Lori May - Moving Target

From: Delphi@oracle.org

To: C_Evans@athena.edu

Re: forensic psychologist, Francesca Thorne

Christine,

As I told you last week, I’ve put Francesca Thorne on our case. If anyone can confirm the links between Arachne, the Queen of Hearts and Marion’s mystery prisoner, it’s Chesca.

The last few Oracle agents I’ve put on Arachne’s trail have encountered dangerous situations. Francesca’s an Athena grad, and I know she can hold her own, but I would feel more at peace with her involvement if she had backup on this investigation. You mentioned your great-nephew during our last call. Is he still between positions after recovering from that bullet he took in the line of duty? He’s just the man Chesca needs.

Would you contact him about going to Boston?

D.

Dear Reader,

It was an honor when Natashya Wilson asked me if I would be interested in contributing to the Athena Force series. As an avid fan of all things Bombshell, I loved the idea behind the characters, conspiracy and cover-ups at the Athena Academy, and I knew I would have a blast getting to know Francesca Thorne up close and personally.

I loved Francesca’s commitment to digging deep into her prey’s psyche and unraveling clues to piece together a profile of motive and opportunity. I’ve always been a fan of forensic psychology, and watching Francesca maneuver her way around obstacles was a thrilling ride for me, one which I hope you will enjoy, as well.

Please stop by www.loriamay.com to say hello and share your thoughts on Francesca and Will’s Athena adventure!

Lori A. May

www.millsandboon.co.uk

has never confronted a serial killer, chased a suspect down an alley or broken into an encrypted government computer. Yet she still considers herself a go-getter, thriving on the less dangerous excitement in her own life, created by making things up and putting pen to paper. Her real-life adventures are more likely to include exploring an unfamiliar city, trying new restaurants and experimenting with photography and visual arts. For the latest news and events, plus reviews, contests and more, visit www.loriamay.com.

To my personal support team and cheerleading squad:

Mom, Dad, Zaida and Chris.

Special thanks to Jay Poynor and Erica Orloff

for their enthusiasm, support and friendship—

and middle-of-the-night e-mails!

To Natashya Wilson

for asking me to join the Athena Force series

and to Stacy Boyd for her editorial eye.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

He pulled tight around her throat, choking her.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Francesca Thorne was accustomed to gathering information from criminals in what wasn’t said, whether it was through a look, a nervous tic despite attempts to mask such a giveaway, or simply a change in vocal pitch.

It was what an opponent did not say that aided in the patchwork of piecing together a personality. Her role was simply to watch. Observe. Filter the subtleties of the subconscious into her puzzle-solving mind.

Whereas she would normally calculate facial expressions and measure the pupil dilation of her suspect, waiting for a flinch to reveal so much more than well-selected words, the opportunity had not been given with this particular hunt.

Instead, she had to count on the sound of his breath, the weight of his grasp as he held one arm tightly around her neck, choke-holding her into submission with her back facing him, unable to meet his eyes.

He had snuck up on her.

Though she had returned to the scene to analyze its meaning, determine why the killer had chosen this location for his latest victim, Francesca had not been counting on his presence. Not yet.

His attack had caught her by surprise.

The killer had demonstrated an odd pattern of returning to the scene of his crimes only to enact another, but in between he always committed a murder at a different location. That was his MO. Or at least the first five murders had suggested as much with his leapfrog style.

One location, then another, then back again.

By their calculations, he should have been somewhere else preparing to commit the sixth. She had chosen to come here with the hopes she could piece something together about his selection process, quickly enough to determine where the next crime would take place.

But his MO had changed.

It was inevitable he would switch it up.

Knowing his back-and-forth actions as she now did, he would have been caught sooner or later, with the FBI knowing to stake out his previous playground. And, really, it was just child’s play for him.

“You like taking risks,” she said, holding her voice steady, not allowing even a shred of fear to show as the pressure of his grip grooved over her esophagus. “Yet you refuse to show your face. Slightly passive-aggressive, don’t you think?”

When in close contact with a serial killer, Francesca Thorne—lauded forensic psychologist for the FBI—pulled no punches in calling it as she saw it. That included tempting fate by asking somewhat dangerous questions, or igniting a suspect’s volatile nature. It was a trait for which she was known.

Setting herself up for increased risk was part of the job. The very act of trying to diagnose the criminal mentality meant opening up a whole world of unknown psyche. But it was within that very process that she was able to collect the critical data needed to prove or disprove a profiling theory, much like a forensic scientist would test the boundaries of physical evidence.

In this case, mocking her captor only made sense. Her action would cause a telling reaction on his part.

His breath, moist as he exhaled along her ear where his lips barely slid over the curve of her skin, was calm, masking any trace of anger or excitement.

With his body held snug against hers, she could begin to create an image of his physical presence in her mind. Not the specifics such as eye or hair color, but from his stance she could estimate his height.

From his breadth against her, she could make calculations of his weight.

It was the nonvisual clues he gave, such as his scent, his body temperature, and his reaction to her teasing that would matter most. And with what little headway they had made with this case, these variables would not only help her plan a maneuver away from his grasp, they would also lend a hand in solving the identity of their prey.

She closed her eyes, banning their sense from interrupting her analytical intake. She filtered in a deep breath, letting the combination of scents register within.

Ignoring the aroma of a nearby Laundromat, bypassing the scent of rain in the air, she centered on the slight trace of chicory and breathed it in from the cuff of his sleeve.

The sleeve itself belonged to a blue-collar worker. She could tell by its wear and tear, the threads of cheaply made industrial fabric worn with sweat stains and something dark—oil, perhaps?

She inhaled deeply, pinpointing the smell.

It was oil. Like that used on machinery, perhaps in a factory or even an auto mechanic shop.

Knowing what trace evidence could do for fine-tuning such variables, Francesca made a minuscule movement within her captor’s grasp, aiming to transfer even a hint of the physical evidence to her body. If she made it out of there—when she made it out—the lab would be able to study every fiber of her clothing, each thread where this man had left evidence of his identity.