The Profilers (3 page)

The doctor sat and patiently listened to the beautiful woman who would barely look up at him due to the shame that she bore.

“Mrs. Clemons, I don’t believe that black eye is from a closet door. You’re not the first woman who has been in the ER for abuse and you’re certainly not the first one who has covered for an abusive husband by lying.”

“He really doesn’t mean it. He just deals with so much stress in the corporate world. I should have had dinner ready by six. He’s told me over and over how important it is in our circles to be punctual. He only set the timetable up to help break me of my habit of being late. Like I said, he means well.”

The doctor cringed as he listened to the age-old story of why a woman puts up with abuse. No matter how hard his heartstrings were pulled for the abused or how violently his blood boiled for the abuser, he was locked in with the all-encompassing doctor-patient confidentiality clause. He was powerless.

Unfortunately, until Mrs. Clemons wanted to stand up to her bully of a husband, there wasn’t a damn thing he, or anyone else, could do to save her. It would probably end up like most other cases where someone would get shot or locked up and then society would stand by, shaking their heads at witnessing such an atrocity. Mrs. Clemons would be nothing more than just one more woman who failed to step up and break the cycle of spousal abuse. The doctor did the only thing he knew to do and handed her a card to a local chat room that he had started for victims. He listened as she read it aloud as if studying it, “Not a victim dot com.”

“Yes, it’s a place where you can go and discuss your situation with other women who won’t judge. Oh, and one more thing,” he said as he took the card back from her, writing his profile name,
Avenger
, on the back. He continued, “You’ll need that because you have to be invited by a member of the group. I’ll e-mail you later and send the invite. When you fill out your profile, just write me in as your referral.”

“Did you start this site?”

“Yes, I grew up watching my mother be abused by my alcoholic father. It’s my way of giving back.”

He watched as she took the card and tucked it away in her wallet. He could only hope she would at least use the chat room as a means to gain friendships with other women who would understand her situation.

Louisa finished the last touches on her make-up and squeezed into the tight, spandex mini-skirt she chose to wear out on the stroll tonight. She glanced over at the bundle of joy asleep in the crib and reminded herself it wouldn’t be like this forever.

She’d come to America from Mexico illegally and, like so many others, she came with nothing more than the idealistic fantasy of living the American dream—a job, a home with a nice, white, picket fence, and no more worries of wondering where she would get her next meal.

She hadn’t counted on the coyote who brought her over hooking her up with a money hungry pimp. Granted, he wasn’t the typical pimp who set out to market flesh on the downtown Louisville streets, but his addiction to meth had turned him into a man who bartered the use her body in exchange for his next high.

She had managed to avoid him for the last week in an attempt to put some money away, hoping to start a new life for her and her baby. Having her mother here to watch her son, Juan, covered childcare but she still had the dangers of working the stroll to consider. Not only did Juan depend on her financially, her mother did now as well. She forced down the panic she always felt before heading out to work. Being paranoid wasn’t going to work in her favor. She understood why the other girls got high just to get past the fear and loathing of sleeping with strangers, but she had managed to stay away from drugs by keeping the welfare of her son in the forefront of her mind. She made her way out to the living room after making sure to square her shoulders and put on a brave face. She wanted to appear calm and confident, knowing she would have to deal with the scrutiny of her mother.

“Louisa, why do you do this? Sleeping with strange men is not a job. It’s so dangerous, mija.”

“The bills aren’t going to pay themselves, mother. Juan needs diapers and formula, not to mention they are threatening to turn off the electricity if the bill isn’t paid this week. It isn’t just about the bills either. If social services finds out Juan is in a house with no water or electricity, they’ll take him away from me and put him in foster care.”

The gravity of their situation must have hit her mother hard. She could see the moment when her mother’s concern and disapproval turned into acceptance, though her eyes were still full of worry. Her mother gently touched her cheek and nodded,
signifying that she understood. “Please be safe, mija.”

Louisa headed for the door and made her way out before she could change her mind about working tonight. The family was depending on her. She was their only means of support and she couldn’t allow fear to override logic. The fact remained that the bills were due and she needed to make the money to pay them. She listened outside the door to assure herself that her mother had locked it and then made her way down the street to start yet another night of turning tricks.

Rene studied her partner as he sat in the driver’s seat, nursing his umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. His dark brown hair fell in long layers yet didn’t obscure his serious, deep brown eyes. He had a beard and mustache but it was so close-cut that it could almost be mistaken for a five-o-clock shadow; it only added to his boyish good looks. His dark suit jacket had been thrown in the backseat and he wore suspenders with a crisp, white shirt. At some point, he had rolled up the sleeves, revealing strong, masculine forearms. Though he was slim, he was also sinewy. She had studied his background and knew he was a trained killer. He might look like the innocent boy next door but nothing could be further from the truth.

