Dantes' Inferno Read Online Free PDF

didn’t move. The air pumped into this concrete box tasted stale and delivered a federally mandated chill. “Are you proud of your celebrity status?”
    â€œIt offers some advantages.”
    She gestured to a bruise near his left eye. “One of the perks?”
    â€œYou’re not what I imagined.” He studied her intently for several moments, then said, “You’re not one of Leo’s suits . And you’re not a Fed . . . or I’d have smelled you a mile away.” But suspicion etched his face.
    â€œI’m Dr. Strange, Mr. Dantes. I work with Dr. Carreras, who arranged this meeting to conduct some psychologicalinventories. As part of this criminal profiling project, all participants undergo a standard evaluation.”
    She shifted her briefcase from right hand to left before adding quietly, “But I think you’re aware of why I’m here, because you and I have already spoken by telephone—and you also signed a release form.”
    The echo of a slamming door intruded faintly into the room.
    Dantes’ eyes cut toward the security window, which offered a view of the hallway, where the top of CO Florette’s dark head was just visible. “Standard evaluation . . . that makes the project sound very common, doesn’t it?”
    â€œI don’t think so, no.”
    â€œBut it’s a bombers’ profiling project.”
    â€œIt’s classified as a criminal profiling project,” she said flatly. Although, like Dantes, the participants were certain to speculate, they would not be given confirmation that the profiling project was limited to bombers; that knowledge would only serve to puff up their egos and skew their responses.
    â€œSit down, Dr. Strange. You’re making me nervous. I’m beginning to regret the fact I agreed to this .”
    She lurched into motion, crossing the room, placing her briefcase next to the chair. Sliding her sunglasses from her hair, she caught the faint scent of him—a basic blend of soap and sweat.
    As she placed her tape recorder on the table—pressing record —he studied her openly. She had the sensation of being touched.
    â€œLook at you.” Dantes’ eyes slid from her head to her toes. “All dressed up in your Sunday best.” His voice had softened, and his lips curled in an expectant smile.
    She didn’t react.
    This seemed to bother him, and he said, “Before webegin this common criminal’s standard evaluation, tell me something about Dr. Strange. You’re a forensic psychologist, licensed to practice in New Mexico and California—
    â€œYou’re board certified, you have a Ph.D., and a diplomate in forensic psychology. University of New Mexico, Case Western Reserve, not to mention UCLA—our shared alma mater.”
    â€œYou did your research,” she said, moving slowly.
    â€œI know some facts about your life—my attorney provides me with résumés—but that’s not the same as hearing your side of the story.” He appeared as internally contained as the dark eye at the center of a raging hurricane. “I even managed to read a dozen of your published papers.” He studied her. “Don’t look now but your clinical bias is showing. You might even believe in redemption.”
    She shifted in the hard chair, and its metal legs scraped loudly over the concrete floor.
    â€œAll the way from New Mexico,” he said, dismissing her effortlessly. “Did you travel such a distance for the honor of sharing a few hours with me?”
    â€œI often travel for my work,” she said, not quite biting back her own impatience. Now she retrieved a packet of pencils from one pocket of her briefcase. She ran her thumbnail along the plastic wrapping without making a dent.
    â€œBut it’s not every day you travel for the FBI, ATF, all those VIP Feds.”
    â€œI already told you, I’m working with