by Cindi Myers
“He could have ordered the hit.”
“He could have. But good luck proving that.”
“I’m going to do some more digging into his background and see what I come up with.”
“Will you let me know what you find?” She leaned toward him, cutting off the objection she was sure he was about to make. “I’m in this with you right up to my ears,” she said. “You can’t cut me off now. And until Senator Matheson tells me otherwise, I’m still concerned about Andi. I have to figure out how involved she is in all of this.”
“When I checked in with headquarters earlier, there was still no sign of the senator,” Dylan said.
“How could a man in the public eye like the senator just disappear?” she asked. “Do the police think he was kidnapped—or killed?”
“There weren’t any signs of foul play,” Dylan said. “Maybe he just decided to take a break from public life. There isn’t a law against that.”
“Except that Senator Matheson thrives on being in the public eye. I read an article that listed him as one of the most media-savvy politicians.”
“So maybe this is some kind of publicity stunt—disappear for a while to get people talking, then show up again.”
“And say what—‘surprise, I fooled you’?”
“He could say he’d been on a secret fact-finding mission or something. For all we know, he’s in Mexico or the Caribbean right now, relaxing on the beach while we waste resources searching for him. Metwater isn’t the only manipulator we’re dealing with here, I think.”
“Maybe.” But something about that scenario bothered her. She searched for the words to voice her impressions of the senator. “He was waiting for me to give him my report about Andi. When he hired me, he seemed very anxious to know that she was all right. If he did plan to disappear as some kind of publicity stunt or ploy for attention, it doesn’t make sense that he would do so before he heard back from me.”
“Was he really concerned, or was he only pretending for your benefit?” Dylan asked.
“I think his worry was genuine.” But how could she be sure? She shifted in her seat. “I haven’t had that much personal experience with genuine parental devotion, but I’m pretty good at spotting fake emotions. All his pomposity and bombast softened when Senator Matheson spoke about his daughter. He talked a lot about how he had tried all his life to protect her and do what was best for her. How if only she would come back to him, he could give her everything she needed and deserved.”
“That kind of love can be smothering to some people—especially a person Andi’s age, who is trying to exert her independence.”
Kayla nodded. “He said it would be enough to know she was safe, but I had the feeling that once I located her, he would try everything in his power to persuade her to return to him. Which is another reason I can’t believe he would voluntarily disappear before he was sure of her safety.”
“That investigation is out of our hands,” Dylan said. “We have to worry about things closer to home. I’m going to do more digging into Frank Asher’s and Daniel Metwater’s backgrounds tomorrow.”
“Hmm.” She’d be doing the same, but there was no point telling him and hearing a lecture about not interfering in police business.
“If you find out anything interesting about either of them, I hope you’ll share it with me,” Dylan said.
She felt her face heat, and was grateful he couldn’t see the flush in the darkness. “I might. If you’ll do the same with me.”
“Even twelve hours ago I probably would have said no, but I’m beginning to think the two of us make a great team and we’ll accomplish more working together than at cross purposes.”
This admission surprised her. “What changed your mind?”
“You did great back at the camp just now—and earlier today when we spoke with Andi and Metwater. You’ve got a cool head and good instincts, and I trust you to watch my back.”
She fought back the surge of emotion that tightened her throat. Dylan didn’t strike her as the type of person to throw around words like that casually. “Thank you,” she managed to squeeze out.
“I hope you’ll come to trust me,” he said.
She rubbed a hand up and down her thigh. “I’m used to working alone.” Depending on other people was too risky.
“I think the two of us make a good team,” he said again. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to see more of you.”
“I’ll stay in touch. I want to know what you find out about Metwater and the rest.”
“I meant after this case is resolved. I liked kissing you this afternoon. I’d like to do it again.”
Her breath caught and her heart pounded, the memory of his lips on hers and his arms around her leaving her with the same warm, weak-kneed sensation that had overwhelmed her in the barn. “That was a mistake,” she said.
“Why do you say that? I got the impression you enjoyed it, too,” he said.
Yes, she had enjoyed kissing Dylan. More than she had enjoyed anything in a long while. But letting him get that close to her would only bring trouble. “I don’t do relationships,” she said. “I’m not good at them.” No matter how promising things started, other people always let you down. Maybe that was part of being human, but she couldn’t risk any more betrayals. Other people might be good at forgiving, but she wasn’t.
“I think you underestimate yourself,” he said. “Or maybe you underestimate me. I’m willing to take things slow.”
She shook her head, then realized he might not be able to see her. “No. You’re a great guy, but I prefer to keep things between us professional.”
“So no more kisses?”
“No more.” She had to hold back a sigh. The kiss really had been great, but kissing Dylan again would only lead to more kissing and hugging and caressing and... She shoved the thoughts away and sat up straighter. They were almost to the turnoff for her house. She wouldn’t have to see Dylan again for a couple of days at least, and that time would allow her emotions to cool off and settle. When he had time to think about it, he would see the sense in keeping his distance from her, as well.
