A Profiler's Case for Seduction

by Carla Cassidy

  She started down the sidewalk. She’d often walked home from the bookstore after dark and had always felt safe on the campus. As she walked, her thoughts were filled with Mark.

  What are you doing, Dora? The question whirled around and around in her head without any definitive answer. The truth of the matter was she could rationalize to herself all she wanted that it had just been a couple cups of coffee, that it was just a simple meal with a friend, but the real truth was that she felt an intense attraction to the FBI agent.

  When he gazed at her with those beautiful blue eyes she wanted to fall into their depths, confess all her sins past and present, and if she did then he wouldn’t be able to head for the hills fast enough.

  She should go right home and call him and cancel the Friday-night dinner. She should stop this whole thing before it went any further and she screwed up by saying something she shouldn’t.

  Of course, she couldn’t call him to cancel. She didn’t have his phone number. Surely she’d see him around in the next couple of days to cancel. It was for the best, she told herself, and yet she couldn’t halt the small ache of regret that welled up inside her.

  She was about halfway home when she thought she heard someone walking behind her. She stopped then turned around and, in the faint light from the streetlamps nearby, she saw that the sidewalk was empty.

  Silly girl. Overreacting, for sure. She turned back around and continued walking. After several more steps she thought she heard the faint slap of a shoe behind her on the pavement. It was just an echo, as if somebody was matching their steps with hers and had missed a beat.

  She hurried her pace, her heartbeat accelerating to an unnatural rhythm. Once again she looked over her shoulder and although she saw nobody on the sidewalk behind her, she thought she heard the rustle of the bushes nearby.

  She had the distinct feeling that she was being followed. “Mark?” she called out tentatively. But there was no reason to believe that the FBI agent would be hiding in the bushes, shadowing her footsteps. Why would anyone be following her?

  As she thought of what had happened to Melinda, a new fear shuddered through her, and her heart nearly exploded out of her chest. She broke into a run and her fear didn’t ebb until she was in her house with the door securely locked.

  Still, she stood at the window for a long time staring out into the night, wondering if she were simply imagining things or if somebody was stalking her.

  * * *

  It was just after nine the next morning when Mark stepped outside the courthouse and punched in the familiar numbers to the land phone at the house he’d once called home.

  He’d been thinking about what Dora had said about fathers and daughters and now an ache of need rose up inside him, the need to talk to his baby girl.

  Sarah answered on the second ring, her voice holding vague surprise. “Mark, this certainly isn’t an everyday experience.” There was a chiding tone to her voice, one he knew she thought he deserved. It had been over a month since he’d last called.

  “Hi, Sarah. I know it’s been a long time but I was wondering if Grace was around. I thought I might talk to her for a minute.” He shifted from one foot to the other, nervous as he thought of the little girl he loved more than life itself.

  “I’d say that’s a wonderful idea,” Sarah agreed. He heard her calling for Grace. “Come on, Daddy is on the phone.”

  “Daddy?” Grace’s little high-pitched voice was filled with excitement and then she was on the line with him. “Daddy, when are you coming to see me again? It’s been awful long. You should come right now.”

  Mark couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled to his lips as he heard the mini-diva command in his three-year-old’s voice. “I wish I could be there right now, Gracie Ann, but I can’t. Daddy is in the middle of a big job.”

  “You’re always in the middle of a big job,” Grace said with a bit of a pout.

  “I promise when I’m finished here I’ll come and see you.” Mark clutched the phone closer to his ear. “We’ll go get ice cream together.”

  “Two scoops?” she asked hopefully.

  “Two scoops,” he agreed.

  “Just you and me, Daddy?”

  “Just you and me.”

  “You pinky swear?” Grace asked dubiously.

  “I double pinky swear,” Mark replied.

  “Okay, Daddy, I’ve got to go now. Mommy wants to talk to you.”

  “You won’t let her down.” Sarah’s voice filled the line.

  “I’ve never broken a promise, especially not a double pinkie swear,” he replied.

  “True, but the problem is you never make promises, Mark. I just don’t want this to be the beginning of any heartbreak for Grace. It’s bad enough that you see her so rarely as it is.”

  “I know, I know, and I’m going to do my best to change that.”

  There was a long moment of silence. “Did you find out you have a terminal disease or something?” Sarah asked finally.

  “No, nothing like that,” he replied with a wince. “I just had a conversation with somebody who reminded me that little girls need their fathers.” Dora’s gray eyes filled his head. “She told me that it was important that I be the kind of father Grace needs in her life. I want to be that, Sarah.”

  “Well, whoever it was, thank them for me,” Sarah said drily. “Apparently they got it through your thick skull when I haven’t been able to.”

  “Sarah, you know why I’ve kept my distance,” Mark said softly.

  “And I’ve told you a hundred times that Grace’s light is far brighter than your darkness,” Sarah said. “You can only bring good things into her life, Mark.”

  Mark’s heart expanded at her words, at the utter faith with which she spoke them. After a few more minutes of conversation, they hung up. Mark remained leaning against the stone building, thinking about what Sarah had said.

