But Justin Bass just flashed Samantha a broad smile. “Excellent job today, Agent Dark. Got to say, you really impressed me. I was starting to think all the talk about you was just hype, but you proved yourself.”
Blake found himself walking closer to Samantha.
Bass’s light blue stare drifted to him. “How’s this partnership working out?” He gave a low hum. “On paper, you two seemed to be very compatible. Different strengths, different weakness—opposites who should be nearly unstoppable when paired together.” But his expression was thoughtful as it lingered on Blake.
“The partnership is perfect,” Blake said, voice flat. His hand curled around Samantha’s shoulder. “My partner saved my ass today. I’ll be sure and return that favor for her soon.”
Samantha glanced back at him. “Hopefully, you won’t have to do that,” she murmured.
His lips hitched. “Hopefully.”
Bass cleared his throat. “Because there was a shooting... Well, you know how things work in the Bureau. There will be an investigation—just routine, of course—but, Agent Dark, you won’t be in the field again until it’s all concluded and—”
“I understand,” Samantha said quickly. “I didn’t want the case to end this way, sir. I had hoped to bring George Farris in alive.”
“Sometimes the perps don’t want that.” Bass’s gaze had suddenly gone distant. “And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.” Then he nodded briskly. “Today was a win—you saved Missy Johnson. So go home, get some rest, and I’ll call you when it’s time for you to get back in here and use that mind of yours to help us catch the next twisted asshole out there.”
Samantha brushed by him.
“Agent Dark?” Bass called, stopping her after she’d gone just a few feet. “I’m always curious... Once you get the profile in your head, once you know the killer, inside and out, how do you turn it off? Is there some kind of refresh button that you set in your head?”
She glanced back at Bass. “I wish there was. There’s no way to turn it off. Every profile stays with me. Just as every killer does.” She gave Bass and Blake a tight smile. “Good night.”
She walked away, her spine straight, her shoulders squared.
Bass didn’t speak until she’d slipped into the elevator. “You’ll have to answer questions about the shooting.”
“It was self-defense,” Blake said immediately. “He was aiming for her. She was just faster.”
Bass nodded. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” But he seemed to be hesitating.
“Sir? Is there something else?”
Bass’s lips thinned. “Be careful with the way you watch her.”
Blake blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re partners. Only partners, understand?”
Then the executive assistant director walked away. Blake stared after him, aware that his hands had clenched into fists.
*
THE DOORBELL RANG, startling Samantha just as she was climbing out of the shower.
Who in the hell is that?
She toweled off as fast as she could. Then she jerked on a pair of jogging shorts, her bra and an old, faded FBI T-shirt.
The doorbell pealed again.
As she hurried down her narrow hallway, Samantha glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. Not a normal time for a visit, not by a long shot.
Her heartbeat kicked up. Was it Blake? Coming by to check on her one more time? Being the good stand-up guy that he was? Maybe she was warmed a little by the thought.
Maybe.
Don’t go down that path. It is the wrong path to take.
She pressed her eye to the peephole in her door. Blake wasn’t out there.
Another man was. A man with stylish blond hair, chiseled features and dark, deep eyes that were staring straight back at her. She fumbled with the locks then swung the door open. “Cameron? What are you doing here?”
Dr. Cameron Latham. All-around genius, all-around playboy. One of her best friends...
And her former lover.
Definitely a path I won’t ever take again.
Cameron let out a long sigh. “I’m here because I had absolutely nothing better to do on a Friday night than to come by and drag you out of a...” His gaze darted to her wet hair. “Shower?”
She stepped back and glanced at his hands. “You have a bottle of wine.”
“Yes, it’s one of your favorite bottles.” He smiled at her and marched right into her apartment. He made himself at home, the way he always did, as he headed into her kitchen. He put the wine down and grabbed two wineglasses from her cabinet. “I figured you could use it tonight.”
She shut the door behind him and locked it. Then Samantha leaned back against the wood as she studied him. She and Cameron had met during their first year at Princeton. They’d both been fascinated with the human mind, both determined to unlock all the secrets that rested within a person. She’d gotten her PhD and then immediately joined the FBI, knowing that behavioral analysis—the behavioral analysis of predators—was the work that she had to do.
Cameron had gotten his PhD and gone off to rule in the hallowed halls of academia. He was currently the golden boy at Georgetown University.