Page 14 of Mine to Share

I’d much rather drive my blacked-out G-Wagon, everything about it perfect for someone with my build, but Chief said it was too flashy to use on the job. Though I figured the asshole was just jealous since he did, in fact, drive a minivan. I was proud of the fucker, though, for taking one in the balls for his family and driving that dad-mobile.

I didn’t have a family, so no hellion wagon for me.

Ever.

My attention swept from the man wandering around the other side of the parking lot to the one approaching who looked completely out of place at the rent-by-the-hour motel. Dressed in navy slacks and a pristine white dress shirt with a tie tucked into a vest, I immediately knew he was the agent I was here for. Our gazes clashed through the windshield, and I hitched my chin, indicating I was his ride for the morning.

I cringed at the ear-piercing screech the door hinge ground out as Agent Bend opened the passenger-side door. With more grace than my extra-large frame ever allowed me, the agent folded himself into the seat and slammed the door shut.

“Detective Taylor?” he questioned, shifting to face me.

“That’s me.” I slapped my hand in his and squeezed, which he matched, upping my opinion of the man. You could tell a lot about someone by their handshake. “I have a feeling we’ll be together long enough to skip the fucking titles, so just Slade from here on out.”

“Jameson Bend.” He eyed the half-empty disposable coffee cup in his hand. “Please tell me there’s a decent coffee place around here. I can’t drink any more of this shit.”

“It’s on our way. You got everything you need?” At his nod, I shifted the car into Drive and slammed on the gas, shooting us out of the parking lot and onto the nearly empty street. I smirked at his barked curse as he held the cup in the air to keep the liquid from sloshing over the edge. “I didn’t want to linger any longer than needed. I saw a few guys eyeing my tires, which would’ve been a pain in the ass to explain if they got stolen. You picked the shadiest motel in Santa Coasta, you know that? The FBI have you on an airtight budget or something?”

Keeping his death grip around the oh-shit handle, Jameson huffed. “I didn’t choose the motel, one of our admins did. Clearly not realizing he’d booked me somewhere that the bedbugs were the size of miniature fucking dogs.”

Pulling into the coffee shop I knew Rain favored, I directed the car toward the drive-through line.

“So, you’re in from Dallas?” I asked, relaxing back against the seat while waiting for the car in front of us to finish ordering.

“That’s right, but I recently moved from Nashville. I’ve only been with the Bureau about a year. Before that, I was a homicide detective.”

My opinion of the man increased with that bit of information, which he probably knew would happen. He was establishing camaraderie, letting me know he understood firsthand the difficulties of my job. Damn, the guy was in my car five minutes and I already liked him better than half the men I worked with daily.

“Did dispatch say if this homicide was connected to the others or random?” he asked.

I held up a finger as I slowed the car in front of the speaker and ordered for me and Rain. “What do you want?”

“Largest coffee they have. No room for cream.”

I nodded and added it to the order. As I pulled forward toward the window to collect the drinks, his stare burned into the side of my head. I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye. “What?”

“Large unicorn Frappuccino with extra whipped cream, caramel drizzle, and only blue sprinkles?”

My jaw clenched at the laughter in his tone.

“It’s for our ME. She likes the sweet shit.” I could still feel his eyes on me as I took the drinks from the woman at the window. “Don’t start profiling me, jackass. That’s a good way to get tossed out of my car.”

“Fine,” he said, still fucking smirking. “Speaking of your ME”—I shot him a questioning look at his odd tone when he mentioned Rain, having no damn clue what that was about—“her findings impressed me. I’m looking forward to digging into the cases with her.”

My tattooed fingers tightened around the hard steering wheel. “To answer your earlier question, no, they didn’t say if this was linked to the cases that brought you here. But I didn’t want to leave you sitting around the station with your thumb up your ass while we worked this fresh case.”

“Thanks,” he laughed. He pried the lid off his coffee and inhaled the steam, lids closing like the aroma was pure fucking heaven. “Fuck, I need this. The flight in was long as hell last night. The only positive was it gave me more time to dive deeper into each case while we circled for an hour waiting to land.”

“What’s your take on the suspect?” The driver’s seat protested as I shifted, trying to get comfortable.

“I have a few theories, though I want to hear yours first.”

I glanced over with a raised brow. “Isn’t giving us insight into this guy the reason you’re here?”

Jameson took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. “I’m here to help identify the unsub’s traits that will help you catch the fucker. But I’m not arrogant to think I can read a few files and know everything about the four cases. I need your firsthand knowledge to help piece it all together before the unsub turns this from four murders to a dozen or more.”

I nodded. Everything he said made sense. Him not being an arrogant asshole, assuming he knew better because he had a fancy profiler title and federal badge, definitely won him even more points in my book. I could never trust someone who didn’t keep an open mind with each homicide case. If this job had taught me anything, it was to expect the unexpected, because we humans were good at finding inventive ways to hurt one another.

“Okay, here’s the CliffsNotes version of what I’ve picked up. One suspect—or unsub, as you called him—no partner based on only one type of knife used in each murder, even though the style of knife changes with each new victim.” I slowed the car to a stop at a red light and took a quick sip of my steaming coffee, groaning as the bitter taste cleared the remaining fog from my still-groggy brain.

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