and jerked her to her feet, pulling her body flush against his chest. "Stop, Hellbrook, or I'll kill her right in front of you!"

Hell froze. "Don't do this, Roger!"

Georgia felt his arm tighten around her neck until she thought he'd strangle her long before he could shoot her. She coughed, drawing Stephenson's gaze.

"I'm sorry, princess." Stephenson raised his gun hand, the barrel brushing through her hair. She felt the metal against her skin. It continued to slide up and away from her head. Away from her and toward Stephenson's own temple.

"No!" Georgia tried to pull away from him, but he held her by the top of her dress. The silk material ripped as she moved.

A hard male body tackled her seconds before a shot rang out over her and Hell shouted her name.

Georgia lay beneath the man, struggling to catch her breath as the room exploded with action all around her.

# Chapter Sixty-Two

HELL rushed to Georgia's side, grabbing for her. She kept gasping; the impact of Agent Lorcan knocking her over had forced the air from her chest. Lorcan picked himself up and stepped aside, apologizing for the roughness of his action. She coughed and then rasped out Hell's name.

It was the most welcoming sound of Hell's life. "Georgia! Talk to me!"

She didn't. She shook her head, dragging in deep breaths. Then she hit him. Balled her fist up and drove it deep into his stomach.

Hell nearly doubled over, from both the force of her blow and from surprise. Not exactly the hero's welcome he'd expected after saving her. "Damn, what was that for?"

She took two more deep breaths before her voice rose, drawing all attention her way as bureau security and various agents rushed into the room behind her father and Dan. "Michael Hellbrook, don't you _ever_ do that to me again!"

"Do what?" Hell rubbed her back, one hand coasting down her side, checking for any damage Stephenson may have inflicted. She appeared to be fine, with the exception of new swelling forming along her cheek and ribs—ribs clearly exposed for everyone to see. He shrugged his shirt off. He wrapped her in the cotton, buttoning it gently.

"You know what! Jumping him in the dark? Are you crazy? I can't do it again! I can't watch another man I l—I can't, I can't!" She continued rapping his chest with her fist, stopping only when he pulled her against him.

He buried his face in her hair. Breathed in the scent of Georgia. "I was so damned scared!"

"Me, too. Me, too. Hell, where's Matthew?" Her words were muffled, but he understood them. "How's Jules? Is she ok?"

"They'll both be fine, are fine. Dr. Bellows most likely has a concussion. Matthew's with Alessandra Brockman. He's fine; she's making sure of it, and took him home to her mother. He's in good hands. Let's get out of here, get him, and go home. My home. We need to talk."

"First, man, maybe you'd better get that shoulder looked at." Lorcan motioned to Hell's left shoulder, where blood was beginning to seep through the white shirt.

" _Hell_?" Georgia pulled back to look at him, her eyes wide and worried. Hell didn't want to let go of her long enough to check what he suspected was a scratch, but he did so reluctantly.

She had that look in her eyes, the one that told him with no uncertain terms that he was to cooperate peacefully. Or else.

He never wanted her angry with him again.

"Scratch. I don't think I ducked fast enough." Hell brushed it off after prodding it for a moment. The bleeding had already slowed. He'd had worse. Georgia had had far worse. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," Georgia said. "He could have killed you, you idiot!"

"I couldn't take the chance that he'd kill you. I couldn't." Hell rocked her against him until he felt the anger leave her body. Her hands wrapped around his neck.

"I love you, you idiot." Those words were the sweetest he'd ever heard. His arms tightened around her. He'd never let her go again.

He told her that as he pulled her to her feet. Lorcan and McLaughlin had pulled a sobbing Stephenson to his feet. When Lorcan and Hell had lunged for Georgia and Stephenson, Stephenson's gun hand had been knocked away. The round had grazed Hell's shoulder, then embedded in the wall behind them all.

Stephenson was broken. He'd probably spend the rest of his life in solitary confinement on a suicide watch. He was ended.

