The Perfect Victim

by Linda Castillo

  The gentle utterance of her name startled her. She jerked her hand back as if the rusty metal surface had snapped at her. Randall stood next to her, looking at her much too intently.

  Slowly, he turned her toward him and took both of her hands in his. "Christ, your hands are like ice. Where are your gloves?"

  "I lost them. When I fell." Her voice was high and tight. Too many emotions crowding into her throat. She looked down at their hands. His were strong and warm and far too reassuring as they held hers. It wasn't something she wanted to get used to.

  "Let's go, Ace. Your hands are nearly frostbitten."

  Addison accepted his gloves without protest.

  "Can you climb?"

  The thought wasn't a pleasant one, but she couldn't bring herself to wimp out. Not after ignoring his warning to stay in the truck. "Unless someone installs a ski lift in the next five minutes, I don't think I have a choice."

  They returned to where Randall had left the rope looped around a tree branch. Spreading her legs, she let him snap the safety harness into place and adjust it to fit her smaller frame. Slowly, mechanically, she began to climb, using the saplings and larger rocks for footholds when she could.

  "Randall?" It amazed her how normal, how strong her voice sounded in the midst of such physical and emotional tumult.

  From behind her, he answered with an irritated grunt.

  “I was wondering ... about my parents' car. Did you find what you were looking for?"

  "Climb. We'll talk about it when we get out of this ravine."

  Addison stopped climbing. "Tell me," she said.

  He stared up at her, his eyes searching for weaknesses she hoped he wouldn't find. "I couldn't find anything useful," he said. "There was too much rust, too much damage."

  "So we wasted our time?"

  "Pretty much."

  She considered the words for a moment, doing her best to fend off the dull wash of defeat. "I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved."

  "As long as you do it on level ground. Start climbing."

  "But—"

  "We'll talk more once we get out of this damn ditch."

  Addison turned back to her rope. But as she began to climb, something niggled at her. Something about the way he'd looked at her, the way his gaze had skittered away when she'd pressed him. As she heaved her body slowly upward, she wondered if his reaction stemmed from what he'd seen in the ravine-or if that haunted look in his eyes was a result of his own troubled past.

  Chapter 11

  He arrived at the Clipper Tavern in Denver’s Brown Palace Hotel just before four P.M. Pushing his way through the tavern doors, he spotted his contact immediately, sitting alone in a booth set against a backdrop of well-dressed couples and businessmen gorging themselves on slow-roasted Colorado prime rib.

  He made his way through the crowd, loosening the Hermes tie that had pinched his Adam's apple for the last eighteen hours, trying to ignore the pain that peeked out from behind his right temple. . .

  "Mr. Fagan," he said when he reached the booth. It wasn't the other man's real name, but a pseudonym used for professional purposes. Neither man cared about such details.

  Fagan stood. Looking like two businessmen about to negotiate a deal, they shook hands before sliding into opposite sides of the booth. Neither man spoke until the waitress had taken their orders and left their drinks on the table.

  Finally, the man in the Hermes tie spoke softly, deceptively, masking the rancor behind the words. "Who the fuck is Jack Talbot?" The name stuck in his throat like a shard of glass, and he washed it down with a gulp of Tanqueray.

  Fagan remained impassive, sipping his scotch and water, unaffected. "A private investigator. Mostly divorce cases. Cheating spouse surveillance. A few runaway teens. He's strictly small time. Nothing to worry about."

  "I see." He reached into the pocket of his St. Laurent for his bottle of Percodan. Just behind his eyes, the headache lurked, as if waiting for exactly the right moment to clench his brain in a vice grip.

  "Our girl hooked up with him after she returned from Ohio," Fagan said.

  ''This private investigator has become a problem."

  "Do you want him eliminated?"

  "Of course I do," the man in the Hermes tie snapped.

  Fagan looked amused for a moment. "I must say I'm quite taken with this young woman."

  The other man tossed back two of the pills and downed them with a gulp of gin. "Did you take care of the lawyer?"

  "No longer a problem."

  Two down. Two to go. Relief washed over, him at the prospect of finishing this dreadful assignment. He only wished it wasn't so damned important—or the stakes so high. "When can you finish up?"

  ''That depends."

  "Depends on what?"

  ''The private dick has a brother."

  The man in the Hermes tie felt a swirl of panic at the thought of yet another person's involvement. Another loose end to deal with. Dammit, there were too many loose ends. The whole fucking mess was like a grass fire that had burned out of control and erupted into a forest fire. "Does he know anything?"

  "Probably."

  He cursed the man's calm demeanor, knowing the son of a bitch had nothing at stake but money. If life were only so simple. "Eliminate them. All of them. And I don't want any more questions raised."

  The other man sipped his scotch. "I'll expect additional compensation."

