“Spit it out, Hawke,” Hunt said.
“There were murders. Unsolved murders of young, female artists. They were found stabbed, and mutilated.” Killian’s eyes darkened. “They were all young and blonde.”
The room seemed to tilt around Savannah. “No.”
“I’m sorry, Savannah. I have no proof, but I’m certain Walkson is responsible.”
“Because he couldn’t get to me,” she whispered brokenly. “It’s my fault.”
“Savannah.” Hunt shifted closer.
“No.” She jerked to her feet. “It’s my fault. He followed me, I led him to those places, and he ended those women’s lives.” She stumbled back.
Hunt growled, and advanced on her. She backed up.
Her back hit the wall, and an angry male hit her front.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She met his green gaze.
“This is not on you. It’s on Walkson. You’re a victim. Every death is on his hands.”
“Hunter…” She bit back a sob.
“We’re going to stop him.” Hunt yanked her into his arms. “This is not on you.”
But it felt like it was. All those young women…
Tears fell and Savannah held on tight to Hunt.
Chapter Thirteen
Hunt saw Vander, Killian, and Ace out.
It was Saturday, but he still needed to get to work to check in on how their own search for Andrew Walkson was progressing.
With Norcross Security, Sentinel Security, and the SFPD searching for the man, there was no way the asshole could stay hidden forever.
Vander was going to send Rome Nash, his best bodyguard, over to stay with Savannah. But first, Hunt needed to take his woman’s temperature. Make sure she was dealing with Killian’s revelations.
If Walkson was responsible for a slew of murders of young women, then Hunt wouldn’t mind seeing the man get the death penalty. Shame there was a moratorium on it.
He headed into the living room. Savannah was at the window, staring out at the city, her arms wrapped around herself.
He walked toward her.
“I’m okay,” she said quickly.
“You’re not.”
She whirled. “All right, I’m not, but I’ll get there. Eventually.” Her eyes sparked. “That asshole!” She threw her arms up. “How dare he think he has the right to terrorize me, destroy my life, but even worse, to take the lives of innocent women. Amelia, all these girls that Killian mentioned—” her voice hitched “—I keep asking myself why. What could I have done differently to avoid this?”
“Nothing, baby.” Hunt grabbed her arms. “Nothing. Bad people do bad things every day. Bad things happen every day. Unfortunately, they can happen to good people. You’re entitled to be mad, and sad, and angry. I understand. I stood far from home, sweating in a godforsaken desert, dodging bullets, and saw good men die. At first, I would rage and try to find reasons so it made some sort of sense.”
Now she wrapped her arms around him. His sweet, giving Savannah.
“But it makes no sense. It never will. So, we pick ourselves up, we deal the best way we can. If you wallow, it’ll drag you down and swallow you whole.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.” He scooped her up and sat on the couch. “You’re entitled to your feelings.”
“But I’m only thinking of myself—”
“Again, in this situation, you’re entitled.”
She cupped his cheek. “I wasn’t thinking of you. You’ve dealt with death and killers. You still do.”
“I try to remember the people I help. The bad guys I lock away.”
She snuggled into him, and he felt it in his chest. Damn, he liked that.
It was a sign that she was trusting him, and he knew the years had conditioned her to not trust anyone.
He ran a hand down her hair.
“You’re going to catch Walkson,” she said.
He met her gaze. “Yes, I am. Whatever it takes.”
“I want to help. I need to help.”
Hunt’s muscles locked. The thought of her anywhere near Andrew Walkson made him revolt. “Savannah—”
She scrambled up. “Whatever I can do to help. I could help with searches.”
“You can help by staying safe.” He rose and pulled her around to face him.
“Hunter, I know him. I know how he works.” She took a deep breath. “He wants me. You could use me as bait—”
“Absolutely not.” Hunt gripped her arms. “There will be no baiting the stalker-slash-serial killer.”
“I need to do something.”
He stared into her pleading eyes and blew out a breath. Dammit.
“We’ll work something out.”
She beamed up at him, then went up on her toes and kissed him. “Thank you.” Then she fidgeted a little.
He’d learned enough about her to know what that meant. “Need to sketch?”
She nodded.
“Get your sketchbook, baby. I need to change.”
“Change?”
“I need to head to the station and follow up on some things.”
She hissed out a sharp breath. “But you were shot. There’s a madman after you.”
“Vander’s sending his best bodyguard, Rome, to stay with you.”
She bit her lip.
Hunt hated seeing the fear in her eyes. “Rome’s good, Savannah. He’ll—”
“It’s not that. Who’s your bodyguard?”
Hunt’s brows snapped together. “I’m a cop. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Walkson had you shot!” She spun away.
“Hey.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I’ll take precautions. I know what I’m doing.” Gently, he bit her earlobe.
She shuddered. “I don’t want to lose you, Hunter.”
“You won’t.” He kissed her neck.
She tilted her head to the side. “I don’t want anyone else hurt.”
“It’s going to be fine.” His phone chimed. With difficulty, he pulled himself away from her and checked it. “Rome’s on his way up.”
Savannah grabbed her sketchbook and nodded.
Hunt met Rome at the elevator. The bodyguard was big, broad, with brown skin, and deep-green eyes.
“Hunt.”
“Rome.” He shook the man’s hand.
Rome Nash exuded a calm, watchful vibe that made him so good at his job.
“Thanks for coming. Savannah’s a bit shaken up, but she’s tough.”
Rome lifted his chin. “I’ll take care of her.”
“How’s your princess?”
Rome’s smile flashed white. “Keeping me on my toes.”
On a previous job, Rome had fallen in love with Princess Sofia of Caldova. Sofie had surprisingly slotted into the Norcross gang quickly and easily. The princess also didn’t hide how much she loved her fiancé.
“Come and I’ll introduce you to Savannah,” Hunt said.
She was on her knees at the coffee table, sketching, her hand moving fast. She looked up, blinked. She was totally lost in her work already.