“Yes.” It took determination to walk to the landing, to pass him and start down the steps with her back to him. “Are you going running?”
“I’m hoping I can get a few miles in. When I looked out the window, the rain had stopped, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned on my trips here, it’s that the weather can turn on a dime. Do you know one time I was here, and at 3:00 p.m., it was sunny and seventy-five, and by seven o’clock there was two inches of snow on the ground?”
“Really,” she murmured, conscious of the relief sweeping through her. His visit to Cedar Creek was business; he’d been coming here on a regular schedule long before she’d ever heard of the town. He wasn’t RememberMe.
There were a lot of people out there. She needed to be afraid of only one. She would make a point of reminding herself of that every so often.
Still, she couldn’t deny the lightening of her tension when she reached the bottom of the stairs and Rob stepped past her. “Have a good morning,” he said on his way to the door.
“Fingers crossed you stay dry,” she responded, and he waved one hand in the air to show he heard her before stepping outside.
To Natasha’s left, the married guests shared a sofa and drank coffee while discussing where to have breakfast. They both smiled and nodded when they noticed her. Back to the right and behind her, Claire’s voice came, soft and sweet, in answer to a deeper, masculine rumble.
When Natasha was little, she’d often lain in bed in the room she always shared with Stacia, sometimes with their brother, Nick, and often with the children of strangers her parents had brought into the house. Her bed was next to the window, and she’d gazed at the night sky while listening to her parents talk. The words were indistinguishable, but the sounds were always a comfort: her father’s voice, deep and gruff, her mother’s like delicate high-tuned chimes. Years later, she’d done the same—different window, different night sky—while listening to the pure comfort of Daniel’s voice.
She’d found a home in his voice.
And she’d given it up when she’d broken his heart.
When she turned to head toward the coffee maker, she saw Ben Little Bear, towering over Claire at the counter. Of course, Ben appeared to tower over everyone. His back was to Natasha, but his attention seemed laser-focused on the innkeeper. He was easy on the eyes, once they’d made the long journey up to his face, and he didn’t wear a wedding ring. It was hard to say whether Claire was turning on extra charm, since she was always pleasant, but her smile was certainly satisfied as they’d talked. Whatever reason he was there, it didn’t seem to upset her, so maybe it wasn’t business. Maybe—hopefully—it was as personal as things could get between a man and a woman.
She returned Claire’s little wave and turned into the back hall. The smell of fresh coffee tantalized her, reminding her of cartoon animals from her childhood, so entranced with aromas that they floated on air to reach the source. If she’d delayed five more minutes, the captivating, enchanting scent of life-giving caffeine might have made her float, too.
At least, until she reached the break room door.
Where Daniel was grumpily stirring powdered creamer into a mug of coffee.
For one moment, the language part of her brain stopped functioning while the drooling part took over. The man who made a rumpled T-shirt and boxers look GQ appeared to have slept in his khaki tactical pants and polo shirt, so much that she suspected he’d done something he’d probably never done before: dragged them out of the bottom of the laundry hamper. His hair, as short as it was, was rumpled, too, as if he’d repeatedly dragged his fingers through it. His jaw was unshaven—a sexy look on him—and tension began radiating from him the instant he became aware of her presence.
She hadn’t made a sound. He hadn’t glanced around. He hadn’t seen her reflection, because there was nothing in the room shiny enough to reflect. But he knew someone was there, and he knew it was her.
Once she had asked him how he always knew, and he’d shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe it’s pheromones. Or the missing piece of my soul coming back. He had considered it a moment while she got all swoony, and then he added, Maybe you emit some kind of spores.
She had refused to cuddle with him until he’d insisted he loved her spores with every spore of his own.
Heart aching with the memory—all of them, sweet and sad and steamy and innocent and tragic—she stood where she was, doing nothing, and he stayed where he was, acting as if she didn’t exist.
Finally her beleaguered brain found some words. “Really? You move to cow country and switch to powdered creamer?”
