Shit, damn, and fuck. “I figured he’d be in touch again soon,” Heath said calmly before focusing on Denver. “Are our identities strong enough here?”
Denver eyed the monitors. “Doubtful.”
Anya gasped. “Why is that?”
Heath naturally stepped in to explain Denver’s response. “Denver can keep adding to our backgrounds, but if the FBI decides to dig, they’re gonna see the problems. If they get suspicious and start to investigate us, we’ll need to leave town sooner than planned. It’s the FBI, you know?”
“You don’t have genuine IDs?” she asked.
“Not really. Long story,” he said.
She shook her head, her lips thinning. “I’m sure, and I know you won’t share. For now, what do you want to do?” she asked, staring at the phone like it might bite her.
There was only one option, really. “Call Reese and tell him we’d love to meet with him.” Heath didn’t need this complication. “Maybe we can appease him a little so he’ll worry about the killer and not us right now.” The need to run away hard and fast tensed every muscle in Heath’s body.
Anya swallowed. “Before I call, I have to know. Are you wanted by the law? Is the real you, whoever you are, running from the law?”
He winced and glanced at Denver, who shrugged like normal. No help there. “The FBI is not after us, and neither is any state agency,” Heath said. That was absolutely true. “We are being hunted by somebody who wants to kill us, and that person does have ties to the law enforcement community but has not to this point used those contacts. If, or rather when, he chooses to do so, we’re in trouble.”
Denver pursed his lips. His eyebrows rose. “Nicely put.”
“Yeah.” Heath relaxed. He’d told her the truth without putting his brothers in danger.
The nearest computer dinged. Denver stilled and moved for it. “Wait a sec,” he said as Anya reached for a phone.
Heath tensed. “What?”
Denver sat on a rolling chair and started typing rapidly. “Anya just got an e-mail on her university account.”
Anya stiffened. “You hacked my account?”
“Yeah,” Denver said absently, hunching over the keyboard. He sat back. “Oh.”
Heath moved to stand next to him and leaned down to see a series of pictures of Anya flash across the screen from different locations and during different seasons. Her hairstyle was different in some of them. The pictures probably spanned a couple of years of her life. His shoulders went back. “Anya?”
She stepped closer to him. “That’s from last June,” she whispered, pointing to a picture of her laughing with a group of people at a café. All the color drained from her face and neck. “That one is from last Christmas—a year ago.” Her voice trembled.
Heath looked at the Christmas picture. She was walking down an icy sidewalk with colorfully wrapped packages in her hands and snow on her pretty hair. Her eyes were bright, and her face was relaxed. She’d obviously had no clue somebody was watching her or taking her picture. How vulnerable she’d truly been.
Heath put an arm around her. Fury rippled through him, tensing every muscle. The killer had stalked her for a very long time. He could’ve taken her right there and then. He only hadn’t because he wanted to play the game longer. Heath bit back a snarl.
Then pictures of the Copper Killer’s victims flashed in between pictures of Anya.
She gave a small sound of distress.
Heath tugged her closer, his breath heating. “You don’t have to look at these.” He tried to turn her away.
She held fast, her body shaking.
The slideshow abruptly stopped. The screen went white, and black letters slowly faded in.
SEE WHAT I’VE DONE FOR YOU? IT’S TIME FOR US.
Then a picture of Anya at the diner from the night before flashed hot and bright, burning at the edges.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “He’s here.”
CHAPTER
