Absolute Pleasure

by Jamie Denton

  He shifted his attention back to the group of teenagers. She waited patiently, but had to wonder what he was thinking.

  “Dallas and Miami,” he finally said, after a few moments of silence.

  “Thank you.” Considering she’d allowed him to sit in on her interview with Margo Wilder, she’d expected him to give her what she wanted. The fact that he’d hesitated, even momentarily, annoyed her.

  “Now will you tell me something?” he asked.

  “If I can,” she hedged. The Bureau wasn’t exactly the most user-friendly investigative agency when it came to jurisdiction or sharing evidence with nongovernmental agencies. Still, he had provided her with a piece of information which could prove invaluable once Georgia ran Dallas through the computers.

  “Has your UNSUB shown up in either one of those locations?”

  “Miami,” she told him. To her knowledge, once the UNSUB pulled his scam, he moved on to a new city, but that deduction was based solely on the information available to her. There were clearly other victims she didn’t know about yet and if acknowledging that she and Duncan did have a case in common, so be it. “Does the name Ian Banyon have a familiar ring to it?”

  Duncan straightened. “It’s very familiar to Celine Garfield.”

  No question about it, she needed to review his files. For now, though, she elected not to pursue the issue. Her decision had nothing whatsoever to do with her personal relationship with Duncan, but because she had no intention of compromising her investigation by putting the integrity of any evidence she might collect at risk. Tomorrow would be soon enough, when she could go through proper channels by making an official Bureau request. Since he’d been present during the Wilder interview, explaining how she’d learned of his agency’s involvement wasn’t at issue, so she definitely had her butt covered in that area. When she nailed the UNSUB, she wanted the charges to stick, and didn’t want the judge to have any reason to throw the case out on a technicality because she hadn’t followed procedure in obtaining evidence.

  As they walked toward the parking lot after returning their clubs, her earlier nervousness slowly returned. For all her big talk with Georgia about going with the flow, and whatever happens, happens, regardless of how antiquated, she didn’t want to give Duncan the impression she was the kind of woman that jumped in the sack with a guy on the first date.

  They reached her vehicle, and she pulled her keys from the front pocket of her jeans. She’d left her bag hidden under the seat and had locked it in the Jeep so she wouldn’t have to keep an eye on her purse while they’d golfed.

  Duncan took the keys from her, then unlocked and opened the door for her. Would he ask or would he leave it up to her to issue the your place or mine invitation?

  Nothing is going to happen here that you don’t want to happen.

  The words he’d whispered to her at the restaurant clamored through her mind. That was her problem. She did want something to happen, something sexy and exciting and fulfilling.

  He stepped forward, sandwiching her between the thick wall of his chest and the interior of her four-wheel drive. Heat engulfed her from head to toe, but it had nothing to do with the weather, and everything to do with sex.

  He settled his big hands low on her hips, sparking myriad sensual, erotic images. His hands on her bare hips, guiding her over him as she slid down the thick length of his shaft. Touching. Exploring. Tasting.

  She looked into his eyes and her breath caught at the heat swirling in the depths of his gaze, igniting a flame that burned her deep inside. Her feminine senses were already spinning out of control and they hadn’t even kissed.

  He drew her closer until her breasts brushed against him. The air crackled with pent-up, sexual energy, and her nipples beaded into tight buds, rasping against the lace cups of her demi bra. She wanted to feel the warmth of his hands on her breasts, the heat of his mouth as he tasted her, the pull of need in her belly as he suckled her.

  Wreathing her arms around his neck brought their bodies even closer. Applying the slightest amount of pressure, she urged his head down for a hot openmouthed kiss. If she couldn’t find the words to tell him what she wanted, then she’d just have to show him. He tasted like heaven, warm and purely masculine. Hot. Demanding. Intoxicating. Safe.

  Her fingertips teased the wavy strands of hair brushing the collar of his shirt, then she dug her hands into the thick mass and boldly explored him. She plastered her body to his and felt the distinct ridge of his erect penis. Moving against him, she was rewarded with a moan of pleasure.

