Mirror Me Page 14

  “Well, you’re not a profiler,” he offered. “If it makes you feel any better, at this moment, you’re the only one who knows what I am, okay? Not Lissner.”

  It did help, moderately. “But someone’s been keeping an eye on me, which is why you’re here. Nothing to do with who my father was, right?”

  Jacoby didn’t bite. “Look, I don’t have time to coddle you. I told them that, but it seems like maybe they were right to worry.”

  “Fuck you. And whoever they are. Fuck all of you. I’ve done a damned good job and plan on continuing.”

  “That’s the spirit. Cut the maudlin shit.”

  She took a deep breath. “Tell me this—am I expected to protect Kayla or catch Mara?”

  “Can’t you do both?”

  “My job isn’t both,” she pointed out.

  “Gotta aim higher, then,” he told her. “For now, you do your protecting and I’ll do my catch while I help you protect. Deal?”

  “I’m not making deals with you.”

  “Hey Abby, I didn’t do anything to you.”

  “You just hid who you are and what you’re doing here.”

  “Could’ve asked.”

  “You wouldn’t have told me straight out. Not right away. And unlike you, I don’t pry.”

  “I didn’t pry,” Jacoby protested.

  “But you knew my dad.”

  “He’s a legend, Abby. Same last name, right?” he challenged.

  She’d refused to change it, even after Teige changed his. “It’s common.”

  “Not in my world,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s just get on with it. Both of us want to keep Kayla safe.”

  “I definitely do. You want to further your cover at her expense.”

  “Project much, Abby? Because I’m not the same guy as your dad.”

  “Really?”

  Jacoby growled, “I don’t have a family to put in danger. It’s just me.”

  “You must have family.”

  Jacoby’s expression tightened, telling her she’d pushed it too far. His tone was harsh when said, “I’ve got no one. This job necessitates that. I learned it the hard way, but the person who learned it with me was another agent. We both should’ve known better. I do know.”

  She couldn’t help but say, “Sounds lonely.”

  “Do I want a career or love—it’s my choice and I’ve made it. Not that lonely, but I also have more regrets than I care to talk about.”

  “Right. Keep it all to yourself,” she said and he laughed. “What?”

  There was a pause as the waitress put their plates in front of them, and then Jacoby told her, “You claim you don’t want to know anything but you date a psychic.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “How the fuck do you know that?”

  “Office gossip.”

  “Bullshit. You have no goddamned right to pry into my personal life. Ethan’s entire existence is classified.”

  “Not to me,” Jacoby said calmly.

  “Asshole. And to answer your question—I don’t ask him to tell me anything.”

  “But you could. He’s your safety net.”

  “You can—”

  “Go fuck myself. That could be the name of this investigation.” He dove into his food and after a few bites, said, “For the record, I didn’t want this job, didn’t want to be working with someone who’s as on the fence as you.”

  “How dare you.”

  “I didn’t put a witness next to my brother. In hopes of what?”

  “Extra protection.”

  “You could’ve refused this case.”

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  He pushed his glass aside. “Spend less time worrying about me and more about your witness. She needs protecting, not me.”

  That’s not how it seems, was on the tip of her tongue but she held back. Do no harm, Abby. Everyone’s got their own shit to deal with. Just because you can’t see through it doesn’t mean it’s not there. Jacoby was hiding among the marshals for reasons bigger than this case—that, Abby was sure of. “I’m staying at Kayla’s tonight.”

  He put money on the table between them for the check. “I’ll follow you back to sweep the house.”

  She shook her head. “I did it before and I’ll do it again. I’ve got it under control. Have a good night, Raz.”

  He squinted at her, like he was trying to figure out what she was doing, but she just nodded and turned away.

  He’d been right about one thing—keeping her witness safe was her only job.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kayla was spinning when she got back. Overtired, the exhaustion played with her mind, and if this had been years ago she might’ve gone out drinking, dancing, fucking to try to forget. Relentlessly, she roamed Teige’s second floor, checking windows, turning on lights, unable to focus on any one thing for too long.

  Teige put a stop to that faster than she’d ever thought possible. He caught her wrist, yanked her attention to him. She looked up at him, startled, the hold on her wrist one she wasn’t meant to break. But she tried, just for a second and saw the disapproval—the challenge—in his eyes.

  “I don’t know who I am. I’m a blank slate. The good one. Half my childhood is gone and so far, my adulthood as well. All I do is hide, stay invisible. I don’t know what I want to be and what does it matter? I can’t because I can’t stay in one place long enough or keep one name long enough to do anything. I might as well be in prison, or dead.”

  “Yeah, I get that—the self-pity shit. But it doesn’t suit you.”

  “Fuck you for thinking you know what does. You know less about me than I know about me.”

  “That’s not true, Kayla.” He circled her wrists with his fingers, mimicking the restraints he’d put on her the other night. Her face flushed, a mix of anger and embarrassment. Both because a little part of her was turning on just by this power play.

  “Tell me something true about you.”