  She’d never truly understood the grip that darkness and evil had on him when he was in the middle of a case. He’d tried not to bring it home, but it clung to him like a cloak that he was unable to shed.

  She hadn’t understood that he climbed into the very skin of evil, that he invited madness into his head. He became the killers he sought and there were many nights during their marriage he had stayed in a motel room rather than bring that home with him.

  A glance at his cell phone let him know that it was time for a briefing inside. The room smelled of stale coffee and fresh doughnuts, the latter scent drifting from two boxes of the fresh pastries in the center of the tables. One of the boxes was already half-empty. He sank down next to Lori Delaney, who gave him a smug little smile.

  “The scuttlebutt is that last night a certain agent was seen having coffee with a certain student in the campus coffee shop,” she said.

  “Research,” Mark replied, despite the flush of warmth he felt climbing into his cheeks.

  “Research, my butt,” Lori replied as she reached out and grabbed a chocolate-covered doughnut from one of the boxes.

  Mark sat patiently while the others gave their reports...reports that led nowhere, as usual. “We’re coordinating our investigation with the local law enforcement,” Agent Donald Thompson said to the group. “Currently the liaison is Detective Nick Jeffries, and his team is scrambling just like ours with a lot of questions and too few answers.”

  “What we need to do is find a solid connection between all three of our victims,” Richard Sinclair said. “The connection between Peter Burris and Senator Merris is obvious. Sheriff Burris was blackmailing the senator...they were both elbow deep in dirty dealings. But we haven’t been able to tie David Reed to either the sheriff or the senator. If we can find a person who had run-ins with all three before the murders, then maybe we’d have a better handle on our killer.”

  Richard frowned. “I
can’t tell you how much the pressure is mounting for us to get these cases solved.”

  Finally it was time for Mark to make his report. “I still believe the kidnapping of Professor Grayson and the murders are somehow tied together,” he began, and ignored the groans of some of his fellow agents. “Don’t any of you find it odd that when Melinda was kidnapped, all of her notes and lectures for the upcoming semester were already done?”

  “Yeah, but there was also a grocery list next to those notes with a word only half-written, as if she’d been interrupted in the middle of writing out that shopping list,” Donald reminded him as he swiped powdered sugar from his mouth. “As far as the lectures notes being already prepared, maybe she is just one of those types who is creepy weird and always well prepared.”

  Everyone laughed, knowing that Donald was a seat-of-the-pants kind of guy who never planned ahead for anything. More than once somebody had to call him to remind him of a briefing because he’d spaced it. His strength as an agent was in forensics, taking apart a crime scene to see what was there and what wasn’t.

  “I know we ran a cursory background on Ben Craig and Amanda Burns, but I’d like to see a little more in-depth information about them,” Mark continued. “We need to talk to their friends, find out exactly what their relationship is between each other and with Melinda Grayson. We also need to look further at some of the other groupies that hung around Melinda at the time of her kidnapping.”

  “This is one of your famous hunches?” Donald said with a weary sigh.

  “Most of Mark’s hunches prove out,” Richard said defensively. “I say we do what he says and dig a little deeper. If nothing else it might answer some questions about the kidnapping. In the meantime we’ll continue to try to find a person who connects to all three murder victims. Somehow, someway, there’s got to be a motive that ties to one single killer even if more than one person was involved in the actual murder acts.”

  “One more thing to consider,” Mark added. “There certainly are more people in this little town with scandalous secrets, and yet the killings stopped when Melinda reappeared from her ordeal.”

  “That just means these murders were definitely personal to somebody,” Larry Albright said. “It doesn’t point a finger specifically at Melinda, who doesn’t appear to have had any personal contact with any of the victims.”

  “So, we follow Mark’s hunch and keep exploring other theories,” Richard said.

  “Thanks for the support,” Mark said to Richard later, after the meeting broke up and all of the agents had gone their separate ways.

  Richard clapped Mark on the shoulder. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years of working with you, it’s that your hunches shouldn’t be ignored. Now, what’s this I hear about you cozying up to some student?”

  “Dora Martin. She works in the bookstore and she’s enrolled in Grayson’s classes. I think she might be a good source of a little inside information as to campus politics and such.” Once again a hint of warmth crept into Mark’s cheeks.

  “Whatever helps break this all wide-open, I’m all for it,” Richard replied. “Homecoming may have been pushed back due to all that’s been going on, but now it’s coming up soon and it would be nice if all of us could be out of here by then. The whole place is going to be crowded with alumni and parades and all kinds of extra people and events. It’s just going to make our job even more difficult.”

  “Then we need to get this all solved before homecoming weekend,” Mark replied. He raked a hand through his hair, his brain racing as usual.

  Richard grinned ruefully. “From your lips to God’s ears. We sure as hell haven’t managed to get a break yet.”

  “It will happen,” Mark replied with a confidence he didn’t feel. “We’re the FBI...we always get our man.”

  “Uh, I think that’s the Royal Canadian Mounties’ motto,” Richard said.

