She watched as he expertly opened the wine—very, very expensive wine because he had expensive tastes. “That’s your favorite, not mine.”
His mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “Is it? My bad. I must have grabbed the wrong bottle.” He sighed. “Oh, well, guess we have to drink it now. The things I do for my friends.”
Her lips twitched, but then she stared at him, feeling a heaviness in her heart. “You know, don’t you?”
He poured the wine. It was a dark red. Deep crimson, like blood. “I may have watched the news,” Cameron allowed. “I like to do that sometimes, you know. Stay updated on current events. It’s a quirk I have.” He lifted one brow at her. “A crime scene was featured on the ten o’clock news...seems a very intrepid FBI agent stopped a serial killer tonight.” His gaze slid to her arm. “Got a war wound, do you?”
“It’s nothing,” she said. She’d taken off the bandage before she got into the shower. Barely a scrape, more of a bruise, kind of like carpet burn. Only...in her case a bullet burn.
He lifted one glass toward her in a salute. “You saved the victim. I think that calls for a celebration.”
She made herself walk toward him. Samantha pushed her hands down on the kitchen counter, flattening her palms and fingers. “I killed a man tonight.”
He put the glass of wine in front of her. She couldn’t look away from the bloodred liquid.
“Killed a man,” he said, his voice deep, but emotionless. His shrink voice. The professor voice. “But saved a victim. Do you not still consider that a win?”
She didn’t touch her wine. “It was my first kill in the line of duty.”
He didn’t speak. She could hear the ticking of her clock in the hallway. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time seemed slow right then, but when she’d shot George Farris, everything had been moving at super speed. The bullets had fired out of her gun so fast...
“How did it make you feel?” Cameron asked her.
Her eyes squeezed shut. “I shot him twice. Why did I shoot twice? Why not just once?”
“Maybe you wanted to make sure he was good and dead.” A pause. “Or maybe you liked the way it felt to pull that trigger.”
Her gaze flew open. “I did not enjoy killing him! He was going to fire at me! He would have shot me, killed me. I did what I had to do, I—”
He lifted his glass—now half-empty to show that he’d certainly been drinking his wine—and tapped it against hers. “And there you go.”
She glowered at him. “I hate your mind games.”
“No, you love them. Because I’m the only one who can play these games with you. Just as you’re the only one who can play them with me.” He gave her a smile, one of his rare, real smiles. So much of Cameron was a trick—she’d learned that over the years. His real emotions were often carefully bottled away inside.
Buried deep.
Like hers, Cameron’s past wasn’t pretty. But they’d moved away from the blood and death from their backgrounds. They’d reinvented their lives.
“You were having yourself a pity party.” He took a long sip of the wine. “Unbecoming of someone like you. I was just reminding you of something you already knew, deep down. You didn’t kill for some kind of thrill.”
“Of course not,” she gritted out.
“You didn’t kill because it was easy.”
Her breath caught.
“You did it because you had no choice, so let the guilt go. It’ll wreck you if you don’t. For the record, I’m not sure if I would enjoy you wrecked.”
Her lips curled down. “I know you can be a smooth talker...”
“I don’t have to be smooth with you. You can see me for what I am, can’t you?”
She held his stare. “Yes.” Bright spots and dark.
He nodded. “Now how about you drink that wine? Then you can tell me all about how you worked up that absolutely killer profile.” His smile flashed. “Sure looked as if Bass were having himself one hell of a time on the news. The guy loves a camera. He—”
Her doorbell rang again. The peal seemed to echo through her apartment.
Cameron’s smile vanished. “Didn’t realize you were...seeing someone, Samantha.”
“I’m not.” Dating wasn’t exactly a priority for her. “You’re the only asshole who comes ringing my bell at this hour.”
“Obviously, I’m not.” He put his glass down, and, before she could move away from the counter, he was already marching for the door. “Let’s just see what other asshole is paying you a late-night visit.”
She spun around. It’s Blake. Blake. She knew it with utter certainty. She’d mentioned her new partner to Cameron a time or two, but she hadn’t gone into specific details with him. Normally, she and Cameron talked about everything. But Blake...
It’s private. He’s private. The way she felt about Blake wasn’t something she’d been up to sharing with Cameron. Mostly because she hadn’t wanted him to analyze her.