Matters of Seduction

by Amanda Stevens

Winding her arms around his neck, she swayed against him.

  “I like how you move,” he murmured.

  “I move even better in the dark,” she said boldly. She stopped dancing and took his hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  This time he didn’t object. He followed her to the stairs and kissed her on the bottom step. He kissed her again on the landing and by the time they were in Clare’s bedroom, she couldn’t wait to have him.

  The wilted rose petals led Pru up the stairs and down the hallway to Clare’s bedroom. The images inside her head were so vivid that she almost expected to see Clare and her lover entwined on the bed.

  “I want you,” she whispered again. “I want you more desperately than I’ve ever wanted any man.”

  “And soon you’ll have me.” He unfastened her dress and slipped it off her shoulders. It slid to the floor in an elegant puddle, and then she removed her bra and panties. When she started to take off her stilettos, he said, “No, leave them on.”

  She smiled. “Whatever you say.” She lay back on the bed, completely uninhibited. He stood at the foot, staring down at her. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

  “Of course. But first I have a little present for you.”

  “A present?” She lifted herself on her elbows, her lids heavy with desire. “What is it?”

  “You’ll see.” He removed something from his jacket pocket and then, climbing onto the bed, he straddled her, lifting her hands high above her head.

  “What are you doing?” Clare asked in alarm when she felt the leather straps cut into her wrists.

  “Don’t fight it,” he whispered. “Just relax and enjoy it.”

  “But—”

  He kissed away her doubts, and when he finished securing her wrists to the bedposts, he kissed his way down to her ankles.

  She trembled as he moved back over her.

  “Close your eyes, Clare.”

  She did as he asked, still not sensing the danger until he slipped the leather strap around her throat. And then it was too late….

  A sound downstairs jerked Pru out of her reverie and, thinking that it was Tiffany, she hurried outside to the landing. “Tiffany? Is that you? I’m upstairs.”

  No answer.

  “Tiffany?” Pru started down the stairs. As she neared the bottom, the hair on the back of her neck lifted, and she knew, even without the curious sound, that she was no longer alone.

  She drew her weapon as she silently descended the remaining steps. The front door stood slightly ajar. Grayson had closed it earlier, which meant that someone had come in after he left.

  Her grip tightening on her gun, Pru walked slowly around the room. She checked the entry-hall closet, the tiny home office off the living room, and finally, she moved toward the kitchen door and pushed. She met with resistance at first, and then the door swung back on her. Pru had to jump out of the way to keep from being hit.

  Danny Costello stood in the doorway, gazing at her in a way that made her blood run cold. She had only a brief glimpse of his dark eyes before the door swung closed between them again.

  But in that instant, Pru had seen something else, something that made her heart pound with fear. Someone had been in the room with Costello. A darkly clothed figure hovering in the background.

  Pru barely had time to digest what that meant before the door swung open, and Costello lunged forward. He staggered literally into her arms, and the weight and force of his body sent them both crashing backward. Pru’s head hit on the bottom stair as her gun went flying.

  Her skull exploded in pain, and for a moment, she lay in a daze, the weight of Costello’s body knocking the breath from her lungs.

  She knew he was dead even before she saw the knife in his back. Panic welled inside her and she gasped for air as she tried to scramble out from under him.

  Her gun lay just beyond her grasp, and as Pru struggled to reach it, a gloved hand closed over it.

  Danny Costello’s killer was dressed all in black, his face hidden behind a dark ski mask. But Pru could see his eyes. They were dark and gleaming. Completely without remorse.

  Stepping over her, he held the gun in both hands as he aimed for her head. For one terrible moment, Pru could do nothing but stare up at him.

  I know you, she thought. I know what you’ve done.

  Then the front door opened and Tiffany called out, “Pru? Sorry I’m late—”

  The killer’s head whipped up, and Pru used that split second of distraction to kick at his legs. He’d thought she was pinned by Costello’s body, and her assault must have caught him completely by surprise.

  He lost his footing and went sprawling to the floor. The gun sailed out of his hand and spun across the slick hardwood.

  From the doorway, Tiffany screamed.

  Pru and the killer lunged for the gun. Her hand closed around it first, and she rolled, firing.

  The killer dove through the kitchen door.

  Pru’s first instinct was to pursue him, but as she rose to her feet, the room started to spin and her knees buckled.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cops swarmed Clare’s town house. Two uniformed officers had arrived first, followed by Janet Stryker and Barry Reed. Then a man who introduced himself as Lieutenant Mayberry came in, and while they all huddled over Danny Costello’s body, Pru sat on the sofa with an ice pack pressed to her head and Tiffany, verging on hysteria, clinging to her hand.

  Pru wasn’t exactly the picture of calm, either. She didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Tiffany hadn’t shown up at the town house when she had. Without the distraction, the killer would have shot her point-blank.

  Shivering, she clutched the ice pack to her head. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there when, through the aching throb, she became aware of a new voice in the room. A familiar voice. A voice that made her heart pound, but not in fear.

  She spun to face Cahill and the sudden action sent a sharp pain shooting through her skull. She leaned back against the sofa and tried to stifle a groan.

