Renegade

by Catherine Mann

  Of course it had to be a man. Everyone knew the statistics. Serial killers weren’t women. She wasn’t some psycho.

  Hopefully she could use the man’s gruesome crimes to take care of some business on her own, undetected, and cast suspicion on their local nut job murderer, rather than have him somehow lead them back to her. So far, the killer had chosen victims all related to the base, which would prove helpful in drawing police attention to Mason.

  And Jill Walczak? Lee centered her charm again . . . precisely.

  Jill would be the perfect victim for the next serial killing, one that would also point directly to Mason as the perp.

  NINE

  Mason eyed the GPS on his truck windshield and thanked God it was functioning out here in the middle of the desert mountain range, because otherwise they could very well get lost going back. He certainly wasn’t counting on the navigational skills of the drunk old man beside him shouting out directions. Since Phil had been wasted before Mason finished his avocado-tomato foccacia sandwich, they’d all piled into Mason’s truck.

  “Turn by that crooked cactus there,” Yost barked, then burped.

  Crooked cactus? Good Lord, it sounded like something out of a black-and-white movie. At least the kooky guy offered up a distraction from the sweet scent of Jill sitting between them.

  Something had shifted between them in the restaurant, and he wasn’t sure what. He’d only been shooting the breeze with Yost when he’d realized she was looking at him with a new intensity.

  The truck jostled over the rocky path, nudging her toned thigh closer to his, before she pulled away.

  Cranking the steering wheel as they passed the twisted Joshua tree, Mason looked at Jill sitting between him and Yost. Her eyes darted left, right, on the windshield again, her hand grazing her waist over her gun strapped in place.

  Mason dipped his head. “What’s the matter?”

  Her hand stayed lightly against her weapon. “After our conversation back at the restaurant, I can’t help but think about the serial killer, especially when we’re so far from civilization. Until he—or she—is caught, there’s no need to be reckless.”

  Yost waved a drunken hand through the air. “Ah, there are three of us. We’re not just one defenseless woman caught with her hands full of groceries as she struggles to open her front door.”

  Jill gaped at him. “Damn, Uncle Phil, do you always go around thinking of scenarios for catching a woman unaware?”

  “I think maybe,” he mumbled, “I read something like that about one of the killings in the papers. Been following it. The old cop in me can’t help but eat up the details. Got anything you want to share, girl?”

  Jill jerked a thumb toward Mason. “You could fill him in on what the press says about the ongoing investigation, since he’s been out of the country for the past couple of months.”

  “Ah.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming as bright as the dashboard lights. “Then you missed the frenzy ramping up. It was my girl here who caught the similarities in some unsolved cases. She started tracking details this fall in hopes of catching the guy.”

  Mason shot a quick look at Jill, surprised. He hadn’t realized she was this involved in the investigation. What else didn’t he know about her?

  He looked back out the windshield. “Five attacks as of yesterday, four of them dead, right? I heard it on the radio on my drive over for supper. Some local woman. They haven’t released her name yet.”

  “Damn.” Yost shook his head. “This area is already so crazy with alien conspiracies, it doesn’t take much to freak people out. Stop here.”

  Mason braked and put his Chevy in park in the middle of a patch of desert that looked much the same as everything that had come before. He turned off the radio but kept the engine and lights on. Moonbeams glinted off silvery rocks bleached white over years of exposure to the sun. Mason stepped out of the truck and met Jill and the old guy at the back of the truck.

  Phil lowered the tailgate. “Some folks believe it’s some kind of ritual killing for a cult, and they’re using the alien scare to cover their tracks.”

  Jill thumbed her gun again. “Not a very original thought, if you ask me.”