Except for a few minor details and a full exam for Georgia at the hospital, it was over. Hell intended to take her and her son back to his home. They'd tuck Matthew into bed, and he and Georgia would be discussing their future.

The future they'd be spending together.

# Epilogue

JULES was pale, but holding court on the couch in Georgia's father's living room. She'd been out of the hospital for less than two days, but she'd insisted Georgia hold Matthew's birthday party. It had already been delayed a week. Matthew had been just as insistent that he not have a party until his Aunt Jules could be there. Georgia and Hell were in perfect agreement on that idea, knowing Matthew needed to see Jules whole and in a normal setting to fully begin to heal.

Everyone was there—all of the CCU, including Carrie on crutches. Ana, Fin, and both Mal and his sister, Alessandra. Matthew was ecstatic.

Georgia knew her father was supervising the handful of kids from Matthew's preschool class that had been invited, as well.

Life had returned to normal. Matthew still had nightmares, only now the childish dreams had been replaced by a monster with a face. They'd started sessions with a child therapist recommended by Mal's mother. This doctor was supposedly the best in her field. And Georgia would help him through the trauma, using all her skills as his mother and a psychologist.

Mattie seemed happy to have Hellbrook around. Seemed to feel safer when the man was with them. It would take a bit of adjusting for all of them, but it would work out. She knew it would. "Matthew! Mommy's going to get out the cake and your presents! Get your friends!"

"Cake or presents first, Mommy?"

"What do you want?" Georgia had an idea what her baby would choose.

"Presents!"

"I thought so." Georgia nodded at Hellbrook, who stood inside the door to the back hallway. Two of Matthew's presents waited back there. Hell wheeled the first present out.

Matthew's eyes were huge when he touched the new bike. It was his first and had bright red training wheels on it. "You'll have to teaches me!"

"We'll do that later. Come try it out for a minute. Then I think your grandpa went outside to get your other present."

Five minutes later, Georgia called for her father to bring the present in.

Her once pristine father held the wiggling puppy away from his shirt. His paw-printed, mud-covered white shirt. His tie was missing and his shirt untucked. His hair was as wild as Matthew's.

Matthew went nuts, jumping up and rushing to his grandfather. Like Georgia had known he would. He hugged the puppy over and over.

Her father stood at her left shoulder, Hellbrook at her right. Her father laughed at the boy and dog. "Damned dog is a little Lucifer."

"Lucifer! I like it, Grandpa! I'll call her Lucifer!" Matthew squealed again, a sound the puppy echoed. All the adults laughed.

Georgia looked up. "A dog named Lucifer, and a fiancé named Hell. What does that say about my future?"

Hell laughed. "That it will be a hot one."

Georgia looked at him, then at her father. He smiled and nodded. Georgia smiled at her father, grateful for his understanding, his approval. "I think I can handle the heat."

# Excerpt from Seeking the Sheriff

FIRST IN THE **_MASTERSON COUNTY_** SERIES by CALLE J. BROOKES

* * *

Sheriff Joel Masterson wanted to kick the kid's ass seven ways to Sunday, but he controlled himself. Barely. The boy was too old for this stupid shit.

Joel was, that was for sure. He grabbed Phoenix Tyler by the back of his collar and dragged him to his feet. "Come on. I haven't got all night."

Tyler protested, curses ringing out through the night. Main Street was fully deserted except for him, Tyler, and the man twice the kid's size who he'd started the fight with.

The two wannabe wrestlers smelled like the whiskey distillery on the outskirts of town, and Joel's eyes burned from the strength of it. But his hands were steady on the kid.

Best to get Tyler out of there before Rutherford got the idea to give the kid the beating Tyler most likely deserved.

Rutherford wasn't known for Friday night barroom brawls.

Neither was Tyler, for that matter. Now, underage drinking...well, Deputy Lowell had picked him up for that a time or two already, hadn't he?

Nothing Joel hadn't seen a hundred times in his two years as the sheriff of Masterson County.

