by Cynthia Eden
No, they’d focused their attention on another man, one county over. A man who was recently divorced, a loner now, but... He didn’t fit my profile. He still had too many strong ties. He hadn’t been pulling away from society. Not like George.
“You see things that others don’t...” A slight pause. “When it comes to killers.”
“You’re saying I don’t understand you?”
His fingers stilled. “Do you think I’m a killer?”
Oh, yes, she would need to tread very carefully here. “Just because you fought and fired in the line of duty, it doesn’t mean—”
“You read my fucking confidential files.” Anger thickened his voice. It was the first time his anger had been directed at her. She didn’t like it.
“No.” Samantha fought to keep the emotion from her voice. That was one of her talents. When it came to locking down her feelings and giving the world a perfect mask to view, she was at the top of the class. “I didn’t.” But his words had just confirmed what she’d suspected when she’d begun to build a profile on him.
I profile my friends. I profile my lovers. I can’t turn it off. I wish that I could.
She cleared her throat. “We need to get back to the office.” They were just outside of Richmond, and the drive back to DC wouldn’t be an easy one, not at this time of the day. “Let’s just go, okay?”
He hesitated, and Samantha thought that he was going to push her to determine just how much she really knew about him. She tensed, but he gave a grim nod. He cranked the engine once more. Shifted to Park and—
“Just because you have to fire,” Blake said, not looking at her, “in order to save yourself and your partner... That doesn’t make you a killer, either.”
No, but it did make her someone...who had killed.
CHAPTER TWO
SAMANTHA DARK WAS a mystery.
Blake Gamble watched her as she shut down her computer and carefully arranged all of the items on her desk. She liked to position things just so...the stapler at a ninety degree angle to her keyboard. The cup of pens just to the right of her mouse. And that little black picture frame...a picture of an older cop in his uniform...
Her fingers skimmed over the top of the photo, as if saying goodbye. She did that every night, right before she left the office.
Then she looked up and her gaze locked with his. There was no flash of surprise in her golden eyes. Absolutely beautiful eyes. Before Samantha, he’d never met a woman with eyes that particular shade. Her straight black hair fell around her face—a beautiful face, but one that she didn’t adorn with any makeup. Not that the woman needed any makeup. Her lips were full, naturally a light pink. Her lashes were long, thick. Her cheekbones high.
She wore no-nonsense clothes, usually dress pants and a tailored top. Sometimes a suit. He suspected she was trying to hide her curves, and the first day that he’d come across her—wearing slim-fit athletic pants and a tight top while she worked out at the FBI gym—he’d realized her curves were damn close to perfection.
She’d been sweating, her hair had been pulled back, her bare feet with their bright red toenail polish had seemed to dance over the sparring mat and then—
Then she’d tossed her two-hundred-plus-pound opponent on his ass with barely a blink.
“You’re staring.”
He still hadn’t got used to her voice. Soft and husky sometimes, sure with authority others. But always—always—sexy.
He had such a serious problem when it came to Samantha Dark.
“It’s rude to stare,” she added as she pulled her bag onto her shoulder. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you that?”
His shoulders rolled back. “My mom didn’t have the chance to teach me much. She died when I was a baby.”
She stilled. Sadness flashed on her face, coming and going in an instant. “I’m sorry.” Her voice said she truly was.
He pushed to his feet. “Me, too. From all accounts, she was a pretty incredible lady. I wish I’d met her.”
“Growing up without a parent... I know how hard it can be.”
He’d grown up with a military father who hadn’t exactly had a whole lot of room in his life for emotions—or for his young son. But Blake just shrugged. “I made out okay.”
“I guess I did, too.”
His eyes widened because that was the first personal tidbit she’d ever shared with him. But before he could speak, she was already hurrying toward the door. They shared that little office on the fourth floor of the DC FBI building, an office that looked out onto the busy street. Darkness had fallen, so right then, all he could see were city lights out of that glass, lights glimmering in the night.
Samantha opened the door—and the executive assistant director was standing there, his hand poised to knock.
Because Blake was watching Samantha so closely, he saw the sudden tension that swept through her body.
But Justin Bass just flashed Samantha a broad smile. “Excellent job today, Agent Dark. Got to say, you really impressed me. I was starting to think all the talk about you was just hype, but you proved yourself.”
Blake found himself walking closer to Samantha.
Bass’s light blue stare drifted to him. “How’s this partnership working out?” He gave a low hum. “On paper, you two seemed to be very compatible. Different strengths, different weakness—opposites who should be nearly unstoppable when paired together.” But his expression was thoughtful as it lingered on Blake.
“The partnership is perfect,” Blake said, voice flat. His hand curled around Samantha’s shoulder. “My partner saved my ass today. I’ll be sure and return that favor for her soon.”
Samantha glanced back at him. “Hopefully, you won’t have to do that,” she murmured.
His lips hitched. “Hopefully.”
Bass cleared his throat. “Because there was a shooting... Well, you know how things work in the Bureau. There will be an investigation—just routine, of course—but, Agent Dark, you won’t be in the field again until it’s all concluded and—”
“I understand,” Samantha said quickly. “I didn’t want the case to end this way, sir. I had hoped to bring George Farris in alive.”
