A Profiler's Case for Seduction

by Carla Cassidy

  Amanda opened her laptop, ready to do whatever she was told by her mentor.

  Chapter 6

  It had been a quiet Sunday for Dora, who had spent most of the day off cleaning her house and telling herself she didn’t care that she hadn’t seen or heard from Mark since Friday night.

  She was grateful for the arrival of Monday and her regular routine of classes and work. All she wanted to do was focus on what was important in her life and not keep thinking about that darned kiss she’d shared with Mark.

  The kiss...so sweet, so evocative, had shaken the very core of her new world. As she sat in the theater and tried to focus on the lecture Melinda was giving, for the first time in three years Dora had difficulty maintaining her concentration and focus.

  A vision of Mark’s sexy smile kept coming into her head. The sound of his deep laughter filled her ears, and the memory of that kiss made her lips burn and ache for more.

  As she watched her sister pace back and forth on the stage, owning the room with her subtle command for attention, admiration swelled up inside Dora.

  She’d never been close to Melinda, who had left their hometown immediately after high school graduation when Dora was fifteen. Neither Dora nor their parents had heard anything from Melinda for many years, not until the time that Melinda and Micah had shown up in the small town of Horn’s Gulf, Wyoming, to pick Dora out of the gutter and get her some much-needed help.

  Although Dora admired her sister and would forever be grateful to her for helping her get on a healthy path for future success, the truth was she didn’t know Melinda very well.

  It had been Micah whom Dora often turned to when she was feeling overwhelmed. Although Micah was undercover in the small town of Perfect, Wyoming, to clean up some of the mess their brother, Samuel, had made there, Micah always had the time and patience to talk Dora through any problem.

  Dora respected and admired her sister, but she loved the brother who she hadn’t known existed when she was growing up. Micah had chosen the right side of the law while his twin brother, Samuel, had chosen the wrong side.

  Dora had only met Samuel once and that had been enough. Something in his eyes had made her skin crawl. She was glad he was now behind bars, where he deserved to be for the crimes he’d committed.

  She refocused on her note taking. Melinda was a tough teacher. Her tests were the hardest of all the tests Dora had taken and Dora knew her sister had too much integrity to fudge if Dora blew a test. In any case, Dora didn’t want that kind of special treatment. She was doing this alone for herself, to become the woman she was meant to be.

  By the time the lecture was finished she left the building, a vague sense of disappointment winging through her as Mark wasn’t sitting on the bench or standing tall beneath a nearby tree waiting for her.

  “And this is the way it should be,” she muttered aloud as she headed toward the bookstore. Mondays were always busy. She had two classes in the mornings before Melinda’s weekly lectures and then bookstore duty from two until close.

  Traffic in the bookstore was hit-and-miss, leaving her time both to study and to think about the past week. She consciously kept her thoughts away from Mark Flynn. Instead, she focused on the idea that she was being stalked.

  Even Saturday, as she’d made her way home from the campus, she’d felt the presence of somebody nearby, somebody watching her, somebody who didn’t want her to know that she was being watched.

  She didn’t know if she was just imagining things because of what had happened to her sister or if there was a real threat to her. She didn’t know whether to tell somebody that she felt the whisper of danger breathing softly on the back of her neck. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself or be seen as some sort of hysterical woman jumping at shadows.

  The only thing she knew for sure was that at the end of the night she dreaded the three-block walk back to her house. At exactly eight-thirty she locked up the store and stepped out into the encroaching darkness of the night.

  She clutched her laptop to her chest, her purse slung across her shoulder, her heart already beating a fraction too fast. The campus appeared deserted, but in the distance she could hear the sound of male laughter drifting from the area where the fraternity housing was located.

  With homecoming less than two weeks away, there was already an energy thrumming in the air, an energy that heightened with each day that passed. Banners and flags in the school red-and-gold colors were appearing from windows, across walkways. Brilliant artwork depicting red-and-gold-clad gladiators crunching blue-clad birds underfoot were nailed to trees and adorned classroom windows.

  By the time the actual football game and the usual pregame events arrived, the students would be frenzied with school pride and spirit.

  Her heart misfired as she heard the distinct sound of heavy footsteps behind her. She quickened her pace, fear hammering through her veins. Just get home safely, a voice whispered in the back of her head. Just keep moving and don’t look back.

  “Dora.”

  The familiar deep voice made her nearly stumble to her knees in relief. She turned to see Mark hurrying to catch up to her. “Oh, my God, Mark, you scared me to death,” she said, half-breathless.

  “I did?” He stopped next to her on the sidewalk. “Sorry about that.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her gaze darting from the sidewalk behind him to the nearby manicured tall bushes.

  “I intended to catch up with you at the bookstore, but by the time I got there you’d already closed up and then I saw you walking and here I am.” He said it as if it all made perfect sense.

  It wasn’t fear now that kept her heart beating just a little faster than it should. It was his nearness to her, the scent of him, which had become familiar, and a thrill that he’d sought her out once again.

