Chapter Three
The roar of the 515-horsepower engine was thrilling, but completely wasted on an Oklahoma highway.
“You deserve the Autobahn, beautiful,” Davis said to the car. A fiery red Mercedes AMG GT S. A vehicle built for speed and maneuverability, it purred as he pushed it to one hundred miles per hour. The car easily handled the acceleration.
Red and blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror, and Davis grinned. He toyed with the idea of playing chase, a game he’d most surely win in the end, which wouldn’t suit his purposes. He slowed down, pulling onto the shoulder of the highway. He watched as the deputy left the SUV parked behind him and approached the Mercedes. Davis rolled down the window.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance, please.”
Her voice had a husky, pleasing drawl to it.
“I apologize, deputy, is there a problem?” he asked, flashing her a broad smile.
Hannah Stephens eyed him from behind polarized aviator-style sunglasses. He noticed a light bruise on her left cheek. “License, registration, and proof of insurance,” she repeated.
“Right. Just a moment.” He found what she needed, handing it up to her. Their fingers brushed, and he noticed a slight tremor to her hand. Though her face was a mask of indifference, her body betrayed her.
She cleared her throat. “Do you know how fast you were going?” she asked looking over what he’d handed her.
“Not a clue,” he replied.
“The speed limit is sixty-five. I clocked you going one hundred.”
He feigned surprise. “Again, I apologize. I’m afraid she took advantage of me, not that I’m complaining.”
A slight lifting of one eyebrow was her only response. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
He watched her return to the SUV from his mirrors. She was playing hard to get and he loved nothing more than a challenge. Another deputy sat inside the SUV on the passenger side. A balding, middle-aged man named Michael James—he’d done his homework. James worked as Hannah’s partner. While he could complete this job as soon as Hannah returned, he’d have to do cleanup, and James was just an innocent bystander.
Davis would have to catch Hannah off duty. Which was perfectly fine with him.
She walked back to the car and he was smiling by the time she leaned down into his window.
“I’m giving you a citation for speeding, Mr. Smith,” she said, handing him a pad of paper and an ink pen. “I need you to sign on the line right here. It’s not an admission of guilt…”
He tuned her out as the wind stirred behind her, carrying the subtle aroma of vanilla into the car. The vanilla fragrance suited her. Everything about her seemed vanilla—but not in a bad way. Hannah appeared wholesome, and he again wondered what she could be involved in. Appearances could be deceiving, no one knew that better than he did, but still his curiosity was piqued. He scribbled his alias on the paper, she gave him a copy, and he wished her a good day.
Later that evening he swapped out the Mercedes for a nondescript Ford sedan. He waited down the block from Hannah’s house. A modest ranch-style home nestled in amongst flowering shrubs. The neighborhood was older but well kept. He took in details—fence heights, gates, accesses, windows—making mental maps of possible escape routes. He did it almost without thought as he watched Hannah’s house. Lights came on in different rooms then went off. He imagined her preparing for a night in. A quick meal, a shower, then settling in front of the telly before heading off to bed.
Then he imagined slipping inside her home through a back window. Quietly sliding into bed with her, but instead of slitting her throat, he took the fantasy a different direction. He imagined taking those full pink lips with his, kissing her until she submitted to him. Taking her delectable body, filling her, and fucking her until she shattered. He hardened, and he cupped his throbbing cock.
He resisted the urge to masturbate; he wasn’t some sad lurker. His time with her would come soon. Again he felt the slight twinge of barely recognizable doubt and guilt. God, when was the last time he’d felt either emotion? A question easily answered—five years ago. It was Boxing Day, and he’d been in bed with his then-fiancée in his flat in London when he’d received the call that changed his life.
His thoughts jumped from the bitter past to the present when he saw Hannah’s front door open. She stepped out carrying a trash bag. He watched her walk down to the curb and drop it into the bin. She wore a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of cutoff sweatpants that exposed her long, shapely legs. The ensemble was cozy and all together feminine, thrilling. Davis wanted to feel her in his arms, taste her skin, and he gripped the steering wheel, only just resisting the urge to go to her. She had power over him, he realized, and the notion left him cold. He couldn’t risk losing his mind to a target because it could cost him his life.
He would have to move fast. Get her out of his system then finish the job.
****
The nature trail was her favorite place to destress. Hannah tightened the laces on her running shoes then did some quick warmup stretches. Running was her wind down after a stressful week on the job. Weekdays she kept up her fitness routine with weight lifting and jogging on the treadmill, but Saturdays she hit this trail.
The day would be warm, but this early in the morning was still owned by the nip of late spring. The rising sun cast an orange glow in the sky as she trotted out to the dirt path leading to the trails. She picked up some speed and settled into a cadence that would carry her on for the next two hours.
Her mind drifted to the red Mercedes she’d pulled over earlier that week. Or, more precisely, the man behind the wheel. He’d been gorgeous. Too gorgeous to be driving through Oklahoma. And that English accent…
She blew out a hard breath. Hannah had never been very successful in the man department. She’d dated and had a few boyfriends in high school and college, but nothing serious. Mr. Matthew Smith, aka gorgeous guy in the Mercedes, was well out of her league.
