Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

Why did they do it?

Not just Jason and Ryan, but all of the Professor’s victims. Though he wasn’t a doctor, his dual major in criminal justice and psychology, and his background in profiling, had him very curious. What had made them trust a stranger they’d met only on the Internet? And how did the unsub know who would respond to which lure? Both of those things could be very important to figuring out the identity of the killer.

In her book, Sam had mentioned interviewing a number of victims of cyber crime, as well as perpetrators. Which meant she was a step up on him in understanding the motivations of these people. Which meant she could be a big help.

Knowing it might not do any good, he still found Sam Dalton’s phone number in his notes and punched it in.

She answered on the third ring, mumbling a distracted, “Hello?”

“Mrs. Dalton? This is Special Agent Alec Lambert. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, what can I do for you?” she said, clearing her throat. Her voice sounded husky, with an I-just-woke-up note of sexiness that his whole body responded to.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut rather than admit he’d been thinking about her in her bed.

“Yeah, pathetic, I know. I’m a night owl. If you’d called at three a.m., you would have heard me chipper and perky.” She sighed. “Well, maybe not chipper. And definitely not perky. Haven’t had that word used in a description of me in a long time.”

Perky wasn’t nearly a good enough word to describe her. Sexy. Wounded. Intriguing. Any of those would be much better, not that he was about to say so.

“How can I help you?” she asked with an audible yawn.

He forced away thoughts of everything but the case. “I’ve been reading your book.”

“You and every other cyber crimes nerd who wants to shut me down.”

He couldn’t contain a low chuckle. “Actually, it’s just the opposite. I’m hoping you can help me.”

He quickly explained what he was looking for, still not sure she could assist him, but unable to regret making the call. That one dig, which sounded so much like the woman who’d written the entertaining book he’d read, made it entirely worthwhile.

“So you’re basically asking what kind of person allows himself to be victimized in this way. Didn’t we talk about this yesterday?”

“I mean beyond the non-cyber-savvy, vulnerable elderly or the teenager who wants to get rich quick. I’m looking for the psychological slant, of both the victims and the perpetrators.”

She didn’t respond at first. Through the phone, he heard her moving around. A quick visual of her in that nightshirt shot through his mind, but he shut it down.

“I think with the victims, it’s an it-won’t-happen-tome philosophy,” she finally said. “People always truly believe good things can happen to them-like winning a lottery jackpot despite having a better chance of contracting Ebola. Conversely, the bad things are always reserved for someone else.”

True.

“So despite the warnings all over the news, they are still convinced they are much too savvy to be taken in by a fake Rolex hawked by a guy on the corner…”

“Or a check-kiting scam for something they sold on eBay,” he said.

“Exactly. It’s the innate desire of people to believe they’re smart that gets them every time. At least, that’s what Flynt says.”

“Who?”

“James Tucker Flynt.”

“The name sounds familiar.” He tried to place the memory.

“It should. Your agency busted him several years ago. He did five years in federal prison; now he’s locked up on state convictions in Maryland. He was a pioneer in the Internet fraud movement.” Her voice dripped disgust. “One of the founding fathers, you might say.”

He thought about it. “I think I remember that case.”

“He’d be so pleased,” she said. “He’s charming, in an aw-shucks way. You can almost see how people fell for his shtick. And the ego is something to behold.”

“You know him?”

“I interviewed him, and his attorney, when I was writing my book. Who better to reveal how these scams work and what the dangers are than someone who invented and ran them, and the man who defended him?”

“He actually talked to you about his crimes?”

“Yes. Like I said, ego. Plus I guess he doesn’t get many visitors; the warden said Flynt has turned down other journalists, but he heard I was young and attractive, so he accepted.” She sighed audibly. “I think he likes me a little too much. I get letters from him just about every week.”

“You actually went to a maximum-security prison to talk to this man,” he said, dumbfounded by the idea.

“Medium-security.”

Semantics.

He stood and stared at the stained wall of his office, the phone held tightly in his grip. Something inside him rebelled at the very thought of the beautiful, intelligent woman walking into a prison to talk to a scumbag like Flynt. But he kept his reaction to himself. “And the letters? What do they say?”

“I have no idea. I stopped opening them. In fact, just a few days ago I decided to try to get the message across to him, so I put them all in a large envelope and mailed it to the warden with ‘refused by addressee’ written on the outside.”

Okay, so she was handling the situation with the same common sense he’d seen in her book. Still, the idea that she’d gone there, started a relationship with a scummy criminal, bothered him. A lot. “Are you telling me your book was worth exposing yourself to someone like that?”

“I didn’t expose myself,” she snapped. “But yes, the project meant a great deal to me. I have a background as a journalist, and I’m used to doing whatever it takes to get the story.”

Knowing he had offended her, he muttered, “I see.”

God, he had blown this. He had let his completely unexpected reaction to her mold his responses to things that were none of his business. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome, Agent Lambert. Good luck to you.” Her voice no longer sounded sleepy and sexy, but decidedly cool.

Yeah, he’d definitely blown it.

She didn’t ask him to call back if he needed more assistance, didn’t hint in any way that she was bothered they would likely never speak again. Which should be a very good thing. But somehow, as he ended the call and hung up, Alec couldn’t help wondering if he’d just missed out on something pretty fantastic.

After a brief, restless night, and an annoying morning phone conversation with a sexy FBI agent who had passed judgment on the choices she’d made regarding her book, Sam really wasn’t in the mood for company. Especially not male company. Still, when someone knocked on her door at around noon, her first thought was of Agent Lambert, and her pulse doubled its speed.

Her second thought was that she hadn’t put the Do Not Disturb sign up. So she might instead be getting a visit from her nosy, chatty neighbor, whose “Bal’mer” accent was so thick Sam sometimes didn’t even understand what the woman was saying.

Feeling kind of like the guy who’d opened the door not knowing whether he would see the lady or the tiger, she turned the knob. And found herself face-to-face with option three. The lawyer.

“Rick?” she murmured, both surprised and wary.

“Hello, Mrs. Dalton,” he said, stepping closer to the doorjamb, shivering a little as he tried to avoid the bitter January wind.

Let him in , her polite mother’s voice whispered in her head.

But she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.

Most women would probably like having two different, very good-looking men show up on her doorstep two days in a row. But not Sam. No matter how much she respected Rick Young, who’d done a great job handling her divorce, she could never get past the thought of him being privy to all the painful, ugly details of the final days of her marriage.