The Profiler

by Chris Taylor

  Clayton nodded, his eyes glinting in the streetlights as they passed.

  “Sure. Good.” His lips turned up into a cheeky grin. “Your place, or mine?”

  Keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the road in front of her, she found herself stumbling on a reply.

  “I-I really need to go home and take a shower. After all that’s gone on today, I couldn’t bear the thought of eating in these clothes.” She took in the wrinkled suit and blouse.

  “They still look pretty good to me, but I know what you mean.” He checked his watch. “How about we meet in the city about seven thirty? That’s not too far away from your place, is it?”

  “No, I’ve got a unit over at Darling Harbour. I’ll catch a cab.”

  His eyebrows rose again. “Darling Harbour? That’s pretty swish.”

  “Early inheritance.”

  He whistled in appreciation. “Sounds like my kind of family.”

  She laughed as images of her mother and father came to mind. Having made a fortune on the stock exchange in the nineties, her parents had cashed in well before the crash in 2008. They owned a luxurious apartment overlooking the harbor at Point Piper, among several other lucrative investments and had felt the need to share their good fortune with their only child.

  Ellie had never bothered arguing with them. Not that she’d ever been spoilt in the traditional sense. As a child, she’d been raised to be thankful for all that she had and to give generously to those less fortunate.

  And it just went to show, all the money in the world didn’t shield you from heartache and tragedy. She felt a pang of loss at the thought of Jamie.

  “Hey.” Clayton’s voice was soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I was trying to be funny.”

  She forced a wobbly smile. “No offence taken. And it was kind of funny.”

  A look of mock-hurt contorted his features. “Only kind of?”

  She chuckled. “Okay, it was pretty funny.” She spared him a wry look. “My father would have found it hysterical.”

  “Sounds like we’d get on famously.” He grinned and her heart did a somersault.

  Get a grip, Cooper. You’re not sixteen.

  She negotiated a lane change and continued to silently castigate herself. Once again, he seemed to read her mind and diverted her feverish thoughts with another question.

  “So, this is your town. Where should we go to eat?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The iconic shape of Centrepoint Tower loomed over the city skyline, illuminated by golden lights. Clayton had met her in a cab outside her apartment. Upon Ellie’s request, the cab driver had dropped them off at the entrance to the Pitt Street Mall. Her heart beat with anticipation as they drew closer. She’d called and made a reservation the minute she’d dropped Clayton off at his hotel.

  He was a visitor to the city she loved and she wanted to take him somewhere special. She had to remind herself it was not a date, but nevertheless, she wanted to surprise him and let him see the city of her birth at its glittering best.

  Besides, after all that had happened with their case and the little or no progress they’d made, she was in the mood to drown the mounting frustration with a good merlot.

  Knowing how difficult it was to get a reservation at the revolving restaurant, she’d been relieved and excited when the maître d’ informed her of a cancellation and accepted her last-minute booking.

  It was still early evening, and although the winter air was crisp, small pockets of people wandered through the mall window shopping, talking, laughing. A few late-working business professionals strode past hurriedly with smart briefcases in tow, looking as if their thoughts were on making the next train.

  Ellie eyed Clayton with appreciation. He wore a crisp white dinner shirt and tailored black suit pants. A matching jacket hung from his fingers. For the first time since she’d met him, he was without a tie and the top few buttons of his shirt had been left undone, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, male skin.

  There was something about a well-dressed man that did it for her. With his tousled, shower-damp hair and deep-blue eyes with their hint of sadness, he couldn’t have looked any sexier.

  And the feeling seemed to be mutual, if the admiration warming his gaze was anything to go by. Heat crept into her cheeks every time his gaze swept over her simple but stylish black crepe dress. Its low-cut neckline emphasized the fullness of her breasts and the cinched-in waist held by a jewelled butterfly brooch at her hip accentuated her curves.