She’d done her homework on him as soon as she had learned he would be her partner. Looking at him, you would think he was a pretty easygoing guy and, for the most part, he was. That was, of course, until he needed to use his training for survival. The FBI had spent a lot of money on this agent. He was a sharpshooter, a black belt in mixed martial arts, trained in hand-to-hand combat, and he was deadly with a knife.

“Are you finished checking me out, Agent?”

“When I check you out, Agent Turner, you won’t have to ask me about it. There’ll be no doubt as to what I’m doing.”

He turned and looked her full in the face as if he was studying her intent. She was shocked to see a look of amusement cross his face for the first time since she had met him. Stoic that he normally was, he usually never let her see any emotion. Right now, however, his expression was clearly letting her know he was intrigued with her boldness.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your story, Agent Murphy?”

“Are you sure you want an answer to that, Mr. I’m All Business at Work?”

“We’re not working right now. We’re just two adults enjoying a cup of coffee.”

He jumped, startled when she fisted his tie and brought his face close to hers. “I may work for you but if you were in my bedroom, boy, you’d be knelt down in front of me and licking my boots. That is, if I didn’t have your face buried deep into my pussy, running your tongue up and down my sweet slit.”

She looked down to see his cock rock hard and tenting his trousers. She ran her hand over it and eyed him as she purred, “I thought so. When you decide you’re ready to let go of the reins and get rid of all that stress you’re carrying from your job, you just let me know.”

It was just what she had already picked up on about her partner from only one day of working with him. Her partner was kinky as fuck—just like her.

Louisa tugged on the light sweater she had worn, wrapping it around her body tightly in an attempt to ward off the chilly night air. She hadn’t had a single date yet and her feet were killing her from walking all night in shoes that were too tight and too high.

She groaned as she saw her boyfriend’s car making its way down the street slow enough to spot her. Sure enough, he made a quick U-turn after he passed and then pulled up beside her.

“I thought so, bitch,” he yelled at her through the window before he got out of the car and made his way over to her. His friend sat in the passenger seat, leering at her in a way that brought back memories of the last time her boyfriend and he had used her for their sick pleasure. It had been a night of hell as they smoked meth and took turns fucking her over and over again. She had managed to get away after her boyfriend had threatened her with calling five of his friends over to run a train on her. She had left him with the promise that she would go make some money for him so he could score more meth and he had let her go. That was the last time she had seen him until tonight.

“You been out here fucking working and taking all the damn money for yourself. You owe me some fucking money, whore. The last time I saw you, you told me you were going to work for me and that was a fucking week ago.”

She never saw the slap coming. It landed hard on her mouth, splitting her lip. She screamed as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her closer to repeatedly slap her.

“That’s right! Hit that bitch for lying to you, Reginald.” His friend cackled from his seat in the car. She used the opportunity to run when Reginald looked over to answer his friend who was egging on the abuse.

Her feet couldn’t travel fast enough as she ran down a one-way street that she hoped would ensure a successful escape. She wiped the blood from her mouth and tried to smooth her hair down but she knew she would have to head home now. Nobody was going to pick her up looking like this.

“Hey, what the hell happened to you? Sweetie, get in the car and let me take you to the hospital.”

“No, I don’t want to go to the hospital but I would appreciate the ride if you could take me home.”

She jumped in the good samaritan’s car and ducked down just as she caught a glimpse of her boyfriend headed down the cross street. If she didn’t take this ride, she was looking at another night of abuse with Reginald and his flunkie friend. Anything had to be better than that.

Agent Turner made his way through his mansion’s gates, trying to push away his regret at not inviting his partner over to check out the chat room site the librarian had told them about. At least, that’s what he was telling himself.

He stripped out of his clothes and stood under the showerhead, allowing the water to wash away not only the grime of the streets, but the stress of the day as well.

He allowed his mind to drift back to his partner’s show of aggression. When she had grabbed his tie and yanked him towards her, his cock had immediately hardened. The last relationship he had been in, he had been the aggressor but he had always been intrigued with the idea of having a Mistress.

He lathered the soap up in his hand and pumped his well-endowed cock as he daydreamed about being at Rene’s feet. What was it she had said?
Kissing her boots and running his tongue up and down her sweet slit.
His knees shook and his seed spewed out of him with such force, he felt he might collapse in the shower.

He decided he would wait until tomorrow to go to the site so that he could have Rene set up a fake profile as an abuse victim. As for this Mistress business, he’d never had any kind of personal relationship with a colleague before and he wasn’t sure he should start now. Then again, he had never had a partner like Rene and she was bringing out a side of him he had kept hidden from the general public. His family money kept him from trusting the average woman and his preference for kink only compounded the issue. Truth be told, he was tired of being lonely. He was a profiler at heart and after one day of being with his new partner, he knew two things: she was interested in him sexually, and it wasn’t because of his money.

Yes, he would get a feel for her tomorrow and if he still felt a green light, he would invite her back to his place to set up a profile on the chat site. Again, that’s what he told himself. He made his way to bed and for the first time in a long time, he had something on his mind other the job.