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©The Profilers-episode 1
©The Profilers Series
Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced. It may not be used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Author.
Cover photo © Shutterstock Photo Club
Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele
Edited by Corey Amador
Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by Suzanne Steele
Thank you for downloading this e-book.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.
All content herein is protected under copyright law.
This e-book is Rated 17+
To the reader
The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from but yet
you are drawn like a moth to a flame.
If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. Many times my heroes carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. Each and every character I write about has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which at times the reader may not always agree with. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional but, nonetheless, it is real.
Stalk Me…
Suzanne Steele’s Blog: http://suzannesteelesblog.wordpress.com/
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Table of Contents
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter One
Agent Turner didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was infuriated about being assigned a partner.
“Stick her with someone else. I’m a loner; I have always worked alone,” reinforcing his distaste of working alongside anyone.
“That’s the problem. You need a partner. No man’s an island, Agent Turner.”
“How cliché can you get? I don’t want her. Give her to someone else.” Agent Turner turned to eye the woman sitting in his office waiting for him. “As good as she looks, I’m sure one of the other guys will take her.”
“She’s not a puppy up for adoption, Turner. She’s a top of her class profiler and, just so you know, she can run circles around the men she was trained with at Quantico. Just think… you’ll have a partner who can go undercover as bait. Most of your cases are male serial killers and she may come in handy.”
“Well, that’s something at least… Maybe if I use her as bait, someone will abduct her and get her out of my hair.”
“That’s not funny, Agent. Now be nice and go introduce yourself to your new partner. In other words, I’m not going to change my mind.”
Agent Turner huffed and made his way into his office to meet the new partner he didn’t want. He sat behind his desk and took stock of the woman fresh out of the academy.
She was dressed in the standard black suit and had applied minimal make-up. She had long, red hair that appeared to have a mind of its own. She had attempted to pull it back in a tight braid but some of it still insisted on coming loose and fell in wisps around her face. Her eyes were bright green and held a look of eagerness in their depths. She was animated and though she made a valiant attempt to hide her enthusiasm behind a professional mask, her excitement was still evident in her expression.
His disdain was just as palpable as her enthusiasm, but it clearly didn’t seem to be thwarting her determination to get started on her first case with him.
She jumped up in an overeager manner and stuck her hand out to shake his in introduction. “Rene Murphy, sir. My name’s Rene Murphy.”
“Yeah, I got that the first time, Agent Murphy. We don’t use first names here. Well, let me rephrase that… I don’t permit agents who work for me to use first names. You’d do well to refer to me as Agent Turner at all times and just so we’re clear, you work for me.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, almost too quickly as she ran behind him out the door.
“And another thing,” he began, not waiting to see if she was listening, “I do the driving.”
He never heard her respond because he was already five steps ahead, uncaring if she followed, and still resenting the fact that he had the newbie on his heels. In fact, he didn’t even bother to fill her in on the case they were headed out to investigate. Why waste time training her if he wasn’t going to keep her anyway?
“Where are we headed?” she asked as they jumped in the car.
“You’ll see…” was the only answer he gave her. Agent Turner was doing everything he could to make it evident he didn’t want her, he wasn’t going to keep her, and he didn’t give a shit if she knew it. In fact, he was going out of his way to let her know that she wasn’t welcome.
Chapter Two
It didn’t take a rocket scientist for Rene to get the message that this guy didn’t want her as a partner but she knew the worst thing she could do was acknowledge it. It was a hard enough job being a profiler, much less a female one. Anything construed as whining would get her kicked out of the boys’ club… and quick.
She’d made it through the hazing during training and she could damn sure hold her own as the new kid on the block. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than a boss who didn’t want her on board to make her walk away from her dream of being a top profiler. She didn’t just want to work for the FBI. She wanted to be one of the top profilers in the nation and dreams like that only came true with guts and determination. She had both—an abundance of both.
She listened as her partner reluctantly filled her in on the case they would be working.
“We’ve got a string of cases where abused women are being killed. Now, I’ve already looked into the individual husbands and this isn’t a bunch of abusive spouses going too far. This is one guy. I’m tossing around the idea of an abused kid who grew up and never quit carrying the scars. You know, like he blames the women for not leaving and he’s making them pay.”
“Well, it could also be someone who has access to a hotline or something, someone who is angry that the women aren’t taking his advice to get the help they’re being offered.”
