Absolute Pleasure Read online

  She jotted down a reminder to have the art gallery searched by the Bureau’s crime lab technicians, then added another note to have the theater checked out, as well. Private boxes hardly came cheap. No doubt the UNSUB had “borrowed” the box for the night—without the box holder’s blessing.

  Sunny continued to question Margo, gathering specific details of the woman’s “dates” with the UNSUB not included in the initial investigation reports. The only date that had been public was the night of the symphony, and for the ten days that followed, the Seducer kept his liaisons private, just as he’d done with his previous victims. In addition to the art gallery scam, there’d been a midnight picnic in the park, a couple of moonlit drives and a few romantic dinners for two at the Wilder estate, with the staff dismissed, at Abbott’s request, of course.

  Having taken part in several of the ISU’s specialized training courses in criminal investigation, Sunny understood the best profilers possessed a talent for climbing inside the heads of victim and perpetrator. But what about her victims? How was she supposed to walk in their ridiculously expensive designer shoes when she lacked a basic understanding of how any reasonably intelligent woman could be duped by a con with romance as an M.O.?

  Setting her notepad beside her, Sunny looked at Margo, determined to imagine herself as this victim. “You do realize that Abbott intentionally seduced you to gain access to the items he’s stolen from you.”

  “Yes,” the older woman agreed, her expression sheepish. “I, too, have come to the same conclusion.”

  Sunny let out a pent-up breath. “Ms. Wilder. Margo.” She struggled for compassion when all she could muster was an overwhelming sense of self-directed frustration. “I need you to help me understand how this is possible.”

  Duncan cleared his throat, but Sunny chose to ignore him for the moment. Despite what she’d told Caruso upon arriving at the estate, she realized she secretly agreed with his hard-up assessment. But if she wanted to solve the case, then she also understood she had to set her judgments aside. Otherwise she’d never learn what made Tansey Middleton, Maddie Bryson, Joy Tweed, Bettina Manchester, Celine Garfield, Katrina Pescadero, and now Margo Wilder the Seducer’s perfect victims.

  Margo’s puffed-up lips twisted into a smile. “Have you ever been swept off your feet?” she asked Sunny. “Or been so completely caught up in a storm of passion all that matters is physical pleasure?”

  In a word, no. Rhetorical or not, Sunny wasn’t about to divulge the truth about her own lacking sex life with a material witness. Not after she’d spent the better part of the morning openly flirting with the man seated less than three feet away from her, giving signals to the contrary. In truth, today went on record as a first for her. She’d never considered surrendering to rampant hormones, but the idea held more than a few interesting possibilities.

  A few weeks shy of her thirtieth birthday, she’d had exactly three relationships of any great significance in her lifetime. The sex had always been good and she never considered it an issue, but she’d never experienced the kind of passion Margo described.

  “Ms. Wilder,” Duncan interrupted, saving Sunny from having to formulate an intelligent response. “We’re going to need every detail of your association with Abbott.”

  Sunny turned to stare at him, certain she’d just entered her own personal Twilight Zone—in Sex and the City-esque style. We? What’s this we business?

  He must have sensed her apprehension because he turned that lethal gaze in her direction. “If we’re going to catch the UNSUB,” he said, “then we need to know his habits. His quirks. From the way he combs his hair down to the shape of his scars and what he eats for breakfast. The smallest detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem, could be the break we need.”

  We. There was that word again. Sunny tried to push aside the warm fuzzy feeling the concept of “we” gave her, and failed. Instead, she concentrated on Margo. But Duncan did have a point—dammit.

  “If you would prefer Mr. Chamberlain leave us at this juncture, I’m sure he wouldn’t object.” Sunny prayed the woman would take her up on her offer. Regardless of how immature or hypocritical, the idea of dissecting the intimate details of Margo’s liaison with the UNSUB in Duncan Chamberlain’s presence made her want to squirm.

