Ripper (Tortured Heroes Book 5) Read online

  Chapter Three

  Sam

  “No, I haven’t made enemies here yet. I’ve lived here all of five friggin’ minutes.” After I’d called 911, and when the operator determined I wasn’t in immediate danger, I’d waited.

  Then I answered enough questions to start to think I was the one suspected of spewing garbage all over my new house. The questions were ridiculous.

  The more questions I got, the more I regretted even calling. I was okay. It was weird, no question, that someone had vandalized my new place, but the more I thought about it, the more I put it down to bad luck or mistaken identity. Or maybe a senior prank went wonky. Whatever. I wanted to be done with it and go to bed.

  The two Grand City police officers seemed to be finished with the Garbage Caper investigation and about to leave when he walked in.

  I felt the air shift immediately. A dark-haired man with the squarest jaw I’d ever seen stalked into my kitchen. I say stalked because it sure wasn’t walking. His body commanded my immediate attention. He had muscles over muscles. His black t-shirt and leather jacket could barely contain it all. The two local officers parted and made way for him: there was no question that whoever this dude was, he was in charge now.

  “Miss, Special Agent Kyle Duvall.” He showed me a badge and I tried not to blink like a cartoon character.

  “FBI? Seriously? For garbage?”

  “Officers, if you're finished with your questions, I’d like to speak to Miss, uh, Bosque now.” The officers nodded and handed me off. They’d taken pictures of my little kitchen disaster and established that I probably didn’t do it to myself.

  “I already told them everything about this Great Garbage Caper. I just moved here. I’m pretty sure this was intended for a previous tenant or something.”

  “The GCPD has done a fine job I’m sure. I just have a few more questions.” This guy was quiet, scary as hell, and I’m not going to lie, the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. And I worked with sexy as hell MMA fighters for a living. He took up space in the room like nothing I’ve ever seen, and if I was honest, I was nervous. Men did not make me nervous, but Special Agent Kyle Duvall had me a little freaked.

  “Okay, well I have a question. When can I clean this up? It’s been stinking up my place for hours. I wouldn’t have called the authorities if I knew it meant I would now have to live with this garbage as my new centerpiece.”

  “Officers, you got the samples, we’re good to bag it?” The FBI guy wasn’t really asking the local officers a question. It sounded more like an order.

  “Yeah, sifted and sniffed. We’re done. You good on our end? We’re being called to a domestic.” I didn’t know how law enforcement worked, but I was sure the local police didn’t report to the FBI. Even so, here these two were, asking for permission to leave from the tall, dark and handsome man. Duvall nodded, and they left.

  “So, Miss Bosque, tell me exactly what happened?” I really did feel like I was a suspect and after several hours of dealing with this, I just wanted to be done.

  “Well, I came home to my new apartment, and there was shit in it. See? The shit?” I stalked over to my kitchen island and waved my hand around to fully make my point. Something about Special Agent Duvall’s tone had me feeling combative.

  “Yes, I do see the shit. How do you think it got there?” Duvall had a mean and intense look. I dug into my tough girl mode. It came in handy when I walked into MMA gyms. Special Agent Duvall was going to get my steely face right back.

  “You’re kidding right?”

  “No, I can assure I’m not.”

  “I told the other officers what I told you. It’s a mistake. And really, is vandalism typically something the FBI deals with?”

  “Not typically, no.”

  “So, can we just wrap this up. I still have to clean this mess and it’s after 2 a.m.”

  “If you answer my questions, I’ll be out of your way faster.”

  “Okay, so I came home and opened the door and found this. Really that’s the whole story.”

  “Was your apartment unlocked?”

  “Uh, no. Oh crap.” It started to dawn on me that I may not have locked up.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just moved in and I told the appliance delivery guy I’d leave it unlocked.” I was feeling very stupid suddenly and my tough chick façade was melting. It was my fault! Who leaves their place unlocked? Uh. Me.

  “So, in the future, I’d advise you lock up.”

  “No kidding?” He clearly thought I was an idiot.

  “Have you had any strange phone calls? Boyfriends who can’t take a hint, disgruntled employees? Anything at all you can think of?” As annoyed as I was with this guy, I couldn’t stop looking at his jaw line. He had a slight bit of dark stubble over it and it was distracting me. Shit.

  “No. I literally just moved here.” I was tired. I walked over to the kitchen table, my chairs were in boxes and needed to be assembled and so I leaned on my table.

  “Okay, so no one you know currently hates you enough to do this.”

  “Uh, no? And you still haven’t explained why the FBI sent you to my house. I was scared, so I called, and then I was just annoyed, but now you’ve got me pissed and scared.” I really was all over the map with my emotions. I thought we’d been wrapping my little adventure up and here this guy was asking me more of the same damn questions. He was also looking at me like I had a third eye growing out of my forehead or something.

  “Miss Bosque, the FBI has identified certain things that we look for that can be red flags for a case we’re working. Can I ask you, do you recognize this woman?”

  He pulled out a picture. It was a photo of a dark-haired college student, who looked to be having a great time at a sorority party.

  “I don’t recognize her. Should I?”