Time to return this boy to where he belonged, so Joel and the deputies could get out around the county. They needed to make certain the floods that were impending hadn't washed out the access roads. Five thousand people resided in the county, and if too many roads were flooded out, the entire county would be impacted.

He didn't have time for some punk wannabe with a chip on his shoulder right now. The floods headed their way were supposed to be record breaking. And he didn't know if the dams were going to be strong enough to keep the waters at bay.

It was going to get bad in Masterson County, Wyoming— really bad.

And it was his job to keep the people in his county safe. It wasn't a responsibility he took lightly.

He cuffed the Tyler kid and shoved him in the back of his SUV, thankful for the metal grill that separated Tyler from his seat. It took a call to his dispatcher to find out where the boy lived—while he'd had a few brushes with the law, Joel hadn't dealt with him personally before—and then he headed his SUV toward the far southwestern corner of his county. As he covered the familiar territory, he wondered about the kid in his back seat. There were a bunch of Tylers out past his family homestead, but he'd never met all of them.

The boy was one of _those_ Tylers, then. They'd been contentious sonsofbitches since before the county was formed. He'd had more than a few run-ins with the boy's uncles and cousins.

Looks like Phoenix Tyler was following the family footsteps right down a bad path.

Joel sighed, wishing the world he lived in could be a hell of a lot different. Part of the problem with the Tylers _he_ knew was a simple lack of economic opportunity. They were ranchers, pure and simple, and in Tyler Township, where they lived, the lands were barren and inhospitable. Nothing worth a damn would grow there, and nothing could _live_ there.

Except for ornery Tylers, that was. Despite the odds, the Tylers kept on.

He'd been to this corner of the county numerous times, but not to the particular address he was headed toward now.

The kid continued to mouth off in the back of the SUV. Joel just kept driving. It wasn't the first time a dumb kid took a ride home in his SUV. At least this one wasn't puking everywhere.

It was a forty-minute drive from Masterson to the Tyler ranch. The kid ended up snoring in the back before they were halfway there.

Maybe he'd sleep off most of it and be able to deal with his parents then?

Parents were sometimes the hardest part of his job. Especially parents of screwups like the boy drooling in his back seat.

He reached the Tyler ranch and turned down the pitted and rutted lane. They needed about four loads of gravel to even make it halfway passable, didn't they?

The house was sprawling but in such disrepair on the outside that he wondered why it hadn't been condemned yet. Although it _did_ look like someone had planted flowers along the walkway recently.

That saddened him more than anything. The flowers spoke of hope and a desire to at least _try._ The house screamed of neglect and despair.

He looked around one more time. He wasn't so certain he wanted to leave the boy here.

The yard was trimmed neatly and free of clutter at least. That told him a lot. _Someone,_ at least, was trying.

Joel tensed when the light flicked on in the front of the house. They'd heard him pull up.

He parked next to the small porch and killed the engine. He had a feeling he was going to be there for a while. It just always seemed to happen that way at Tyler homesteads. Whether Joel wanted it to or not.

The door opened, and a middle-aged man wearing a white tank and faded jeans stepped outside. His hair was thinning and gray, and his eyes showed years of hard living, but his body was tough and lean. He looked like a hundred other weathered ranchers Joel had seen through the years. "What's wrong?"

His voice was roughened and harsh, but unthreatening. Joel cataloged the man quickly. A man just trying to get by in a world that wasn't always easy to navigate. Like so many others in Masterson County. "You Phil Tyler?"

"Yes."

"I have your boy in the back seat. Got into a brawl at Dan's Tavern in Masterson. I was going to book him in, but to be honest, I have to deal with the approaching storms. I don't have time for underage drinking, and my deputies are all spread over the county."

"He facing charges?"

Joel thought for a moment. "I'm not sure yet. Have him at my office Tuesday at ten, and we can discuss it."

He pulled the teenager from the back seat, and the kid came awake, swinging and swearing.

