Page 20 of Chilled

He drew in a deep breath and held out his hand. He wore surgical gloves, and dangling from his fingers was a plastic bag with a simple white envelope inside.

Brenna looked down at the envelope addressed to her, in care of the Riverton Police Department. She frowned. “Who would send me mail here?” As soon as the words slipped from her lips, the answer clicked in her brain. “Him.”

Chief Burkholder nodded. “That would be my guess.”

“What’s this?” Melissa walked up next to her. “Is it another letter from the killer?”

“Let me get some gloves and a mask, and we’ll see.” She didn’t try to take the letter from the chief.

“Shouldn’t we let the forensics folks open it?” Melissa asked.

“Later.” Brenna moved toward the door, speaking over her shoulder. “I think we need to read it as soon as possible.”

She left the room, her heart pounding against her eardrums and her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

He’d sent her another letter.

As if in a fog, she walked down the hallway to the supply cabinet and removed a pair of rubber gloves and a mask from boxes inside. As she stood with her back to the war room, she breathed in and out, fighting to stop the rise of panic, her heart fluttering ineffectively in her chest.

How had he known she was here so soon?

“You all right?” The deep voice jolted her from the daze.

Brenna jumped and spun around.

Agent Tarver stood inches from her, his forehead creased.

“I’m fine,” she lied, trying to breathe normally.

“You don’t look fine,” Nick said, his frown deepening between sooty brows. “You look a little pale.” He reached around her for a pair of the rubber gloves, his chest brushing against her shoulder.

The shock of connection blasted through Brenna, an intense reminder of his kiss beside the pool. She gasped and stepped away from his shoulder and the smell of leather and aftershave.

“Want me to open the letter?” he asked.

For a full three seconds, Brenna couldn’t make her brain function to process his question. Finally, she answered, “No, I can do it.” She ducked her chin, knowing she couldn’t let him see how affected she was. She wouldn’t let him see any of the confusion she felt for him or fear for the job she had to do.

He leaned toward her and pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. “You don’t have to be strong twenty-four/seven, Jensen.”

“Yes, I do.” A sudden urge to press her face into his palm nearly overwhelmed her. She jerked her head to the side to avoid the touch of his fingers against her neck. “I’m a cop. I don’t have time to be scared.” Not of killers or tall, gorgeous FBI agents. Although she could honestly say she wasn’t afraid of Tarver—more her physical reaction to his nearness.

“Being the target of a killer is nothing to take lightly.” His voice rumbled low and warm in the silence surrounding them.

“True. And I’m not taking it lightly.” She held the gloves in her hand, pulling at the rubber and letting it pop against her skin. The small amount of pain reminded her she was alive, this situation was real and she wasn’t attracted to this man. “I can handle this.”

Ha!

Who was she trying to fool when she was quickly sinking beneath the surface? Before long, she wouldn’t be able to come up for air. “What bothers me is why.”

“Why what?”

She turned her back to him and slammed the metal doors of the supply cabinet closed, tears welling in her eyes. “Why Riverton, why the women he’s chosen and why me?”

“If we knew the answer to that question, we’d probably already have our killer.”

“I’m the one this guy wants, not those other women.” She leaned her head against the cabinet, willing her tears to dry, the metal cooling her heated skin. “He’s killing them because of me.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Jensen.”

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