E
mma stared up at Jacob’s face, cloaked in shadows. She wanted the numbness to go away. Was it wrong?
“What do you feel?” he asked.
She placed her hand against her chest.
“Dead inside. Nothing.”
He muttered what might have been, “Oh, Ems,” before rolling her to her back and settling over her.
“Whatever you need, I’m here for you,” he whispered. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her jaw, everywhere except her mouth.
She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him where she wanted him. His mouth on hers. She kissed him deeply, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, pressing as close as she could get and still be in her own body, but it wasn’t close enough.
He cupped her face, swiping his thumbs over her cheeks with such tenderness. This big, tough man was capable of more than she knew. She relaxed, and he took over, easing back a bit. At least their noses weren’t practically breaking on each other’s cheekbones anymore. She felt more from that tender touch than she had all night. It was the way he lavished attention on her mouth. She shifted, restless, but he held her in place.
Why was it this man stirred such intense desire in her? It was too soon. They didn’t know each other. And yet, this was where she wanted to be. Alive. Making love to a man who quietly made her want to be better. Worthy of him.
Jacob kissed his way down her neck, pausing to suck lightly at the sensitive juncture to her shoulder. She lifted her hips, grinding against him. He pushed her shirt up and lowered his weight onto her, restricting her movements.
She pulled her shirt up the rest of the way, wiggling it off until all she wore were her panties. He made an approving sound and palmed her breast. She arched her back and surrendered to the sensations assaulting her body. The sheets were cool, soft, and smelled faintly of lavender. The coarse hair on Jacob’s chest and legs rubbed against her as he moved, and his stubble scraped the sensitive flesh of her breasts. Desire coiled tightly inside of her, driving out the last bit of her ability to form coherent thoughts.
She felt a hell of a lot now. There was nothing numb about what he did to her, how he made her feel.
Her focus was on his hands, the way he made it hard for her to breathe, and the pounding of her heart.
He pushed her breasts together and licked from one nipple to the next. She shivered and grasped the sheets. He rolled one stiff peak between his fingers while teasing the other with his tongue.
She almost wanted to push him over, shove a condom on that hard cock she could feel against her thigh, and ride him to climax. Almost, because he was showing her what else he had. They might not be afraid of playing it a little rough, but he was touching her in places unavailable to human hands. It felt as though he reached inside of her and hugged her heart.
“Jacob,” she moaned.
“Hm?”
“I want you.”
“You have me,” he muttered against her skin. He switched breasts, content to go no faster.
She shifted her feet against the bed, trying and failing to lift him, move him, make him do something.
He took pity on her and slid his hand between their bodies, cupping her mound and giving her the desired pressure. She moved her hips, grinding against his palm. He shoved her panties aside, and as she shifted against him he thrust two fingers into her pussy.
She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He pumped his hand in and out while his mouth worked on her breast. She groaned and scraped her nails over his back. His shoulders tensed as she dug deep tracks, but he didn’t relent in his slow, sensual assault on her body.
Jacob sat up suddenly, his erection tenting the front of his boxers. She could feel his gaze raking over her. The cool air tightened her damp breasts.
He grasped her panties and pulled them off.
Finally! Down to business.
She reached for his boxers, but he intercepted her hands, pushing them up over her head. He wedged his body between her legs, scooting farther down the bed until his face hovered above her mound. The light glinted off his eyes, and it felt as though he saw beyond her exterior. As if he recognized her fear and apprehension and met her, toe-to-toe. Or, face to pussy as the case were.
He lowered, and she shivered as his breath skated over her skin. Last time, she hadn’t had the opportunity to feel nervous. But tonight, it was as if they were each stripped bare.
He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked. The sensation of it shot straight to her toes. She reached above her and grasped the headboard, needing something to hold onto. He rubbed his tongue over the nub, sparking off a fresh wave of arousal.
Damn him, she didn’t know if she wanted closer, or to get away.
She rubbed her feet back and forth on the mattress. He had her pinned way too well for her to move against him. Her channel clenched as he continued to torment her.
Her toes curled, her body tightened, and she groaned. Her abdomen tightened as pleasure danced over her extremities. The orgasm was sharp, short, and intense, rushing through her at full tilt. She gasped and blinked at the ceiling.