His expression was sour with distaste when he finally looked at her. For her? she wondered. Or the sacrilege he was committing with the coffee?
“When I have the time and the inclination, I go to the dairy over in Claremore and buy raw cream for my coffee. This is for Little Bear, who, despite growing up with fresh milk from the family’s cows, thinks powdered creamer is the best add-in ever.”
She shuddered playfully, and the tension around Daniel eased a little. “Some people.” It was a phrase Jeffrey used a lot—often in reference to Archer, though always said with love.
The machine signaled the finish of another brewed cup with a gurgle, and Daniel set it aside, leaving space for her to start her own. Though her olfactory neurons were actually dancing in anticipated delight and her mouth was beginning to water, she hesitated to enter the room. It was so small, and she would have to be so careful not to bump into him because if she did... If she did...
Oh, the things she could do with him. Had done. Had wanted and loved and needed and given up because they weren’t enough. She wasn’t enough.
He added three packets of sugar to Ben’s coffee and grabbed a plate holding a cinnamon roll as big as his head then waited for her to move aside. She did so, stepping back into the hall, first blocking the way he needed to go, abashedly switching to the opposite side. After a moment lost in the past, she stepped into the break room.
Just inside the door, she stopped, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Coffee, sugar, butter, cinnamon—all tempting enough for a hungry woman. Shampoo, cologne, man—more than tempting enough for any woman. When scents evoked as many tender memories as these did, they were a threat to her composure and her emotional balance.
With her knees more than a bit wobbly, they were apparently a threat to her physical balance, as well.
She chose a pod of coffee and started a cup while focusing on the food choices available. A box of pastries sat on the counter next to the microwave with a note that read Guests, please eat so I won’t. It was signed with Claire’s name. There was a bowl of oranges and apples, some packets of instant oatmeal and grits—seriously?—and the candy, chips and cookies she’d seen yesterday.
No eggs, no bacon, no biscuits and gravy.
She was mourning that last bit when Daniel returned. Warm pleasure rushed through her that he’d come back for another round, but then he reached for his coffee. Of course. His hands had been full with Ben’s stuff.
He added sugar and a tiny cup of half-and-half before moving back to lean against the doorjamb and fix his gaze on her. “Aren’t you going to ask why we’re here this early on a Saturday?”
She studiously avoided looking back at him and shrugged. “Because you couldn’t wait until Monday to see me again?”
He’d told her that the first time he’d stayed overnight at her apartment. He’d left the next morning, but he came back five minutes later. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you again.
And another time, she’d awakened in the middle of the night to find him leaning on one arm, gazing down at her, the gentlest look in his eyes, and he’d whispered, I couldn’t wait until morning to see you again.
She’d realized in that very instant that she loved him—bigger, deeper, better than she’d ever loved before.
&n
bsp; For whatever it had been worth.
The coffee machine gurgled and hissed, and she had just lifted the cup out when he went on. “There was a prowler at my house last night. Also, we have a witness who says he’s seen a guy watching you.”
Her muscles froze, leaving her unable to breathe or process his words. She didn’t feel the trembling that started in her hands until she saw rings spreading across the surface of her coffee. A tiny wave was forming, rising heavy on one side of the tilting mug before it crashed back to the other, about to splash steaming brew over—
Daniel’s hands appeared in her narrow field of vision, taking careful hold of the cup, pulling it from her grip, setting it on the counter. For a moment, his right hand retained its hold on her left, and she reflexively grasped it, squeezing tightly, focusing all her energy on maintaining contact with the one person who’d always, always made her feel safe.
“What—Are you—Did you—”
His thumb rubbed across the heel of her palm with a slow, easy gesture that eased tension with each press. “I didn’t see anything. I’d just gotten off the phone with Flea, and before I started the movie again, something ran into one of my deck chairs. By the time I got out there, he—it—was gone.”
He had it right the first time: not it. He. RememberMe.
