Shades of Temptation

by Virna DePaul

  He didn’t care. He was looking forward to a few hours talking shop with her far more than he’d anticipated any of his dates or bedmates in…well, he didn’t know in how long.

  He cleared his throat, and she turned to face him.

  She was wearing glasses. Sexy librarian glasses that reminded him of a favorite fantasy of his.

  “So did you have a chance to look at any of this?” she asked.

  He thought of the album and scrapbook he’d viewed. Wanted to express his admiration for her. Wanted to ask her about her life. All the things he didn’t know about her. Instead, he said, “I sure did. Looks like you’ve got your hands full with this one, Carrie.” And maybe because he was trying so hard to ignore his desire for her, he said the worst thing possible. “Now more than ever, I’m surprised Mac and the commander agreed to give you the lead.”

  * * *

  AS SOON AS THE WORDS left his mouth, Carrie could see Jase regretted them. Briefly closing his eyes, he shook his head and groaned, “Way to go, Jase.”

  It was the only reason she held back her instinctive urge to gouge his eyes out.

  He held up his hands surrender-style. “Look. That came out wrong. You’re a good cop, Carrie, but even as far as serial cases go, this one looks complicated. And we both know you’ve never worked a serial case before, that’s all I meant.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” she said mildly.

  “Sure, but this one? With a killer who’s this organized? This methodical?”

  “Most serial killers are. That’s how they’re able to get away with multiple killings before they’re caught. Also, I might not have actually worked any serial-killer cases, but I’ve taken advanced courses on them. Assisted on plenty. I know how they work. I can find him.”

  “If you were at the top of your game, I’d have no doubt about that. But that’s not what we’re talking about here. You’ve been gone for a month. Don’t you think you should ease into things a little more slowly?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and snorted. “Ease in by giving you the case? Forget it. And if you’re done, you can leave now.”

  Instead of leaving, he leaned against the wall and crossed his legs. “Why? Because I’m questioning you? That’s how you’re going to handle things? By avoiding them? I’m not the only who’s going to be questioning your assignment to this case.”

  “Because I’m a woman,” she said.

  “No. Because you’re still learning and you’re in a shaky frame of mind.”

  “We’re not robots, Jase. Cops have to deal with personal stuff all the time and still do the job. I can find this guy just like anyone could. Mac knows that and that’s why he gave me the case. He believes in me.”

  “Damn it, don’t pull that bullshit. I believe in you, too.”

  “Then act like it. You offered your help and I wasn’t too proud to accept it, Jase. I know I have less experience with serials and that you’ve worked these kinds of cases before. Stop trying to convince me that I’m not the right choice for this assignment and help me catch this guy instead.”

  He worked his jaw for a second before straightening. “Okay. Let’s sit down.” He sat on her couch.

  Slowly, she did the same. “That’s it? No more badgering me?”

  “I won’t say another word about it. Not tonight anyway. Tell me what you’ve come up with.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she did. She told him about the victims all being teachers and her plan to interview witnesses at their various schools. She’d also made some guesses as to the serial killer’s actual profession. Teacher? Administrative staff at a school? Mortician? Medical student? Doctor?

  When she mentioned her plan to track purchases for embalming supplies, he nodded.

  “That’s good. You should definitely make that a top priority. Also check with nearby hospitals and have them do inventory checks. See if any relevant supplies have suddenly gone missing. Same with local mortuaries or crematoriums. He burns the victims after he’s done with them, which means he’s got to have access to a kiln. If he installed something like that in his house, someone should have noticed it. I’m banking on the fact he has access to one professionally, though. It would make things easier for him.”

  She made notes. “That’s good. I didn’t think about the kiln.” Swiftly, she looked up at him. “But I would have.”

  Jase smiled. “I know. No judgments from me. Like I said earlier, working these cases is always better when you’ve got two minds to look over the evidence. Did Mac or Stevens mention assigning you a partner?”

  “No. But I assumed that would be coming. I figured they’d send someone over from SFPD. DeMarco is heavily involved with his caseload. Granger is acting supervisor. And you…”

  The air was suddenly too thick to breathe. You, she thought, I wouldn’t want to work with. Not day in and day out. That would be too much. Too distracting.

  “You’ve got your own caseload, right?” she said instead, looking down at the envelope in her hand.

  “Yeah,” he said simply.

  Something in his tone suggested he was holding back, but she didn’t push it.

  She held up the manila envelope in her hand. “So what about the letters he’s sent?” she asked. “Fresno P.D. didn’t get anything from them.” She picked up an identical envelope and handed it to him. “These contain The Embalmer’s first two letters. He mailed them in Fresno. Generic self-sealed envelopes, generic stamps, no forensic evidence left behind.”

  Jase opened the envelope she’d handed him and carefully pulled out two plastic baggies, one that contained the letter and one that contained the envelope it had been mailed in. “The envelope and letter went through a printer. Any idea what kind? Laser or ink jet?”

  Carrie frowned. “Would that matter?”

