Their Summer Heat (17 page)

“I’ll get a tech to set up a station to download all the pictures and vids from the cameras and cells before sending the people home.”

“Can Mr. and Mrs. Preston sit somewhere, while Logan and I go with you? I need to find Max.”

The agent opened his mouth as if to protest.

“Please.”

Benson nodded. “Okay. But stay with me.”

Logan directed Wallace’s men to stay with his parents before enfolding her hand in his. They weaved through the tables, and she purposely didn’t look anyone in the eye. God, if they knew this was all her fault…

Taking a side corridor, and then another one, they hadn’t gone far before running into a barricade of federal agents and New York cops. The first thing she saw was a white tablecloth dotted with red thrown over a form slumped against the wall. Blood splattered the expensive wallpaper in what she knew was cast-off from a weapon, probably a knife. And above the body was another message.

We’ll soon be together

When Max saw her, he cursed, crossed the span between them and pulled her into his warmth. Relief washed over her again for the second time tonight. The entire Preston family was in danger because of her.

“Who is it?” Summer held her breath.

“Julie Hanks.”

Who?
Thank goodness, it wasn’t Christy. She may be a bitch, but no person deserved this. This Julie Hanks wasn’t a name from the auction. So why her?

“Do you know her?” asked Benson.

“I don’t think so.” She bit the inside of her lip. “But I need to see her.”

“Fuck, no,” said Max.

“I can’t be sure. I’ve met many people tonight. I’m a big girl, Max.” She pulled away from him and stood in front of the victim. “Agent Benson, will you please show me her face.”

The agent slipped on a pair of booties and carefully eased up to the body. His gaze settled on hers. She nodded. When the white cloth slipped down, electricity shot through Summer.

Bile rose in her mouth. This attack was different, more violent, the beautiful face mutilated, but she recognized the dress. “Is that Christy’s friend?”

“Christy who?” asked Benson.

“I…I don’t know. Ask Mrs. Preston. Christy came and sat at the table with me and Mrs. Preston.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked Mrs. Preston if she knew I was sleepin’ with both her sons.”

The agent spun to Max. “Do you know Christy?”

“I know two Christys, and I can get a name for you.” Max sent Wallace to find out the information.

“How do you know this is Christy’s friend?” the agent asked.

“I met them in the restroom. While I was in the stall, they were callin’ me a whore for sleepin’ with…” She looked around. “You know…”

The FBI agent covered the poor woman back up. This girl was still clothed; a sure sign the killer had been in a hurry.

Wallace returned. “Christy Miller.”

“And we’ve both dated her,” added Logan.

“Is there anybody you two haven’t dated?” asked the agent.

In the limo, the clock read just after two a.m., and Max noticed Summer stifle a yawn as she rested her head on his shoulder. After the FBI questioned his parents, they’d returned to the Ritz in Central Park with two agents assigned as protection. Wallace would pull some more men in tomorrow to relieve the feds.

Why couldn’t the bastard just die, get run over by a trash truck, stomach cancer, swallow razor blades, something vile? God, he’d never get Julie Hanks’ face out of his mind. The pictures didn’t do justice to the real thing, and the smell—a copper scent that turned his stomach.

So much blood. So much violence.

He wouldn’t allow Summer that fucked-up fate.

When they pulled up to his building, they waited while Wallace and Company swept the area. Max had an itch to scratch, and her name was Summer. The ride up to the penthouse almost suffocated him. He needed to hold her, hear her breathe, feel her heartbeat. Only she could save him and his brother tonight.

When the elevator opened, Max grabbed Summer’s hand and pulled her to the bedroom, knowing Wallace would keep them safe ‘til morning. Before the door had closed, Max hauled her against him. A fever burned within, a need to crawl inside her, mark her, brand her with his soul.

He kissed her hard, ground his erection into her. He wanted her to know what she did to him. His brother moved behind her, nuzzled her neck.

Her zipper echoed in the room, and then the gown flowed like water down her beautiful body. Max steadied her as she stepped out of the blue fluff.

He couldn’t get enough of the vision before him. The blue diamonds sparkled against her creamy skin. A lacy strapless bra cupped her luscious breasts. A matching garter belt held silk stockings. Blue heels begged him to fuck her.