  The older guy hitched up to sit on the tailgate. “Valid point. From what I’m hearing out of my prior contacts, it appears each of the nabbings have been while the person was alone.” He leaned deeper into the truck bed for the bag he’d retrieved from his trunk and tucked there before they’d left the bar. “Since most of them are females, I’m guessing the one male victim must have been a guy who stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Jill jumped up to sit next to him. “That seems to be how things are pointing. The guy’s just so damn clean about the killings. Even with this latest murder, there’s virtually nothing to go on. We’re all praying we get a break in the case before he strikes again.”

  “Amen, Gingersnap.” His grim face softening, he pulled a battery-powered strobe light from the duffel and turned to Mason. “About those alien sightings. Back in the day, some of us camo dudes would hang out in watchtowers and fuck with the locals. We would flash lights in the sky and amplify everyday noises over a megaphone. You’d be amazed how worked up conspiracy nuts can get over repeated clicks of a lighter or the slow, squeaky release of air through a balloon. We even made the paper with that one.”

  They sounded like his kind of guys. Noticing Jill’s slight shiver, Mason eased off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Ah, a close encounters sort of moment.”

  Jill stiffened under his touch but then gathered the jacket closer around her, tucking her hands in the sleeves. A bitter wind rolled over them, but his sweater provided more than enough protection with the added heat of being this close to her.

  Phil was too busy playing with his oversized flashlight to notice the coat exchange. “We may have inspired a movie or news story here and there to kill time on a boring desert night. Pretty soon the military realized there was a big payoff in these rumors. Secrecy wasn’t as big a concern if you had an alien story scapegoat.” He turned off the light, the beam cutting short. “People are more cynical these days. Damn shame. Life was a lot more fun back then.”

  Jill rested her head on Phil’s shoulder. “That’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you, your ability to find the fun in anything.”

  He snapped the light on and off three times before swooping it across the mountainside. “Why bother living if you’re not going to enjoy the ride?”

  Jill’s laugh filled the desert void.

  Mason looked at her appreciatively. Damn, but he liked this woman.

  Phil jerked the spotlight in a haphazard circle against the desert horizon. “Once, a while back, we took one of these, covered it with purple cellophane, and shone it on that mountain over there. Next thing you know, shops were selling T-shirts with bright purple rays shooting from a flying saucer.” He looked at Mason, his eyes suddenly cold sober. “I imagine some of the stuff you fliers do will fuel stories for decades.”

  “Hmmm.” Mason offered up a noncommittal grunt. Even if what the old guy said was true, that didn’t mean anyone in the military could confirm it. “I would imagine so. You know we’re probably in more danger of being shot for trespassing by a pissed-off rancher.”

  “Do you two want my secrets or not?” Phil clicked off the spotlight. “Or maybe I should be asking you, my new friend. Do you allow this sort of thing to continue to divert attention from tests? Or to divert attention from the aliens?”

  Jill searched out the truck window for anything to divert her thoughts as she drove alone with Mason down a dimly lit street after they’d dropped Phil off at his place. The sleepy desert neighborhood where she lived had mostly turned in for the night.

  She hugged his jacket around her shoulders, chilled from her thoughts as much as the night air. “Thanks for the ride home.”

  “You’re right that backtracking to pick up Phil’s car would have wasted a lot of
time,” he conceded, even though he still seemed surprised that she’d agreed. “And Phil was in no shape to drive himself or anyone else.”

  “He’s not a drunk, but he does have his longneck moments.”

  As a keen observer of human nature, Mason hid a canny intuitiveness beneath his slick exterior. It was the kind of quality that made the best investigators, and it intrigued her on any number of levels. Jill wondered how he had gained such skills.

  Of course that could be said about a number of aviators who worked around here, and truth be told, she had no reason to suspect he had anything to do with the serial killer. She should say good night and move on.

  Should. But couldn’t. Not yet. “I like you, Mason Randolph.”

  The dashboard lights sparked off the glint of humor in his green eyes. “The surprise in your voice could be insulting.”

  “Good thing your ego can take it.”

