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Black Ice(60)
Author: Becca Fitzpatrick

"And then he robbed the Subway and shot a cop. Shaun was freaked out-I'd never seen him so afraid. He knew we were in trouble. As he sped away, he was so panicked, he hit a girl crossing the street. I don't think he even saw her. His reaction should have caused me to reconsider the likelihood that he'd killed before, but I didn't want to be wrong about him." Jude squeezed above his eyebrows, his expression tightening with pain. "I'd been hunting for Lauren's killer too long to go back to square one.

"After Shaun shot the cop, we were forced to go on the run. To make matters worse, you and Korbie showed up at the cabin we were hiding in. Instead of making your safety my priority, I was furious that you'd screwed up my plans. It was like I wasn't even human. The bloodthirsty rage was in control, driving me to get Shaun's confession. Everything had narrowed to that one target. If he'd killed her, I was going to return the favor to him, and if there were consequences for me, damn them. I knew I'd go down for it, but it seemed right. I wanted to die. I'd failed Lauren and didn't deserve anything less."

Jude planted his elbows on his knees and bowed his head, weaving his fingers together at the back of his neck. He was closer to the door than me, but if I continued toward it in small, quiet steps.

”When you and I teamed up to make it off the mountain alive, something happened to me. I came out of the rage. For the first time in months, I had someone other than Lauren's ghost to hold on to. I wanted to be there for you, Britt. I told myself I was worth more alive than dead. I had to keep fighting, because you needed me. And when we kissed . . ."He wiped the backs of his hands over his eyes.

I stopped abruptly. I hadn't expected him to reference me with such emotion. Out of nowhere, I was seized by an aching squeeze. I swallowed, fighting the sweet, dangerous memory of last night. I could not go back there. I knew it, but I wasn't strong enough to fight it.

I shut my eyes briefly, feeling the rising wave of longing. I recalled with hungry brightness the smoothness of his bare skin, the shimmer of firelight on his dark features. I could still feel his slow, deliberate caresses. He knew how to touch me. His hands were forever burned into my skin.

"So it meant something to you too,” ]ude said quietly, studying me with eyes that were now wholly present.

I didn't know what the kiss meant to me. And I couldn't sort it out now. I didn't know if I believed ]ude's story. What kind of person quit college to finish work that should have been left to the police? Even if Lauren was his sister, I wasn't sure it justified his extreme measures. And the crimes he'd committed to earn Shaun's trust, were they justified? If he really wanted justice, he would have given Lauren's diary and locket to the police, and trusted the system.

"How did you get Lauren's locket?" I asked.

"I found it in Shaun's truck right after we took you hostage. I went to get your gear from the Wrangler, but first I broke into Shaun's truck and ransacked it. I knew it might be my only chance to see what he was keeping in there. I found Lauren's locket in a metal box under his seat. I also found Lauren's picture. There were pictures of other women too, but all I could focus on was that I finally had what I was looking for. Proof he knew Lauren. Proof he targeted her, watching and photographing her for days before he made his move.

"I had to sew the locket and picture, along with the diary and handcuffs I already had, into a canvas bag I could keep hidden from Shaun. That took time, which is why I was late getting back with the gear."

I still didn't know if I believed him. Jude had already proved himself extremely clever and smart. What if he were tricking me now?

”If I tell you where the diary and locket are, will you swear to hand them over to the police?" I asked.

"Of course,” he said impatiently. "Where are they?"

I watched him intently, trying to divine the slippery thoughts darting behind his eyes. He seemed almost too greedy, and it made me uneasy.

"I don't have Lauren's things,” I said finally. "I gave them to Calvin. And you don't have to swear anything, because he's going to turn them over to the police for you."

Jude's face went white with fear.

In that next unbalanced moment, my heart started to pound. His reaction could only mean one thing. Guilt. Of course he'd come here to trick me and get Lauren's things back. He was a criminal mastermind. He'd cooked up an elaborate story that made him appear tragically heroic so that I'd drop the evidence in his lap like an obedient child.

I stepped away from Jude.

He shook his head, bewildered, as if he couldn't believe his lies were unraveling and I'd figured it out. "You shouldn't have given them to Cal-" he began.

A rap at the door caused us both to swivel to face it. Jude's bewildered expression dissolved. He leaped off the bed, crouching silently in the darkness beside the door, hands bared to fight. He wasn't carrying a weapon; he would fight with his fists if Calvin came through the door.

"Britt? Just making sure you're okay,” Calvin called softly to me.

Jude's dark eyes cut to mine, and he shook his head once. He wanted me to send Calvin away.

There wasn't time to think. I hardly knew Jude. To trust him was quicksand. Calvin was solid; he had always taken care of me. Torn, I looked desperately between the door and the figure beside it poised to spring. My head was telling me to trust Calvin, but my heart wanted me to believe Jude.

One word from me, and Calvin would either go away or barge in. In the end, it was my hesitation, my silence, that betrayed my uncertainty to Jude.

And prompted Calvin to enter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Calvin's arm shot up in reflex to deflect the blow Jude swung at him as Cal thrust through the doorway. Still, the impact caused Calvin to stagger back a step, nearly losing his footing. Jude didn't wait for him to find it; he lunged for Calvin, his fists clenched so tightly I could see the veins in his neck straining against his skin. But Calvin had drawn his gun before flinging the door inward, and it was ready and aimed as he fired at Jude.

The bullet tore through Jude's shoulder. Miraculously, after one convulsive jerk, he continued to propel himself forward, advancing on Calvin with almost superhuman determination. He staggered three more steps before Calvin backhanded the gun across Jude's face, the strike pitching him violently onto his back.

Jude lay utterly still, a pool of liquid spilling out beneath his shoulder. I was so shocked, I couldn't find my voice. I gawked in disbelief at Jude's lifeless body. Calvin had killed him.

Calvin gazed down at his opponent with a certain twisted admiration. That is, until recognition dawned.

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