His father stepped off the porch and grabbed the boy by the shoulder. "Phoenix, shut your mouth before it gets you into deeper trouble."

The boy cursed his father up one side and down the other. The older man never lifted a hand to hit him, at least. If anything, the father looked more embarrassed than angry.

The kid's tirade went on for a good fifteen minutes before the front door opened again and _six_ more bodies came tumbling out.

Joel studied them quickly. Young. Three were female, small, slim, startlingly pretty in the bright porch light, and—if he wasn't mistaken—two were identical. The rest were boys, younger than the one still cursing. Hell, the youngest had to be under eight or nine, didn't he?

The rest of the Tylers?

Joel turned back to the boy when the kid started swinging. The father, no more than five nine or five ten, was a few inches shorter than his son. And a whole lot soberer.

Joel didn't have time to suffer fools gladly. Or wait for a father to gain control of his son. He grabbed the back of the kid's shirt and lifted him off his feet. While Phoenix Tyler was close to six feet tall, Joel dwarfed him. At six foot four, two hundred and fifty pounds, he was twice what the boy weighed.

He used that to his advantage now. He turned Phoenix toward him. "Get your shit together _now._ Or I will run you into town, and you can hang out in the drunk tank for the next seventy-two hours. How would you like that?"

"You can't do that. I have school tomorrow," the boy sneered.

"You could just be truant then. We'll see how well that goes over with the school." Masterson public schools had a zero-tolerance truancy policy that was strictly enforced. Every parent knew that. Jail wouldn't be an excuse.

The boy continued to kick and fight. Joel continued to hold him. He could do this all night if he had to.

Phoebe Tyler saw the lights and knew something was going on. Something that shouldn't be. She didn't even bother trying to listen, as she'd lost the ability to distinguish most sounds when she'd been six years old. She wasn't fully hearing-impaired and could speak, but there was a lot she missed. Especially without the hearing aid currently sitting on her bedside table. She'd tried to sleep with it in before, but it just didn't happen.

A fact a lot of her siblings took advantage of. Especially the younger ones. They'd better not be up wandering the house. Not this late.

She was the oldest of eight, and she didn't take that role lightly. Her father busted his butt trying to turn a profit on the small ranch that had been in their family for generations. But it wasn't easy. Especially since her mother had passed two years earlier in a car wreck that had two of her siblings injured. Leaving a mountain of debt bigger than the mountain that she could see from her window. The loss of their mother left the day-to-day care of the ranch house, and her youngest siblings, up to _her_.

Well, up to her and her sisters, Pip, Perci, and Pandora. The girls had their own responsibilities, though. Pip was doing her best to build a horse ranch out of their small stable of cutting horses. A few more years, and she'd be able to sell off some of the horses she'd bred and trained herself. Perci helped Phoebe with her Angora goat herd when needed—and worked extra twelve-hour shifts as a nurse at the county hospital whenever she could. Perci made a point of taking every bit of overtime she could get. Pan spent most of _her_ time helping their father and Phoebe. When she could, Pan did virtual-assistant work and cleaned houses for some of their cousins and uncles. Phoebe's responsibilities around the house made it impossible for her to have a full-time job. She supplemented what her sisters brought in with her goats. She sold the mohair yarn she created herself. Money was tight, but they were holding on.

In her spare time, Phoebe tended her little drove. After she had finished with that, she would sit at her loom and weave blankets from the yarn she kept back for that purpose. When those sold, she'd bring in a few hundred dollars each.

Every penny their branch of the Tylers could bring in helped their family of nine survive.

If something was wrong with one of the children, it was Phoebe's job to take care of them. She didn't bother with a robe or slippers. She grabbed the hearing aid sitting on her night table and slipped it in. With the device, she had close to sixty percent of hearing in her left ear.

Phoebe hurried down the stairs.