“It could be. It could also be a first response worker.”
“Maybe it’s someone who’s in a chat room or perhaps a support group. Whoever is doing this has access to the victims’ personal information. There are very few p
laces a victim feels free to open up about being abused because there is so much shame associated it,” she answered. She was already feeling the adrenalin pump she always got when she tossed ideas back and forth about a case.
“Well, I’m hoping this body we’re going to view will give us an idea.”
They pulled up into an alley behind the library. “This is an odd place to dump a body, Agent Turner. Behind a library?”
“Yeah, I have to agree with you. It is.”
They flashed their badges, moving their jackets back simultaneously, and revealed their credentials to the officer guarding the mouth of the alley.
“Aww heck, Agent, you ain’t got to show me your badge. I was on call at the last case you worked.” The young man standing before them clearly gave away his hillbilly roots with his thick accent.
“You know me, officer, I’m always business. It’s too damn easy for a case to go sideways on a technicality nowadays.”
“Who’s your partner,” the officer asked, ignoring Agent Turner’s comment.
“That’s Agent Murphy and, like I said, keep it all business.”
The officer tipped his hat to Rene who was too busy trying to keep up with her partner’s long strides as he walked away. Agent Turner was tall and thin and for every one of his steps, she had to take two. She was determined not to miss anything and that meant keeping up with a man who had no intention of waiting on her.
“Good… the coroner is here. He doesn’t always make it out to the crime scene but this case has piqued his interest,” she heard her partner say.
She listened as he bent down, eyeing the coroner on duty. She bent down with him to take inventory of the body.
“Well, we’ve got the same MO. There’s duct tape in an X pattern over her mouth just like the last victim. That black eye is at least a couple of days old. You can tell by the yellowing that it was beginning to heal,” the coroner told them after acknowledging their arrival.
“So we’re already showing evidence that this is our guy who’s killing victims of spousal abuse?” Agent Turner asked.
“Yep, the same MO of a plastic bag tied over her head for suffocation and duct tape crisscrossed over her lips like an X was found. This is a sure give away that we’re dealing with the same killer,” he told them. The coroner might have confirmed the facts for her partner but, from the look on his face, she could tell it was a conclusion he had already come to on his own.
“You know, I just can’t wrap my brain around why someone would want to kill a woman who is a victim of abuse. It seems to me that the natural reaction would be for a man to want to protect a woman going through that kind of hell.”
“I keep telling you, Herb. Serial killers have no rhyme or reason. They just have obsession with whatever fucked up thing is driving them to kill.”
“Yeah, I have to agree with you, Agent Turner. Most of these guys tend to be a mixture of a messed up nature and a lack of nurture. One feeds the other until it produces a monster.”
“Okay, we’ll be in the library if you need us,” Agent Turner informed the coroner.
Once again, Rene ran behind her partner. At least he had said we. She was getting somewhere with him. It was a start, or so she hoped.
This wasn’t the norm as far as finding dead bodies but Agent Turner had learned to expect the unexpected in his line of work. Ten years of being a top FBI profiler had taught him that much.
“Ma’am,” he spoke to the woman he found standing on a ladder stocking shelves of books. He flashed his credentials as she climbed down to speak to him.
“Do you know anything about the woman they found back behind your library?”
“It isn’t my library. It’s the public’s library but, yes, as a matter of fact, I do know her. Her name’s Debra Joiner. She came in here quite a bit to use the computers. It always seemed odd to me that she would need to borrow the public library’s computers with all the money she had.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me about her.”
“There’s not much to tell. She’s married to some bigwig businessman who works downtown. He’s some racing silks designer—makes uniforms for jockeys. Most of the jockeys use him because they can design their silks specific online. I say they use him ‘cause he has the right connections. He’s been seen eating at that private club with the Governor and he and his wife are regularly featured in the Sunday CJ social section.”
“You say they were in the local newspaper quite a bit?”
“Yep, you know it amazes me how a man who beats his wife can be held in such high esteem. Everyone just turns a blind eye to what he’s doing.”
“What makes you say that?”
“His wife wore big sunglasses more than anyone I’ve ever seen. She dropped ‘em one day and I was horrified when I bent down and picked ‘em up to hand them back to her. The whole side of that woman’s face was black and blue. She tried to hide it with make-up and did a good job until I saw her eye that day. She couldn’t hide all that red in her eyeball. I asked her about it and she gave the standard ‘I fell down the stairs’ excuse. I knew then that she probably had to come here to use a computer because her man had too much control over her. What kind of man with that much money won’t buy his wife her own computer?”
