She got up to walk him to the door, wondering when she’d come to care enough about him to worry about his sleep habits, any nightmares he’d suffered or anything else.
She was going to get hurt. As he kissed her on the forehead and then stepped outside and back into the night, she realized that no matter how much she prepared herself, no matter how often she told herself she had it all under control, when Mark Flynn left Vengeance, her heart was going to break in half.
* * *
Amanda watched Mark leave Dora’s house from her hiding place in the bushes across the street. She remained there as she watched a second figure dash from one tree to another, shadowing Mark as he made his way down the sidewalk to where his car was parked.
Ben.
She knew it was Ben shadowing Mark at Melinda’s behest. But why? She didn’t want to believe what her head had been telling her ever since she’d found the small note card on Melinda’s desk that had Mark written on it. The only Mark Amanda knew was the FBI agent and the minute she’d seen the note she’d felt that he was in danger.
Now she had proof that Ben and Melinda were up to something. Otherwise, why would Ben be out here in the dark, watching and following the tall agent?
Amanda had put the note beneath Mark’s windshield the night before after she’d found the card on Melinda’s desk. That had been as far as she’d been willing to go in an effort to stop whatever might be happening.
The truth was, in the past twenty-four hours, since she’d found that little note card on Melinda’s desk, Amanda had been afraid, afraid of her boss and afraid of Ben.
She feared what might happen to her if Melinda or Ben knew that she had suspicions about them. She’d begun to think that Melinda’s kidnapping hadn’t been real, that somehow she and Ben had plotted the whole thing.
Thinking back, during Melinda’s captivity Amanda remembered now that Ben would disappear from campus for long periods of time. Amanda couldn’t find him at his apartment; nor was he in any of his usual haunts. Had he been with Melinda? Pretending to be a kidnapper?
What she couldn’t figure out was why, but when she thought of the murders that had taken place during that time a true terror she’d never felt before seared through her.
She now breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Mark climb into his car and drive off. The dark figure that she knew was Ben disappeared into the night, either heading back to his place or to Melinda’s.
Amanda remained in the bushes for a long time, nibbling a nail as horrible thoughts went around and around in her head. She didn’t know who to trust, who to tell her crazy suspicions.
She stared back at Dora’s house. She liked Dora a lot and she knew Dora and the handsome FBI agent had something going on between them. But how could she tell Dora her suspicions when she knew what few other people knew about Dora’s relationship to Melinda?
She’d found out that Dora was Melinda’s sister just before Melinda had gone missing. Melinda had accidently slipped up and mentioned the fact at one of their late-night work sessions. As far as Amanda was concerned she and Ben were the only people on campus who knew that the two women were related.
So, talking to Dora was out of the question. Talking to anyone felt like a dangerous risk. Tears blurred her vision. She was twenty-eight years old and yet at this moment she felt like a frightened child left all alone in the dark.
She shivered in the cool night air and fought against the horrifying belief that something very bad was about to happen.
Chapter 12
Melinda Grayson sat on a stone bench beneath a tree sporting red leaves and watched in the distance as the young college students worked to build the fire pit. It was the pit that would contain not only a bonfire in three nights, but also the traditional burning at the stake of an effigy of the Everly College’s blue-clad quarterback.
The Blue Jays. What a ridiculous name for a college team; what a ridiculous mascot for a football team. Birds had such fragile little bones, so easily crushed.
She leaned back against the bench, knowing that nobody would dare approach her here. Even without her two little minions surrounding her, she didn’t worry about being interrupted by any students. Passing students might shoot her sidelong glances and shy smiles, but they respected her and perhaps feared her power too much to disrupt her moment of peace.
Speaking of minions... Her gaze was caught by the sight of Andrew Peterson walking across the campus, his shoulders hunched slightly forward as if anticipating a blow. He’d been unimaginative in bed, but a good little soldier for as long as she’d wanted him.
She thought about calling to him, just to see how long it would take to get him under her thumb again, but she’d been bored with him long before she’d kicked him to the curb.
Unfortunately, he was a weak man who might occasionally wander out into the world of illicit sex and subterfuge but ultimately would always run home to the safety of his wife and children. He certainly wasn’t a match, or in Melinda’s league at all.
Still, if she needed him again, if she wanted to have a little fun, she was confident that it would take only a few minutes to get him back under her spell once more.
A smile curved her lips as she anticipated the Friday-night fun. She always loved the homecoming bonfire and the wildness that reigned on that one night of the year. It called on a primitive wildness inside her.
On a whim she pulled her cell phone from her purse. She hadn’t spoken to her brother Samuel since the kidnapping, and she found herself in the mood to talk to the family bad boy.
It took several minutes before she was connected. “Melinda, my dear sweet sister, how are you?” Samuel’s deep, pleasant voice slid smoothly through the phone. “I heard through the grapevine that you’d been through a terrible ordeal.” His voice held no pity, no real concern for her. In truth she hadn’t expected any from him. Still, she made her voice small and hesitant when she responded.
