Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

The victim hadn’t been pushed, though he didn’t correct Sam, not wanting to speak of it. Because that poor woman had been led like a mouse through a maze, drugged, deafened by loud machinery, blinded by darkness and what must have been extreme terror. And in her panic to escape the person who had locked her in the manufacturing warehouse where she was found, she’d stepped through a gate the Professor had left open and had fallen right into an enormous industrial hopper.

He couldn’t imagine an uglier death.

“No, it probably won’t be easy. But there’s a slim chance. He couldn’t possibly suspect we’d be reading your site first thing this morning, or that we’d recognize his posts so quickly. He might not have been as careful as he is when corresponding with his victims, whose communications will, he knows, be carefully examined.”

She tilted her head back against the headrest. “I still can’t believe Ryan was killed. Lured by a scam I warned about on my site a dozen times.”

“Well, like you said yesterday, most people think those warnings and cautionary tales are meant for others. They know the danger, but proceed right into it, figuring they’re the exception; they can’t possibly be gullible enough to be a victim.”

“I know. Which, Jimmy says, is what makes his job so easy.”

“Who?” he asked, surprised. Was she involved with someone? He wouldn’t have guessed it, based on how she lived, but it made sense given her obvious attractiveness.

He tried to ignore the sudden rolling in his stomach at the thought.

“James-Jimmy-Flynt. The con man I told you about on the phone.” Sounding almost bitter, she added, “I think he was amused by my sad efforts to save his future victims. The man has no conscience, despite lots of efforts to prove otherwise.”

Alec shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not wanting to overreact the way he had the previous morning, even though he didn’t like hearing Sam call the scumbag by such a chummy first name. He also was loath to point out the obvious. Though she hadn’t connected it, her observation about Flynt sounded a lot like the current situation. The Professor might very well be feeling the same way: amused by Sam’s efforts to save his victims from their fate. It was one explanation for his reaching out to her on her blog.

His own personal amusement.

He only hoped that amusement led the unsub to make a mistake. They needed only one break, one moment of carelessness. Then, with any luck, they’d nail the bastard.

Alec had called ahead to get things rolling, so, to Sam’s surprise, she wasn’t put through the Spanish Inquisition to get into the Hoover Building. Could have been because Agent Lambert’s boss, a handsome fortyish man introduced as Supervisory Special Agent Blackstone, was waiting for them when they arrived. With quiet determination, he pushed the guards to get her through as quickly as possible, something she doubted they often did for civilians.

As she rode in the elevator with Alec and his boss, she couldn’t help comparing them. Alec’s brown hair was lighter, with golden streaks, and his eyes a soft, glittering green. A few lines beside them said he was capable of laughter. She’d gotten a glimpse or two of his smile and suspected the full throttle would be devastating.

Blackstone was as dark as his name. Inky black hair that contrasted starkly with eyes a deep shade of blue. A hair taller, but leaner. And while he was cordial to the point of formality, nothing about him hinted at a jolly side.

Alec was sexy in a playful way, his boss in a brainy one. Any way you looked at it, they were both attractive as hell, and she had never felt more aware of how those fifteen pounds filled out her old khakis and tight sweater. Nor of the fact that she hadn’t even had time to put a drop of makeup on.

No more sleeping in for you .

“We appreciate your assistance, Mrs. Dalton,” Blackstone said. “I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you too much.”

“Ms. Dalton,” she murmured, though she cursed the impulse after the words had left her mouth. Especially when she sensed Alec Lambert’s shoulders move, as if he had silently chuckled. “I’m willing to do whatever I can to help.”

“Except let your CPU out of your sight.”

She cast a quick glare to the right, seeing no expression on Lambert’s face, though he’d obviously murmured the jab. She said nothing. Considering he was the one stuck carrying the big box containing the computer all the way from the car, she didn’t figure she had the right.

“Alec, you should know I have calls in to the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” Blackstone said.

She didn’t have to glance over at his face to see this news didn’t please Alec Lambert. She saw the way his big hands tightened on the box, clenching it so hard his fingers left indentations in the cardboard.

“You know we have to bring them up to speed on this case.”

“Of course.” His bland tone revealed nothing. “What was the response?”

“They haven’t returned my calls.” Sam would have thought that a bad thing, but the impassive expression on Blackstone’s face hinted it wasn’t. In fact, she would swear his mouth was curved up the tiniest bit at the corners as he added, “It certainly isn’t our responsibility to make them respond to their messages.”

Alec’s fingers loosened. “Nope. It sure isn’t.”

Interesting exchange. It seemed neither man wanted the help of this other unit, which she found surprising. Then again, the big brick wall she’d run up against when she’d tried to interact with the FBI in the past told her they weren’t always as interested in solving crimes as they were in making themselves look good.

She didn’t know his boss, but nothing about Alec’s behavior thus far said he was that type. Still, something was making these two professional-looking men sound like a couple of kids who didn’t want Dad to find out they’d been messing around with his tools in the garage.

None of your business .

Even if it were, she might feel comfortable enough with Alec to ask him about it, but his boss intimidated her. She’d never seen a more intense, professional-looking man in law enforcement, and she wasn’t about to accuse him of playing childish king-of-the-mountain turf games.

When they reached the correct floor and the door swished open, Blackstone extended an arm to hold it out of the way, gesturing her out first. She stepped onto a carpeted floor, in a hallway lined with large-windowed offices and computer labs. On the other side of those windows, agents buzzed about and studied images projected from various computers onto large overhead screens. It was pretty much as she’d always imagined the Cyber Division would look, at least from what she’d seen on TV and in the movies.

But they didn’t turn into one of those slick, glossy rooms. They kept walking, turning down corridors until she began to feel a little lost, and the ambience became decidedly less techno-chic.The carpet disappeared; so did the glass-walled suites. Greasy dust on a few of the doors hinted they hadn’t been opened in a couple of years, as if this part of the building had been abandoned.

Not entirely, though. They finally reached their destination, and it took willpower not to gawk at how antiquated and dingy the offices assigned to Supervisory Special Agent Blackstone and his team were.

“Lily and Brandon are back and are assisting Jackie with last night’s messages,” he said to Alec as they entered. “Dean and Kyle drove up to Wilmington this morning to meet with the detectives investigating the double murder there and talk to the ME about the autopsies. They should be back soon.”

Double murder. Autopsies.

Ryan and his friend. God.