He let one of his hands stray under the pile of leather. She was making this so easy. Playing right into his hands, so to speak. He cupped a palm over his erection.

“If you’re thinking your—” she hesitated “—your handicap—”

“It’s okay. You can call it what it is. I’m blind. I don’t mind anyone saying the word.”

“Okay, but your blindness certainly should not mean a loss of libido.”

He liked the way she said “libido.” Though her lips were thin and her mouth small, he liked the shape. He enjoyed watching the upper lip curl a bit at the corner. He detected a slight accent, but he couldn’t place it—maybe upper New York? It made him anxious to hear her say “penis” and “fellatio,” and he wondered how her lips would curl around those words.

“Is that what you’re saying, Mr. Harding?” she interrupted his thoughts.

“That somehow your loss of sight has rendered you incapable of performing?”

“Men are highly visual creatures, especially when it comes to being sexually aroused.”

“Very true,” she said as she reached behind her and grabbed a file folder, his folder, his case history. “When did you begin losing your eyesight?”

“About four years ago. Do we have to talk about that?”

She looked up at him over the open file. She had shifted to the other end of the desk, but he kept his gaze on the spot where she had been.

“If it will help us deal with your current problem, then yes, I do think we should talk about it.”

He liked her decisive manner, her direct tone. She wouldn’t be pussyfooting around him. What a wonderful word—pussyfooting. He rubbed his hidden hand against his bulge.

“Do you have an objection to that, Mr. Harding? You certainly don’t appear to be a man who runs away from a challenge.”

He hesitated only because he didn’t want to interrupt the sensation. It was okay. She’d think he simply needed a moment to think about it.

“I have no objection,” he said, having some difficulty containing a smile. No, anyone who knew Walker Harding would never accuse him of running away from anything. But if he was to accept his new challenge, he’d need to depend on the master criminal mind that Dr. Patterson yet had the pleasure of examining. Yes, despite playing this new role, he would still need to depend on the genius of his old friend, Albert Stucky.

CHAPTER 29

Tully ripped off the latest fax that had just come in from the Kansas City Police Department. He scanned its contents while he gathered folders and notes and crime scene photos. In ten minutes he was meeting with Assistant Director Cunningham, and yet his mind was still preoccupied with the argument he’d had with his daughter less than an hour ago. Emma had waited until he was dropping her off at school to drop her bomb. Damn she was good. But then what did he expect? She had been schooled in the fine art of surprise attack by none other than the master, her own mother.

“Oh, by the way,” she had announced in a matter-of-fact voice. “Josh Reynolds asked me to the junior/senior prom. It’s a week from Friday, so I’ll need to buy a new dress. Probably new shoes, too.”

Immediately he had gotten angry. She was only a freshman. When had they decided she could date?

“Did I miss that conversation?” he had asked with enough sarcasm that he was now embarrassed in retrospect.

She had given him her best insulted, wounded look. How could he not trust her? She was “almost fifteen.” Practically an old maid compared to her friends who, she assured him, had been dating for two or three years already. He passed on the opportunity to counter with the old argument that just because your friends jump off a bridge…Besides, the real problem was not that he didn’t trust her. At forty-three, he could still remember how horny fifteen-and sixteen-year-old boys could get. He wished he could discuss it with Caroline, but he knew she’d side with Emma. Was he really just being an overprotective father?

He jammed the fax sheets into a file folder, adding it to the pile in his arms and headed down the hall. After talking to Kansas City Detective John Ford late last night, Tully was prepared for Cunningham to be in a foul mood. The waitress’s murder looked more and more like the work of Albert Stucky. No one else would deliver the woman’s kidney to Agent O’Dell’s hotel room. Actually, Tully couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t on a plane to Kansas City to join O’Dell.

“Good morning, Anita,” he greeted the gray-haired secretary who looked alert and impeccable at any hour of the day.

“Coffee, Agent Tully?”

“Yes, please. Cream but—”

“No sugar. I remember. I’ll bring it in to you.” She waved him by. Everyone knew not to set foot into the assistant director’s office until Anita gave the signal.

Cunningham was on the phone, but nodded to Tully and pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Yes, I understand,” Cunningham said into the phone. “Of course I will.” He hung up, as was his usual manner, without a goodbye. He adjusted his glasses, sipped coffee, then looked at Tully. Despite the crisp white shirt and perfectly knotted tie, his eyes betrayed him. Swollen from too little sleep, the red lines were magnified by the bifocal half of his glasses.

“Before we get started,” he said, glancing at his watch, “do you have any information on Walker Harding?”

“Harding?” Tully had to think past horny high-school boys and pink prom dresses. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t recognize the name Walker Harding.”

“He was Albert Stucky’s business partner,” a woman’s voice answered from the open doorway.

Tully twisted in his chair to look at the young, dark-haired woman. She was attractive and wore a navy blue suit jacket with matching trousers.

“Agent O’Dell, please come in.” Cunningham stood and pointed to the chair next to Tully.

Tully stared up at her, shuffling his files, awkwardly shoving them aside.

“Special Agent Margaret O’Dell, this is Special Agent R. J. Tully.”

The chair wobbled as Tully stood and shook Agent O’Dell’s outstretched hand. Immediately he was impressed with her firm grip and the way she looked directly into his eyes.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Agent Tully.”

She was genuine. She was professional. There was no trace of what she must have gone through last night. This certainly didn’t look like an agent who was on the verge of mental collapse.

“The pleasure is mine, Agent O’Dell. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

Tully could see Cunningham already growing impatient with all these pleasantries.

“Why were you asking about Walker Harding?” O’Dell asked as she sat down.

Tully picked up his files again. Okay, so she was used to the assistant director’s style of getting right down to business. Now Tully wished he had spent some time preparing instead of agonizing over Emma’s virginity. He honestly hadn’t thought O’Dell would show up.

“For Agent Tully’s benefit,” Cunningham began explaining, “Walker Harding and Albert Stucky started an Internet stock-trading business, one of the first of its kind, in the early 1990s. They ended up making millions.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I have any information on him,” Tully said as he riffled through his files, double-checking.

“You probably don’t.” Cunningham sounded apologetic. “Harding was out of the picture long before Stucky took up his new hobby. He and Stucky sold their company, split their millions and went their separate ways. There was no reason for any of us to know about Walker Harding.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Tully said, glancing at Agent O’Dell to see if he was the only one missing something. “Is there some reason why we should now?”

Anita interrupted, floating into the room and handing Tully a steaming mug.