Matters of Seduction

  “You’re a legend, you know. Whether you believe it or not.”

  Cahill straightened and said gruffly, “You have to stop looking at me that way, Agent Dunlop. You and I both know it can’t happen.”

  Pru almost gasped. She’d let down her guard for one split second, and he’d seen right through her. He knew. “What can’t happen?” she tried to bluff.

  “You know what I’m talking about.” His tone remained stern. “I saw it in your eyes just now. I felt it in the car yesterday. I’ll admit, I’m attracted to you, too, but I repeat, it can’t happen. It wouldn’t do either of our careers any good.”

  He was attracted to her, too? Since when? Oh, my God. Pru fought the smile that tugged at her lips. “I don’t know what to say. So…what do…”

  “We don’t do anything. We ignore this until it goes away.”

  “Okay, but…what if it doesn’t go away?”

  He frowned. “It will. It always does.”

  Maybe for you, Pru thought.

  Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

  You won’t be able to resist a single one of our May books. We have a lineup so shiver inducing that you may forget summer’s almost here!

  • Executive Bodyguard is the second book in Debra Webb’s exciting new trilogy, THE ENFORCERS. For the thrilling conclusion, be sure you pick up Man of Her Dreams in June.

  • Amanda Stevens concludes her MATCHMAKERS UNDERGROUND series with Matters of Seduction. And the Montana McCalls are back, in B.J. Daniels’s Ambushed!

  • We also have two special premiers for you. Kathleen Long debuts in Harlequin Intrigue with Silent Warning, a chilling thriller. And LIPSTICK LTD., our special promotion featuring sexy, sassy sleuths, kicks off with Darlene Scalera’s Straight Silver.

  • A few of your favorite Harlequin Intrigue authors have some special books you’ll love. Rita Herron’s A Breath Away is available this month from HQN Books. And, in June, Joanna Wayne’s The Gentlemen’s Club is being published by Signature Spotlight.

  Harlequin Intrigue brings you the best in breathtaking romantic suspense with six fabulous books to enjoy. Please write to us—we love to hear from our readers.

  Sincerely,

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  MATTERS OF SEDUCTION

  AMANDA STEVENS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  The author of over thirty novels, Amanda Stevens is the recipient of Career Achievement awards in both Romantic Mystery and Romantic Suspense from Romantic Times magazine. She has been nominated for numerous Reviewers’ Choice awards and has been a RITA® Award finalist in the Gothic/Romantic Suspense category. She resides in Houston, Texas.

  Books by Amanda Stevens

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  373—STRANGER IN PARADISE

  388—A BABY’S CRY

  397—A MAN OF SECRETS

  430—THE SECOND MRS. MALONE

  453—THE HERO’S SON *

  458—THE BROTHER’S WIFE *

  462—THE LONG-LOST HEIR *

  489—SOMEBODY’S BABY

  511—LOVER, STRANGER

  549—THE LITTLEST WITNESS **

  553—SECRET ADMIRER **

  557—FORBIDDEN LOVER **

  581—THE BODYGUARD’S ASSIGNMENT

  607—NIGHTTIME GUARDIAN

  622—THE INNOCENT †

  626—THE TEMPTED †

  630—THE FORGIVEN †

  650—SECRET SANCTUARY

  700—CONFESSIONS OF THE HEART

  737—HIS MYSTERIOUS WAYS ††

  759—SILENT STORM ††

  777—SECRET PASSAGE ††

  796—UNAUTHORIZED PASSION ?

  825—INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE ?

  834—MATTERS OF SEDUCTION ?

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Special Agent Prudence Dunlop—Her career is threatened by an elusive killer…and by the one man she can’t have.

  Special Agent John Cahill—A legend among his colleagues, this G-man has his own demons to battle.

  Special Agent Tim Sessions—He’s good at what he does. Very, very good.

  Sergeant Janet Stryker—How far will this ambitious detective go to get her man?

  Sergeant Barry Reed—Is he tired of being upstaged by his flamboyant partner?

  Clare McDonald—A woman with a deadly secret.

  Tiffany Beaumont—Her friend wasn’t the only one with secrets.

  John Allen Stiles—A convicted serial killer, his deadly reach extends beyond his jail cell.

  Sid Zellman—Stiles’s new attorney is a man with his own compulsions.

  Greg Oldman—Zellman’s handsome and enigmatic assistant.

  Naomi Wallis—She seems to have an unnatural attachment to Stiles.

  Danny Costello—He was hired to follow Clare McDonald. Can he now identify her killer?

  Max Tripp—His P.I. agency promises his rich clients a connection with the woman of their dreams. Could one of his clients be a killer?

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  I don’t hate women, okay? Let’s make that clear from the start. Quite the contrary, I adore women. I find them endlessly fascinating. I can watch them for hours and never grow bored. They’re my canvas, you see. My clay. Even more, they’re my air and water. Without them, I would cease to exist.