  “She was found murdered last week.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Do you notice anything about her that might be familiar?”

  “No, should I?”

  “She looks quite a bit like you.”

  I looked again and felt a cold chill ripple across my neck. I could see it. We weren’t twins by any stretch, but it was enough of a resemblance that maybe we could be sisters.

  “I guess she does.”

  “The FBI is investigating the murder or disappearance of women in several different locations. The women are all dark haired. You look similar to these women. When we get a ping from local law enforcement on that and a few other markers, they let us know so we can check it out.”

  “Ok. Ok.” I felt sick and so tired I couldn’t see straight. This was supposed to be a nice night in my cool new place, and instead, I’ve entered crazy town.

  “Are you okay?” Agent Badass reached out and put a hand under my elbow. I felt a little jolt of energy from it. My eyes shot up to his. What was that?

  He met my eyes for a second and then looked away.

  “I’m okay. Can you just finish the questions you have?” I wanted this night over. I still had a busy work day ahead.

  “Let me get you some water.”

  I watched as he made his way to my kitchen.

  “Ah, glasses?” Agent Duvall, the big strong silent type asked, looking like a bull in a china shop.

  “I think that box over there.” I pointed to a box that said kitchen, though, in all honesty, I had no idea what was in it.

  A few seconds later he was back and handed me a coffee mug.

  “Sorry, that’s all I could find. Take a sip, and we’ll finish up.”

  I did as he said. I really didn’t know any more than I’d explained to the officers and now Agent Duvall.

  “If you think of anything, here’s my number,” Duvall said. He handed me a card, and our fingers touched. For the second time, I tried not to notice what his skin felt like against mine. What was he made of and why did I have this reaction? Fatigue? Allergic to Michigan? Ugh. Maybe that was it.

  “Will do,” I replied.


  He headed for the door and I headed to the remains of the mess. I started to try to hunt for a garbage bag. It was going to be a project, but I didn’t want to wake up to this mess.

  “Number one,” came a firm voice behind me. I didn’t mean to jump, but I did.

  “What?”

  Agent Kyle Duvall was back in my kitchen, not gone like he was supposed to be.

  “Number one,” he continued, “You should have followed me to the door, locked it and bolted it.”

  “Fine, I will.” I stared back at him.

  “Number two, you hold the bag, I’ll put the shit in it.” Special Agent Kyle Duvall was offering to help me clean up.

  “Sweet talker and handsome. Any other hidden talents?” My wisecrack broke through his tough veneer and the fucking sexiest hint of a smile curled on Special Agent Hunk of Muscle’s lips.

  “I’m also good at folding fitted sheets,” he said and it was my turn to crack a smile.

  I held the bag and the Special Agent Domestic Skills helped me get every bit of garbage out of my kitchen. The night had been the strangest of my life and it somehow seemed perfectly natural to finish it off by cleaning my kitchen with a member of the FBI.

  Chapter Four

  Kyle

  Sam Bosque was without a doubt the most spectacular woman I’d ever seen. I was good at staying detached. It was how I survived. But fuck. I wanted to run my hands through that shiny dark hair. Yeah, the victims resembled her, but they were pale imitations. This woman was stunning.

  And she had a mouth on her. What came out of it was even better than what it looked like. I watched her set her jaw and sass me like the FBI couldn’t hold a candle to her in the tough department.

  I shouldn’t have helped her clean up. It was against my policy of being nice. Nice could have gotten me killed. I beat nice down in me like a bad habit.

  But I wanted to stay with her a few minutes longer. And it wound up taking almost two hours. I wasn’t moving fast. I liked listening to her talk.

  “So, you’re not from Michigan?”

  “No, Colorado Springs. I moved here for my job.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m a sports agent, specifically MMA fighters.” She talked and held the bag. It gave me something to focus on other than her curves. She was wearing a pencil skirt and blouse, and it was making me a little crazy. For the last few years, I’d been with women who put it all on display; pushed it up, served it on a platter. This woman was dressed for business and it was hotter than leather and spandex.

  “Hmm. Interesting job. How did you get into that line of work?” I genuinely wanted to know. I knew agents had to be sharks and maybe she was. She moved like one. She was sleek, that was the word.

  “My Dad was into watching the matches. Always took me. I started seeing who was good before they were good. I also started seeing the way some of them were being ripped off.”

  “Big money for a few?”

  “It can be, but it’s not a given. I started my client list while I was still in business school.”

  “I see.”

  “Grand City is where it’s that these days for MMA fighters. I’m starting a satellite office here for the company I work for, Arm Up Management.”

  “I see. Well, looks like we’re all done.”

  I hated to admit it, but it was time to get the hell out. Nice time was over. I liked being with Sam Bosque, but I wasn’t her type. Fucked up and angry wasn’t what the kids today put on their dating profiles.

  “Thank you for the help.”

  “Listen. I wasn’t kidding about taking your safety more seriously. You are probably right that this was a mistake, but unlocked doors and walks by yourself are not smart.” I was worried someone would hurt her. Disproportionately worried based on the evidence. The idea that someone would touch her had me unhinged inside.