  Upon joining the Bureau, her first assignment had been conducting in-depth background investigations. She’d interviewed countless witnesses and delved into various backgrounds, from the lowest government employee all the way up the ladder to some of the country’s top political officials. As a result, she’d uncovered odd quirks, stranger-than-fiction habits and more than a few bizarre sexual appetites. At first she’d been shocked by the information she’d uncovered, but since she was determined to become a player on the FBI’s team of profilers, she’d conditioned herself to take it all in stride. Violent crime and sexual homicide were hardly a job for the squeamish.

  So where the hell had the cool professionalism, the detachment, the composure she’d consciously developed, gone when she needed it most?

  “I was his canvas,” Margo blurted.

  Sunny’s eyebrows shot upward. “Excuse me?” Certainly, she misunderstood the implication. As much as it pained her to do so in front of Duncan, she asked, “Could you be more specific?”

  Margo’s expression remained composed, as if she were about to discuss the last social event she’d attended rather than her sexual exploits with a con man. “I was his canvas,” she repeated. “He liked to paint me with scented oil.”

  At a loss for words, Sunny started at the woman. No. She absolutely had not heard what she thought she’d heard. Maybe Margo was making some obscure reference to the night Abbott had taken her to the fake gallery. Yes, that was it, a reference to the art gallery. She hoped.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” Sunny said. “He put scented oil on one of the paintings?”

  “He didn’t paint on a traditional canvas,” Margo clarified. “He asked me to be his canvas. At first I was nervous—what he was asking was so…unorthodox—but I must admit, I’ve never experienced anything so completely erotic in my life.”

  An image flashed in Sunny’s mind. Marble floors, bronze sculptures, paintings by masters she couldn’t name hanging on unobtrusive-colored walls. And Duncan. His heat, his body surrounding her, pressing her up against the smooth, cool plaster, his hands slowly caressing her breasts…his mouth hot, demanding…

  Sunny grew more uncomfortable by the second. Find a way into her head, she reminded herself. Become the victim.

  “Was this…technique something he did each time you made love?” she forced herself to ask. “Did he often use…props?”

  Margo nodded. Another wistful smile slowly tilted her lips. “Justin was an incredible master at foreplay.”

  Against her will, Sunny’s gaze slid to Duncan. Her breath caught at the intensity shining in his brilliant blue-gray eyes as he returned her stare. Was he a master at foreplay, she wondered?

  Please, please, please.

  Sunny bit her bottom lip to squelch the moan bubbling up inside her. She couldn’t very well close her eyes in the middle of an interview, so instead she remained entranced by the blatant heat in Duncan’s gaze.

  Losing herself in the fantasy, she listened to Margo’s words, mentally placing herself in the role of willing victim. No faceless UNSUB twirled a painter’s whiskered brush over her nipples. In her mind she saw the handsomely chiseled features of the man across from her, felt the strength of his hands on her body.

  Her breathing turned shallow as pure hunger filled his gaze. Was he transported by the same wild fantasy?

  “He’d start by using a variety of brushes, each one tipped in oil, warmed precisely to 98.6 degrees,” Margo explained. “And then he’d stroke them over my nude body.”

  Sunny could have sworn Duncan physically stroked her just as seductively when his gaze traveled the length of her. Oh, this was not good.

  Margo continued to speak
of the intimacy and sensuality Abbott had demanded of her. Sunny envisioned Duncan’s mouth covering hers, kissing her deeply while he painted her flesh at his leisure. The slick, moist oil against her skin, his hands pressing her thighs open, exploring, painting, touching…kissing her intimately.

  There was nothing imaginary about the pressure between her legs, only the reality of the insistent need clawing at her, reminding her it’d been months since her last sexual encounter. The incredible sensitivity of her breasts as they swelled and tightened inside the cups of her sensible cotton bra served as another reminder that reality had indeed intruded upon fantasy.

