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The Sex Files
Jule McBride
From The Sex Files…"52% of men and women have indulged in a one-night stand." For fun, FBI profiler Oliver Vargo cross-referenced his case files with The Sex Files - in order to create a "picture" of the world's sexiest woman. When a real-life version - gorgeous Peggy Fox - suddenly begins tailing him, he's highly intrigued and very aroused. Who is this mysterious woman who's determined to seduce him and spend the night?Peggy badly needs Oliver's expertise, but his sexy voice and virile body have taken her by surprise. Their sizzling night together is one she'll never regret. And one she'd love to repeat. But she can't let him know all her secrets.As suddenly as Peggy came into his life - she's gone, like Cinderella. And now Oliver must track her down…. Because with Christmas fast approaching, foxy Peggy is definitely on Oliver's Most Wanted list.
“It’s been a great Christmas,” Oliver murmured
He rolled over in bed, his heated naked body pressing against Peggy’s back, allowing him to enter her from behind.
“You feel so good,” she whispered shakily, sighing as he drove inside.
She was wearing a Santa hat he’d picked up at the store earlier. “You’ve been naughty,” he said hoarsely, reading the message scrawled in red on the white brim.
“Maybe I need a spanking,” she teased.
Oliver eased away from her, loving how she gasped over each inch of his withdrawal. Slipping his palm downward, he gave her a love tap that drew a cry—not of pain, but of pleasure.
“Nice,” she corrected cheekily, reaching up and turning the brim to the side that said, “I’ve been nice.”
“If you’ve been nice,” he teased, “then maybe Santa will give you something special for Christmas. What do you want?”
Her breath caught and she shifted her body. “This.”
With a groan, Oliver rolled her over and entered her again with a long, deep satisfying thrust.
Merry Christmas…
Dear Reader,
Merry Christmas!
Manhattan at Christmastime has always been special. During the holidays, the city that never sleeps is charged with a giving spirit and the legendary heart for which New Yorkers have always been known.
I hope you’ll join me this month in celebrating, and that you’ll enjoy The Sex Files, where two strangers come together in the city both to solve a little mystery and fall in love while spending the holiday in some of the most pleasurable ways imaginable….
I do hope this story makes you smile. And don’t forget to check out tryblaze.com!
Wishing the happiest holiday to you and yours,
Jule McBride
The Sex Files
Jule McBride
For Eileen Keator—
New Yorker, photographer, friend.
And best of all, a woman who dares
to be herself and enjoy life.
You go, girl!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
1
“WELL, KATE,” Oliver Vargo was saying conversationally as he leaned forward in a white-upholstered sectional chair. “I can hardly take personal credit for bringing psychological talents to law enforcement. It’s really nothing new.”
“Please don’t be modest, Mr. Vargo,” replied Kate Olsen, the redheaded interviewer for NBC’s Rise and Shine show and talking head for the evening news. She chuckled knowingly. “The psychological profiles you’ve produced for the FBI have led to the arrest of countless felons, including many who committed crimes previously deemed unsolvable.”
“Psyching out the other guy is as old as crime itself,” Oliver returned agreeably.
“Yet some experts devalue criminal profiling, saying it’s not an exact science.” Before he could respond, Kate turned toward the camera, beginning a slow segue toward the commercial break. “For anyone tuning in, our guest today is FBI agent Oliver Vargo, whose first book How Evil Thinks was one of the longest-running nonfiction bestsellers ever on the New York Times list.” Leaning, Kate lifted a hardcover from a glass-topped coffee table and held it up, her manicured fingers bracketing Oliver’s photograph. “His latest book, Catching Crooks the Old-Fashioned Way, promises to be every bit as successful.
“In a moment, we’ll need to pause for a commercial break,” she continued, returning her gaze to Oliver, “but before we do, what can you tell us about your fascinating book?”
As a wry smile curled the corners of his mouth, his dark eyes twinkled in a way that wasn’t lost on the camera. “In ten words or less?” he joked, playing the audience like a natural while clearly noticing a cue from someone off-camera, probably a producer.
“Don’t worry,” said Kate with an encouraging laugh. “We’ll have time after our break, too!”
“My book defends criminal profiling,” Oliver said, turning serious. “Something that—as you’ve pointed out, Kate—has been debunked by many as mumbo jumbo.”
“Even though the methods are successful?”
“Yes.” He continued in a deep voice that quickened with passion for his subject. “Detractors argue that profiling is a new method for solving crimes, but it’s really more tried-and-true than scientific evidence we readily accept, such as fingerprinting, or analyzing hair and fiber samples.”
