The Profiler (28 page)

* * *

Ellie sighed and let the day’s frustrations seep out into the hot, soapy bath water. She couldn’t believe the day she’d had. Thank God it was over. She cringed as she thought of the way she’d attacked the Fed. Okay, so he was a little conceited, but he definitely hadn’t deserved the heated spray she’d given him.

Though she’d arrived home as mad as hell, another hour of pacing and cursing and a healthy glass of merlot she’d barely tasted, had cooled her temper enough to think. She owed him an apology. Another one.

It would be so much easier if he didn’t rankle her like he did. The way he’d taken it upon himself to stick his nose into her private life had left her fuming and even though he’d apologized, she was sure he still didn’t really appreciate how much it had upset her. She wasn’t used to people prying into her life without her knowledge. It wasn’t something she’d ever experienced.

Reaching for her razor and the new bar of orange and frangipani-scented soap, she stuck one leg out of the water and lathered it. She’d been so busy the last few weeks, she hadn’t had a spare minute to indulge herself. The long, long workdays had, more often than not, extended into the night. She’d been lucky to manage a light meal, a quick shower and bed.

She observed the length of the hair on her soapy leg. A wry grin tugged at her lips. Lucky it was winter. It didn’t matter so much when she wore trousers every day. And even the few times she’d worn a skirt, the state of the hair on her legs was concealed beneath stockings or tights.

She finished running the razor along the length of her first leg and switched over. Giving it the same treatment, she rinsed off the soap and stood. Lifting her arms, she grimaced and padded across the bathroom to the shower. Taking the razor and soap in with her, she lathered and shaved under her arms, then reached for the shampoo.

Knowing it would leave her hair curling riotously and totally out of control—but wanting to feel clean all over—she scrubbed it and then applied conditioner. Rinsing out, she reveled in the luxuriant warmth and steam of the shower.

After long minutes, she turned the faucets off and squeezed the water out of her hair. Opening the clear glass door, she stepped out of the shower and onto the fluffy, white bathmat. Her mother had voiced an opinion about that, too. So what if it wasn’t quite so white and fluffy now? It was what she’d wanted at the time. That should have been all that mattered.

After giving her hair a brisk rub, she wrapped a bath sheet around her body. With a sigh of satisfaction, she switched off the light in the bathroom and padded down the carpeted hallway to the kitchen. A glance at the clock on the wall near the sink told her it was just after ten. Time for a hot cup of coffee before bed.

The water had nearly boiled when her front door buzzer sounded. Frowning, she stepped into the hallway and pressed the intercom.

“Who is it?”

There was a moment of silence before Clayton’s deep, familiar voice filled the air.

“It’s me. Clayton. I just…I’ve been going over the files. I think I’ve found something. Um, I mean… I just wanted to… Christ, I’m sorry. This was a stupid idea. I’m sorry, Ellie. It can wait until morning. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Although her heart had started pounding the second she’d heard him speak, she knew it wasn’t wise to invite him in. She’d already cursed him to hell for prying into her private life. It would be more than hypocritical to ask him into her apartment. It was as private as it got—her sanctuary from the rest of the world. The last thing she wanted was to have him invading it.

“Why don’t you come on up and tell me about it?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She suddenly realized what she’d said. Nerves came to life in her belly. Depressing the button with fingers that were slightly shaky, she added, “Um, give me a few minutes. I just stepped out of the shower.”

* * *

The
outer door to the apartment block clicked open and Clayton took the stairs two at a time. His head was full of images of Ellie warm and wet and soapy. Christ, why did she have to go and tell him that? Now he could barely remember the reason he’d come.

Something to do with a break in the case. Yeah, that was it. Tuesdays. It had something to do with Tuesdays. He shook his head in disgust. He was bullshitting himself. He wanted to see her. Simple.

Drawing in some deep breaths, he paused on the landing between floors in an effort to get his heart rate back to normal. In. Out. In. Out. His stamina had slipped. He hadn’t had his usual workout since he’d arrived in Sydney. Even still, a few flights of stairs shouldn’t have done him in. He refused to acknowledge being out of breath had anything to do with the woman who was even now waiting for him on the other side of her door.

Despite his best efforts, his heart continued to pound and his chest felt tight. He felt like a teenager on his first date. Which was just ridiculous. He’d turned twenty-eight on his last birthday and this was definitely not a date. It was a work meeting. Nothing more. No different to when they’d brainstormed in the squad room.

Except his palms hadn’t felt sweaty then. And his heart hadn’t thumped so loudly. And Ellie hadn’t just left a hot, steamy shower.

“Christ, just get on with it,” he muttered testily under his breath. She was just a woman. He’d worked with plenty of them. It was only that none of them had made him feel the way she did.

He hurried up the last few stairs. She was probably wondering what the hell was taking him so long. Steeling himself with another deep breath, he knocked decisively on her door.

Thirty seconds later, it opened. She stood on the other side, dressed in jeans and a dark red sweater that complemented her light coloring. Her face was free from makeup and her still-damp hair sprang out in wild disarray.

She smelled of citrus and vanilla and something else. She smelled delicious. She smiled at him and his heart did a backflip, refusing to behave itself, despite his pep talk.

“Come in.”

Opening the door wide, she gestured for him to enter. There was a small living room to his left, straight off the hall. He stepped past her and moved into the room. She closed and locked the door behind him.

Even though it was late, she hadn’t yet drawn the curtains and his gaze swept over the view of the city skyline visible through the sliding glass doors that led out onto a balcony.

“Nice view.”

She came into the room and stopped a few feet away. “It is, isn’t it? Thanks to Mom and Dad’s early succession planning. I’m a lucky girl.”