  A serene expression encompassed Margo’s face and her gaze slipped to somewhere over Sunny’s shoulder. “Justin was slow, very deliberate in my pleasure,” she said. “He exposed me so completely, his exploration erotic and incredibly thorough. I never realized the depths of sensuality until I met Justin, or understand how many places on our bodies were capable of providing fulfillment. He even asked me to touch myself in front of him, to make believe my hands were his hands stroking me. I was so completely entranced by the hypnotic sound of his voice as he described various acts of making love and the depths of pleasure he promised me, I never felt an ounce of embarrassment the first time I came that way in front of him.

  “With Justin I became a greedy, decadent lover,” Margo continued in that same faraway voice. “Becoming aroused and bringing about my own fulfillment for the pleasure of a man was unlike anything I’d ever known. Not once did I contemplate holding back. I willingly gave him everything he wanted from me.”

  Sunny remained fully conscious of the reality of Duncan’s presence. Not only physically, but prominently in her mind where she pleasured herself for him. The fantasy was wild, uninhibited and erotic on a level she’d never dreamed possible.

  She’d gone too far. Climbing inside the victim’s head was one thing. It was quite another for her to become so thoroughly aroused by the mere image of making love to Duncan that she couldn’t do her job.

  The need to escape overwhelmed her. She had to leave. Now. Right now, before she went up in flames.

  But departure was not an option. Dammit, she was supposed to be a professional. If it killed her, she’d get through this interview. She forced her gaze away from Duncan to concentrate on the witness. Thank heavens she’d had the foresight to record the session, although replaying Margo’s erotic recounting of events did fill her with a modicum of dread.

  For the next thirty minutes she continued to question Margo, obtaining details of the property stolen from her, the type of car the Seducer drove and the like, until she’d miraculously made it through all the questions on her list. Her body still hummed with awareness, but if she refused to so much as glance in Duncan’s direction, she remained hopeful of bringing the interview to a conclusion without going up in flames.

  Her hand shook as she reached for the tape recorder. After fumbling with the switch, she dropped it into her briefcase along with her notepad. “I need…” A cold shower. Preferably with ice water. “I’ll need to schedule another appointment,” she said, not the least bit surprised her voice trembled. Her nerve endings were still vibrantly alive with sexual awareness. “I’d like to bring in a sketch artist for a composite.”

  Still ignoring Duncan, she stood and faced Margo, extending her hand for another polite, limp handshake. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “I’ll wait for your call,” Margo said graciously.

  She made the mistake of glancing in Duncan’s direction. A smooth, lazy smile canted his mouth. The look in his eyes nearly did send her up in flames.

  “I can see myself out,” she said, anxious to put a whole lot of distance between herself and Duncan’s knowing, I-want-you eyes.

  Offering only a weak, apologetic semblance of a smile, she bolted from the room and hurried down the paneled corridor toward safety…er, the exit. She had a single moment’s hesitation about leaving Duncan alone with the witness, but she was too close to freedom now to turn back. Besides, he did have a right to be there since he’d been hired by Wilder’s insurance carrier to recover her stolen property.

  She let herself out, shaken by the knowledge that not all lessons were easily learned. Still, she finally had firsthand knowledge of what Margo had meant by being so completely caught up in a storm of passion that nothing else mattered…except absolute pleasure.

  3

  SUNNY PROPPED HER bottom on the edge of her desk and faced the U.S. map pinned to the wall of her closetlike, windowless office. Tapping her index finger against her lips, she studied the neon-orange pinheads. Seattle, Napa Valley, St. Louis, Atlanta, Miami, Philadelphia and Baltimore. “Random choices?” she mused aloud. “Or preselected for reasons we still haven’t determined?”

  Georgia Tremont, a tall, willowy redhead fresh from Quantico consulted the computer printout in her lap. “The computer wasn’t able to establish a pattern to the UNSUB’s choice of locations,” she reminded Sunny. As one of a handful of analysts employed by the unit, Georgia’s job was to dissect evidence and other pertinent data provided by the senior agents in charge of investigations. “I say random.”

  “Possibly,” Sunny said slowly. Her instincts told her otherwise. And she always trusted her instincts.

  “Computers aren’t infallible,” Ned Ball added. “I don’t trust them.”