  “Ink jets are much more common now. If it was printed on a laser printer, which is more rare and involves buying expensive toner cartridges, it wouldn’t hurt to check Fresno supply stores to see if anyone purchased them or toner around the times of the murders. Little needle in a big haystack, but we’re tossing out all possibilities, right?”

  She grinned. All of a sudden, she didn’t feel as if she was an outsider. Even when Jase had been questioning her, she’d been pissed, but she hadn’t felt out of place. She supposed that meant something, right?

  “No other links between the victims?” Jase asked.

  “They ranged from late twenties to early fifties. Nothing in common except their careers and hair color. Brown.”

  “One of those is likely significant, then. Maybe he’s choosing them because they remind him of someone. A teacher he had.”

  “That’s what I thought. Or his mother. A girlfriend. But where’s he picking them from? The schools? Don’t you think a stranger hanging around at schools would be noticed?” She chewed her lip, then said, “So maybe he’s not a stranger. Maybe his job gives him access to a variety of different schools. Maybe he delivers school supplies, so it doesn’t matter what the grade level is. Everyone needs paper and pencils, right?”

  Jase nodded. “That’s exactly the kind of thinking that’ll close this case. You’re digging deep for the microdetails, but what about the broader things? Why’s he killing them the way he is?”

  She sat forward, wincing a little when pain shot up her injured leg. Automatically she rubbed it. “There’s two things that are obviously significant. He embalms them and photographs them in that state. And he cuts off their eyelids, which isn’t part of the embalming process. The eyelids are probably some kind of trophy. Something he takes with him, along with the photographs, to replay the murders in his mind. But we also have to assume they have symbolic significance, don’t we?”

  Jase’s attention had been on her leg, which she’d continued to rub. When she stopped talking, his gaze returned to hers. “Maybe not. Does he take the eyelids when the victims are alive or dead?”

  “Let me check.” She turned back to her ta
ble and pulled out Steward’s autopsy report. Scanned through it. “It says here she was already dead when he cut off her eyelids.” She checked Johnson’s autopsy. “Same thing for the first victim.”

  “If he cut off their lids while they were alive, I could see the lids meaning something. For example, that the victims had vision problems. Or that he was fixing their vision. But what kind of problems? You might want to confirm whether the victims wore glasses.”

  “Got it.” She began to pace. “Now, about the embalming. He does it when they’re still alive, and at some point during the process, they die. He gives attention to every last detail. He’s trying to preserve them. At first, he’s preserving their bodies and then their images on film. But he doesn’t pose them. Which seems to suggest it’s the embalming itself that is the important thing rather than how they actually look in the photographs.”

  Jase leaned back on her sofa, legs sprawled out in front of him, arms stretched wide. He looked comfortable. Right at home. And somehow, despite the gruesome facts they were talking about, having him here felt right to her, too.

  “But then he burns them,” he pointed out. “Why?”

  “The preservation is symbolic. Or a task he needs to complete for his own satisfaction. Maybe the burning suggests that preservation isn’t deserved.”

  “Not deserved? Or rejected?”

  “Right.” She closed her eyes, took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Not only did her muscles ache, especially those in her leg, but she’d been working the case for so long today, her mind was beginning to feel muddled.

  “You don’t wear glasses at work,” Jase said, his voice closer than she’d expected.

  She looked up. He was now standing several feet from her, his gaze intense. “No, I wear contacts.”

  “I would have expected you to wear glasses. To add to your professional, back-off image. But I understand why you don’t. It would highlight a weakness, wouldn’t it? One you want to hide. Just like you’re trying to hide that your leg is bothering you right now.”

  “And you’re trying way too hard to psychoanalyze me, Jase.”

  “Maybe, but am I right?”

  “My leg is healing and I have P.T. exercises to do. That’ll loosen things up before I go to bed. As far as why I don’t wear glasses to work, it’s so I don’t have to worry about misplacing them. You and Lana should get together if you really want to delve into the workings of my subconscious mind.”

  “So you’re still seeing Lana? Did she sign off on assigning you this case?’

  She glowered at him and opened her mouth to shoot off a sharp retort, but he shook his head.

  “Never mind,” he said. “It just slipped out. Like I said before, I care about you.”

  She wanted to believe him. Badly. But his increased interest…his desire to help her… Both competed with the knowledge that he’d wanted the lead on The Embalmer case. That he probably still did. As far as Jase was concerned, she’d always be part and parcel of the job. She had to remember that. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t care about her, too. Even just a little. “Thank you, Jase,” she said simply. “I don’t take that lightly.”

  He glanced down at her leg. “You were starting to limp. Why don’t you let me help you with your P.T. exercises and then rub you down before you go to bed? That way you’ll be ready for your big day tomorrow.”

  She burst out laughing and he grinned. “What? Too obvious?”

  “Just a little,” she said. “Besides, you’ve spent enough time helping me. And I don’t want to keep you. It looked like you had better options for where you were going to spend the night than with me, working a case.”

  “You like throwing up my dating habits to me, don’t you, Carrie? Why is that? Personally, I think it’s because I scare you and talking about me with other women gives you a convenient shield.”

