Absolute Pleasure. Jamie Denton
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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