Evidence of Passion

“If he’s back, he’ll come for me.” Rachel spoke the words with certainty.

“Then he’ll have to get through me,” Dylan fired back, unable to hold those words inside any longer.

Her eyes widened.

He put his hands on her. He had to touch her. His fingers curled around her slender shoulders. “He isn’t going to have the chance to hurt you. I’ll stop him. I’ll do anything necessary in order to make sure he doesn’t have the chance to get to you again.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Her body brushed against his. “Hide? Stay in the shadows while you hunt? That’s not who I am, Dylan. You know that.”

He did. He knew everything about her.

Evidence of

Passion

Cynthia Eden

www.millsandboon.co.uk

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author CYNTHIA EDEN writes tales of romantic suspense and paranormal romance. Her books have received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, and she has received a RITA^® Award nomination for best romantic suspense novel. Cynthia lives in the Deep South, loves horror movies and has an addiction to chocolate. More information about Cynthia may be found on her website, www.cynthiaeden.com, or you can follow her on Twitter (www.twitter.com/cynthiaeden).

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

“You should’ve walked away and dropped the charges. Hell, you should’ve just given the case to someone else to prosecute. To anyone else.” Sadness coated his words.

So did fury.

Rachel Mancini jerked against the ropes that held her. Terror clawed through her body. He’d tied her to the chair, secured her so completely.

After he’d drugged her.

The drugs were still in her system. They made her limbs feel sluggish, but the drugs did nothing to numb the terror coursing through her body.

“You should have listened!”

She blinked and found him right in front of her. Adam Wright. The man she’d been dating for the past three months. The man she’d fallen for so easily. He was charming. He was handsome.

He was also a killer.

His hand lifted and she tensed, expecting him to hit her. Instead, his fingers skimmed lightly over her cheek. It was a familiar caress. He’d touched her that way dozens of times. This time his touch seemed to burn her.

“I didn’t count on you, Rachel,” Adam said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “The kills are always so easy. I do the work. I get the cash.”

This couldn’t be happening to her. She and Adam were supposed to go away this weekend. Their first vacation as a couple.

She’d just finished prosecuting her latest case earlier that day. Rachel was a Marine Corps Judge Advocate, and she’d been working on the biggest case of her career. Private First Class Quincy Langam had been accused of murdering two senior officers. Rachel was sure the man was guilty, and she’d done everything possible to give justice to Langam’s victims.

Adam’s hand dropped away from her face. He pulled out the gun that had been holstered at his hip. “I was paid to kill you.”

Her hands twisted against the ropes. Her wrists were bleeding. The flesh had cut quickly against the thick, hemp rope. Rachel ignored the pain. Maybe the blood would help her to slip free of the binds. “I thought you cared about me.” All of those months. The flowers. The dates. The laughter and the talking that had gone late into the night. Everything had been a lie?

“I don’t care about anything.” His words were cold now, hollow. The emotion that had blazed in his voice and eyes just moments before was gone.

Adam lifted the gun and aimed it at her.

“Please!” The cry broke from Rachel. This was the man who’d kissed her? Who’d talked to her about a future, a new life? They were supposed to build a life together. “Don’t do this, Adam!”

“It’s your fault.” His jaw hardened. “You should’ve let someone else handle the case. I could’ve killed that prosecutor, and you’d be free.”

She latched on to what he’d said as she realized just who had sent Adam after her. “Quincy? Quincy Langam hired you?” Keep him talking. If Adam was talking, then he wasn’t shooting her.

He nodded and didn’t lower the gun. He also didn’t shoot her. “Quincy’s family has a lot of money. Money can hide so much.”

“Like the fact that Quincy is a cold-blooded killer?”

Adam smiled at her. “No, he’s not cold-blooded. He attacked in the heat of the moment. One of those passion kills. He found his girlfriend with another man, and he erupted. He killed them both. The fact that they were senior officers never mattered to him—it was all personal.” Adam gave a little shrug. “All passion, like I said.”

Was the rope starting to give around her left wrist? It was! And with another yank, Rachel thought she might be able to slip out of the rope that twisted around her right wrist, too.

“I’m the cold-blooded one,” he told her, “and I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you’re dead.”

