Eve shook her head. “You’re giving him too much power. He won’t be in a hurry to attract attention. He’s not going to try and grab me when others are around.”

Wyatt wouldn’t give a damn who was around. With enough money and power, anyone could vanish. “He’s got connections you can’t begin to imagine.”

“I can imagine a hell of a lot.”

The woman just wasn’t getting it. “The only way to stop him is to kill him.”

She turned back toward the sunlight. “I don’t kill as easily as you do.”

He took the shot—it was true. Few could kill as easily as he did. “It was harder once.” He hadn’t meant to say that.

A small shiver slid over her body. “How old were you?”

The first time you killed.

He wouldn’t tell her. “Doesn’t matter.” The only thing that mattered was stopping Wyatt. “I’m gonna find the bastard, and I will stop him.”

“No.” She stared into the sunlight. He’d never noticed the red highlights hidden in her dark hair before. Almost like fire. “We’re going to stop him because I’ll be damned if I let that bastard take my life away.”

The way he’d taken so many others?

“Maybe it’s time we became the hunters,” she said and stepped into that light. “Maybe it’s time we taught him to fear.”

A lesson Cain would happily teach.

Only he wouldn’t stop with fear. He wouldn’t stop at all, not until Richard Wyatt was nothing but ash floating away in the sunlight.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Atlanta Daily building stood stark and strong in the middle of the downtown business district. Eve had been to that building hundreds of times before. She’d worked as a freelance reporter, and she’d damn well brought in topnotch stories for Gloria Long, the paper’s editor in chief.

When it came to stories, Gloria was a bulldog. She never backed away from anything or anyone.

Gloria would believe her. She’d help to bust Genesis and their work wide open. The paranormals wouldn’t have to fear being snatched away and locked in a lab, not anymore.

“This is a mistake,” Cain told her. He stood right behind her on the busy street corner, gazing up at the building.

Her shoulders stiffened. “So you’ve told me about ten times already.” But he was still with her. He’d said that he’d stay by her side until they stopped Wyatt.

Her own pyro bodyguard. What else did a girl need?

They hadn’t talked about what had happened—the hot sex, the wild pleasure—the whole dark-side thing that he had going on.

One problem at a time. Problem one for her right then—Wyatt. Making sure that his thugs weren’t about to go ballistic on her again.

She’d known this story was big. She hadn’t known that it could possibly destroy her life.

Eve grabbed a copy of the Atlanta Daily from the nearby newsstand. She held it up, checking for—

“Oh, shit.” The words slipped from her. She’d made headlines before with her stories, sure, but . . .

But she’d never been the headline before.

In big, thick block letters, the headline screamed ROGUE REPORTER TORCHES CLUB.

Um, rogue reporter? And she hadn’t torched any damn club—that had been Wyatt!

Her gaze scanned the story. Dammit. It said she’d torched that warehouse. That she’d attacked police officers. That she was fleeing with known felon Cain O’Connor—and that they were both armed and dangerous.

“I am dangerous,” Cain murmured as he read over her shoulder.

Her fingers fisted the paper. “He attacked first.” He’d beaten her to the press. Started a smear campaign so that no one would believe her. So that the public would believe—

Only him.

“I told you,” Cain said as he tossed the paper. “You’re not quite understanding his power.”

“He’s not understanding me,” she snapped right back. Her gaze went to the Atlanta Daily building once more. She knew this routine. Knew it. So maybe Wyatt and his goons were inside, waiting for her to show.

Eve eased back, hiding in the shadows of the nearby restaurant. She didn’t have to go in that big, imposing building. She knew Gloria’s habits, and Gloria would be heading out of the Atlanta Daily on her usual chocolate run in five, four, three . . .

A woman with short blond hair and long, confident strides pushed through the Atlanta Daily’s glass doors. Ah, Gloria. She could never make it through a full day without getting her fix.