Max stepped back from her. “Walk.”

A small smile played on her lips. She sashayed away from him, and his eyes were instantly drawn to the blue lace covering her ass. She spun and strutted back, but she bypassed him and stopped in front of his brother. She released Logan’s belt and slid down the zipper of his pants. He liked this bold attitude, this take what she wanted, naughty girl.

Instead of dropping to her knees, she spread her legs wide, bent over and took his brother’s cock into her mouth. Max stripped, his gaze never leaving the erotic scene. Logan unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop to the floor.

Her delectable ass was an engraved invitation, one he couldn’t resist. He moved behind her, pressed his cock against her lower back, loved the way it lay dark against her creamy skin. Then he kissed each bump down her spine, felt the chills rush over her skin.

“You’re a naughty girl,” said Max.

Smack!

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

Slap!

The need to immerse himself balls deep consumed him. Hungrily, he pushed two fingers into her channel, finding
it
hot and soaking wet—just the way he liked it.

Summer stood, spun and plastered herself against him. “I want you in the front. Logan can take the back.”

Hell, that suited him fine.

She lifted her leg and wrapped it around his ass, her clit pressed along his raging erection. The smell of her perfumed skin mixed with her feminine musk made him harder. After snaking her arms around his neck, she kissed him and rocked on his cock.

“I can’t wait to sink my dick into you balls deep.”

“And I can’t wait for you to do
that
either,” she replied.

When Logan moved behind her with the lube, Max hauled her up, settled her over his cock. She sank all the way down, and he struggled to control himself, to keep from plowing into her.

God, he loved fucking her without a latex barrier, feeling those sensual tissues of hers suck him in. Max grabbed the cheeks of her ass and spread them. Her gaze locked with his as he brother pressed inside. She hissed as his brother eased inside her rear.

“You okay?” asked Logan.

“Yes.” She squeezed her inner muscles.

Logan grabbed her hips and held her away from Max to give him some room to move. When Logan retreated, Max pushed in. The slide of his cock against her tight pussy was heaven.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “It’s so…so…amazin’.”

“I agree,” said Logan.

Max’s balls drew up tight as her slick pussy caressed him. He pumped hard, his thighs slapping into her soft body. When Summer threw back her head as her orgasm swamped her, Max shoved in, welcomed her muscles clamping down on his cock. He came in a powerful rush of pure pleasure and Logan’s followed next.

As his body recovered, one thing became crystal clear.

Max would never let her go.

Summer yawned as she headed to find something to eat. She didn’t like waking to an empty bed and it pissed her off. Max and Logan were warm, strong…safe.

In the empty kitchen, she snagged an apple and made a beeline to the war room, where there was always someone prowling or sleeping. Pushing the door open, she barged in. Silence descended on the space like a funeral. Men stiffly sat on every available surface.

Logan and Max were both dressed in jeans and t-shirts. The grim lines on their faces tugged on her heartstrings. As striking as they were, they looked frazzled.

All because of her.

Special Agent Carver Benson stood at the bulletin board, and Summer noticed two more pictures added on the end. Dread filled her belly as she advanced on the wall of horror. Julie Hanks was number nine. Who was victim ten?

As she reached the last picture, the single bite of apple rose in her throat. The name under the photo read “Christy Miller.”

Nobody calls you a whore

Summer swept her hand through her hair. “How is this possible?”

“He already had Miss Miller,” said the agent. “Carried her out the back door after he sprayed the camera lens with black paint.”

She turned to Max. “You knew they couldn’t find her, and you didn’t tell me.” She looked at Logan. “And neither did you.”

“Yes,” said Max. “No need to worry about something you can’t change.”

“You two…” She pointed her finger at them as her whole body shook. “You two are too big for your britches. You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t know or what I can and can’t worry about. It’s not your fuckin’ choice.”

Her hands fisted and she resisted charging them and wringing their lousy necks. “I refuse to be sheltered like a child.” She spun back to the murder board and tapped on Julie and then Christy’s faces so hard, the whole display threatened to topple. “This is my fault. I did this. I…did…this.” A lone tear escaped.

