PRIMAL INSTINCT (2 page)

And dragging some middle-aged woman from her
horse
farm
in the middle of Nowhere, California, into a case of this magnitude was not Conner’s idea of good situational management. Conner threw the ball to Seth.

“You know, there have been documented cases of nontraditional methods actually working.”

Conner dragged a hand through his black hair making it even more scruffy-looking than usual. “I don’t even want to hear it, Harrington. I’m pissed. I’m pissed that we’re wasting time going all the way out there.”

“As opposed to doing what?” Seth interjected. “Sitting around the office waiting for the perp to drop off another package?”

Conner leaned his head back and closed his eyes, sighing. Seth had a point. If this lady could help them break open the case in some way, Conner would take it. But he planned to be very careful about what info she was given. He wasn’t sure if she had tricked Chief Kelly and the other agents in some way before, but she damn well wouldn’t fool Conner.

“Fine,” Conner said. “But I would just like it stated, for the record, that I am going there under direct orders. I do not believe this to be the most effective use of our time.”

Seth nodded. “Duly noted, counselor.” He tossed the ball back to Conner.

Conner laid the ball on his desk and picked up Adrienne Jeffries’s ridiculously short and useless file. When he had tried to run her info in the Bureau’s computer system, the same thing happened. Somebody pretty high up in the FBI—maybe even higher than Chief Kelly—was protecting her or hiding something. There was no picture, no physical description of the woman, no mention of her ability and definitely no use of the word
bloodhound
.

By looking at her file, she could’ve been one of thousands of contractors who had worked as support staff for the FBI. Everything from janitorial to catering, clerking to photographing, were hired out each year. Every single one of those people had a file at the Bureau.

The fact that so much was blacked out in Adrienne Jeffries’s file was an immediate giveaway that she was no clerk or anything so benign. Basically her name and the years she’d worked for the Bureau were the only info the file provided.

It was what wasn’t provided that concerned Conner. If she was such a gifted profiler, why wasn’t Jeffries helping the FBI anymore? What type of person would turn their back on an ability like that, if it would save lives? A cold and uncaring one, to be sure.

And why the heck had she been under “not surveillance, exactly”? Contract workers quit the FBI all the time. Most were not being watched by the Bureau, as far as Conner knew. But this woman was, at least partially.

There was something not right about this situation and this woman. The one thing of which Conner was confident was that he did not have all the data. He loosened the top button of his shirt under his tie and grabbed the ball again, tossing it to Seth.

Conner did not like going into any situation blind. But it seemed like he didn’t have much choice in this case. They would bring the woman in, as he had been ordered, glean any useful info, if any, and then would get back to real work.

This was a waste of his time.

Chapter Two

The next morning, as they arrived at Adrienne Jeffries’s ranch, Conner was even more certain this trip was a waste of time. He could admit to himself that the ranch was picturesque among the rolling hills in Lodi but still resented having to come here. A modest-sized house sat in the middle of multiple corralled areas. A barn—at least the same size as the house, maybe even a bit bigger—sat a few hundred yards back from the house.

“Let’s get this over with,” Conner muttered.

They parked and walked up the three worn steps to the wraparound porch. Although the porch and its furniture was well kept, everything was obviously old and secondhand. Conner knocked on a door that could use another coat of paint. No one answered.

“Let’s try the barn,” Seth suggested, heading back down the steps.

That the barn was in a much better state than the house seemed to be immediately evident. Well maintained, organized, all repairs up-to-date. Evidently any money the horse ranch made went back into the barn first.

Conner could hear a man talking inside the barn, although couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. Both Conner and Seth were immediately on alert.

“Hello in the barn! This is FBI Special Agents Conner Perigo and Seth Harrington,” Conner called.

The talking immediately stopped, but there was no response.

“Sir? We’re looking for a Ms. Adrienne Jeffries. We would like to come in the barn.”

A muttered curse, then what sounded like chewing tobacco being spit. “Fine. Come on in,” the man in the barn finally replied.

“Sir, is it just you in the barn?” Seth asked as he and Conner entered slowly.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? We heard you talking to someone.”

“Yeah, I was talking to Willie Nelson, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be talking back anytime soon.”

Willie Nelson?
Conner and Seth glanced at each other again as they walked farther in, both with hands near their weapons. As their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the barn, Conner saw the man was referring to a horse he was brushing inside a stall.

The man was in his mid-sixties, short and wiry. As he walked around the horse, Conner noticed he moved with a limp in his left leg. This had to be Rick Vincent.

“I’m Agent Perigo. This is Agent Harrington. We’re from the FBI.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” The older man was obviously not a big fan of law enforcement. “I’m busy.”

“We’re looking for Ms. Jeffries, sir. She owns this ranch, correct?” Seth asked, moving a couple steps to the left, subtly blocking the exit, should the older man try to run.

“Yeah, she owns it. She’s not here right now.”

“Not here on the ranch or not here in the barn?” Conner asked when the man didn’t offer any more info.