He switched on his blinker to make the left turn, waiting for an approaching car to pass. Behind them, headlights glowed in the distance. Kayla squinted and shielded her eyes from the glare in the side mirror. What was the guy behind them doing with his brights up? And he was driving awfully fast, wasn’t he?
The car approaching in the opposite lane passed and Dylan took his foot off the brake, prepared to make the turn. But before he could act, the car behind them slammed into them, clipping the back bumper and sending the Cruiser spinning off the road and into the ditch. The air bags exploded, pressing Kayla back against the seat. Then she heard another sound—the metallic pop of bullets striking metal as someone fired into their vehicle.
Chapter Eleven
Dylan woke to flashing lights and the distant wail of a siren. Pain stabbed at his skull and he realized he was tilted at an odd angle. He blinked, trying to get his bearings. Something about asking Kayla to kiss him. Or telling her he wanted to kiss her... No, that wasn’t it.
“Dylan? Dylan, are you okay?” Kayla’s voice, strained with anxiety, cut through the fog in his head.
“I’m okay.” He tried to shift his body and realized he was sandwiched between the expanded air bag and the back of his seat. “What happened?”
“A car, or maybe a truck, plowed into us from behind. I think they did it deliberately. And I thought I heard gunshots. Are you sure you’re okay?”
He felt his head. No blood there, though he must have hit it against the side of the car when they crashed. “I’m fine. What about you? Are you all right?”
“A little banged up, but nothing broken. My door is wedged into the ditch, so I can’t open it.”
He felt at his side for his phone and dragged it out of its holster. “I’ll call for help.”
“I think someone’s coming. I hear a siren.”
The sound was getting closer, but the flashing lights were his own. He must have bumped the control during the crash.
Moments later, two emergency vehicles arrived, followed by a third. Red-and-blue lights strobed across the darkness, and moments later the beam of a flashlight played across Dylan’s face. He winced and shielded his eyes from the light as someone yanked open his door.
“Don’t try to move,” the responding officer said. “Not until the paramedic has checked you out.”
“I think I just have a bump on the head.” Dylan shoved his phone back into its holster. There would be time enough later to call the captain.
“You part of the Ranger Brigade?” the officer asked, glancing at the logo on the side of the Cruiser.
“Yes. Lieutenant Dylan Holt with the Colorado State Patrol.”
A paramedic, young with a dark goatee, joined the officer, directing his flashlight beam over Dylan and Kayla. “How are you doing, miss?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Just a little shaken up, and I can’t get out of the car.”
“We’ll help you in just a minute.” The paramedic turned to Dylan. “Any pain or obvious injuries?”
“Just my head.” He touched the knot on his forehead. “Nothing broken.”
“You climb out then, and we’ll see about getting to your passenger.”
Dylan climbed out of the car, the officer and a second paramedic helping. They led him to an ambulance, where he submitted to an examination.
“What happened?” the officer, a middle-aged African American whose badge identified him as Officer Lejeune, asked.
Dylan took a moment to organize his thoughts, though most of his initial fog had cleared. “I was stopped, waiting to make a left turn, when a vehicle plowed into me from behind,” he said. He kept his gaze on the Cruiser, where the first paramedic and another officer were helping Kayla climb out. “The other vehicle clipped my back bumper and we spun out of control. I hit my head and must have been out for a minute. Maybe a little longer.”
“So whoever hit you fled the scene?” Officer Lejeune asked.
“I guess so.” He thought about what Kayla had said—about hearing shots fired. If that was true, why hadn’t whoever had targeted them stayed around to finish the job?
“Another driver called it in,” Lejeune said. “She said the other vehicle was speeding and plowed right into you, then sped away.”
“Did she mention any gunshots?” Dylan asked.
Lejeune and the paramedic exchanged glances. “Gunshots?”
“Someone was firing at us. I’m sure that’s what I heard.” Kayla limped toward them, moving ahead of the men supporting her.
Dylan shoved aside the paramedic, who was trying to apply an ice pack to the knot on his head, and hurried to her. “You’re hurt,” he said.
“I just banged my knee. I’ll be fine.” But she didn’t push him away and leaned into him when he put his arm around her.
“I’ll take a look at the car,” Lejeune said, and strode off.
Dylan escorted Kayla to the ambulance and sat beside her as the paramedic bent to examine her knee. “Did you get a good look at the vehicle that hit us?” he asked.
“No. The brights were on—though I had the impression it was big. Maybe a pickup truck or a big SUV?” She shook her head. “It happened so fast.”
The two police officers returned. “We found what could be bullet holes in the driver’s-side door,” Lejeune said. “Small caliber.”
“You’re lucky whoever ran you down didn’t have a bigger gun or wasn’t a better shot,” the second officer, Raybourn, said.
“Whoever it was, I don’t think they were trying to kill us,” Dylan said. “They wanted to scare us.”
“They scared me,” Kayla admitted. “But they also made me mad. I never have liked bullies.”
“You think this has to do with a case you’re investigating?” Lejeune asked.