  Becoming flustered by his thorough perusal, her three-inch heels caught on a crack in the pavement and she stumbled. His arm shot out and grabbed her elbow, preventing her from taking a fall.

  “Careful, partner. You might do some damage. I’d hate to see you break a leg and leave me with all the driving. I’ve kind of gotten used to being chauffeured.”

  Her face flamed and she looked away. His fingers were warm on her arm. It seemed every nerve ending was acutely aware of the feel of his skin on hers.

  She gritted her teeth. For Christ’s sake, Cooper, get a grip. It’s his fingers. Just his fingers.

  Those fingers tightened when she surreptitiously tried to pull her arm away. Knowing to tug any harder would only draw attention, she tried to act as nonchalant as he was.

  They passed under a streetlight and she caught the reflection off a heavy chain that hung around his neck. A gold ring rested against his chest. It looked like a wedding ring, but he’d said nothing about a wife. And it wasn’t on his finger.

  She shelved her curiosity, determined to enjoy the evening. Surely, if he was married, he would have said so. He seemed way too honorable to be the cheating type.

  “So, where are we eating?” he asked, glancing around him with an air of casual interest.

  With the pressure of his hand burning her skin, Ellie suddenly regretted her impulse to take him to Centrepoint Tower. The place was way too formal, way too expensive, way too intimate to take a work colleague.

  She shuffled through her mind with increasing panic for somewhere else to go. There was no decent restaurant in the city where they could expect to get a table without a reservation this late in the evening. Dressed as they were, it would be ludicrous to suggest fish and chips down at Circular Quay.

  With a sigh, she muttered, “The Centrepoint Tower Restaurant.” The traffic lights changed just as she said it and cars accelerated forward. Clayton bent his head toward her, his face almost level with hers.

  “Sorry, I missed that.”

  She caught a whiff of his expensive-smelling cologne and tried to remember what they’d been talking about. God, she really needed to get out more. If the mere whiff of a man’s aftershave had her mind turning to mush, what hope was there for her?

  As they came upon the entry to the Tower, she answered his question. With a raised eyebrow and a smile tugging at her lips, she indicated the bank of elevators that would take them up to the restaurant. “We’re going up there.”

  He frowned and his face lost all color. She was immediately concerned. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

  His throat worked. He swallowed. A deep red stain rose up from his neck and stole across his sculpted cheekbones. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Clayton? Are you all right?” She grabbed his arms and gave him a little shake, her concern now bordering on panic.

  He shrugged and met her eyes. “I’m scared of heights.”

  Her mouth fell open in surprise. “You’re scared of heights?” She shook her head in disbelief allowing her gaze to travel down the long, lean length of him. His sheer size had made her feel instantly safe and protected, as if nothing could ever faze him. And yet, this giant of a man had just admitted he was afraid of heights.

  A chuckle escaped her and then another. Without meaning to, full-blown laughter overtook her until tears of amusement filled her eyes. His frown was fierce enough to scare a small child. He stood his ground in silence as she tried to contain her mi
rth.

  “I’m sorry; I’m sorry.” She swiped at the tears in her eyes and struggled to compose herself. “It’s just that, you look so—”

  He shook his head. His lips were pressed together.

  “I know what you’re going to say. But it doesn’t make any difference. I’m scared of heights.” He shrugged again. “Always have been.”

  Clearing her throat of residual laughter, she took hold of his arm and led him with confidence toward the lifts. Her nervousness had disappeared. All of a sudden, it felt easy. So easy. Like she was out with an old friend. A friend who happened to look like he’d come from a Vogue photo shoot and who had the ability to make her heart jump somersaults with his smile—who said they couldn’t work through that?

  The elevator doors opened and she felt the tension in Clayton’s arm. She peered up at him and saw his lips were pressed tightly together. He wasn’t kidding. He really did have a thing about heights.

  “Look, if you’d rather we go somewhere else, I’m sure we’ll find another place—somewhere on the ground floor, perhaps?” She gave him an encouraging smile.

