Page 23 of The Hunted
Santino clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. When that didn’t work, he grabbed his pen and tried to dig the point into his flesh. He needed something to ground himself, quickly. If not he’d slip, and the last thing he needed was to expose himself.
“This place is a madhouse.” Amra Benson flopped into the chair next him.
Fuck.
He tried to get his hand to drop the pen, but he wasn’t sure it mattered. His entire body flinched at her proximity, like he was hiding something. He was, but when it came to interacting with a profiler, he tried to keep his bodily responses as normal as possible.
She was always watching, cataloging everyone around her. Even when it looked like she wasn’t paying attention. She was great at her job. The few killers they did put away, it had been her profile on them that helped nab them.
“They’re not letting anyone go home, which is annoying. I feel like I’ve been here for two days.” She stretched in the seat, her back arching as she let out a small noise. He noticed the way the other agents watched her—the way their hungry gazes always lingered on her lips or her body. Half the department was infatuated with her, and from what he could tell, she used it to her advantage.
It was a smart tactic.
It gave her insight on anyone she worked with, including him. People seemed eager to offer up information that wasn’t theirs to share. A few times he’d gotten whispers of Amra asking about him and his personal life.
He’d like to say that he was impressed her instincts told her to look out for him, but he was more annoyed than anything else. It made him have to secure his mask around the department, and sometimes he was just too exhausted to care.
“I’m so tired.” She eased back into her seat. “I just want to get out of these heels and into an oversized hoodie. I have leftovers and a show I need to finish watching.” She looked over at him with a smile teasing her thin lips. “You watch any shows lately?”
Santino had to swallow his sigh. If a random stranger asked this, he wouldn’t think anything of it. But because it was her, he knew it wasn’t small talk. She was fishing—trying to see where he fit into the world of things. She was never obvious with other people, but with him it always came off heavy-handed, and he never understood why.
Did she not care, or was this simply her way of putting him on notice that she knew something was off about him?
Too bad I’ll never give you the satisfaction of having proof.
Santino smirked. “Nah, not really. It’s not like I have the time.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t take your work home, Alvarez. How do you decompress?” She leaned forward. “Especially after all the gruesome things we deal with, you need a healthy outlet.”
And I have one.
He looked her over, wondering if she could be the Reaper. He didn’t think it was anyone here, but she had the mind for it. She had to have it, given her profession, and she did work with him. She could very well be aware of his tastes and eager to expose him. But she couldn’t expose him without exposing herself, and he didn’t think she had the stomach to kill without cause.
“Don’t get cocky, mijo. Not all humans are simple. Some are good at hiding in plain sight and you will be too. The world sees what they want. I am merely an old lady who took in a foster child as her own.” She leaned in closer to him with a smile on her lips. “What would they say if they knew how many bodies I’ve buried?”
The memory hit him as a reminder not to take anyone at face value. She had taught him how to read people and how to perform in the ways they expected. The world was a stage, and he learned early on how to be the best actor in his field.
He looked over Amra once more, trying to fit what he knew about the Reaper—which wasn’t much—with the woman sitting next to him. She didn’t fit. The Reaper seemed mad at him for not only working off his list of criminals but also working for the FBI. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be Amra. She had pride in her job and taking out people like him. She got off on it the same way Martin got off on fucking as many women as he could.
“Bates talk to you yet?” Amra asked.
“When I came in, but if you’re asking about thequestioning, not yet.” It was more like an interrogation. They were trying to figure out who was in the office and when. If they saw something that they brushed off but might have been something.
The fact that Santino might have run into the Reaper and not known it unsettled him. He prided himself on being acutely aware of his surroundings, and somehow he missed something that hadn’t belonged here. He was slipping, and he didn’t like it.
He returned toward his files. “Unless, this is part of it?” He looked over his shoulder, flashing his teeth.
“Now, why would you think that?” Her posture went rigid. Her hand rested on her hip where she usually kept a gun.
Always so quick to reach for your weapon around me.
The thought delighted him. He’d seen her in hand-to-hand combat. He’d seen her take down men twice her size without breaking a sweat. But every time she was around him, she always reached for a weapon. She knew to be careful around him. Always prepared in case he wanted to snap her slim neck.
His fingers twitched, itching to feel how fast her pulse would beat.
When was the last time you indulged?
“Benson, Benson, Benson,” he taunted, trying to push down his need to hear her scream.