“Sometimes the perps don’t want that.” Bass’s gaze had suddenly gone distant. “And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.” Then he nodded briskly. “Today was a win—you saved Missy Johnson. So go home, get some rest, and I’ll call you when it’s time for you to get back in here and use that mind of yours to help us catch the next twisted asshole out there.”
Samantha brushed by him.
“Agent Dark?” Bass called, stopping her after she’d gone just a few feet. “I’m always curious... Once you get the profile in your head, once you know the killer, inside and out, how do you turn it off? Is there some kind of refresh button that you set in your head?”
She glanced back at Bass. “I wish there was. There’s no way to turn it off. Every profile stays with me. Just as every killer does.” She gave Bass and Blake a tight smile. “Good night.”
She walked away, her spine straight, her shoulders squared.
Bass didn’t speak until she’d slipped into the elevator. “You’ll have to answer questions about the shooting.”
“It was self-defense,” Blake said immediately. “He was aiming for her. She was just faster.”
Bass nodded. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” But he seemed to be hesitating.
“Sir? Is there something else?”
Bass’s lips thinned. “Be careful with the way you watch her.”
Blake blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re partners. Only partners, understand?”
Then the executive assistant director walked away. Blake stared after him, aware that his hands had clenched into fists.
* * *
THE DOORBELL RANG, startling Samantha just as she was climbing out of the shower.
Who in the hell is that?
She toweled off as fast as she could. Then she
jerked on a pair of jogging shorts, her bra and an old, faded FBI T-shirt.
The doorbell pealed again.
As she hurried down her narrow hallway, Samantha glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. Not a normal time for a visit, not by a long shot.
Her heartbeat kicked up. Was it Blake? Coming by to check on her one more time? Being the good stand-up guy that he was? Maybe she was warmed a little by the thought.
Maybe.
Don’t go down that path. It is the wrong path to take.
She pressed her eye to the peephole in her door. Blake wasn’t out there.
Another man was. A man with stylish blond hair, chiseled features and dark, deep eyes that were staring straight back at her. She fumbled with the locks then swung the door open. “Cameron? What are you doing here?”
Dr. Cameron Latham. All-around genius, all-around playboy. One of her best friends...
And her former lover.
Definitely a path I won’t ever take again.
Cameron let out a long sigh. “I’m here because I had absolutely nothing better to do on a Friday night than to come by and drag you out of a...” His gaze darted to her wet hair. “Shower?”
She stepped back and glanced at his hands. “You have a bottle of wine.”
“Yes, it’s one of your favorite bottles.” He smiled at her and marched right into her apartment. He made himself at home, the way he always did, as he headed into her kitchen. He put the wine down and grabbed two wineglasses from her cabinet. “I figured you could use it tonight.”
She shut the door behind him and locked it. Then Samantha leaned back against the wood as she studied him. She and Cameron had met during their first year at Princeton. They’d both been fascinated with the human mind, both determined to unlock all the secrets that rested within a person. She’d gotten her PhD and then immediately joined the FBI, knowing that behavioral analysis—the behavioral analysis of predators—was the work that she had to do.
Cameron had gotten his PhD and gone off to rule in the hallowed halls of academia. He was currently the golden boy at Georgetown University.
She watched as he expertly opened the wine—very, very expensive wine because he had expensive tastes. “That’s your favorite, not mine.”
His mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “Is it? My bad. I must have grabbed the wrong bottle.” He sighed. “Oh, well, guess we have to drink it now. The things I do for my friends.”
Her lips twitched, but then she stared at him, feeling a heaviness in her heart. “You know, don’t you?”
He poured the wine. It was a dark red. Deep crimson, like blood. “I may have watched the news,” Cameron allowed. “I like to do that sometimes, you know. Stay updated on current events. It’s a quirk I have.” He lifted one brow at her. “A crime scene was featured on the ten o’clock news...seems a very intrepid FBI agent stopped a serial killer tonight.” His gaze slid to her arm. “Got a war wound, do you?”
“It’s nothing,” she said. She’d taken off the bandage before she got into the shower. Barely a scrape, more of a bruise, kind of like carpet burn. Only...in her case a bullet burn.
He lifted one glass toward her in a salute. “You saved the victim. I think that calls for a celebration.”
She made herself walk toward him. Samantha pushed her hands down on the kitchen counter, flattening her palms and fingers. “I killed a man tonight.”
He put the glass of wine in front of her. She couldn’t look away from the bloodred liquid.
“Killed a man,” he said, his voice deep, but emotionless. His shrink voice. The professor voice. “But saved a victim. Do you not still consider that a win?”
She didn’t touch her wine. “It was my first kill in the line of duty.”
He didn’t speak. She could hear the ticking of her clock in the hallway. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time seemed slow right then, but when she’d shot George Farris, everything had been moving at super speed. The bullets had fired out of her gun so fast...
“How did it make you feel?” Cameron asked her.
Her eyes squeezed shut. “I shot him twice. Why did I shoot twice? Why not just once?”
“Maybe you wanted to make sure he was good and dead.” A pause. “Or maybe you liked the way it felt to pull that trigger.”
