The Unwanted

had been getting to her.

He still got to her. Why in the hell did he still get to her?

Her mouth went dry but she didn’t let herself stare. He didn’t need to know how he affected her.

Her nipples stabbed into her pajama top. Yeah, I’m sure he’s not going to notice that. Her body was practically waving hello. He’d notice. Caleb noticed everything. Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the floor and settled on the couch a few feet away.

He glanced at her, a quick look that barely landed on her face before he focused back on the work in front of him. He nodded toward the table next to her chair. “The list of suspects. I’ve got the pictures and stuff still, but if you want to scan the names…?”

No. She really didn’t want to do that. She kept quiet about that, though. She reached over and took the single sheet of paper. Not too many names on it, all neatly written in a familiar print. Caleb had been busy. “This your short list?”

“Yeah.” He grimaced and added, “Doesn’t quite match up with theirs. But most of their suspects are alibied for one or more of the rapes, and I just don’t think we’re dealing with a copycat or a pair working together.”

“Why not?”

“Gut instinct.” He looked at her from under his lashes and said, “Let’s just leave it at that for now.”

Destin frowned. “Okay.” She glanced around. “You remember what to do if I go out, right?”

He lifted his head and silence stretched out tight. His dark brown eyes locked with hers and her heart slammed into her throat as heat licked at her belly. You’re working. Mayhem. Attacks. Bad shit. Think.

Her hands were slick with sweat and she managed to drag her brain back onto target as he gave a slow nod. “I haven’t forgotten anything, Destin,” he said softly. His voice was low and warm and smooth, a caress across her skin even though he sat several feet away.

“Good,” she said, jerking her eyes away. “Good, then.” Eyes closed, she took a deep breath and started to block everything out. Everything.

This was where she’d messed up before. What he’d been trying to tell her all those times.

She let her own demons in, her own devils. And she couldn’t do her job if she was dealing with those demons, fighting with those devils. Now she no longer went into the job with anything in mind. Not her own thoughts, not her own feelings.

She started to breathe in, slowly. As she blew each breath out, she forced out the tension, all the extra thoughts crowding her brain. Everything…including Caleb. She blocked out the sights, the scents, the sounds—his breathing, the occasional noise from a TV next door, and let herself fall into a white light. It surrounded her, warmed her flesh. White noise began to thrum around her.

She breathed it in, soaked herself in the calm. Then, once she knew she had cleared her mind of everything, she opened her eyes and focused on the list of names.

Seven of them.

Seven men.

D’Aundre Masters. She skimmed her fingertip across the neat print of his name and in her mind’s eye, she saw a tall, athletic black man, young, with a wide grin. Quick to anger, quick to laugh. She sensed all kinds of fire and passion in him, sensed a great love of life. But no violence. No ugliness. It wasn’t him.

Quentin Cooley. Another athlete with a hot temper, but this one brought to her mind an ugly, messy fire. Quick to anger…quick to hurt. She had an image of a fight with a girl—the girl had slapped him. He was angry. Then it was done. No. Not him. Quicksilver, this one. He reacted, then thought. Whoever was doing these was a thinker, a planner.

That same rationale ruled out three more men.

The sixth—Malcolm Hodges—something about him made her senses hum. She sensed greed inside. Greed and avarice…something else. But she couldn’t put her finger on it. Couldn’t quite trace it. Her mind summoned up an image of him—tall, blond, attractive in a golden-beach-boy, pretty sort of way. He’d be a charmer. He’d convince a girl to believe pretty much anything he wanted.

There might be something with him, but the violent aura she would have expected to find, she wasn’t picking up on it. Of course, all she had to go by right now was his name. Still, he’d be one of the first ones she talked to when they hit the campus.

The seventh one, she automatically wrote him off. She had a picture of a security guard or campus cop, she couldn’t tell from the uniform. Mid-thirties. Good-looking, big and muscled. The kind of muscle that came from a serious dedication to the gym. She sensed tiredness, bitterness. Boredom. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, squinting automatically. Caleb rolled to his feet and hit the lights. “Sorry…I didn’t think you’d come out that soon.”

Destin shrugged. “I’ve become a little more efficient.” She rolled her shoulders, relaxing the tension that had gathered there and then looked back down at the list she held. “Caleb, I’m not picking up a whole hell of a lot from this.”

But if she thought he was going to be disappointed, she was wrong. Instead, a faint grin curled his lips and he said, “For some reason, I’m not surprised.” He handed her a sheaf of papers. “If you’re up to it, there’s the list the police put together. I don’t think it will take you too long.”

She flipped through the pages. “There’s a good forty names here.”

“Yeah. But I don’t think you’re going to find anything.”

“Want to tell me why?”

Caleb made a noncommittal hum under his breath and Destin rolled her eyes. Sometimes working with the man could be so frustrating—and for mostly mundane reasons, as opposed to ones borne out of sexual desire and desperate longing. She placed the list of names facedown on the floor next to her and said, “Caleb. What’s the deal?”

He slanted her a look and then focused on the file in front of him. “Not sure. Something just isn’t settling right.”

“Is your spidey sense tingling?” she asked, a reluctant smile twitching at her lips. The man was a die-hard comic lover. Three years of living together had taught her more about comics than she’d ever had any desire to know. It used to be a joke between them.

To her surprise, he met her grin with one of his own and shrugged. “Something’s tingling. I’m not sure what, though.”

Yeah. She could think of a few things that were tingling and all of it was inappropriate considering they were just working a job together. Pushing those hot and dirty thoughts aside, she started to skim the names. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She could have been reading ingredients on a cereal box for all the vibes she got. Hell, less. She held out a hand. “Let me see the information we have on the victims.” Maybe there…

But Caleb didn’t give her the information. She glanced at up and saw him reorganizing the files. Once their eyes met, Caleb said, “I don’t want you looking at the victims just yet.”

“That bad?” she asked, just barely suppressing a wince. Man, she really hated her job sometimes.

“I don’t want to say.” He shook his head and said, “If I thought you needed to brace yourself, I’d tell you. I just…” He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. The sun-streaked blond used to be longer than that, hanging down to his shoulders. She missed it. Would have liked to run her hands through it—

She’d always loved doing that. Fisting her hands in his hair and using it to tug him closer and hold him still as she kissed him…

Whoa. Stop the train.

Destin jerked herself to a quick stop and mentally slapped herself. Bad, bad, bad idea, thinking about that. Kissing him. Tugging him close. Even thinking about his hair. Bad, bad, bad idea… She took a slow, measured breath and then blew it out, focused on the floor under her until she could look at him without him seeing just how easily, how deeply, he still affected her.

He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was still studying the file in front of him, his gaze rapt and intent, as though it held the answers to the universe.

Unaffected.

Part of her wanted to sulk. The other part of her insisted this was a good thing. She did