“He’s here.” He tossed aside the face mask.

Greg Wright was classically handsome. His blond hair slanted away from the strong planes of his face, curling just slightly.

She’d heard some of the cops call him Dr. Death.

She didn’t exactly go for the pretty boys. She had a rule about that. Men who were too good-looking often came with far too many flaws on the inside.

Cadence cleared her throat. “Show me the body.”

Instead of showing her the body, Wright stepped forward and placed himself in front of her, effectively blocking the door leading to the mortuary area. “I was in the middle of an autopsy. Things are graphic in there right now.”

She stared up at him. “I track serial killers for a living. Trust me, there’s nothing you can show me that I haven’t seen.” Had he forgotten she was the one who’d been behind him at Helen Lynch’s crime scene? Had she gotten shaky and sick then?

No. Some poor uniform had been the one to lose his breakfast.

A ghost of a smile lifted the ME’s lips. “Aren’t you a surprise.”

“No, I’m not.” She was a licensed doctor—she could handle blood just fine. She waited. He didn’t move. “The body?”

“Right this way, Agent.”

* * *

She was so fucking beautiful that she stole his breath.

Lauren lay naked on the big, four-poster bed, her hair fanning behind her. Her body was pale and perfect, a temptation that would never get out of his head.

He stared at her and wanted to feast.

“I like the way you look at me,” she told him, her voice like sin. “When you look at me that way, I know just what you’re thinking.”

That he’d kill to have her? That he’d do anything to get close to her? He hoped she didn’t know what dark thoughts raced through his head. She might be afraid then. He never wanted her to be afraid of him.

“I’ll be easy,” he promised her as he tossed his shirt to the floor. He knew her injuries still hurt her.

Lauren shook her head. She rose and sat up. Her breasts thrust toward him. Round, with pink tips that he wanted to lick all night long.

“That’s not how it’s working tonight.”

He slowly removed his holster and put it on the nearby table.

“You don’t get to call all the shots.” She reached for him, her hands a silken heat on his flesh. “I get my turn tonight.”

“But you’re—”

“I don’t even have a headache.” Her fingers slid down to the snap of his pants. A few seconds later, the zipper eased down with a hiss. “I’ve got other things in mind.”

Then her mouth pressed against his and he couldn’t think. He could only feel. Her lips. Her tongue. She was licking him. Sucking him. Stroking with both her fingers and her mouth. He thrust helplessly forward, because Lauren—hell, the woman drove him crazy.

His hands rose, but he didn’t want to touch her head. Didn’t want to hurt her. So he fisted his fingers even as his hips surged. Her mouth feathered over the head of his cock, her tongue licked him, and his breath hissed out as the pleasure pulsed through him.

“Stop.” It came out a growl. If she didn’t stop, he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

She licked him again.

“Lauren…” He pushed lightly at her shoulders.

Her head lifted. Her eyes, so bright, stared up at him. She smiled. “I love the way you taste.”

Hell. He could feel his control ripping away. The control he always held—no problem—with other women.

Not her.

Her fingers slid down his erect length. “I think I’d like to taste more.”

He would go insane. Anthony shook his head. “My turn.”

“But—”

It had to be his turn.

He pushed her back against the covers. Then just drank her in, memorizing every detail of her body with his eyes, his fingers, his mouth. When he kissed her breasts and licked those sweet nipples—better than candy, so much fucking better—she moaned his name.

His cock was so full and heavy that he hurt. He wanted to drive deep into her, as hard as he could.

But she wasn’t ready yet.

And he wasn’t done with her.

His head lifted. His breath was sawing out, but he had to say, “If I hurt you—”

“You won’t!” Demand sharpened her voice.

“Tell me to stop,” he finished. He’d stop, no matter what, for her.

She shook her head. “I want more! I want you.” The demand was even stronger now.

His fingers slid between her thighs. She was wet. Hot. Fuck. He thrust two fingers into her. Lauren’s hips arched as her breath rushed out, then she bit her lip.

Yes. She was still thrusting her hips against him.

“You don’t have to be quiet.” There was a reason he’d ditched that hotel room. He loved it when Lauren screamed for him.