  He laughed softly as they rolled past the small stucco duplexes, homes old enough to show their age without gaining the quaintness of a historic neighborhood. Sort of like his truck, older but well-loved. His Chevy had been a surprise. She’d expected him to drive some sort of chick magnet sports car.

  Mason slowed over a speed bump. “Are you ready to pony up why you initially disliked me on sight?”

  Was she? She had to be honest with herself that she’d climbed into his vehicle with him for a reason beyond her job. The attraction she felt around him had gone beyond his perfectly sculpted features to something deeper inside him. “Maybe I just have a problem with guys with double-digit notches on their bedposts.”

  “We’ve already established you’ve never seen my bedpost. And since a savvy cop like you knows better than to listen to uncorroborated gossip, I think your problem with me goes deeper.”

  Jill took a bracing breath. “My mother went through quite a few men after my dad died.”

  “Deadbeats?” His face creased with sympathy.

  “Actually, no. For the most part they were really great guys.” And she’d grieved every time one walked out the door for good. “I can’t fault Mom on her impeccable taste or her ability to attract quality men. Most of them even fell in love with her. She just couldn’t love them back. I know it sounds like I’m dissing her, but I really do love my mom. Flaws and all, she loved me and did her best.” She shrugged. “She just never could get past her need to have a man to validate her enough to form a real relationship with anybody else.” Including her own daughter. “After a while I learned it was better not to get too close.”

  “Something you did until it became a habit to keep your distance.”

  “Wow, you’re really good with the empathy.” She tried to make light rather than let those damn nice words of his sink in too deeply. “No wonder the women fall into your bed.”

  Oops. Had she really said that?

  His eyes went sleepy-lidded for an assessing heartbeat before he looked back at the road. He didn’t answer, just kept driving.

  “Uh, turn here.” She pointed to the left. “Mine is the duplex at the end of the cul-de-sac.” She scratched along a patched tear in the upholstery. “Sorry if I got defensive there.”

  “I’m cool with being told to butt out.”

  “More like back off just a little.” Seeing the way his shoulders filled out the white cabled sweater offered up enough temptation for one night. “I’m sharing here, not opening my whole life up. Which I guess proves your point about my keeping distance.” She flexed her toes in her silver-studded pumps. “I really got close to her third husband.”

  He eased down the brake until the truck stopped in front of her duplex. Mason hitched an elbow on the steering wheel and turned toward her with undiluted attention. “Tell me about him.”

  “You’ve met him already, actually.”

  The frown cleared from his face. “Yost? Uncle Phil. Of course.”

  What was it about this guy that had her babbling so much so fast? “You’ve got to be sick of hearing about my crazy childhood.”

  He tugged a strand of her hair, lingering at the end to toy with it. Toy with her? “I’m interested, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  Interested? “Don’t waste your pickup lines on me. I’m not falling for your typical smooth act.”

  He released her hair. “That’s a hefty assumption you’re jumping to.”

  “Your reputation with women has nothing to do with assumptions or even simple gossip.” She couldn’t stop the defensiveness. “You forget I’ve seen you in action in the mess hall.”

  “I am who I am. I live life my own way while doing my best to make sure any decisions don’t harm someone else. Maybe that’s why I like Uncle Phil.” His seriousness unsettled her far more than his smile. “Tell me more about him.”

  She could end this conversation by getting out of the truck, but for some reason, she wanted to linger, explore this unexpected connection between them. “He was a cop who lived for working security out here. Some unsubstantiated rumors tainted his reputation, so he took an early retirement and started giving tours at the museum.”

  “Where’s your mother now?”

  “In San Diego with husband number five. The woman has quickie divorces down to an art. When—and if—I ever get married, it will be forever.”

  His green eyes darkened for a hint. Then the shadows were gone before she could figure out what he was thinking.

  “Yost stayed here, though, in spite of everything.”