  He looked down at her, determination in his eyes. “No, this is fine. I’d love to have dinner in Centrepoint Tower.” A grin tilted his lips. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  She grinned back at him. “Liar.”

  He smiled and her heart flipped over. “Okay, well maybe it isn’t at the very top of my list, but it’s definitely up there.”

  She shook her head. “Not.”

  “It’s only more than one thousand feet off the ground and one of the tallest buildings in the southern hemisphere. I’m sure you’re aware of that?” The tautness around his mouth relaxed slightly and his eyes glinted in amusement.

  “Really? Wow, that is high,” she replied and then shot him a cheeky look. “You still game?”

  He drew in a deep breath, expanding his already-broad chest to an even more impressive width. “Bring it on, partner.”

  * * *

  The elevator doors slid open and they stepped out onto a parquet floor, so shiny she could almost see their reflections. Hundreds of wine bottles, ensconced behind a wall of glass, bordered the entryway, golden light reflecting off their polished necks. Soft music emanated from some as-yet-unseen source. A maître d’ dressed in formal evening wear stood behind a polished wooden lectern and greeted them as they entered the restaurant.

  “Good evening, sir. Good evening, madam. Do you have a reservation?”

  “Yes. It’s in the name of Cooper,” Ellie replied.

  The man ran his finger down a list of entries on the page before him. “Ah. Yes, here it is. A table for two. If you’ll just follow me…”

  Ellie peeked at Clayton. A little color had returned to his cheeks, but his mouth still looked tense. She looked back at the maître d’.

  “We might go and have a drink at the bar, first, if that’s all right?”

  “Of course. Just let me know when you’re ready to be seated.”

  She steered Clayton toward the bar with a solicitous hand at his elbow. He pulled away.

  “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

  She grinned at his scowl. “Oh, I don’t know, you’re looking pretty unsteady to me.”

  He tried to maintain his frown. “This is all your fault, Cooper.”

  Her eyes opened wide in mock surprise. “My fault? How was I to know you were afraid of heights? A big strapping man like you? You must be at least six two, maybe even six three? And those big, strong shoulders—”

  He growled a warning. “Ellie…”

  She grinned unrepentantly. “Just kidding.”

  Sliding onto a chocolate-leather barstool, she turned to survey the rows of sparkling crystal glasses and colorful bottles of liqueurs that lined the back wall of the bar. The soft ambient lighting of the restaurant reflected back at her, throwing off shards of light that looked like little shooting stars.

  Clayton slid onto an adjacent stool, the tension easing from his mouth. He turned to look at her. “What’s your poison?”

  “I’ll have a margarita, thanks.”

  The barman appeared and Clayton ordered her drink and then asked for a scotch.

  Ellie looked along the illuminated tortoise-shell bar. It seemed to stretch for miles, all golden and shimmery. With the room slowly revolving, it felt like she was suspended in air.

  Clayton reluctantly raised his gaze toward the city skyline, visible in every direction. They were high enough to see the stars. “It really is one hell of a view.”

  She grinned cheekily. “Breathtaking, even. It takes seventy minutes for us to complete a full revolution. On a clear day, you can see almost as far as the Blue Mountains.”

  He took a cautious peek at the panoramic view, visible even through the glass shelving behind the bar.

  “Glad you came?” she asked softly.

  His gaze slid over her, leaving a trail of fire. It paused at her breasts. Her pulse skipped into overtime and butterflies filled her stomach.

  His eyes met hers. The blue of his irises had turned dark cobalt. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  Ellie stared at him and swallowed; the nerves which had returned from nowhere suddenly threatening to cut off her oxygen supply. Her chest was tight and she was sure he could hear her frantic heart battering against her ribcage.

  She ignored his response in an effort to play it cool. The barman assisted by returning with their drinks. Glad for the excuse to break eye contact, she reached for her handbag.

  Clayton stilled her with a hand on her arm. “Please, let me.”