Joel caught the door opening again as he held the idiot teenager aloft and lectured. Another woman stepped out. He looked at her long enough to figure out if she was the mother or not. She looked like all the rest of the females but smaller, slighter. A little older. Maybe, but not much. She wore small, thin pajamas that did little to hide the fact that she was all woman. Hell, Joel would far rather be looking at _her_ than dealing with this kid.

She took one look at what was happening and jumped right into the fray. By smacking at _Joel_ and lecturing _him_.

Joel couldn't defend himself and the boy from the small tornado attacking him—not without seriously hurting her—so he dropped the boy heedlessly to the ground and grabbed the woman by her arms. He tried to turn her to face him more fully, but she was mighty resistant.

"Stop. Lady, I said _stop_ , unless you want to be arrested for assaulting an officer."

She had one little finger pointing in his face, but she wasn't looking at him. No, now her brothers got the rest of her tirade. She had the younger ones hurrying back inside with a few sharp words, under the direction of one of the sisters. The twin females remained on the porch. Watching silently, warily.

Joel wrapped his arms around her and bear-hugged her when she waved her hands around again. He didn't have time for this. No matter that he was half enjoying having such a sweet-smelling female in his arms again. If she just wasn't trying to _kick_ him with her bare little feet...

Joel lifted her straight off the ground and held her there, aloft. " _Stop_. Now."

"Don't _hurt_ her, Sheriff! She can't _hear_ you," the father said, hurrying closer. He reached out like he was going to try and take her out of Joel's arms. Joel wasn't about to put her down just yet. Not until she stopped kicking. "My girl is deaf. I don't think the hearing aid is on. Battery doesn't always work right."

There was a strange man holding her. Phoebe hadn't gotten a good look at him, but she thought it was that brute, Tom Rutherford, who'd been harassing Phoenix for weeks. He certainly felt big enough to be Rutherford.

She felt his chest rumble as he spoke behind her. Felt his arms tighten around her yet again. He certainly was a large man. Strong.

Phoenix jumped to his feet and charged the cowboy holding her. The cowboy twisted. His arms tightened around her, almost protectively.

He jerked as her brother struck him on the side.

They almost went down, but the man was strong. Big and muscled...and royally ticked off.

He let go of her, and Phoebe scurried away. The man grabbed her brother. Within seconds he had Phoenix wrestled to the ground—and handcuffed. It was then that Phoebe saw the emblem on the side of the SUV.

Oh, hell. She'd just accosted the Masterson County sheriff.

Phoebe pushed Perci's helping hand away. "Get inside, with Pan and the boys. I'll deal with this."

"Phoebe, let Dad deal with it," her slightly younger sister said.

"No." She'd deal. She'd made the situation so much worse; it was her responsibility to clean it all up. Phoebe rose to her feet and turned to the man now glowering down at her. She got her first good look at the sheriff.

Even in the light from the front porch, it was hard to miss the gorgeous cowboy in jeans and a white Stetson staring at her. If he wasn't about to eat her for lunch, she would almost be tempted to stop and just stare at him.

" _You_." He pointed right at her. Phoebe stood her ground and refused to look away.

He should arrest them both. Let them spend the next three days thinking about what they had done. Tempting; very, very tempting.

Thunder cracked overhead; lightning streaked across the sky. Decision made. He didn't have time for the damned Tylers of Tyler Township. Not tonight.

He looked at the woman standing so proud, defiant, and _terrified_ in front of him. She was disheveled from wrestling with him, hair everywhere, and the top two buttons of the thin pajamas had popped open. He pointed at her and then the house. "Inside."

She touched her left ear lightly. "You don't have to shout. My hearing aid is turned on...now."

"March your little... _self_ inside."

She obeyed, tiny chin in the air. The damned woman didn't have any shoes on. She didn't seem to notice. Her father and sisters hurried inside in front of her.

Her brother was still cursing him up one side and down the other. He cursed his sister, too. That just pissed Joel off even more. Joel yanked the kid to his feet and frog-marched him after his sister.

Damn it.