“Stop mooning over him,” she muttered to herself. Developing a crush on a guy she’d met only once seemed ridiculous. But it was quite easy to build up fantasies involving a lot of sweaty nudity and English-accented dirty talk.
Growling, she picked up speed, staring at the ground. She’d lived with sexual frustration for a year now. A necessary beast when you worked long days with little opportunity to meet men outside of work. And she definitely wasn’t interested in anyone in the sheriff’s department.
“Passing to your right.”
Startled by the masculine voice, Hannah’s head snapped up. The stranger was ahead of her, running in her direction, getting ready to pass on her right. It took only a fleeting moment for her to recognize the man, and she flushed scarlet. He’d manifested straight from her fantasies.
Mr. Smith broke stride and stopped, his head cocked to the side. His eyes were a piercing blue set off by his dark olive complexion and black hair. She had no choice but to stop and pray her blush looked like it had been caused by her run.
His incredible, killer smile lit up the very feminine parts of her.
“Deputy Stephens?”
“Yes, um, hi.” She swiped her wrist over her forehead, doing her best to remain casual. “Red Mercedes Benz, right?”
He placed his hands on his hips. He wore a pair of black athletic shorts and a black t-shirt that stretched across his chest. All virile male wrapped up in hot British sexiness.
You’re losing your mind, Hannah. But his smile really was killing her.
“Yes, and to let you know, I’ve paid the ticket already.”
“Great.” Then another thought came to mind. “What are you doing out here?”
The trail wasn’t much used, at least not this early in the morning. College kids liked to hike the trails in the late afternoons. She hadn’t seen the Mercedes in the parking lot, just a boring sedan.
“I’m in Tulsa for business, and wanted somewhere to exercise. I found this place on Google Maps.”
His statement came easily enough, yet she couldn’t help a niggling of suspicion. Her line of work left her suspicious of anything that seemed too random.
“What kind of business do you do?” she asked.
“Investing, commercial real estate for the most part. Boring stuff, really. How would you like a running partner?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek, instinct and a gut feeling telling her he was hiding something. It was that curiosity, and not girlish glee, that had her saying, “Sure.” Definitely not girlish glee. “If you think you can keep up.”
Hannah took to the left, leaving the cleared trail. Mr. Smith’s footfalls sounded behind her, crunching through the leaf litter. A run through the forest would be more vigorous, and she definitely needed vigorous when it came to Matthew Smith.
“So, Mr. Smith, how do you like Tulsa County?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Please, call me Davis, I go by my middle name, and it’s quite nice. The people are lovely.”
A fallen tree blocked their path. Hannah leaped over it. Davis easily kept up. Her female appreciation heightened. She increased the pace, breaking into a good, lung-burning run. She heard Davis’s chuckle.
“Giving me a challenge, eh?” he asked.
He didn’t sound the least bit winded. Of course he wouldn’t; he obviously kept in shape. She’d foolishly wanted to impress him with her physical stamina, but now she huffed and puffed, and felt ridiculous. She was built for distance, not speed.
She finally stopped, stooped over, and braced her hands on her thighs, dragging in lungfuls of air. Davis stood in front of her and she stared at his strong calves.
“You’re in good condition,” Davis told her.
“Are you being sarcastic?” she asked.
“Not in the least. I’m impressed.”
Hannah straightened and stared up into his face. Those incredible blue eyes twinkled. She wasn’t used to having men tower over her. Davis had to be at least six foot four. But he didn’t appear the least bit cumbersome with the height like some men did. His every movement was graceful, his musculature not the overdeveloped mass from hours at the gym, but from actual use. She imagined him a swimmer or marathoner. A triathlete.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, realizing he’d just spoken to her. She blinked, realizing she’d been staring at his body in rapt fascination.
He chuckled, no doubt knowing full well where her thoughts must lie.
“I said I’d love to take you out to dinner tonight.”
He shoved his hands inside his shorts pockets and rocked back on his heels, his head tilted as he waited for her answer. She really should say no. She couldn’t seem to get her head on straight around him.
“Uh, hmm,” she began. “I don’t know, I’m on call tonight.” It was her turn to have a Saturday off, but it rarely happened these days. Someone always needed something.
“I’m quite sure Tulsa County could spare its most charming deputy this evening.” His smile coaxed, and that accent turned her to jelly.
She lifted her shoulders. “Okay, sure. But don’t say that I didn’t warn you when I have to bail.”
He withdrew his hands from his pockets, and her gaze caught on his right pocket. The bulge of something large weighted it down—keys and wallet maybe? She was being too suspicious she reasoned, because what else could it be?
He swept his arm towards the direction of the trail they’d left. “After you,” he said.
She walked ahead of him, but nagging unease left her unable to relax. She felt him behind her—too close. Awareness, attraction, suspicion, she couldn’t pin down any one thing to explain what she felt. Her mind’s eye toyed with that bulge in his right pocket. She’d seen it before, in perps packing guns. Davis was on a travel visa; he had no reason to be carrying.
“Stop right there.” Davis’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Before she could reply, his arm snaked around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. She let out a yelp as he easily lifted her off her feet and swung her around, back in the direction they’d just left.
“Let me go!” she yelled, struggling in his steely hold.