Carter showed his credentials to the officer holding back the throngs of onlookers. The guard radioed ahead, and a moment later they were greeted by three men and one woman. Normally, Burke would have quantified and cataloged all four people as they approached, but once he laid eyes on the blonde, Burke lost his concentration.

He stuck out his hand to her as soon as they were within appropriate range. He had made the mistake in the past of sticking out his arm too soon, at too great of a range, which made the gesture feel awkward and strange. After some experimentation, he had learned to better gauge, from the walking speed of the involved parties, the appropriate moment.

With the blonde, he nailed the approach. He met her gaze with his piercing blue eyes. He found direct eye contact very uncomfortable. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t force himself, if the situation warranted it. And the courtship of a potential mate definitely held the potential for a reward that was worth the cost.

“I’m Dr. August Burke,” he said. “And you are exquisitely beautiful. I once drove my ’67 Firebird up into the mountains, and I camped out by this small lake and watched the sun rise. As I was walking up to you, just now, I felt the same emotions as I did that morning. You’re breathtaking.”

As was usually the case, her features indicated shock at first, but then her cheeks turned red. She diverted her gaze and smiled. All good indicators that his social maneuvering had achieved the desired effect.

The short Hispanic man beside him said, “Wow, I’m a little hurt. You didn’t find me breathtaking, Don Juan?”

“No,” Burke said. Then to the blonde woman, he said, “What’s your name?”

She met his eyes and said, “Bristol Whelan. I’m here representing the city council.”

The short man, dressed in green tactical body armor, said, “Gee, buddy, you’re always on point, huh?”

Then the SWAT officer laid a hand on Burke’s shoulder.

He instantly redirected his attention and recoiled. He slapped the hand away and said, “I don’t like to be touched.”

The SWAT officer raised his hands and said, “Hey, no problem. My ex-wife was the same way, so I totally understand that sort of thing. I’m Sergeant Ortiz, by the way.”

Burke narrowed his eyes at the man, unsure of whether the crack about his ex-wife was factual, meant to diffuse the tension, or if Sergeant Ortiz was making a joke at his expense. “Dr. August Burke,” he said.

At Burke’s side, Carter introduced himself and said, “Please excuse my associate. He can sometimes be a little too direct. Dr. Burke is a Criminal Patterns Analysis Consultant for the FBI, and so everyone is aware, he has Asperger’s syndrome.”

Burke’s eyes went wide, and he gave Carter a dirty look. Now, Ms. Whelan would probably think he was some kind of contagious freak. He made a mental note that Samuel Carter was not a good wingman when approaching a future Mrs. Burke.