Jacob crawled up her body, dropping kisses on her hip, her stomach, ribs, between her breasts, and along her collar bone. She sucked in deep breaths, her head spinning from how fast that had happened. Despite the release, she wasn’t sated. Not yet. She wanted more of him, as much as she could take.
Emma pointed toward a cardboard box. There were condoms there, but he ignored her and fished his jeans back onto the bed.
“I got my own this time.” He chuckled.
She laughed and stretched, feeling the soreness in her body and loving it. Loving how he drove her crazy. Every brush against the sheets heightened her sensitivity.
Jacob returned to her, sliding between her thighs and hooking her knee over his arm. Their gazes locked and her lungs stopped working. It was as if she could see straight to his soul. He wasn’t keeping her out, at least not now.
He positioned his cock at her entrance and thrust. He sank slowly into her, and it was more intense because she could see the way his features changed, how his nostrils flared and his cheeks sunk in the deeper he delved. Her insides quivered, and she swallowed a whimper.
Was she supposed to feel so emotionally raw?
He invaded her body, her heart, and filled her mind. He was all around her.
Jacob let his forehead drop until their noses bumped. He flexed his hips and sank the last little bit into her. She squeezed her internal muscles around him, and she felt him smile a little against her mouth. How she wanted to see that smile, soak it in.
She kissed him, needing more connection, more of whatever it was he was doing to her. She’d asked him to make her feel.
He shifted, hoisting her leg higher and opening her up to a deeper penetration, robbing her of thought, leaving her adrift in a sea of sensation. He rocked against her, stroking deep inside her channel, rubbing all those nerve endings and coiling her desire tighter.
Jacob levered up and began a slow, purposeful thrusting. She shifted against him, but he had all the power. Her orgasm, her body, and even her heart were at his mercy.
She felt his gaze on her, and she couldn’t help but meet it. Her chest ached and her heart swelled, beating hard against her ribs as he continued pushing her onward.
He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. He saw her. All her flaws and her sordid history, and yet, he still wanted her. She’d have to trust that. Trust that this man would be there for her where all others had failed her.
She dug her nails into his shoulders and gasped. Her body rippled with orgasm— sharp, sweet and sudden. He continued thrusting, drawing the pleasure out. She raked her nails down his back, and he groaned. His thrusts were rough and short. He thrust once more and froze, features tense, mouth open. He blew out a breath and covered her, crushing her mouth to his.
He rolled them to their sides, pulling her close, and cuddled her without being asked to. He knew she needed the comfort. Neither of them spoke, and that was okay. She’d wanted to feel, but now, maybe she felt too deep. He did things to her, crazy, wonderful things that made no sense.
Rhonda pressed dial again on her cell.
“Come on, already. Pick up the damn phone,” she muttered.
Once more, the phone line went to the answering machine, and she rolled her eyes.
“Hey, it’s me. I guess you left your cell phone at home when you picked Rachel up from work. They didn’t have chocolate chip cookie dough, so since you weren’t answering, I picked something else.”
She ended the call and tossed the phone into the seat next to her. Going a half-hour without contact from her family shouldn’t be a big deal. After all, she’d gone nearly a year without speaking to any of them, thanks to a real gem of an asshole boyfriend who had a degree in manipulation. She’d vowed to never let anyone come between her and her family again.
They’d planned to go out to a movie and have a real girl’s night, but her little sister had been called into work at the local barbecue hangout. Rhonda and her mother had swung by for dinner, but it wasn’t the same without Rachel at the table with them.
She pulled into the drive of their little brick house. Both cars were there, including Rachel’s with the dead-as-a-doornail battery. It was all where it should be, and yet, something seemed off.
If Rachel and Mom were home, why were the lights off? And why weren’t they answering?
She peered at the house.
No, she could see some light from inside. Was that the kitchen?
Her gut clenched and she twisted to survey the street. Had Frank followed her home? Was he here?
Frank said the moment the cops pulled him off her that he’d make her pay. She’d been so scared. One of the officers, a woman with kind eyes and a quick smile, had checked up on her a few times and told her to take martial arts classes. Rhonda had gone mostly to get out of her own head—and found she’d liked the discipline. Maybe it was her imagination, but she felt more confident and capable for working her way through the programs. She’d become something of a dojo junkie.
She wasn’t going to ignore her instincts.
Rhonda left the ice cream in her car and crept to the side of the garage. The door was busted so she couldn’t get in through the laundry room, but that was okay. There was always the glass sliding door to the kitchen. Besides, with her luck Mom and Rachel were in the kitchen pigging out on whatever was leftover from the restaurant and this wasn’t an emergency at all, just her overactive imagination.
