by Jami Alden
Kate called CJ to fill him in on the latest development and then sat down and pulled out her laptop to prepare her statement for the press.
Jackson stood in the middle of the room, looking a little dazed and at a loss for something to do.
“Why don’t you go home and tell Brooke the good news in person,” Tommy offered gently. “I’ll call you when the flyers come in and we can start distributing them.”
Tommy walked him out and retrieved a box of equipment and his laptop from his truck. He pulled six small black boxes from the box and tried to keep his gaze from snagging on Kate. But it was damn hard to keep from getting distracted by the way she sucked her full bottom lip between her teeth as she tried to concentrate. Almost impossible not to remember how the plump, pink curve had felt between his own teeth, how it had tasted when he traced it with his tongue.
“What are you doing?” she asked, frowning pointedly at the black box he was hooking up to the first phone.
“Tracing equipment,” he said matter-of-factly.
“The police will put a trace here if they think it’s necessary. Until then the phone company will track all the calls.”
Tommy shook his head. “All they can tell us is the number the call came from. It can’t give us the immediate, exact location of the caller. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the local law enforcement isn’t exactly overstaffed. CJ does the best he can with what he’s got, but they’re not exactly brimming with technological expertise. By the time they decide you need a trace and get one installed, it could be too late.”
Kate came over and bent her head to take a closer look. “I’ve never worked with one of these.”
Tommy shook his brain out of the red fog that settled in as her scent enveloped him. He craned to look up over his shoulder at her. “You’ve never worked with me before.”
She turned to him, her face mere inches from his. So close he could see the thin line of pale lashes before her mascara took over, feel her warm breath feather over his lips. All she had to do was lean in just a little bit more and her mouth would be on his.
She froze in place. As though she didn’t know if she wanted to close the distance between them or fling herself away.
Her eyelids flickered, and that was enough to break the spell. She surged to her feet, stumbling a little as she straightened. “You’re right, I haven’t, which is why I’d appreciate it if you consulted me before tampering with the phone lines.”
“I’m installing state-of-the-art tracing equipment. I’d hardly call that tampering.”
“What if it malfunctions, or interrupts the calls—”
“Kate,” he snapped, “I’m a communications and security expert. One of the things I’m paid—and very well, I might add—to do is design and test equipment like this. Jackson isn’t just my client, he’s one of my oldest friends. Do you really think I would do anything that would interfere with getting Tricia back safely?”
“Of course not,” Kate said, contrite, and turned back to her laptop screen.
CJ came by just as Tommy was wrapping up, trailed by a pack of reporters who had already sniffed out the location of the volunteer headquarters.
The minute Tommy declared the phone lines ready, Kate readied herself to talk to the press gathered on the sidewalk outside.
Tommy watched, inexplicably fascinated as she gave herself a quick primp. First she smoothed her hair back from her face. As he watched her slim fingers comb through the reddish blond waves, he could practically feel their silky weight against his own fingers.
And the way she smoothed lipstick over her surprisingly lush mouth made him want to pin her down and not stop kissing her until every bit of color disappeared.
The thought made his cock twitch behind the fly of his pants, and he winced at the sharp physical reaction. Christ. How hard up did a guy have to be to spring a woody from watching a woman put on lipstick?
As he dragged his gaze away, it snagged on CJ, who was staring at Kate with his own look of lust.
For the second time in as many hours, Tommy had to force himself not to punch a man.
The only one who deserves to be punched is you, dumbass, he scolded himself. CJ was his friend—no way would Tommy ever get in a sword fight with him over a woman, especially not Kate.
Kate and CJ stepped outside, leaving Tommy alone. With the phone equipment installed, there wasn’t much else for him to do here.
A fact Kate made a point of noting as she and CJ stepped back inside after the press briefing. “Hopefully the phones will start ringing soon,” she said. “Tommy set it up so all the calls can be traced—”
“Let me guess, you can triangulate on a caller’s location with a margin of error of less than ten feet,” CJ broke in.
“Yeah, if you’re living in the dinosaur age,” Tommy said. “Try less than ten inches.”
CJ shook his head and muttered “Army prick,” but his words held no real heat.
“Not my fault you Marines are inferior.”
“I’m sure you have a lot of work to catch up on,” Kate said pointedly to Tommy. “Thanks for all of your help this morning, but I can handle things from here.”
He had no doubt that was true. With her years of experience with St. Anthony’s, he had no doubt Kate could coordinate a platoon of volunteers with her eyes closed. But her obvious discomfort in his presence, her clear desire to be rid of him, rankled him just enough to want to mess with her.
“Like I said before, finding Tricia is my number one priority. There’s nothing else that requires my immediate attention.”
Giving her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Tommy pulled his laptop from its case and settled in one of the metal chairs to dig through Tricia’s correspondence leading up to the night she disappeared.
“You find anything yet?” CJ asked, wandering over from Kate’s side to look over Tommy’s shoulder.
“Nothing beyond what I can only assume is the typical teenage girl back-and-forth.