No. No! Her wrists slipped free of the binds, and Rachel didn’t waste any more time begging for her life. She leaped out of that chair, attacking him with all her might.

They collided. Hit the floor. The gun slid from his fingers. She tried to lift her elbow and ram it into him—

But the drugs still had her muscles trembling and weak.

Adam caught her hand easily and he yanked her arm back down. He rolled them on the floor, locking her body beneath his. His green eyes gleamed down at her. “Such a fighter.” He yanked her hands above her head and pinned them to the floor. “Some don’t fight. They just sit there, crying, as they wait for me to kill them.” He flashed the wide smile that used to make her heart skip a beat. “That’s just one of the things I love about you.”

He dared to speak about love even as he prepared to kill her? Rachel slammed her forehead into his nose. She heard the crunch and knew she’d broken cartilage. The sound gave her a savage satisfaction. “You know nothing about love.”

He swore at the pain, and his hold weakened. Rachel was a marine, first and foremost, and she was not about to be easy prey. She twisted beneath him, struggling desperately, and she escaped from him as she heaved across the floor.

The gun. She had to get the gun that he’d dropped.

“Yes, I do know about love....”

His voice was so soft she barely heard it.

Rachel grabbed the gun. Her bloody fingers made holding the weapon hard.

Before she could spin toward him with her weapon, Rachel felt the tip of a knife press into her back.

“Do you think...” Adam asked her, seemingly curious “...that you could really do it? Do you think you could kill me?”

Her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

He leaned closer to her. That knife pressed a little deeper into her back. “Because I don’t think you can, Rachel. I think that I got to you. The controlled, all-business prosecutor. The brave soldier. I got beneath your skin, and I don’t think you’ve got it in you to actually kill me.”

She spun, ignoring the burn of the knife as it sliced over her skin. Rachel brought the gun up and aimed it right at him. “Get away from me,” Rachel ordered. Because she would pull that trigger. She would.

He dropped the knife, eased back. “I marked you.”

Her back throbbed, and she could feel the wetness of her blood soaking her shirt. “And if you come at me again,” Rachel told him, “I’ll kill you.”

He laughed. Adam didn’t seem to care that blood was coming from his nose or that she had a gun aimed dead-center at his heart.

“Get your hands up!” Rachel shouted.

He slowly lifted his hands. “A fighter,” he whispered again, and he sounded pleased. “But I guess you had to be, right, Rachel? Once a marine, always a marine.... A core of steel hidden beneath the silk.”

She stiffened. “Who are you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got quite a few names....”

She was in a nightmare.

“Most folks just call me Jack,” he said, as his eyes narrowed on her. His fingers slid into the pocket of his jeans.

“What are you doing? Stop!”

But he didn’t pull out a weapon. He pulled out what looked like...a playing card? He tossed it toward her. The card landed at her feet.

The Jack of Hearts.

Her fingers were trembling. That card... Two cards just like that one had recently been found at the scene of two murders in the area. One of the dead had been a witness in the Langam murder case. The other had been Quincy Langam’s ex-roommate.

“I’m surprised you’re able to stand now,” he continued as he rubbed a hand over the line of his jaw. “I hit you with enough sedatives to keep you out for a while. I’d thought about even killing you while you were unconscious...” He hesitated then shook his head. “But that just didn’t seem right.”

“You’re insane.” She needed a phone. She had to call the police and get help.

“No.” Anger flared in his eyes, turning his gaze into green fire. “I’m the man you need to fear.”

Her gaze darted around the room. Where were they? The place—it looked like some kind of old, abandoned factory. The room was huge, cavernous, and she was terrified.

But a marine didn’t let terror stop her. She just kept marching forward.

“What are you going to do?” Adam asked her. “Shoot me?”

“I’m going to call the authorities. You’re not going to hurt anyone else.”

His eyelids flickered. “So noble. Trying to do the right thing, but you should know...no prison will ever hold me. If the cops come blazing in, then I’ll escape, and I’ll come back for you.”

The words were chilling in their certainty.

“You’re mine,” he told her. His hands lowered to his sides. “Either mine to kill or mine to love. The choice is all on me... I knew it from the beginning.”

