Midnight Disclosures. Rita Herron

opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it shut. He’d never allowed personal feelings to interfere with his job. He wouldn’t now.

      Devlin cleared his throat. “There’s a new development, though, that takes precedence. In the past two weeks Dr. Kos has received phone calls on her radio talk show from two different women who were abducted. Later, police found both women’s bodies.”

      “They were murdered?”

      “Yes. The locals suspect a serial killer, so they’ve officially called us in.” Devlin punched a recording, and Mark went completely cold inside as he listened to the chilling calls.

      Save yourself, Claire.

      What the hell had the killer meant? Was he threatening Claire?

      CLAIRE’S HANDS trembled as she headed to the door. It would probably be the police again with more questions. Questions she didn’t have the answers to.

      She massaged her neck, rubbing away the tension. After that horrifying phone call the night before, she hadn’t slept a wink. She’d also rescheduled her patient load for the day.

      How could she help others when she’d failed the women who’d phoned in needing her help? Even though she wasn’t directly responsible, their deaths weighed heavily on Claire’s conscience.

      She bumped into the wall, the sharp edge digging into her hip as she reached for the doorknob. Measuring her steps always grew more difficult when her emotions were involved, or if she was tired. She pressed the call button. “Who’s there?”

      “FBI, Dr. Kos, Special Agent Luke Devlin and Agent Steele, we need to ask you some questions.”

      Steele? This had to be a coincidence. Someone with the same last name, that’s all. Mark was overseas, not FBI.

      And what could she tell them that she hadn’t told the cops?

      “Just a moment.” She unlocked the door, leaving the chain intact. “Do you have identification?”

      Clothing rustled as the man removed something from his pocket. She accepted the ID through the crack in the door. Holding the badge in front of her as if she could still see it, she slid her fingers over the edges, studying it for authenticity, well aware how limited she’d become without her sight. How could she determine if it was a forgery?

      Vaguely satisfied the man was who he claimed to be, she unchained the door and stepped aside.

      “Thank you, Dr. Kos.” Luke Devlin’s voice sounded strained, tired, like a man doing an unpleasant job.

      Then a whiff of a dark masculine scent mingled with a woodsy smell wafted upward and she froze. No, it couldn’t be…

      “HELLO, CLAIRE.”

      Panic jammed the words in her throat. “Mark? What are you doing here?”

      “I work for the government now,” he said in a husky voice.

      But why? Mark had been so committed to the military.

      “Dr. Kos, do you mind if we come in and sit down?” Agent Devlin asked.

      Claire was so shaken her body temporarily went into lockdown. Her first instinct was to tell them to leave, to take Mark and his intoxicating scent and his big masculine presence away. But her voice refused to work, and her legs threatened to collapse beneath her, so she gestured toward the living area.

      “Certainly.” She turned and stumbled, then paused to reorient herself. Agent Devlin’s hard soles clattered on the wooden floor as he stepped inside, but Mark remained in the doorway as if he didn’t want to reenter the graveyard of their shattered relationship.

      “Claire.” His throaty voice echoed with emotions she couldn’t quite name. Shock. Anger. Bewilderment.

      “Come in.” She forced herself not to react to his voice, but he caught her arm and swung her around. Cupping her face in his hands, he tilted her head toward him. She released a shaky breath, and blinked to focus, aching to see him. She imagined his strong jaw covered in five o’clock shadow, his neatly clipped black hair, the small cleft in his chin, his broad nose and that tight military air. And then those big hands all over her, touching her, exploring, making her his, his guarded look fading, his eyes darkening with passion….

      One reason she hadn’t phoned him after the accident. She’d wanted him so badly it was scary. But she had to learn to stand alone.

      He ran his hands over her face, and she blinked, forcing back tears.

      “God, Claire,” he croaked. “What the hell happened to you?”

      Chapter Two

      Claire’s heart pounded in her chest. How could she answer him without confiding everything. He couldn’t know…

      “Claire, talk to me. What happened?” Raw shock hardened his voice.

      “I had an accident. Now let me go, Mark, and let’s sit down.”

      Instead of releasing her, his grip tightened. “What kind of accident?”

      “A car accident.”

      Still hanging on to her, his breath brushed her cheek, eliciting memories of a hot night between the sheets, their bodies moving together in a heated rhythm of passion that had left her aching for more.

      Forever.

      But that would never be. Not now.

      Agent Devlin cleared his throat. “Steele, the case, our questions?”

      She heard Mark’s feet snap together, imagined him standing rigid with anger. She knew him well enough to recognize that the ironclad control on his emotions had been shaken, and he was wrestling to regain his equilibrium.

      But erotic visions interceded into the darkness where she lived, resurrecting a longing for the past—the coarse stiffness of his short hair brushing her belly, his lips tracing a path along the curve of her spine.

      And his eyes—she’d never seen a man with eyes his color. They were almost golden, rimmed in pale yellow. Filled with passion, they turned almost chocolate-brown, with laughter, the gold shimmered like sunshine.

      Although he’d hardly ever laughed.

      She’d wanted him to laugh more, had tried to ease the hardness in his eyes, take away the loneliness.

      Now she’d forgotten how to laugh herself.

      “Sit down,” Claire implored softly. “I’ll get us some coffee and we’ll talk.”

      His labored sigh heightened the tension between them, but he finally dropped his hands. “Fine.”

      Claire turned, so desperate to reorient herself that she ignored his clipped tone. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself or give the image that she was helpless.

      She did not want Mark’s pity.

      Another reason she hadn’t informed him of her accident or condition. She’d been smothered enough by her sister Paulette’s well-meaning intentions.

      She recounted her steps to the den, thankfully bypassing the furniture without a bump. It was imperative that her belongings stay in place. If a table or stool were moved, she’d trip and fall on her face.

      Something she absolutely could not do in front of a strong man like Mark.

      “Have a seat, gentlemen, and I’ll get some coffee.”

      “I’ll help.” Mark moved up behind her.

      “No, I can handle it.” She didn’t bother to apologize for her own abrupt tone. She needed time to compose herself before facing Mark again.

      The current situation with the women who’d been murdered had already destroyed her peace of mind.

      She slipped