Blind: Killer Instincts (3 page)

“But you forgot our third wheel.” She nodded toward the box.

“It’s a dead guy and paper. I refuse to think that he counts as much as I do. I mean, I’m alive and breathing—and paying for dinner.” And she had been staring at him earlier as if she’d rather eat him than the chopped brisket sandwich she’d ordered.

“Yeah, not first date material, sorry.” Her mouth curled up in that damn smile that made him want to pry her open, figure out what she was thinking. He was good at reading people, but right now he couldn’t get anything from her.

He sighed and balled up his napkin. Fuck it. He wanted to see her again. “Damn, do I get to practice for this next date now?”

“Hm, maybe.” She glanced up at the ceiling, as if she were thinking.

“For our real first date, what would you like to do?” She didn’t strike him as the dinner and a movie kind of girl. Emma was a woman who did things.

“You assume I’d go out with you.” She jabbed a fry at him.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, holding it while he leaned across the table and took the morsel of food from her fingers with his mouth. She stared at him, her eyes growing wider the closer he got. His lips touched her fingers as he bit the fry off and she sucked in a breath. Oh yeah, she wanted him, she was just playing hard to get.

He leaned his elbow on the table and gentled his grasp on her wrist. Emma glanced around, her cheeks growing pink. Good. She was making him fucking crazy eating a damn sandwich. He’d rather lay her out and make a meal of her.

She seemed to pull herself together a bit and leveled a glare at him.

“You’re so sure of yourself.” She tugged against his hand, but he didn’t release his grip on her.

“Not really, but when you see something you like, you don’t let it get away.” That sounded either smooth or creepy. He couldn’t quite decide which, but romance wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

She bit her lip and nodded toward the menu. “When I was a teenager, my brother Travis got a dirt bike. His momma wouldn’t let him keep it, so I got it by default. I started racing in high school against the boys because there wasn’t a division for girls, and I kind of kicked their asses.”

God, that little southern twang when she spoke did something to him. And she had a mouth on her that would make his mother blush. Most women needed a toned down version of him. He had to watch what he said, keep a tight control on his anger, and never talk work. Emma wasn’t like that. He felt more like himself than he had with another human being in ages.

His smile widened. “I’d like to see that sometime. You still race?”

“As often as I can. Fuck. I love it.” She brushed the crumbs from her sandwich off her fingers. “Are you from the FBI or something?”

Jacob’s eyes widened and he swallowed his bite of food hurriedly. Damn. She was more perceptive than he’d expected, too. She might be more than a tad bit country, but that didn’t mean she was easily fooled. “No. Why would you say that?”

“I’ve been trying to figure you out since you sat down. You aren’t like the intellectuals or the creepadoodles that usually want to see this shit. You’re younger, hot, fairly normal, and I think if you wanted something you’d go for it.”

“And that makes me FBI?”

“It doesn’t make you the type I usually see. You’re too old to be a student doing a research project. Journalists take lots of notes, ask hundreds of questions, and almost always focus on the negatives and sensationalize stuff. I don’t see journalists anymore, it’s too upsetting to the families, and I don’t have that kind of time. I figure you have to be FBI or something like that. Are you?”

“No.” He took a long drink from his glass.

His game was up. He wouldn’t lie to her, but telling her the truth was likely to put an end to this dinner. Emma’s dad was notorious for not speaking to cops. It was actually a blessing the man had gone into hiding. It meant there were no longer panicked calls to cops by reporters trying to get a story out of the infamous Ration family. Considering what had happened to Emma’s brother, and even to her, Jacob didn’t expect her to take the information well.

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” She wiped her hands, and goodbye was written all over her face. If he didn’t come clean, he could kiss the possibility of a second date goodbye.

He sat back in the booth, stretching one arm out over the cushion, studying her. What was he thinking? This was business, not hitting on a girl. He had to remember there was something else going on, something bigger than either of them.

“Did you enjoy your meat?” he asked.

She snorted. “It’s good. You handle yours okay?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“You’re not going to answer me, are you?”