  “I’m as tough as my fighters. But thanks for the warning.”

  I used every ounce of self-control I had not to lean in and capture her mouth with mine. What the fuck? It had been a long time since I’d had a woman, too long, and this woman had my mind racing. I turned and walked out.

  Conversation over. I had to get out of there. I closed the door behind me and listened to be sure she engaged her locks.

  Good girl. I kept walking.

  I knew what she looked like when she smiled; I knew she was tough. I didn’t know what she would feel like in my arms and dammit I wanted to. But that wasn’t my mission.

  It would be best for Sam Bosque if I stayed far away. It was very likely this was the wild goose chase I had thought it was from the start. There was no reason to see Sam again.

  Somehow that thought shot a spike through my chest. I needed to pull my shit together. I knew how to manage my emotions. I knew how to guard against attachments and I needed to do that now. I was in no position to have a fling with any woman, much less one as stunning to look at and talk to as she was.

  I went back to the office and did some research on Sam Bosque and the people around her. It was routine and I just wanted to be sure there were no loose ends. It was probably like she said: she’d just moved here, so mistaken addresses could have led to her misfortune today.

  Still. It was important to me to do everything right with this case. I needed to protect her. I felt it as sure as anything I’d felt before.

  I looked up her family, her education, her life so far through all the avenues I had access to. Nothing was out of the ordinary except the fact that she was so badass successful in such a short period. There were a few pictures of her with fighters; she stood behind them in the press photos. She had to be tough, like she said, to get these clients on board. Her clients were all winners, tough too, and on the rise. I grew to like her more.

  Then I checked out her place of employment, Arm Up Management. They’d leased space around the corner from her condo. But she said it was a satellite, so I dug in and found the main office of Arm Up. I was expecting New York or L.A.

  But I got Las Vegas. Holy shit. Las Vegas. Twice in one day.

  It was a connection that turned my blood cold. There are no such things as coincidences.

  “Anything to that call last night?” I jumped. It was Scully.

  Scully was the kind of boss who stayed late and got in early. I respected that.

  I’d worked through the night and the sun was now coming up. Scully slid a cup of coffee in my direction.

  “I didn’t think so, but I just found this. She moved here from Vegas. Her company is based there.”

  “Shit, you don’t think…” Scully looked at my computer screen. I watched his eyes scan up and down.

  “That this Las Vegas Ripper is following her? Jesus, maybe.”

  “And then there’s this.” He put a file on my desk and I opened it.

  A twenty-eight-year-old woman, brunette, had gone missing the night before. I looked at her picture. She fit the profile.

  “Less than twenty-four hours?” Normally we didn’t get called in this fast.

  “If something comes in on a dark-haired woman, I’m getting the call,” Scully said.

  “Good.” This woman in the file had a bad past, a prostitution arrest. She could be missing or run off for a million other reasons, but Scully was thorough, and I respected the hell out of that.

  I went back to the reports on the women in Las Vegas. I reread each one. I didn’t have any idea what I was looking for, but part of the job is repetition. You check, recheck, and leave it. Then sometimes if you’re lucky something shifts and what you looked at a thousand times changes.

  That process was boring as hell. You never saw it in the movies, but it was part of the job. Before we caught The Ripper, we’d have to know every footstep taken by the women he’d killed. We had to.

  I also read the files in an attempt to remove Sam Bosque from the equation. I knew I was hoping to reassure myself that she wasn’t in the crosshairs of some sicko.

  Nothing I read reassured me of that.<
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  I spent the next few days becoming an expert on The Las Vegas Ripper. Every time I had a moment of down time I thought of Sam Bosque, so I tried to eliminate the downtime with work. It was good to be working on something active. It moved my blood to be, at least in part, in the middle of an active case. I could help put a monster away. This was different to going undercover, earning trust, and lying in wait. But that assignment had nearly cost me my soul.

  For this one I didn’t have to live with monsters to catch one. This one was about following a trail and then anticipating where it was leading.

  I wanted to be damn sure it wasn’t leading to the beautiful woman who I couldn’t get out of my mind.

  Chapter Five

  Sam

  “It’s looking good in here, Sam,” Jerry said, popping his head into my office. I was trying not to be too irked that he still treated me like a newbie, as if he was the boss. Well, technically he was the head agent in this new office. But dammit, I’d pitched it. I’d made the most inroads in Michigan at area gyms and with the fighters here. But Arm Up Management had a glass ceiling. I had my nose pressed against it, but they weren’t ready to let a 26-year-old woman lead an office. Even if I did have three of the biggest names in MMA as clients.

  I wasn’t a quitter. I’d closely watched the fighters I represented. The winners were tenacious and persisted no matter what pain or obstacle tried to stop them. I had that too and I’d punch that damn ceiling till it cracked. I turned around in my new office chair and plastered on a smile.

  Jerry was an okay guy; I knew I bristled too much when he was trying to be nice. My rough edges weren’t helping me with office politics. They helped me get the best deal for my fighters, but I knew I had to play nicer in the company if I was going to get to the top of the food chain.

  “What do you think, Jerry? Are the future superstars going to feel important here at Arm Up Management Grand City?”