  "I anticipated that."

  "Generously, I hope."

  "You have three days."

  * * *

  The snow was coming down sideways when Randall clambered out of the ravine. It had started as an occasional flake halfway through the climb. Now, a rise of alarm slid through him at the sight of the thickening white blanket already covering the road.

  Addison stood a few feet away, bent at the hip with her hands on her knees. Her breath puffed out in a white cloud with each exhalation. Her hair hung across her face in a brown, unruly mass. A small branch jutted out from behind her right ear like a crooked antenna.

  "I knew there was a reason I never took up rock climbing," she panted.

  "Stop complaining and I won't tell you I told you so." He still couldn't quite believe she'd followed him into the ravine without a thought as to her own safety. Talk about foolhardy. She could have dislocated her shoulder instead of merely bruising it.

  But he had to admire her guts. She'd climbed back up the steep incline without so much as a single complaint. The problem was, it had taken them twice as long. Now they had the damn weather to contend with.

  "Shit," he muttered, tramping through the driving snow toward the Jeep. "Let's get out of here."

  Addison rushed up beside him, oblivious to the weather or the dangerous drive ahead. This is why I live in Colorado."

  "You recovered quickly." A fact that made him wonder about his own physical conditioning. He was going to have to get back into shape when he got back to D.C.

  "I love snow. Isn't it beautiful?"

  She looked wholesome and lovely as she lifted her arms skyward. Watching her, Randall felt a sudden, acute longing for something he couldn't put a name to. It stirred deep inside him, like the anticipation of coming home after a long, lonely trip.

  "Just don't ask me to help you build a snowman," he growled.

  "Don't worry, Talbot, I wouldn't want to send you into a state of panic. God forbid, you might have some fun."

  "I hate to rain on your parade, Ace, but in case you haven't noticed, the weather's not getting any better." He glanced up at the treetops where the snow rushed between the branches like a white-water rapid.

  A snowball hit him squarely in the back.

  Surprised, and a little annoyed, he turned. Addison stood next to the truck with a silly grin on her face.

  The logical side of him knew they should get going before the roads got hazardous. But the competitive little boy lurking inside him couldn't resist the opportunity to teach her a lesson.

  "Ah, hell,"
he murmured and scooped up a handful of snow.

  Another snowball whizzed by his left ear as he sprinted toward her. Realizing he was retaliating, Addison yelped and sprinted in the opposite direction. But she was no match for him. He caught up with her in a few yards. She spun at the last minute, threw up her hands, and shouted something ridiculous about her bruised shoulder.

  Ignoring her protests, Randall threw caution aside and wrapped his arms around her. Their legs tangled. He spun in midair, then brought her down on top of him in an almost gentle tackle. She fell against him, uttering a very unladylike curse. Her laughter rose over the wind, filling the air around them with the sound of simple human joy. Her hair cascaded onto his face, tickling his nose and momentarily blinding him. She stared down at him and giggled.

  "Didn't anybody ever tell you throwing snowballs is dangerous business?" he growled.

  "You're just jealous because you got your butt kicked."

  He was keenly aware of her body against his. His response was instinctive, spontaneous, and swift. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her down to him and crushed her mouth to his.

  Pleasure crashed through him at the initial taste of her. Soft. Sweet. Forbidden. Her scent surrounded him like a dizzying fog. Stark need pierced him, consuming him, blocking out the wind and the snow so that the only thing he was aware of was the woman he held in his arms.

  She stiffened slightly, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. She was everything he'd imagined, only better. She smelled like heaven and tasted like a dream. Deepening the kiss, he parted her lips and explored with his tongue in an erotic dance that made his blood boil. Her hesitation stirred him. The sweetness of her kiss devastated him. He drank it in until his body was aching for more.

  As quickly as the insanity descended, it lifted. Addison broke the kiss with a clever turn of her head. Disappointment speared through him. He blinked, stunned by the power of the sensations coursing through him.

  Abruptly, she drew back so that she was sitting on top of him, and stared down at him as if suddenly realizing what had happened. "Pretty silly of us to be rolling around on the ground with a dangerous snowstorm moving in," she said breathlessly.

  "That'll teach you to throw snowballs."

  "Maybe you should duck next time." She tried to rise, but Randall stopped her.

  "Is there going to be a next time?"

  Her gaze skittered away, and he released her. Slowly, she got to her feet. "I don't know," she said. "You keep surprising me."

  From her guarded expression, he couldn't tell where he stood with her. Christ, he wasn't even sure why he'd let that happen. All he did know was that in thirty-eight years, no other woman had ever moved him the way Addison did. The kiss had reached into him and touched something vital deep inside him. Something he'd thought was long dead. Something he wasn't sure he wanted resurrected.