  So, no, I don’t hate women, nor do I take their lives for sadistic pleasure. I’m not on a mission. I’m not a thrill seeker. I don’t hear voices inside my head. I don’t fit any of your profiles because I’m not like any killer you’ve ever known.

  Special Agent John Cahill stopped the tape, rewound, and then pressed Play as he got up from his desk and strode to the window to stare out. A chill ran up his spine as the distorted voice behind him droned on. He couldn’t identify the speaker, but there was something disturbingly familiar about the message.

  The tape had been included in a stack of reports and crime scene photos sent to him by Lieutenant Bill Mayberry of the Houston Police Department, along with a request that he review the cases ASAP. The original tape had been delivered to HPD headquarters, addressed simply to the Homicide Division, the day after the second body had been discovered in the Montrose area of the city.

  So far, the beleaguered HPD crime lab had had no luck with voice analysis or in tracing the package back to the sender. The tape was a curiosity, to say the least, but Mayberry had stressed in their initial phone conversation that he had no idea if it was even relevant to the cases. His instincts told him that it was, though, and he was worried.

  The two recent homicides bore eerie similarities to a killing spree that had occurred in Houston two years ago. The sensationalized case had become known as the Casanova Murders because of the champagne, candles and rose petals found at the crime scenes and the single red rose placed in the victims’ hands.

  According to Dr. Darian West, a criminal psychologist who had been instrumental in solving the case, Casanova—aka John Allen Stiles—had stalked his victims before he raped and strangled them. He had gotten to know them and then they’d willingly let him into their homes because, over the course of days or even weeks, they’d become infatuated with him.

  Mayberry’s request regarding the two recent homicides was simple. He
wanted a professional assess ment as to whether or not they were looking for the same suspect in both cases.

  Left unspoken, of course, was the police lieutenant’s real fear. Could HPD have a copycat killer on its hands?

  Each time Cahill listened to the tape, the dread inside him deepened. There was something about that voice…

  The guy sounded calm and reasonable, which worried Cahill a great deal.

  Raving lunatics were the easy ones. It was the quiet, cerebral, Ted-Bundy-boy-next-door types that kept him awake at night.

  Jessie, he thought suddenly. She’d planned to visit this weekend, but now he’d have to call and make some excuse about why she couldn’t come. If he was going to involve himself in this case, he didn’t want her around.

  And he was going to get involved. He could feel the adrenaline surging already, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. He’d been trying to slowly phase himself out of the unit, and maybe this case could finally be his swan song. He’d known for a while now that it was time to move on. Time to get out of the business of death.

  He didn’t want the nightmares that followed him home at night to ever touch Jessie again.

  And yet, here he was, being sucked back in….

  Which was why he’d have to discourage her from coming this weekend. He was probably overreacting, but he couldn’t afford to take that chance. Not with Jessie. She meant too much to him.

  She meant everything to him.

  He rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. Damn it, they didn’t need another setback. Not when they were getting along so well, making real progress in a relationship that had been strained for far too long. Ever since…

  No, he wouldn’t think about that. It didn’t do either of them any good to rehash the past. To dwell on the what-ifs. God knows, he’d nearly driven himself crazy with that game.

  Taking a few deep breaths, he struggled to control the blind rage that still threatened to explode in moments of weakness or exhaustion. Slowly, he unclenched his fists as he stared out at the deepening twilight.

  Behind him, the tape came to an end, but he didn’t bother to restart it. Not yet. Instead, he concentrated on the twinkling lights of the Houston skyline. He’d lived at the same location for over a year now, but he still wasn’t used to the view. He couldn’t get used to a lot of things. The apartment just didn’t seem like home to him. It was a place where he showered and slept, where he had an occasional meal, but it wasn’t home.

  Home was a four-bedroom ranch in a northwest suburb surrounded by loblolly pines and a well-tended lawn. A driveway littered with bicycles and a backyard swimming pool teeming with noisy adolescents. It was where he retreated to after a long day spent in some very dark places, but that home didn’t exist anymore. Except in his memories.

  Oh, the house was still there. He’d driven past a few months ago in another moment of weakness. The wood trim had been freshly painted and new landscaping had been put in. He’d felt a pang of something that might have been resentment at how great the place looked.

  Which was crazy. He’d never wanted that house in the first place, but his ex-wife had had her heart set on it. After years of scrimping and saving to make the mortgage payments, he should feel nothing now but relief to have that burden lifted from his shoulders. He should be enjoying his life as a single man again. After all, he wasn’t over the hill yet. He wasn’t even forty, or so he tried to convince himself, but when he counted up, he realized his next birthday loomed just around the corner.

  The house was gone, his ex-wife had a new boyfriend and his daughter was finally adjusting to college life at the University of Houston. He didn’t have a single worry these days.

  Except for that voice on the tape, and the familiar sense of evil lurking around the next corner.

  Turning from the window, he picked up the phone to call Jessie, but instead he pressed Play again and closed his eyes as he listened to that voice.