  “Why did you want to catch up with me at the bookstore?” she asked as they began a slow walk in the direction of her house.

  “Because I wanted to see you again.” He looked at her as if she should have known his answer before he actually said the words aloud. “And I forgot to tell you the other night that, because of the things you said about fathers and daughters, I called Grace and made plans to visit her as soon as we wrap up things here. We’re going for ice cream...two scoops.”

  “That’s good, Mark. I’m so glad.” She was glad for a number of things. She was ridiculously pleased that he wanted to see her again and relieved that she wasn’t making this walk home alone in the dark. She was also happy that he was obviously set to make things right with the daughter he so obviously loved.

  She felt safe with him at her side and yet knew she was a fool to feel the excitement, the giddy rush of his very presence next to her. Still, she remained acutely conscious of their surroundings as they continued to walk toward her place.

  “Are you expecting somebody to jump out of the bushes?” he asked, obviously noticing her nervous gazes. “I can feel that you’re on edge, Dora. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she replied quickly, apparently too quickly, as he looked at her in disbelief.

  “What’s going on, Dora?” he repeated.

  She could see her house in the distance, her porch light a welcome beam in the darkness. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll make us a cup of coffee. We can talk a little more inside.”

  Even in the darkness she could see the flash of his white teeth as he grinned. “That sounds perfect.”

  She hoped by the time they got inside and she had the coffee brewing he’d forget that anything had bothered her. The last person on earth she wanted to believe that she was just some paranoid nut was Mark.

  It felt odd, unlocking the door and allowing him to step into the place behind her. In the three years she’d lived in the house there had never been a man inside other than Micah.
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  The house was nothing fancy, just a two-story brick with a kitchen, dining room and living area downstairs and two nice-size bedrooms upstairs. It had been furnished with mostly thrift-store furniture and cast-off items she’d picked up when students were leaving college and no longer wanted their college-dorm-style decor.

  The only item Dora had bought new was an overstuffed sofa in shades of yellow and red. It was vibrant and looked like sunshine and poppies. She’d fallen in love with it at first glance.

  A small computer table sat against one wall, a bookshelf on the other. She’d added throw pillows and scented candles, a large yellow vase of artificial poppies to warm up the house and claim it as her own space.

  There was no furniture in the dining room. The small round table in the kitchen was built for two and she’d found it left out by the Dumpster after the end of a semester.

  “It’s not much, but it’s mine,” she said as she led him into the kitchen and motioned him into one of the folding chairs at the table. He took off his jacket and she was vaguely surprised to see his shoulder holster and gun. Of course he’d have a gun, she thought, he was an FBI agent. But she’d never seen it before.

  “I think it’s quite charming,” he replied as he folded his length into the chair at the table. He appeared perfectly comfortable to sit and watch as she shrugged off her cardigan sweater, draped it on the back of the chair opposite his and then busied herself making half a pot of coffee.

  “I’ve never seen your gun before,” she finally said.

  “Does it bother you?” His brows lifted with concern. “I can take my holster off while we have our coffee.”

  “No, it’s fine. I just never really thought about you being a gun-toting kind of guy. So, how’s the investigation going?” she asked once the coffee had begun dripping into the glass carafe and she’d gotten out two mugs and a sugar bowl.

  “We have a new person of interest.”

  His words spun her around to look at him. “Really? Who?”

  “His name is Troy Young, a local rancher. He was in Johnnie’s Tavern last night spouting off how the killer had done everyone a favor. I decided this morning that we needed to look closer at him.”

  Dora poured the coffee and carried his cup along with the sugar bowl and a spoon to the table. “And what did you find?” she asked. She quickly grabbed her own cup and sat down across from him.

  “We’re just starting the dig, but I don’t want to talk about that right now. What I want to know is what had you so freaked out when you were walking home.”

  Dora’s stomach tightened and she gazed down into her mug. “It’s nothing really.” She was hoping he’d forgotten all about it.

  “Dora, I felt you. I felt the emotion that wafted off you.” She looked up in surprise, right into that piercing gaze of his. “It’s what I do, Dora. This is what I’m trained for, to feel emotion, to get into people’s heads and to become the killer.”

  “I’m no killer,” she mumbled.

  He smiled at her, a gentle smile that threatened to be her undoing. “I know that, but something had you spooked out there as we walked home. Tell me why you were afraid.”

  His gaze had her captured, like a trembling bird in the palm of his hand, and to her horror tears welled up in her eyes to blur her vision. She hadn’t realized how fear had simmered inside of her the past week or so until this very moment with the tall, handsome FBI agent looking at her with concern.

  “Dora.” He instantly got up, walked around the table and pulled her to her feet. He cupped her face with his strong hands. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I think I’m being stalked.” The fear she’d tried to swallow against for the past week exploded out of her on a choking sob.

