“A dog. Somehow, a big, beautiful dog had found me just after a horrible storm, beating the odds while racing through the muck and mud.” She pressed her trembling fingers to her lips, her breathing labored.
I fisted my hands, fighting rage and the same guilt that had haunted me continuously for over one third of my life.
“He stood by me, keeping me safe. But the amazing pup wasn’t alone. Out of the darkness appeared a man I will never forget. Huge and strong, he’d also risked his life, determined to find me,the only known survivor of months of sacrifice and sacrilege.” As if stalled by reverence, she lifted her head. I’d be damned if her eyes weren’t glowing. The slow and steady draw of the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip drew my entire attention. “That man was you. Brave. Strong. Protective.”
“Jesus.” The single word was whispered.
“That was ages ago just after the world had turned into a nightmarish place. You’ll remember me as Maria Rivera. I was the girl you saved, the only survivor of the Python serial killer.”
“My God. Maria.”
She nodded, her lower lip quivering. “I wanted you to know and I wanted to say thank you. I don’t think I did that all those years ago.”
Seconds ticked by, awkward and hollow, every sound exacerbated.
“What else?”
“What?” My question caught her off guard.
“That’s not the only reason you stopped by my book signing. There’s another reason. Isn’t there?”
The beautiful woman appeared so vulnerable and I was taken back to that night, one that I never wanted to forget yet also had no desire to think about ever again. She shook her head.
“I came to see you because the wrong man is awaiting execution for the slaughter of twelve women. The real killer is still out there. And my instinct tells me he’s hunting again.”
CHAPTER 4
Alexia
Insanely gorgeous.
The two words shouldn’t be brought together even as a backdrop to the conversation we were about to engage in.
Blood, violence, and the thought of unbridled sex shouldn’t be considered in the same breath, but the moment I’d walked toward Maverick’s signing table, my first thought had been the book jacket hadn’t done him justice.
My second thought was how the light dusting of milk chocolate brown hair on his chiseled jaw had created a distinguished appearance with the five o’clock shadow.
My third thought had centered on indulging in a languid look at his broad shoulders outfitted in a well-worn jacket that suited his persona as the mysterious author.
From there, my thoughts had degraded to his rosy lips, full of vibrancy and perfectly kissable even as he’d offered apronounced scowl. I’d been just another reader begging for him to sign a book.
Every young woman fantasized about the perfect man, sinful desires fueled by movie or rock stars. Men created for the purpose of being able to taste forbidden fruit in the comfort and privacy of their own home. Books romanticized the idea of bad boys, dangerous to a fault, their ruggedness heightening an unattainable yearning.
I found it fascinating that until recently, his stories had contained very little romance. Finally, there’d been a love interest in the book before this recent release, which had provided the perfect opportunity for his surging female fan base.
Maverick Callahan was the perfect hero. Handsome and rugged while being a little wrinkled around the edges.
Was he my idea of a perfect hero? Yes, but for an entirely different reason that would remain a private affair. Maybe even from the man himself. Why I’d so readily divulged my former identity was beyond me. He was no longer on the force. If the real killer was on the hunt, what could Maverick do to end the resurgent nightmare?
I’d skipped past action stars and mafia Dons as my fantasy men of choice, no matter how perfectly depicted on the written page or on the big screen. Why? Because every image daring to float into my mind had been overshadowed by visions of Maverick’s chiseled face, strong arms that had held me close.
Keeping me safe.
“You’re serious,” Maverick said. I don’t know if I expected disbelief or admonishment, but I received neither. Just a dark, foreboding, and protective stance that screamed of power andhis own brand of justice hiding just below the surface. Highly attractive.
“Yes.” I’d thought about how to tell him and what to say for days, but I was still uncertain. What could I say in hopes he would believe me? The entire thought was ridiculous. How many people had worked on the case?
He’d always been larger than life with the glossy dossier of his profile. An adventurer. A rogue. A man determined to fight for justice while ignoring confining rules if necessary. In real life he was all those things and more. I found myself breathless around him, fuzzy of mind and aching of body.