He should just arrest them both and be done with it. The old man spoke first. "Arrest my son if you need to. Let him sit for a while. But my daughter...she's needed here. She takes care of the kids. Don't think we can do it a day around here without her."

One of her sisters handed her a cotton robe, and she slipped into it quickly. She eyed him like he was a rabid rattlesnake out to gobble her up. He thought of that for a quick moment, gobbling her right up. At any other time, under any other circumstances...

He stayed silent as she tied the robe around her body.

He had to admit he liked what he'd seen in the few seconds before she covered up. He was a man, after all. None of the four women were exactly slouches in the looks department. Then she turned back toward him, and he got his first _real_ look at his assailant.

Her hair was rich auburn, her eyes a soft blue. It was coloring shared with all her sisters and two of her brothers. Her skin was flawless, the body beneath the shapeless robe was small but curved. He'd had his hands on her, after all. She'd curved in all the right female places.

She stared back at him. Finally, she licked her lips nervously and spoke. "I didn't realize you were the police, Deputy..."

" _Sheriff_. I'm Joel Masterson."

She winced. "I didn't know who you were. I thought you were the men who have been harassing my brother. I am so sorry."

Such pride, it was in her face and in the way, she did not look away. He still saw the fear. Especially when she looked at the three younger boys watching from the hallway.

She made him feel like a total ass. Did she think he was going to slap some cuffs on her and drag her away, right in front of her brothers and sisters?

Damn it, one sister looked about ready to cry, as it was.

Her brother Phoenix cursed at her; she barely glanced at him, as if she were used to the treatment.

Joel wasn't. He and his three brothers had been raised never to talk to a woman like that, let alone a sister. He yanked the boy around and got in his face. "One more word out of you and it's the back of my Denali and a seventy-two-hour hold. Minimum." He sat the boy back on his feet and turned toward the oldest sister.

The woman—from her brother's curses, he assumed her name was _Phoebe_ —held herself so still. She just stared at him.

Hell, Joel wanted to stare right back. He almost did. Until the boy called his sister something so foul that his father smacked him in the head.

Phil Tyler looked at Joel, resolution in his manner. "He's nineteen now and getting into more and more trouble. I got three more boys coming up right behind him. He ain't pulling his weight around here. He's just making more trouble for me—and for the girls. The four of them are working themselves to the bones around here. Just to help make ends meet. _He's_ not."

Joel really didn't need the family history. What he needed was to get out of there. If the boy had been more cooperative, he'd have just left him for his father to deal with. Thanks to the sister, it had turned into an even bigger mess. "I'm sorry for your troubles, Mr. Tyler, but—"

The older man took the cup one of his twins handed him. He stared at Joel for a long moment. Like he was looking inside Joel and taking his measure somehow. It was disconcerting. Joel would admit that.

Then Phil Tyler looked at his four beautiful daughters. He straightened his shoulders, and his resolve tightened around him almost visibly.

Joel knew something significant was happening. He just didn't know what.

"I'm _asking_ you to arrest him, Sheriff. Or at least get him out of here. For a while. Before he ends up hurting someone here. Every last one of my others are smaller than he is—you can see that for yourself. I just don't trust him here anymore. He's going to hurt one of them eventually."

The oldest sister protested, but her father held up a hand and told her to be quiet. She obeyed. The entire room was silent. "He would've plowed right over you, Phoebe Kate. We all know that. Had the sheriff not been here, he could have hurt you."

"Had the _sheriff_ not been _here_ , it wouldn't have happened," she said, sending a glare Joel's way as if he were the cause of their family drama. Not exactly a reaction he hadn't seen in his job before. Everyone looked to blame the police. It was easier than thinking their loved one was at fault.

The brother kept cursing, though now under his breath.

" _No._ No more coddling him; our family just can't afford this any longer." The father leveled a look at the son. It was a look that was filled with love, exasperation, and disgust. "No more. You're welcome home when you can be a part of this family— _help_ instead of screwing everything up. Again. Do you think we can afford bail money for this? Your sisters are struggling to find _grocery_ money, Phoenix. Groceries. To feed eight other people besides _you!_ You want to see Parker, Pete, or Pat go to bed hungry every night just to keep you out of jail?"