  “He says nothing will run him away from where he grew up. He seems to enjoy his volunteer work at the museum, and he runs a kennel out at his ranch. He periodically goes to the pound and rescues dogs about to be put down, then trains them for anything from security detail firms to an elderly person needing a companion.” She stroked her door handle. “Thanks for dropping him off tonight and for bringing me home.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She met his stare, held it, and when he didn’t move to step out of the truck, she wondered if maybe, just maybe he would lean closer to kiss her. Her mouth went dry. She bit her tongue to keep from dampening her lips. Still, he didn’t move, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to throw herself at him.

  “Good night, then.” She slipped off his jacket, opened her door, and stepped out just as Mason rounded the hood of the truck to join her. Of course he would be the type to walk her to the porch. He had a way of making old-fashioned manners seem nice rather than over-the-top.

  The desert night felt all the colder without his jacket. She followed the split in the walking path to her porch on one end, identical to her neighbor’s at the other end of the duplex. She stopped at the Spanish-style wrought-iron entry gate that closed off her small rock garden beyond the stucco arch. A soothing fountain bubbled from a large terra-cotta pot streaming water down a pile of rocks. Three cacti of varying sizes sprouted from the stones.

  Jill turned to face Mason. “Thanks for an, uh, interesting evening.”

  “No need to thank me for anything. The plans were Phil’s, not mine.”

  “You didn’t judge Phillip. That means a lot to me. Maybe even enough for me to reconsider some of my hefty assumptions.”

  He flattened his palm against the stucco arch, his arm right beside her face. “Hey, how can you not like a man who tapes purple cellophane to a spotlight and gets more press than some high-tech piece of machinery?”

  She laughed. He laughed. And the sounds tangled up between them in their solitary pocket of space. He stared at her again.

  His head lowered.

  Only an inch, but enough to telegraph his intent to kiss her while giving her time to refuse. She didn’t say a word because yes, he was coming toward her. Instead, she slid her hand to his chest, warm, even though he must be cold in just jeans and a sweater with only a simple T-shirt beneath.

  His head dipped toward hers, slowly, deliberately. He brushed his mouth over hers, his eyes still open, searching her eyes for as long as she could keep looking back. Then sensation surged through
her, and her lashes slid closed.

  His hand slid from the arch, his knuckles skimming along her cheek. She was so far outside her comfort zone with this man. She took risks in her job on a regular basis, but she kept her relationships safe, little chance of getting her feelings trampled, something that had happened more often in high school than she cared to remember. The past should be the past. She didn’t want to be locked in some adolescent time frame, but damn, some wounds ran deep, catching a person unaware at the most inconvenient of times. And that was enough of thinking. She intended to take charge of the moment and feel.

  She clutched a fistful of his sweater, her thumb tracing along the corded pattern. Mason palmed her spine, low and firm, deepening the kiss until the hard planes of his body, the taste and texture of him, the scent of warm leather imprinted in her memory.

  Right now, she couldn’t remember all the reasons why she’d thought he was bad for her. She could only feel the heat pumping through her, tingling, tightening her nerves to a peak. The low groan in the back of his throat told her just how into the moment he was, too, a heady, heady notion.

  His fingers plunged into her hair, cupping the back of her scalp in a seductive massage. She sagged back against the arch, and he followed along with her, sealing their bodies closer. She slid her hands along his sweater to explore the play of muscles along his chest. Her fingers climbed around and up to his shoulders, savoring the way his muscles jumped and bunched in response to her touch.

  God, this was spiraling out of control quicker than she could have expected, and she’d already expected him to be damned good. He tasted like papaya and man. Her resistance was fading fast after an evening of surprising peeks at Mason’s depth. He wasn’t the caricature ladies’ man she’d allowed herself to believe, but beyond that, she didn’t know much about him.

  He eased his mouth from hers, and she stifled the need to moan a protest. She needed to be strong, because now it would come, the push for more. He would roll out some Romeo suave ways that would douse the heat tingling along her nerves.