She reached the door and peered into the bright country kitchen.
Nothing.
In fact, if she peered through the kitchen over the bar, she could make out their heads resting against the back of the couch as they watched TV.
Well now, didn’t she feel stupid?
Rhonda shook her head and mentally kicked herself. Her paranoia bit hard sometimes. She went back to the car and snagged the ice cream, vowing to keep her delusions to herself.
Frank was not out to get her.
They were safe and sound.
She opened the front door, suppressing her annoyance that it wasn’t locked. Between Frank and the serial killer the news was going on about, you’d think they would exercise a little caution.
“Hey, what’s up with not answering the phone?” she called out as she flicked the locks into place.
Shit, the TV was loud. No wonder they hadn’t heard. They could probably barely hear themselves think.
Rhonda headed toward the kitchen, still unable to shake the sense that something was amiss.
A shadow moved in Rachel’s room on her left. Rhonda stopped as the shadow seemed to peel off the wall and become a person. Fear immobilized her for a second, but then her self-defense training took over.
“Mom, Rachel, call 9-1-1,” she yelled, but they didn’t move.
The man rushed her, something in his hand.
Rhonda didn’t think. She reacted. She threw the gallon of ice cream at her attacker. It hit him square in the face, knocking him off his stride for a second.
A second was all she needed.
She didn’t care if this was Frank, her father come back from whatever hellhole he’d crawled into, or anyone else. No one threatened her or her family. No one.
She rushed the attacker, grabbing the wrist of the hand with the weapon, and kicked his legs out from under him. He went down like a sack of potatoes, and she came down on top of him. She punched with everything she had, aiming for the face, the throat. Her knuckles and hands hurt, but she pushed that aside. Frank had taught her that, at least.
Her attacker thrashed, his arms flailing.
Plastic rattled, and the cold, heavy weight of the ice cream smacked her in the kidney, paralyzing her for a split second.
He pushed her off, kicking and throwing random objects at her. She grabbed the weapon he had—a sledgehammer, by the weight of it—and screamed. For a brief second she glimpsed his face, illuminated by the kitchen light.
Fuck, he was practically a kid.
She hefted the weapon and ran after him, but he was already scrambling to get the locks open. He sprinted down the driveway before she could get her hands on him again. She shoved the door shut and locked it, pulse racing and her body shaking.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
Had that really happened?
The pounding in her hand, the jarred feeling in her elbow and shoulder, they all said yes.
“Mom? Rachel?” She ran into the living room, her heart in her throat.
Both women sat bound and gagged on the sofa, their eyes wide and murmurs drowned out by the TV.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
The shaking was bad now. She looked around for something to cut them free. She needed to call 9-1-1. She needed to untie them.
“I’m going to get help. I’ll get you out of that.” Rhonda grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and punched in those three digits. She rushed to the kitchen, yanking open drawers she knew didn’t have knives or scissors in them. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t process. Couldn’t remember which damn drawer they were in.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“Hi, my name is Rhonda. Someone was in our house when I got home. He had my mom and sister tied up and he attacked me.”
“Is he there now?”
“No, no, I scared him off. I think it was the guy who was on the news. Please, we need help.” She rattled off her address to the woman and answered her questions as best she could.
Ah-ha!
She found the scissors exactly where they should be, in the junk drawer.
Rhonda flipped on all the lights, taking some comfort in chasing away the shadows.
“I’m going to get you out of this,” she said to her mother and sister. The operator was still talking to her in such a frustratingly calm and composed manner. Didn’t the woman understand what was going on here?
She put the phone on speaker and tossed it on the empty cushion next to her mother. The first thing she cut off was the tape over her mouth.
“Oh my God, is he gone?” Her mother gasped, tears running down her cheeks.
“Yeah, he’s gone. Cops are on their way.”
“Rhonda, Rhonda, is your mother okay?” the operator asked.
“I think so,” Rhonda replied.
She cut her sister’s gag off next. If anything, Rachel seemed pissed as hell rather than scared.
“I need to call Emma,” Rachel said, wiggling in her bonds.
“Call her later,” Rhonda said as she started in on the bonds holding her sister’s arms to her sides. Couldn’t she let her little high school friends be for a few minutes? Did she have to update the whole world?
