Matters of Seduction

by Amanda Stevens

  “Yes, I understand,” she said in resignation.

  “Do you still want this job, Agent Dunlop?”

  She answered without hesitation. “More than ever.”

  “Then you have to make a choice. It’s as simple as that.”

  She knew what he was saying and she knew he was right. But that didn’t stop her heart from sinking. “What if I can’t make that choice?” she whispered.

  “You have to. I can’t make it for you. It has to happen in here.” He lifted his hand and touched her temple, then slowly stroked his knuckles down her cheek. The tenderness in his gesture made her tremble.

  Their gazes locked, and for a moment, Pru thought he would kiss her again. He couldn’t help himself because the attraction between them was electric. An irresistible pull that weakened resolve and made common sense fly out the window.

  She felt it, too.

  Her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, and then a noise from the doorway interrupted them. Cahill’s hand dropped from her cheek.

  Across the room, Tim Sessions cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, I just heard about Danny Costello.”

  His gaze moved to Pru, whose face suddenly flamed. They’d nearly been caught kissing, and that was exactly the sort of thing Cahill had been warning her about. They’d been so distracted neither of them had heard Tim come in.

  She glanced up at Cahill, and knew that he was thinking the same thing. His jaw hardened.

  He turned away with a scowl.

  Tim’s gaze moved back to Pru. “Are you all right?”

  “Just a bump on the head,” she assured him.

  “Did you see who attacked you?”

  She shook her head. “He wore a ski mask. I only saw his eyes.”

  “What about a physical description?” Tim pressed.

  “He was dressed in black and he was thin.”

  “Are you sure it was a man?”

  Pru lifted a brow. “What?”

  The younger agent shrugged. “If he wore a mask, how can you be so sure the assailant was male?”

  “He was tall,” Pru said.

  “Tall for a man or tall for a woman?”

  She cocked her head. “What are you getting at, Tim?”

  “Nothing. I’m just trying to jog your memory, that’s all. It’s obvious that this changes things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For one thing, it eliminates one of our suspects.”

  “He’s right. This changes everything.” Cahill spun and strode over to his desk and sat down. He was careful not to make eye contact with Pru. “The killer let you see him. He’s either getting careless or desperate.”

  “Which is why he took out Costello.” Tim plopped down in the chair next to Pru’s. “He knew Costello had seen him, too.”

  “How do you know that?” Pru asked. She hadn’t yet had a chance to relate her conversation with Costello to Tim.

  He shrugged. “Stands to reason. Costello had Clare under surveillance. He must have seen the killer at some point.” He paused. “And now you’ve seen him, too.”

  A chill slithered up Pru’s spine, but she tried to ignore it.

  “So what’s our next move?” Tim asked Cahill.

  Cahill’s gaze finally met Pru’s and in those dark depths she saw something that might have been a challenge. “Agent Dunlop? Any ideas?” Or are you still too distracted to think clearly?

  Her own gaze was unwavering. She made sure of it. “In the Atlanta child-murder cases, the police and the FBI decided to go proactive when all their leads dried up. They devised a media strategy to lure the killer out, and it worked. He was apprehended within days. Maybe that’s what we need to do. Find a way to draw the killer out.”

  “A proactive campaign is not without risks,” Ca hill warned. “It can backfire. Embolden the killer or cause him to go underground.”

  “I realize that,” Pru said. “But I’m not suggesting we do the same thing the police did in Atlanta. We know that our guy goes after young, blond professional women who live alone. What if we give him a target?”

  “Whoa,” Tim said. “I’m with Agent Cahill. That sounds extremely risky, especially for the target.”

  “Not only risky, but damn near impossible to pull off,” Cahill said. “A sting operation like that could take weeks to put in place. And you’d have to find a female cop or FBI agent willing to set herself up as bait.”

  “I could do it,” Pru said.

  Cahill shrugged, his expression still neutral. “You don’t match the criteria. Besides, you’re forgetting that the killer already knows who you are.”

  “I could change my hair, alter my makeup, my wardrobe. I look completely different as a blonde,” she said. “You wouldn’t even know me with my natural hair color.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” he muttered.

  “We could start with the nightclub that Tiffany told me about,” Pru insisted. “The one she and Clare went to. I make an appearance there for the next few nights and if no one takes the bait, then we broaden our net until we get him. We set up a pen pal relationship with Stiles. We hire Tripp Investigations to follow our tar get. We do whatever it takes to draw this guy out into the open.”

  Tim gave her a skeptical look. “What happens if he does take the bait?”

  Pru’s hands were still trembling. She didn’t dare look at Cahill. “We get him before he gets me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cahill wasn’t the only one who had noticed her. A number of heads turned when she walked into the club, and from his discreet table, he watched her make her first pass through the crowd.

  Across the room, Cahill caught Tim Sessions’s eye, and the younger agent nodded almost imperceptibly. He’d seen her, too.

  They had been staking out Acceleration for nearly a week, and Cahill wondered, not for the first time, if they were wasting their time. If the killer was cruising the club for his victims, he had yet to show his hand.

