Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
A woman was dead.
A woman who looked like her—brunette hair, bue eyes, same build and features. Her throat had been slashed, and she’d been left behind a coffee shop in Blackridge like a message. Like a promise.
You’re next.
The walls of the operations room closed in. Claire’s chest tightened. Her vision tunneled. Not again. Not another panic attack. She’d just had one a few hours ago. She was past this, wasn’t she? She could handle—
“Claire.” Wolf’s voice cut through the spiral. “Look at me.”
She couldn’t. The room was spinning. That woman. Dead because she looked like me.
Dead because the Countdown Killer was here. Dead because—
Strong hands gripped her arms. “Claire. Eyes on me. Now.”
She forced herself to focus. Wolf’s face. His green eyes. Steady. Solid.
“Breathe,” he said.
“I can’t—” Her voice cracked. “She’s dead. She’s dead because of me.” She gulped air. “Because he couldn’t find me, so he killed her instead and—”
“Up.” Wolf pulled her to her feet. “We’re leaving.”
“What? No, I need to—”
But he was already moving, one arm around her waist, half-supporting her weight. Lynx and Grizzly exchanged glances. Vivi started to follow.
“Stay,” Wolf said to Vivi. “Coordinate with the local PD. I’ve got her.”
“Commander—” Vivi started.
“I’ve got her.”
Claire barely registered the hallway. The turns. The door opening. Then she was in a different room. Smaller than hers and starker. A bed, a desk, tactical gear stacked on a chair No personal items. No photos. Nothing that made it feel lived-in.
Was this Wolf’s room?
He set her in the desk chair, crouched in front of her. “You’re not having a panic attack.”
“I think I am.”
“No, you’re angry. Furious. And you’re trying to bury it under guilt and shame. That’s why you can’t breathe.”
Claire shook her head. “I’m horrified. I’m—”
His voice was hard. “That woman died because a predator is hunting you. You’re enraged. You want to tear something apart. But instead, you’re trying to be professional and controlled. The good FBI agent who doesn’t lose her composure.”
“I need to stay calm.”
“You need to stop lying to yourself.” He stood, crossed his arms. “Get angry, Claire.”
“That’s not—”
“Get. Angry.”
“Stop it.”
“He killed a woman tonight. Slit her throat and left her body like garbage. And he did it because he couldn’t get to you.
Because we’re keeping you safe and it’s pissing him off.
” Wolf’s voice was relentless. “So he murdered an innocent woman to send you a message. To make you feel exactly what you’re feeling right now.
Guilty. Responsible. Like it’s your fault. ”
“It is my fault—”
“It’s HIS fault. He’s the killer. He’s the monster. And you’re letting him win by drowning in guilt instead of fighting back.”
Claire’s hands curled into fists. “I am fighting back.”
“Are you? Because from where I’m standing, you’re falling apart.”
Sh sucked in a breath. Her nails bit into her palms. “I’m doing everything I can. I came here. I gave you everything. I’m following your protocols and your plans and—”
“And you’re still blaming yourself.” Wolf leaned against the desk. “For Lily. For the three women in D.C. For tonight’s victim. How much blood are you going to let him put on your hands before you get angry enough to stop him?”
“Don’t talk to me like that.”
His eyes were intense, unyielding. “You’re doing the same thing now that you did fifteen years ago. Taking responsibility for something a monster did. Making his crimes about your failures instead of his choices.”
“I should have saved Lily! These other innocent women!” The words tore out of her throat. “I should have been stronger. Faster. Better. I should have—”
“This is not your fault.”
She was on her feet now, chest heaving. “I should have figured out the Countdown Killer before he killed three women. I should have caught him. I should have stopped him before he followed me here. Before he killed that woman tonight. I should have—”
“What? Been perfect?” Wolf’s voice was quieter now. “Never made a mistake? Solved every case before anyone died? That’s not how this works, Claire. You’re human. You can’t save everyone.”
“Then what’s the point?” Her voice broke. Something inside her broke along with it. Just…snap. “What’s the point of any of this if I can’t stop him? If people keep dying because I’m not good enough at my job?”
“Stop.” Wolf’s hands found her shoulders. “You are good enough. You’re one of the best agents the Bureau has. You’ve caught seven serial killers and saved God knows how many lives. But you can’t save everyone. No one can.”
Tears burned behind Claire’s eyes. She blinked them back. “That woman—”
“Is dead because the Countdown Killer murdered her. Not because you failed. Because he’s a predator and that’s what predators do.” Wolf’s grip tightened on her. “Get angry. Because anger is what’s going to help you catch him. Not guilt. Not shame. Rage.”
Claire’s breath was coming faster now. But not from panic. From fury. Building in her chest like a wildfire. “He killed her to hurt me,” she said.
“Yes.”
“He killed three other women because I wasn’t fast enough.”
“No, he killed them because he wanted to. Because he’s evil. You didn’t wield the knife. He did.”
“But—”
“No buts. He’s the killer. But you’re the hunter. And right now, you need to decide which one you’re going to be—the victim drowning in guilt, or the agent who takes him down.”
Claire’s hands were shaking from a rage so intense it felt like it might consume her. “I want to kill him,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I want to make him suffer. Make him pay for every life he’s taken.”
“Good.” Something fierce flickered in Wolf’s eyes. “Use that. Channel it. Let it fuel you instead of destroying you.”
Claire took a shuddering breath. Then another. The tightness in her chest was still there, but different now. Not panic. Power.
“That’s it,” Wolf said. “There’s the agent I need. Not the one who falls apart. The one who fights back.”