Jacob had to do it. Like it or not. He sucked in a deep breath and counted to ten, calming himself. “My dad was the detective in charge of the TBK case. He arrested Mitchell Black.”

“No fucking way.” Emma gaped at the man across from her. “Are you a cop?”

“Yeah. Detective, actually.” He shrugged and glanced away. Studying the cases, he hadn’t liked how her dad was handled, or how little the cops had done to mitigate the media coverage on the families. But he’d been a baby. And his father had changed with that case.

“And you let me sit here and talk shit at you that you already knew?” The fury radiating off her was enough to make a lesser man duck and take cover.

He hated the way she stared at him now, anger, hurt, confusion all there for him to see. Fuck. This was not what he wanted.

Jacob leaned forward, hands upturned. “Look, I wanted to see the letters. I didn’t mean to piss you off. A lot of really shitty stuff went down on those last few TBK victims, and things should have been different.”

“I think it’s time for me to go.” Emma grabbed her filing box and slid out of the booth. She kept her head down, not looking at him anymore. The flirtation and chemistry was gone.

“Emma, no.” He dug out his wallet, dropping a generous amount on the table to cover the meal and tip, while she fled from him.

It appeared the distrust of cops was a family trait. He shouldn’t take it personally, but Jacob’s whole life was about making Oklahoma City a safer place. Sure, there were a lot of fucked up, dirty cops out there, but that wasn’t him. Yeah, he had his issues—too much anger, short fuse, but he kept his cool on the job. He’d show her.

Jacob strode out of the restaurant, pausing long enough to tell the hostess his payment was on the table before jogging out into the parking lot. He glanced left, and then right, before catching sight of a blonde ponytail.

“Emma. Emma, wait!”

She glanced over her shoulder at him but didn’t stop. That would be too easy. He’d bet money she was as stubborn as a mule.

Emma stalked between the cars. He didn’t want to run her down, but like hell he was letting her leave yet. She had to understand. She might be in danger, too.

She reached a silver pickup truck sitting on the edge of the dirt lot and the lights flashed. She reached for the handle, and he closed the last foot of space between them, planting his hand on the door and shoving it closed.

He could smell the faint scent of oil and lemons on her this close. Her ponytail brushed his chest when she glanced over her shoulder at him, but her face was hidden in shadow. She was close, so close he could touch her. Would she let him?

Business. He needed to stop thinking with his cock. He was a better detective than this.

“Damn it, let me explain, okay?” he said.

She side-stepped away from him and backed toward the bed of the truck. “And why should I?”

He held up his hands. “Look, I know your dad doesn’t like cops. I understand why. In his situation, I would be pissed off, too. But if I’d told you I was a detective, would you have let me within ten feet of you?”

She glared at him, the truth burning in her gaze. He hated that look.

“No.”

He glanced away, his lips pressed into a line. There wasn’t anything he could do to make her listen, hell, his lieutenant actively shut him down. Why should she be any different? Except, for an hour, he’d thought he’d found someone who really got him. Too bad she didn’t like cops. After this, she probably wouldn’t speak to him again. If she blocked his number, he wouldn’t be surprised. If this was his one chance, he had to get through to her. Make sure she knew what was out there.

Jacob turned his face slowly toward her once more. She was still studying him, but glanced away hurriedly when his gaze met hers. He hated that she wouldn’t even look at him now. “I got a letter two weeks ago, and another a couple days after that. I thought the first one was a load of shit, so I tossed it in the garbage. Then I got the second one. They were sent to my house, not the station.” The images were still branded into his brain. He doubted they were stock images. Whoever those poor souls were, he hoped their death hadn’t been on par with what the TBK victims had suffered.

She flinched, jaw dropping and brows drawing down, as if to say,
What did this have to do with her?

He licked his lips. Lieutenant Miller had told him he was wrong, that this was someone screwing with him. But Jacob’s gut told him differently. There were so many things fucked up with this situation that he didn’t know where to begin, but Emma deserved to be warned. She needed to know. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands clenched at his side.

