Profile for Seduction

by Karen Whiddon

  “I can’t believe we had to stay somewhere else last night. I’m sure glad your job gave us quick access to those electronics folks.”

  Lea grimaced. “Do you think they got them all?” she asked, letting go of his hand and dropping down onto the couch. With a sigh, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “Yes.” Which they both knew was a lie. But they wanted Feiney—if he was listening—to think they believed no one could see or hear them. That they were acting naturally. Two people in love.

  For one of them at least, this much was true.

  Heart thumping way too fast, he sat down next to her, put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Nuzzling her on the neck, he breathed in her peach-scented skin and tried not to think about how easily he could get used to this. Loving the way she shivered, he nibbled at her earlobe before murmuring. “Play along, sugar.”

  For only an instant, she went rigid, then relaxed into his arms. “Can he see us here?” she whispered, turning the tables on him by using her tongue to caress his ear.

  Now it was his turn to shiver. “I think so,” he managed to say, hoping she took the faint hitch in his voice for part of the game.

  “Good,” she purred, then whispered again. “Play along, pumpkin.”

  The sarcasm in her fake endearment should have been warning enough. Instead, he let his libido lead him.

  With an easy grin for the camera, he pulled her close for a long, body-to-body hug. “Maybe we can—”

  “No.” Sharp-voiced, she cut him off. “Not now.”

  Still, her words barely registered. After all, she’d said to play along.

  “Why not?” He nuzzled her neck. “We can make it a quick—”

  “Marc.” This time she shoved him away, hard enough to send him back against the cushions. “I’m not in the mood. Feiney was here, in my home. He left a damn blow-up doll, for Pete’s sake. Crime Scene took my new comforter, my sheets and there’s still blood on my carpet. On top of that, he had cameras. Cameras.” She shook her head furiously. “So don’t even think about having sex.”

  Stunned and feeling like a heel, he stared at her. To his surprise, there were tears in her beautiful, smoky eyes. Talk about getting into character. Which was why she was so good at undercover work—she used the truth to build to a lie. This was more than a masquerade. Underneath her veneer of self-assurance, unfortunately, this was all too real.

  “Babe, I’m sorry.” Reaching for her again, he noted how easily she evaded him.

  She cast him a look of disdain. “Whatever. How about you sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. I don’t really want to be around you right now.”

  Setting parameters. Of course, despite the need to put on a show of sorts, they wouldn’t be sharing a bed. Though he honestly regretted this, he also admired the adroit way she accomplished her establishment of the fact.

  Playing along, he stood, too, and crossed his arms. “Come on. You can’t blame me because Feiney’s an ass.”

  “Can’t I?” Her voice would have cut through steel. “You’re my boyfriend. A monster has just invaded my private space and all you can think about is a quickie? I’d think you’d have a little more compassion.”

  He gave her a completely uncomprehending look, as if he didn’t get it. “I’ve got plenty of compassion. Let me kiss and make it up to you. I guarantee I can make you forget about Feiney.”

  Turning the knife. Good. He hoped to hell that Feiney was watching and listening.

  Acting completely offended and shaking her head, Lea turned her back to him and began moving away.

  Giving in to temptation, he caught her by the waist as she moved past, pulling her close and planting a hard kiss on her mouth. It felt good enough to stun him.

  “Marc…” she warned, rearing back, her eyes wide and full of warning and something more, something darker.

  Ignoring this, he pulled her close again.

  “I’ve got my own way of shooting Feiney the bird,” he murmured against her mouth. “Let me kiss you one more time.”

  She wanted to, he could tell. Letting her eyes drift half-closed, still she hesitated. He saw the moment she came to a decision. Whether for the role they played or for herself, with a slight hitch in her breath she lifted her face to his.

  Their lips touched. Slowly, reining in his hunger and his impatience, he let himself explore her mouth. Tasting, savoring, claiming.