“It was horrible,” she replied, admiring a student’s muscled back as he took off his shirt while he worked. “I’ve been having nightmares for the last week.”
“Darling, you don’t know a nightmare until you’ve tasted the food in this place,” he replied.
“Did the gossip you heard about my kidnapping mention that I was beaten? That my captor broke my arm?” Melinda snapped, unable to contain a flash of irritation.
“I believe I did hear something about it, but broken arms heal and bruises go away. At least you aren’t locked up like I am.”
Melinda sighed, wondering why she’d called him in the first place. He was such a narcissist. It was always all about him. He had no empathy for anyone else on the face of the earth. “You were stupid, Samuel. You did bad things and you were stupid enough to get caught.”
Samuel sighed. “Yes, I admit that mistakes were made and lessons were learned. I won’t make the same mistakes the second time around.”
“From what I hear you aren’t going to get a second time around,” Melinda replied. “They’re never going to let you out of there.”
Samuel laughed. For a narcissistic sociopath, he had a nice, rich laughter. “I’m not counting on them letting me out of here, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get a second time around.”
So, he was working on an escape, she thought. If he did manage to escape from wherever they were holding him, she wondered where he’d go to build a new kingdom where all who lived there would worship him.
“You could at least ask me about the other members of our family,” she said, knowing Samuel hated talking about Dora and Micah.
“Why would I want to know about them? One is a loser and the other is a traitor to the Grayson name.” His tone of voice was one of distinct disgust. “Dora is a twit you should have left in Horn’s Gulf and Micah will someday pay for putting me here. You and I are the only ones with
any guts in our family tree, Melinda. We’re strong. I built an empire and look what you’ve survived. We’re two peas in a pod.”
“There’s one big difference between you and me,” she replied with a hint of smug satisfaction in her voice. “I’m out here and you’re locked up.” She knew her words would make him angry and she disconnected the call before she heard his response.
She didn’t need him to tell her she was strong, that she had guts. She’d survived her father’s brutality and her drunk of a mother; she’d survived out in the world all alone and had worked her ass off to become the great professor Melinda Grayson.
She didn’t need a loser like Samuel to tell her who she was and what she deserved from life. She was owed everything good that came her way. She’d built her own little kingdom here at Darby and she was the queen who wielded the power.
Samuel was wrong. The two of them weren’t peas in a pod. She was better than him...smarter than him, and only losers went to prison.
Thinking about losers, she checked her watch. It was time for her to head to her next class. As if on cue she saw Ben and Amanda approaching from the distance. Dependable, malleable and fiercely loyal, the two assistants had been a good choice of hers.
As always, Ben looked cool and relaxed and Amanda was one step ahead of him, her pretty face pale with exhaustion and strain. Melinda knew the two were at odds with each other, and she’d done nothing to ease the tension between them.
Amanda reminded Melinda of Dora...weak and eager to please, while Ben reminded Melinda more of herself. His laid-back aura hid more than a touch of arrogance and a hunger for power of his own.
Melinda stood as the two reached where she’d been seated. She said nothing to them, but turned and headed toward class, confident that they would follow close at her heels.
* * *
The past week had been a blend of everything good and everything bad that could happen in an ongoing investigation and in Mark’s personal life. He now sat in the briefing and listened to Richard rail about the fact that somehow it had been overlooked that Troy Young had been in jail on drunk-and-disorderly charges at the time of the murders. This unbreakable alibi had come to light the night before and had taken him off their suspect list completely.
Richard was angry with not only the men and woman who sat before him, but also the Vengeance Police Department where Troy had enjoyed accommodations for the twenty-four-hour period when the murders had been committed.
“What I don’t understand is why Troy didn’t remember that he’d been in jail when he was first questioned,” Larry said.
“He drinks almost every night. Sheriff Burris had him on a revolving door down at the jail. He has trouble remembering what he did yesterday. It was his lawyer who discovered the jail records that exonerated him.”
Richard glared around the room, as angry as Mark had ever seen him. “We should have been the ones who found this information, not some damned lawyer. We should have had that information the day Troy Young hit our radar.” He slapped his hands down on the table before him. He then visibly drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.
Nobody in the room spoke a word as they waited for him to continue. Richard turned to stare at the whiteboard, where the photos of the victims stared back. He turned back to his team. “They haunt me as I’m sure they haunt you. We need to find who was responsible for this.” His voice was calm now, his anger in check. “We need to bring whoever is guilty to justice.”
Mark realized this wasn’t so much an ass-chewing or briefing as it was a motivational meeting. The feel in the room was tired, dispirited, and nothing had come to light in the past week to buoy the agents’ flagging spirits. Joseph had whispered earlier that he thought this perp had beaten them, that they were never going to solve these crimes. He’d given voice to what Mark suspected the others felt.