“Put your hands back up!” Rachel yelled.

He didn’t. He took a step toward her.

“Stop!”

“You can’t do it,” he said, his expression certain. “I know you can’t. Because I got to you. I made you feel, didn’t I, sweetheart?”

He’d lied to her. Used her. Drugged her. “I can. I will.” Her finger tightened on the trigger.

“It’s not loaded,” he said.

Rachel paused. Her gaze darted down to the gun.

And in that instant, he bent down and yanked a second weapon from his ankle holster.

“No!” Rachel’s shout seemed to echo in that huge room.

He fired at her.

She shot back at him.

Rachel fell, hitting the floor. She held on to her gun. She hurt. Hurt.

“Such a fighter...” His whisper drifted to her. “All the way to the end.”

Rachel tried to bring her gun up.

Then she heard his footsteps, running away.

“Adam?”

He didn’t answer.

She didn’t let go of the weapon. Rachel tried to pull herself up. The bullet had sunk into her left shoulder. Blood dripped down her arm.

There was no sign of Adam. No, there was no sign of Jack.

She stood on her feet, body trembling, wondering if she would be able to chase after him.

But then Rachel heard the pounding thud of footsteps. A lot of footsteps. And that thundering sound was coming toward her.

She turned, aiming her weapon even as the door on the right flew open. Men swarmed inside, men wearing all black and armed with guns of their own.

“Rachel Mancini?” One of the men barked.

Her gaze flew up to his face. He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. And the lines of his face looked so hard. So dangerous. Deadly.

“Wh-who are you?” She didn’t lower her weapon. So what if a dozen guns were trained on her right then? The weapon was the only thing she had.

“She’s hurt.” These terse words came from another man. An older man who stormed into the room with an unmistakable air of command surrounding him. “Get a medic in here now.” He pushed through the guns. Headed toward her and acted as if she didn’t have a weapon locked on him. “Ms. Mancini, I’m here to help you.” His gaze slid around the room. “But first you have to tell me...where is he? Where’s Adam Wright?”

Rachel felt a tear leak down her cheek. She never cried. Never.

But her entire world had just changed. I changed. “I shot him,” she heard herself whisper. “But he ran away.”

The commander, a man with gleaming eyes, gave a hard nod. He turned back, speaking to the others as he said, “Get a search out now. I want every inch of this building checked.”

The team broke up, rushed out.

Except for the commander—and for the man who’d first pointed his weapon at her. The man who’d known her name. His voice had been hard, rumbling, devoid of any accent.

That man came toward her now.

Rachel tensed.

“Easy.” His voice was softer than it had been before. “I’ve got medical training. I can help you.” He holstered his weapon and advanced on her.

Her world was falling apart. Rachel wasn’t sure that anyone could help her then. She gave a short, negative shake of her head.

Her knees buckled then, and Rachel knew she’d hit the floor soon.

But he caught her. The man with the dark eyes. His hands were strong, callused at the fingertips, but he held her gently.

“Who are you?” Rachel asked him again. The world was spinning and that man—the stranger with the dark eyes—was the only thing that seemed solid in that instant.

“Dylan,” he told her, his voice a bare rasp of sound.

Over his shoulder, she saw the commander frown at him.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Dylan promised her. “We’re the good guys. We’re going to keep you safe.” A pause. “I’m going to keep you safe.”

But Rachel didn’t believe him. Adam had just taught her the danger of trusting a man. “He’s going to come back.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “And he’s going to kill me.”

Dylan’s face hardened. “I won’t let that happen.”

She still had the gun. Rachel gave him her weapon, but Dylan immediately passed it to the commander. Then she was in Dylan’s arms. He carried her out of that room. Carried her out of what was, indeed, an old, abandoned factory.

When the ambulance arrived, Dylan was still there, right at her side.

But no one had found Adam. He’d escaped. Vanished into the night.

I’ll come back for you.

Chill bumps rose on Rachel’s arms. She knew that, sooner or later, she would be seeing Adam again.

Chapter One

Three years later...

As a rule, the EOD didn’t usually handle routine murder investigations.

