“My sister might need me.” Her voice had trembled on those words. “If you’re telling the truth. If not, then I’m shooting you.”
His chest ached. He’d only met Special Agent Loretta Jackson a couple of times, but he liked her. They’d collaborated on the serial killer case, and Loretta’s sharp intelligence had impressed the heck out of him. In fact, she’d been whole and strong—the complete opposite of his mother. And yet . . . she’d been taken by a killer. The unfairness of that fact nearly made him choke. “I respect your sister and know she’d want me to keep you safe. Let’s do this my way.”
Anya set her other hand on the gun. “I don’t think so.”
Even from across the cab, he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. If she didn’t calm herself, she was about to go into a panic attack. “You need to calm down, Anya.”
“I’m calm.” Her voice had come out an octave higher than it had earlier.
He had to get through to her somehow and get her to concentrate on something other than the gun and him. “When I talked to your sister the other day, she implied you two had just recently reconnected.”
“Yeah. We’ve always stayed in touch but not as much as I wish we had. Loretta’s mom was, well, what my dad fondly called a serial wife.” Anya squinted out into the storm.
Heath frowned. “What does that mean?”
“She married a lot of men, including my dad. Loretta was ten when they got married and had me, and she was fifteen when they split.” Anya’s tone lowered. “We knew of each other but didn’t really bond until earlier this year.” Her hand started shaking again. “We have to find her, Heath. She has to be all right.”
So she did believe him. Imaginary weights slammed onto his shoulders. “The FBI won’t stop looking, either. She’s one of theirs.” How had the Copper Killer gotten an FBI agent?
“The FBI should’ve told me.” Tears choked her voice.
“Agreed.” Heath would use every skill he had to find her still alive. First, he had to get Anya safely back to the FBI so he could get to work. “Give me the gun.”
“No.”
All right. Enough was enough. He pulled over next to a snowbank at the side of the road and put the vehicle into neutral. Then he turned toward her, facing the barrel of his own gun and keeping calm like always. “Last chance, Anya.”
A frown marred her smooth forehead. “I have the gun.”
Yeah, but he had reflexes that were definitely beyond the norm. He blew out air. Man, she was pretty. Her eyes were the color of a misty forest and nearly glowed against her pale skin. Totally inappropriate for the moment, but his interest in her grew. “Listen. If I get the gun from you, it’s because I have unreal training, okay? It has nothing to do with strength or you. You are not weak, and you are not a victim.”
She blinked. “I already told you that I’m not a victim. You’re across the truck from me, so you might want to watch your ego. I’m keeping the gun.”
“Right. Just say you heard my words, okay?” God, he didn’t want to do this.
She rolled her eyes. “All right, tough guy. I heard your words.”
He lifted his left hand and twisted, smoothly taking the gun with his right.
Her mouth gaped. Even in the cloudy day, the highlights from her dark red hair glinted with life.
He tucked the gun into his waistband at the back. “Thanks for not shooting me.”
“You moved impossibly fast.”
“Yeah.” That was a minefield he wasn’t entering with her. “I’m sorry I had to take the gun.” He set the truck into drive and moved back onto the icy road.
“You apologize a lot,” she murmured, turning to face the front window. Her shoulders slumped.
He blinked and warmth bloomed in his chest even though she was shrinking his head. “My brothers wouldn’t believe you about that.” They thought he was one stubborn bastard.
“Bad guys don’t apologize. You must be okay.” She sounded thoughtful and a little sad. Scared.
She was also wrong. “I’m not a good guy. Trust me.”
“Right.” She shoved that glorious red hair away from her face. “Loretta thought you were good at your job, and that means something.”
“I’ll do my best to find her, and I promise I’ll call you if I find out anything.”
