by Lyn Horner
PROFILING NATHAN
Romancing the Guardians, Book Five
By
Lyn Horner
Available in print
and digital format
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters. places, organizations and events portrayed in this publication are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. With one exception noted in the Preface, any resemblance to real persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locals is purely coincidental.
Profiling Nathan (Romancing the Guardians, Book Five)
Copyright © 2016 by Lyn Horner
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover graphics by Kim Killion, The Killion Group Inc.
Edited by Cissy Patterson
Author contact information: [email protected]
Table of Contents
tItle page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Titles by Lyn Horner
Dedication
Preface
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BEGUILING DELILAH
About the Author
Praise for Lyn Horner’s Novels
Titles by Lyn Horner
Rescuing Lara
Romancing the Guardians, Book One
Decoding Michaela
Romancing the Guardians, Book Two
Capturing Gabriel
Romancing the Guardians, Book Three
Touching Charlotte
Romancing the Guardians, Book Four
Profiling Nathan
Romancing the Guardians, Book Five
White Witch
Texas Devlins, Book One
Darlin’ Irish
Texas Devlins, Book Two
Dashing Irish
Texas Devlins, Book Three
Dearest Irish
Texas Devlins, Book Four
Texas Devlins 4 Book Bundle
The Perfect Gift
A Texas Devlins Christmas (novella)
Six Cats In My Kitchen
Photo illustrated memoir
**Anthologies Lyn is in**
Rawhide ’n Roses
2015 Rone Awards Finalist
Silver Belles and Stetsons
Popular Christmas Anthology
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my husband and best friend, Ken. He is my first reader, often catching typos I fail to see. Unbelievably patient, he gives me the time and privacy I need to write, and puts up with my bad mood when I run into plot problems or my computer decides to act up. Sorry for screaming at the ornery thing, honey!
Preface
Dear Reader,
In Profiling Nathan, I jump into the realm of murder mystery, a first for me. I was inspired to do this because Talia, the heroine, is a profiler for the FBI. She needed something to keep her in Tampa after delivering an urgent message to Nathan. If she flew back to D.C. right away, there wouldn’t be a story. Besides, I wanted to challenge myself by delving into a somewhat different genre.
Not that there’s any lack of romance, mind you. The main characters are a tad older than in most of my books, but they still enjoy a romp in the bedroom, or on a sandy beach. Their visit to Paradise Lakes resort also proves, shall we say revealing? This Florida resort is real, by the way, and I would like to thank the owners, Patti and Jerry Buchanan, for allowing me to use their names and their amazing property in my story.
Besides sizzling romance and mystery, this book includes my trademark psychic phenomena and a prophetic glimpse of one possible future. Toward the end, you will also find a hint of what’s to come in the finale of my Romancing the Guardians series. But don’t get too anxious for it. There are two more Guardians waiting in the wings to tell their stories before the explosive climax.
Thank you so much for buying my book and entrusting me with your time. I hope you enjoy Nathan and Talia’s story. ~ Lyn Horner
“In a battle all you need to make you fight is a little hot blood and the knowledge that it’s more dangerous to lose than to win.” – George Bernard Shaw
CHAPTER ONE
Nathan Maguire set aside the sterile-wrapped tattooing needles he’d ordered and eyed the woman who had just walked into his shop. She didn’t look like the typical customers who came to his tattoo parlor. Pretty much all of them dressed casually.
This gal, who he guessed to be in her thirties, wore a tailored black suit that outlined some luscious curves, he noticed with purely male appreciation, and a white blouse buttoned up to her throat. Her light blonde hair was pulled back tight from her face, showing off high cheekbones, a femininely squared jaw and straight, slightly long nose. Tiny diamond studs sparkled in her pierced ears, but she had no other piercings. At least none he could see.
She glanced around at the design examples pinned on the walls of his small shop. Then she caught his eye and marched over to the reception desk where he sat inspecting the new needles.
“Welcome to Nate’s. Can I help you, miss?” he asked, rising from his stool, forcing her to look up at him.
“Are you Nathan Maguire?” Her voice was firm, with a faint hint of New England in her accent.
He smiled. “I am but you can call me Nate.”
She adjusted the strap of her large black leather shoulder bag. “Yes, well, I’m here to deliver a message, Mr. Maguire.”
Crooking his lips at her refusal to use his first name, he crossed his arms and adopted a hipshot stance. “Is that right?”
“Yes.” She nodded briskly. “The man who sent me said to tell you the message comes from Michaela.” She stared at him with cool, silver-gray eyes, watching for his reaction.
He shook his head, hiding a jolt of alarm. “Michaela who? And what man?”
She blinked and frowned, appearing puzzled. “I don’t know her last name. The man’s name is Dev Medina. He’s a friend of mine. He said you would understand the message.”
“Which is?”
Drawing a deep breath, she said, “Simply that you need to call and arrange a meeting with your six associates.”