“Maybe.” Dylan pulled out his phone again. “I’m going to get someone from my team to check out the Cruiser, see what we can find.”
He stepped away to make his call while the paramedics finished checking Kayla. His stomach churned as he stared at the car on its side in the ditch, the back end smashed.
Graham answered on the fourth ring. “Hello, Lieutenant,” he said, as calm and alert as if the call had come at midday, instead of after ten at night.
“Kayla Larimer and I were on our way back to town from Daniel Metwater’s camp and someone ran us off the road,” Dylan said. “They took a couple of shots at us, too.”
“Are you all right?” Graham asked, his voice sharper. “Is Kayla all right?”
“We’re a little banged up, but okay. I’d like a team to come check out the Cruiser and the area, see if we can come up with any clues.”
“We’ll send someone. Did you get a look at who did this?”
“No. A woman called in the accident, but it doesn’t sound like she got a good look, either, though we’ll want to talk to her.”
“Do you think it was one of Metwater’s followers?”
“Maybe.” The hit-and-run was the kind of impulsive lashing out he might expect from the mostly young members of the group, but Metwater himself didn’t strike him as that sloppy.
“What were you doing at his camp?” Graham asked.
“He invited us, actually, to observe some kind of ceremony.” Dylan rubbed his throbbing head. “I’ll give you my report later. Right now, I need to see about getting Kayla home. Then I’ll wait here with the Cruiser.”
“I’ll have someone out there as soon as I can. If we find anything that links this to Metwater’s group, you can be sure we’ll be hauling them all in for questioning.”
Dylan ended the call and stowed the phone, then walked back to Kayla. “I’ll find someone to give you a ride home,” he said. “I need to wait here.”
“Officer Raybourn has already offered me a ride.” She rested her hand on Dylan’s arm. “Are you sure you’re okay? That knot on your head looks like it hurts.”
He gingerly touched the swelling. “I’ll be okay. My dad always did say I had a hard head.”
“I liked your parents,” she said. “I forgot to thank you for taking me to meet them. I really enjoyed it.”
“I enjoyed it, too.” He rested his palm on her shoulder, giving her the chance to pull away, but hoping she wouldn’t. “You’re welcome to visit anytime.”
“Hmm.” She looked down, but didn’t shift away or remove her hand from his arm. “I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt,” she said. “When I first called your name and you didn’t answer...” She let her voice trail away.
“I know. I’m glad you’re not hurt, too.” He brought his hand up to cup the side of her face, then bent and kissed her—just a gentle brush of his lips across hers. She let out a sigh and leaned into him, returning the kiss for a brief moment before pulling away.
“I’m not sure how to handle you,” she said. “I’d better go.” She turned away and hurried toward where Raybourn and Lejeune waited.
“You’re doing a fine job so far,” Dylan said softly.
* * *
EVERYTHING ACHED WHEN Kayla woke the next morning. She dragged herself into a hot shower, then chased two ibuprofen with a cup of strong tea. She was still sore, but felt able to get to work. She headed to the spare room that served as her home office and flipped through the mail that had accumulated in the last few days. She had been so busy dealing with Senator Matheson and Andi that she hadn’t gotten around to reading it.
An envelope from the Colorado Private Investigators Society caught her att
ention and she slit it open, then unfolded the single sheet of heavy cream-colored paper inside.
Dear Ms. Larimer,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as this year’s Western Slope Private Investigator of the Year. You will be one of the honorees at the Colorado Western Region Honors Banquet in Grand Junction on August 23.
Please RSVP to the email address below and indicate if you will be bringing a guest.
Congratulations on your honor,
Madeline Zimeski, President
Kayla stared at the letter, annoyed. She hadn’t even known there was a Western Slope Private Investigator of the Year. Who had nominated her? And she had to attend a banquet. Did this mean she’d have to buy a fancy dress? And shoes?
She put the letter aside and forced herself to work on a background check for a legal firm she did small jobs for, then started on a report on some surveillance she’d done on a straying husband the week before. But her mind kept straying back to Andi Matheson, the missing senator and enigmatic Daniel Metwater.
The image of him, almost naked and gleaming in the firelight, blood dripping from his hands as he held the dagger to that young woman’s throat, would stay with her for a long time, she imagined. Being around him put her on edge, maybe because he reminded her too much of her own father—handsome and charismatic, good at reading people and promising them what they wanted, or exploiting their weaknesses.
What weakness had he exploited in Andi? Maybe he had painted a picture of the Family as a safe refuge in which she could raise her baby. On his side, he had a recruit with money. At twenty-four, Andi had her own funds. Had she signed them over to Metwater? Or maybe the Prophet merely liked having a senator’s daughter in his retinue. Could Metwater be linked to the senator’s disappearance?
She jotted these questions into a notebook she kept open on her desk, then pulled out her phone. Time to do a little more digging.
“Hello?” The young woman on the other end of the line sounded sleepy.
“Tessa? It’s Kayla Larimer—the private detective who was trying to find Andi Matheson.”