“No, he said he was going after her next. I need to call Emma!”
Emma groaned and snuggled farther into the warmth wrapped around her. She’d just gone to sleep. Couldn’t her alarm wait a little while longer?
“Ems,” Jacob muttered, pushing at her shoulder.
“What?” She buried her face against his shoulder.
“It’s your phone.” From the sound of it, he wasn’t actually awake.
She sighed and rolled over, peering at the clock with one eye.
Midnight.
Whoever was on the other end of this call was dead meat.
The phone flashed Rachel Land’s name.
The teenage hostess at the barbecue place? Emma had given her a ride to work a few times. She hadn’t realized the girl’s number was still in her phone.
“Hello?”
“Emma! Thank God.” The girl on the other end sobbed into the phone.
“Rachel? What’s wrong?” Emma sat up, tossing the covers back.
Jacob’s phone blared like a siren from the pile of clothes still on the floor. She glanced over her shoulder, a sense of dread settling in her stomach.
“He said he was going to come after you. Get out! Get someplace safe.” Rachel continued to sob. There were other voices. Female?
“Rachel? Rachel, where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? I’ll come and get you.” Emma got up and started grabbing for her clothes. Jacob retreated to the living room to answer his call. What were the chances this was a coincidence?
“I’m at home. Mom and I got here and there was a man. He hit Mom and knocked her out, and then he tied me up. He kept saying it was for you. It was crazy!” Rachel continued to babble, but she wasn’t making a lot of sense.
Jacob came around the bed, his face half in shadow, but what she could see didn’t make her feel any better.
“Rachel, hold on a second, okay?” She put her hand over the phone. “What?”
“Rachel Land?” he asked.
Emma nodded.
“Looks like Rachel’s sister chased away the TBKiller. They want us to stay put.” He didn’t seem too happy with the decision.
“Hey Rachel?”
“Yeah?” Rachel sniffled.
“Are the cops there?”
“They just got here. Emma, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ve got cops here with me, too. I’m going to be okay. Will you call me later? Let me know you’re all right?” Emma wanted to go there now, but that wasn’t going to fly. She hung up with Rachel and wrapped her arms around herself.
Was this really all connected to her?
“How’s she doing?” Jacob asked.
“Scared, but I don’t think she’s hurt. What about the rest of them?”
“No idea, patrol was just getting on the scene.”
“What—what are we supposed to do?”
Somehow, this whole thing was her fault. Guilt wrapped around her, nearly suffocating her. What could she have done differently? Anything at all?
“Hey.” Jacob grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Don’t do that. I’m here. You’re safe.”
“But it’s all my fault.”
“No.” He shook his head. “This is on him, whoever he is. You didn’t ask him to commit these murders.”
“But if it wasn’t for me, Harold, Laura, Derrick, Amanda, they’d all be alive.” She balled her hands into fists. She wanted to punch something. Or more like someone.
“Let’s go back to sleep—”
“No.” She pushed Jacob’s hands away. “No, I can’t go back to sleep. Not now.”
She jerked on a pair of pants and stalked into the living room. He followed her, a silent presence.
“Okay, so let me pitch an idea to you.”
She turned to face him. “Okay. What?”
“I think the unsub is someone you’ve met. Someone you know, but not like a friend. I don’t think you’d even know his name.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I want to bounce some ideas off you, make some lists. Do you think you’re up to that?”
“Hell yeah.” She glanced at the kitchen table and counters covered in papers. “I’ll get the card table from the garage. We can start with that.”
Black Widow closed her laptop and set it on the passenger’s seat. She was relying on Mercy too much. The woman had never stepped out of line, but Black Widow had run Killer Club long enough to know the patterns. People joined, they were over-zealous in their planning, but once the execution stage started... Most of them lost their way. But not Mercy. She was almost a founding member. Her list of kills stretched as long as Black Widow’s.
Mercy was a better actor than others.
Like Iron.
Max Fischer had potential, but he saw himself as too much of an artist to follow rules, and rules kept the club safe. The attention from the press and the notoriety he was getting played into his delusions of rebirth, feeding his obsession. But not her plan. If this was what the boy wanted, then he shouldn’t have come to her. Because her rules were law, and you only got one chance to break the law before it broke you. She’d expelled members for even thinking about deviating from their plans.
