Profile for Seduction

by Karen Whiddon

  Listening, she waited for it to come again.

  Cursing her shot nerves, she continued into her bedroom, moving toward the closet.

  “Hello, darling Lea.”

  Feiney stood in the entrance to the closet, holding a pistol that she recognized as a Glock nine millimeter, pointed directly at her.

  The sight stopped her in her tracks.

  Damn. Pulse battering her chest, she stared. Once again, he’d managed to surprise her. But she couldn’t let this give him the upper hand.

  “How’d you get in here?” she asked, sounding cool, calm, and collected.

  “From the apartment next door. The closets join. I came in through the ceiling tiles.”

  He shouldn’t have been able to still horrify her, but she couldn’t help glancing at the wall separating her apartment from the other. “What happened to Mrs. Pachla?” The friendly elderly woman had lived there before Lea had even moved in.

  Feiney’s slow grin gave answer enough.

  “Oh no.” She blinked. “You killed Mrs. Pachla?”

  “Why do you sound surprised?” His smile widened, though his brown eyes were coldly serious. “Killing is what I do.”

  Put that way, he was absolutely correct. A psychopathic serial killer killed. Only a complete idiot would expect him to act differently.

  But if she wanted to make it through this, to save her mother and herself—not to mention Marc—and capture Feiney, she sure as hell had to pretend to be severely lacking in mental capacity.

  Meeting his gaze dead-on and not flinching took an extraordinary amount of self-control. Oddly enough, the fact that she could even do this gave her a burst of confidence.

  “Where’s my mother?” she demanded.

  “Safe.”

  She crossed her arms, willing her inner trembling to subside. “I want to see her.”

  “Your wants no longer count for anything.” He waved the pistol. “You have nothing left to bargain with. Go back into the living room.”

  Clenching her teeth, she turned and marched ahead of him.

  Marc still lay on the floor, unmoving and unresponsive.

  “Are you sure you didn’t kill him?” Feiney alternated his gaze between Lea and Marc. “While that would save me a lot of trouble, it would also remove quite a bit of the fun factor.”

  Fun factor. She had a brief and terrible mental picture of her hands around his throat, choking him. Fun factor indeed.

  She needed to accomplish two things. One, to get Feiney to bring her mother here and two, to get him to leave alone with her.

  Only then would she have a chance to take him down without risking either Marc or her mom’s life.

  And only that way could she ensure that she would be the only casualty if she failed.

  Failure was not an option.

  Turning to face Feiney, she eyed him and the Glock. “Let me see my mother or the deal’s off.”

  “I told you, you have nothing to bargain with,” he sneered.

  “Oh, but I do. Either bring my mother, or I’m going to rush you and your weapon. You’ll have to shoot to kill, Feiney. Or I’m taking you down.”

  He studied her with narrowed eyes, possibly trying to gauge her seriousness.

  To make sure he understood, she took a step toward him.

  “I mean it.”

  To her surprise and disbelief, he took a step back. Though he didn’t lower the gun. “If I let you see your mother, you’ll swear in her blood to become my wife?”

  His choice of words alarmed her. “In her blood? What have you done to my mother?”

  “Lower your voice,” he snapped, waving the gun at her. “She has a few small cuts and bruises. Nothing serious.”

  “For your sake you’d better be telling the truth.”

  His brown eyes went flat and cold. “Or what? I could shoot you now, shoot him, too.” He indicated Marc with a jerk of his head. “Then I could go next door and have my fun with your dear old mommy before I kill her as well. Then, I’d be out of here. And your cops would never catch me.”

  Steeling herself, she moved forward, only stopping when the muzzle of his Glock was pressed flat against her chest. “Do it, then. Go ahead, pull the trigger. Because you know what, Feiney? I don’t really give a damn if I live or I die.”

  She breathed in, breathed out, her gaze locked on his. The steady rhythm of her heart surprised her, as did the fact that she was no longer afraid. Her ever-present anger, always her nemesis, sustained her, enabling her to turn her body, shift her weight and twist her leg around his to bring the scumbag down.

