Absolute Pleasure

“Only if you promise to show me yours first,” she said in a husky voice laced with pure sin.

For the first time in his life, Duncan forgot how to breathe.

2

NO ONE HAD ever accused Sunny of shyness. Backing away from whatever she might want, at least insofar as her career was concerned, rarely occurred to her. Currently, she had two wants—access to information in Duncan’s possession that could prove useful to her investigation, and the man himself. The sooner, the better. On both counts.

Her conscience gave her a hard shove. The man was trouble with a capital T—tempting…tantalizing. Trouble.

Perhaps she should consider the potential conflict of interest, but so long as any involvement with Duncan didn’t interfere with her ability to perform her duties, she failed to see a problem. An attractive man had finally managed to hold her interest for a whole lot longer than two minutes. If the hungry look in his eyes was any indication, apparently he had no difficulty whatsoever seeing the woman beneath the shoulder holster. She wondered if he even realized she carried a gun.

Before she could issue the all-important, albeit clichéd, your-place-or-mine line, Margo Wilder swept into the room with all the regality of a queen. Only they weren’t loyal subjects eager for a scrap of Her Majesty’s attention. Sunny had come to interview a material witness, while Duncan was along for the ride hoping for clues to lead him to the recovery of her stolen property.

Sunny and Duncan stood as Margo approached.

“I’m very sorry to have kept you waiting.” Margo extended her manicured hand to Sunny for a limp handshake. “A minor crisis with the planning committee for a charity auction the Wilder Foundation is sponsoring.” She shook Duncan’s hand before graciously inviting them both to sit again.

She summed up Margo Wilder as a somewhat attractive woman in her late forties with ash-blond hair. The youthful gleam may have faded, but still showed no signs of gray. Appropriately coiffed for someone of her social standing, she wore ivory silk slacks with an ice-blue silk shell. The ivory cashmere cardigan draped casually over her slim, erect shoulders easily cost more than Sunny made in a month. A few too many country club lunches had probably added the ten or so extra pounds Margo carried on an otherwise slender frame. What Mother Nature hadn’t provided, a skilled plastic surgeon had compensated for or enhanced.

“Ms. Wilder,” Sunny began once they were all seated, “I realize you’ve already been interviewed by the local authorities, but I’m here because the FBI would like me to clear up a few matters for their investigation.” She spoke softly, keeping her tone neutral in an effort to elicit confidence and gain the trust of the witness. In reality, she’d come to ask the hard questions, ones that would become extremely personal.

“Mr. Chamberlain is here to observe on behalf of your insurance carrier,” Sunny continued with a brief inclination of her head in Duncan’s direction. “I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but any information you provide could aid him in locating your stolen property.”

Considering the interview could become quite personal, his presence made Sunny about as comfortable as a perp in handcuffs locked in a room full of rubber hoses and bright lights. No less than she probably deserved for having a serious case of lust for the guy, but she wisely kept that thought to herself.

“I understand,” Margo said with a regal nod.

Sunny slipped a small tape recorder from her briefcase and leaned forward to set it in the center of the round rosewood coffee table. “Do you mind if I record this session?” she asked, struggling to maintain focus on the interview and not the intoxicating whiff she’d just caught of Duncan’s spice-scented aftershave.

Margo shook her head. “Not at all.”

Sunny made note of the date, time, location, the purpose of the interview and indicated the parties present. She retrieved her notepad from her briefcase and flipped to the list of questions she’d jotted down while reviewing the case file last night. In the privacy of her newly purchased condo, she’d slipped into her favorite pair of cotton pj’s, turned on the television to the cable news network and tried to crawl inside the twisted mind of a con artist preying on vulnerable, unsuspecting women.

The reminder pricked her anger, renewing her tenacity to put an end to the Seducer’s lucrative criminal activities. With any luck, she’d nail his ass before he could pluck his next pigeon.

Including Wilder, the Bureau had a total of seven cases stretching from Seattle all the way to the D.C. area, that made up the SEDSCAM investigation. When the different state authorities had independently requested assistance from the Bureau’s lab hoping to nail the unknown subject’s identity with DNA found at the crime scenes, someone in the lab had been paying attention, bringing the incidents to the attention of the nonviolent crime unit’s chief. The reports had all been same, DNA nonidentifiable, but all that meant was the UNSUB had never been imprisoned, else his DNA would’ve been in the FBI’s DNA database. In Sunny’s opinion, that made her UNSUB either one clever crook or a lucky SOB. Maybe both considering his ten-month crime spree.

Forcing a serene expression, she smiled at Margo. “Let’s begin with the day you first met the man you knew as Justin Abbott. In the initial report you gave to the police the morning you discovered the theft, you indicated that following a meeting with your attorneys, you went to the Georgetown Café for lunch?” At least Margo had immediately notified the authorities, something not all of the vics had done. For reasons beyond her comprehension, Sunny had one case where the vic had waited close to two weeks before filing a police report.

Margo’s golden-brown eyes brightened and her collagen-smooth lips lifted into a wistful smile. “Yes,” she answered, her voice softening considerably. “The café was horribly crowded and Justin offered to share his table with me.”