It could be that she was simply sentimental. Max was about the age of her brother, had he survived their childhood. Her brother had been her first. He’d screamed about night terrors, which had really been her experimenting. Figuring out her MO. Her ritual. In hindsight, killing her much younger brother hadn’t been a good idea. But that was in the past. She’d escaped unscathed.
Max Fischer, however, would not.
She slipped on a backpack she had prepared for this little outing and got out of the rental car. There was no more Iron now. She had to start thinking of him as Max. A member on his way out.
If Max stuck to his schedule, he would have a triple homicide to carry through tonight. That would give her time to explore his hidey-hole and lay in wait for him. She liked to take time to acclimate herself to herself to her victim’s homes, learn a little about them, but she already knew all there was about Max Fischer.
The people in her club thought it was all anonymous, that their identities were hidden behind handles and bounced IP addresses. There were a few smart cookies in the lot, like Mercy and Joker, but most didn’t think through their choices. All they saw were others who wanted to kill, like they did. So she spoon-fed them the lines, gave them a virtual home, and reeled them in.
Eventually she’d kill them all, but it was fun to see their work and know that without her none of it would have happened. They’d all be petty little children masturbating to their murder fantasies. Only a few would have ever risen to the level at which they were now.
The foreclosed home Max had appropriated sat on a street of empty lots. She’d parked a couple blocks away and walked under the cover of night to the little, unassuming house at the end of the street.
She went in through the back door. Locks had never kept her out. She stood in the living room, listening to the utter silence.
Garbage bags were taped over the windows, and several full-length mirrors leaned against the panes. More mirrors hung on the walls, stood propped up on the floor. They were everywhere. She caught her movements out of the corner of her eye, reflected again and again.
It was enough to drive a person more than a little crazy.
There was a pallet set up on one side of the room, while an electric cord ran from the garage to a table that was no doubt Max’s work station. The laptop and other equipment was nowhere to be seen. There was, however, a small mini fridge.
She opened it, and seven sets of eyes stared back at her.
Seven?
He’d only reported four victims. Who were five, six, and seven?
Later, when she cleaned house, she’d have to dispose of them. For now, it was time to dig deeper into Max Fischer’s life, because in a few hours, he was going to die.
Jacob scrubbed a hand over his face. Emma had her head on the coffee table, looking at another set of lists through the glass surface. They were a sorry pair.
He wanted to whisk her away from here. Maybe down to Florida or California. Someplace warm, with a beach and waves. She’d wear an itty bitty bikini, and they’d drink beer, or maybe one of those fruity drinks with an umbrella in it. Somewhere she wouldn’t feel so much responsibility. If he could take the weight off her shoulders for a few minutes, he’d do anything.
“Come on.” He dropped the legal pad on the table.
Emma lifted her head, blinking at him.
“Let’s grab something to eat. We aren’t going to see anything standing here and staring at this stuff anymore.
She didn’t respond, but she did get to her feet and shuffle off to the bedroom. While she freshened up, he checked his phone for the hundredth time. He hadn’t heard anything since a second call from Brooks to touch base. Being off the case was trying his nerves, but he wouldn’t change a thing.
Instead, he sent the cop stationed outside a warning they were about to leave.
In a matter of minutes Emma emerged, fresh-faced, her hair brushed, clothes changed, and even a little make-up hiding the dark circles under her eyes. He guided her out to his Jeep, glancing at the unmarked police car across the street. The officer waved at him, and he nodded back.
As he pulled out onto the street, Emma reached for his hand. He brought her knuckles to his lips and squeezed her fingers.
He’d refused to think about what he would have done had it been Emma tonight in Rachel’s place. He could only hope that there was something at the scene of the crime that would help them figure out who the hell TBKiller was.
They chose an IHOP near the highway. Barely past sunrise, it wasn’t yet busy, and they got a table in the corner, where he could watch the comings and goings of people.
Now that TBKiller’s ritual was disrupted, there was a chance the stress of not being able to complete his so-called mission might push him to do something extreme. Jacob didn’t think the guy would escalate to approaching Emma in a public place, but his kills could become a thing of convenience instead of the well-planned imitations. All thoughts he kept to himself.
“Know what you want?” He flipped through the menu, though he didn’t need to.
“Not really.”
“Want me to pick for you?”
“Yes.” She shoved her menu at him and crossed her arms on the table top.
He chuckled and flagged down the waitress. He doubled his order and asked for an extra pot of coffee. They were going to burn through that in no time.