  Spotting her from the doorway, Cahill strode over and sat down beside her. “What happened?”

  “He got away,” she said wearily. “The killer was here. He was here in this very room. I saw him. I could have taken him out—”

  “You could have been killed yourself,” he said.

  Her pulse quickened at the note in his voice. At the way he looked at her. “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure about that? You don’t look so good.” He turned to one of the cops. “Where are the paramedics?”

  “They’re on their way, sir.”

  “I don’t need the paramedics,” Pru said. “I need to get back to work.”

  “Come on,” he said, taking her hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking you to the E.R. Head injuries are nothing to fool around with.”

  Janet Stryker overheard and came scurrying toward them. “I wouldn’t recommend that. It’s not standard procedure, and besides, we need a statement from Agent Dunlop.”

  “You’ll get your statement,” Cahill said in a tough, grim voice. “Right now, I have an agent who needs medical attention. I don’t give a damn about your procedure.”

  Stryker looked as if she wanted to object again, but one glance at Cahill’s face and she swallowed whatever protest was on her tongue. She gave Pru a cold, hard once-over, and Pru thought the woman’s eyes were every bit as menacing as the killer’s.

  WHAT THE HELL was taking so long? Cahill wondered as he paced the E.R. waiting room. They’d taken Pru back forty-five minutes ago, but no one had seen fit to tell him what was going on, even when he waved his badge under their noises.

  So much for being a legend.

  He could only conclude that the head injury was more serious than they’d originally thought. If she had a concussion, the doctor would probably order a CAT scan and an MRI, and that could take hours.

  He had just started to approach the nurses�
� station again when he saw Charlie Dunlop rush through the glass doors of the E.R. A petite woman hurried after him, and Cahill knew immediately that she was Pru’s mother. She was blond, slender and gorgeous. Dressed to the nines, she did look a little like Grace Kelly.

  “Where’s Pru?” Charlie demanded.

  “She’s still in with the doctor,” Cahill told them. “They won’t let me go back because I’m not next of kin.”

  “I’d like to see them try and stop me,” the woman said ferociously. She left her ex-husband’s side and stormed up to the nurses’ desk where she conversed for several long minutes before returning to the two men.

  “She’s in Room 103. One of us can go back with her.”

  “You go on,” Charlie said. “I’d like to have a word with Agent Cahill.”

  At the mention of his name, the woman glanced up at him curiously. “I know your name,” she said. “Have we met before?”

  “I don’t think so.” Cahill was pretty sure he would have remembered her. Like her daughter, she was not a woman who would be easy to forget.

  She patted her ex-husband’s arm. “I’ll tell Pru you’re here.”

  He nodded absently.

  After she glided away, Charlie put a hand on Cahill’s shoulder. It wasn’t a friendly gesture. “Let’s take a walk.”

  They ended up in the hospital cafeteria, two cups of lukewarm coffee on the table in front of them.

  “So what happened?” Charlie’s tone was cool, assessing.

  Cahill filled him in as best he could. When he was finished, the older man’s eyes turned dark. “My daughter could have been killed. That’s what you’re telling me.”

  “But she wasn’t,” Cahill said. “Her training and instincts kicked in and she handled herself like any good agent would. You should be proud of her.”

  “You don’t have to tell me how to feel about my daughter. She means everything to me, Cahill.”

  “Believe me, I understand.”

  “I know you do,” Charlie said. “And that’s why I’m going to talk to you here, father-to-father.”

  Cahill frowned. “What is it?”

  “Whatever is going on between you and my daughter needs to stop right now.”

  “I don’t—”

  Charlie gave him a sage look. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Cahill, and neither were you. I saw something on your face when you were in the waiting room just now, and I see that same something in Pru’s eyes every time she mentions your name. You two are headed for trouble.”

  “You’ve obviously read the situation wrong,” Cahill said. “There’s nothing going on between Pru and me.”

  “It’s Pru now, is it?” Charlie leaned across the table, his expression sober and, even in his sixties, still menacing. “She has a hell of a lot more to lose here than you do, Cahill.”

  “I realize that.” Good Lord, he thought. He was nearly forty years old. How had he gotten himself in the uncomfortable position of being chastised by a woman’s father?

  “You do anything to hurt her or her career and you’ll answer to me. Is that clear?”

  Cahill’s own gaze never wavered. “I have no intention of hurting Agent Dunlop. Personally or professionally.”

  Charlie didn’t look all that convinced, but he shrugged. “I figure I’m probably whistling in the wind, but I wanted you to know how I feel. Pru’s special. I hope you realize that.”

  “I do,” Cahill said. And he meant it.

  PRU WAS SITTING on the edge of the bed waiting for the doctor to give his okay for her to leave when the door burst open and her mother sailed in.

  “Mom! What are you doing here?”

  “My only daughter was very nearly killed today. Where else would I be but at her side?” She rushed over and wrapped her arms around Pru. “Honey, are you okay? When I heard what happened—”

  “I’m fine. But how did you know I was here?”

