The decoy apartment was cold for some reason. Anya sat on the bed with papers in front of her. Heath hadn’t been to bed yet, and she couldn’t sleep. He was scouting the neighborhood under the cover of night, hoping to find what his subconscious was trying to tell him.
The apartment had three bedrooms, a sprawling great room, and an updated kitchen. The walls were brick, the floors wood, and the fixtures antiques. Ryker and Zara had retired to the farthest bedroom from the front door, while Denver was still downstairs working on the computers. He seemed to rarely sleep.
She’d spread papers across the bed. Copies of the FBI file along with her profile. Notes from her past. Anyone she’d dated, been friends with, or just had met. Dossiers on all of them.
“You’re in here,” she muttered, looking through the lists again. The killer was there.
Her eyes blurred. She yawned and looked around. The bedroom held the bed, covered with a deep green comforter, two nightstands, and an antique dresser. They had to make it look authentic for the killer, just in case he got in somehow when they weren’t there. She shook her head as her stomach cramped. The plan was a good one, and there were cameras and guns all around. Yet she couldn’t help but feel like she was playing a game of chicken with somebody making up new rules.
Her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it, startled to see Carl’s number come up. What in the world? She shook her head and read the phone again. It rang insistently. She stopped breathing.
Wait a minute. That couldn’t be right. Her vision blurred. She ground her palm into her right eye and then blinked until she could see clearly. It still showed Carl’s name.
A metallic taste filled her mouth. Her heart rate sped up. Adrenaline. She could taste it. Her breath panted out, and her head swam. She gulped down air. God. The thing kept ringing. She had to answer it. Her hand trembled, but she answered the call. “Hello?”
Silence.
“Who is this?” She scrambled out of bed and hurried from the room, glad she was wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her ears rang. Who was calling? Did the killer have Carl’s phone?
Nothing. Maybe breathing.
She ran out of the apartment and hustled down the stairs to find Denver at his desk with a soft light glowing. He looked up, his eyes quizzical. She handed over the phone. “Carl’s phone,” she whispered.
Heath moved in from the kitchen area, and she jumped. He’d been in the building but hadn’t joined her in bed? He grabbed the phone and turned it over to press the speaker. “Who the fuck is this?” he growled, his body one lean line of sizzling anger.
An audible click echoed over the line.
Anya leaned against the nearest desk, her heart clamoring. “That had to be the killer, right?”
“Can you trace it?” Heath asked.
Denver looked at the phone, pushed a couple of buttons, and read the screen. “No. The phone is now off, and any location-tracking elements are disabled.”
Anya swallowed. “The only reason Carl’s killer would call is to mess with me. To scare me.” Chills swept her, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
Heath reached for her and drew her into his body. She wanted to protest, but he felt too good around her. Solid and safe. “The killer might’ve been going through Carl’s contacts, or he might be somebody you know from your time working with Carl,” Heath said, his voice a reassuring rumble.
Good. Heath was calm. Somehow that calmed Anya. She looked up at his face and nearly stopped breathing. Furious. His eyes glittered with a dangerous rage, and his jaw looked like it was made from pure rock. “Or?” she asked.
“Or the Copper Killer is messing with us,” Heath said in a gravelly voice.
Denver placed his hands flat on the desk. “How does that make sense? The killer doesn’t mess around. He kidnaps, tortures, and kills. Why would he be messing with us?”
“With Anya,” Heath said. “She challenged him, and he’s having way too much fun playing.”
She thought through all her research. “Killing Carl doesn’t make sense for a serial killer. He has a type and a routine.” She shook her head. “But . . . this has been about me since the beginning. You’re right. He’s playing a game, and he’s having fun.”
Heath placed a kiss on the top of her head, his movement controlled and gentle. “I can have you out of here within an hour. Please.” Thepleasewas said in a low rumble, one with contained emotion.
She could nearly feel the fight going on inside him to even give her a choice.
For the first time, she actually considered running. She’d received a phone call from a dead man’s phone. Her body trembled. She’d honestly considered Heath and his brothers almost invincible, and how foolish was that? Nobody was invincible. “I’m not sure.”
“We can sleep on it,” Heath said, turning her toward the stairwell.
Her phone buzzed again.
Heath’s entire body tightened next to her, and he looked down. “What the hell?” He pressed the speaker button so they could all hear. “Reese?”