The EOD—the Elite Operations Division—was an off-the-books covert unit that Uncle Sam liked to pretend didn’t exactly exist. The men and women in the EOD were all ex-military. They were lethal, well-trained agents who specialized in hostage rescue and unconventional warfare.

A murder in D.C. shouldn’t necessarily catch their attention.

But this was no ordinary murder. And it was far from a routine case.

Dylan Foxx slipped past the cops who waited in the hallway of the high-rise hotel, a hotel that was situated just a few blocks away from Pennsylvania Avenue. They were on the top floor of the hotel, and the cops had all gathered around suite 706. Dylan’s boss, Bruce Mercer, had made sure he’d get access to this room. Bruce Mercer controlled most of D.C. from behind the scenes. A puppet master, always pulling the strings.

Dylan entered the room and surveyed the area. The murder victim lay sprawled near the bed. His blood had pooled and darkened the lush carpet.

One shot to the heart.

Dylan recognized the victim. Hank J. Patterson. Patterson had been a military judge, one of the most respected on the bench.

Patterson spent over fifteen years as an active soldier, but the man hadn’t been able to fight back against his attacker. He lay there, no signs of defensive wounds on him, as the scent of death deepened in the suite.

Dylan heard a sharply indrawn breath behind him, and he turned to see Rachel Mancini staring down at the body. Her blue eyes were wide with horror.

He immediately moved to try and block her view. “What are you doing here?” Dylan demanded as fury and fear twisted within him. Because in Patterson’s blood, Dylan had seen something—something that triggered a long-held rage within him.

Rachel blinked in surprise. Her hair, a dark curtain of silk, brushed against her jaw as she gave a little shake of her head. “I’m following orders. Mercer called and told me to get down here.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’m your teammate, remember?”

As if he could forget. When it came to Rachel, there was never any forgetting for him.

“Where you go,” she added, her gorgeous eyes meeting his, “I follow.”

But he didn’t want her following him into this mess. Rachel could handle danger, he got that, it was just—I don’t want her here. Not on this case. I need her to be safe.

“That’s Hank Patterson,” she said, nodding. “I worked with him back when I was a Judge Advocate.”

Before Rachel had traded her courtroom days for a life of secrecy with the EOD.

“I’ve seen plenty of bodies before—you know that,” Rachel told Dylan, arching one dark brow. “So just drop the protective routine, okay? Let’s get to work.”

That was one of his problems. When it came to Rachel, all of his protective instincts went into overdrive. Actually, most of his primal instincts did. There was just something about her...

Dylan didn’t move. His gaze swept over Rachel’s face. Glass-sharp cheekbones, golden skin, full, plump lips. And her eyes—they could bring a man to his knees.

Beautiful. He’d thought that from the first moment he saw her—even though she’d been terrified at the time. Terrified, but still so brave as she held that gun in her shaking grip.

Rachel was one of the strongest women he’d ever met.

Dylan’s boss at the EOD agreed with that assessment, which was why the guy had brought Rachel into the fold.

But while Mercer only saw her strength, lately, Dylan was seeing more of Rachel’s vulnerability. She could be hurt so easily. Just as she’d been hurt a few months before when one of the EOD’s own agents had turned against them.

Rachel had wound up in the hospital and Dylan—for a few minutes there, he’d lost control. When he’d thought Rachel might die, he’d spiraled into a pit of fear that had left him feeling—

“Dylan?” Rachel’s voice was soft. Worried. “What’s happening?” Her hand lifted and touched his arm.

As always, her touch sent an electric shock right through his system.

“Mercer...” His voice came out too gravelly, so Dylan tried again, saying, “Mercer didn’t tell you why we were being called in?”

“Patterson is military,” she said, bringing her body even closer to his. Her scent—the sweet scent reminded him of roses—wrapped around him. “I figured he wanted us to take lead because of—”

“Hank Patterson was executed,” Dylan said, breaking through her words. Of course, leave it to Mercer to force this reveal on Dylan. The next bit of news he had to share would wreck Rachel’s world, he knew it would. And he hated that he had to put her through more pain.

After a brutal attack by a rogue agent, Rachel had only just been cleared to return to work. She’d left one nightmare, and now she was walking straight into another one.