  …don’t fit any of your profiles because I’m not like any killer you’ve ever known. I wasn’t a bed wetter or a fire starter as a child, and I’ve never tortured small animals. I wasn’t abused, abandoned or even particularly misunderstood. I’m neither a misfit nor the guy next door. I’m gainfully employed, well educated, a real “catch” some might even say.

  I kill for one reason and one reason only…because I can.

  Chapter One

  Tiffany Amber Beaumont was one of those people who could only be taken in small doses, which was why Prudence Dunlop normally went out of her way to avoid the pesky woman. She was self-absorbed, shallow and irritatingly persistent. So persistent, in fact, that when she’d called after work that day, Pru—against her better judgment—had agreed to meet her for drinks.

  On the up side, Pru supposed that even Tiffany’s company was preferable to spending a rainy Monday night alone in her apartment.

  Not that she minded being alone. She’d certainly had enough practice and besides, she’d never been the type who easily bored of her own company. In fact, Pru liked being by herself.

  Lately, however, all those solitary evenings were giving her a little too much time to think about her work. To wonder about her future. To fantasize about a man who barely even knew she was alive.

  “…so you can see why I’m so worried,” Tiffany fretted as the waiter placed a fresh apple martini before her.

  Momentarily distracted by the guy’s dimpled smile, Pru tried to pick up the thread of the conversation. “Not really. Clare is a grown woman, after all.”

  “A grown woman who is acting like a stranger.” Oblivious to the waiter’s appreciative glances, Tiffany ignored the poor guy until he finally gave up and left. Pru tracked his retreat with her own appreciative gaze.

  “Come on.” Tiffany’s voice was edged with impatience. “Remember how chatty she used to be in high school? She couldn’t wait to tell us every little detail about her boyfriends. She’s never been the secretive type, but now, suddenly, she won’t tell me anything about this guy. Not his name, where he lives, what he does for a living. Nada.” She sipped her drink. “That’s just not like her and you know it.”

  Actually, Pru didn’t know any such thing. She hadn’t seen Clare McDonald in years because she’d long ago given up on her high school friendships. She’d never had much in common with any of those girls, anyway. The only reason she kept in touch with Tiffany was because their mothers were best friends.

  Since childhood, Valerie Dunlop and Theresa Beaumont had been like sisters, and their fondest wish had been for their daughters to become just as close. But Tiffany and Pru were polar opposites.

  Pru had to admit, though, that Tiffany had more than held her own since high school. Now a successful advertising executive, she certainly looked and dressed the part.

  Pru recognized the pink power suit. It was from a high-end designer, and the leather slingbacks were unmistakably Italian. Pru’s mother owned an exclusive uptown boutique and before that, she’d been a buyer for Neiman Marcus. Pru couldn’t have been Valerie Dunlop’s daughter for twenty-eight years and not picked up something of her fashion sense.

  Not that you could tell by looking at her, Pru thought dryly. The closest she came to haute couture these days was leafing through the pages of Vogue magazine in the hair salon. Even with her mother’s generous discount, she couldn’t afford to shop at the pricey boutique.

  But it didn’t matter. She’d long ago accepted the fact that she would never be in Tiffany’s and Clare’s league, much less her mother’s. She’d never be as beautiful or as impossibly skinny as that glamorous trio, but that was okay, too. She was fit and healthy and could run three miles in just under twenty-two minutes. That had to count for something, if she could believe the slow once-over from the guy seated at the end of the bar.

  He’d been checking her out ever since he’d arrived a few minutes earlier. He wasn’t as cute as the waiter, but he had an interesting face and dark, sultry eyes. Not as dark as John Cahill’s, of course. Nor
as sultry. But then, whose were?

  Pru let her gaze linger as she considered her options. She could flash the guy a smile and see if he approached their table, or she could go over to the bar and strike up a conversation with him. If something sparked, she could see where it led.

  For a split second, she gave her imagination free rein as she fantasized about a night of hot sex in a stranger’s bed.

  But it wasn’t a stranger’s dark eyes she imagined staring down at her. It was John Cahill’s.

  She couldn’t seem to get him out of her head, but she had to. For the sake of her career and her own peace of mind, she had to accept the fact that John Cahill was not the man for her.

  Banishing his image to the far recesses of her mind, she returned her attention to Tiffany, who was already halfway through her second drink.

  Pru toyed with her own glass. “Look, maybe the reason Clare hasn’t confided in you yet is because the relationship isn’t serious. Did you ever think of that?”

  “Since when has that ever stopped her?” Tiffany demanded. “Besides, it’s not true. I can tell she’s in love just by looking at her. So why won’t she let me meet him? Unless…”

  “Unless what?” Pru pressed.

  “Unless it’s his idea. What if he’s one of those abusive men who knows how to sweep a woman off her feet, and then tries to isolate her from her friends and family?”

  Pru frowned. “Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions? Maybe she’s just not ready to talk about him.”

  “And maybe by the time she is ready, it’ll be too late.” Tiffany’s blue eyes pleaded with her. “Come on, Pru. You have to do something.”

  “Me?” Pru said in surprise. “This is none of my business. I don’t even know why you’re telling me about it.”