Page 29 of Hide and Seek
“Yes, Dr. McKullan,” I say, my fingers nervously twitching at my side, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Anything new come in today?”
“It’s Blackstone. There’s always something new,” he chuckles.
“Indeed, there is.”
“Okay, I’m heading home. I’ll be on my cell if you need anything, though you rarely do.”
I give him an awkward smile, trying to take the compliment, but I’m far too confused to take it for what it is. “Sure thing.”
Dr. McKullan gets back to gathering his things, and within the space of three seconds, the room empties out, and once again, I’m left alone in the eerie morgue. A few days ago, I would have bragged about how much I love being alone in the morgue, but after my past few shifts, it doesn’t quite hold the same allure.
Trying to shake it off, I settle in for the night and dump my bag on my desk before going over the few files that have been left out. After determining what needs to be prioritized, I wander over to the refrigeration unit and find who’s up first.
My fingers curl around the handle, preparing to open the locker, when my gaze shifts across the unit to the locker thatholds the unlucky bastard who became a pawn in my stalker’s sick game. A shiver sails down my spine as my stomach clenches with unease.
All I need is one shift where I don’t have to run out of here absolutely terrified. What I really need is to find a shred of self-preservation and not show up to work. I might as well paint a target on my back at this point, but I never claimed I was smart. I enjoy my work, and I’m not about to let this bullshit keep me from doing what I love. However, there’s no denying that before getting into my car and driving here tonight, I wondered if it’s even worth it.
Is risking my life for my career really the act of a woman whose sanity is fully intact? I hardly think so. But I also never claimed that I wasn’t insane. I guess the question is: who’s more fucked up—me or my mystery black-rose stalker? Don’t get me wrong, my stalker spends his night sending me messages via decomposing organs, but I voluntarily work night shift in a morgue, slicing and dicing corpses, and there’s a special place in every asylum reserved for women like that.
Trying to ignore the offending locker, I keep my attention focused on the job at hand and just as I twist the handle, the familiar beep of someone entering the morgue sounds through the silence.
My back stiffens, and I whip around, my gaze locked on the door as my heart starts to race. My shift has only just begun. I figured I’d at least have a few hours to get some work done before the chaos started. I mean, shit. If this asshole is going to keep fucking with my work, then he should do the decent thing and wait until the end of my shift. There’s only so much slacking Dr. McKullan will tolerate before he loses his shit, and I pride myself on being someone who constantly completes my work.
As the door opens, I shuffle toward my autopsy table, discreetly reaching for the scalpel and hiding it beneath thetable. I won’t be caught unaware like last night’s victim. If anybody is getting cut into a million little pieces tonight, it sure as fuck won’t be me.
Time seems to slow when one of the night nurses from the emergency department steps through the open door. “Here we are,” she says, offering a beaming smile to whoever stands outside the door. “Just let me know if there’s anything at all I can help you with.”
“Thanks, love, but I’ve got it from here,” a familiar voice says, making my unease shift into pure confusion.
Is that . . . ?
Knight Slater strides through the door of Blackstone’s only morgue, and I stare at him, gaping as my brain tries to comprehend what the hell is going on. Somewhere deep in the very back of my brain, I know he’s here to figure out what the fuck is going on with the victim from last night, and yet all I can think about is the way he stood before me, dripping from the shower, and demanded I get on my knees.
Fuck, I was such a whore for this man.
Surely it was a moment of weakness. He’s my step-uncle, and therefore it will never happen again.
Who the hell am I kidding? If he told me to offer up my ass on a silver platter right here in the middle of the morgue, he and I both know that I wouldn’t hesitate for even a second. Perhaps my stalker might get a show for a change.
“Uhhhhhhhhh . . .”
“Calm down, Morticia,” Knight rumbles in that deep, thick tone that’s quickly becoming the only thing that circles my brain. “I haven’t come to test just how quickly I can get you on your knees. I need to see that body.”
My jaw drops, and all I can do is stare at him. The audacity of this man.
I fucking love it.
“You got me on my knees once, Slater. Good luck making it happen again,” I tell him, casually placing the scalpel back on the table as though I wasn’t about to slice him from tit to dick. Turning on my heel, I stalk over to the locker that houses the body he’s come to see.
Knight follows my every step, and the closer he gets, the harder it becomes to breathe. Why the hell can’t I get this morning out of my head? I need to get my shit together, especially considering that I’m about to unlock the unit that houses a nightmare that’s bound to send me into a tailspin.
I need to concentrate.
Blowing out a breath, I step up in front of the locker, and as I reach for the handle, Knight moves in right behind me, his wide chest pressed against my back.
Every thought drains from my brain as my body launches into overdrive, his sheer proximity leaving me breathless. I become frozen to the spot, not trusting my body to move even an inch, and when he leans into me, the uncontrollable need to become his is all I can focus on.
“Let’s make one thing clear, Morticia. I don’t need luck,” he murmurs in that thick, addictive tone. His lips are so close to my ear that his breath brushes across my skin and his chest vibrates against my back.
