01 Storm Peak

by John Flanagan

  He picked up the sheaf of notes he’d been compiling and began to check them again. There was pitifully little to go on. The former ski instructor fired by Ben Fuller was a standout so far. But instinctively, Jesse distrusted the lead. It had come too easily. It was the first name thrown up. He glanced at the name again.

  “Michael Miller, Michael Miller,” he muttered softly to himself. “Where are you tonight, Michael?”

  “You gonna start talking to yourself, it’s time you went home,” said a soft voice behind him. He turned, wincing slightly as his stiff shoulders protested against the move. Lee was standing inside the door of the conference room, leaning on the jamb and regarding him with a small frown.

  “Working late?” she asked unnecessarily. He glanced at his old Seiko and noticed, with mild surprise, that it was after eleven.

  “Just going through these names, sorting the possibles from the unlikelys,” he replied.

  Lee shoved herself off the doorframe and moved closer to the table, looking over his shoulder at the notes he’d been scrawling on pages from a yellow legal pad.

  “Possibles and unlikelys?” she repeated. “That means there are no probables as yet?”

  He gave her a tired grin. “There never are,” he said, yawning involuntarily.

  “Go on home, Jesse,” said Lee, in a softer tone. “I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel halfway up Rabbit Ear Pass.”

  He gathered his papers together and stood, moving stiffly as he headed for the door.

  “Never been known to happen,” he said. She followed him out, hitting the light switch as she went and leaving the conference room in darkness.

  The building was on minimum lighting at this late hour, with maybe one light in five lit. There was an eerie, forlorn quality to the dim light and the deep patches of shadow that alternated along the corridor as they headed for the stairs.

  It was snowing again as they came out into the parking lot. The black tarmac was almost hidden by a fresh, thick carpet of snow. Jesse took a deep breath of the cold night air.

  “Great ski season,” he said softly almost to himself.

  “Except for one little problem,” Lee replied, and he nodded seriously.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Apart from that.”

  Lee dropped a hand onto his shoulder and he looked at her, a little surprised at the contact.

  “Take care driving, Jess,” she said, and turned quickly away to her Renegade.

  He thought that maybe her voice sounded a little thick, a little husky. He wondered why that might be.

  TWENTY-SIX

  There was a noise on the porch. A noise that had no place in the normal spectrum of night sounds outside Jesse’s cabin. It was that fact that brought him instantly awake from the deep sleep that claimed him almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow.

  He lay there now, trying to re-create the noise in his mind. He’d heard it in his sleep. Now, fully awake, it was like trying to reach back into another dimension.

  He tossed back the covers, shivering in the night cold, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. He cocked his head to one side and listened, waiting to see if the noise would come again. It didn’t. Something far more prosaic came instead—a gentle tapping on the wooden panels of the door. He reached for the lamp beside his bed and flicked the switch. Soft, yellow light flooded the interior of the cabin.

  He padded to the door and threw back the solid iron bolt that secured it from the inside. Jesse was no nervous sleeper. But all cops gather enemies in the course of the job and only a fool would sleep behind an unsecured door. For the same reason, the door itself was thick, solid timber. He laid his hand on the door handle, then caution made him pause.

  “Who’s out there?” he asked, glancing back to the Colt where it lay on the bedside table.

  “It’s me, Jess,” said Lee. “Open up. It’s damn cold out here with no shoes on.”

  He frowned at the thought of it, wondering why she was in bare feet at … he paused, realizing that the one thing he hadn’t done so far was check to see what time it was. He did so now. He always slept wearing his watch.

  “Jesus, Lee,” he said, opening the door. “It’s after one o’clock. What are you doing out here at this hour?”

  He hesitated as the door came fully open and the spill of light from inside the room illuminated the porch. The sheriff of Routt County was standing, her hair lightly dusted with snow, and her handmade high heel boots in her hand. He noticed idly that she was wearing thick white socks. She shuffled her feet awkwardly.

  “You going to let me in?” she asked, with just a tad of asperity in her voice. Jesse stood back and gestured to the interior of the cabin. Lee brushed past him, shivering slightly, and dropped the boots on the bare, board floor. That was when Jesse identified the noise that had first woken him. It had been the sound of a boot being dropped onto the boards of the porch outside his front door. He looked at Lee curiously. There was a spot of color in each of her cheeks that he didn’t think was due to the cold. He shut the front door, leaned on it and regarded her wordlessly for a few seconds.

  “Well?” she said, finally breaking the silence. There was a note of challenge in her voice, daring him to comment on her arrival out here, boots in hand, in the middle of the night. In addition to everything else, Jesse was a cautious man.