  Their time might better have been spent establishing a pen pal correspondence with John Allen Stiles, but against his better judgment, Cahill had allowed Agent Dunlop to convince him to put the club under surveillance. He trusted her instincts, but at the same time, he hoped they weren’t making a terrible mistake, one that could blow up in their faces if they weren’t careful.

  The club gave off some disturbing vibes. The atmosphere was dark, smoky and seductive…the perfect backdrop for the young women who came looking for thrills. They wore short skirts and high heels, and the men wore the same predatory gleam in their eyes. Cahill figured most of them were harmless, but one guy in particular had caught his attention.

  The man had come into the club every night that Cahill had been there, and the way he stared at the women sent a chill of apprehension down Cahill’s spine. He sat alone in the corner, his dark gaze coldly assessing as he ordered drink after drink that sat untouched before him.

  Cahill watched him watching the blonde, and he frowned. He didn’t like any of this. Something about the whole setup worried him.

  His gaze darted about the club, but his attention always came back to the blonde. Her routine never varied. Night after night she came alone to the club and would pause just inside the door to scan the room before finding a table. But she rarely sat alone or for long. She liked to dance, and Cahill liked to watch her.

  The man in the corner watched her, too.

  Ignoring the leers and sidelong glances, she walked with steady purpose toward the back of the club, and as she passed Cahill’s table, their gazes collided.

  A jolt of electricity shot through him. He still couldn’t get used to how different Agent Dunlop looked as a blonde. She’d been right. He never would have known her.

  The way she dressed didn’t hurt, either. She chose stylish but sexy outfits, usually in black, that showed a lot of leg and the barest hint of cleavage. She had a killer body. Why hadn’t he noticed those curves before?

  After a few moments, she
took to the dance floor, moving with abandon as she lifted her hands over her head and pumped her body in time to the music.

  Now and then, she would glance at him and Cahill’s heart would race in spite of himself. But mostly she danced with her eyes closed.

  He almost felt like a voyeur, Cahill realized. As if he were watching her in her most intimate moments.

  The man in the corner seemed to think so, too. He stared at her through dark, hooded eyes, then abruptly he got up and walked out of the club.

  Cahill made eye contact with Pru, nodded, then rose and followed the man out.

  Cahill trailed the man out to the parking lot. “Hey, buddy, you forgot your wallet!”

  The man turned, and when he saw Cahill striding toward him, waving a wallet, he hesitated. He felt in his jacket pocket, then seemed to visibly relax. “It’s not mine.”

  He started to turn away, but by this time, Cahill had caught up with him. “You sure?”

  “Look, pal, you’ve got the wrong guy, okay? My wallet is right here.” He pulled it out of his pocket and held it up.

  “Must be a mix up then. The waitress said you left this wallet on the table. Maybe you’d better check just to make sure.”

  The man’s gaze narrowed. “What is your problem? This is my wallet. Comprende? Now back off.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Cahill flipped open his wallet. “I’m a federal agent. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  The man’s gaze dropped to Cahill’s badge and ID, then lifted. Something that might have been fear glimmered in his eyes. “What does the FBI want with me?”

  Cahill reached over and snatched the man’s wallet. “May I?” Before he could protest, Cahill flipped it open and scrutinized his credentials. The man’s name was Gerald McBride. He had a Texas driver’s license, two credit cards and a Texas Association of Licensed Investigators membership card.

  Cahill glanced up. “You’re a P.I.?”

  “I’m licensed,” he said defensively. “And I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon. If you’ve got a beef, it’s not with me. I’m legit.”

  “Who do you work for?” Cahill asked.

  “Tripp Investigations.”

  Cahill’s voice sharpened. “You’re here working a case.” It was a statement, not a question.

  The man nodded. “Surveillance. Look, I apologize if I’ve stepped on your toes. I’m just trying to do a job.”

  “Who’s your subject?” When he didn’t answer, Cahill said, “You’re in a pretty dicey situation here, Mr. McBride. It seems you’ve inadvertently stumbled into a federal investigation. I can’t necessarily make you cooperate, but you and I both know it would be better for you if you did.”

  McBride hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m tailing a woman. A blonde. I have a picture of her here somewhere.”

  When he reached inside his pocket, Cahill tensed.

  Slowly, McBride withdrew his hand. “Easy,” he said. “I’m just getting the woman’s picture.” He held it out to Cahill.

  The photo had been snapped as Pru came out of the club that first night. Cahill recognized the dress she’d worn and the impact it had had on him when he’d first spotted her in it.

  Someone had hired Tripp Investigations to investigate Pru.

  Someone who saw her as the woman of his dreams?

  The killer?

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Not yet. But I’ll find out soon enough,” McBride said. “Unless…”

  Cahill lifted a brow. “Unless what?”

  “Unless she’s the reason you’re here. That’s it, isn’t it? I’m not the only one who has her under surveillance. The feds are interested in her, too. What’d she do?”

  “You ask too many questions, McBride.” Cahill slipped the picture into his pocket. “Now I’ve got a question for you. Who hired you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cahill took a menacing step toward him. “Like I said, it would be better for you if you cooperate.”