  Though the kiss may have started out as staged, for him it rapidly went beyond that, morphing from a slow, simmering burn into an all-out, raging inferno. More than an act, more than even mere physical attraction, as corny as it seemed to even think it, he felt as if his soul merged with hers.

  Christ, what was it about this woman?

  Crushing her to him, he knew he couldn’t seem to get close enough. Pretend be damned, he knew, too, though dimly, that such a thing would be way beyond the scope of this bit of undercover work.

  His body didn’t seem to care. Though he fought the urge to grind himself against her, as a man he definitely had other ideas. Such as burying himself deep inside her and pounding into her until they both could think of nothing else.

  No, no. Not possible. Instead, he allowed his hands free rein, stroking the creamy softness of her skin, exploring the intriguing hollows of her shoulders, her neck, down the curve of her hip. She quivered, moving against him—or was that away?

  Through a haze of lust, he tried to decide.

  “Lea?”

  “Don’t…” she said. Her broken voice tore at his heart, bringing him back to his senses like a dash of ice water in the face.

  Instantly, he pulled back. But when he began to move away from her, she gripped his arms.

  His pulse leaped when she leaned in close, only to whisper in his ear, “Let’s not overdo it here.”

  Apparently, she still was in full possession of her senses.

  Calling himself seven kinds of fool, he grimaced.

  “Sorry.” Shuttering his expression, he remembered the camera, Feiney, the game…everything. None of it was real. None of it. Unfortunately, his full arousal refused to immediately subside. He still wanted her.

  Ashamed and alarmed, he tried to move away.

  “Wait.” She clutched at him, her huge hazel eyes full of desire. “Don’t go yet.”

  Was she still acting for the camera? She had to be, though the contradictory nature of her words made him want to throw caution to the winds and do what he really wanted.

  Ultimately though, he knew she was a professional. As he was. Or, he amended, as he would be, as soon as he got a grip on his raging libido.

  He forced himself to remember the role. It was all about the part. Therefore he needed to stay in character. Feiney was watching. A reaction, a little more impetus was needed.

  “Never mind,” she said.

  “Make up your mind,” he snarled. “I’m tired of your little games.”

  Her eyes widened and he saw her tamp down the beginning of a smile. Instead, raising her head, she narrowed her eyes and then sneered at him.

  Damn, she was good.

  “Who do you think you are?” Yanking her against him, he took her mouth with his. No gentleness here. This time, he ravished her mouth, determined to make her want him as badly as he ached for her. Though he started out in character, only meaning to show her…what? At the first touch of her lips, all rational thought fled. Heat flared between them, searing him, branding them. Damn it all to hell.

  He groaned her name. “Lea.”

  She murmured something back, not his name, not a no or a stop, but something wordless that sounded like encouragement.

  That was all he needed to send his rapidly shredding resolve out the window. Heart hammering in his ears, he pressed his fully aroused body against her, making her gasp.

  He had to stop this. Now.

  Luckily for him, or for both of them, someone called his cell phone.

  Immediately she drew back, her pupils huge and dark,
dilated with what he hoped was passion. “You’d better get that.”

  He couldn’t make himself move.

  To his disbelief, she leaned in again. Licking delicately at his ear in a way that sent shivers down his spine, she whispered again. “Remember, he’s watching.”

  Hell, was she enjoying torturing him? “Lea, I…”

  “Get the phone.” She laughed. Her amusement was completely convincing. Too convincing. For the first time he realized this might not be as simple as he’d expected.

  Slowly, he fished his phone out of his pocket, watching as Lea walked away. She went down the hall, into the bathroom and closed the door behind her with a loud click.

  Seeing her too-bright eyes and flushed complexion in the mirror, Lea splashed cool water on her cheeks. Through the closed door, she could hear Marc talking to whoever had called him, his tone telling her it wasn’t Feiney.

  She shook her head, still dazed. Of course it wasn’t Feiney. That sick bastard only called her, not Marc.