Her gaze flew open. “I did not enjoy killing him! He was going to fire at me! He would have shot me, killed me. I did what I had to do, I—”
He lifted his glass—now half-empty to show that he’d certainly been drinking his wine—and tapped it against hers. “And there you go.”
She glowered at him. “I hate your mind games.”
“No, you love them. Because I’m the only one who can play these games with you. Just as you’re the only one who can play them with me.” He gave her a smile, one of his rare, real smiles. So much of Cameron was a trick—she’d learned that over the years. His real emotions were often carefully bottled away inside.
Buried deep.
Like hers, Cameron’s past wasn’t pretty. But they’d moved away from the blood and death from their backgrounds. They’d reinvented their lives.
“You were having yourself a pity party.” He took a long sip of the wine. “Unbecoming of someone like you. I was just reminding you of something you already knew, deep down. You didn’t kill for some kind of thrill.”
“Of course not,” she gritted out.
“You didn’t kill because it was easy.”
Her breath caught.
“You did it because you had no choice, so let the guilt go. It’ll wreck you if you don’t. For the record, I’m not sure if I would enjoy you wrecked.”
Her lips curled down. “I know you can be a smooth talker...”
“I don’t have to be smooth with you. You can see me for what I am, can’t you?”
She held his stare. “Yes.” Bright spots and dark.
He nodded. “Now how about you drink that wine? Then you can tell me all about how you worked up that absolutely killer profile.” His smile flashed. “Sure looked as if Bass were having himself one hell of a time on the news. The guy loves a camera. He—”
Her doorbell rang again. The peal seemed to echo through her apartment.
Cameron’s smile vanished. “Didn’t realize you were...seeing someone, Samantha.”
“I’m not.” Dating wasn’t exactly a priority for her. “You’re the only asshole who comes ringing my bell at this hour.”
“Obviously, I’m not.” He put his glass down, and, before she could move away from the counter, he was already marching for the door. “Let’s just see what other asshole is paying you a late-night visit.”
She spun around. It’s Blake. Blake. She knew it with utter certainty. She’d mentioned her new partner to Cameron a time or two, but she hadn’t gone into specific details with him. Normally, she and Cameron talked about everything. But Blake...
It’s private. He’s private. The way she felt about Blake wasn’t something she’d been up to sharing with Cameron. Mostly because she hadn’t wanted him to analyze her.
Ah, there you go, Samantha. Setting yourself up with a man you know you can’t have. That’s so classic of you. It’s a protective instinct, and you know it. You don’t want to risk actually giving your heart to anyone, so you focus on someone you can’t have. Self-destructive. You’ve got to stop that... She could practically hear Cameron’s voice in her head.
And she could see him opening her front door. “Cam, no—”
Too late.
Cameron frowned and said, “Who the hell are you?”
“About to ask the same question,” came Blake’s curt response.
She hurried toward them. Samantha locked her hand around Cameron’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Cameron, this is my partner, Blake Gamble.”
Blake’s gaze was on her hand. On the hand that she realized was clutching Cameron’s shoulder a little too hard. And her partner...he looked pissed.
Samantha swallowed and met his gleaming stare. “
Blake, this is my friend, Cameron Latham.”
“Dr. Cameron Latham.”
Her gaze jerked toward him.
Cameron flashed a shark’s grin as he offered his hand to Blake. “The partner... I was wondering about you.”
Oh, shit. She could feel her cheeks burn.
Blake took the offered hand, shook it once. But his attention barely stayed on Cameron for even a moment longer before that gleaming stare was back on her, raking over her body. “Didn’t mean to...interrupt.” Again, pissed was the word that came to mind for her.
“You didn’t.” She pulled her hand away from Cameron’s shoulder. “Cameron saw the news and he came by to check on me.”
“That’s what friends do,” Cameron murmured.
She rolled her eyes at him. Was he baiting Blake? Sure seemed that way. “Come inside, okay?” No sense having this chat in the doorway. She turned, not looking to see if they followed her. “I’d been meaning to introduce you two, anyway.”
Samantha heard the click as the door shut. The floor creaked behind her.
“I realized Samantha was working with a new partner,” Cameron said, “but she was being a bit...reserved with details about you.”
She sat down on the bar stool near her kitchen counter. “Do you want some wine, Blake?” Now she glanced at him.
“Looks like I interrupted,” he muttered. “Sorry.” His expression was guarded.
Cameron slapped him on the back. “I think you do deserve some wine. After all, you helped to save the girl today, too. What a noble thing to do. True blue.” His head cocked as he studied Blake. “Are you the heroic sort? I guess you must be...since you’re an FBI agent and all.”
“Cameron,” Samantha warned. “Trust me, he doesn’t want to be profiled.”
Cameron laughed. “Tried that, did you?”
Blake’s attention shifted to Cameron. “You’re a profiler, too?”
“Oh, good Lord, no. I’m a professor at Georgetown.” He shrugged. “But my PhD is in psychology so I guess I do know a few things about the twisted paths that minds can take.” He smiled. “Samantha and I shared that passion, you see. We always like to know what makes people tick.”