A Profiler's Case for Seduction

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.

Mark intended to ask her assistants some hard questions, to learn what he could from them, and then he would interview Melinda to fill in her background information, to find some definitive answers.

He knew the trick would be to see if he could connect with each, Ben and Amanda, by themselves. Dora had mentioned that the two assistants were competitive with each other. He could probably use that to his advantage, playing one against the other.

He settled on the bench outside the building where Melinda taught her classes, the same bench that had brought Dora into his life.

He closed his eyes for a moment, invoking a picture of Dora in his mind. The past week with her had only confirmed to him that he wanted her forever and always in his life, although he hadn’t told her that yet.

They hadn’t made love again, although they had shared several long, soulful kisses. It was so difficult when he was with her not to touch her, not to want to kiss her, and he knew she battled the same demons of desire. But he was playing by her rules until he got up the nerve to tell her how he felt about her, how much she meant to him.

He’d come to her each evening feeling like a failure, disappointed in the investigation and filled with the residual darkness of the nightmares. He left her place several hours later, restored by her laughter and strengthened by her nearness.

In three nights he and Dora planned on attending the bonfire and festivities of homecoming together. He’d thought the team would be back in Dallas by now, but with Troy Young off the suspect list, Mark had no idea when they would leave Vengeance.

He’d called Sarah the day before to set up an ice-cream date with Grace for Sunday. He’d already spoken to Richard about taking off for a couple of hours for family time on that day.

He couldn’t wait for this case to end to start being the man he wanted to be for his daughter. He had no idea how long this case would continue. Dallas was less than an hour’s drive away. He’d drive there, pick up Grace and eat those two scoops of ice cream he’d promised while reveling in the wonder of the child he’d helped to create.

As he saw Ben Craig rushing out of the building doors, he stood and raised a hand to motion to the younger man. “Agent Flynn,” Ben said with an easy smile.

“Hello, Ben. I was wondering if you had time for a few questions.”

“Actually, I don’t right now. Professor Grayson is in the middle of her lecture and she sent me on an important errand. Can it wait until later today or maybe sometime this evening?”

Mark saw no tell on Ben’s face, no subconscious nervous gestures, nothing to indicate that a chat with Mark might be stressful to him. “Later this evening would work. What would be a good place and time for you?” Sometimes it paid to be accommodating.

“You can come to my place. I rent a little house off campus.” He rattled off an address that Mark easily stored in his memory bank. “Why don’t we say around seven?”

“Sounds good to me,” Mark replied.

With a hurried goodbye, Ben continued on his way. Mark watched him go, aware of the fact that like Andrew Peterson, Ben had the same medium build, medium height, as the person on the kidnapping videos.

Knowing that with Ben gone it was doubtful Melinda would send her other minion away, Mark pulled out his cell phone and punched in Joseph’s number. Joseph was the one who had done the background checks on Ben and Amanda.

“Yo, brother, where are you?” Joseph said when he answered his phone.

“On campus...what about you?”

“At the sheriff’s office with Nick Jeffries checking and cross-checking facts. What’s up?”

“Do you have Amanda Burns’s address?” Mark asked. He figured the best place to catch the assistant alone would be there. Sooner or later she would have to go home.

“Hang on.” There was a rustle of papers and then Joseph gave him the information he needed.

After thanking Joseph, he disconnected and headed off campus toward the apartment building where Amanda lived alone in apartment 114.

As he walked he picked through the information the morning meeting had yielded. Pulling the tail off Andrew Peterson didn’t mean the man was innocent. The fact that Peterson had been a good boy all week, coming and going to work and back home, didn’t clear his name. He was still definitely a potential player on Mark’s radar.

Mark knew Melinda’s class schedule was light on Wednesdays, but he also knew there was no telling what the taskmaster might have in store for Amanda throughout the day. The lecture they were currently in would only last an hour and he was hoping Amanda would return to her apartment after that.

It wasn’t a long walk to the apartment building, and once there, Mark found a shady place to sit near the door of Amanda’s and watch for her arrival.

It didn’t take him long to get lost in thoughts of both the murders that had occurred and his relationship with Dora. It was a strange mental combination that brought him both frustration and pleasure.

He had no idea how long he’d been seated when he saw Amanda approaching. She looked worse than the last time he’d seen her in the coffee shop, more exhausted, more stressed.