  As he fell, she rolled right, bringing her left arm up to knock the gun out of his grip. He squeezed off a shot, which went wild, taking out her dresser mirror.

  The gun hit the dresser drawer, spinning just out of Feiney’s reach. Elbowing him hard enough to knock the wind from him, Lea went for the weapon.

  As her fingers closed around it, she realized for the first time that she just might actually win. She had the power to ensure that Feiney would never again capture another unsuspecting woman and rape and torture her. In fact, if she wanted to, she could make certain Feiney would no longer disgrace the earth with the stench of his presence.

  White-hot rage filled her as, Glock in hand, she rolled and threw her full weight on top of him. Slamming his head into the carpet, gun to his head, she realized she could so easily kill him and claim self-defense. Bye-bye, Feiney.

  The temptation—sharp and swift—made her realize a part of her had the inherent potential to do to him what he’d done to her and the others. To become, in effect, as lawless and evil as he.

  Her sense of moral certitude combined with her martial arts training and law-enforcement education brought her back from the brink just in time. Lucky for him.

  “No,” she gasped, keeping the pistol trained on him as she climbed to her feet. “I won’t become the same as you.”

  “Reinforcements are on the way.” Marc’s voice came from behind her. “They’ve got the building surrounded.”

  “Good.” Her toneless voice sounded professional. She refused to tear her gaze from Feiney. “Don’t move.”

  Marc came up to stand next to her with his own weapon drawn. “I’ve got your back.”

  “Of course you do,” she said. And meant it.

  “I’ve asked them to send men next door to rescue your mom.”

  Dipping her chin in a quick nod, she muttered a quiet prayer that Lillian was still alive.

  When he’d heard the gun go off, Marc had feared the worst. Taking the few seconds to get free of the belts Lea had used to tie him felt like an eternity. He’d reached the bedroom door just as she’d taken Feiney down.

  Unaware of him standing behind her, she’d flickered dangerously close to the edge of losing self-control. He’d identified with that. If she’d killed Feiney with her bare hands, he wondered if he’d have tried to stop her. Hell, part of him had wanted to be the one with the hands around the sick bastard’s throat.

  What she’d said about not wanting to turn into Feiney had made him realize she wouldn’t, any more than he would.

  Feiney was going back to prison.

  And Marc could only wonder where he and Lea were heading.

  In the apartment next door, they’d found Lea’s mother, tied and gagged, but alive. On the floor next to her lay the body of Mrs. Pachla, a woman in her mid-eighties who apparently had no superficial trauma. He’d bet once the M.E. got through with her, they’d learn she’d expired of a heart attack or some other such thing. No doubt brought on by Feiney, but unable to be proven.

  “Mom.” Openly weeping, Lea gently pried off the duct tape gag, then fumbled with the ropes binding her mother. “Oh, Mom, are you okay?”

  Shakily, Lillian Cordasic climbed to her feet. Hugging Lea back, she peered at Marc before wiping at her own eyes, which were also leaking tears.

  “Where is he? Where is that sorry excuse for a man?” Hands bunched into fists, balancing
on the balls of her small feet, the older woman appeared ready for a fistfight.

  Marc grinned. “You mean Feiney?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Your daughter took him down. Right now he’s in custody.”

  “Fantastic.” Turning to Lea, Lillian raised one hand to ask for a shaky but jubilant high five. “Way to go.”

  “Yeah.” Sniffling, Lea grabbed her mom for another hug. “I’m so glad he didn’t hurt you.”

  “He tried, honey. But I gave him what for. When I told him how angry you were going to be, he left me alone.”

  Brushing away tears, Lea met Marc’s gaze. “Tough old lady,” he mouthed.

  Apparently not quietly enough. “Who are you calling old?” Lillian demanded.

  And with that, they all laughed.

  They were still laughing when the full contingent of uniformed officers and FBI agents descended to take them in for questioning.