Logan was there, pulling her into his embrace, but she pushed him away. Soothed was the last thing she wanted.

“Miss Heat,” said Dan. “You are not responsible for this maniac and how he chooses his victims. If he hadn’t chosen these two, someone else would have been on his radar. Don’t forget, Miss Heat, this is a game to him. If he weren’t obsessed with you, he’d be tormenting another woman.”

A fucking game. How does one play this game?
In the recesses of her mind, she knew Dan was correct. Her gaze darted around to the lethal men.
They must think I’m an incompetent, blubbing idiot.

“Miss Heat,” said Benson. “What you did was brave. You were right. Bait is the FBI’s dream. The problem wasn’t you, it was me—
I
failed us. I didn’t have enough agents in place. I knew his desperation to see you, but I underestimated his means and brains, not only to carry out one kill, but two. Every profiler in the bureau is working this case and none of us saw this coming.”

She wanted to blurt out that his statement didn’t make her feel better, but he probably already knew it. “So how do we catch him?” she asked.

“I don’t have the answer, ma’am.”

Summer walked back to the photos of the last victims. Did he kill the first one because he couldn’t handle two? Was there one or two or a team of them? Last night, she had spent some time going over the scene in the bathroom and at the Prestons’ table. “Has anyone figured out how he knew these two had approached me? Why these two and not someone else? The bathroom was empty except for us three.”

“We swept the whole damn place and found nothing, so we have no clue.”

“This guy’s IQ must be off the fuckin’ charts,” she said.

The agent only nodded. Summer wanted to question this killer, figure out how he did all these things without even coming close to getting caught, but on the other hand, she hoped he died—soon.

Her eye settled on the ninth victim’s message.

“We’ll soon be together,” she read. She tapped the words with her manicured nail. “Why not take me? What’s he waitin’ for?”

“We all agree, he loves the challenge,” offered Wallace.

Summer knew in her heart of hearts there was only one way to end this—to give herself over to this murderer—but she was petrified.

Logan grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her toward the door. “C’mon, I need to change into some smaller britches.”

The men snickered.

When they reached the kitchen, she plopped down on a stool. “I’m sorry.”

Both Max and Logan stopped and stared at her.

“But you can’t protect me. I won’t allow it.”

Max pulled some bacon from the fridge. “Doesn’t sound like you’re sorry to me.”

Summer couldn’t hide her grin. “You sound like a lawyer.”

He shrugged.

“I’m sorry I chastised you in a room full of alpha males. I’m not sorry that I’m pissed.”

Logan pulled a mug from the cupboard and poured her some coffee. Her belly wasn’t ready for something so high-octane, but she wouldn’t complain. No arguing, at least for a little while. How had her life gotten so fucked up?

“If you’re up to it, they want you to view the cellphone pics and vids to see if you can recognize anything. They’ve worked their magic and only gave us pictures taken at the gala and the video from the TV stations.”

“Okay.”

“The FBI has some fancy-damn program to catalog the faces and spit out a report for us to look over. They are also reviewing all the call logs of every person at the gala,” said Max. “I think we have the better job.”

“Like a virtual mug shot book. Sounds tedious,” she replied.

“Yeah,” said Logan. “I can think of a ton of better things to do.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She grinned at his playfulness. “If I wasn’t here, and we weren’t all in hell, what would you two be doin’ on a Sunday morning?” she asked.

“Office,” replied Max.

“Paperwork,” said Logan. “And you?”

“Catching up on sleep and hitting the books.” God, seemed as if a hundred years had passed since she’d last done any studying. Her life was shit. Well, not total shit…she did enjoy the brothers.

Maybe a little too much.

Her mind immediately replayed images of herself in the man-sandwich, and her womb clenched, remembering the intense pleasure that almost made her faint. She liked them, loved their looks, their intensity, their caring of her.

One thing was for sure; walking away would be damn hard.

Pushing the thought out of her head, she focused on figuring out a trigger to get the madman to stop—not that he would, because this was fun to him. Outwitting the FBI had to be sugar on top of the thrill of the kill. So many ladies’ lives cut short. Such a waste. And if the guy decided to launch a rocket into this penthouse, more people would die. No, he wouldn’t kill her yet. He’d want to see her fear.