Man Of Action. Janie Crouch

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СКАЧАТЬ himself. Knew that he compartmentalized in order to be able to get more done, to think about different things without actually dwelling on them.

      It was part of what made him a good profiler. His subconscious brain was able to continue to work on certain aspects of a case while his conscious brain focused on something entirely different. Part of it was his own natural ability and intelligence. Part of it came from years of training his brain to do what he wanted.

      He also had darkness in him. He could admit that, too. A side of him that knew he could use his intellect and training and experience to commit crimes if he really wanted. And would probably never get caught. It was never too far from the surface, although he never shared it with anyone.

      Brandon had never had someone—especially someone who didn’t really know him well—sense the complexity of the emotions inside him. It was disconcerting, particularly because he didn’t want her to be able to read him so well.

      “Oh.” Andrea looked away from him.

      “What?”

      “Annoyance just swamped out pretty much everything else.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked at them.

      She thought he was annoyed with her, when really his annoyance stemmed from not having as much control over expressing his emotions as he thought he had. That was the problem with naturals, with people who were just gifted behavioral analysts rather than those who had studied human psychology and nonverbal communication to become experts. The naturals could read the emotions but couldn’t always figure out the context.

      “Let’s just focus on the case, okay?” He handed her a bundle of files. “We pretty much need to be completely familiar with all of this before we meet with the locals tomorrow.”

      Andrea grimaced. “Okay.”

      So she didn’t like to do her homework. She wouldn’t get far solving cases without it. No amount of skill reading people could offset having a good understanding of the particulars of a case.

      Brandon began reading through the files. He often found that insight came after the third or fourth read-through, rarely the first.

      It didn’t take him long to realize Andrea wasn’t reading. She was looking at the photographs—the postmortem shots of the women as well as the crime-scene photos—but not actually reading any of the information that went along with them.

      When she slipped on headphones and began listening to music or whatever, Brandon felt his irritation grow. Did she need a sound track to make it more interesting? Was death not enough?

      Brandon knew different people processed information different ways. Some of his best friends at Omega often got insight on a case while in a workout room or in the middle of hand-to-hand sparring with someone. He should cut Andrea some slack. If she wanted to listen to music and just study the pictures, that was her prerogative.

      But damn if it didn’t piss him off. It didn’t happen often, but she had fooled him. Who would’ve guessed that under the professional clothes and standoffish attitude rested the heart of a slacker. Brandon took a deep breath and centered himself. It wasn’t his fault or his problem if she lacked motivation and self-discipline.

      He’d told Steve he preferred to work alone. It looked as if, despite Andrea’s attractive packaging, he’d be getting his wish.

Chapter Three

      This whole thing was a terrible idea. Going back to Buckeye? Terrible. Going back with the likes of Brandon Han? Even worse. The plane hit some turbulence at thirty-five thousand feet, as if nodding in agreement with Andrea’s conclusion.

      Brandon didn’t want to work with her on the case. He’d made that abundantly clear in Steve’s office. She wanted to assume it was her fault, that he knew about her shortcomings and lack of education as an Omega consultant, but forced herself to stop. He’d mentioned liking to work alone. She could understand that, too. Andrea liked working alone, but for different reasons.

      Brandon’s irritation had been pretty tangible when she’d sat down next to him at the airport. It had just grown as they waited for their flight, first when she’d mentioned him being complicated, then when they were both looking through the case files.

      By the time they got on the plane, about an hour after their scheduled departure time, Brandon was hardly even talking to her. He was mad—she had no idea why—and she was awkward—as usual around someone she was so attracted to. Good times.

      Andrea tried to pretend she was reading the files when he handed them to her, but she wasn’t. She knew better than to even try. Her dyslexia made reading simple books difficult, although she had learned some exercises to help with that. But reading handwritten notes and case files often written in different fonts and sizes—that pretty much just led to a headache and frustration.

      She’d had an extra hour at her apartment, so she’d used the special software on her computer to scan a few pages so they could be converted into audio clips. She’d found that listening worked much better for her than trying to read. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had enough time to scan all the files as she normally would.

      Listening to the files on audio clips had just made Brandon more irritated. Andrea had no idea what to do about that, so she ignored it. She would listen to the clips she had, then spend this evening—all night if she had to—reading through the files in her room, when she was alone and it was quiet. She refused to go into that meeting with the local police tomorrow unprepared.

      She didn’t want to go back there at all. If it wasn’t for Steve asking her to go, Andrea wouldn’t have done it, serial killer or not.

      Maybe they wouldn’t run into anyone she knew. Or maybe the people in Buckeye wouldn’t recognize her. She’d gone to great lengths to look nothing like the girl who had worked at Jaguar’s. Her blond hair was shorter, cut in a flattering bob; her makeup was tasteful. She’d learned how to dress and present herself in a professional manner.

      She doubted her own aunt and uncle would recognize her. Not that she planned to drop in on them. She hadn’t seen them since the last time her uncle, in a drunken stupor again, had awakened her with a backhand that had sent her sprawling from her bed to the floor when she was seventeen. Another punch had sent her hurling into a glass table. She’d gotten away from him and hidden that night, wrapping her cut arm in a T-shirt.

      The next morning she’d told her aunt, who’d looked the other way again during all the commotion, that she was going to school.

      Andrea hadn’t gone to school. And she hadn’t gone back home. Ever again.

      She hadn’t gone far, just to the other side of the town she’d only ever known as home, but they hadn’t come looking for her. Had probably been relieved that she’d left.

      So yeah, no joyous homecoming in Buckeye.

      Andrea withdrew into herself as they landed at Sky Harbor Airport. She let Brandon take the lead as they rented a car and headed west on I-10 out of Phoenix, stopping to get something to eat on the way. The stark, flat lands of Arizona were a huge contrast to the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado Springs, where she’d spent the past four years.

      Coming here was a mistake. Andrea was convinced of it. If she’d been alone, she might have turned around and gone back home.

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