Striking Distance. Debra Webb

was like granite. Her lip burned, the wound reopening beneath his onslaught. The tang of blood had her pushing harder against him.

      “Wait,” she murmured breathlessly when he broke the seal of their lips just long enough to take a breath. She touched her lip, swiped at the trickle of blood. He watched her intently, his own breath ragged, but a good deal more controlled than hers.

      Just then she remembered the monitor and made a conscious effort to slow her respiration...her heartbeat. If Maverick was still monitoring her activity, she didn’t want him barging in.

      “Not like that,” she whispered. “Like this.” She told herself it was a mistake, but that didn’t stop her. She kissed him tenderly...slowly. He didn’t move a muscle...held perfectly still. She kissed those firm lips until her own unexpected reaction forced her to break the contact. Not taking the time to evaluate her motives, she pressed her lips to the tiny scar on his cheek and then moved lower. Scar after scar she acknowledged with her lips...tracing each with her tongue. Her fingers fisted in the worn soft cotton of his shirt, and she fought the crazy need swirling inside her. This was work, she repeated mentally over and over. She dropped down to her knees, careful not to break the contact of her lips against his skin.

      She was winning this battle. He braced his hands against the wall, his eyes closed and for the first time since she’d met him, the hard lines of his face softened just a fraction. But that was the only thing soft about him. Flirting with danger, she drew her tongue along the warm flesh just above his waistband. If she didn’t stop now...she might have to finish this but every instinct told her that seduction was her only chance of reaching this guy.

      Without warning, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. When her gaze collided with his, he looked totally unaffected. Anything he’d felt was long gone.

      “I’ll take you home now.”

      He released her and walked out of the room. Tasha let go a shaky breath and sagged against the wall to pull herself together. She was hot...damn hot and wet. She’d enjoyed that more than she should have—definitely more than he had, it seemed.

      Damned fool, she railed at herself silently.

      She knew better than to let that happen.

      Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she just shook her head. The chance of a lifetime and she was going to screw it up playing amateur psychologist.

      Whatever this guy’s problem, it wasn’t her job to save him. Her mission was to deliver him up to Lucas Camp for one thing and one thing only.

      To die.

      Chapter 14

      When he pulled the SUV next to the curb outside her apartment building, Tasha couldn’t help thinking she’d had her chance and now it was over.

      This wasn’t the kind of guy to allow any sort of strings. She most likely would not see him again. But at least she knew where he lived, for the moment. She had his license plate number and a damned up-close description. But that’s it. She knew absolutely nothing else about him.

      “You didn’t tell me your name,” she said in the silence that ensued after he’d shifted into Park.

      He turned toward her, his gaze cutting right through her like cold, hard steel. “Does it matter?”

      She nodded, feeling startled by and wholly unprepared for the emotions he wrought in her.

      “Seth.”

      “Seth,” she echoed, thinking that it somehow fit. Some Egyptian slayer or something. “I like that.”

      He stared at her for a second that turned into ten before she started to squirm. There was something about his eyes...

      She couldn’t just get out now...she had to leave him with some reason to contact her again. She grabbed a pen from the console that separated them, then reached for his hand. He resisted at first, but eventually allowed her to draw it to her lap. She jotted her number on his palm.

      He stared at his open hand for a moment then at her, but he didn’t say he would or he wouldn’t use the number.

      “Bye, Seth.”

      She opened the door and climbed out, but his voice stopped her before she walked away.

      “Just one thing.”

      She looked at him expectantly, her hand on the door ready to push it closed.

      “Tell your roommate if she touches you again she’s dead.”

      * * *

      Tasha entered the building without allowing herself to think. She needed a long, hot bath. She needed to think...but first she had to get that final look she’d seen in his eyes out of her head.

      He’d looked directly at her and issued that warning as if she belonged to him, and anyone else who touched her would be risking life and limb.

      It didn’t make sense.

      On the elevator she stabbed the button for floor fourteen and leaned back against the wall. God, she was exhausted, mentally and physically.

      The lift stopped on thirteen and she opened her eyes to see who would be boarding an upbound elevator with only one floor to go.

      The doors slid open and Maverick waited in the corridor. “This way, North,” he instructed.

      Coming to immediate attention, she exited the elevator and followed the big cowboy down the quiet corridor. Though he didn’t wear a hat, he had the boots and the attitude. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. He was tall, broad-shouldered and had just a sprinkle of gray in his dark hair. Just enough to tell a girl he’d been around the block a time or two. She was glad to have him on her team.

      At the fourth door on the right, he opened it and stepped back for her to enter the apartment before him.

      “This whole floor is ours,” he said in answer to her questioning look. “The escape route I showed you in your apartment upstairs will bring you here.”

      The escape route he spoke of was an oversize laundry chute accessed from her walk-in closet.

      Inside the thirteenth-floor apartment, Maverick’s partner, Ramon Vega, waited. He was much smaller in stature but quite confident and capable looking as well. His Latin heritage showed in his good looks, but he’d long since banished any accent from his dialect. He pressed a couple of buttons on a remote control and a wide-screen monitor came to life. Lucas Camp behind a desk blinked into vivid focus, his gaze zeroed in on her as if they were face-to-face in the same room.

      “You look like hell, North,” Lucas said by way of greeting.

      She noticed the Webcam then and knew that, for all intents and purposes, they were face-to-face. She plopped down on a chair directly across from the screen and accompanying camera. “Feel like it, too.”

      “Tell me what you’ve got.”

      Before Tasha launched into a detailed report of the events since making contact with her target, she needed to get one thing out of the way.

      “Something isn’t right with this guy,” she said, confusion lining her brow. She could feel it but couldn’t quite label it.

      “You mean something besides his being a sociopath?” Maverick ventured.

      She nodded. “Yeah. Something besides that.”

      “Give us a profile on how he lives,” Lucas said, setting the direction of the briefing. “Maverick has already told me where he lives and a brief summary of the neighborhood, but what did you see inside?”

      “Not much at first. The lights were out when he took me in and he locked me in the basement until this morning.”

      Lucas frowned. “Locked you in the basement?”

      “Shackled me to a cot down there.