  “Oh, that’s rich,” Georgia laughed. “For a guy who investigates Internet fraud.”

  “Among other things.” Ned pushed his glasses back in place. “But that’s my point. Computers make it easier for the criminals. The Net is a hotbed of illegal activity.”

  Georgia rolled her big blue eyes. “It’s not the computers, or the Internet, Ned, but the people using them.”

  Sunny pushed off the desk. “Play nice now, kiddies,” she teased the rookie agents. “We’re supposed to be brainstorming here, not debating the alleged evils of the information superhighway.”

  For a guy who claimed he didn’t trust computers, Ned Ball was the CID’s answer to Bill Gates and Steve Jobs all rolled into one pocket-protector-sporting computer nerd. The guy was golden when it came to ferreting out glitches, back doors and security hazards. His first week in the unit, he’d single-handedly tracked down the developer of a nasty e-mail worm responsible for temporarily shutting down the computer system of several of the nation’s banks.

  Sunny dropped into the chair behind her desk. “Georgia, any word on those search warrants yet?”

  “Sorry, Mac. We’re still waiting. I put another call in to the clerk half an hour ago, and she said the judge was still on the bench in closed session.”

  Frustration bit into Sunny hard. Upon returning from the Wilder estate, she’d obtained authorization from the unit chief to have the crime lab search the art gallery and theater. She’d had the paperwork prepared and sent to the judge for signature within the hour. Three hours later and still no warrants. “Can’t you find another federal magistrate in this town? We need those warrants signed so the lab can get moving on this.”

  Ned dropped a sheaf of papers on the edge of Sunny’s desk and frowned. “If this was a violent crime, the scenes would’ve been searched already,” he complained.

  “True,” Georgia commiserated. “But we should be thankful these aren’t violent crimes.” She looked back at Sunny. “Do you really expect the lab to find anything after all this time?”

  “Maybe. If we’re lucky, they’ll give us something new to go on,” Sunny said, but she wasn’t about to pin her hopes on the lab turning up viable evidence. For one, it’d been over two weeks since Wilder accompanied the UNSUB to the theater. Countless individuals had no doubt contaminated the private box, from patrons to theater staff and cleaning crews. With any luck at all, they might turn up physical evidence from the art gallery since the place was closed, but even she had to admit it was unlikely. They already had the guy’s DNA from four of the known crime scenes, but no identifying factors to provide them with a name. All
she could realistically hope for would be a match confirming Abbott was their UNSUB.

  Georgia offered her a sympathetic smile. “The clerk did promise to call as soon as the warrants were signed.”

  Sunny frowned at the silent phone, wishing Duncan would return her call. Whether or not he could give her the information necessary to form that pattern she suspected existed, she could only guess. She wanted to know more about those two cases he’d mentioned he was investigating in addition to Wilder. Were the claimants on her existing list of victims? If not, that would bring the total number of victims to nine nationwide. And if there were more victims, why hadn’t local authorities advised her office when she’d published an alert weeks ago?

  Because SEDSCAM was a nonviolent crime, she reminded herself, making it a low priority for local jurisdictions. If rich, affluent, campaign-dollar-contributing women were being raped, murdered and dumped along the roadside for Joe Citizen to discover on his morning jog, she’d have the high-ranking officials from those cities storming her office demanding action.

  By sheer accident they’d discovered the connection to Wilder, albeit five days after the fact. The credit belonged solely to Georgia for bringing an article in the newspaper about the theft to Sunny’s attention. If the incident hadn’t occurred in their own backyard, or if the Wilder name hadn’t attracted press coverage, weeks may have passed before they’d been notified, if at all. She’d acted quickly and rather than dealing with the usual pissing contest over jurisdiction, the local authorities had been happy to hand the investigation off to her.

  The time factor was short in relation to the other cases, not that it had garnered her much headway with regard to solid leads thus far. They still had no idea where the UNSUB might strike next, where he went after pulling a job or what he did with the millions in cash and property he’d lifted from the vics.