Sunny tucked a loose curl behind her ear again. “Do you recall ever seeing Abbott before that day in the café?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“There was nothing familiar about him?” Sunny pressed. “Perhaps he’d been to your home disguised as a repairman, or had attended a social function where you may have seen him prior to that day in the café?” None of the other victims she’d interviewed reported ever seeing the Seducer on a previous occasion, either. Circumstance had little to do with initial contact between UNSUB and vic, but so far Sunny had been unable to confirm her suspicions.

“Ms. MacGregor,” Margo said patiently, “it simply is not possible. I assure you, I would have remembered if I’d met Justin previously.”

“Why is that?” Sunny asked in a milder tone than her curiosity demanded.

“Presence,” the older woman told her. “Justin has a presence that is not easily forgotten.”

Now there was an explanation Sunny easily understood, courtesy of the man seated across from her. She glanced at him and their gazes met, held, and the air sizzled around them. On cue, her heart rate accelerated, and she felt another sharp tug in her tummy.

Ducking her head, she pretended to consult the list of questions she’d prepared. She needed her mind on the job, not in places she had no business venturing—at the moment.

Sunny cleared her throat. “How long after your initial meeting with Abbott did you see him again?”

“That same evening,” Margo answered. “He asked me to accompany him to the symphony. He had a private box.”

From the file Sunny had read, she knew Margo had lived a sheltered, privileged life in the ivory tower her rich uncle had built, but Margo wasn’t a naive kid fresh off the farm. The woman might be low-mileage, but she didn’t strike Sunny as the type to fall for a slick pickup line, either.

So what was it about this particular UNSUB that made his victims fall for an obvious con like naive little fools? As much as she wanted—no, needed—to understand, she simply could not wrap her mind around the concept of being some guy’s patsy.

Duncan shifted slightly in his chair, instantly drawing her attention. She might be entertaining the possibility of exploring the physical attraction between them, but she possessed enough intelligence to know when he was feeding her a line. Sure, she’d flirted with him, but she was also well aware of the fact he wanted something from her, just as she wanted a look at his files. And whatever else he might be willing to show her.

Looking back to Margo, Sunny asked, “Did anyone else accompany you to the symphony? Did Mr. Abbott have a driver?”

“He drove himself.” A slight blush colored the other woman’s unnaturally smooth cheeks. “We were…alone.”

Why did normally reasonable women lose all common sense when it came to the opposite sex? Sunny never would be so stupid as to invite a guy she didn’t know into her home. Didn’t Margo read the newspapers? The world was filled with lunatics and psychos.

She was a fine one to talk. Hadn’t she been on the verge of inviting Duncan to her place? And what did she really know about him? Not much, other than the possibility that for the first time in months she could be changing the sheets on her bed for something other than laundry day.

“And after the symphony?” Sunny asked.

“He brought me home.” A deeper blush this time. “We had a glass of sherry and then he left after we made plans for the following evening to attend the art gallery.”

Sunny frowned and consulted her notes again. Not a single reference existed in the case file about Margo accompanying the UNSUB to an art gallery. “Did you provide the investigating officer with the name of the gallery?” she asked.

“He never asked. But it was the Fifth Street Art Center.”

“Were you aware it hasn’t been open in six months?” Duncan asked suddenly.

“Yes, I was,” Margo answered. “Justin had arranged for a private showing.”

“He may have arranged a private showing, Ms. Wilder,” Duncan said, his gaze intent as he studied the witness closely, “but not with the property owner’s permission. The Fifth Street Art Center went out of business.”

Margo frowned, a barely perceptible action courtesy of regular Botox injections. “That’s impossible. I was there. I even purchased one of the paintings on display.”

This was all news to Sunny and it irritated her that the local authorities hadn’t been more diligent in their investigation. “Do you have the painting?” she asked, but she already suspected the answer.

The older woman’s frown deepened by the slightest degree. “No, not as yet.”

And she never would, Sunny thought, struggling to remain calm. Never one to suffer fools lightly, herself included, she had little patience for stupidity. At this rate, by the time she solved SEDSCAM, her usual lack of empathy would be finely tuned.

She couldn’t help wondering if any of the women victimized had an inkling how fortunate they were to have lost only their material possessions and not their lives? So far the UNSUB’s twisted fantasy thankfully didn’t include physically harming his victims. Hopefully that wouldn’t change.

“Are you sure there were no other individuals present at the gallery that night?” she asked.

Margo shook her head. “No. No one.”

“Then how were you able to make a purchase?” For a painting, Sunny had a feeling, that was a fake.

“I made the check out to Justin. He is a substantial patron so I just assumed…”

Exactly what he’d wanted her to assume. He’d conned her into believing he was such a wealthy supporter he’d practically been given his own key to the place.

Regardless, Sunny finally had a fresh piece of information. In order to pull off such an elaborate scheme as detailed as an operational art gallery, the UNSUB couldn’t possibly be flying solo. Although she’d never personally been involved, she’d heard the stories of the networks of traveling grifters. They moved around the country duping the elderly, ripping off department stores by returning stolen merchandise for cash refunds and running the classic carnie cons. With the exception of big real estate rip-offs and boiler room scams, cons generally ran penny-ante operations nowhere near as sophisticated as the UNSUB’s game.

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.