Chapter1
Apredator stared back at her.
Mia Stone set her face into calm lines, her hand inching to where her weapon used to sit on her hip. Only a leather belt existed there now. She shook off the unease. Jail bars. Many bars, evenly spaced, stood between her and the man currently meeting her gaze without expression.
She’d faced evil, good people who’d committed evil…yet she’d never really faced someone truly unreadable. She swallowed.
His gaze dropped to her throat.
An odd quaver wandered down her spine. What in the world was wrong with her? Maybe she’d been out of the game for too long. Focusing, she did her job and studied him.
Near the end of a cot, he lounged against the far wall of the cell. Most prisoners automatically sat when doing time in jail. Not this guy. He had to be, what? Early thirties? At least six and a half feet tall, he leaned his shoulders against the worn brick. His hair was a pure black and his features masculine and solid. Though his eyes were a mix of different blues—light to dark.
A scar ran down the right side of his jaw to disappear into thick hair that almost reached his shoulders. Too rough to be called handsome, there was no doubt he was compelling.
Many killers were.
Mia cut her eyes to the quilt. Pink and homemade, the bed cover belonged in a jail cell as much as the diamond earrings she wore belonged in the small-town sheriff’s office. But she’d promised her mother, and there hadn’t been time for a fight before driving to the middle of nowhere. Still, she’d left her hair down to camouflage the sparkle.
She squared her shoulders and stepped up to the bars. “Mr. Volk, my name is Mia.”
Upon arriving at the station, she’d asked to talk to the prisoner alone and had promised to stay in the hall. The sheriff had merely shaken his head and shut the door separating the main office from the two cells. Seeing the man in the cell, gratitude filled her that she hadn’t pushed to go inside with Volk.
She tried to appear in control. “I was hoping we could talk.”
Slowly, one dark eyebrow rose. “You’re a cop.”
“No, I’m not.” She kept her face in pleasant lines, showing honesty.
“You reached for your weapon,” he said softly.
Surprise had her stilling. “Yes. I used to be a cop. FBI, actually.”
Volk straightened. “That makes you sad.” Intense, he studied her.
The breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to exhale. This wasn’t the first subject who’d tried to get inside her head. “Areyousad, Mr. Volk?”
“My father is Mr. Volk.” Two long strides, and he stood much closer on the other side of the bars. The scent of wild sage came with him. “Call me Seth.”
Courage had her lifting her chin and refusing to retreat. He could easily reach through and grab her. The last time she’d messed with a psychopath, she’d lost. “Seth.”
He cocked his head to the side. Slowly. “I like how you say my name.”
A warning trilled in the back of her mind. “So, you’ll talk to me?”
“I am talking to you.” Low, rough, his voice wrapped around the silence.
“Thank you.” She’d learned early on that respect went a long way with killers and sociopaths. “As I said, I’m not a cop, but they’ve asked me to speak with you. If you’re okay with that, we can talk.”
He quirked his upper lip, making him seem approachable. Almost. “I want to talk to you.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Your voice is pretty.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Kind of like Ingrid Bergman’s inCasablanca. Soft and classy with a hint of sass.”
Warmth messed with caution in her chest. Bogie embodied everything she’d ever wanted in a man. Plus, that was her favorite movie.
“But your eyes are sad. Haunted.” Seth’s large hands wrapped around the bars. “Who hurt you, Mia?”
