Black Widow
Auteur·e
Chrystal Wise
Lectures
56,1K
Chapitres
19
When a brutal murder hits too close to home, fearless TV anchor Stephanie is pulled into a deadly game of deception—and her only ally is an FBI agent with a haunted past. To trap the serial killer targeting every man she's dated, Cash proposes the unthinkable: a fake marriage. But playing house starts to feel dangerously real. As the killer circles closer and the sparks between them ignite, the line between pretend and passion begins to blur. With secrets rising, danger circling, and emotions running high, Stephanie and Cash must decide how far they’ll go—for justice, for revenge, and maybe… for each other.
Chapter 1
It was eleven thirty on Friday evening. Most of the crew had already left for the night.
Well, almost everyone—everyone except KRZS news anchor Stephanie Dawson, who at that moment was madly digging through her purse, looking for her phone and keys. The lack of those two crucial items was the only thing keeping her at work.
The only sounds inside the building were the clicking of her heels as she slowly walked across the polished tile floor of the lobby, stopping intermittently as she focused on pushing things around in her bag. She was slowly getting more furious the longer it took to locate them.
There was also the sound of a vacuum running as the janitorial staff cleaned the offices.
It was always eerie to be here late at night—a huge contrast from the bustle during the daytime. The city was alive on the other side of the large glass doors.
Most people were hurrying out to the club with friends or dates, but Stephanie was just trying to get home to her bed and a nice glass of wine.
Her blonde head jerked up when she heard sirens outside the station, her search briefly forgotten. Not that it was unusual—sirens were a common sound in all major cities, and in St. Louis it was almost a nonstop occurrence at all hours.
However, being a news anchor, her life revolved around the happenings in this city, and sirens were usually an indication something was happening.
Stephanie was starting to get frustrated, her lips pressed tightly together as she searched yet again for the elusive keys and phone. She was contemplating dumping the entire contents of her bag on the tile floor of the station’s lobby when she felt cold metal touch her hand—keys, phone.
She smiled. Finally—she could go home.
Two men walked in.
She glanced over and gave them a polite, distracted smile as they headed in her direction, not wanting to be held up.
“Ms. Dawson?” one of the men asked as the two stopped in front of her.
Stephanie knew it was not a question. As one of the main news anchors, most people in the city knew her face as well as her name.
“What can I help you with?” she asked, straightening and looking between both men, keeping a safe distance.
Visitors this late in the evening were very unusual.
“Ms. Dawson, I’m Special Agent Daniels, and this is my partner, Special Agent Anderson.” The first man jerked his head to his left at the other gentleman standing next to him as they both reached into the inside pockets of their jackets to pull out their badges and opened them for her to inspect.
Stephanie looked at them, feeling a shiver run up her spine as she looked at the photo ID with the gold shield glinting in the overhead lights.
“Do you know Dr. Robert Keller?” the second man asked as they both put their identification away, his voice low and calm.
Stephanie swallowed as she looked at him, standing well above his partner, just a bit taller than she was. He was probably in the six-foot-one, maybe six-foot-two category judging by her height.
He had very dark hair the color of night, and piercing blue eyes. Almost close to the color of the sapphire necklace she got from her mother and stepfather when she graduated from college.
Her hand went instinctively to her neck, to feel for the necklace she wore. She did it whenever she was nervous, and that man made her nervous.
Stephanie realized she had been staring at Agent Anderson for longer than was polite and almost forgot what the question had been. Then it came crashing back to her.
They were wanting to know if she knew Bob. She felt her heart sink.
“Y-yes, I know Bob,” she stammered. “He’s my boyfriend. Well, he was—we broke up a few weeks ago,” she added, her facial expression growing somber to match the sinking feeling in her heart.
Officers of any kind never came to your work and asked if you knew a person if something wasn’t wrong.
She knew what was coming and fought hard to hold back tears. She had been through this three times in the last six years.
However, usually it was the police department that came to ask her questions. Always the same questions: how long did she know them, what was the status of their relationship, where was she at a certain time.
“Ms. Dawson, we need you to come down to our offices. We have some questions to ask you.” Agent Anderson reached out, lightly touching her arm to escort her out into the bustling city, to their black SUV waiting just outside.
Stephanie turned and looked at him when his hand touched her bare elbow, sending a shock through her arm. She felt as if she had been burned; it took a lot for her not to pull away.
However, his face never let on that he had felt anything. Either she was the only one who felt the jolt, or this man was very good at poker.
The two men walked her to their SUV parked near the front door and helped her into the back seat.
Stephanie sat back in the cool interior of the large vehicle. The leather interior was cool against the backs of her bare legs, a big difference from the unseasonably warm weather they were having.
She watched as Agent Anderson closed her door, then calmly walked around the front of the SUV, slid in behind the wheel, and drove them several blocks to the FBI building downtown.
He skillfully maneuvered the large black SUV through the heavy Friday-night traffic.
***
Stephanie watched as they slowed and pulled up to an iron fence. She stared through the windshield at the imposing building in front of them through the iron bars.
She could hear beeps as Agent Anderson punched a code into the keypad, and she watched as the gate slid open, allowing them to pass through and park among the sea of identical black SUVs.
Stephanie unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door, feeling the muggy night air rush in, chasing away the nice, cool air of the cabin. She turned in the seat and dangled her legs out of the vehicle, setting her black heels on the pavement, and stepped out of the large black SUV.
While waiting for the agents, she took in her surroundings, glancing across Market Street at the large Drury Hotel. The front was all lit up, cars pulling up as guests unloaded and walked through the doors with their bags, checking in for the weekend.
She knew St. Louis University was just down the block. That was where she had gone to school, graduating with her degree in broadcast journalism and starting her career as a news anchor with the station.
She followed the agents into the clean and cool building, looking around at how busy the place was at eleven thirty at night. It was a stark contrast from her office at this hour.
She figured the police station would be busy, but the FBI? They must be working on something big for this many agents to still be here at this time of night.
Agents were grouped around desks and whiteboards, deep in discussion and giving them little attention as they walked by. Several empty coffee cups sat around on the desks.
She noticed the trash can was full of dirty takeout containers and pizza boxes. They must have been working for quite a while without taking a break.
Stephanie followed Agent Anderson down the hall to an office. He stopped just outside the open door and motioned for her to enter. Stephanie walked past him, catching the faint scent of cologne.
It smelled nice; a good-smelling men’s cologne was a huge turn-on for her. And this only added to his appeal, as if he needed any help in that department.
He already made her nervous; the attraction made things even harder. This was going to be the hardest interview she had ever done.
She was kind of hoping the other agent was going to interview her. Apparently, she wasn’t that lucky this evening.