“What are you looking at?” Kate’s shoes tapped briskly along the hard linoleum floor as she too came to stand behind Tommy’s chair.
“Tricia’s email and online postings from Twitter and Facebook.”
“Didn’t you take custody of the laptop?” she asked CJ.
Tommy and CJ exchanged a look. “Jackson did give us the computer,” CJ said. “We also decided that, in the interest of expediency, Tommy should have a copy of the hard drive.”
“Remember what I said about cops being strapped for resources and not exactly on the cutting edge of technology—no offense,” Tommy said to CJ.
“None taken. Wave your nerd flag high.”
“It applies here too,” Tommy said. “Bonner County doesn’t have its own cybercrimes division, so right now Tricia’s computer is hanging out in Boise, waiting its turn to be analyzed unless it gets bumped up in priority. Which it might, what with you opening the floodgates on the press coverage.”
“Even then,” CJ pointed out, “we need to go through all the hoops with the service providers, get warrants to access the accounts. All of which will cause critical delays.”
“Of course. I’ve worked with private investigators in other cases.”
“Tommy’s one of the best in the country. And the best thing,” CJ continued, “is that Tommy’s giving us his services for free. If you knew how much he could make—”
“It’s the least I can do,” Tommy cut him off. He didn’t know why he was so uncomfortable bragging to Kate about his success, even if he wasn’t doing the bragging. He didn’t have anything to prove to Kate, her father or anyone, and unlike Burkhart, he didn’t need to make a big public show of how well he was doing.
Kate’s expression softened a bit, as though she picked up on his discomfort. “Having worked to raise money to pay people like you, I appreciate you donating your time. Plus, it’s good to have someone familiar with the family and the situation on board, so thank you.” This time Tommy could tell Ka
te wasn’t just paying lip service. He didn’t know if it was CJ’s endorsement or if she’d just resigned herself that he would be working closely with her until they found Tricia.
All he knew was that tentative smile of hers gave him that same twisty feeling in his gut he’d gotten the first time he’d noticed it that summer fourteen years ago.
“No problem,” he said gruffly, and focused his attention back on his computer.
An electronic trill rang through the air. CJ pulled his phone out of his pocket and scowled at the screen. “Time to pick up Travis. The sitter can’t be at my place until four—I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Take your time,” Kate called.
She made a tsking sound as the door closed behind him. “So sad about Kelly,” she said. “She was so young. And his poor nephew.”
A little over a year ago, CJ’s older sister, Kelly, was killed in a hit and run by a drunk driver, leaving her eight-year-old son behind.
“CJ’s taking good care of him,” Tommy said.
“He had to give up so much,” Kate said. “His career with the FBI, his life in Denver. One day you’re a single guy, the next day you’re a single father—”
The admiration in her voice raised his hackles. “If you’re looking to take on the role of Mrs. Sheriff Kovac, get in line. Every single woman—and some married ones—under the age of fifty has her eye on CJ.”
“So when you cast them off, you send them his way?” she said wryly.
“Oh, they don’t sniff around me too much,” he replied, unable to keep the sly grin off his face. “I’m too mean.”
Kate settled back in her chair in front of her own laptop, but she couldn’t keep her lips from quirking up at the corner. “Only because you want them to think so. I remember how sweet you can really be.”
“Don’t kid yourself that you know me anymore,” he said, too harshly, but Kate’s little smile and the misty look in her eyes summoned his own memories of that summer. Memories he’d shoved down deep and had no interest in dredging up. “Anything soft, or sweet, or nice about me disappeared when your father did his damnedest to ruin my life.”
Her cheeks flooded with color and, just like that, the fragile connection was gone. Good.
Kate was a colleague, an ally in the quest to get Tricia home safe. Tommy couldn’t afford to see her as anything more.
And if that were true, he’d get up right now, head back to his home office, and churn through the data on Tricia’s hard drive in peace and quiet. Isolated from the distractions of the sound of her slim body shifting in her chair, the sound of her delicate fingers tapping on the keyboard, the way the fragrance of her shampoo drifted over on the breeze when she ran her fingers through the red-gold strands of her hair.
Instead he stayed exactly where he was, unable to make himself leave.
Chapter 4
Kate almost jumped out of her chair in delight when the door swung open about fifteen minutes after CJ left. She didn’t care who it was. After sitting in uncomfortable silence with Tommy, she would welcome any distraction. She looked up to see a young man who could have been anywhere from his late teens to his early twenties. “Are you here to volunteer?” she asked after he stood silent for several seconds, looking uncertain.
“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” he said. “My name’s Ben, Ben Kortlang,” he said as though she might recognize the name.
After a few seconds she did. From the police report CJ had forwarded to her. “You were with Brooke the night Tricia went missing.”
“I feel awful,” Ben said, the words pouring out of him now that Kate had acknowledged his involvement. “When Brooke told her to leave, I should have driven her home. But I was already buzzed,” he admitted sheepishly. “And then Brooke and I—well, she… you know,” he said, his cheeks reddening as he trailed off.
“We can fill in the blanks,” Tommy said.