“She’s off riding one of the horses.”

“And may we ask your name, sir?” Although they already knew.

“Vincent. Rick Vincent,” the man offered after a hesitation. Conner could see he was trying to judge how much they knew about him.

“You work here, Mr. Vincent?” Conner asked.

“Just Vincent. Yeah, I work here. I’m the ranch manager.”

“How long have you worked here?” Seth asked.

“Just about a year now.”

“Ms. Jeffries owned the place the entire time?”

Conner let Seth ask the questions while Conner observed the man and the barn. They already knew the answers, but they could learn a lot by what someone was willing to lie about.

“Yeah.”

“Just you and her working here?”

“Yeah. Although we get some kids from the 4-H Club who come in on weekends and stuff like that. And some horticultural students from the local community college every once in a while.”

“May I get your address, Vincent? Just in case we need to talk to you again after we speak to Ms. Jeffries.”

Vincent paused so long Conner thought he might not answer at all. “I live in the house here.”

Conner glanced at Seth with an eyebrow raised. “So you live with Ms. Jeffries in the house?”
Interesting.

“Yes.”

“And it’s just the two of you?”

“It’s not like what you boys are thinking. We both live in the house, but it’s not like that.” Vincent glared at them both, then spat to the side again.

Okay, maybe not romantic, but protective. Still interesting.

Seth seemed about to ask another question when a female voice from outside the barn interrupted him.

“Vince! I officially love Ruby Tuesday! I so hope the owners end up boarding her here. Maybe I should offer a discount just so I can see this pretty girl all the time.” A burst of joyful laughter drew Conner’s focus.

The woman’s voice faded as she started talking to the horse, obviously common practice around here.

A moment later a woman in her mid-twenties—probably one of the college students Vincent had mentioned—led Ruby Tuesday into the barn. She stopped, noticeably shocked when she saw Conner and Seth. She looked at Vincent with concern then rubbed her head and took a few steps back.

“You okay, kiddo?” Vincent asked.

The young woman looked almost panicked. Conner stepped toward her with his arms held out in a soothing manner. “We didn’t mean to startle you, miss. My name is Agent Perigo. This is Agent Harrington.”

“You’re FBI,” she stammered out, still panicky. Did everyone here have an aversion to the FBI?

Conner smiled and tried to reassure the young woman. “Yes. We’re actually looking for Adrienne Jeffries. Mr. Vincent said she was riding. Did you happen to see her while you were out?”

The woman took a deep breath and rubbed her head again. She looked at Vincent, then back at Conner. But she didn’t respond.

Seth decided to take a shot. “We can assure you Ms. Jeffries isn’t in any trouble. We were just hoping to talk to her for a bit.”

The young woman took a couple of breaths and seemed to compose herself. “Okay.”

Seth looked at Conner, who shrugged, then asked, “Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’m here. You can talk to me.”

Conner could feel the shock rolling over him. This
could not
be the Adrienne Jeffries they were supposed to contact. She was too young, with her pixie-short hair and big brown eyes.

She was too damn beautiful.

“No.” Conner denied it before he could help himself. “Your mom, maybe? Is there another Adrienne Jeffries at this address?”

The young woman sighed and shook her head. “Nope, just me.” She led the horse over to Vincent and gave him the reins. “Let’s go inside the house to talk. I think we’ll be more comfortable.”

“I’ll come, too,” Vincent was quick to interject.

Conner watched as Adrienne laid a gentle hand on the older man’s arm. Obviously the protectiveness went both ways. He felt a little guilty that they were about to use that protectiveness against her.

“I’m fine, Vince, I promise.” Adrienne smiled at Vincent then turned to look directly at Conner. “If they’re FBI, I know why they’re here.”

There was definitely no smile when she said that. Vincent was obviously reluctant but agreed.

Adrienne Jeffries silently walked out of the barn, leaving Conner and Seth to follow, or just as obviously not to follow. They made their way behind her wordlessly. Conner couldn’t help admiring how well she filled out her worn jeans as she walked ahead of them. They obviously weren’t designer jeans, but who the hell cared if she looked like that in them?

Seth reached over and nudged him with his elbow.

“What?” Conner whispered, reluctantly drawing his eyes away from Adrienne’s jeans.

“I don’t have a
hankie
so I’m offering you my sleeve.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“To wipe the drool from your mouth, man. You missed some.”

Conner thought just a moment about gut-punching his partner before reaching the house but decided it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t
drooling,
for God’s sake.

But his eyes were drawn back to her jeans one more time.

Adrienne Jeffries was definitely not some middle-aged woman who had worked for the Bureau a decade ago. Something was not adding up between what Chief Logan Kelly had told them and what Conner was seeing with his own eyes.

If she had been the Bloodhound for the FBI, then she would have been a teenager when it had happened. He knew that couldn’t be right. Something did not fit in this situation.

