Primal Instinct. Janie CrouchЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.”
“Why? How?” Conner didn’t attempt to hide his incredulity at all.
“I don’t know. Some people are terribly sensitive to heat or light. My brain is just sensitive to negative energy.”
“Do you feel it about everybody?”
“No. Most people aren’t menacing. They can be catty and rude, but usually it’s due to their own insecurity rather than actual malevolence.”
“So how do you ‘sense’ it? Do you see images? Have visions?” Seth asked.
“Hear little voices in your head?” Conner tagged on.
Adrienne