Taken (Second Sight) by Hazel Hunter Page B

If he had to walk these halls, day-in, day-out, forever, that’s what he’d do. Either that or find another victim to flush her out. That plan had merits too.
    A couple at the end of the hallway drew his attention.
    Is that…?
    At first, it’d been their quick movement, the man tugging her along behind him. But as Prentiss stared, he realized who it was.  
    “Isabelle,” he muttered, before he could catch himself.
    It took every bit of acting prowess he possessed not to stare. The man with her, in a dark suit and tie with a crisp, white shirt, had to be an FBI agent. He was pulling her in a fast walk and they were headed right toward him. Prentiss looked away.
    Will she recognize me?
      He chanced a cautious peek. She wasn’t even looking at him and it seemed as though they weren’t going to pass him. They’d stopped at the elevator, which was opening. Prentiss picked up the pace.  
    Though she was still several yards away, Prentiss felt the familiar thrill of the stalk. Isabelle was pretty– very pretty. Her dark hair was lustrous, falling halfway down her back. The form-fitting, sleeveless dress clung to her curves and the high heels accentuated her attractive legs. For just a moment, he visualized his knife puncturing the smooth flesh of her thigh, just above the knee. But as she entered the elevator, he had to move quickly. Taking her now was not the right time but getting a better look at her couldn’t hurt. As the doors began to close, Prentiss strode slowly by and looked inside.  
    Though she was looking at the agent, Prentiss saw her eyes. They were the most amazing color of amber he’d ever seen and he had to wonder briefly if she wore colored contacts. But then the doors closed. He looked at his reflection in the polished metal and felt the lumpy manila envelope under his arm. They had obviously been on their way out. The timing had not been right. But Prentiss knew eventually it would be. He smiled at his reflection and resumed his slow stroll, idly wondering what Isabelle would sound like when she screamed.

CHAPTER TWO

    “Mac,” Isabelle pleaded. “ Talk to me.” He’d silently fumed the entire way home. “What’s going on?”
    If he’d yell at her, scream something, she would understand. But this . His stony face greeted her as he turned from closing the front door.  
    “What’s going on,” he said, using that same steely voice he’d used with Ben, “is that a serial killer has threatened to make you his next victim.” He stood with his hands on his hips and glared at the floor between them. Peeking out from under his jacket, she could see the harness of the handgun he’d started wearing. “Why do I have to remind everyone of that?”
    Ever since they’d discovered Angela’s body, Mac had never left her side. It was wonderful to have him with her, be in L.A., but maybe it was taking its toll. Even Isabelle could see that Ben was right. Mac was different. But what she didn’t understand was how Mac didn’t see it.
    “That’s not what I meant,” she said, setting her purse down on the small table next to the door. “What’s going on with you ?”
    She stepped directly in front of him and put her hands on his taut, narrow waist. His broad chest loomed in front of her and, as she looked up into his intense and deeply blue-green eyes, she waited for him to wrap his arms around her.
    But he didn’t.
    His square jaw clenched repeatedly but, other than that, he didn’t move. Isabelle could only blink in surprise. Any other time she’d so much as stood this close to Mac, he’d have had his hands on her. There was no end to the embraces, the subtle and not-so-subtle touches, that let her know that he was near. But this new side of Mac, the cold one, was frightening.
    “I want to be with you,” he finally said, as though each word were pain. “Twenty-four hours a day. I can’t do that if you’re bait .” He bit the last word off as though he’d uttered something filthy.