“If you could go anywhere at all, right now, where would it be?” He reached across and took her hand in his once more.
“Somewhere remote. Far away. Like, a mountain cabin in Colorado or something.” She smiled and rubbed her thumb over his knuckles.
“The mountains? Not the beach?”
“You said right now.” She chuckled. “Right now I don’t want to see anyone.”
“Even me?”
“Okay, anyone except you. I could even settle for a decent hotel, room service, and a box of condoms.”
“Hey, I got my own this time.”
She smiled for the first time in hours.
“Is that a blush I see?” He ducked his head to glimpse her face when she tried to look away.
“Shut up.” She twisted in her seat, but he held fast to her hands.
“No way. Miss this? Never.”
“I’m going to the beach without you then.”
“That’s not fair.”
She peeked at him through her lashes.
At some point, she’d dropped the tough girl routine with him. The Emma he saw now was someone she hid from the world.
He took her other hand and held them between his own.
“Let’s go to Colorado this weekend.”
“What?” That got her attention. She searched his face, disbelief etched between her brows in the little lines on her forehead. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” It was crazy and totally out of character for him, but it wasn’t like he’d been all that happy. Maybe what he needed was her. To shake up his life. To show him what he was missing.
“Can we do that?”
“Why not?”
“Well if they catch,” she glanced over her shoulder, “you-know-who, won’t we have to answer questions or something?”
He grimaced.
“Okay, so maybe in two weeks.”
“Okay. All right. I’m in.”
“Fantastic.” He pulled her hands across the table once more and kissed the first knuckle on each.
He’d never gone on trips with women before. He’d never wanted to. They were only ever distractions from his work. A way to fill his off hours. Emma was different. He wanted to spend time with her, peeling back the layers, and be with her. There would be bumps in the road. Inevitably they’d butt heads or want different things, but she was worth working through that.
“And you should bring your bikes. Maybe you could teach me how to ride?”
“That would be awesome.” Her smile nearly split her face. She was beautiful when she smiled. Radiant.
He smiled back and they laced their fingers together, staring at each other. That he’d found her during an investigation was crazy. There was nothing about how they’d begun that was normal. Which meant there weren’t any rules. Hell, he didn’t think Emma was suffering from hero syndrome for a second. She wasn’t exactly the damsel in distress to need a hero anyways, and that was actually fine by him. They could lean on each other, instead of him carrying them both.
“Excuse me, Emma Ration?” A woman in a royal blue suit approached their table, one of those news microphones in hand and a camera man following her. “I’m from KOCO and we wanted to ask you a few questions about the TBKiller. Do you have a moment?”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she glanced at him.
Shit.
Jacob slid out of the booth and put himself between Emma and the camera.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ration will not be answering any questions at this time,” he said.
“How do you feel about a copycat murderer, Ms. Ration?” The persistent reporter tried to lean around him.
“Emma, go to the Jeep.” He shoved his keys at her, hating that for a few brief moments she’d be alone.
“We want to ask a few questions.” The reporter tried to follow Emma when she darted around the crew, bolting for the door, but a pair of patrol officers were there to cut them off.
Jacob blew out a relieved breath and circled around the tables of staring patrons. Bet they didn’t expect a side of drama with their morning coffee.
“Emma,” he called out. She hadn’t yet made it to the doors. A pair of men in sports coats had stopped her, and one had a recorder in her face. “Fuck me,” he grumbled and dug out his badge.
“I’m not answering any of your fucking questions,” Emma snapped at the men.
Jacob flashed his badge and grabbed Emma by the elbow. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”
The badge distracted them for the half-second they needed to side-step them and get out the door. He was incredibly glad he’d managed a close parking spot.
“This isn’t fair.” Emma flopped into the passenger seat as he buckled his seat belt.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect that.”
“No, I wanted coffee. And food.”
He chuckled as he reversed out of the spot.
“That I can fix.”
Jacob pulled out his phone and did a quick search for the IHOP while he drove around behind the building. The hostess picked up after two rings, and once he’d given her a short explanation, was assured their meals could be boxed up and brought out the back.
“What now?” Emma asked. “Is it too late to drive to Colorado now?”
“Nope, but I think it’s time we pitched our theories to the FBI.”
“Do you think they’ll listen to us?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
He hoped they could figure the puzzle out before TBKiller struck for what might be the last time.