  She skimmed her hand over the fly of his khakis and issued a moan all her own at such a delicious discovery. The reality of him put her fantasies to shame and she was suddenly glad of the dark shadows of the parking lot.

  His mouth left hers to skim her jaw, his lips trailing a steamy path down the side of her neck. Sensation shot through her with lightning speed and she lost her balance, stumbling backward. He caught her and pressed her up against the side of the Jeep, surrounding her with his heat, his need. Beneath his trousers, she felt the throbbing length of his penis. Her own sex pulsed in response and she ached for his touch as much as she craved the feel of him hot and heavy in her hand.

  Without shame or regret, she took what she wanted. Unzipping his fly, she slipped her hand beneath the fabric. Wrapping her fingers around his rock-hard length, she gently stroked the velvety smoothness of him.

  He sucked in a sharp hiss of breath, and brought his mouth down hard on hers. Need raked her insides. Skimming his hands along her sides to her waist, his fingers then worked her belt buckle and the button fly of her jeans. Warm, sultry air brushed her skin. His fingers dipped beneath the lace of her panties and her world spun. Nerve endings she’d forgotten existed burst into flames at the first bold slide of his fingers over her dewy folds.

  She wanted Duncan. Here. Now.

  Desire pulsed through her veins. Her skin grew tighter, hotter. Her frustration mounted. She wanted Duncan in a way she hadn’t ever experienced and it frightened her as much as it exhilarated her. Wanted him inside her, craved the weight of his body over hers, the length of him stroking her deeply, consuming her.

  His fingers bit into her hips and he set her away from him, ending what they’d started far too soon. He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing as ragged as her own. At least she was granted a modicum of satisfaction on that front, although a far cry from the satisfaction her body demanded.

  “I think we’d better say good night.” His voice was tight. “We could get arrested if this goes any further.”

  Disappointment filled her, yet failed to completely quell the delicious sensations still vividly humming inside her. “Probably a good idea,” she reluctantly agreed, although for the life of her, she couldn’t summon a single argument in support of the decision, threat of arrest notwithstanding. “I do have an early day tomorrow.”

  He placed one final, hard kiss on her lips, then moved back and waited for her to climb into the Jeep before he closed the door. With trembling fingers, she managed to slip the keys into the ignition and start the vehicle so she could lower the window.

  With one hand resting on the roof, he leaned toward her. “How does Friday night look to you?”

  She gave him her most sultry smile. “Very promising,” she whispered huskily, then indulged in one last taste. She made it good, too, so he’d have no trouble mistaking exactly what she had in mind come Friday night. Not that she’d left much to his imagination already.

  “Do you want me to follow you home?” he asked when they eventually came up for air.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said automatically, then realized her mistake. Smooth move, dummy, she thought. She snapped her seat belt into place, unable to believe she’d blown a perfectly good opportunity to finish what she hadn’t wanted to end.

  He moved away from the Jeep. “I’ll call you, and we’ll make plans.”

  She disengaged the emergency brake, shifted into reverse and pull
ed out of the parking space. She didn’t bother to tell him the only plans they’d be making concerned which side of the bed he preferred.

  Thirty minutes later she pulled into the underground garage of her condominium complex. The bright teal digits of the clock indicated the time was a few minutes shy of midnight. She did have an early day tomorrow. Once she served the search warrants on the gallery and theater owners first thing in the morning, two teams of lab technicians would begin the slow, painstaking process of combing the crime scenes for evidence.

  Once back in her condo, she reset the alarm for the night, turned off the lamp in the entry and headed down the hall toward her bedroom. She stopped midway, thunderstruck by a realization that shocked her. She had been a kiss away from inviting Duncan to her place, a man she didn’t really know all that well, when she knew what could happen to a woman who was foolish enough to bring a stranger into her home.

