Anatomy by Carolyn McCray Page B

and better at keeping his
victims alive during the procedure, so her time of death could be hours after
her capture.”
    McGregor grunted in the EMT’s general direction. “See? You
don’t need me out here.”
    With a groan, McGregor rose and dusted off his cover-up.
Again, not very crime scene-friendly.
    “So?” a voice asked. “We’re thinking suicide?”
    Everyone’s head snapped around to find a man in a tuxedo,
tie casually undone, walking up to the supposedly secured crime scene.
    “Who the hell are you?” Ruben demanded, but the man just put
his hands in his pockets and leaned over the body, cocking his head from side
to side.
    “Did she leave a note?” the man asked.
    Nicole had no idea what was going on, but as odd as the man
was, he demanded attention, and Ruben seemed more than intent on giving it to
him. Her partner nodded for a uniformed cop to frisk the tuxedo. Nicole braced
for the man’s reaction, her hand straying toward her holster.
    The man hardly seemed to notice, though. His hands stayed in
his pants pockets as he studied the body and the cop performed the pat-down.
    “Did she lose her job?” the man asked. “Her husband leave
her? Is that what the trigger was?”
    Even though he was making absolutely no sense, there was a
smoothness to his tone that made him seem anything but wrong. The cop pulled
what looked like a badge out of the man’s jacket pocket and read the name
aloud, “Kent Harbinger. FBI.”
    Nicole inhaled sharply as Ruben’s eyes narrowed to a slit.
“FBI?” he repeated.
    The cop nodded. “Looks like he’s attached to the BAU.”
    Ruben went rigid next to her. Their mystery man was from the
FBI’s vaunted Behavioral Analysis Unit. The most elite serial killer
investigation division in the country. No, in the world . Their captain
must have called in the profiler…behind Ruben’s back. The lack of confidence
this showed was…well many a career had been destroyed this way.
    Her partner recovered fairly quickly. Faster than she.
“Perhaps, then, Special Agent Harbinger, you should read the file before you
offer any advice.”
    The profiler’s lips turned up in a subtle grin as his eyes
took in the entire crime scene. “Oh, I’ve read the file, and the conclusions in
there are nearly on par with chalking this up to a suicide.”
    “We have a detailed profile already which—”
    “23-35-year-old white male that has an anatomy teaching
background?” The profiler sighed, shaking his head, although there didn’t seem
to be anything sympathetic in Harbinger’s tone as he gestured to the body.
“There’s nothing sophisticated about this killer.”
    A flash of the camera went off, startling everyone but the
profiler.
    “A killer as amateur as the profile of him,” Harbinger
concluded.
    If Ruben had been on edge before, her partner was on the
precipice, his toes dangling over. Nicole rushed into the void. Perhaps the
situation could still be salvaged.
    “We should start over,” Nicole said, putting her hand out.
“I’m Detective Nicole Usher.”
    The profiler accepted her hand. She found his palm cool to
the touch. How she wished she’d taken a moment to wipe hers on her pant leg
before shaking his. Harbinger had an average, medium strength grip, yet her
palm tingled, like static electricity or the feel in the air before a
lightening strike. The sensation wasn’t exactly pleasant, yet she didn’t
necessarily wish it to stop. She looked up to Harbinger’s face as their hands
pumped up and down together. His eyes held nothing but mischief.
    Still holding her hand, he turned it over, his thumb tracing
the veins just under her skin. “Large hands for a woman,” the profiler
commented.
    The moment shattered, Nicole jerked her hand back, then
wished she hadn’t. His grin spread. Harbinger had clearly been testing her.
Nicole was pretty sure that her show of insecurity earned her a failing grade.
    Her partner stepped between them, shoving his hand forward