sure that she was the victim of a serial killer, and the little girl would never show up alive. Sad story, but Joe had worked on other serial killings and had experience in profiling as well. He was well qualified to take on the case. He’d go down to Atlanta and dive in and show the locals how the FBI could handle a case like Bonnie’s.
But he wouldn’t get involved with the family of the victim no matter how sympathetic he was toward them. That was always a mistake. It was better to stand apart so that he could work without emotion. That would be far more efficient.
Yes, after all, it was just one more case. A few months in Atlanta, and he’d be coming back to start another job. There was nothing about this Duncan case in Atlanta to interfere with his career, certainly nothing to interfere with his life…
CHAPTER 2
The Past
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Quantico, Virginia
“I HEAR PACKER GAVE you the Duncan case.” Jenny Rudler smiled as she stopped by Joe’s desk. “I was hoping to get it. There’s been a lot of media attention since the kid was taken. I could use a high- profile case. It would help me break through the glass ceiling. But, no, the fair-haired boy was the chosen one.”
“Does the FBI have a glass ceiling?”
“You’re damn right it does.” She perched on the corner of his desk. “Why not tell Packer you need a partner?”
And Jenny would be stepping all over him trying to break that ceiling. He didn’t need that. “Maybe next time.”
Her smile faded. “Bastard. Damn, you’re cocky. You have it all, don’t you? Rich kid, Harvard grad, hero in the SEALs. Then you decide you want to be an FBI agent. So everyone is supposed to bow down and give you anything you want.”
He held on to his temper. “That’s right. But I’ll make an exception in your case. I’ll settle for you just staying out of my way. I worked for everything I’ve gotten here at the Bureau. Back off, Jenny.”
She hesitated, and suddenly the belligerence was gone. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Her smile was dazzling. “I was really upset. It seems as if I’m not getting anywhere, and I’m frustrated as hell. Forgive me?”
He shrugged.
“No, I mean it. Let me make it up to you. When do you leave for Atlanta?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Then come over tonight, and we’ll have a few drinks.”
Which meant that they’d end up in bed as they had a few times before. For a moment, he was tempted. She wasn’t bad in bed, and he required sex often and varied.
“You were real good,” Jenny murmured. “Maybe the best. We had a good time, didn’t we?”
But he didn’t need the strings that Jenny would attach to any relationship, even the most casual. He didn’t mind paying for sex, but not in the workplace. That could be a big-time headache.
“I’m busy. Sorry.”
Her smile disappeared. “I’m not. Who needs you?” She turned on her heel. “There are a lot of people here who resent you and are just waiting to stab you in the back. You’d be smart to keep the friends you have. Have a good time in Atlanta.”
Translated that meant go to hell, Joe thought, as he watched her walk away. She had a nice ass. Should he change his mind and go after her? He was always more attracted when there was a challenge involved. That was why he had come to work at the FBI. Life had been too flat after his service in the SEALs.
No, curb that recklessness for once. He’d find enough of a challenge in Atlanta. Probably not physical, but definitely mental.
He turned back to the folder on his desk and flipped it open.
230 Morningside Drive
Atlanta, Georgia
IT WAS A NICE LITTLE HOUSE in a nice little neighborhood, Joe thought as he got out of the rental car. Inexpensive, but clean and freshly painted. It had a wide front porch, and red-orange geraniums were overflowing from a hanging straw basket.
A car was in the driveway, a gray Ford at least seven or eight years old. It appeared as clean and well taken care of as the house. Every detail of the house and automobile spoke of meager funds but a determination by the occupants to make the best of what they had.
But in Joe’s experience, the obvious didn’t always end up to be the truth.
He rang the doorbell.
No answer.
He waited and rang it again.
No answer.
There were reasons why Eve Duncan would not answer the bell, but he still felt a little annoyed. How the hell could he help her if she shut herself away from him like this? Overcome it. Do your job, he told himself. He had to do the interview before he could dismiss Eve Duncan from his mind and get down to the business of finding her daughter’s killer.
He went around the house to the steps leading to the kitchen screen door. Through the screen, he could see a woman at the stove with her back to him. He wanted to pound impatiently but instead knocked discreetly.
“Ms. Duncan. FBI. I rang the front doorbell, but no one answered. May I come in?”
She looked at him and turned back to the stove. “Yes, I suppose you may.”
He opened the door and entered the kitchen. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to answer the door. I hear the media has been harassing you. I’m Special Agent Joe Quinn. FBI. I wonder if I could have a few words with you.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Questions? I’ve answered millions of questions. It’s all in the ATLPD records. Go ask them.”
He stiffened as he gazed at her. She wasn’t what he had expected. Eve Duncan was tall and slim, with shoulder-length red-brown hair and hazel eyes. The high cheekbones of her face made it more fascinating than pretty. His report said she was only twenty-three, but she could have been any age. She was… extraordinary.
Usually when meeting a woman, his first impression was of beauty or ugliness, not intelligence and personality. That came later, along with an evaluation of whether he wanted to go to bed with her. But gazing at Eve Duncan, he couldn’t think of single aspects but the woman as a whole being. He was only aware of the tension, the painful restraint, the burning vitality of her. Why couldn’t he look away from her?
Get a grip. What had she said? ATLPD. “I have to make my own report.”
“Red tape. Procedures.” She scooped up the omelet and put it on a plate. “Why didn’t they send someone right after it happened?”
It had only been two weeks, but it had probably seemed a lifetime to her. “We had to wait for a request from the local police.”
“You should have been here. Everyone should have come right away.” Her hand was shaking as she picked up the plate and put it on a tray. “I suppose I’ll have to talk to you. But I have to take this omelet to my mother. She hasn’t gotten out of bed since Bonnie disappeared. I can’t get her to eat.”
“I’ll take it,” he said impulsively as he reached out and took the tray. “Which room?”