  Instead of berating herself for missing out on what promised to be very intense experience, she should be thanking her subconscious for keeping her from making what could’ve been a horrible mistake. Lust was not a license for carelessness. Taking chances with her safety, possibly with her life, was nothing short of an act of pure stupidity.

  A cold chill crept over her. She hurried into the bedroom and turned on the lights. For the flash of an instant, she wasn’t standing in her bedroom, but in the corridor of a small apartment building in Norfolk, watching in abject horror as the county coroner closed the zipper of a thick black body bag.

  She shook her head to erase the image. “Stop it.” Duncan was not some twisted whack job. He was ex-FBI, for crying out loud. A man that inspired fierce loyalty in his employees. “He is not a sociopath.”

  Nor was she as careless as her friend and neighbor Abby Monroe had been. But then, Sunny doubted Abby had believed Gary John Wilton had been the Norfolk Stalker when she’d invited him back to her place after meeting him at a local dance club.

  A shudder passed through Sunny and she snagged the remote control from the nightstand and flipped on the television. She avoided the news and settled on a late-night talk show. A sorry substitute for human contact, but it was enough so she didn’t feel quite so alone, even if the background noise failed to completely ease the vulnerability plaguing her tonight.

  She wasn’t particularly fond of the word paranoia, but she did have a certain fondness for cautious. The Bureau shrink she was required to visit during the recertification process had labeled her mildly paranoid. She didn’t agree. There was nothing wrong with taking extra precautions with her safety, so long as her need for security didn’t cripple her emotionally or prevent her from doing her job.

  She dropped onto the edge of the mattress and stared unseeing at the television set. She’d wanted Duncan. Had she used the antiquated no-first-datesex rule as an excuse to mask some other psychological factor?

  She frowned, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

  The violent death of a friend was bound to have a lasting effect on a person, especially an innocent twenty-year-old. Sunny had been in the coast guard, stationed in Norfolk, Virginia, and living on her own for the first time. She’d been friendly with the neighbors in the small apartment building where she’d lived, but she and Abby, who’d lived across the hall, were close in age and had become good friends. They’d go to the occasional movie, have lunch or just hang out in one or the other’s apartment, drinking a few beers and engaging in girl-talk.

  From different backgrounds, Sunny valued structure in her life, an element that had been missing during her childhood, while Abby had reveled in the freedom of her new-found independence away from her parents’ strict rules. Compared to Abby, Sunny knew she’d come off as downright stuffy, to which Abby had often joked they’d been born to the wrong families.

  Unlike Abby, Sunny had never been comfortable with the whole one-night stand concept. In her opinion, Abby had often taken chances that had made Sunny uncomfortable, so she occasionally avoided going out with her friend. And then one night, Abby had met the wrong guy. The price had been her life.

  Gary John Wilton was what the ISU called an organized killer, in that he hunted a specific, as opposed to a random, type of victim. Abby, with her long, dark hair and tall, svelte frame had been Wilton’s ideal prey. Open, friendly and just a little promiscuous, she’d unwittingly fed into Wilton’s twisted fantasy. He’d picked her up at a local dance club, she’d invited him back to her place. What was supposed to be a fun, nostrings-attached evening turned out to be a nightmare.

  Sunny had heard nothing, and hadn’t even realized something was wrong until the cops had knocked on her door the next day. Abby was supposed to have met her parents for brunch, and when she didn’t show, her folks had come to Abby’s apartment. The door had been left ajar, and when they’d walked in, they’d found their daughter’s body.

  Sunny never forgot the helplessness she’d felt that day, or the accompanying fear that had consumed her afterward. Standing in the hallway being questioned by a pair of homicide detectives, she’d been frustrated by her inability to provide them with any assistance in identifying Abby’s killer. One of the detectives had excused himself, and when he’d walked away, Sunny had a clear view into Abby’s apartment, right at the moment the coroner was closing the bag containing Abby’s body. That image of her friend’s face frozen in terror had remained with Sunny forever.