An electric log fire glowed warmly from the middle of one wall. Soft orange and yellow light bounced off the tasteful Australian landscapes that hung near the window on the opposite side. A white leather couch decorated with bright red and orange cushions dominated the rest of the room.

“It’s a great spot.” He eyed her with curiosity. “But a fair commute to Penrith.”

She acknowledged the tacit quest for information with a slight tug of her lips. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I was out of line. You’re working harder than any of us to solve this. If there’s something you want to know about me, just say it, okay?”

Heat crept beneath the collar of his polo shirt and he was glad the only light in the room came from the fire. Struggling for something to say, he wished he could remember Riley’s words of wisdom about the sensitivity some people had toward sharing personal information.

Of course, he could understand it. He knew exactly how it felt to have people coming forward—some of them almost strangers—expressing concern and sympathy, watching him with pity, understanding, compassion and just plain old curiosity. Lisa had been gone three years, but still he remembered.

He’d known why they were curious. For most, it was simply because they cared, and there was nothing wrong with that, even if it had made him uncomfortable.

He gazed at Ellie in the dimness and his heart clenched. Her eyes were wide and uncertain and despite her obvious effort to look calm and collected, the anxious fluttering of her hands and the way her gaze kept skittering away from him told him differently. It increased his confidence to realize he wasn’t the only one feeling nervous.

She cleared her throat. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure, what are you having?”

“I…ah… I just boiled the water. I was about to have a cup of coffee, but I can get you something stronger, if you like.”

“No, coffee’s fine.” He grinned at her. “I thought I was the only one who drank coffee right before bedtime.”

Her gaze slid away again at the mention of bedtime. She ducked her head. “The kitchen’s through this way. We can talk while I make it.”

He stared at her in silence, distracted by the way her sweater seemed to mold itself to her breasts. He was almost certain she wasn’t wearing a bra.

A tiny frown appeared between her eyes. “Clayton?”

“Sure, sounds good,” he managed and followed her out of the room.

She’d already spooned ground coffee beans into a stainless steel coffee pot when he wandered into the kitchen. Like the living room, it was small, but cozy. A worn pine table and two blue, painted wooden chairs stood against the wall near the door.

His gaze drifted across the row of small china knickknacks that lined the window sill. An array of photos of people he presumed to be her friends were plastered symmetrically across the fridge, held by colorful magnets.

She had her back to him and he took a few moments to admire the tidy view. Apart from the clingy dress she’d worn the night they’d gone out to dinner, he’d only ever seen her in smart but somber-looking business suits. And mostly trouser suits, at that.

A couple of times, she’d come to work in a short, straight skirt that had fallen just above her knee and he’d been able to admire a very fine set of legs—at least, as much of them as he’d been able to see. But the faded blue Levis she had on tonight really did her justice. Her small round butt was lovingly cupped by the denim and his hands yearned to touch her.

Dropping his gaze lower, he smiled in surprise. She was barefoot. He hadn’t noticed it before. No wonder she’d seemed even smaller when she’d opened the door. Although she usually favored a sensible court shoe over a stiletto, he’d never seen her without some sort of a heel.

It somehow made everything seem more intimate. The last barefooted woman he’d shared a room with had been his wife. His
late
wife.

Riley and the rest of his family were right. He needed to push the guilt aside and start living in the present. The loss of Lisa was still sharp and real, but she wasn’t here. And she never would be again. It was Ellie his body burned for now. It was Ellie’s image that woke him as he lay panting and sweaty amongst the twisted sheets. The thought of letting the memory of his wife recede scared the hell out of him, but maybe it was time?

Ellie turned to face him, holding a steaming coffee mug in her hand. She smiled shyly and his pulse accelerated.

“Black, right?”

His eyebrows flew up in surprise. “What gave me away?”

“I’ve shared the tea room with you, remember?”

He grinned back at her, willing the nerves away. “I’m flattered you noticed.”

“Ha, don’t feel too special. I’m a detective. I notice everything.”

“Touché.”

He reached out and took the hot cup out of her hand and their fingers touched. He heard her slight intake of breath and did his best to get his own heart rate back under control. An awkward silence fell between them. They both looked away.

“How about we—?”

“Why don’t you—?”

They spoke in a jumble. A bark of nervous laughter escaped him as Ellie turned away and busied herself at the sink.

Clayton bit his lip. Christ, being here was
so
not a good idea. What the hell had he been thinking? He cleared his throat and tried again.

“How about we retire to the couch and talk there while I enjoy your million dollar view?”

“Good idea.” She picked up her mug and he stepped politely aside as she led the way out of the room.

“Even better,” she threw over her shoulder, “we could sit out on the balcony. The air’s a bit crisp, but with that southern blood of yours, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”

He stopped dead in the living room. Unaware of his sudden consternation, Ellie slid open the glass doors.

“Um, actually… If you don’t mind, I’d rather sit in here.”

She turned in momentary surprise before comprehension filled her eyes.

“Oh, God, that’s right. I’m sorry. I should have remembered. Especially after that night at Centrepoint. It was thoughtless of me. I don’t know how you managed to cope. You even ate most of your meal. At least, I think you did. Are you sure—?”

His heart soared at her nervousness. “Ellie.”

Her jaw snapped shut and he tried to conceal a grin. She looked away, embarrassed. Tenderness welled up inside him. He could almost hear the ice cracking from around his heart.

He gestured in the direction of the couch. “Let’s sit in here. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to sit on a genuine white leather couch.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.” He grinned. “But I was still pretty young when my daughter was born. My career hadn’t gotten to the point where I could shop for furniture like this. Besides, my wife would never have brought anything white into our house. She was far too practical for that.”