  “I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to like you. I don’t mind wanting you, fucking you—but I don’t want to feel a damned thing,” he said.

  The admission startled her. So did her anger, bubbling inside her like a volcano thundering to life. She remained still and his fingers stayed on her wrists. Could he feel her pulse racing? By the way his eyes darkened, the answer was yes. “I want to hate you.”

  “I know. What else do you want?” he asked. “Not that it matters. When I have my way you’re only going to want what I give you.”

  “Teige, don’t.”

  “Why? Can’t deal with it? What can you deal with, Kayla? Or is that another secret?”

  “I had to keep them.”

  “And now you don’t. How’s it feel?”

  Like an avalanche. A landslide. Like she was tumbling down a hill at a hundred miles per hour and she couldn’t put her hands out to stop herself. Like she was walking into a burning fire, running into a raging ocean…and she didn’t care. “It feels like I want you to fuck me.”

  A strangled groan escaped his throat.

  It was wrong to want this, especially now. There was so much, too much, going wrong. “I’m bringing you trouble,” she said quickly.

  He didn’t argue with her. “Maybe, yes. What are you going to do about it? Bring me more?”

  “I’m sure. I’m not pulling you in any further.”

  “You didn’t. Abby did. And I can make my own goddamned decisions as to whether I’m in or out,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “And I made my decisions. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  “But you get to tell me.”

  He backed her up, pressed to her in a way that was such a turn-on. “Yeah, I do. In bed, when we’re fucking. And when it comes to your safety. If you don’t want to be with me? You tell me and I’ll back off that part of it. But I won’t back off from your safety until you are goddamned safe. Got it?” He took her other wrist, pulled her arms over her head and pushed her back to the wall. “You�
��ll focus on me until I say otherwise.”

  “Teige—”

  His knee forced her thighs open. “No. No backtalk.”

  She shuddered at the tone of his voice. His whole weight was on her. She nodded and he let go of her wrists. As soon as he did so, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. A hot, hard, punishing kiss full of promises. Full of a future.

  She could almost let herself believe it.

  *

  Teige’s urge to tie her down and take her until she forgot everything but his own name was overwhelming. She clung to him when he kissed her, her fingertips digging into his shoulders as he carried her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. She leaned up on her elbows and her eyes never left his as he went through his drawer, pulling out ropes.

  Her eyes widened when she saw them.

  Last time, he’d used her own clothes to tie her down. The rope was a bit rougher, which would stop her from fighting as much. Because even though she wanted this, he knew there was something about being tied that inspired fighting.

  He stripped his shirt off and then motioned for her to lie back. She complied, albeit a little nervously. He leaned in quickly and put her arms above her head as he straddled her, catching her wrists in his hand as he roped them together, then wound the excess through his headboard.

  The knots weren’t tight…until she tested them. She looked at him in surprise and he smiled and said “Red to stop, yellow to slow it down. Say no all you want but I won’t believe that.”

  She nodded, looked slightly stunned. A little relaxed, though, when he took a knife out of his back pocket and slowly cut her T-shirt open, exposing her body inch by inch. She gasped as he did the same to her bra, flicking the clasp with the shiny tip of the blade before leaning in and tugging on one of her taut nipples with his teeth and tongue.

  He closed the knife, put it on the night table and pulled her jeans down roughly. His hand slid down her belly and between her legs. “Wet for me?” he asked, his voice husky, his cock heavy with longing.

  “Please—yes,” she managed.

  “Please what? Be specific,” he told her, squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then flicked the tip with his nail. He gave her clit a quick, light touch, which made her cry out in frustration. “Just tell me.”

  “Please…lick me,” she whispered, the blush covering her cheeks. But her eyes, now they were pure fire.

  And he wasn’t going to say no to her request.

  God, she was beautiful. Her body surged upward to meet his every touch by his hands, his mouth. He’d tied her so there was no physical escape without the magic word, but this allowed her mind to escape the endless hamster wheel of information that only served to agitate her.

  Judging by the way she writhed, escape was the furthest thing from her mind.

  He tugged her jeans all the way off and buried his face between her legs, licking, sucking, laving. He’d left her legs free purposely, but when she began to roll her hips, he held them down, keeping her hostage to his tongue, his rhythm, his ways.

  It didn’t stop her from coming, her body alternately jerking and stiffening as the orgasm rolled through her. He didn’t stop licking as she spasmed either, which made her cry out his name weakly, begging for him to stop and go and oh Teige, more…

  Yes, there was a lot more.

  *

  Sated, Kayla lay against Teige’s chest, hair draped across his cheek. He wanted to sleep with her against him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of impending disaster. It was both a born and bred response—he wanted her to sleep so he could sneak away and prowl.

  “The cameras are working, right?” she asked.

  “Guess I failed at my job of making you forget.”

  “Teige, you didn’t fail at anything. You made me forget. That’s more than anyone’s ever been able to do for me.”

  “As long as you don’t ever forget about me again, got it?” he said roughly.

  She blinked. Smiled a little. “Never.”