  Excruciatingly aware of the warmth of his skin on hers, the nerves that had filled her throat now jangled with increasing urgency in her belly.

  Unable to help herself, her eyes met his again. Their knowing depths sparkled with good humor, along with some residual tension.

  He gave her a sardonic look and raised his glass. “What shall we toast to?”

  She shook her head slightly to clear it and picked up her margarita. Out of habit, her tongue snuck out and licked at the salt that rimmed the glass. She leaned across to clink her glass with his, pleased to see her hand remained steady.

  “To new friends.”

  His eyes held hers while he sipped his scotch. Her heart rate ratcheted up another notch. She took a healthy swallow of her drink.

  “Friends.” He rolled the word around in his mouth, as if sampling it. “I guess that’s as good a place as any to start.”

  “Better than being enemies,” she quipped, taking another mouthful. Already, she could feel the tequila working its magic on her nerve endings, dulling their response to his nearness.

  His answering smile was slow and sexy. His gaze strayed to her cleavage once again and he replied in a low drawl. “You can say that again. If you’d had your way, I’d have dropped dead in the squad room that first night.”

  The memory assailed her. Heat seared her cheeks. She looked away, grateful for the dim lighting.

  “So, was it me in particular, or Feds in general, that had you all steamed up?”

  Ellie closed her eyes, mortified. No amount of subtle lighting would save her this time. He grinned, his eyes alight with good humor.

  She gritted her teeth, determined not to let him know how embarrassed she was.

  “You’re speaking in the past tense, Fed. Who says I still don’t wish you would disappear and go back to where you came from?”

  His darkening gaze came to rest on her lips. “I say.”

  His low, husky voice washed over her and she shivered. Her nipples tightened in response. Panic flared inside her and she gulped down the rest of her drink.

  He was a Fed. A good-looking, charming, arrogant, very good-looking, smug, annoying, exceptionally good-looking Fed. What was she doing here with him?

  Hadn’t she learned from her experience with Robert? Hadn’t he also been a good-looking, charming, arrogant—all right, not nearly as good-look
ing—Fed? And hadn’t he walked away, leaving her broken-hearted, with barely a fare thee well?

  Of all the men in the world, why did she have to hook up with another one? She blushed as the thought sunk in. She wasn’t hooking up with him. It was just dinner. Not even a date. Just two work colleagues who happened to be together at dinner time.

  A simple sharing of a meal, that was all. So what if she’d spent nearly every second since dropping him off at his hotel trying to decide what to wear? So what if she’d sprayed her very best Dior perfume on her neck, across her wrists and then touched it to the back of her knees? So what if she’d made the extra effort to apply eye shadow, blusher and mascara in addition to her usual slash of deep plum lipstick? That didn’t turn this into something it wasn’t. Did it?

  A tiny sigh escaped her and she signaled to the barman for a refill. She could still taste the tart and spicy bite of the tequila, lime and Cointreau on her tongue. It had slid down her throat all too easily.

  Clayton raised his eyebrow and a grin tugged at his lips.

  “You might want to take it easy, partner. You haven’t had anything to eat, yet. A pint-sized thing like you won’t take long to get sloshed.”

  Her tongue darted out to lick a grain of salt from her lips. She held his gaze and watched, transfixed as his eyes darkened like waves at midnight.

  “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It’s been a real shit of a month.”

  The barman returned and placed another margarita in front of her. She picked it up and took another healthy swallow. A pleasant buzz built inside her head. The Fed was looking tastier by the minute. Even the eyebrow he raised again when she finished her drink a few moments later looked sexy.

  With concentrated precision, she placed her empty glass back on the bar, pleased to see it remained upright. She turned to him and smiled. “I love margaritas.”

  His gaze moved over her, soft and intimate as a caress. He leaned close and braced her shoulders with his hands. His lips brushed her ear and she shivered with awareness.

  “I’m going to see about our table. You need to get some food into your belly.”