Claire looked up at him. This man, who barely knew her but somehow understood exactly what she needed. Who pushed her when she needed pushing. Who didn’t let her drown in guilt. “Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to catch him.”
“We will.” The words came out with certainty she hadn’t felt since this whole thing started. “We’re going to find him. And we’re going to end this.” She shook a fist at the air. “I will end this.”
Wolf’s mouth curved. Just slightly. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I’ll have to change your call sign to Fury.”
The words hit like a match to gasoline. “Are you seriously joking about that right now?”
His bemused expression didn’t falter.
Claire shook her fist again, this time directed at him. “You’re joking about my call sign when there’s a woman dead in Blackridge and—”
“There it is.” Wolf’s almost-smile widened. “That’s the fire I need to see.”
“You’re unbelievable.” She shoved his chest. Hard. “You push me to get angry, then you mock me—”
“I’m not mocking. Fury suits you better than Paperclip.”
“I’ll show you fury.” She shoved him again. “You arrogant, manipulative—”
He caught her wrists. “Say it. You’re furious with me right now. Admit it.”
“Of course I’m furious with you!” She tried to pull away. Failed. “You’re standing here smirking while—”
“While you’re finally feeling something other than guilt.” His voice was rough now. Intense. “While you’re alive and fighting instead of breaking. While you’re being the woman who’s going to help me catch this bastard.”
They were too close, his hands still around her wrists, gentle but firm. His eyes locked on hers. The air between them was charged with something that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the tension that had been building since the moment they met.
“Wolf?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I—”
She didn’t finish. Couldn’t. Because her mouth was on his, and every thought in her head evaporated.
He froze momentarily, then it was as if a switch had been flipped.
His hands released her wrists, slid to her waist, and pulled her closer. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, holding on like he was the only solid thing in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning. The kiss was hard and desperate and real.
He tasted like coffee and something darker. Something dangerous. His stubble scraped her skin. His body was solid against hers—muscle and heat and barely controlled strength.
Claire pressed closer, needing more. Needing this. Needing him.
His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back. The kiss deepened. Hungrier. More urgent. She met it eagerly, as if her grief and rage and loneliness had finally found an outlet.
His other hand moved to the small of her back, fingers splaying possessively. She gasped against his mouth. He took advantage, his tongue sweeping in, claiming her.
This was insane. Unprofessional. Reckless.
Claire didn’t care. She kissed him back with everything she had. All the fear. All the fury. All the need she’d been suppressing since the moment she met him.
Wolf made a sound low in his throat. He backed her toward the desk, his hips pinning hers. She could feel every hard line of him. Could feel exactly how much he wanted this.
Her hands slid under his shirt. Warm skin. Raised scars. The body of a man who’d been to war and survived.
“Claire,” he murmured, her name rough.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
“I should—”
“Don’t.”
His mouth moved to her jaw, her throat. She arched against him, head falling back.
A knock came from the door. They froze.
“Commander?” Vivi’s voice rang out. “Is Claire okay? I wanted to check on her.”
Reality crashed back in, cold and brutal.
Claire and Wolf stared at each other, his hands still on her. Her fingers were still under his shirt. Both of them were breathing hard.
“Oh my god,” Claire whispered. “What are we—”
Wolf stepped back, releasing her and pulling away from her grip. He ran a hand through his hair.
Claire tried to straighten her clothes. Her hair. “We just—”
“Yeah.”
“Wolf?” Vivi knocked again.
“She’s fine,” he called. His voice was steady and normal, like he hadn’t just been kissing Claire as if his life depended on it. “Give us a minute.”
There was a pause. “Of course. I’ll be in the ops room.”
Her footsteps retreated.
Claire stared at Wolf. This man, who’d pushed her to fury. Who’d just kissed her like—
“I don’t even know your name,” she said.
He went very still.
“Your real name. Not your call sign. Not Wolf.” Claire’s voice shook. “I just kissed a man whose name I don’t even know.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Something that looked like pain. He didn’t say anything, though.
“What? Is it top secret?” She needed to know. Needed something real. “Please. Just tell me.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. The walls went up again, distance slamming back into place.
“We should get back to the team,” he said. “We have a lot to coordinate with the locals.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give right now.”
Claire’s chest tightened. She’d been vulnerable with him, and he wouldn’t even tell her his name.
“Right,” she said, straightening her shirt. “Dr. Montgomery is waiting.” Claire couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t process what just happened. What it meant. What it didn’t mean.
She opened the door. Vivi stood ten feet down the hallway, tablet in hand, expression carefully neutral.
Heat flooded Claire’s face. Her lips were probably swollen. Her hair mussed. Her shirt wrinkled.
“Everything okay?” Vivi’s voice was as neutral as her expression. “Was it another panic attack?”
Claire couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m fine now.”
“Good. The team is reconvening in ten minutes. We have updates from local law enforcement.”
“Of course. I’ll—I’ll be there.”
Claire hurried past Vivi, head down, cheeks burning. She could feel the doctor’s gaze following her. Analyzing. Understanding precisely what had happened in Wolf’s room.
Behind her, she heard Wolf close his bedroom door.
“Commander.” Vivi’s voice was amused. “Interesting approach to panic management.”
“Don’t.” Wolf’s voice was tight.
Claire didn’t wait to hear more. She fled down the hallway to the ops center.
Her lips still tingled. Her body still hummed with the memory of his hands. His mouth. The way he’d kissed her like she was everything.
And I still don’t know his name.
Somehow, that felt like the biggest sellout of all.