“You went out there by yourself? Knowing that he wants to—” She finished with a gesture of her free hand, unable to put it into words. The mere thought of the danger she’d brought into Daniel’s life could break her heart and her spirit.
“I wasn’t alone. I had my weapon.” He laid his free hand on the pistol snugged on his belt. “You know I never leave home without it.”
The small smile that touched his mouth was reassuring, but Natasha couldn’t stop the ominous words going around in her head. RememberMe was here in Cedar Creek, and he knew where Daniel lived, and he wanted him dead.
And it was all her fault.
* * *
Daniel wasn’t a touchy-feely sort of person. Between his coworkers’ general friendliness, dates and the people he handcuffed, searched or restrained, he had plenty of physical contact in his life. He never found himself longing for the feel of someone else’s skin against his.
Except Natasha’s.
The import puzzled him. He was holding her hand. Nothing momentous, nothing special. People held hands, shook hands, offered hands to other people on a daily basis. One bit of work-worn skin pressing against another bit of work-worn skin. No big deal.
But this was a very big deal. It was chemistry, according to his dad. His father shrugged. Beats the hell out of me. But, he went on, he didn’t have to understand the mechanics of something to appreciate it.
Daniel was appreciating this far more than was wise.
He cleared his throat, relaxed his fingers and tugged his hand back. She didn’t let go easily, and he didn’t blame her. He was mostly annoyed today—who wouldn’t be when his calm, peaceful life was turned upside down by some whack-job he’d never met?—but Natasha was scared. Danger was new to her and, like any normal person, it frightened her.
After clearing his throat a second time—the last thing he wanted to let her know with a quavery voice was that his fingers were still tingling from hers—he said, “Sam is going to meet us at Judge Judie’s for breakfast. Bring your coffee and grab a coat.”
Her face pale except for twin red spots on her cheeks, she nodded, picked up the cup and started out. It was a sign of how shaken she was that she gulped a huge drink of hot black coffee without noticing it wasn’t lukewarm, sweetened and creamed.
He walked as far as the desk with her. Ben was polishing off the last of the cinnamon roll while Claire continued their conversation about the hotel’s guests. Daniel hadn’t done more than take a few sips of his own coffee when Natasha returned, a dark blue sweater pulled on over her plaid shirt, her purse strap slung over one shoulder.
Even with the time it took Ben to finish talking, they were walking into the diner less than three minutes later. It was early for the breakfast rush—even farmers and cowboys liked a later start on Saturdays, it seemed—so they had their choice of seats. Ben headed for a table for four at the back and took a seat facing the door.
At least he hadn’t chosen a booth, Daniel groused as he settled into the chair next to Natasha. Her movements brittle, she scooted her seat closer to the table, emptied a packet of sugar into her coffee and stirred it. When droplets splattered from the shaking of the spoon, she stopped and clasped her hands in her lap. “What about this witness who saw him?”
“Hold that question.” Ben nodded toward the door. “Here comes Sam.”
They all watched the chief approach. When Daniel first came to Cedar Creek, Sam had been up every morning, at about five o’clock, for a run, but that routine had slacked off some since he married Mila. Who wouldn’t prefer a warm bed with a wife who adored him over pounding the pavement? Heck, Daniel preferred a cold bed alone. He only ran so he could chase, and usually catch, suspects.
Sam hung his cowboy hat on a hook on the wall then sat down next to Ben. A nod served as a greeting for all of them, and his gesture to the waitress showed he wasn’t starting this morning in any better shape than Natasha and Daniel were.
Natasha waited long enough for the waitress to deliver coffee to Sam, her gaze sharp on him, though it appeared it was taking all her effort to not snatch away the cup and do the doctoring herself. The instant Sam’s spoon clinked on the saucer after he’d finished stirring, she pounced.
“Who is this witness and what does he know?”
Sam gave her his customary smile, the one that made young girls giggle and elderly women blush, that left all the women in between feeling noticed, appreciated, acknowledged and protected. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. What does he know?”