  “I don’t know,” the man said again. “All I know is that I was told to come down here and keep an eye on her. If you want more information than that, you’ll have to talk to Max Tripp. But I doubt he’ll tell you anything without a court order.”

  “We’ll just have to see about that.”

  “Are we done?” McBride demanded.

  “For now,” Cahill said. “I’ll be in touch, though.”

  McBride looked as if he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. He turned and hightailed it across the parking lot. Cahill watched him until he heard someone call out his name. Turning, he saw Tim Sessions hurrying toward him.

  “What’s going on?” the younger agent asked breathlessly. “You find out who he is?”

  “Gerald McBride. He’s a P.I. with Tripp Investigations.”

  Tim’s mouth dropped. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I were,” Cahill said grimly. Things were moving a lot faster than he’d anticipated. The truth of the matter was, he’d discounted Tripp Investigations all along, even when Pru had insisted the agency was a viable lead. Cahill had been so sure that Stiles was behind the murders, but McBride’s appearance had thrown him for a loop.

  “You think the killer hired Tripp Investigations to follow Pru?” Tim asked worriedly.

  “I don’t know. It seems a little too coincidental that a perfect stranger would notice her and have her investigated. But there’s something about this whole setup that bothers me,” Cahill mused. “I can’t help thinking…”

  “What?”

  “The killer has been manipulating us all along. And he’s still manipulating us.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Tim asked.

  Cahill drew a breath. “I’m taking Pru off the case.”

  Tim looked startled. “You can’t do that! This whole thing was her idea. And it’s working. The killer is taking the bait—”

  “He’s not taking the bait,” Cahill said angrily. “Don’t you get it? He’s orchestrating this whole thing.”

  Tim frowned. “How?”

  “I don’t know,” Cahill admitted. “But somehow he’s been ahead of us every step of the way. We’ve played right into his hands, and now Pru’s life is in danger.”

  “You can’t take her off the case,” Tim said. “It’ll kill her career.”

  “Right now I’m a little more concerned about keeping her alive.” Cahill pulled out pen and paper from his pocket and started scribbling. “Get back to the office and see what you can find out about McBride.” He handed Tim the piece of paper. “Here’s his license plate number. Let me know what you find out.”

  Tim took the paper and stuck it in his pocket, but he made no move to leave.

  Cahill scowled at him. “What are you waiting for?”

  “This situation with Pru…”

  “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out,” Cahill snapped.

  “I can’t help wondering if you’re letting your personal feelings for her affect your judgment…sir. That’s not like you and, frankly, it worries me.”

  “Your concerns are duly noted,” Cahill said coolly. “Now get back to the office and find out what you can about McBride.”

  PRU SAW Cahill at the door, and at his nod, she followed him out. When she emerged onto the street, she glanced around. He was nowhere in sight.

  She turned to go back inside the club, but a hand caught her arm. She whirled, her heart in her throat, but it was Cahill. He drew her away from the door and into the shadows.

  Before she had time to catch her breath, he pressed her up against the wall and kissed her.

  His kiss had been devastating before, but now he seemed to be staking his claim. He touched her in ways that made her gasp for breath.

  Pru wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. “What’s going on?” she whispered against his lips.

  He hesitated. “I’ll explain later. Let’s just get out of here.”r />
  “But…” She broke off as she realized they weren’t alone.

  Someone was watching them.

  The man in the shadows never moved. His gaze remained fastened on Pru.

  And then she recognized him. It was Greg Oldman, Sid Zellman’s assistant.

  A woman came out of the shadows then, laughing and stumbling as she clung to his arm. Another blonde, Pru noticed, and as the woman and Oldman walked past where Pru and Cahill still stood, she saw the woman’s face.

  Her resemblance to Clare was astonishing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Pru’s doorbell rang later that night, she knew who it was without looking through the peephole. She drew back the door, and Cahill silently brushed past her.

  “We have to talk.”

  “I know.”

  She’d changed out of the black dress into a robe and had scrubbed all the makeup off her face. Only the blond hair remained of the woman Cahill had kissed earlier. Pru wondered if she would still have the same effect on him.

  “We’ve let this thing get out of hand,” he said. “It never should have gone this far.”

  He paced back and forth in her living room, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. “I won’t compromise the integrity of my unit because we can’t control ourselves.”

  Pru frowned. “But nothing happened.”

  “Not yet.” He stopped pacing and glanced at her. “You and I both know it’s just a matter of time. After tonight…we can’t kid ourselves. The way you looked…the way you danced…I couldn’t keep my hands off you.” As if to demonstrate, he walked over and placed his hands on her arms. “I should have put a stop to this right from the start. But I didn’t and now…”

  “And now what?” she asked almost fearfully.

  “One of us has to leave SKURRT.”

  Pru could not have felt more stunned if he’d physically attacked her. “You can’t mean that.”

  “I mean every word of it.” His grip tightened on her arms. “Please understand something. If I could be the one to leave, I would. But I can’t. You’re not ready yet, and I can’t leave the unit shorthanded. I’m sorry, but it has to be you.”