Now the kid shut up. The oldest sister moved to stand between her father, brother, and Joel. She looked up, between the two men and the boy. Joel's nose tickled, the scent of clean woman right there in front of him. She turned more fully toward her father, putting all those dark-red curls right beneath his chin. She only came up to midchest on him. If he leaned forward a bit, he could...

Joel forced himself to focus on doing his job and not acting like an idiot.

"Daddy—"

The older man wrapped a hand around his daughter's arm and pulled her close for a hug. He then sat her back. Closer to Joel. " _No,_ baby girl. It's time he learned to be a man. Sheriff, take him off my property, please. He's not welcome here anymore."

Joel didn't see where he had a choice. The boy wasn't welcome at home any longer. He had committed a crime. And he was too drunk to be able to take care of himself. Responsibility was going to have to fall to him. Hell, he even understood where Phil Tyler was coming from. Joel reached for the boy—just as six feet of enraged drunken teenager lunged toward his father.

Knocking his five-foot one-hundred-pound sister carelessly out of his way.

Joel knew he was too late, even as he was moving.

He'd just managed to wrap one hand around her skinny little arm when she hit the floor. Her head cracked against the chair on her way down.

# Also by Calle J. Brookes

ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

* * *

PAVAD: FBI ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

* * *

Beginning (Prequel 1)

Waiting (Prequel 2)

* * *

Watching

Wanting

Second Chances

Hunting

Running

Redeeming

Revealing

Stalking

Ghosting

Burning

Gathering

Falling

Hiding

Seeking

* * *

FINLEY CREEK SERIES

* * *

TRILOGY ONE (TEXAS STATE POLICE)

* * *

Her Best Friend's Keeper

Shelter from the Storm

The Price of Silence

* * *

TRILOGY TWO (FINLEY CREEK GENERAL)

* * *

If the Dark Wins

Wounds That Won't Heal

Hope for Finley Creek (bonus novella)

As the Night Ends

* * *

TRILOGY THREE (FINLEY CREEK DISASTER)

* * *

Before the Rain Breaks

Lost in the Wind

Walk Through the Fire

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MASTERSON COUNTY NOVELLA SERIES

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Seeking the Sheriff

Discovering the Doctor

Ruining the Rancher

Denying the Devil

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SMALL-TOWN SHERIFFS

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Holding the Truth

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SUSPENSE/THRILLER

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PAVAD: FBI CASE FILES

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PAVAD: FBI Case Files #0001

"Knocked Out"

PAVAD: FBI Case Files #0002

"Knocked Down"

PAVAD: FBI Case Files #0003

"Knocked Around"

PAVAD: FBI Case Files #0004

"White Out"

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Calle has several free reads available at

www. **CalleJBrookesReads.com**

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For my grandfather, the best man I have ever known.

You will be missed.

Oct. 2015

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For my grandmother, who gave me the courage to try. Without you and your love of romance, I never would have made it this far.

Feb. 2016

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For my papaw, whose children loved him deeply, and will always miss him.

Oct. 2017

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**Calle J. Brookes** is first and foremost a fiction writer. She enjoys crafting paranormal romance and romantic suspense. She reads almost every genre except horror. She spends most of her time juggling family life and writing while reminding herself that she can't spend all of her time in the worlds found within books. CJ loves to be contacted by her readers via email and at **www.CalleJBrookes.com**. When not at home writing stories of adventure and wrangling with two border collies and a beagle puppy, CJ is off in her RV somewhere exploring the beautiful world we live in, along with her husband of she can't remember how many years and their child.

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Copyright © 2012 by Calle J. Brookes

PFRS2020

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All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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For information contact:

www.callejbrookes.com

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Book and Cover design by CALLE J. BROOKES

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