An oddly pleased smile momentarily tugged his lips. "Grey Harrison James McConnell—the third—at your service."
A laugh bubbled through her. "That's some moniker. No wonder you're reluctant to announce it."
"It's the first time I've told anyone in what seems like ages." He touched her face again, his fingers gentle as he traced a line from her cheek to her lips. "In all honesty, I shouldn't have even told you."
"Then why did you?"
"Because a drowning man should never forsake a life buoy." His words were little more than a whisper against her lips as his mouth claimed hers again. This time, the kiss was a long and sensuous exploration that made her ache for far more than sex. Because this time his kiss held more than just passion.
This time, for the first time, she sensed that he was a kindred spirit in loneliness.
Or was she reading far more into the kiss, and his actions, than she ever should?
Forget doubt. Make love to me, Eryn.
The words were a sensual plea that invaded every corner of her mind. One that made her feel all weak and gooey. She pulled back and took a shuddery breath. Fought to gather the shattered wisps of control.
But where this man was concerned there was no control.
And certainly no backing away from the forest fire they'd started last night.
"On one condition," she somehow managed to say.
"What condition?"
"You answer some questions."
He outlined her lips with a gentle finger, his gaze distracted. "You may not like the answers."
"That doesn't matter. I just need answers."
His finger paused, his gaze suddenly sharpening. "And if I don't give them?"
"Then I walk out the door right now, and you and I are finished."
"That's akin to sexual blackmail."
"No, that's honesty. I may want you, Grey, but I want answers more."
He released a breath that was full of frustration, then sat back and picked up his knife and fork. "Okay. But I could get into deep trouble for it."
She raised an eyebrow. "Then why agree to answer?"
He half smiled. "I'd rather be in trouble with my superiors than have you walk out that door."
His words warmed her in a way his touch hadn't. "How would they even know you've talked to me?"
"They know you've been assigned the case. They will know I've bedded you. It's not hard to put two and two together—
unless, of course, you intend to keep what I tell you to yourself."
"You know I can't."
He nodded. "Then it's yet another black blot on my record."
"Sounds like you've got more than one."
"Trouble and I are familiar friends."
"So, who do you work for?"
"That I can't tell you. Not yet. Not until they give clearance."
"So you're some sort of spy? Part of a secret government service?"
"Spy? No. That's CIA territory."
She stared at him, remembering her earlier feelings, remembering her certainty that he was here to find, and kill, their killer.
"You're a hitman. A government hitman."
He grimaced. "Enforcer is a nicer term, but yeah, that's basically what I am."
Her eyes widened at his confirmation. "The government has its own hitmen?"
"There are many evils in this world that the court and the justice system are incapable of dealing with. Evils that the penitentiary system would never be able to hold."
"That doesn't give the government the right to be judge, jury and executioner."
"Would you rather evil be allowed to roam free, creating havoc as it wishes?"
"That depends on what you term evil. And who decides."
"There are rules and checks in place."
She snorted softly. "Like rules ever stopped a government from taking advantage of the system or doing the wrong thing."
"No system is ever one hundred percent accurate. Even the court system." He paused for a moment, eating some of his meal. "Look, I'd rather not get into this any deeper right now. What questions about the case do you have?"
She wolfed down some of her pancakes, barely tasting them, then asked, "If you know for certain the killer will strike tonight, do you also have an inkling of who the victim is?"
He considered her for a moment, expression flat. "Yes."
"How?"
"Our clairvoyants saw their images. There are seven altogether."
"So even though you know the victims, history can't be changed?"
"History can, but it always takes time. Five have died, but there is always the hope we can save the other two."
"Why not tell me so I can tell the police the identities of the other two?"
"Because I'm taking care of it."
She raised an eyebrow. "No, you're not. You're here with—
" She cut off her words, and stared at him.
He smiled grimly. "Yes," he said softly. "You're one of the remaining two slated to die."
Chapter Five
Coldness settled in the pit of Eryn's stomach and refused to budge. She put down her knife and fork and pushed the plate to one side. If she ate anything else right now, her stomach might rebel.
"That doesn't make sense. And it certainly doesn't follow the set pattern."
He raised his eyebrows. "You really think there's a pattern in this madness?"
She frowned. "Yeah. The killer has been bedding his victims before he kills them. The only person I was with last night was you."
"Remember what you're dealing with."
She mulled over his statement. "He's assuming the identity of the women's chosen partners?"
"Once they've decided on a mate, yes."
"But why?"
"Because the killer cannot stand them having what…" He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "…he cannot."
"Children?"
He shook his head. "Love. Acceptance."
Her eyebrows rose. "Acceptance?"
"In a department filled with freaks, your killer is considered the freakiest."
"Why?"
Again, he hesitated. "Because he is something no one thought could exist."
"And that is?"
"Something I can't tell you."
"Can't, or won't?" she snapped.
"Can't." He reached out, capturing her hand before she could pull it away. His fingers twined around hers, so warm and strong and so, so right. Which was surely a sign her common sense had flown out the window when it came to this man.
"I have told you more than I should," he said softly. "Any more, and it could be dangerous."
She snorted. "You've just told me I'm slated to die. What could be worse than that?."
"Trust me, there are things far worse than death." He squeezed her fingers. "I come from an organization that has no wish to become known to the general public."
The ice in her stomach grew heavier. "Well, that's a great choice, isn't it? Be killed by our killer, or be killed by the people you work for."
"The people I work for don't kill innocents. But your memories of this time—of us—are certainly under threat."
Her gaze widened in disbelief. "They'd erase it?"
"Definitely." He gave her a lopsided smile that sent her hormones off in an excited little shuffle. "I don't want that. I want you to remember our time together. Want you to remember us."
"Why?"
"Because we're good together."
That they were. But could they be anything more?
Somehow, given what he'd said about the department he worked for, she suspected not.
A fierce twinge of regret ran through her. She ignored it and changed tactics. "Why did you bed all the victims?"
"Because my telepathy skills are not strong, and I can generally only read a woman's mind when we are in the midst of making love."
That was an answer she certainly hadn't expected. Though it did explain how he'd known where she lived. "But why did you need to read their minds if you knew who the victims were going to be?"