Nate’s alarm skyrocketed. No one was supposed to know about him and his associates but themselves. “Yeah? I never heard of the guy. How does he know this Michaela?”
“Dev said they’re close friends and she’s in some kind of trouble, making it urgent for her to reach you. That’s the only reason I agreed to do this for him. He gave me a phone number you can use to contact him.” Digging in her bag, she drew out a piece of folded yellow note paper and offered it to him.
He didn’t take it. Planting his hands on his hips, he said, “Keep it. I don’t know you or the guy who sent you. I won’t be making any phone calls.”
Her fine golden eyebrows tilted down in a frown. “Didn’t you hear me? This is urgent. Otherwise, Dev wouldn’t have prevailed upon me to come all the way down to Tampa from D.C. to personally give you the message.”
“Sorry you ma
de the trip for nothing, honey, but my answer is still no. You might as well turn around and head home.”
She glared at him, eyes glittering like starlight on a stormy sea. “Don’t you ‘honey’ me, mister. I’m not some motorcycle mama or ditzy teenager in here to let you mutilate her body. I’m an agent of the FBI.”
He resented her reference to his art as mutilation. “Sure you are,” he sneered. “And where’s your badge, sweetheart?”
Furious red color rushed into her cheeks. She dug in her bag again and pulled out a black leather ID wallet. Flipping it open, she stuck an FBI badge in his face. It looked genuine. “There, smart guy. Believe me now?”
Damn! Trust me to insult a fed. Scraping a hand over his week-old beard, he crooked his lips in a remorseful smile and shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am, for offending you. I don’t get many honest to goodness feds, err, FBI agents in here.” None, to be exact.
Closing the wallet, she dropped it back in her bag. Her eyes lost their enraged glitter and her high color began to fade. “Apology accepted, Mr. Maguire. Now, will you take this and agree to make the call?” She held out the note again.
Reluctantly accepting it, he stared at the yellow paper for a moment before stuffing it, unopened, into his jeans pocket. “I’ll think about it, Miss … uh, I didn’t catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t give it to you.” Adjusting her bag once again, she eyed him coolly and relented enough to say, “You can call me Agent Werner.”
He grinned. “Nice to meet you, Agent Werner. Could I interest you in a tattoo?” He couldn’t resist the mild taunt, knowing what she thought of body art.
“No! Certainly not.” She shuttered her eyes behind thick lashes several shades darker than her hair. “I mean, that wouldn’t be appropriate for someone in my profession.” She sounded a tad flustered.
“I guess not.” He liked her better with that slight touch of softness.
“Well, I’d better go. Do make that phone call. Please,” she urged, all stiff and starchy again.
“I’ll think about it,” he repeated, having no intention of doing any such thing.
She frowned but said no more. Pivoting on her low-heeled, practical shoes, she marched to the door. He grinned at the gentle sway of her sexy ass. If she wasn’t a fed and here to pass on a dubious message, supposedly from one of his so-called associates, he would have asked her out.
*
Talia strode away from the tattoo parlor, disturbed by her encounter with Nathan Maguire. She’d thought doing this favor for Dev Medina would be simple. Just fly down to Tampa, deliver the strange message from him and his woman friend to Maguire, then hop on a return flight and be back to work in D.C. tomorrow.
She should stick to the plan. She’d kept her promise to Dev. If Maguire chose not to call him, that wasn’t her problem, was it?
Yet, Dev’s plea for help ate at her peace of mind. He’d sounded deadly serious when he said he urgently needed the tattoo artist to contact him. When she asked why, he’d said only that Michaela, obviously more than a friend, desperately needed Maguire to meet with her and their other associates. When she’d demanded to know what the group was into, fearing it might be drug smuggling or other illegal activity, Dev said he wasn’t free to say but had sworn there was nothing criminal involved.
Perhaps she should have refused his request, but they’d been partners in her early days with the Bureau, before he’d resigned to go fight in Afghanistan. They’d also had a brief, fiery affair, not love but terrific sex that had flamed out under the stress of their jobs. Even so, they’d remained friends over the years, calling and getting together infrequently when he happened to be in the area. He’d also helped her through a rough patch when her marriage fell apart, providing a long distance shoulder to cry on.
How could she turn him down when he, in turn, needed her help? She couldn’t. Nor was she able to walk away now, she conceded, without knowing if Maguire would contact Dev. Sighing in resignation, she caught a cab and told the driver to take her to a hotel she’d stayed in a few times while visiting her parents who lived in a retirement community about fifty miles south of Tampa. The hotel wasn’t fancy but it was clean, all she required.
The desk clerk gave her a curious look when she checked in, obviously noticing she had no luggage. Letting him think what he pleased, she took the elevator up to her floor. As soon as she reached her room, she plopped her heavy shoulder bag on the bed and withdrew her cell phone. Tapping in a familiar number, she got an answer on the third ring.
