Sarah walked forward. Her hand curled around the banister that would take her down into the basement. The smell was worse. So strong and thick. She hurried down those steps, spraying as she went.
When she reached the last stair, the smell was so intense that Sarah almost gagged. It smelled as if something had died down there. Oh, no. Don’t let me find a dead rat. Don’t.
She heard the floor creaking above her. Then she heard the faint sound of her father humming.
Oh, good, he was home. He’d gone out to pick up her cake, and he had said that he’d make it home before she did, but Sarah had beaten him. Just by minutes, it seemed. Now he could come down there and move whatever thing was stinking up their house.
And my friends will never know.
“Sarah?” It was her dad’s voice. “Sarah, you’ve got to see the surprise I’ve got for you.”
Her dad and his surprises. She glanced back up the staircase. “I’m down here, Dad!”
Silence.
She turned to stare at the darkened recesses of the basement. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped forward. There was some kind of bag down there. Big and thick. Burlap.
“Sarah, you’re not supposed to be down here.”
She jumped because her dad was right behind her. He’d moved silently down those stairs, and she hadn’t even heard him. Sarah whirled around even as her heart raced in her chest. “Dad! You scared me.”
He didn’t smile at her. His dark eyes glinted. “I’ve told you before . . . you don’t need to be afraid. It’s the rest of the world—”
“—that has to be afraid.” She shook her head. Right. He said that line to her all the time. She knew he wanted her to think she was some kind of superstar, but she wasn’t. She was just a normal girl. One who’d started to get picked on at school. Not that she’d told her dad. He would just get mad if he knew that Ryan Klein had made fun of her when she’d fallen at PE the other day. Now everyone was calling her Shaky Sarah. If they didn’t get the smell out of the house soon, that nickname would change to Smelly Sarah in about twenty minutes when her friends arrived.
She pointed behind her. “Dad, I think a pipe broke and got your bag wet. That smell is terrible!”
He moved forward. His steps were still silent. He could do that, move so quietly. He’d been showing her how lately, too. He’d been teaching her to shoot, to fight. To hunt.
“That’s one of your presents. Though I was going to show it to you later. After your friends left.”
Her present was in that stinky bag?
Sarah put down her air freshener and she crept forward.
Her dad turned on another light, and the bulb shone down on that bag. The bag wasn’t just wet. Those stains on it were so dark in color.
“I heard about the trouble you had at school.” His lips thinned. “Your counselor called me . . . told me all about that boy . . .”
Her cheeks burned. “It’s nothing, Dad. I can handle him.”
“He has a history of picking on other kids. Bullying them. He’s older, so he should know better.”
He was older. Eighteen. A senior while she was just a sophomore.
“I can handle him,” she said again.
Her dad smiled. “You don’t have to.”
Then he opened the bag for her.
Sarah stared into that bag and she heard screaming. Screaming that she remembered from so long ago . . . wild, desperate screaming—
Help me. Help me. Help me!
—but this time, that screaming was coming from her. Sarah was screaming and crying and she was on the floor. Nausea rolled through her stomach and she vomited right there.
Her dad’s arms wrapped around her.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Happy birthday.”
Chapter 1
MONSTERS WERE REAL, AND THEY USUALLY HID beneath the skin of men.
Dr. Sarah Jacobs had spent most of her adult life hunting monsters. She’d just finished her most recent case with LOST—Last Option Search Team—a recovery group that hunted the missing. They’d stopped the bad guy, but not before he’d killed.
More innocent lives had been lost.
No one is really innocent. Her father’s voice whispered through Sarah’s mind, and she hurried her steps as she walked down the busy New Orleans street. A few other members of her team were still in town, tying up the last of their loose ends. Before long, though, they’d all be packing things up and heading back to the main LOST office in Atlanta.
There would be another case waiting. There always was.
Sarah’s footsteps quickened even more when she caught sight of her hotel. The doorman was outside, and a relieved smile spread across her face. She’d felt a bit odd in the last few days. As if she were being watched. She’d been taught never to ignore her instincts, but Sarah knew there was no reason for anyone to be following her. Not now.
She hurried past the doorman, mumbling a quick hello. Then she was in the bright hotel lobby. Her high heels clicked over that gleaming floor. She didn’t slow down for a little pit stop at the crowded bar. Sarah headed right for the elevator. She got lucky and was able to slip inside immediately. Only me in here. A quick exhale of relief escaped her as the doors started to close.
Then a hand appeared. A man’s hand—strong, tan, and tattooed. Dark, swirling tattoos slid around his knuckles. He waved his hand, activating the elevator doors’ sensors and causing those doors to open wide for him.
Sarah pushed back against the wall of the elevator as Jax Fontaine stepped inside. She knew him by sight. Unfortunately. She also knew the man was trouble. The local authorities generally stayed out of his way. Unless she missed her guess, they were afraid of the guy.
And I don ’t blame them.
The word on the street was that Jax Fontaine was a very dangerous man. An enemy that most didn’t want to have.
Thanks to her last case, she was now acquainted with him—and she knew that she’d attracted some unwelcome interest from the guy.
“Hello, pretty Sarah,” he said. New Orleans drawled in his voice, just a hint of Creole rising and falling there. Jax smiled at her. Right. Dangerous. Definitely dangerous.
The elevator doors slid closed behind him.
Jax was tall, several inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and the kind of build that told her when he wasn’t up to no good in the French Quarter, he had to spend some serious time working out.
The guy looked like a fallen angel—if fallen angels spent a whole lot of time scaring the hell out of people. His hair was blond, thick, and a little too long. His face—that face of his was eerily perfect. Almost too handsome. A strong, hard jaw, a long blade of a nose. He had sharp cheekbones and blue eyes that seemed to see right into her soul.
And the elevator isn’t moving.
Probably because he’d leaned forward and pressed the stop button. What. The. Hell?
“I hear you’re leaving town.”
Her heartbeat spiked. When she was near him, that tended to happen. Her heart raced, her breathing came a little faster, and her stomach knotted.
Jax shook his head. “Leaving . . . and you weren’t even going to come and tell me good-bye?”
Laughter came from her. Not real laughter. She couldn’t remember what real laughter felt like. Tight and mocking, the laughter pushed out from her. “It’s not like we’re friends, Jax.” They’d been uneasy allies on the last case. Jax had known intel that she’d needed about the killer.
“Why just be friends? That’s boring.” His gaze slid over her. That light blue gaze seemed to heat as it lingered on Sarah’s body. “We’d be much better lovers than we’d ever be friends.”
Her hands were pressed to the wall behind her—only it wasn’t a wall. A mirror. Mirrors lined that elevator. To be very clear, Sarah told him, “I don’t date dangerous men.”
Jax stepped toward her. He didn’t move like other men. He stalked. He glided. Kind of like some big jungle cat—a beast hunting his prey. His hand lifted and his tattooed knuckles slid over her cheek.