If he had his way, he’d protect Rachel from anything and everything out there—and from one twisted man in particular.

Still frowning at Dylan, Rachel slipped past him. He noticed that she was careful not to touch anything in the suite. After her time prosecuting, Rachel knew better than to contaminate a crime scene.

She knelt next to the body. Her gaze swept over Patterson. Dylan easily read the sorrow on her face. Then her attention locked on Patterson’s wound.

On the blood near him. On what was in that blood.

“That’s a playing card,” Rachel said. Her words shook. Her golden skin had just turned pale. Her head tilted so that she could look up at him, and her eyes were wild with emotion. “Tell me, tell me that it’s not him!”

Because the EOD was well acquainted with one particular assassin who always left a playing card behind. Jack.

Rachel, in particular, was intimately acquainted with the man.

Dylan had gloves on his hands and, carefully, using tweezers, he bent and turned over the playing card so that both he and Rachel could see the face.

The Jack of Hearts stared back up at him.

Rachel surged to her feet. “No.” Her denial was immediate.

He’d expected that denial.

Dylan turned to the tech who waited silently just a few feet away. He passed the card to the tech. It was bagged and tagged immediately. That evidence would be going back to the EOD for analysis.

As for Rachel...

She hurried from the room.

Dylan didn’t follow her, not yet. He stared down at the body then he let his gaze sweep the suite once more. There had been no evidence of a break-in. But that was the way Jack worked. In and out. Fast kills.

And a calling card left behind. The guy always left his card because he liked to claim his kills.

Dylan stayed a few more minutes, needing to be thorough. Crime-scene analysis sure wasn’t his area of expertise, but killing— Well, he’d learned plenty about that during his time as a Navy SEAL and as an EOD agent.

He knew he was looking at the work of a professional killer. The man had used a silencer because no one at the hotel had reported hearing a shot. The maid had received a horrifying surprise when she bustled inside to clean the place that morning.

After giving orders to the tech, Dylan exited the room. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see Rachel pacing in the hotel’s hallway.

When she’d rushed out, he knew that she wouldn’t have gone far. That wasn’t Rachel’s way.

But they didn’t speak until they were in the privacy of the elevator. The doors slid closed and Rachel—

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pain thickened her voice.

He hated for Rachel to be in pain. His fist struck out, and he hit the button that would stop the elevator. Immediately, they jerked to a halt.

“If you thought he might be back in D.C....why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded again.

Dylan turned toward her. Rachel’s eyes were so wide—she’ll bring me to my knees. He locked his jaw and knew he had to stay in control. “I didn’t know he was hunting here again. Patterson’s death—this is the first time any kill in D.C. has been linked to Jack in three years.”

Three long years.

But now that Dylan did know Jack was back...his first instinct was to get Rachel the hell out of that city. He wanted her transferred to someplace safe and sunny while he hunted the maniac known as Jack.

Because Jack will go after her.

“It’s not him, is it?” Rachel asked as she rubbed her arms. “It has to be a copycat, right? I mean, three years ago, his exploits were all over the news. Everyone knows about him now.”

Jack. The man wasn’t a serial killer, at least not in the strict sense of the word. He was an assassin. One who killed for cash.

He was a man with far too much skill when it came to death.

“Tell me that he’s a copycat,” Rachel said.

He wished he could. Dylan took a step closer to her. He wanted to pull Rachel into his arms and hold her, but that wasn’t protocol. He was the team leader. They worked together, side by side. They fought together.

Their relationship was supposed to be professional.

To him, it was so much more.

“Dylan?”

“I can’t tell you that. At this point, I don’t know who we’re dealing with.”

“Jack vanished three years ago. After—” Her lips clamped shut, and Rachel didn’t say any more. But she didn’t have to. He knew her past as well as he knew his own.

Jack had been hired to kill Rachel. Quincy Langam had hired the assassin to kill Rachel and two others who’d been associated with Quincy’s case. Two of those people on Langam’s kill list had wound up with gunshot wounds to the heart.

Only Rachel had survived.

And Jack disappeared.

“We have intel... Mercer has intel that indicates Jack may have been killing in Europe during the past few years.” And leaving his trademark calling card behind. “EOD agents were sent over there—”

“I should have been told!” Now spikes of red color stained her cheeks as anger glinted in her eyes.