  “It is, but in this case it’s going to be ours, too,” Mark said firmly. “We’re going to figure this out. Somebody belongs in prison in this town and we’re going to find him or her or whoever is responsible for those murders.”

  “On that note, I’m heading out,” Richard said. “Pounding the pavement, that’s what solves most crimes.”

  “I think I’ll do a little more video watching,” Mark replied. It surprised him to realize that what he’d really like to do was find Dora, spend a little time talking to her, just losing himself in the peaceful calm of her gray eyes.

  A tool, he reminded himself. She was just a tool to use to further his investigation. Still, he was eager for Friday night to arrive, but in the meantime he had images to watch, images of Professor Melinda Grayson with her captors.

  * * *

  Melinda stood at her living room window and watched the sun slowly sinking in the west. Another day done and it was definitely time for a glass of wine and perhaps a phone call.

  She poured herself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, admiring the expensive red wine as it splashed into the bottom of the crystal goblet. Thank goodness the cast was on her left arm so she could foist the goblet high in the air to toast her success...her very survival.

  Carrying the wine to the sofa, she sank down, placed the glass on the coffee table and then picked up her cell phone. She considered calling her brother Samuel, but with him being in jail at the moment it was sometimes difficult to get through to him and she knew his calls might be monitored. She decided to check in with Micah instead. Although she rarely thought about him and he had no place in her life, she occasionally called him to keep up the pretense of some sort of family normalcy. If she checked in with him, then she figured he’d have no reason to get nosy about her life and that was just fine with her.

  A couple of years ago it had been quite a shock to discover that she had not one but two brothers, twins. Micah and Samuel Grayson were the antithesis of each other. Micah was the good twin, an FBI agent who at this moment was on an undercover assignment pretending to be his twin, Samuel, in the small town of Perfect, Wyoming.

  Samuel had built the town into his own personal cult with his charismatic power, wielding complete control. Unfortunately, Samuel had been stupid and arrogant and was now sitting in prison charged with a multitude of crimes ranging from illegal adoptions to murder. Because the corruption in the town had run so deep, the FBI had placed Micah in undercover as Samuel to ferret out the guilty who had avoided capture when Samuel had gone down.

  She took a long drink of her wine and then punched in the numbers that would connect her to Micah. He answered immediately, identifying himself as his twin brother.

  “Samuel Grayson,” he said.

  “It’s me, Melinda. Can you talk?”

  “Yes, Olivia and I are just sitting here alone. The kids are in bed and we’re relaxing. I’ve wanted to call you since I heard about your ordeal. I wish I could have been there for you, but there was no way for me to get away from this assignment. How are you doing?”

  “They beat me, Micah. They beat me and they broke my arm.” She made her voice sound small and weak. “I’m jumping at shadows and having terrible nightmares and panic attacks where I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest.”

  “Sounds like a case of post-traumatic stress syndrome. Are you seeing anyone? A therapist?” His sympathy was evident in his soft tone.

  “I can’t do that in this town,” Melinda protested, and eyed her glass of wine with longing. “If word got out that I was seeing someone it would undermine me and my power to lead.”

  “Speaking of leads, do they have any where your case is concerned?”

  “Nothing.” Melinda reached for her wineglass and took a sip and then continued. “I’d say they have their hands full with the murders. I’m assuming you’ve heard all about them. My kidnapping seems to be on their back burner.”

  “They’ll figu
re it out. Eventually they’ll get the guilty party behind bars in both cases,” Micah replied.

  “I don’t know. It’s been almost a month and neither the FBI nor the local law enforcement seems even to have a person of interest in either of the cases.”

  “How’s Dora doing?” he asked, obviously ready to change the subject.

  “She is being a good little soldier,” Melinda said. “She was on the dean’s list last semester and I’m expecting the same kind of accomplishment from her this year. She never misses a class, works in the bookstore and then goes straight home.”

  “That’s good to hear. It won’t be long and she’ll have her degree and will begin building a real life for herself, far away from her roots.”

  “That’s what we both want,” Melinda replied. She was already sorry she called, bored with the conversation and ready to drink her wine and wallow in her own personal successes. “I just wanted to give you a quick check-in. How are things in Perfect?”

  “Definitely un-Perfect, but we’re working on it.”

  “Good luck,” she said, and then they murmured goodbyes and she clicked off. Tossing the cell onto the sofa cushion next to her, Melinda once again reached for the wine goblet and made a silent toast to herself, commending her decision to leave her home, to never look back when she’d turned eighteen years old.

  She wasn’t about to allow an alcoholic tramp of a mother, or an abusive father or a mealymouthed younger sister, who was following in their mother’s footsteps, to stop her from achieving the recognition and admiration she not only deserved but demanded.

  She’d done it all on her own, with no help from anyone. She hadn’t had an older sister or brother to pull her up from her coattails and set her on the road to success. She’d carved her own path.

  “Here’s to me,” she whispered out loud, “the smartest member of my dysfunctional family and the smartest person on this entire campus.” She drained her glass and leaned back against the sofa, a smug smile playing on her lush lips.