“Hello,” her harried boss snapped.
“Hi, Dave, it’s Talia.”
“Hey. I hope you’re on your way back.” He didn’t waste time with niceties.
“No, I’m afraid not. The guy I came to talk to isn’t cooperating.” She’d told him her parents needed help with a contractor they’d hired to remodel their condo. It was the only excuse she could come up with for her trip down here, and only half a lie. Her folks were having their place remodeled, but her father was quite capable of dealing with their contractor himself.
Dave sighed loudly into her ear. “Damn, I was counting on you being back tomorrow. I need you on a case that’s just been dumped in my lap, a kidnapping and murder across state lines.”
“I’m sorry, Dave.” Envisioning the grim scowl on his dark continence, she felt guilty for lying to him. She was a profiler, good at getting inside a criminal’s head, deducing his or her age, race and motivation for committing violent acts. Such details helped solve crimes. “I’ll return as soon as I can. Maybe Frank can help you with the case in the meantime.”
“Yeah, I’ll put him on it, but he’s not as good as you.”
She smiled at his grumpy compliment. They said their goodbyes and ended the call. Kicking off her low-heeled pumps, she removed her jacket, hung it neatly over a chair back and stretched out on the queen-size bed. It was only a quarter past two. She might as well catch up on her sleep before time to go down for supper in the hotel restaurant.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t quiet her whirling thoughts, all of them revolving around Nathan Maguire. Beyond his reluctance to contact Dev, the man bothered her in ways she hated to admit. Judging by the fine wrinkles fanning out from his umber-brown eyes, the creases framing his mouth and the gray sprinkled through his dark hair and beard, he looked to be somewhat older than her thirty-eight years. But his tall, leanly muscled build could belong to a much younger man. All of which she found appealing, too much so.
And then there were the tattoos running up Maguire’s arms. She’d always viewed such displays as disfiguring. Why, then, did she long to strip away Maguire’s tight black t-shirt to see what pictures lay hidden underneath? She must be losing her mind. He was nothing like the suave men she usually dated, who wore suits and took her to good restaurants and an occasional black tie event with the D.C. elite.
Maguire was the total opposite. Dressed in torn jeans and that sexy black t-shirt, he blended in with the streetwise crowd from whence she assumed his customers came. Plus, he was blunt-spoken and stubbornly independent, a lot like her father, she realized. Did that have something to do with her unusual attraction to him? Did it matter? As soon as she made sure he called Dev, she’d fly home and would never see him again.
So she told herself before finally dozing off.
*
Nate’s business was slow during the afternoon with only one walk-in client, allowing him too much time to brood over the message Agent Werner had delivered. He tried to blow it off, refusing to even look at the note she’d insisted on giving him. But what if Michaela Peterson really was in trouble and he ignored her plea to meet with him and the others? If the message didn’t come indirectly from her, how the hell did the FBI agent and her friend, Dev somebody, hear of the seven – known only to one another as the Guardians of Danu?
After his assistant, Misty, arrived around 5:30, Nate left her in charge and strolled up the block to grab a bite to eat before their ev
ening appointments began. Finished with his meal a short time later, he gave in and dug the note he’d ignored from his pocket. Unfolding the yellow paper, he stared at the phone number neatly printed upon it. He didn’t recognize the area code.
Pulling out his cell phone, he looked up the unfamiliar code on the internet and learned it came from San Antonio, Texas. Michaela Peterson lived somewhere in Texas, he recalled. Sighing, he conceded he would have to try calling the number, but not now. One of his regular clients was scheduled to arrive in ten minutes. He needed to get back to the shop.
The night crowd kept Misty and him busy past closing time at two a.m. After finally locking the door and turning off the neon sign above the entrance, Nate saw his pretty young assistant safely to her car on the small parking lot out back. Then he mounted the stairs to his apartment above the shop. Consisting of a living room-kitchen combination, bedroom and bath, the place wasn’t much but it met his needs.
Arching his back and twisting his torso from side to side to ease the ache caused by sitting bent over for hours, he grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and popped off the cap. Swigging down half the brew, he leaned against the chipped laminate countertop between the fridge and sink as he drank the rest of his beer more slowly. Then he set the empty longneck on the counter and got out another cold bottle.
He strolled to his beat-up sofa, kicked off his shoes and sprawled out, propping his feet on the equally beat-up coffee table. Downing a swallow of fresh beer, he rubbed his tired eyes. He enjoyed his work but it did take a toll on him by the end of a busy night.
Remembering the note in his pocket, he frowned and fished it out. He flattened the crumpled, sweat-dampened paper on his thigh and eyed the phone number. It was late. He should wait until morning to try calling, but the crazy message passed on by Agent Werner had bugged him on and off all night. Sick of it gnawing at him, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in the numbers. After several rings, the line opened.