He would make her scream.

He pushed her legs farther apart and put his mouth on her sex. He sampled every inch of her, letting his tongue trail over her silken skin.

“Anthony!”

It wasn’t a scream. Not yet. Which was good, because he wasn’t done.

He thrust his tongue into her even as his thumb pushed over her clit. Her whole body seemed to tighten around him. He kept tasting her, kept drinking her in, knowing he’d never be able to get enough—

“Anthony!” Her nails sank into his shoulders, and he reveled in the sting of pain. “I need you in me.”

His head lifted. He licked his lips, savoring the taste. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze demanding.

He was about to explode.

He pushed the head of his cock against her body. Creamy heat. So good, so—

There was nothing between them.

Shit, he had to take care, had to protect her.

Lauren’s legs wrapped tightly around him. “I’m on the pill. Clean…”

He was, too. He’d never gone without a rubber with any woman. Yet right then—

I want all of her.

His eyes held hers. His control was threadbare. She arched against him, and he drove into her.

The last of his control tore away.

There was no restraint. No holding back. She closed around him, her sex so hot and tight and wet that he thought he’d go out of his head. He thrust deep into her, plunging wildly again and again. There was nothing but her. Only pleasure. Only the heat of her body.

His hands curled around her hips. He lifted her up, holding her tight. The bed groaned beneath the force of his thrusts. His heartbeat slammed into his ribs.

This was what he wanted. She was what he needed.

Her sex clenched around him. Her climax was coming. Good, because his was fucking about to implode on him.

He angled his body, sending his cock sliding right over her clit as he drove into her.

Then she was climaxing and—yes—she screamed for him.

“Tony!”

He loved her scream.

Anthony erupted inside of her, still thrusting, still desperate for every single moment with her. Her climax sent her sex contracting around him, ripples of release that made his pleasure intensify.

He was hollowed out, so empty from the release that he’d pumped and pumped into her, but he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

Not ever.

He stared down at her, his body slick with sweat. Her breath heaved, matching his. Her smile—oh, damn, that smile was sin.

He felt himself hardening within her again. “Did I hurt you?”

Lauren shook head.

Good. He began thrusting.

* * *

She’d gone to the morgue to see Walker’s body. But as she followed Greg, Cadence’s gaze was drawn to the autopsy table. To the body on the table. Judge Hamilton. “I’ve already bagged and tagged Walker’s clothes and belongings.” Greg motioned to the right. Cadence saw the evidence bags in a neat pile.

She advanced toward the judge. His eyes were closed, his body the ashen, yellowish color that came soon after death. His chest was a mess—not just stabbed, but carved open.

“The Butcher must have been pretty angry when he killed Hamilton,” Greg noted as he came toward her. “He twisted the blade and cut his way straight through the guy’s heart.”

She swallowed. The sight was grisly, all right, but she’d seen worse. I have plenty of images that still haunt my nightmares. Despite her tough words to Greg from moments before, she knew this scene would haunt her, too. “Were there any defensive wounds?”

“I bagged his hands at the scene.”

She knew the drill. The hands were bagged to preserve any evidence, and when the body had been transferred to the morgue, Greg would have checked under the nails for skin samples or trace evidence that had been left behind.

“The judge must not have been given the chance to fight back. His nails were clean.” His gloved hand lifted and gestured near the judge’s head. She saw the dark bruising and cuts on his forehead. “I found chunks of glass that I believe will match up to the broken window from his BMW embedded in the wounds. It looks like Walker knocked him out, and when the judge woke up…” He pushed past the sheet, revealing the dark bruises around Hamilton’s wrists. “Hamilton was bound.”

“No chance to fight,” she whispered. Walker had wanted the power. She understood that. In court, the judge had been the one presiding. The one who got to decide Walker’s fate.

In the cabin, Walker had been the judge and the executioner.

Her gaze dropped to Hamilton’s throat. “Did he leave us a note?” After the first two notes had been found, she’d realized it had become a part of Walker’s process. Killing, leaving the note. A taunt, but not for the cops.