There had never been a real trail to follow and now with Troy Young out of the mix they didn’t have anyone on a short list of potential suspects.
Mark was still convinced of his theory of the crime, that Melinda Grayson had staged her kidnapping with a male partner and had somehow played a role in the murders, but nobody wanted to listen to him.
He’d been shut down by his teammates, who he could tell were frustrated with him because he hadn’t come up with any other viable theory of the murders. They didn’t want to hear any more of his feelings where Melinda Grayson was concerned. As far as they were concerned she was a separate victim of a different crime.
There had been moments in the past week when Mark thought maybe his teammates were right and he was not only losing his mind to an obsession about the professor, but also losing his touch as a profiler.
For the first time in his work, he felt like a failure. The only thing that had kept him from plunging into depression the past week had been Dora.
He’d spent a little bit of time with her each night, not talking about work but rather talking about music and movies and good books. She was a puzzle he put together with each bit of information he gleaned.
She loved reading romance novels, letting him know that there was someplace inside her that still clung to the idea of a happily-ever-after. She loved old rock-and-roll music, especially the ballads about angels and teens...the kind of music meant for slow dancing and holding tight.
“Mark!”
His attention was snapped back to the present as he blinked and looked at Richard. “Sorry, what was the question?”
“I asked you if you’ve come up with anything more on the note left on your car and the threat to your well-being?”
“Well, the good news is I’m still alive,” Mark replied. Everyone laughed and some of the tension slid out of the room. “Nobody has taken any shots at me, no mysterious cars have tried to run me over and I haven’t sensed anything out of the usual around me.”
“I don’t want you dropping your guard for a minute,” Richard replied.
“Don’t worry, I have no intention of being taken off guard,” Mark said. He’d been careful lately, constantly checking his surroundings, monitoring any people who might get too close. His gun only left his body at night when he slept, and even then it was within reach on the nightstand.
“And still no ideas who might have left it for you?” Richard asked.
Mark hesitated only a beat and then shook his head. The truth was he had some suspicions about who might have left the note, but he didn’t intend to share his instincts with the rest of the team because it went back to his theory of a guilty Melinda.
He’d given a lot of thought to the note left on his car. Whoever had written it had known that Troy Young wasn’t guilty, which implied the writer might know something about who was guilty. There were few people in the town who would write a note of warning to Mark rather than to Agent Flynn.
With startled surprise he realized the meeting had ended and everyone was leaving the room, apparently assigned by Richard to specific tasks.
Richard remained in the room and sank down next to Mark, his weariness showing on the lines that appeared deeper in his skin and the pallor that had taken over his complexion.
“The tail on Andrew Peterson has been pulled off,” Richard said. “According to the sheriff, he can’t justify one of his men tailing a person who has no known connection to the crimes, a man who for the past week has gone to work in the morning and then home every night.”
Mark frowned. He wasn’t convinced that Andrew Peterson wasn’t the man in the videos of Melinda, that the history teacher wasn’t Melinda’s partner in Mark’s nightmares.
“Give me something, Mark,” Richard said in a low voice. “Give me anything that we can work with.”
Mark looked at his friend and mentor in frustration. “I can’t give you what I don’t have. I can tell you what you don’t want to hear, what everyone refuses to believe
, but I’m not pretending to toe the company line here.”
Richard leaned back in his chair and released a deep sigh. “So, you still continue to believe the kidnapping and murders are connected and Melinda Grayson is at the center of it all.”
Mark gave a curt nod of his head and Richard sighed once again. He leaned toward Mark, his gaze hard and demanding. “Then get me proof. Get me something that proves this theory of yours.”
Richard stood and walked to the door of the war room and then turned back to Mark. “Leave all other theories to the other agents. I want you to focus solely on your idea of the crimes. Either prove it or disprove it, but get me something other than your gut instinct, Mark.” With these final words Richard left the room.
Mark leaned back in his chair and tried to focus on what his next move should be. The new pressure that had just been laid on his shoulders once again made him feel as if he was failing the entire team.
Prove it or disprove it. The words rang in his ears. Richard had basically just given him free rein to work the investigation of Melinda his own way, without the support of the team.
That was fine with Mark. He didn’t have to pretend anymore that any other theory made sense, and he didn’t have to put in hours of investigative work trying to prove anything that he didn’t believe.
Prove it or disprove it.
That was exactly what Mark intended to do once and for all, and he would start by talking with the two people closest to Melinda...Ben and Amanda.
He left the courthouse with a new sense of purpose and a burning desire to find answers. He headed for the campus, a fresh determination in his soul.
It was time to fish, not cut bait, to either put Melinda in the middle of the murders or find the proof that she had nothing to do with them.
There was no question that the initial background check they’d done on Melinda had been sketchy and half-assed. At that time she’d been viewed as a victim, not a suspect.
A Profiler's Case for Seduction Page 15