  She shrugged. “I just noticed the brunette you were talking to was pretty, that’s all. She looked like your type.”

  “And what, exactly, do you know about my type?”

  “The same thing everyone else does. Gorgeous. Sweet. A good time in the sack and not a whole lot of problems out of it.”

  “And you think less of me because of that? Because I want my personal life to be as simple and pleasurable as possible?”

  “No. I understand why you’d want simple pleasures on your off time. I just define simplicity a little differently and choose to focus on my work instead.”

  “Hmm.” He glanced around, walked back to the sofa and sat down again. When she just stared at him, he patted the cushions beside him. “So, if you’re not scared and you know you’re not my type, sit beside me and let me rub your leg out for you.” His gaze held a distinct challenge, one she immediately wanted to run from.

  Instead, maybe because of all their talk about his women and his type and her not being either one, she was feeling ornery enough to do what he said. “Fine. I already told you, I’m not too proud to accept your help. Let’s see what these magic fingers of yours can really do, Jase.” Casually, she dropped onto the sofa hard enough that she bounced, then swung her feet onto his lap. Lying back, she folded her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling, trying to control her escalating heartbeat and erratic breathing.

  For the longest time, Jase didn’t touch her. When he finally did, when he cupped his big palm over the arch of her right foot, she closed her eyes. And prayed like hell she’d be able to hide just how very, very much she wished she was his type, after all.

  * * *

  TODAY WAS TURNING out to be Jase’s lucky day.

  Not only had he spent the past hour talking shop with Carrie, in her private sanctum no less, but now she had her bare little feet in his lap, obviously willing to let him put his hands on her to prove that he didn’t scare her.

  But he knew that wasn’t true. And she sure as hell scared him. Even so, he wasn’t a fool. He might never get the chance to touch her like this again, so he planned to enjoy it while he could.

  She had small feet, and her toenails were painted a soft pink, the color so subtle he’d thought they were bare. He cupped his fingers around one of her arches and began to massage the bottom of her foot, alternating between kneading and pressing deep with his thumbs.

  Her involuntary moan of pleasure made him swell, and he shifted her feet slightly away from his erection. Despite the massage he’d started, she was tense, her limbs rigid. To distract himself and her, he murmured, “You said you were concentrating on your career. So DeMarco was wrong? You haven’t been dating your way through SWAT?”

  The foot he held jerked slightly, but he held on and moved to massage her toes. They were adorable. Perfectly shaped. He’d never paid much attention to feet before, but he could see himself quickly becoming enamored with this woman’s toes.

  “I—I still date occasionally,” she breathed. “I’m not a freak. I have needs just like anyone else.” When Jase’s hands stilled, she snorted. “Sorry, I set myself up with that one, didn’t I? But this feels good. I could—” She yawned. “I could almost fall asleep. I think you have magic fingers, after all.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  To his surprise, she did. He worked on her feet for several more minutes, then pushed up the hems of her sweats. Her eyes flew open.

  “It’s okay. I’m just going to massage your calves. Close your eyes, Carrie.”

  It took longer this time, but eventually she did as he said. With firm pressure, he squeezed her slender calves, working the muscles there. Though she was strong, she wasn’t at all bulky with muscle. She had the lithe limbs of a dancer, muscled but not overblown. When he was done, he gently skimmed his fingers over her right thigh.

  “This is where he shot you,” he said.

  Her eyes were still closed, but she’d gone still. Her breathing quieted. She nodded.

  “How firm should I be when I massage it?”

  “The pressure you’ve been using is fine. It’ll he
lp tomorrow, and I won’t be so sore. But if you’re tired—”

  In reply, he began stroking her thigh through her sweats. Using a firm but gentle pressure, he kneaded the tight muscles before moving to her other thigh to do the same. He kept alternating his attention between them. Each time he shifted his attention from one thigh to the other, his fingers trailed near the juncture between them and she sucked in a breath. He became hypnotized by that intoxicating rhythm: kneading her flesh, stopping to move to her other leg, but only after she gave him that soft, sexy inhalation.

  At one point, he pulled her thighs farther apart to get a better grip, and she whimpered. His eyes shot to hers. She was watching his hands just the way he’d been. Her face was flushed and her eyes dilated. Her mouth trembled.

  Shit. He was breathing hard.

  He wanted to push her thighs even farther apart to make room for his hips. Wanted to press his aching flesh into hers and confirm that she was warm and wet the way he thought she was.

  For several shaky seconds, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from doing exactly that. Maybe she sensed it, because she moved to swing her legs off him. He automatically held on so she couldn’t.

  “Jase,” she said softly. “Thank you for my massage. But I think you should leave now. Please.” She smiled up at him, and he saw it then. All her desire. Her regret. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. But she’d never let herself have him. Not without putting up a damn good fight.

  With a sigh, he released her. Quickly, she got to her feet and tugged the hems of her sweats down. She glanced at the clock on her wall. “Not too late,” she said brightly. “Who knows, maybe the brunette is waiting up for you.” She walked to the door and swung it open.