Before The Dawn. Cynthia Eden

WE’RE DONE, I’ll teach you to like the pain.” He smiled as he trailed the knife over her face. “You’ll hurt at first. When the blade cuts you. You’ll cry.”

      A tear trickled down her cheek. “Please...let me go...” Her voice was a desperate rasp. “I...I won’t tell anyone...about you...”

      She was a liar. Straight to her core. He let the tip of the blade slice into her cheek. She screamed, a high-pitched, desperate sound. No one was around to hear that cry.

      “You’ll beg,” he continued. He moved the knife down her neck, making small cuts, enjoying the desperate sobs that broke from her. “You’ll promise anything if I stop the pain...”

      He let the bloody blade slide down her arm. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her feet were tied to the chair legs. He’d stripped her so that she wore only her bra and panties.

      “But then...” He backed away and smiled down at her. “When the pain does stop, you’ll wish for it to come back. You’ll be so desperate for it.”

      She shook her head. “L-let me go...”

      Never.

      “I’ll teach you to like the pain.” He rolled back his shoulders. “And your lesson will start right now.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      DAWN ALEXANDER SAT at the table in the little interrogation room at the New Orleans Police Department. It wasn’t her first trip to the station on Royal Street, and it wouldn’t be her last, either. She’d been working in the city as a PI for the past three years. She often butted heads with the local cops, and she often worked with them as a team. Depending on the case, they could be best friends or worst enemies.

      “Okay, Anthony... Why did you drag me in here first thing this morning?” Mornings weren’t her thing. She worked at night, and, in fact, she’d just crawled into bed at 3:00 a.m., only to be woken right back up by the detective knocking on her door four hours later.

      Anthony Deveraux stood near the back wall—only it wasn’t really a wall. A large pane of glass stretched for five feet near him. That glass threw Dawn’s reflection back at her. Or, it would have, if she’d been staring at herself. Dawn made a point of never looking into a mirror too long.

      She didn’t always like what she saw staring back at her.

      It was one-way glass, of course. Cops or the DA would usually be on the other side of the glass as they watched suspects get grilled.

      Her green eyes narrowed. “Just what am I suspected of doing?”

      “Nothing,” Anthony said quickly, his handsome face tensing. Anthony was a good detective. She’d met him shortly after her move to the Big Easy. One of her first contacts. He was tough and fair, and he seemed to like going after the especially dark cases. His black hair was close-cropped and his golden eyes were shadowed as he glanced at her, then away.

      Away? Alarm bells had been going off in her head ever since she opened the door to see him nervously standing there.

      “Were you sent to collect me this morning because you’re my friend?” She was feeling her way as she tried to figure out exactly what was going on. So she’d done a bit of spying on her last PI case. She hadn’t technically broken any laws.

      Anthony gave a slight jerk of his head. Not really a nod. Not really a denial, either. “You... You’re related to a case that I’m working on.”

      A case. She waved to him. “Okay. Tell me more.” Why was the guy just leaving her in suspense? It wasn’t like him to leave her hanging.

      But Anthony licked his lips and his stare darted toward the interrogation room door. “We have to wait. The FBI is joining us.”

      What? She wanted to bolt out of her chair. She didn’t. The FBI... Dawn gave a low whistle. “This must be some case.”

      He looked at her, and she saw the quick flash of sympathy on his face. “It is.”

      She blinked and that sympathy was gone, but Dawn knew she’d seen it. She rose to her feet and the chair legs squeaked as they slid across the floor. “Anthony...”

      He tensed.

      She stalked toward him. “What’s happening here?” Because her heart was racing too fast. Her stomach was tying into knots.

      He rolled back his shoulders. “Told you...it’s a case I’m working on. The FBI came in to consult, and they asked to see you first thing this morning. Just be patient a little longer, okay?”

      “I’m not real good with patience.” Not any longer she wasn’t. Like she wasn’t good with many things. Being alone at night. I suck when it comes to being alone when it gets dark. That’s why I hunt then. Better to be on the streets than locked in my home.

      He glanced back at the door, looking over her shoulder. Since she stood at just five foot four and he was easily over six feet, it was simple enough for the guy to glance right over her.

      She didn’t like being glanced over.

      She also didn’t like finding out that the FBI was about to burst into the room. Easy, Dawn. There are hundreds, thousands of FBI agents. What are the odds that he will be the one to walk inside right now?

      He... Tucker Frost. The man who haunted her, waking and sleeping.

      She shook her head. No, there was no way fate would be that cruel to her. Besides, she kept tabs on Tucker. He was working in DC now. He wasn’t part of the local FBI branch. He wouldn’t be coming in that door.

      The door began to squeak open. She whirled around.

      * * *

      FEAR.

      God, he’d forgotten how much he hated to see fear on Dawn’s face.

      Tucker stood just behind the one-way glass, watching her as she whirled to confront the agent who’d just walked through the door. For an instant, there had been no missing the fact that Dawn was afraid.

      But...

      When she saw Macey, Dawn’s shoulders relaxed.

      And he knew why she’d been afraid. She’s still afraid of me.

      Some things didn’t change, no matter how much time passed.

      His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched the little group. Anthony Deveraux. He’d been the cop who contacted the Bureau, the guy who’d instantly feared that they had another Iceman on their hands. A guy who didn’t want a serial, not in his city.

      Like anyone wanted one. It wasn’t as if folks went out hoping for death and despair to hit close to home.

      “I’m FBI Special Agent Macey Night,” Tucker’s partner said as she closed the door behind her. She was wearing her neatly pressed suit, with the sleeves that fell just past her wrists. Her red hair was tucked behind her ears. Her gaze swept over Dawn. “And I really appreciate you coming in this morning, Ms. Alexander—”

      “Just Dawn,” she said, shaking her head. “Just call me Dawn.” She paced around the room, moving quickly, energy seeming to bubble off her. For a moment, he just stared at her. She’d changed in the last seven years. Her blond hair was shorter, barely skimming her pale jaw now. Her green eyes were still bright, gleaming, but now her stare seemed to carry suspicion. Her cheekbones were high, her chin was slightly pointed and her lips were full and red. Sexy. She’d always been sexy to him. But now...

      She carried herself differently. She moved with fast energy and, except for that flash of fear...confidence.

      A scar sliced around her neck, faint now, white and faded, but he’d always remember that mark. Just as he remembered the others.

      So many others.