“Do you know what sites she visited while she was here?”
“Well, now I’m not one to be nosey, but I did happen to see that she was in a chat room one time. I saw it when she forgot to logout one day.”
“Do you know the name of the site?”
“Not a victim dot com, or something like that.”
Agent Turner handed her a card as he spoke, “If you remember anything else, please give us a call. You’ve helped more than you realize.”
He waited until he was outside before he growled out in anger, “I’m going to put her asshole abusive husband through hell even if he isn’t the killer.”
“Yes, there’s a big difference between abuse and consensual play.”
Something registered in him when she said that but he never let it show. He was a master at hiding his emotions and his personal sexual preferences were definitely kept under wraps when it came to his colleagues. He couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t dealing with a fellow kinkster but he pushed the thought aside, purposely giving it no more attention.
Her voice interrupted his wayward thoughts.
“Well, one thing is for sure. We’re dealing with someone who’s blaming the wrong person for the abuse suffered. I’d get it if they were killing the abuser, but the abused?”
“It has to be someone who harbors some deep-seated guilt, shame, and hatred towards abusers. Our unsub is either a woman or a male adult who grew up being abused. Something caused our guy to take it personally when this woman didn’t leave her abuser.”
“Have you been able to glean anything else from the killer’s choice in victims?”
“No, but I really need to talk to the coroner after the autopsy before I can start piecing the puzzle together. Come on and we’ll grab a cup of coffee.”
Agent Turner turned and eyed the woman who was walking at his side. For the first time since he had picked her up as a partner this morning, he considered the fact that she might not be so bad to work with after all. She was smart, didn’t complain, and as much as he hated to admit it, she was easy on the eyes—very, very easy on the eyes.
Chapter Three
The doctor sat and patiently listened to the beautiful woman who would barely look up at him due to the shame that she bore.
“Mrs. Clemons, I don’t believe that black eye is from a closet door. You’re not the first woman who has been in the ER for abuse and you’re certainly not the first one who has covered for an abusive husband by lying.”
“He really doesn’t mean it. He just deals with so much stress in the corporate world. I should have had dinner ready by six. He’s told me over and over how important it is in our circles to be punctual. He only set the timetable up to help break me of my habi
t of being late. Like I said, he means well.”
The doctor cringed as he listened to the age-old story of why a woman puts up with abuse. No matter how hard his heartstrings were pulled for the abused or how violently his blood boiled for the abuser, he was locked in with the all-encompassing doctor-patient confidentiality clause. He was powerless.
Unfortunately, until Mrs. Clemons wanted to stand up to her bully of a husband, there wasn’t a damn thing he, or anyone else, could do to save her. It would probably end up like most other cases where someone would get shot or locked up and then society would stand by, shaking their heads at witnessing such an atrocity. Mrs. Clemons would be nothing more than just one more woman who failed to step up and break the cycle of spousal abuse. The doctor did the only thing he knew to do and handed her a card to a local chat room that he had started for victims. He listened as she read it aloud as if studying it, “Not a victim dot com.”
“Yes, it’s a place where you can go and discuss your situation with other women who won’t judge. Oh, and one more thing,” he said as he took the card back from her, writing his profile name, Avenger, on the back. He continued, “You’ll need that because you have to be invited by a member of the group. I’ll e-mail you later and send the invite. When you fill out your profile, just write me in as your referral.”
“Did you start this site?”
“Yes, I grew up watching my mother be abused by my alcoholic father. It’s my way of giving back.”
He watched as she took the card and tucked it away in her wallet. He could only hope she would at least use the chat room as a means to gain friendships with other women who would understand her situation.
Chapter Four
Louisa finished the last touches on her make-up and squeezed into the tight, spandex mini-skirt she chose to wear out on the stroll tonight. She glanced over at the bundle of joy asleep in the crib and reminded herself it wouldn’t be like this forever.
She’d come to America from Mexico illegally and, like so many others, she came with nothing more than the idealistic fantasy of living the American dream—a job, a home with a nice, white, picket fence, and no more worries of wondering where she would get her next meal.
The Profilers Page 1
