Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

Maybe they’d used the wrong tactic. Perhaps she should have come out guns and sarcasm blazing. The unsub might have been angry, but he also might have been less suspicious.

And if he had, indeed, blown up, they could have arranged for her protection.

If only he’d had more time to think it all through this morning. Damn it .

Six months ago, he wouldn’t be questioning his decision. He’d trusted his instincts, had never taken a step he hadn’t deep down thought was the right one. Never looking back, always confident enough to go with his gut.

No more. It seemed as though a lot of that confidence had been blown away along with chunks of his skin and chips of his bones last August.

“You know, I’d like to think everybody in the world reads my blog the minute they get up in the morning,” she said. “But maybe he just isn’t a fan.”

“Whether he’s a fan or not, he started something last night. Narcissists like this one don’t like being ignored; they like to hear themselves talk. They also like to spread their message. For him to engage you like he did, to address you personally, to try to interest you in his cause… it meant something.” He stared into his nearly empty coffee cup. “I had honestly pictured him sitting up all night, writing again and again out of frustration that you hadn’t responded. I never expected him to start this and then walk away.”

The Professor always finished what he started. He never walked away without leaving a dead body behind him. “I felt sure we would hear from him.”

“I know. So did I.” As if she’d realized he was beating himself up, she added, “So did everyone, your boss included.”

He thought about going down the hall to talk to Wyatt about it. The supervisory special agent was in his office, working late doing the BS paperwork people in his position always seemed to have to do. But he didn’t want to leave Sam, in case they got lucky.

He trusted her, knew she was smart and incredibly quick to learn. She was also exhausted, and so tense he could see the clench of the muscles in her neck. If she got a sudden, unexpected message from the Professor, pure impulse and excitement could lead her to whip off a reply before she thought better of it. Not likely, but it was possible.

No, he couldn’t leave her, not for a long, private discussion with Wyatt about what he might have done wrong.

Trust your instincts; this will work. Give it time.

Time. More time. It was down to just the two of them, and time was all they had left in the quiet offices of the nearly empty building.

Stokes had headed home to see her kids, though she remained on call. Lily had departed at the same time, mumbling something about an evening appointment. Taggert and Mulrooney had gone to canvass the residential neighborhood the unsub had posted from last night, trying to find anyone who had seen a stranger, or his vehicle. They’d both since headed home, also keeping their cell phones by their sides at all times. Brandon was around, but in the lab, working on Sam’s hard drive.

He was once again alone with the woman who’d seriously messed with his head since the minute he’d met her. Lucky him.

“Are you one of those profiler guys like in the movies or on TV?”

“No.”

“You sounded like one when you described this suspect.”

Not wanting to go there, but figuring he owed her some kind of explanation, he admitted, “There’s no such thing as a ‘profiler’ in the bureau. Some agents profile, but it’s not a job title. And yes, to answer your question, I have experience with it. Now I’m with the Cyber Division.”

Sam absently reached for the keyboard, refreshed the page, looked for any new postings, then breathed a disappointed sigh. “Agent Stokes said you were new; that’s why you didn’t have the right business card or know the office number.”

He managed a weak smile. “Monday was my first day.”

“Wow, talk about walking into the fire.”

“No kidding. Though I’ve already walked in the fire with this guy. We’ve been after him for a while.”

“I hope it will be all over soon.”

“So do I, Sam.”

Rising from her chair, as if she couldn’t stand being in it any longer, she began to pace the room, visibly impatient and probably bored. “Were you with the Behavioral Analysis Unit?”

Wishing he’d never answered her original question about profiling, he nodded once, hoping his expression would forestall any further inquiries.

He should have known better.

“Why’d you leave?”

Because I was practically invited to get the hell out.

“Wyatt offered me a job. I took it.”

She had circled the table once, paused to glance at the laptop screen, then walked around again. “Did you leave on bad terms?”

“Do you always ask such intrusive questions?”

Shrugging, she replied, “Do you always answer questions with questions?”

“Look who’s talking.”

Her soft laughter gave him the first real flush of pleasure he’d had in hours. He liked this woman’s laugh. Liked its huskiness and the way it brightened her eyes.

“I was a journalist, remember,” she explained after she had circumnavigated the table once more. She seemed to have gotten her wanderlust out of her system, because she sank into her chair again. “I couldn’t help noticing your reaction when your boss mentioned the BAU.”

“They’re going to want in on this the moment they realize the suspect we’re chasing is the same one they’ve been after for a couple of years. At least, we think he is.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Of course it was. It just wasn’t going to be a comfortable thing, not for any of them. Him, because seeing his former colleagues again wasn’t going to be the highlight of his millennium. Wyatt because, judging by the way they were stonewalling him-and had been since last summer’s Reaper case-somebody in the BAU had it in for the man.

“It’ll be fine,” he replied, wondering if he sounded as unconvinced as he felt. “We’re all on the same team.”

“Okay,” she said, dropping the subject, as he had hoped she would.

Silence descended between them, though it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was broken every minute or so, when Sam would refresh the screen, emit a sigh, then perhaps tap a response to another of her visitors. Somehow, during the long day, they’d fallen into sync with each other. A snap of tension might still exist beneath the surface, but they’d maintained complete focus on the job for hours.

Alec had long since given up on the jacket and tie and had loosened the top buttons of his dress shirt. After five, he didn’t give a damn where they were. A fourteen-hour day entitled him to an unbuttoned collar.

As for Sam, she’d held up beautifully, as patient and thorough as a professional. Her response had exceeded anything he’d have expected from a civilian who hadn’t even known this monster existed until yesterday. Though she didn’t try to pretend her fear had left her entirely, she’d grown at least a little more relaxed during the day, both when the room had been filled with agents, and now, when they were alone. As if she’d accepted the fact that they-that he-would not let anything happen to her.

While calm, though, she was visibly fatigued. Dark smudges had appeared beneath her eyes, and she stretched occasionally, as if to relieve cramped muscles.

“Need some more coffee?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Despite how exhausted I am, I’m also wired. I’ll be awake all night as it is. How do you handle this kind of tension all the time?”

“Scotch and video games.”

One fine brow arched, and a soft trill of surprised laughter emerged from her pretty mouth. “Excuse me?”