Sam scratched his jaw. “First, you’ve got to understand that Ozzie is...” He looked at Daniel and Ben, and they finished the statement with him. “Not quite right.”
“I don’t know what his official diagnosis is,” Sam went on, “but he’s...delayed. He lives in a group home, but he doesn’t require care. He goes everywhere, and he never met a person or animal or inanimate object that didn’t interest him greatly.”
“So he’s not a credible witness.” Disappointment rang in Natasha’s voice and rounded her shoulders. Had she thought Ozzie could lead them to RememberMe today and she could be on her way back home tomorrow?
“Oh, no, he’s very credible,” Sam said, and Ben added, “With us. Maybe not so much in court. It would depend on how many of the jurors knew him.”
“The thing is, Ozzie notices stuff. Big stuff, little stuff,” Daniel said then grudgingly admitted, “and occasionally nonexistent stuff. You got here at noon Thursday. By that night, he’d seen you at the hotel and the diner and the police station. He knew you drove a red car, that you’re from California, that you knew me. He’s curious, he asks questions, and because he’s Ozzie, people tend to answer them.
“During the fire Friday, he saw you again. He also saw a man watching you. He saw the same man outside the hotel later that day, and he saw him again outside Mrs. LB’s restaurant last night.”
The waitress brought menus, and they took a break to place their orders. When they got back to the subject, Natasha looked not so much disappointed as reluctantly accepting. “I’m guessing he doesn’t know the man.”
“No. It was raining. He can tell us it’s a white guy, taller than him—”
Ben interrupted. “But Ozzie’s only five foot five, so most men are taller than him.”
“—and he wears a blue slicker with the hood pulled up.”
“I’ve seen at least twenty blue slickers since I got here,” she pointed out glumly. “I thought I was pretty alert during the fire. I looked at people, every single person on the street, on the sidewalk, sitting in a
car. I probably stared right at RememberMe, and he looked so normal that I didn’t notice him. Hell, I didn’t notice Ozzie watching me, either. I thought I was so alert when really I must be clueless.”
When she hid her face in her hands, both Sam and Ben gave Daniel meaningful looks. Do something. Say something. She’s your ex-fiancée. What could he say? She was on the clueless side. Everybody was. Normal people didn’t go around in a state of high-level paranoia, constantly searching for the tiniest hint that something wasn’t as it should be.
Awkwardly he said, “Look, I didn’t notice Ozzie then, either, and I’m supposed to be more aware of my surroundings than you are.”
Sam’s response was dry. “Really? You’re a cop. She’s got a stalker who’s tracked her every move for a year, tried to kill her ex-fiancé and followed her more than a thousand miles, where he set her car on fire. People don’t always like you, but none of them have tried to kill you.”
The chief pulled a creased email from his pocket. “I got a report from Jamey. The fire was caused by white phosphorus. Apparently, it’s reasonably safe as long as it’s submerged in water, but when it’s exposed to air, it eventually dries out and spontaneously ignites at a certain temperature. RememberMe—” He grimaced with disgust. “Jeez, I hate calling a suspect that. Anyway, he rigged it so that the water drained very slowly and then the fire started. And wherever he gained access to the car, it wasn’t on the street. According to the surveillance videos, between the time she parked and went into the hotel and the fire started, no one went near the car.”
So he’d broken into Natasha’s car before the last time she’d driven it. While she and Daniel were at McDonald’s, not drinking coffee? Could he have sneaked up then without either of them noticing?
Daniel didn’t think so. She’d spent too much time staring out the window, watching the rain and avoiding him. The car had been less than thirty feet away. Surely one of them would have seen someone tampering with it.
At the bowling alley? The parking lot was well lit, but everyone had been hustling in or out. They probably wouldn’t have paid attention to anyone messing with a car, thinking some poor schmuck had locked himself out. But probably still left room for risk.
Killer Smile Page 12
