A Profiler's Case for Seduction(76)

Don’t breathe, she thought, and did just the opposite. She breathed and immediately her head spun, her brain losing focus as she slumped against him and dove into the awaiting darkness.

* * *

Mark drove his car to Dora’s with the intention that they would leave his car there and walk to the celebration on campus. There had been no word back from the handwriting expert and so everyone and everything was in a wait-and-see mode. He was determined to keep his work out of his head for the remainder of the night, although he’d opted to wear his windbreaker with the bold FBI letters on the front and back.

There was no way he wanted the local law officials or campus security to mistake him for one of the drunken revelers. He’d heard that stun guns would be the weapons of choice for the students who got out of control.

Despite the limbo that the investigation was in, in spite of his feeling that Dora intended to kick him to the curb, he was looking forward to the night with her.

The sidewalks were already filling with students and alumni, clad in Gladiator garb and shades of red and gold, making their way toward the campus as Mark pulled up to the curb in front of Dora’s house.

It promised to be a perfect-weather night, although several clouds skittered across the sky, bringing forth a false sense of early night.

He’d seen the fire pit earlier in the day and it had reminded him of something out of Old Salem when they’d burned witches at the stake. Tonight a straw-stuffed Blue Jay football player would be the official guest of honor.

Already the scent of beer and popcorn filled the air, but what he wanted to smell more than anything was the scent of Dora, that wildflower fragrance that drove him half-mad.

He got out of his car and walked to her front door with a simmering excitement inside. Tonight he had to somehow make her realize that they deserved a future together. He had to make her understand that he didn’t give a damn where she’d come from or what had happened before he met her. Her past meant nothing to him. He was only interested in her future.

A glance at his watch let him know he was precisely on time. It was exactly seven o’clock. He knocked on her door, surprised when it eased open on its own.

“Dora?” He stepped inside as he called her name. There was no answering response. He stepped into the living room and called her name louder. Still no reply and that’s when the first stir of anxiety shot off in his stomach.

A quick glance showed him that her purse was on the table, along with a teacup of half-drunk tea. He touched the cup. Cold...as cold as his heart as he cried out her name yet a third time.

She should be able to hear him, no matter where she was in the house. He raced up the stairs to the bedrooms, looking first in the spare room that only held a chair and a single bed and then in her room, where a sweater and jeans were neatly laid on the bed as if just awaiting her to pull them on.

He stared at the clothes and then focused his attention on the closed bathroom door. Was she running late? Still doing makeup or finishing up a shower?

It was completely out of character for her to be late. Heart thudding an anxious rhythm of dread, he advanced on the closed door.

He knocked on the door, a firm rap that would wake the dead. When there was no immediate response he flung open the door and gasped a sigh of both relief and alarm as she wasn’t there.

The room held the trace of her in the lingering scent of her perfume, but other than a damp towel that spoke of an earlier shower or bath, there was nothing to tell him what had happened to her.

He raced back down the stairs, his brain firing on all cylinders. The half-empty glass of tea, the clothes ready to wear and the purse on the table...all were indications that Dora had left the house unexpectedly.

Gone. But where? And why? She had no friends and she certainly wouldn’t have left the house on her own volition with the door open and her purse on the table. She knew he’d be here at seven, and there was no way she’d left the house and stood him up.

He looked around the middle of the living room. When he spied the poppy-colored vase half-hidden at the foot of the sofa he realized there had been some sort of struggle and that she’d been taken from here. For a moment he was frozen, his brain not working like a seasoned FBI agent, but rather like a man missing his mate.

Panic set in. Where was Dora? Something bad had happened here. He could smell the evil in the air, as the hairs on the nape of his neck raised in fear.

Do something, Mark, a voice screamed inside his head. That scream snapped him into action. He quickly checked all the windows on the ground level and found them locked and intact. She’d known whoever had come in. She’d apparently opened her door to the person, allowed them into her living room.