“ERT is finishing up here. They’ll confirm the tongue belongs to Vega-”
“Like there’s a doubt.”
“We still need confirmation. They’ve printed the place, searched extensively for any other surprises, but so far nothing. The UNSUB wore gloves, left nothing obvious behind. They’re pulling trace evidence and fibers to see what they can find.” He caught her eye. “I told Brian Stone, the team leader, everything.”
Sonia blushed and averted her eyes. She was embarrassed. Not because she and Dean had had sex in her living room, but because it was no longer a private, intimate moment. “I’m sorry.”
Dean grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly, so tightly she had to face him. He said, “Don’t apologize. I’m not sorry. I really hope you aren’t, either.”
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
He relaxed. “I had to tell him the truth so they don’t pursue a false lead. Stone is discreet. He’s a former Marine, our head firearms instructor, and he directs our SWAT team.”
“Why is he here with ERT?”
“Half our agents are ERT certified. We pull them for their expertise, and Stone understands psychological warfare.”
“The killer hung the tongue to scare me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.”
“But they broke into your house to do it. Your bedroom. Where you should feel the safest. They want to wear you down, break you, so you make a mistake.”
“Then they’re going to be waiting a long time. I’m not broken over this. Pissed off, a little upset, feeling damn guilty I didn’t see the danger Vega was in. But not broken.”
He reached up and caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes and willed her body to relax.
“When can I check into the hotel? I’m beat and”-she looked through the windshield as three agents emerged from her house-“I really hate watching my house being invaded by your people. Or anyone.”
“Ten minutes, okay? And you’re not going to any hotel. You’re coming home with me.”
He jumped out of the car and shut the door. If he thought she was going to argue about it, he was wrong.
* * *
Dean watched Sonia sleep.
It was barely dawn, but Dean could only sleep a few hours before his internal clock woke him at five-thirty Friday morning.
He’d brought Sonia back to his sublet apartment. The FBI agent he was renting from was due back after the Fourth of July, four weeks from now, and Dean had expected to have his case against Xavier Jones wrapped up long before then.
Things had changed. Not only was Jones dead and the entire case spinning out of control, but he didn’t want to leave. Specifically, he didn’t want to leave Sonia.
Sonia had fallen asleep on the way to Dean’s apartment. She’d barely woken up as Dean led her up the four flights of stairs and into bed. She’d brought an overnight bag and barely managed to brush her teeth and pull on a tank top before collapsing into bed. Dean laid next to her and went out as soon as he heard her evenly breathing.
She was still asleep, but she’d kicked off the covers and lay sprawled on her stomach, taking up over half the bed. She had just as much energy while sleeping as she did awake, but once she’d settled in this position an hour ago, she hadn’t moved.
Light crept through the half-closed blinds and cast long, bright orange shadows across her near-naked body. Dean stirred below his waist as his gaze moved up Sonia’s lean body. He wasn’t going to wake her for sex, but he hoped she woke up on her own before they had to rush to leave.
Dean noticed a tattoo on Sonia’s upper arm. It wasn’t cute or feminine, but crude and rough. He leaned forward, his chest tightening when he realized the mark wasn’t a tattoo. Three stars had been burned into her skin. He gently touched them, wishing he could take away the pain she’d suffered. Then he saw a faded scar on her shoulder blade, partly concealed by her tank top. He pushed the material aside, revealing a dark puckered double circle.
Sonia stiffened, and he realized he’d woken her.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know they’re ugly, but there’s not much I can do about it.”
“That’s not what I was thinking.”
He rolled her over to her back and brushed her hair away from her face. “Who did that to you?”
“Which marks? The circles when I was thirteen, or the stars when I was twenty-four?” She pushed him aside, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled off her tank top. The circles appeared more like a rounded infinity symbol, four inches long and two inches wide. Long, faint scars crisscrossed her back. Dean could scarcely breathe, rage swelling in proportions he’d never felt before.
She stood, crossed to the bathroom, and shut the door.
Dean swore under his breath. He’d never considered that Sonia had been abused as a child beyond what her father had done …
Charlie Cammarata branded her? And he hadn’t been thrown into jail? Dean hoped he’d never meet the bastard again, because he didn’t know if he could stop his fist from connecting with Cammarata’s jaw.
He should have realized she’d be sensitive about the scars, but at the same time she’d been so matter-of- fact about her past, he didn’t think. He wouldn’t hurt Sonia for anything. He hoped she knew that.
When the shower turned on, Dean rose and considered joining Sonia. He’d show her that the marks didn’t affect how he felt about her. But thinking about what she had suffered, that her former partner had been involved in her trauma, further enraged him. He didn’t want Sonia to think his anger was at all directed toward her, nor did he want her to think that he felt sorry for her. Sonia would not tolerate pity, and he didn’t want to give her any excuse to walk out.
Instead, Dean walked down the hall to the kitchen to make coffee. A fluffy white cat improbably named Mouse rubbed his lean body against Dean’s legs and meowed loudly. He reached down to scratch Agent Elliott’s cat, who instantly began to purr. The deep rumble was surprisingly soothing and Dean began to relax.
“Maybe I should get a cat,” he mumbled.
Sonia heard Dean walk away from the bathroom door. She almost wished she’d invited him in, but the embarrassment of her overreacting to Dean touching her scars had her hesitating. She owed him an explanation. First, she’d shower.
Sonia stepped into the icy water to wake up, then turned on the hot water. As the shower warmed, she washed. She shouldn’t have been so snippy with Dean about the brand. But even though she thought she’d put what happened behind her, it still hurt to talk about it.
She turned off the water, wrapped a towel around her body, and brushed her hair back into a wet ponytail. When she stepped from the bathroom, she smelled rich coffee in the air, and the white cat meowed a good morning at her. She absently scratched him behind the ears, then pulled fresh jeans and a black ICE T-shirt from her overnight bag. She didn’t have much variety in her work attire, but she was always comfortable.
She stepped from the bedroom into the main living area. Dean sat at the small table drinking black coffee and reading the newspaper. He wore nothing but boxers and looked like a Greek god, muscles clearly defined even at rest.
He glanced up when she walked in and smiled sheepishly. “I’m usually a better cook, but I haven’t had time to stock up.” He gestured to a box of cereal and milk on the table. He was eating an apple. “I have more of these, plus bananas, oranges, strawberries, melon.”
“Sounds like heaven to me.” She sat down after pouring herself a cup of coffee, added a generous amount of milk to the cup, and sipped. A man who cooks, even if it was just putting out cereal and fruit, was a keeper in her book. She had apples at home. They were squishy and in the bottom of the refrigerator drawer, which looked none too clean.
“I’m sorry,” they said simultaneously.
Dean said, “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, it’s just … I put it behind me. I probably didn’t deal with it well, didn’t want to think about it after the