“They’re copying TBK’s style, but not the method.”

She froze, her beautiful face a contorted mask of disbelief and fear. There were innumerable theories that Mitchell Black’s sudden death in prison was a conspiracy. What if they’d never caught TBK?

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“I—I don’t know. Originally, the first two victims weren’t related to TBK until years later. Most of their possessions were destroyed. If there were any letters to kick off the murders, we don’t know they exist. Am I right?”

“Yeah. I talked to the Strouds and the Lambs. They didn’t know much, but I always thought they were hiding something.” She hefted the filing box up so she carried it with both hands to her chest. “What are you saying? Do you think TBK is still out there?”

Jacob shook his head. “I don’t know. My dad put him behind bars, and it fucks with my head to think he got the wrong man. I want to believe it’s a copycat, but I can’t risk that it’s not. And it’s not a fucking coincidence that he’s sending me letters. That’s why I looked you up.”

“Why? You thought I sent them?”

“It was one of my initial assumptions, but I ruled that out before I ever spoke to you.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Do you have the letters on you?”

She knew more about TBK than any other living person. Her eyes on the letters would be a great help in putting his mind at ease that this was a copycat.

He thumbed over his shoulder. “In my Jeep.”

“Show them to me?”

“Yeah. Come on. Want me to carry that?” He gestured to the box.

“No thanks.” She tossed a glare his way as they began walking.

One...two...three...

He kept counting until he got to ten, but he was grinding his teeth already. Why couldn’t she understand he wasn’t the enemy here?

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble or anything. I know about your brother. I know about you.”

She stopped, and he turned to face her. If looks could kill, he’d be ten kinds of dead right now.

“So what? Do you know about what my daddy did to me, too?”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. He’d read the whole file, cover to cover. At first it was to figure out who she was, but her pictures and everything penned on those old pages had drawn him in. If he were really smart, he’d have sent his partner to meet with Emma, but he’d wanted to meet her himself.

“And that what? Makes me supposed to trust you because you can read a file? Detective Payton, we might share a dark and gruesome history, but that’s it. You don’t know me, I don’t owe you anything—”

“I’m not saying you do.”

“You think you understand me? You can flirt with the poor, pitiful daughter of the TBK survivor and get what you want, is that it?”

“No.” He scowled at her, fists clenched. He saw her as so much more than that. She’d survived that darkness, built a life that at least appeared to make her happy. “I get where you’re coming from.”

“I seriously doubt you do.”

“What? Because you’re the only person who could ever have been fucked over?” He closed the distance between them until he loomed over her. He needed to stop this, walk away now, but she drew him in with those dark eyes that saw too deep. “I think you’ve got a chip on your shoulder you really need to brush off.”

“I’m saving it for later. Thanks. The letters? Or should I go now?”

God, that mouth.

“Come on,” he muttered.

She followed him to his Jeep Wrangler, which had seen better days, without another word spoken. He opened the driver’s side door and reached across to the case file he started the day he took the letters to his lieutenant. It was also the day he’d been told to ignore the potential case. He laid it open on the seat and leaned against the door. The dome light provided enough illumination to see the ghastly creation.

“It’s totally different.” Emma squeezed in next to him, soaking up the page. Her disdain for him appeared to have been forgotten, at least for the moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled her fragrance again.

He cleared his throat and glanced at the letter. “I know. That’s why I thought the first one was bogus.”

The original TBK letters were done on copy paper, with glued or printed words, sometimes on ruled school paper. This letter was one huge image. A collage of graphics layered together with a wash of red over the whole thing. The text was printed as well, but the fonts for each word varied, as if imitating the cut and paste style. But it wasn’t the same. It was like a work of art made in imitation. The text was white, with a thin black outline that made it pop on the red background.

Emma put the file box down to peer closer at the page.

“I will finish what my soul began,” she muttered the first line of text aloud. “At least the bastard made it easy to read. What do you think these pictures in the background are?”