  Mark could climb into the head of a psychopath, and he could reasonably anticipate the next move of a serial killer, but despite his brief marriage to Sarah, he’d never known much about women, especially crying women.

  As Dora began to tremble and cry in earnest, he acted only on instinct. He quickly took off his gun and holster, laid them on the table and then tugged her against him and wrapped her tight in his arms.

  With her shapely body filling his arms, fitting just beneath his chin as he’d thought she would, for a moment all he could think about was the sensory pleasure.

  She fit perfectly and, just as he suspected, her hair smelled of the sweetness of a field of flowers. She was warm and soft as she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

  He caressed a hand up and down her back, tearing his thoughts away from how right she felt in his arms and instead focusing on why she was crying, what she had just said to him.

  Stalked?

  Why would somebody be stalking Dora? As she finished her crying she stumbled back from him, her cheeks damp and flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said as she swiped her cheeks. She gestured him back to his chair at the table, but he ignored her.

  Instead he grabbed her by the hand and led her back into the living room and pulled her down next to him on the comfortable sofa. “Tell me,” he said as he twisted his body to face her and took both her hands in his. “Why do you think you’re being stalked?”

  She squeezed his hands and gave a small self-conscious laugh. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just being paranoid because of what happened to Melin...Professor Grayson.” She pulled her hands from his and leaned back against the cushions. “The last week or so when I’ve walked home after work, I’ve been sure somebody was following me. I’ve heard their footsteps behind me, but when I turn around nobody is there. When I’m walking between classes I get that prickly feeling of uneasiness and my chest tightens up with fear. The other night I was certain that there was a person hiding behind the tree in the neighbor’s yard, watching me.” She shivered and once again released a small laugh as if to dismiss her fears.

  But Mark wasn’t about to dismiss anything. The prickly feeling she talked about, the tensing of muscles and racing of the heart, were all survival instincts, the call to fight or flight.

  “I don’t want you walking home alone anymore after dark,” Mark said, hoping that the strength in his voice would let her know this was a command not a request. “I’ll arrange to be at the bookstore each evening when you get off work and I’ll walk you back here.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” she protested, her cheeks once again turning pink. “Mark, you’re here to catch a killer. You aren’t here to play babysitter to an overaged student with an overactive imagination.”

  “Do you normally have an overactive imagination?” he asked, although he already knew the answer to the question. In the brief conversations he’d shared with Dora he’d found her to be practical and levelheaded, certainly not prone to dramatic imaginings or suffering from a hysterical personality.

  “Well, no, but maybe in this case I’m just hypersensitive or something.”

  “The bottom line is that you’re afraid to walk home alone after dark. I can easily fix that by walking you home each night.” He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt her. The murdered subjects had all been men and Dora certainly didn’t have the public adoration, the powerful aura that Melinda Grayson had, so he couldn’t fit Dora into any kind of a kidnapping scheme.

  But he had a killer he couldn’t access, a kidnapping that didn’t make sense and not enough information to try to guess what might happen next or if the crime spree in Vengeance was really over. He only knew that he’d never forgive himself if Dora was murdered or kidnapped and he’d been warned in advance.

  “Mark, you have important things to do here in town.” She made one last protest, but it didn’t have any teeth. Instead, he could hear the relief that had crept into her voice.

  He smiled at her. “It’s a done deal. I’m going to escort you home on bookstore night
s.”

  “I’d like that,” she agreed, as the last of the fear finally left her eyes. “And now let’s get back to the kitchen and have our coffee before it gets cold.”

  He followed her back into the next room, unable to stop his gaze from lingering on the soft sway of her hips beneath the black slacks she wore.

  “Now tell me about this new suspect,” she said when they were once again seated at the table. “You said his name was Troy Young. How does he tie into things?”

  “At the moment the only thing we know about him for sure is that he’s a rancher, recently divorced and struggling financially.” Mark placed his gun and holster at his feet. “He frequents Johnnie’s Tavern often, and he and Sheriff Peter Burris had some ugly run-ins when Burris was alive. According to the records we obtained, Troy was arrested or ticketed by Burris over ten times in the last year—arrested three times for public intoxication and once for disorderly conduct, and tickets for speeding and other minor infractions. Troy has made no secret of the fact that he hated Burris. He’d even threatened to kill the sheriff more than once when being arrested.”

  “Does he have ties to the other two victims?”

  Mark looked at her with new admiration. “Ah, your criminal-justice classes are showing. He’s only a viable suspect if we can tie him to all three victims and so far we haven’t found the connection to the other two, but we’ve only just starting looking at him. Tomorrow afternoon a couple of us are going to talk to him and see if he has a solid alibi for the time of the murders.” He added a teaspoon of sugar to his coffee and then took a sip.

  “And the kidnapping? Has there been any progress on that case?”

  Mark wanted to tell her that he didn’t believe a kidnapping had taken place. That somehow, someway, despite the appearance of Troy Young, in spite of his teammates’ views, he believed the beautiful professor was at the center of this whole storm.