  Hours later, debriefed and thoroughly examined by medical personnel, they were finally fed sandwiches from a nearby sub shop and then released. Both Marc and Lea declined an offer to participate in a press conference that had been scheduled for 4:30 p.m., just in time to make the five o’clock news.

  They were delivered back to Lea’s apartment in an unmarked patrol car.

  “I want to go home,” Lillian demanded, as soon as they got out of the car.

  “Mom, I don’t think you should be alone tonight.” Wrapping an arm around her mother’s slender shoulder, Lea hugged her.

  “Who said anything about being alone?”

  Surprised, Lea drew back to peer at her mother’s face. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I guess I forgot in all that’s been going on. Your brothers and their wives are on their way in. They’ll all be here tonight for a late supper. You need to come around seven.”

  “Oh, Mom. Surely you’re not cooking?”

  “Heavens, no. I’m sending out for pizza. I expect you and Marc to be there.”

  Face burning, Lea glanced at Marc. “Mom, Marc might have other plans. He—”

  “Of course I’ll be there, Mrs. Cordasic,” Marc interrupted smoothly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Lea shot him a look that meant they needed to talk, hoping he’d interpret it correctly.

  Apparently he did.

  “Let’s run your mom home, Lea. Then we can come back home, er…here and get ready for tonight.”

  Woodenly, she nodded. Though she really needed time to herself, time to recover and reassess that she’d done the right thing, she needed to see her two older brothers more. Family was family, and more than any other family, the Cordasic’s history in law enforcement meant they truly understood what she’d just gone through.

  And, she reflected ruefully, if she even thought about skipping out on tonight, one or both of her brothers would come and get her.

  But if she brought Marc, they’d all assume…

  Listening with half an ear as her mother chattered happily, Lea reflected that her mother already did assume.

  Poor Marc. He had no idea what he was in for.

  She’d have to warn him and figure out a way to give him a graceful out, no hard feelings.

  Otherwise, the family would assume their relationship—a pretend thing fashioned with the intent of capturing a serial killer—was not only real, but serious.

  She wanted to groan, but truthfully, after what she’d just been through, this was gravy. Almost a relief, to focus on normal things. A huge weight had been lifted off her back.

  With a sense of dawning clarity, she knew she’d go back to therapy a few more times and be quickly cleared to return to work. Working with Marc and the ultimate confrontation with Feiney had proved to her that she still had what it took to work for her beloved FBI.

  In his own twisted way, Feiney’s escape from prison had healed her.

  Settling back in her seat while Marc drove, she thought she just might go to Vegas for a vacation before she returned to work. She’d always loved the city and since Dom, Rachel and her son Cole lived there, that gave the place an extra bonus.

  Marc’s cell phone rang and he took the call, pulling up in front of Lillian’s home. At Lea’s questioning look, he waved them away, still on the phone while Lea escorted her mother into the house.

  When she returned ten minutes later, narrowly escaping being placed on bathroom cleaning detail, he concluded his call and looked at her. “Everything all right?”

  “Yep, although I’m beat,” she told him. “Would you mind taking me back to my place so I can get cleaned up and rest before this shindig tonight?”

  Her place. Now, she realized, they would each resume living their separate lives, in their different apartments. She felt an odd twinge of loss in her chest, and put it away to examine later.

  Marc nodded, his expression shuttered. “Of course.” He put the car in Drive and pulled out into the street.

  It seemed weird to have to act so formal, but she saw no way around it. “You’re welcome to come up. After all, you still have to…”

  “Get my stuff,” he said. “I know.”

  Relieved, she let her eyes drift closed. Sleepily, she made a mental note to mention to him the family’s certain expectations if he accompanied her later tonight.

  “Lea, wake up. We’re here.” Marc’s voice, his warm breath in her ear.

  She murmured something, stretched and yawned. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced them open and peered blearily up into his baby-blue eyes.

  “We’re at your apartment,” he repeated, pulling back slightly, his gaze darkening as he watched her. “Can you make it up the stairs?”