When she caught sight of him, she stumbled and righted herself. Her gaze shot all around and then back to him. “Agent...Mark,” she said. “Wha...what are you doing here?”

“I was wondering if I could have a chat with you?”

Once again Amanda looked around the area, as if afraid she might be seen with the FBI agent. She hurriedly unlocked the door to her unit and motioned him inside.

“A chat about what?” she asked once he was inside the small living room and the door was closed behind him. She laid her laptop and purse on a chair but offered no invitation for him to have a seat.

He took the initiative, sitting on the sofa and then pointing for her to sit down, as well. She seemed to slink across the room and sat on the farthest end of the sofa from him. She didn’t relax against the cushions but rather remained on the edge, as if poised to run at any moment.

She stared over his head at some indefinable point and waited, her silence like a scream of tension in the room.

“Amanda.” He said her name firmly, hoping to force her gaze to his. It worked. Her eyes met his and she reached a hand up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You seem nervous.”

In truth she appeared to be a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He couldn’t help but notice the ragged fingernails, bitten below the quick. Her eyes held the look of startled panic as a short burst of laughter escaped her.

“I am nervous,” she replied. “I’m not used to being questioned by the FBI. Have I done something wrong?”

Mark shrugged. “You tell me.”

She laughed again. “No, I can’t be in trouble because I haven’t done anything.”

“Actually, I’m here to talk to you about Professor Grayson,” Mark said, and instantly felt the tension in the air heighten.

“What about her?” Amanda’s face had paled slightly and once again her gaze shot over Mark’s head. No doubt, she was afraid of what Mark might see in the depths of her eyes.

“I heard she’s a tough taskmaster.”

“She is, but she’s also brilliant.”

“What do you know about her personal life?”

Amanda shrugged. “Not a lot. I heard rumors that she was having an affair with somebody, but that was before she got kidnapped. I’ve never seen her with anyone. I really don’t know what she does when she isn’t with us.”

“Us...meaning you and Ben.”

Amanda’s features darkened even though she nodded affirmatively. “We spend a lot of time with Melinda.” She sighed and once again met Mark’s gaze. “Lately Ben spends more time with her than I do.”

“And that upsets you?”

She hesitated. “It used to, not so much anymore,” she admitted. She closed her mouth, lips tight as if afraid she’d said too much.

“Are you and Melinda having problems?”

“No, nothing like that,” she said hurriedly. “Things are fine between us, great really. She’s a wonderful mentor.”

It was too much of a protest, instantly letting Mark know that there was an issue, at least for Amanda. He wanted to know what it was, but he was also afraid of pushing her too hard, too fast.

She appeared as fragile as a leaf barely hanging on to a tree in the center of a storm. He had a feeling if he pushed her too hard she would slam to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“Are you going to the bonfire on Friday night?”

She nodded. “And the game on Saturday. It will be my first real time off in a while.” She offered him a small smile. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Sounds like it’s going to be fun,” he replied, and then leaned toward her. “Amanda, did you put a note on my car last week?”

Her cheeks flamed with color and she got up from the sofa. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about a note.”

It had been a fishing expedition on his part, but he knew she was lying. She’d put the note on his car to warn him that he might be in danger.

“What do you know about Melinda’s past? Does she talk about her time before she came here to Darby?” he asked, thinking that would be a safe enough question to hopefully put her at ease.

Amanda stared at him for a long moment. “I thought you and Dora Martin had something personal going on between you.”

He frowned at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why don’t you ask her about Melinda’s past?”

Mark felt like he’d suddenly been cast out into an ocean with a lifeboat that had a hole in it. “Why would I ask Dora about Melinda’s past?”

She looked at him in startled surprise. “You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” Mark’s heart began a thunder he couldn’t control.

“That they’re sisters. Melinda is Dora’s older sister.”

Sisters? Dora and Melinda? Mark got to his feet, the world tilting beneath him as he mentally tried to make sense of what Amanda had just told him.

He reeled to her apartment door, his heart pounding so loud in his head he could hear nothing else. It wasn’t until he hit the sidewalk outside that he realized it was anger that drove him away from Amanda’s apartment.

Why hadn’t Dora told him? She knew he was investigating the kidnapping. Why in the hell hadn’t she ever mentioned that she was Melinda’s sister?

Why hadn’t the background check into Melinda brought this information to light? Had it been sloppy work on the part of his team?

As he raced toward the campus his anger built as he wondered what other secrets Dora had kept from him. What role did she play in this whole thing?