  She let the anger fill her, needing it to chase away the desire. For no reason at all, she grabbed her toothbrush, squirted on fresh mint toothpaste and began to brush her teeth. Midway through, it occurred to her to wonder if she was trying to scrub away Marc’s kisses. As if she ever could forget them.

  Even thinking about how he’d possessed her mouth made warmth blossom through her. No man had ever made her feel weak-kneed from just a kiss. Ever. Until now.

  Her ire, normally so reliable, fizzled and vanished. Staring at herself in the mirror, she felt like a stranger, all achy and empty in a way she’d never felt before.

  She wanted Marc, she needed Marc. Touching her intimately. Moving inside of her.

  For the first time in ages, she felt alive. Feminine. Looking at her blushing cheeks and radiant eyes, she might even dare to say beautiful. Yes. She felt frickin’ beautiful.

  Take that, Feiney.

  And as she thought of her nemesis, her hatred returned. Tempered this time with regret. None of this was real. When Feiney was captured and sent back to his hellhole in prison, she and Marc would go their separate ways.

  She needed to remember that they were just pretending. Though she knew that before all this was over she and Marc might end up having sex—how could they not, when they generated so much heat—she couldn’t allow herself to become personally involved. Not now, when her emotions were so delicate and fragile that she herself didn’t even trust them. One wrong move and she just might shatter.

  She made a face at herself in the mirror. All she could afford to focus on was making sure Feiney was caught. Everything else would have to be secondary. End of story.

  Resolve strengthened, she rinsed out her mouth, dragged a brush through her hair and turned to rejoin Marc.

  Cell phone to his ear, he looked up when she entered the room. The bleakness in his gaze made her blood turn cold. Dread coiled in her stomach. Something bad had happened. Marc’s hunched shoulders and tense neck told her that the caller wasn’t giving him good news.

  And she’d just bet the call somehow involved Feiney. Everything did, these days.

  He muttered something too low for her to hear and closed his phone, shoving it into his pocket.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Shaking his head, he met her gaze. “That was one of the team. Feiney did it. He killed the other girl. The FBI is already on-site.”

  Despite herself, she gasped. “He gave us no warning.”

  “Does he ever?” Yanking his car keys out of his pants’ pocket, he tossed them from hand to hand. “He dumped the body at the back door of Billy Bob’s. Same M.O.—cowboy hat and daisies. And blood. Can’t forget the blood.”

  Swearing, she strode to the window so that if he was watching Feiney could see her on that blasted camera of his. “He gave up his leverage.”

  “For now,” Marc agreed. “At least until he grabs the next one. My office and the rest of the team are en route. I’m meeting them there. Want to join me?”

  Startled, she nodded, her heart doing double-time. Not wanting to give Marc a chance to remember that she was on medical leave and therefore not authorized to tag along, she hurried out the door after him.

  Only once they were in the car, heading toward the Stockyards, did she turn to him and let go of the feeling about to explode inside her.

  “We caused this,” she said, aware her desperate regret sounded in her voice. “This is Feiney’s revenge—the killing. We did this to that girl, us and our little performance in front of his camera.”

  Immediately, Marc shook his head. “No, Lea. We did not.” His tone was firm and certain. She found herself taking a large measure of comfort from that.

  Still, she had to ask. “How do you know?”

  “Because the body was found as we were just getting warmed up. Feiney killed this girl before you and I even kissed.”

  The tightness in her chest loosened. “You’re right,” she breathed.

  “It’s not your fault, nor mine. Nothing that insane prick does is your fault, do you understand?”

  He sounded angry enough for both of them, enough that she could put any lingering doubts to rest.

  “We need to focus on our goal,” he persisted. “We can’t let anything distract us.”

  Was he talking to her or to himself? Letting her gaze roam over his rugged profile, she sighed. She couldn’t help but marvel at how easily he seemed to be able to go from passionate lover to distant law-enforcement professional.