Dylan didn’t touch that one. He’d been the one to tell Mercer that Rachel shouldn’t know. “They weren’t sure. No one saw the killer to confirm his identity.”

“I’m the only one who survived Jack’s attack. I should’ve been there. I could’ve done something!”

Or Jack could have just come for her.

Again, Dylan found himself sliding even closer to her. “He eluded the EOD agents in Europe, and now...now it looks like he’s come home to do his hunting again.”

If they truly were dealing with Jack, the local cops wouldn’t handle the case. An international killer—sure, maybe the FBI or the CIA would want a piece of this action, but the EOD would be in charge of the investigation.

Because the targets Jack had taken out—the men and women he always hunted—were tied to military cases. Linked to the U.S. Navy, Air Force, the Marines. There was always a military link for Jack.

And besides, the EOD had a personal interest in the case.

They had Rachel.

“Can you handle this?” Dylan asked her. He had to ask the question as the team leader.

“Of course.” Her chin notched up. “I survived him before, didn’t I?”

The image of her—bloody, afraid—still haunted him in the darkness of the night.

“If he’s back, he’ll come for me.” Rachel spoke these words with certainty.

“Then he’ll have to get through me,” Dylan fired back, unable to hold those words inside any longer.

Her eyes widened.

He put his hands on her. He had to touch her. His fingers curled around her slender shoulders. “He isn’t going to have the chance to hurt you. I’ll stop him. That’s why Mercer has me on the case. He knows I’ll do anything necessary in order to make sure that Jack doesn’t have the chance to get to you again.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Her body brushed against his. “Hide? Stay in the shadows while you hunt? That’s not who I am, Dylan. You know that.”

He did. He knew everything about her.

“Mercer sent me here.” She gave a slow nod of her head. “He wants me on the case, and I’m going to stay on it. Jack won’t get away with this.” A brief pause. “If this is Jack.”

He wanted to pull her flush against him. To kiss her. They’d worked together for three years, and he’d wanted her that entire time.

But he’d played by the rules and kept his hands off her.

Dreamed of her every night.

“They’re going to send hotel guards up soon,” Rachel murmured. “Maybe even a firefighter or two.”

He blinked.

“You can’t keep the elevator stopped forever.”

And he couldn’t toss Rachel over his shoulder and run away with her. No matter how badly he wanted to do just that.

So he stepped back from her. He started the elevator again, and Dylan focused on breathing. Nice and slow. But he had to ask her, “Do you still love him?”

“What?” Her voice rose, breaking a little on the one word.

That break wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. His gaze held hers. “You loved him three years ago.”

“He tried to kill me.”

“I just want to make sure that emotions won’t be a problem for you.” His hands clenched into fists. “I have to know that I can count on you.”

The elevator had reached the lobby. A soft ding filled the interior then the doors slid open. Rachel brushed past him. He followed her. “Rachel?”

She turned toward him. “I don’t feel any emotion but hate for the guy, okay? So don’t worry about me. Nothing is going to cloud my judgment on this mission.”

Hate was dangerous. So was fury and fear. He’d have to watch her carefully. But what else is new there? He seemed to watch her all the time.

And Rachel didn’t know. She had no idea that she’d become his obsession.

“I won’t worry.” Lie. When she shifted away from him, Dylan put his hand on her back and steered her toward the hotel’s main desk. “We work this one together.”

“Just like always,” she murmured. But Rachel was tense beneath his touch. Far too tense.

The hotel manager stared at Dylan with nervous eyes. Dylan flashed him an ID. An official-looking piece that labeled him an FBI agent. The ID was just part of a cover provided by the EOD, but the manager would never know that. “I’m going to need access to every bit of security footage that you’ve got at this hotel.” The EOD would be confiscating that footage. Then their techs would review it, moment by moment, as they looked for the killer.

A killer who seemed to be back, hunting once again in the U.S.

* * *

HIS RACHEL WAS still as beautiful as ever.

Her hair was a little longer. She used to wear it just to her chin, but now it skimmed her shoulders. It was still as dark, still looked as silky.