  Her life had been irrevocably altered, but she’d come away with a clear vision of her future. She didn’t suffer from a superhero complex, nor was she arrogant enough to believe she held the power to single-handedly bring about the end of violence in society. She didn’t operate under the misguided assumption that for every piece of scum she put behind bars, she was saving Abby in the metaphorical sense. But, she did know with absolute certainty that given the opportunity, she could bring the worst of the bad guys down one by one.

  The sudden rise in volume courtesy of a television commercial jolted her back to the present. She shook off the morbidity of the past as best she could and went through the motions of her nightly routine.

  Fifteen minutes later she crawled into bed, and didn’t even consider turning off the television.

  10

  SUNNY GLARED at the telephone on her desk, willing it to ring. The silence was really beginning to grate on her nerves.

  With the warrants served and the lab techs collecting evidence, there was no reason for her to hang around the crime scenes where she’d only drive the techs nuts with her questions. From experience she knew she’d gain more cooperation from them if she left them alone and waited for word should they turn up anything of interest.

  The owner of the Fifth Street Art Center had offered her nothing of value when she’d questioned him, nor had the theater employees or the box owner been of any assistance whatsoever. The gallery owner and his wife had returned from an extended vacation in Europe only two days ago, and until Sunny and Ned had shown up this morning to serve the search warrants, they hadn’t any idea a breakin had even occurred.

  Upon arriving back in her office around noon, Sunny had immediately placed a call to the special agent in charge in the Dallas field office, but he had yet to return her call. She needed an agent to visit the local police stations to inquire about crimes related to SEDSCAM, but she had to go through proper channels since she didn’t know anyone in the Dallas office she could call on for a favor. At the very least the victim must have filed a police report for insurance purposes, else Duncan’s office wouldn’t even have the claim. She could call the local police herself, but she’d only get the runaround, whereas an agent physically breathing down their neck had a better chance of producing results.

  For roughly two seconds she considered calling Duncan. He’d been assigned to the Dallas office and could probably supply her with the name of an agent, but she discarded the idea just as quickly. Until she obtained his files in an official capacity, she didn’t want to run the risk of raising questions she wasn’t
prepared to answer.

  “Ring, dammit,” she muttered.

  The phone remained as silent as a tomb.

  With a frustration-filled sigh, she picked up the receiver and dialed Georgia’s cell phone. The call immediately clicked over to her voice mail. Georgia couldn’t possibly be at the estate after all this time, Sunny thought. The meeting with Wilder and the sketch artist had been scheduled for ten o’clock. It was now nearing three in the afternoon, and Sunny still hadn’t heard from the junior agent.

  After leaving a message for Georgia to call her, she tried Jack Caruso next. He, at least, answered on the second ring.

  “Caruso,” he practically barked into the phone.

  “It’s Mac.” She cut right to the chase. “I’m looking for Agent Tremont. Has she left the estate yet?”

  “Why how are you, Mac? Me? I’m doing fine. Just goddamned peachy. Thank you for asking.”

  Her lips twitched as she shook her head at his sarcasm. “I’d ask you how it’s hanging, but I’m afraid you’d tell me.”

  “Well, now that you ask—”

  “I didn’t.” She snagged a pen from her drawer and twirled it around. “Tremont?” she reminded him.

  “The redhead? With the legs?”

  “You’re a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen,” she chided him. Jack Caruso was a good agent, but he certainly enjoyed jerking her chain. Always one to bluster and complain, his sometimes crude, often surly attitude didn’t change the fact that he had the instincts of a bloodhound when it came to investigation techniques. Unfortunately, he had a tendency to piss off the wrong people, and as a result, had never advanced in his career beyond field agent.

  “You tell her for me she wants to harass somebody, ol’ Jackie-boy’s her guy.”

  She leaned back in the desk chair and started tapping the capped end of the pen on the arm. “You could really benefit from a gender-sensitivity training seminar, you know that?”