“Fascinating,” Kate murmured, her eyes intent. “For those who are just tuning in, what exactly is profiling?”
“Profiling is the old-fashioned way to solve crimes,” explained Oliver.
“And what does it take to become a profiler?”
“Too much schooling,” he joked. “Profilers have dual college degrees in law enforcement and psychology. Some, like me, go on to get post-graduate degrees. Technically, I’m a licensed psychologist.”
“Wow,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed, “it is exciting. When we profile, we’re playing armchair detective, much as Sherlock Holmes did. We’ll slowly walk through a crime scene, pretending we’re the criminal, to get into his or her mind—”
With every word, Oliver became more intense; dark eyebrows met, accentuating a high forehead from which black, wavy hair was slicked back. “We try to think as the criminal thinks. See as the criminal sees. Feel as the criminal feels.”
For once in Rise and Shine’s three-year run, Kate looked as if she hadn’t heard a word her interview subject was saying. She looked mesmerized by Oliver’s face. “There’s something else our audience—and particularly women—want to know,” she murmured when he was finished.
He blinked, as if talking about work had transported him to an alien planet and he was only now returning. “Yes?”
“We know you deal with the darker side of human nature, Mr. Vargo, but how about the lighter side?”
Now he looked uncertain. “Lighter side?”
Kate smiled indulgently. “Yes, lighter side. What do you do for fun?” When he still seemed mildly stupefied, she plunged on. “According to your biography, you’re unmarried and based in Quantico, Virginia, near the FBI’s profiling headquarters where you usually work.”
“True, but I’ve been traveling this year, Kate, and for the next six weeks, I’m assigned right here in New York City. I’ll be here during Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“As hard as you’re working, and with so much travel, do you plan to take time off for the holidays?”
“Sure. Although my folks are leaving the country for Christmas, and my sister’s going on vacation with a friend. I guess I’ll…” He looked stumped.
“You mean there’s no special someone?”
DURING THE PAUSE that followed, the tall blonde who was watching the show resituated herself. Tucking a black nightie beneath her behind, she squirmed, grimacing at the discomfort of the thong she wore. Nestling against the satin headboard of a king-size bed at the Plaza Hotel, she groaned when the movements caused her breasts to spill from the scooped neckline, then she felt tears sting her eyes. She wished she could cry, but she hadn’t since….
She pushed the thought away. One manicured thumb was on the remote control; the other tapped the cover of Oliver Vargo’s new book. “Well, c’mon,” she whispered, tossing her head to dislodge a lock of honey-streaked hair that fell over a brown eye, obscuring her vision. “Is there someone special?” If Oliver had a lover it could interfere with her plans to contact him.
Kate Olsen turned to the camera again. “Sorry, but we’ll have to wait until after the commercial break for the answer. So don’t go away. When we come back, agent and author Oliver Vargo, tells us if his personal life’s as adventurous as his professional one!”
Glancing down, the viewer surveyed his picture. “I would recognize him from a million miles away,” she murmured, sucking in a shaky breath. After all, she’d long been a fan of his work, and she’d been tailing him around Manhattan all afternoon, wondering how she should approach him.
She continued blinking, hoping her tears might start to fall but she was still in shock. Yesterday a bullet had almost claimed her life, and now she desperately needed Oliver Vargo’s help. Already, she’d been having a rough day when, last night, she’d gone to the home of her fiancé—only to find him in bed with another woman, a woman she’d recognized from a wanted poster as a bank robber. As unbelievable as the events seemed, they’d really happened. The woman’s name was Susan Jones. Even worse, the man in question, Miles McLaughlin, her fiancé, was an FBI agent.
“Incredible,” she whispered now, perspiration beading on her upper lip.
As soon as she’d entered the bedroom, Susan Jones had rolled away from Miles—they’d been making love—grabbed his revolver from a bedside table and aimed at her heart. She’d frozen, standing there like a deer caught in headlights, wondering what her fiancé was doing in bed with this woman. Shock, betrayal and terror were rippling through her when she heard the distinctive sound of Susan’s voice as she turned to Miles and said, “What’s she doing here?”
Then the bullet had exploded, splintering the wood of the door frame near her head. She’d whirled in terror, hitting a hallway first, then a staircase. She was at the downstairs door when she heard the pa-choo of a second shot. She hadn’t looked back. Her heart hammering, she’d kept running. And she’d been running ever since.
