Heath smiled. “No problem.”
Reese pivoted. “Mr. Sparks? I think I’ll interview you tonight. Morons who sleep with students don’t get leeway with me.” He pierced Carl with a hard stare. “I already know the story, and you’re lucky the student was of age.”
Anya shoved forward. “Reese, really. He’s not—”
A snarl erupted from Heath’s mouth, and the woman fell silent. He turned on her, keeping his hands to himself. “Don’t even think of helping this jerk out.” Any man who’d caused her pain should be dropped to the bottom of a very deep well.
She narrowed her gaze.
Ah hell. They needed to get a couple of things straight and right now.
The agent paused. “Anya? You’re free to come with me tonight. I’ll keep you safe.” He turned a glare on Heath.
Heath shook his head. “I’m a total dick, but I’d never physically harm a woman.” He paused. “Or emotionally or psychologically. Never.”
The agent leaned in. “See that you don’t.”
Heath grinned. “You’re a decent guy, Reese.”
The man’s expression didn’t waver.
Anya partially moved in front of Heath, and he let her since her ex was still behind the agent and couldn’t reach for her. “It’s okay, Reese. I’m fine, and I’ll accompany Heath to the FBI offices tomorrow. I hope we can work together in Snowville, or at the very least I hope you keep me informed. Get some sleep tonight.” She placed what appeared to be a gentle hand on the agent’s forearm.
Reese’s nostrils flared and he lowered his voice. “You know we’ll work together. Your insight and profile has been invaluable. We need to go throughallof your files again.”
“Definitely,” Anya said.
Heath drew in air. Unable to stop himself, he lifted her thick hair away from her collar and wiped off the snow before it could slide beneath her coat—acting like a fiancé. He’d wanted to touch her hair since the first time he’d met her, and she’d given him very public permission to do just that. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
She allowed him to turn her.
He took her hand and walked partially in front of her. She’d put herself into the line of fire with the news cameras. While the killer would never come at her head-on, Heath couldn’t help but provide a shield.
Every instinct in his body flared alive. She was dangerous to him, and he knew it. Not only was she beautiful, she was fragile and so determined to find justice. He was more than aware of his trigger points, and she hit them all. Plus, the sensual tilt of her lips had provided more than one wild dream for him since he’d met her.
How fucked up was that?
He kept his hold gentle but firm, guiding her toward the SUV he’d left at the curb. Good thing he’d rented this one under the Lost Bastards account and not stolen it, considering Agent Frederick Reese was already copying down the license plate number. Without a word, Heath helped her into the passenger side, then rounded the vehicle to slip in and start the engine.
Slowly, he pulled away from the curb.
Her scent of strawberries filled the interior and nearly made him groan. Even though the engagement was fake, there was something about having somebody—a woman—that appealed to him. This woman. This strong, smart, and savvy woman, whosodid not trust him. What would it be like to have her to call his own? To earn her trust? His jeans tightened, and he started to recite basketball stats in his head.
Anya cleared her throat. “I’m staying at the hotel at the corner of First and Hanover.”
“Put on your seat belt.” He maneuvered out of the cemetery and turned toward Virginia.
She fumbled but did as he said. “Did you hear me?”
He turned then and took her in. Wide green eyes, rioting red hair, pale skin with faded bruises. Small and fragile . . . and she’d just challenged a deranged serial killer on national television. Anger and a desperate need to protect her rose hard and fast inside him. “Oh, I heard you, sweetheart. As my fiancée, you’re not going anywhere by yourself until this guy is caught. Period.”
CHAPTER
8
Anya stared at the male predator holding her gaze so directly. Okay. So she’d chosen the most dangerous guy she’d ever met to stand in as her fiancé—and one who would definitely anger the serial killer by just looking manly. Yeah, part of that had been self-preservation, and Loretta had trusted the guy. Yet Anya hadn’t given him a choice, now, had she? “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
One of his dark eyebrows rose.
