To fuck her until the sun rose.
Not yet. Not. Yet.
He forced his head to lift. Her breathing came in ragged little pants, and he knew she’d been just as impacted by the kiss. He stared down at her.
Innocent?
Guilty?
Didn’t really matter. He wanted her just the same.
“S-Saint?” Uncertainty.
The more he was with her, the more he could see through her mask.
“Maybe I will fall for you,” he mused.
Her lips started to curl.
“But if you’re guilty, sweetheart, I will still lock that sweet ass away.”
Her smile froze. Then…laughter. The rich, real laughter that reached inside the cold, dark parts of him and made him feel so reckless and wild.
Her laughter continued, ringing out into the night, and it made him want her even more.
She stroked his cheek. Pressed a quick kiss to his lips before smiling again. “No, you won’t, but it’s cute that you think so.”
“Don’t play with me, Alice.”
“Why not? We’ll both have fun if we play together.”
“I’m not like the other men you knew.”
She slipped away from him. Headed for her open door. “God, I certainly hope not.” A final glance his way. “Good night, Saint.”
“Sweet dreams, Alice.”
She’d started to close the door, but at his words, she stopped. “They’re never sweet.”
The door shut.
He stared at it a moment. “Yeah, neither are mine.” Saint walked away, still tasting her. Still wanting more.
Knowing that sooner or later, he would have more.
***
“What in the hell did you do?” Alice peeked through her curtain and watched Saint drive away. Her fingers rose to her swollen lips.
She’d forgotten herself during that last kiss. Let go. Wanted to believe…
That he might fall for me.
But he wouldn’t. And she couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
“I don’t need help,” she gritted into her phone. “Just stop, okay? I have things under control.” She hung up the phone, heaved out a breath, and cast a glare toward her boarded up window.
Enough. She was so sick of this madness. If the world wanted to think she was a villain, then maybe she needed to give them something to fear. Something they would never forget.
***
She saw the blood drops as soon as she opened the front door. Alice stared down at them, the champagne bottle gripped tightly in her hand. The euphoria she’d felt only moments before gave way to instant worry.
“Shane?” Her voice cracked. “Did you cut yourself?”
Her heels tapped across his marble floor. The tile was normally immaculate, as was everything in Shane’s home. But this time, someone had made a mess.
A spatter of deepening blood drops.
More and more blood.
And she wasn’t just worried any longer.
Alice was nearly at the kitchen. She still gripped the champagne bottle in her hand. “Shane?” She turned the corner.
And nearly slammed into the figure standing there. The figure with the knife. She screamed and swung her champagne bottle.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Alice opened her eyes. Glared up at the ceiling. “I fucking hate memories.” Especially when they snuck into your dreams. Because in a dream, you were helpless.
Alice couldn’t stand to be helpless.
***
Tracy Eldridge hadn’t returned Saint’s calls. He wasn’t going to just wait around for her to pull another stunt, so he found out which hotel she was staying at—freaking child’s play—and he headed there to meet her. Swanky, of course. A place that reeked of money. As if she would stay anywhere else.
It was simple enough to get her room number from the helpful lady at check-in. He flashed a smile, told her a story about surprising his girlfriend, and a few moments later, he was heading up in the elevator.
But when the doors opened and he reached the fourth floor, he saw that the door to room 408 was open. Frowning, he quickened his pace. What was Tracy up to—
A maid hummed from inside the room as she stripped the bedding.
He rapped on the open door, and she gasped, spinning around to face him. “Sorry.” He offered her a faint smile. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I was looking for the woman who stayed in this room last night.”
“Oh, she left early today. Had errands.” Her hand fluttered around the bedding. “Called housekeeping and asked if someone could come first thing today to clean the room. She wanted it fresh for when she returned.”
Saint frowned. Tracy had wanted someone in her room at 6 a.m.? Because that was the time. Actually, a little after six. “That kind of call isn’t normal. It messes up the schedule—”
“Mrs. E is a big tipper,” the maid confided. “She stays here pretty often. Always requests the same room.” An incline of her head toward the window. “She likes the park view. And sometimes, she calls about an early morning cleaning. We all know how she is.”
Yes, I’m learning how she is, too. Obsessed. Determined. Dangerous? All her visits to town were a bad sign. And when she was in Savannah, he’d bet she spent her time watching Alice. Harassing her?
Hell. He had screwed up on this one. He should have dug deeper on Tracy. He would be taking care of that error immediately. Saint thanked the maid, then slipped out. He wondered where Tracy was.
Probably close to Alice.
And that meant he needed to get his ass close to Alice, too. Because he wasn’t going to let his client—or anyone else—take shots at her.
In silence, he rode the elevator back down to the lobby. As soon as he walked through the revolving door at the posh hotel’s entrance, he hauled out his phone. There was one man he trusted above all others, and the guy would probably give him hell about this case, but, well, the situation couldn’t be avoided.
In moments, he had his half-brother, Memphis Camden, on the line.
“Saint. How the hell are you?”
“Been better. Been one hell of a lot worse, too.” He headed toward Forsyth Park as streaks of light began to trickle across the sky. If Tracy liked the view so much, had she taken an early stroll in the park? He saw the moss hanging from the heavy limbs of oak trees and could hear the faint call of birds. Maybe Tracy had just gone for a walk…
Or maybe she’d gone after Alice.
“What’s happening?” Memphis suddenly seemed a lot more serious.
“The case I’m working is…taking a few unexpected turns.”
A grunt. “That’s what cases do. They twist and turn.” Memphis paused. “This a bounty or—”
“It’s a cold case.” Saint waited to catch hell.
And it came flying at him. “What the fuck? You didn’t tell me you’d taken a cold case. Are you working with a partner?”
Potentially. If you counted his chief suspect as a partner.
“You got backup?” Memphis wanted to know. “How dangerous is this case? How—”
“You and I both know the bounties I hunt are usually a lot more dangerous than the cold cases we try to break.” Truth. But, this time… “You ever hear of a woman named Alice Shephard?” Saint hadn’t known about her, not until Tracy had slid Alice’s photo across the desk toward him and set this case into motion.