Page 31 of Fast Kill

Willing her heart back down her esophagus, she uncurled her fingers from around the doorknob, staying the urge to rush back to her car and escape. What was he doing here? Why the hell had he broken into her house? And…cooked, apparently? What the hell was going on?

“Dillon, God. How did you get in here?” She’d set the alarm. She never left the house without setting the alarm. How had he disabled it? What other skills did he have in his bag of criminal tricks now?

He shrugged like it was no big deal, his dark gaze fixed on her. “You didn’t return my calls, so I decided to come over and wait for you. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

They weren’t okay. They were the furthest thing from okay. And she hadn’t taken his calls because the number had come up as unknown. One of the techs at the agency had tried to trace the number, to no avail. Cartel members were notoriously vigilant about ensuring no one could trace them.

Her pulse drummed in her ears as she stood there in indecision. He must know that she’d reported his visit to the agency. So why would he risk coming here now, and breaking into her place? It made no sense. Was he that confident of her loyalty to him? Did he think she wouldn’t report him now? Because he would lose that bet. She was pissed.

He was sitting there on her couch so calmly, fucking with her head, and she hated it, hated how off-balance he made her feel. Like she was being paranoid and making too much of this. He seemed so relaxed and non-threatening, having made himself at home while she’d been at work, as though he didn’t have a care in the world and wasn’t worried in the slightest about being a wanted cartel member. God, she was so confused.

He stood and strode into the kitchen like he owned the place, gestured to the island. “Figured you hadn’t gotten around to eating yet, so I brought some dinner over. Nothing fancy.”

Pizza. He’d brought her pizza.

She stared at the box, her mind flashing back to that night so long ago when her selfish actions had cost him a beating. Was the reminder deliberate? Something to play up her guilt and the sense that she owed him?

She didn’t know what the hell to think right now.

“And I got us a bottle of wine, too.” He held it up with a little smile then waved her into the kitchen. “Come on, come put your feet up and relax for a while.”

She didn’t move, trying to figure out what his game was. “You broke into my house.”

“I did.” Another trademark, charming grin as he took two wineglasses down from her cabinet.

“How did you disable my alarm?” She’d made sure he couldn’t see the keypad when she’d input the code last night.

“I have my ways.”

The sinister edge to his words set her nerves jangling. “You need to leave.”

At that he paused, those brown eyes locking with hers. And something about the look in them sent a shiver of warning down her spine. “Not yet.”

“Yes. Now.”

He lowered the hand holding the stems of the wineglasses and tilted his head a fraction, watching her with an almost disappointed expression. “Taylor. Seriously?”

Her fingers twitched at her side, her stomach in knots. She hated hurting him if he was truly here for the right reasons, but what the hell did he expect her to do? He’d broken into her freaking house and she had no doubt he was embedded with the wrong people.

He was a criminal. She had to call her boss and tell him about this, then assist in trying to arrest Dillon. It was either that, or lose her job and the stellar reputation she’d worked so hard to build at the agency.

When she still didn’t move, Dillon sighed, turned his back on her and headed back toward the couch, leaving her there staring after him in confusion. “Come on, sit down. I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

Something about that sigh—the resigned quality to it—and his leaden tone made the back of her nape prickle. Whatever he had to tell her, it wasn’t good. And he wouldn’t have shown up here again tonight, let alone have broken into her damn house and risk her reporting him unless it was for a really good reason.

Dread slithered in the pit of her stomach as she considered what could possibly be that important. The urge to run for her vehicle was strong, but he’d likely catch her before she could get her car out of the garage. Darting out the back door and hopping her fence might be her best chance of escape.

When Dillon looked back from the living room and saw her still standing in the mudroom instead of following his bidding, his nonthreatening mask slipped, signaling his patience had come to an abrupt end.

His deep brown eyes chilled as he stared back at her from across the length of the room. “Get in here and sit down, Taylor,” he snapped, his voice cold enough to send a wave of goose bumps over her arms. “Now.”

Dillon didn’t take his eyes off her as she moved hesitantly toward him, her gait and posture rigid, expression full of mistrust. That hurt him more than it should have, considering he deserved it.

At least she was doing as he’d said. For a moment there he’d thought he might have to actually grab her and force her to sit down here with him.

“You normally work such long hours?” he asked as she sat on the couch opposite him, trying to put things back on a friendlier footing.

Her body was motionless, but he could tell she was coiled and ready to bolt if he made a wrong move. It wouldn’t matter if she did, because he’d catch her. “Yes, when I’m working on a case.” Her tone was so icy he was surprised her breath didn’t fog as she spoke.

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