“And Brooke is so… Well, I really like her and… I kind of forgot all about Tricia until the next day when I heard she didn’t make it home.”
Kate could understand the distraction. Combine raging adolescent hormones and the fact that—from what Kate had seen in the pictures anyway—Brooke was a seventeen-year-old knockout, she could see how Ben would be quickly distracted.
And as she took in Ben’s rangy form, sun-streaked brown hair, and green eyes, she could see how a girl like Brooke might find him equally distracting.
“And now Brooke won’t talk to me. I’ve called her like twenty times and texted her a bunch of times, but she doesn’t answer. It’s so messed up. I feel bad and all—I know I should have walked Tricia home if I couldn’t drive, but Brooke’s treating me like somehow it’s my fault.”
Kate could feel Tommy’s gaze burning a hole in the back of her neck. “I’m sure she doesn’t blame you,” she said, her throat tightening as she forced the reassuring words out of her mouth. “I haven’t talked to her myself, but I imagine she’s struggling with her own feelings of guilt right now, and it’s probably really hard for her to face anyone or anything that has to do with that night.”
Ben shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts and looked down at his brown-and-white skater sneakers. “Yeah, that’s what Mr. Fuller said when he answered her phone.”
“It was nice of Jackson to give you an update,” Tommy said. “At least you know he doesn’t blame you too. That’s a heavy burden when you’re already carrying plenty of your own guilt.”
Ben looked curiously between the two of them, aware as Kate was that Tommy’s words weren’t meant expressly for him. “Right. Well, when I saw the news that you were looking for volunteers I figured I should come down, do whatever I can to help.”
“Once the flyers get here, we’ll need help distributing them around town—” Just then the door opened, and Kate saw a female figure balancing a large box. Backlit by the afternoon sunlight, the woman’s features were obscured as she stepped over the threshold.
Kate felt her smile slip as she recognized the woman.
“Mom,” Tommy said sharply. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought the flyers,” she said, raising the box in front of her as though the answer was obvious. “I ran into Sherry on her way over here, and since I was heading here anyway, I told her I’d take them for her.” She set the box down on a table and turned to Tommy. “Stop glowering at me and give me a hug.”
Kate couldn’t help smiling at the way Tommy rolled his eyes as he heaved himself to his feet and walked over to his mother. Despite his reluctance, there was no mistaking the genuine warmth as he embraced her. No matter what he said or how he felt about Kate, the warmth and sweetness were still in there somewhere.
Tommy’s mother returned his firm squeeze and stepped back. Though she must have been in her late fifties, Sylvia Ibarra’s shoulder-length hair was barely streaked with gray, and though the lines around her eyes and mouth had deepened, with her warm brown eyes and bright smile, she was still a lovely woman. Dressed in knee-length shorts, a short-sleeve striped T-shirt, and woven leather sandals, she was tall, fit, and ready to take on the world with the energy of a woman half her age. Kate couldn’t help but compare her to her own mother, who, from the time of Michael’s death, had seemed to shrivel more and more each year.
One day Kate expected to hear that her mother’s assistant had gone to wake her and found a grasshopper in bed instead, like that obscure Greek myth.
“Hello, Ben,” Sylvia said. “I won’t ask you if you’re having a good summer, given the circumstances,” she said after the young man returned her greeting.
“No, ma’am,” he replied solemnly.
Kate braced herself as Sylvia turned her attention on her.
But instead of the expected animosity, Kate read only friendliness, mixed with a bit of sadness in the older woman’s eyes. “Kate,” she said softly. “You’re looking well. Of course, I know from TV you’ve only grown more beautiful, but really, the cameras don’t do you justice.”
Kate stepped back, sniffing back tears as discreetly as she could. “I would have expected you to greet me with a slap in the face.”
Sylvia shook her head and made a disdainful sniffing sound. “What happened wasn’t your doing,” she said, arching a dark eyebrow at her son. Her dark gaze turned back to Kate. “Just as what happened to your brother wasn’t yours, no matter what your father said.”
Just like that, all the guilt and grief Kate worked so hard to keep at bay came surging to the forefront. If her emotions had a color, they would be bilious green, pumping through her bloodstream, gnawing at her guts, poisoning her with their toxins.
“I—” Kate struggled to draw breath, much less form a reply.
Sylvia patted her gently on the arm, “It’s okay, dear, of course we don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted to say my piece, clear the air first thing. Ah, there’s my book club,” she said, smiling and gesturing to whoever was outside. “I called everyone and told them to come as soon as I saw the press conference.” Kate gathered her composure as Sylvia introduced the half a dozen middle-age women who had come down to volunteer.
She brought Sylvia and two of her friends up to speed on working the tip line, explaining what questions needed to be asked and how to log calls.
She dispatched the rest along with Ben to paper the town with flyers, then set to work setting up a bulletin board with a map of the area so they could pinpoint any sightings called in. As the afternoon progressed, a few dozen more volunteers arrived, and soon Kate had enough people signed up to cover the tip lines twenty-four hours a day for the next week.
