SWAT Secret Admirer. Elizabeth Heiter

If he couldn’t break her when she was twenty-two, how’s he going to do it now, when she’s SWAT?”

      Grant shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know.” Which worried him a lot. Because the Fishhook Rapist was extremely intelligent. He had to be, to evade them for this many years, with this much Bureau heat on him. So he would have a plan in place.

      Yet, he’d advertised that he was going to return for Maggie. He’d never returned for any of his victims. So they would never have expected it if he hadn’t told them. Why would he do that? Unless it was part of his effort to break Maggie down.

      “Well, whatever his plan is, we need to get to him before he gets near her. I don’t care if she can take him down with her bare hands, I don’t like this,” Kammy said. “I don’t like anything about this.”

      “Neither do I.”

      “We’ve got twenty-seven days,” Kammy said. “And so far, zero leads.”

      “Then we’d better get cracking,” Grant said, standing. “I’ll get the number for the DC cops who handled the original case.”

      “Just remember,” Kammy called after him, “You run into Maggie, and you say nothing.”

      “Not a problem,” Grant said. He hoped she wouldn’t discover that he was working the case until it was over. Until they’d put the Fishhook Rapist behind bars for good.

      * * *

      PEOPLE WERE STARING.

      Maggie felt uncomfortable as she walked down the drab gray hallway toward the bustling bullpen where she worked at the WFO. Other agents avoided her eyes as she approached, but she could see them watching from her peripheral vision. As if they all knew.

      The case agents for the Fishhook Rapist investigation worked out of the WFO, and it had been that way for a long time, so inevitably some rumors had gotten out. But never like this.

      She jumped as someone clapped a hand on her shoulder, then spun around to face the office newbie, a tall, reed-thin guy a few months out of the Academy. Still all nervous excitement and no experience. Still too green to know when to keep his mouth shut.

      He gave her an uncomfortable smile and said, “I can’t believe the jerk is writing you letters. But they’ll catch him. Don’t worry.”

      Mind your own business formed on her lips, but she held it in and nodded stiffly back. Until now, only the longtime agents had seemed to know anything about what had led her into the FBI, and by the time they found out, they knew her well enough not to judge her for it. Six years at the WFO, and she’d never felt as though there was an invisible cloud of pity around her no one wanted to enter. It was why she’d almost backed out when the FBI had assigned her here in the first place.

      Frustration and dismay filled her, and she gritted her teeth and tried to bury those emotions under anger. After ten years, the Fishhook Rapist shouldn’t have this kind of power over her life anymore.

      She wasn’t going to let him have this kind of power over her life anymore.

      She straightened her shoulders, and the newbie must have seen something in her eyes, because he stammered nervously about getting to work and hurried off.

      “Maggie.”

      She turned at the sound of the familiar voice, and found Clive standing behind her, a grim expression on his normally friendly face.

      “You know,” she said, and her voice sounded weak and emotional. She cleared her throat and added, “Does everyone know?”

      Did Grant know?

      Clive’s lips twisted with sympathy. “No, not everyone. But those of us who came in early today heard the case agents working. They had the conference room open, and they were going over the new evidence.” He lowered his voice. “This is the first I’ve heard about the letters. I wish you’d said something, Maggie.”

      She shrugged, trying not to feel she’d somehow let him down. She knew he was aware of her history, because it had come up when she’d joined his team. But he’d made it clear then that her past didn’t matter to him so long as it didn’t affect her ability to do the job. And she’d proven, for four years now, that it didn’t. “It wasn’t relevant. It didn’t affect my position in SWAT.”

      He gave her a small smile. “No, it didn’t.” The smile faded. “But with everything going on—”

      Maggie put her hands on her hips. “You’re pulling me from the team?”

      “No. But I want you to think about whether it’s the best place for you right now. If you want time—”

      “I don’t.” She tried to force confidence into her tone and her expression. “The letters just mean there’s more evidence to investigate. They won’t affect my performance on the team.”

      Clive frowned, as if he could see through her. “We’ve been friends a long time, Maggie. I’m here if you want to talk. And if you need a break, we’ll hold your spot. Don’t worry about that.”

      “Okay.” She nodded, a lump filling her throat. There were three SWAT teams at the Washington Field Office, and agents tended to stay on the teams for years— positions very rarely opened up, and waiting lists for tryouts were long. Clive offering to hold her spot was a huge commitment.

      She needed to remember she had good friends here, and focus on that, instead of the unwanted attention she was getting right now from agents who barely knew her. “Thanks.”

      “Of course.” He gave her a smile that looked a little forced then headed for his own desk across the room, in the Organized Crime squad.

      As he walked away, Maggie surveyed the other agents in the room. It hadn’t been her imagination. There was definitely staring.

      She dropped her bag at her desk, slid her gun and cuffs into her drawer and headed back down the hall toward the coffeepot.

      Hopefully, Clive was right and only the agents who’d come in early today had learned about the letters. And hopefully, those agents would get over it, stop staring and not gossip.

      But the thing she hoped for most was that Grant hadn’t heard.

      She had to believe the Bureau would catch the Fishhook Rapist this time. Before September 1. She refused to think anything else, no matter how dread filled her every time she thought about that date. No matter how the voice in the back of her mind sounded too much like a whisper from a decade ago, telling her, “This is going to hurt.”

      She had to believe it would all be over soon, and once it was, she wasn’t going to let a few bureaucratic rules keep her from taking a chance with Grant Larkin. Assuming he wanted to take a chance with her. Assuming he hadn’t learned all of her horrible secrets.

       Please, please, don’t let him know.

      She chanted the words in her head as she reached the coffeepot. As she grabbed the carafe, Kammy Ming strode over, managing to project power despite her tiny five-foot frame.

      “Maggie.” Kammy greeted her in the subdued tone she seemed to save just for Maggie.

      “Hi, Kammy,” Maggie replied. “How’s the case going?” She clutched the carafe too tightly, certain Kammy wouldn’t tell her anything. Kammy never told her anything.

      But this time, Kammy carefully tugged the carafe from her hand, poured her a cup and said, “We worked all weekend. We’re going to catch him.”

      A smile trembled on Maggie’s lips as Kammy poured herself a cup, then faded as Kammy turned to leave, calling after her, “Your friend Grant has some good insights.”

      Grant was on the case? Dizziness washed over her, and she would have dropped her mug of hot coffee except a pair of large hands grabbed it and steadied her.

      She looked up, and there was Grant, staring