She’d been so shocked, so scared, that an hour had passed before she completely registered what she’d seen. It was astonishing enough that she’d seen an FBI agent in bed with a bank robber. Devastating, since she’d been engaged to him. But when she’d calmed down, she’d registered the open suitcase she’d seen shoved under the bed. Money had been stuffed into the case, no doubt from the bank heist for which Susan Jones was wanted. Was her fiancé—ex-fiancé—she mentally corrected—involved in the woman’s crimes? And why hadn’t she seen through him?
She hated men, she thought now, shivering. Yes, this betrayal was the last straw. A woman had nearly killed her, true. But ultimately, a man was responsible for what had happened—and she was going to make him pay. Oliver Vargo was the perfect man to cast in the role of Avenging Angel, too. Now she was glad to feel her eyes stinging again. She’d felt so stunned, she hadn’t yet been able to have a real cry, and it was yesterday that the shots had been fired. Right now, yesterday felt like a century ago.
Despite her terror, every time she looked at Oliver Vargo, something inside her melted and she wanted to reconsider her vendetta against men. She shivered again. If not for her profession, none of this would have happened. Hadn’t her mother been devastated, saying what she did for a living was too dangerous? But who could have foreseen that she’d meet a crooked FBI agent while she was working?
“I’ve got to find someplace safe to go when I check out,” she murmured.
But where? It would be hours until Oliver Vargo got off work and she could approach him for help. She didn’t have time to dress and try to catch him leaving the TV studio. She wasn’t sure she trusted him, but she did need help from a smart FBI insider who knew how to use a gun and who wouldn’t mind protecting a woman. And Oliver looked honest, though appearances could lie. Still, because she knew his work, and because Miles was an agent, she felt safer going to Oliver Vargo than to the police…
Opening the cover of his book, she skimmed the bio, noting his degrees in law enforcement and psychology, an explosive ten-year career and the long list of criminals he’d caught. He was unmarried and lived alone, just as Kate Olsen had said, but the picture showed him lying in a hammock in front of a family-size home. He was reading a book.
“The New York Public library,” she whispered, feeling a jolt of relief at the idea. When she left the Plaza, she’d lose herself in the crowds at the library, read Oliver’s book, and then go to Grand Central Station. The Forty-second Street entrance was across from the midtown FBI office where Oliver worked, and she could leave the duffel in one of the train station’s lockers. She’d have to be careful, of course. But at five o’clock, when Oliver left work, she’d find out where he was staying and approach him.
“And we’re back from commercial break!” Kate Olsen’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We’re here with FBI agent, Oliver Vargo, the bestselling author of How Evil Thinks and Catching Crooks the Old-Fashioned Way. “Well, Oliver,” continued Kate. “We know you’ve been touring the country, training other FBI agents to profile criminals as well as promoting your new book. But why are you in New York?”
“To help work out kinks in the bureau’s new, state-of-the-art computer software,” he explained.
“Could you tell us more?”
“Sure. Our new computer software is called Quick Composite. As I mentioned, profilers assemble facts about possible suspects, imagining how the criminal thinks and feels. Now, with Quick Composite, the FBI will be able to input that information into computers and generate pictures of suspects.”
“Pictures?”
He nodded. “Very similar to photographs. We’ll know what the criminal might look like when we find him. Or her. As we work, we deduce facts about the suspect—such as gender and race. Height and weight. Hair and eye color. Now, as we input those facts into Quick Composite, a computer will produce a picture.”
“Like a police artist’s sketch?”
“Exactly, Kate. Except this is more sophisticated. The image is more accurate and of photographic quality.”
“Amazing,” said Kate dreamily, as if captivated. “Do you really think a picture of a suspect—one generated by inputting facts about a crime—might be identical to that of a real criminal when you catch him?”
“Or her,” Oliver added. “And yes. Absolutely. Our computer-generated pictures should resemble the mug shots when we arrest criminals. It sounds amazing, but new technology is emerging all the time.”
Kate’s eyebrows knitted. “But how does using new technology fit with your desire to solve crimes the old-fashioned way?”
He chuckled, as if to say she had a point. “It doesn’t, Kate. I’m of the old school. And I’m here in New York to play devil’s advocate with the team creating the Quick Composite software. My job’s to point out whatever the new technology misses.”
“And then?”
He sounded relieved. “I’m going home to Quantico.”
“Where your personal life is as intriguing as your professional one?”
Oliver shook his head. “Believe me,” he joked, “I get enough excitement at the office. It’s my younger sister, Anna, whose personal life sizzles. She lives here in New York City, and she’s a statistician for…” He paused to build anticipation. “The Sex Files.”
“The Sex Files?” the viewer whispered.