  Marc Kenyon was a damn good actor, she’d give him that. Only he hadn’t been acting about one thing—his arousal had been real. She certainly hadn’t imagined that. Nor would she be able to easily forget it.

  “Aren’t you going to have a problem with the team when I show up with you? If Stan’s there, I can only imagine his reaction.”

  Jaw rigid, intent on his driving, he barely spared her a glance. “Not at all. Since Feiney left such a clear message, I already told Stan that I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  So help her, her heart skipped a beat. “Clear message?” She swallowed. “What message? Did you forget to tell me something?”

  Now he did glance at her, the tight set of his mouth telling her transparently that his omission had been deliberate. “Stan said it’s a pretty graphic…er, picture. Visual, more than words. I think you’ll need to see it.”

  Damn Feiney. “If it’s visual, that means it’s not specific. How does Stan know it’s directed at me? It could be a message for the media or anyone in law enforcement.”

  “True, but Feiney wrote your name. In blood. He incorporated that into the display.”

  Dread coiled low in her belly. “Display. You said this was the same M.O.—daisies, cowboy hat, the usual. What else?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. She could see him debating how to tell her.

  “That bad, huh?” she asked dryly. “You might as well tell me now, since I’m going to see it for myself.”

  “The victim is missing her hand, for starters.”

  Lea swore. “That sorry sack of—”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who…” Clearing her throat, Lea tried again. “Who was she?”

  “Lorna Placek, age twenty-seven. Married, with two small children. She’d gone out with her twin sister to celebrate a promotion at work.”

  “Her twin sister was the other victim?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” With a tired shrug, he returned his full attention to the road. “Yet another reason why I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable in the role of protector,” she warned him. “I can take care of myself. Like all the rest of it, this is part of the game to catch Feiney.”

  He shot her a quick look. “As if I’d ever forget.”

  Was that a tinge of bitterness in his voice? Surely not. But just in case, she decided she’d better shut up and let him drive.

  When they finally arrived at the crime scene, the
local police had already roped off the area with yellow tape. Marked and unmarked vehicles surrounded the scene, and uniformed officers stood guard.

  Marc parked. Gravel crunching underfoot, they got out of the car. He took her arm and escorted her to the perimeter, where he flashed his ID.

  “She’s with me,” he told the cop.

  Her first hint of what was to come—and really, she should have steeled herself to expect it—was the trail of bloody daisies. Her second was the scent. The awful aroma of fresh blood and flowers. The aroma of…Feiney.

  Bile rose up inside her throat. She swallowed, hardening her resolve, knowing what Feiney had done to the body, to the girl, wouldn’t be pretty. Hell, pretty? It wouldn’t be human.

  And the daisies—the damn flowers were everywhere. Barely suppressing a shudder, she kicked aside petal after petal. She didn’t realize, until Marc placed his hand on her shoulder, that her kicks were growing more and more violent, more and more out of control.

  “Are you okay?” His gaze searched her face. “Don’t lose it, sugar. Take a deep breath.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she did exactly that. One deep, calming breath, then another. Finally, she nodded. “I’m fine. Or, I will be,” she said grimly. “Lead the way.”

  Keeping his grip on her arm, he studied her. Whatever he saw in her eyes seemed to satisfy him. As he turned around to continue forward, Stan appeared, waving at Marc. He took one look at Lea and the welcoming expression on his face turned to irritation.

  “Kenyon,” he barked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “She needed to be here.” Marc’s calm tone belied his death grip on her arm. “I told you I wasn’t letting her out of my sight.”

  “She’s on medical leave.” Stan cursed. “My ass will be in a sling if my superiors learn she was out here.”

  “So we make sure they don’t find out.”

  Stan tried another tack. “What if she can’t handle this? She could have a complete breakdown.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Lea had had enough. “Will the two of you quit talking like I’m not here? I’m not fragile, Stan. I can handle seeing this. It used to be my job, remember.”