  Nearly giddy with exhaustion, she chuckled. “I beat a serial killer earlier. What’s a few flights of stairs?”

  He shook his head and got out of the car, pocketing the keys before crossing to her side to open her door. Then, as she was struggling to climb out of the seat, he pulled her up against him. Feeling his arousal, she blinked, suddenly wide-awake and dry-mouthed.

  “Uh, Marc? There’s something we need to talk about,” she began.

  Covering her mouth in a quick, hard kiss, he shook his head. “Let’s get inside. There’s a lot more I want to do than just talk.”

  Chapter 14

  Her entire body tingling from the promise implicit in Marc’s husky voice, Lea followed him up the stairs on shaky legs. Fumbling with her keys, she unlocked her door, stepping inside and letting him in past her.

  Breathing ridiculously fast, she locked the door, fussing with the dead bolt and triple-checking the lock before finally turning to face him. Her heart turned over at the tender hunger she saw in his eyes.

  “Am I wrong?” he asked, his blue gaze serious. “If I am, say so now, and I’ll leave.”

  Stomach tingling, she didn’t even have to ask what he meant. They both knew about the heat that flared between him. Whether or not she wanted to test its flame, he was leaving it up to her.

  The very space between them felt electrified. Her chest ached, her insides jangled and she couldn’t seem to find the right words.

  But then she knew no words were actually necessary.

  She could take a man out with just her hands, shoot a target dead-center with one shot, but she couldn’t make herself give in to impulse, or give in to desire, and cross the distance between them. She couldn’t let herself do what she wanted and put her mouth on his and her arms around his neck.

  Instead, she stood wanting, needing, burning.

  And Marc turned to go.

  “Wait.” She held out her hand. “After what happened with Feiney…” Swallowing hard, she tried to find the right way to explain.

  “I understand. You’re not ready.”

  “Marc. Freeze. Hold up.”

  Slowly, he turned to face her.

  “After Feiney, I wondered if I’d ever be able to let a man touch me again. Ever. But with you, it’s different. I feel…normal. Sexy. Wanted.
Please don’t go.”

  He cocked his head, watching her, waiting.

  Closing her eyes, she let the last of her fear and pride fall away. “I want you, Marc Kenyon. Make love to me.”

  Crossing the room, he moved so fast she barely had time to react. Cupping her face in his large hands, holding her hard so she couldn’t move, yet so gently she could feel the calluses on his fingers, he covered her mouth with his.

  “Ahhh.” Now she found words, whispering them against his lips. “I’m so glad you did that.”

  He smothered the last words with his mouth, demanding, kissing her with a pent-up hunger that told her he wanted her as fiercely as she wanted him.

  Like a flower blooming under a warm spring sun, she opened herself to him, allowing his solid strength to wash over her and finally cleanse the last lingering fragment of the insidious rage left from Feiney.

  She couldn’t mark the exact moment when the kiss changed, but change it did. The warmth went from a slow burn to an outright inferno. Somehow, she found herself with her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. His arousal pressed against her and this time, rather than moving away, she moved into him, letting him feel her own desire in the movement of her body.

  As the heat between them built to a feverish intensity, she reached for the button on his jeans.

  “Wait.” He grabbed her hand, holding her away.

  Then, while she muttered a desire-fogged sound of protest, he led her back to the guest bedroom.

  “Why here?” she protested.

  “Because the camera is still up, and we don’t know where it is.” Releasing her hand, he used his own to stroke her, sending shivers of pleasure through her.

  “Oh.” She said the only thing she could think of.

  “I don’t want to put on a show for the entire FBI.”

  “Good thinking.” Location already forgotten, she explored his muscular chest and shoulders, running her hand down the length of his arm.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” she murmured.

  “That goes both ways.” Capturing her lips again, he gave her a long, deep, drugging kiss.

  When he began to unbutton her blouse, she helped him. Then, fingers trembling, she fumbled with his shirt, letting out a soft cry as he unbuckled her bra, letting her breasts spill into his hands.