Scene of the Crime: Bachelor Moon. Carla Cassidy
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four o’clock the late July sun was at its hottest, and he decided to call it a day and head inside to his room. He stored his fishing pole and tackle box in the trunk of his car and went into the house.
He saw nobody as he climbed the stairs to his room, but the air was redolent with the scent of cooking, and he immediately thought of the woman who would be his landlord for the next two weeks.
He certainly wouldn’t be averse to a little vacation romance as long as she was willing and able and understood the meaning of temporary. It was the only kind of relationship he had—hot and very, very temporary.
Minutes later he stood beneath a shower, grateful that the water pressure was good and the water steamy hot. He hoped the food was as good as it smelled. He regretted missing lunch because now he was starving.
Once he was out of the shower he dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a short-sleeved, light blue, button-up shirt, then stood at the window in his room and stared outside.
Today had been surprisingly pleasant, and he reluctantly admitted that maybe he had needed a vacation after all. He couldn’t remember when he’d taken any time off work over the last five or six years.
He was about to walk out of his room and head down to the dining area when his cell phone rang. A glance at the caller ID let him know it was Special Agent Jenna Taylor.
“Is this my favorite prince of darkness?” she asked when he answered.
“Hey, Jenna, what’s going on?” he asked, as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you arrived at your vacation paradise okay.”
Six profilers worked out of the Kansas City FBI offices. Misunderstood by most civilians, branded as renegades within their department, they were a tight group with a bond that went beyond their jobs.
All of them were single, but when Jenna had traveled to Bridgewater, Texas, to investigate the murder of her best friend, she’d fallen for the local sheriff and was now in the process of transferring from the office in Kansas City to one in Texas.
“I’m here and have spent the day sitting in a chair with a fishing pole in my hand,” he replied.
“Good for you. You need this, Sam. You were on your way to falling so far into the darkness that nobody could have pulled you out.”
“Whatever,” he replied, already faintly irritated by the conversation.
“Seriously, Sam. You need balance in your life. You’ve got to get some good in with the bad, and it wouldn’t hurt if you’d find a nice woman to spend time with.”
“You know how I feel about that, so don’t even get me started,” he replied. “I like being alone and I intend to stay that way.”
“I know, but as someone who has just found the love of my life I wish all my friends could feel the same kind of happiness that I have.”
Sam sighed. Former smokers and the newly in love, they could both be irritating with their need to reform the entire world. The two talked for another few minutes and then ended the call.
As he walked downstairs to find the evening meal, he shoved thoughts of Jenna from his mind. He was going to miss working with her, but he was glad that she’d apparently found her soul mate.
Despite the fact that he’d found her attractive and had enjoyed working with her, there had never been any sparks between them. They had simply been coworkers who had become close friends.
All thoughts of Jenna left his mind as he entered the dining room to find two men already there. One of them stood near a sideboard pouring himself a cup of coffee from the urn on top, and the other was already seated at the table.
The man at the table stood as Sam entered the room. “You must be the new guest. I’m Matt Rader, a fellow guest of this great place.” He held out his hand to Sam.
“Sam Connelly,” Sam replied, as he shook Matt’s hand.
“I’m Frank, the handyman and gardener and general jack-of-all-trades,” the other man replied. “I saw you out on the dock earlier. Did you have any luck?”
“A few nibbles, nothing more.” Sam sat in one of the empty seats at the large table, assuming there was no seating assignment.
Frank took a seat opposite Sam. He was an older man—Sam guessed he was in his late forties—and he had the weathered features of a man who spent a lot of time outside. “You here on business or pleasure?”
“Strictly pleasure,” Sam replied. “I’m on a two-week vacation and looking forward to doing nothing more strenuous than fishing.”
For the next few minutes the men talked about the fishing in the area and the hot weather. Sam was grateful that neither man asked him what he did for a living.
It had been his experience that people did one of two things when they learned he was an FBI agent. They either got paranoid and distant or they glommed onto him with endless, mostly stupid questions.
The superficial conversation was just beginning to wind down when another man arrived. He was a hand some blond with brown eyes, and he introduced himself as Jeff Tyson, a family friend of Daniella’s.
It was obvious the minute Daniella bustled into the room carrying a large bowl of jambalaya that Jeff wouldn’t mind being more than a family friend to Daniella. He immediately leaped forward to take the bowl from her, and from the expression on his face Sam knew the man was in love with her.
As Sam saw her a slight sizzle again went through him. Her gaze met his and a hint of color crept into her cheeks. Did she feel it, too? The crazy tug of physical attraction? Maybe her cheeks were just flushed from cooking, he thought as she disappeared back into the kitchen. Or maybe there was something more going on between her and Jeff than just friendship.
She returned a moment later with a pan of corn bread and a bowl of salad. “I have fresh peach cobbler for dessert,” she said. “Enjoy your meal.”
The food was terrific and the conversation flowed easily between the three men. Sam ate and only half-listened as his thoughts returned to the woman who had served them.
Apparently Daniella and her daughter didn’t share their meals with the guests. As the owner of a bed-and-breakfast, Daniella had certainly set herself up for a demanding life, and she was a single parent to boot.
He had a feeling beneath the sexy package there had to be some major inner strength. It was Sam’s experience that divorcees reacted to their life experiences in two ways: either they were eager to get married again and try for the happily-ever-after they’d been deprived of in their first marriage, or they turned their back on the very idea of a second marriage.
There was a small part of him that hoped she fell into the second category, that she was ripe for a very brief, very physical relationship with no emotional attachment, and that she and Jeff truly were just old friends with nothing else going on between them.
He frowned irritably, wondering why he suddenly had sex on the mind. He knew part of the problem was that he’d been so long without it. It had been eight months since he’d been with a woman, part of a fling with a career-minded woman he saw on an irregular basis.
Ramona Welch lived in Topeka and occasionally traveled to Kansas City for business. Whenever she was in town she’d call Sam and they hooked up for the night. There were no expectations between them and definitely no love.
He was grateful when the meal had ended and he escaped to his room after telling the others good-night. He was tired after the long drive that morning and the previous night of little sleep.
After pulling down the pretty green bedspread he stretched out on the bed and considered turning on the television, but decided instead to just enjoy the silence.
There had been little silence in his life or in his head in the last seven years since he’d become a profiler