Adrienne made her way through the back door, not gesturing for the men to follow, but at least not slamming the door behind her. Conner and Seth followed her and found themselves in the kitchen. The room, like everything else they’d seen on the ranch—the front porch, the steps, the barn,
her jeans—
Conner quickly pushed that thought away—was clean but worn.

Adrienne crossed over to the sink, filled a glass with water and drank it down without stopping. Only afterward did she place the glass on the counter and turn to face them.

“Have a seat.” She gestured to the four chairs at the kitchen table. Conner took one and Seth took the one across from him.

Adrienne stayed where she was with her back against the sink counter. She didn’t offer them a drink or any food. Nor did she offer them any information. She didn’t exactly glare, but her gaze definitely wasn’t inviting. Conner reclined in his chair and returned the almost hostile look.

If this was the way she wanted to play it, that’s how he would play it.

Seth noticed Conner’s angry expression and sighed. They had played Good Cop–Bad Cop many times over the years, but it was usually Conner who was the good cop. He had a way of putting people at ease when he wanted to. But looking at the woman staring at him so haughtily, Conner had no desire to play good cop today.

“Ms. Jeffries,” Seth took over, “we’d like to ask you a few questions about your...contract work for the FBI.”

“What about it?” Adrienne spoke to Seth but continued to glare at Conner. Conner glared back.

Seth sighed again. “Can you tell us the nature of the work you did for the Bureau?”

Adrienne finally looked over at Seth, her stance softening a bit. “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll fill in some gaps.”

Conner cut in. “How old are you?”

The glare was back at him now. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that is a rude question? Besides, I’m sure you have a fancy FBI file on me with that sort of information.”

Seth smiled engagingly. “You’d be surprised at how sparse your file is.”

Some of the heat left Adrienne’s eyes. “I’m twenty-eight.”

Conner shook his head. That could not be right. “Are you sure?” he demanded more gruffly than he intended. He heard Seth sigh again.

“Am I sure?” All the hostility was back. “Am I sure how old I am? Wait, let me get out all my fingers and toes so I’m sure I haven’t miscounted.”

“I didn’t mean that. I just mean, now is not the time to lie about your age for vanity’s sake or some such nonsense.”

“I am quite sure of how old I am and have no need to lie about it. Twenty-eight.”

Seth jumped in, obviously trying to instill some reason into the situation. “I think what my partner means, Ms. Jeffries, is that, if you are twenty-eight years old and worked for the FBI ten years ago, that would’ve made you pretty young.”

Adrienne looked away but not before Conner saw shadows looming in her eyes. “Let’s just say the FBI made a special exception in my case.” She walked over and got her wallet from a purse hanging on a wall hook. She took out her driver’s license and threw it down on top of the table.

“Twenty-eight.” Seth glanced at it then slid the license over to Conner.

She wasn’t lying. He supposed the ID could be forged, but it didn’t seem like there was much purpose to it.

That meant she had been
eighteen
years old
when she’d been the Bloodhound for the FBI. No wonder all the information was blacked out in that damn file.

“Still rude to ask,” Adrienne muttered under her breath from back at her perch at the sink.

Conner knew he should apologize but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Twenty-eight or not, this woman was getting under his skin.

Seth attempted to start again. “Obviously there’s a lot we don’t know, Ms. Jeffries. If you would be willing to help us fill in the holes, this would probably be a lot easier on all of us.”

“Please, call me Adrienne, Agent Harrington.” The invitation was very obviously not extended to Conner.

“Thanks, Adrienne. And you’re welcome to call me Seth.” She smiled sweetly at Seth, and Conner thought he might have to jump out of his chair and stand between the two of them. Neither of them seemed to notice his strange behavior, thank God. He needed to calm the hell down.

“Could you tell us what you did for the FBI?” Seth asked her with a smile that had Conner ready to jump up again.

Calm. Down.
What in the world was the matter with him?

“I’m sure you’ve heard rumors. I have a special talent. I can profile evil very well.”

Seth nodded. “Exactly how did you use your talent to help the Bureau?”

“The closer I am to a person with malicious intent, the more clearly I can sense what the person is thinking. And I don’t have to be near the actual person. I can be around something he or she has touched or been near and be able to ‘read’ the evil.”

“Bloodhound,”
Conner muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He still didn’t believe any of it.

“Yes, it’s an accurate description, I suppose.” Adrienne’s smile was rueful. “Although I was glad nobody ever called me that to my face. Teenage girls don’t respond well to being told they’re like a dog.”

Conner still did not like this teenager talk. He planned to have a discussion about Adrienne with Chief Kelly as soon as possible.

“So you’re a psychic? Or an empath or something like that?” Harrington asked gently, although his doubts crept into his tone.

“No, not really. I don’t have superpowers. I can’t read people’s minds or anything. I don’t feel what other people are feeling. Like, if you were sad right now, I wouldn’t feel your sadness. Really it’s just evil I feel, malicious intent. It’s kind of like they draw me into their thoughts.”