  “Good.” He snapped his fingers and Hanny came into the room. “Hanny will keep you company for a few minutes—I’ll be quick.”

  He put his jeans on, leaving them unbuttoned as he walked barefoot down to the first floor. He’d slid the knife back into his pocket but that didn’t matter—he had weapons hidden all around the house where he could get to them easily, if need be. Sometimes being a paranoid asshole paid off.

  When he saw things were all clear on his end and in next door’s yard, he texted his sister. You all right over there?

  Not bad—talking to Ethan. I think there’s a ghost here though.

  He chuckled. Old Man Kennen. Mrs. Mueller always talks about him.

  Abby answered, I’d rather him than Mara, so I guess we’re okay. How’s Kayla?

  She’s really good. And I plan on keeping her—and you—that way.

  He waited for Abby’s text to tell him that she didn’t need taking care of, but instead she typed back, Kayla’s lucky. So am I.

  There was that word again.

  Lucky.

  Shit.

  He hoped they all stayed that way…

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  There was no time like the present, Kayla supposed. Once she was tucked into Teige’s bed, wearing his T-shirt and socks, lights burning bright, she asked, “Are you sure you don’t need to sleep?”

  “Eventually I will. But I never have good dreams.”

  It was a major admission, she knew. “I wish I never dreamed,” she agreed and he muttered, “Aren’t we a pair?”

  And they were.

  In the silence that followed, Teige stroked her thighs. She realized she didn’t worry about explaining the scars—he’d noticed them, but he’d never pushed her on it, never asked. Now, she told him, “I don’t remember the abuse.”

  “So how do you know there was?”

  She paused. “Mara says. And there are burns on the bottoms of my feet.”

  “And your inner thighs too.” Her face flushed and she nodded. “I wish I didn’t know what they were from. But I’m glad you don’t remember being hurt, Kayla. I can’t lie about that.”

  “But you want me to remember the hurt.”

  “It’s a double-edged sword. I don’t think you can remember one piece of the puzzle without recalling all of it, but in this case…I think you’re ready to do it. You’ve got me. Abby. It’s time to let it all come back to you. And ultimately, safety’s more important than comfort.”

  “To me too. I’m putting you and your sister in danger. And if that ever happened, I couldn’t—”

  “Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t even finish that sentence, not even inside your head.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He sighed. “My sister thinks she can make up for her childhood by taking care of other people. She hides them from the monsters.”

  “And you think she should be hunting them?”

  “No.” He said it so vehemently that she startled. “I think she’s too damned close as it is. And she’s not the one who should be doing penance for what happened.”

  “What about you?”

  “I fight.”

  But against a different type of monster, she thought. Didn’t make him any less a warrior, but as he’d already told her, it was a different kind of fight.

  “I like your sister a lot,” she said.

  “I used to,” he muttered and she couldn’t help but smile. He dragged a hand through his hair. “My CO used to tell me that everything has to come full circle. I hate that he was right.”

  “What happened to the man who killed your father?”

  “He went MIA after he left our house—he’s presumed dead, mainly because there were no further kills attributed to him since. And he’d be eighty-five now so…” He shrugged. “It didn’t matter. He’d accomplished what he set out to do—kill the FBI’s greatest profiler to date.” He swallowed. “Dad started out wanting to be the hero. The p
roblem is that being a hero isn’t a great role. It’s addictive. Ego-making. I don’t want to be anyone’s hero.”

  “Too late,” Kayla informed him.

  It made him smile a little, before he told her, “The thing you don’t get is that after this is over, you’re still left with you. You have to figure out who you are, what you want. Living your life for you, not in fear.” He paused. “I wanted to fight with brute force. I never wanted to fight a different kind of monster, because there’s always a different one behind them. It’s too personal. War isn’t personal.”

  She didn’t fully buy that, but she didn’t really think Teige did either. But she thought about the other things he said, about figuring out who she was and really, she didn’t know. She’d spent so much time reacting. Running. But she didn’t mind Teige being rough or wild, because that was who she was—or who she’d been. She’d always had a fire inside. “I mute myself now, because the world makes me feel like I could be a killer, like Mara, because I was wild. No one believes a wild girl.”

  “You’ve got to take yourself off mute. You started to, with me.”

  “And look what it got me.”

  “That isn’t because you lived the way you want to. Don’t let her take anything more from you.”

  “I wasn’t innocent. I was a punk. Drinking, fighting, screwing.” She searched his face for a reaction and got none.

  “So you think you deserve the life you have.”

  It wasn’t as much a question as a statement, but she answered anyway with a shrug and told him, “Maybe I do.”

  “Who are you trying to bullshit—you or me?”

  “You and your sister are too much alike,” she muttered. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to give a shit.”

  “I’ve moved twelve times in the last five years. Ten during the time of the trial because of reporters who were searching me out. I couldn’t go anywhere without people calling me a serial killer. Before that, I testified against my twin sister and before that, I woke up in the hospital after my biological parents were killed in a fire. So I’m sorry—how much more of a shit do you want me to give?”