  Struggling to his feet, Randall brushed the snow from his parka, keenly aware that he was fully aroused. His pulse pounded, and he tasted frustration at the back of his throat. Out of the comer of his eye, he watched Addison shake the snow from her coat.

  "I'm not sure why I let you kiss me," she said.

  "I didn't exactly ask for permission."

  Her cheeks were flushed with color when she looked at him. Her damp hair fell in wisps around her face. He'd never seen a woman look so beautiful—or seem so far out of reach.

  "Maybe a snowball fight wasn't such a good idea," she said when they reached the truck.

  "Fun, though."

  "I don't want it to ... change anything."

  "We've got a more pressing issue to deal with." He nearly smiled when her eyes widened. Damn, she was refreshing. ''The weather," he clarified.

  "Oh. Right."

  Snow covered the windshield. Randall felt a quiver of alarm go through him as he opened the driver's-side door and ushered her inside. "If the wind picks up, we may not have visibility at all in another hour."

  Casting him a startled look over her shoulder, she slid across the seat to the passenger side. "We've got to get back to Denver."

  "Unless you've got a set of tire chains in your purse, we may not make it."

  "Very funny."

  He started the engine. "That wasn't a joke."

  ''This is a four-wheel-drive, right? We'll take it slow—"

  "There are a couple of motels off the interstate," he said.

  She shot him a look that made him smile despite the circumstances. "Like we're going to find a vacancy this close to Christmas."

  "You got a better idea?"

  "I'm thinking."

  "While you're thinking, we're getting snowed in."

  "We're not getting snowed in. I can't get snowed in. Van-Dyne told me not to leave town."

  He raised his hands in defense. "You're the one who insisted on coming down the side of the mountain like an extreme rock climber."

  "You were shutting me out."

  "I was using my common sense, which is more than I can say for you." He grimaced at the snow. "We'll have to find a motel. There are some truckers' motels—"

  "Listen, Talbot, I don't know what kind of a testosterone-induced scheme you've concocted in that so-called mind of yours, but I'll be damned if I'm going to sit up here on this mountain with you for the rest of the night."

  "You think I planned this?" he asked, incredulous.

  Crossing her arms in front of her, she leaned against the seat. "After the way you kissed me a few minutes ago, I wouldn't put it past you."

  He was starting to get annoyed. Not because she was wrong—but because she was right. "I'll let you know if and when I want to sleep with you."

  She shot him a killing look, then turned her attention to the windshield where the wipers waged a losing war against the snow.

  Even in profile, he saw the worry leak into her features, like a dark stain marring the flawless surface of a fine piece of porcelain. Reaching out, he plucked the branch from her hair. "We'll try to get back. If we can't make it, we'll find something along the interstate. There's got to be something off of Interstate 70. Maybe a truck stop."

  "My parents lived just south of here, near Alma."

  Randall contemplated her, realizing why she'd waited until now to mention it. "Are you up to spending the night there?"

  The wind whistled around the truck with such force it trembled. The trees on either side of the road were barely visible through what was quickly becoming blizzard conditions.

  Casting a dubious glance beyond the window, she nodded. "I don't think we have a choice."

  * * *

  The home where Patty and Larry Fox had once lived was a custom-built log cabin nestled in a pine forest at the end of a winding gravel drive. Randall rammed the transmission into four-wheel-drive and started up the steep incline, cursing Mother Nature when the vehicle slid too close to a stand of trees before the tires grabbed.

  He chided himself for not telling Addison the truth about what he'd found in that ravine. But they'd had a grueling climb to make, and he hadn't been sure how she would react, so he'd put it off. He'd planned on breaking the news to her once they reached the summit. Then she'd gone and tossed that snowball at him like some kind of a kid. She'd looked incredibly beautiful and ... undamaged, laughing and playing in the snow. Then, like the idiot he was, he'd gone off the deep end and kissed her.

  "Shit," he muttered.

  "What?”

  He parked the truck in front of the garage and shut down the engine. Snow swirled crazily around them, pinging against the windshield.

  Randall glanced over at Addison and felt a tinge of guilt. It had been wrong of him not to tell her; he couldn't put it off any longer. He wasn't going to enjoy hurting her, but she deserved to know the truth about what had happened to her parents regardless of how much it was going to hurt her, regardless of how much it was going to change this case.

  She reached for the door handle, but he stopped her with a light touch on her arm. ''Hold it," he said.
/>
  She shot him a wary look. "Okay, Talbot, you've got my attention. Why are you looking at me that way?"

  "Your parents' car didn't spin out on ice, Addison."

  "But you said—"

  "Someone forced them off the road."

  Her mouth opened, but she didn't make a sound. He watched a myriad of emotions scroll across her features. Disbelief. Denial. Profound sadness. Then a flash of anger. "I asked you back there. Dammit, why didn't you—"