A Brutal Tenderness Read Online Free PDF

Faith’s
death . . .”
“I don’t blame her. I hold her accountable.” My eyes hold
his, unflinching, determined.
Dec sighs, swinging his dark hair out of his eyes. “For
Christ’s sake, Cas, she’s a ballet dancer. She couldn’t hurt
anyone.”
As I open my mouth, his finger wags in front of me. “No,
shut up for once.” His eyes bore into mine. “You’re wrong about
her. She’s shy and sweet.” Then his eyes narrow. “Think about
it, Steel. What was she supposed to do? Open that closet and
defend Faith?” he asks, his palms up and away from his body,
“Fucking think about it, Cas. She would have died too. Thad
would have chewed her up and spit her out.”
My next words are meant to hurt, to deflect. I’m so good at
this verbal maneuvering tactic it’s second nature. “You want to
bang her,” I state.
There’s a charged silence.
“I want to beat your head in for that, Steel,” Dec says in an
ominous tone. Then, “Not everything’s about sex.”
Right. “Uh-huh,” I agree unconvincingly.
His hands clench, and I know he’s thinking about having
a go. Then his shoulders relax. “She’s not the kind of girl you
bang, my friend. She’s not one of your little submissives.”
I frown, my hands bracketing my hips. “What kind of girl is
she, then?” I ask sarcastically.
Dec waits a second, allowing the pause to swell between us.
“She’s the kind of girl you love, Cas.”
“She’s too terrible to love,” I say in a knee-jerk response. But
Dec is ready, a smile spreading across his face.
“She’s too good not to.”
Fuck , I think, we’re talking about the subject here. Maybe we’re
all getting a bit too close. And yet his yapping is beginning to
break down the walls of the carefully constructed image of
Jewell that I’d created in my mind of a passive, narcissistic
woman, which I’d been clinging to for two years.
But for the sake of the job, I know I have to ignore my
fellow agent’s words.
She’s just bait to entice the killer out of hiding.
My rage over Faith’s death needs to fall on someone,
especially with Thad out of reach.
But it doesn’t sit as comfortably on Jewell as it once did.
    It’s easy to compromise a fuel line, especially when the car’s
owner would rather dance than put gas in her car. I’ve never
met a car I can’t persuade to do my bidding, and her shit Kia
was a pushover. Must be a big step down from her usual wheels , I
think with disdain.
    That’s me, the car whisperer. Should have been a mechanic
instead of chasing killers.
I’m leaning against my hog, as comfortably as some men’s
favorite recliner. My showered body is as relaxed as it can be
two hours after I pressed myself hard into service at the gym
with Adams. Clearwater’s words burn inside my brain, but I
drown them with the cool waters of my icy resolve: She’s a
subject in a serial murder sting. That’s all Jewell McLeod is.
Maybe if I keep reminding myself enough, I’ll believe my
own words.
I speak into the mike under my thin T, the bulk of my
leather jacket camouflaging it: “Subject approaching.”
I watch Jewell rushing up the knoll of finely manicured
grounds of the campus in a graceful jog that begs to be a sprint,
wisps springing from the tight bun she winds all that long hair
into.
I give a hard swallow, wondering what it looks like down.
An image bursts into my brain of her body against mine, that
long hair swinging in my face, tickling my ribs, a curtain of silk
enclosing us as I grab her hipbones like handles, making her
body move the way I want it, owning it. The image is so vivid,
so visceral, that I completely miss her trying to start her shitty
little Kia at the same time I push away my stubborn thoughts
of screwing the subject of our protection.
The woman I’ve determined to hate.
I watch her take a delicate hand and strike the steering
wheel, and when she gasps at the pain she brings on herself, I
give in to the tiniest flinch at her