  “Tiffany called. She’s beside herself, Pru. First Clare and now you…” Her mother’s arms tightened around her.

  Pru relaxed against her mother for a moment, and then she drew away. “I’m fine, Mom. Really. The doctor says it’s nothing serious. Just a bump on the head.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

  “Positive. I’m getting out of here as soon as he signs the paperwork.”

  “That soon? I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Head injuries can be extremely tricky, Pru. I’d like to speak to the doctor myself.”

  “Don’t you dare talk him into keeping me here,” Pru warned. “I assured him that if I had any headaches or dizzy spells, I’d come right back.”

  “I’m at least going to drive you home and look after you,” her mother insisted.

  “I appreciate the offer, Mom, but I’m going back to work.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll do no such thing. Your dad and I are driving you home, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  Pru stared at her mother. “Dad’s here, too? With you?”

  She looked a bit sheepish. “I called him as soon as I heard from Tiffany.”

  “And you two came together?”

  Her chin lifted. “I was too upset to drive.”

  “I see. And just where is Dad now?”

  “He’s talking to Agent Cahill.”

  “What about?” Pru asked in alarm.

  Her mother gave her a cagey look. “Maybe you should tell me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Not much you don’t.” Her mother sighed. “Oh, Pru, I saw the way you looked just now when I mentioned Agent Cahill’s name. You’re in love with that man.”

  Pru’s mouth dropped. “In love? Mom, come on. He’s a colleague. We work together. That’s all there is to it.”

  “All there is to it? I don’t think so,” her mother said slowly. “I know who he is, Pru. I’ve seen his name in the paper. I’ve heard your father talk about him. I’ve heard you talk about him.”

  “He’s a good agent,” Pru said lamely, wishing her mother wasn’t quite so observant. Pru would never hear the end of it now. Not until she confessed everything.

  But the trouble was, she wasn’t sure what to confess. She’d thought her feelings for Cahill were nothing more than a misplaced crush, but after they’d kissed last night, she’d done some serious soul-searching. What she felt for John Cahill wasn’t an inconsequential infatuation. She wasn’t just attracted to him. She cared about him. Deeply. And although she might not yet be in love with him, Pru had a feeling that she was well on her way.

  Question was, did he feel the same way?

  Her mother gave her a disapproving look. “He may be good at what he does, but that man comes with a lot of baggage, Prudence.”

  “Don’t we all?” Pru muttered.

  “He’s divorced, with a grown daughter.”

  “You’re divorced, with a grown daughter,” Pru snapped. “Does that mean you aren’t entitled to be happy?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Mom, there’s nothing going on between Agent Cahill and me, so stop worrying, okay?”

  “Your mouth says one thing, but your eyes tell a very different story,” her mother accused. “You’re a grown woman so you can make your own decisions, but I just wish…”

  “What? What do you wish?” Pru said wearily.

  “I wish I didn’t have the feeling that you’re about to get in over your head,” her mother fretted.

  A LITTLE WHILE LATER, Cahill stood at the window in his office staring out at the traffic. But when he heard Pru approach, he turned, his gaze shadowed with something she couldn’t quite name.

  “What are you doing here?” he said grumpily. “I thought I told you to go home.”

  “I’m not going home,” she said. “We’ve just had our first major break in the case, and I’m not about to sit on the sidelines because I’ve got a bump on my head.”

  “The doctor told you to take it easy,”
he reminded her.

  She shrugged. “If you were in my place, would you go home?”

  “You do have a hard head. I’ll give you that.”

  “Lucky for me that I do,” she said with a grin. She was still shaken by the morning’s events, but she didn’t want Cahill to see how unnerved she really was.

  “Pru…”

  She caught her breath at the way he said her name.

  “I think we need to talk about what happened at my apartment last night.”

  “Nothing happened. Not really. We kissed. That was it.” Pru bit her lip. “If you’re going to tell me that it can’t happen again, don’t bother. I heard you last night. Sir,” she added softly.

  “Stop calling me sir.”

  His sudden anger took her aback. “What should I call you then?”

  “I don’t know.” He let out a long breath as he gazed down at her. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know what to do about this.”

  “You said if we ignored it, it would go away.”

  “And you said if I kissed you, it would get it out of my system. So why is it that I want to kiss you again, Agent? Why is it, that’s all I seem to be able to think about?” He closed his eyes briefly. “This is crazy. I’m too old to be acting this way.”

  “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s all I can think about, too.”

  His gaze darkened. “Then we’ve got a problem. You see that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  He turned back to the window. “Do you remember what I told you the other day? This job takes incredible dedication.”

  “I remember you said it’s the first thing you think about when you wake up in the morning and the last thing on your mind before you go to sleep. And then you dream about it,” Pru said.

  He nodded. “There’s a reason for that. You have to be focused. But more than that, you have to be consumed by your cases. You have to live and breathe them. You have to be willing to crawl inside a killer’s mind and stay there until you understand what makes him tick. You can’t do this job with distractions. It has to take priority over everything else. No matter what’s going on in your private life, you have to be willing to shut out everything and everyone else. Do you understand what I’m saying?”