  He shrugged again. “Fine.” The color flared in Lee’s cheeks again.

  “Fine?” she mimicked him, on a rising note. “Fine? I arrive out here near two in the morning—”

  “Closer to one,” Jesse put in mildly. She brushed the interjection away, irritably.

  “Be nearly two before you get around to saying anything sensible,” she told him. He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, but figured “fine” might not be the best thing to repeat. He settled for another shrug. Lee continued, a little breathlessly.

  “So do you normally have ladies arrive here at this time of night and drop their boot on your front porch? This is just another night like Wednesday for you, is it?”

  This time another shrug wasn’t going to do it. He just knew that. Carefully, he replied, “No. I guess it’s not.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she said, standing feet apart, a bare two yards from him. He had the distinct impression that every inch of her body was as taut as a fiddle string. He thought if he touched her, if anything touched her, she’d twang an E above high C.

  “I wouldn’t like to think that women just came out here any time at all, dropping their boots on your porch like they felt they had a right to,” she said.

  He frowned now. The dropping of the boot seemed to have some kind of significance for her. He was damned if he could figure what it might be. He thought about not asking her, decided, on balance, that might be even more risky than asking.

  “So, Lee,” he said carefully. “How come you dropped that boot, anyway?” She nodded several times before she answered him. Finally he thought, he’d got something right. He’d asked the right question. The one she wanted asked.

  Then she replied. “Well now, Jess, seems I dropped that boot ’cause I sort of let go of it when I lost my balance taking it off.”

  He thought he’d been too hasty with his self-congratulation. Maybe that wasn’t the question she wanted after all. She looked at him now, head cocked slightly to one side, still nodding a little, her eyes wide and maybe just a little crazy he thought. He tried again, feeling his way. There seemed to be a pattern developing here and it seemed to have something to do with the boots. He thought he’d stay with that subject.

  “Um … Lee? Why … were you taking your boots off in the first place?” he asked her. And finally, she heaved a great sigh of relief and he knew he’d got it right.

  “Well now, Jess, do you have any idea—” she stopped, held a finger in the air. The phrasing wasn’t emphatic enough for her yet. She tried another way, seemed satisfied with it and went on, “Do you have the slightest idea how foolish a gi
rl can look trying to get her jeans off over a pair of boots like these?”

  He shook his head, repeated one word. “Jeans?” he said and then realized that she’d tossed her sheriff’s department parka to the floor and her hands were flying over the buttons of her uniform shirt, ripping them open as she continued talking, with that strange, slightly crazy note in her voice.

  “That’s right, Jesse,” she said. “A girl can look downright ridiculous hopping around a room like this with her jeans snagged on her boot heels. Nothing like that to ruin the moment.”

  He knew he was gaping, could do nothing to stop himself. She flung the shirt back and off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor behind her. She wore nothing underneath it and he felt the breath catch in his throat at the sight of her magnificent bare breasts, swinging slightly with the violent movements she was making as she undid the waistband of her Levis, unzipped the front, then shucked them down to knee level, finally stepping clear of them and leaving them discarded on the floor with the shirt. She wore nothing underneath the jeans, either. She stood before him now, statuesque, long-legged, lean-hipped. A seemingly remote part of his brain registered the fact that her breasts looked softer and fuller than he remembered, but still firm and very inviting, with the nipples aroused and flaring. Jesse felt himself hardening inside the hastily donned jeans. This definitely wasn’t the sort of situation he’d had a lot of experience with. It wasn’t a situation he’d had any experience with, come to think of it.

  “Jesus, Lee?” he said, more as a question than a statement. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke and he realized he sounded vaguely absurd.

  Lee made a gesture that mixed equal parts annoyance and resignation. “Hell, Jesse,” she said. “I’ve tried to be subtle. I’ve tried to hint at it. I’ve asked you to stay the night. I guess I’m just no damn good at any of those things. So here I am.”

  She hesitated, then added, with an overtone of uncertainty and even a slight edge of fear, “Just, for Christ’s sake, don’t tell me to get dressed and go.”

  “Go?” he said, feeling strangely short of breath. “Why the hell would I want you to go?”

  She smiled at that, a smile that was nine parts relief. She glanced down at the bulge in his jeans, now well and truly prominent.

  “Well, at least you seem glad to see me,” she said, nodding her head toward his bedside table, where the Colt lay beside the lamp. “ ’Cause I can see you’ve got nothing in your pocket.”

  He moved toward her then, laying his hands on her bare shoulders, stroking them lightly, marveling at the silky feeling of her skin. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply at his touch, and he ran one hand down to circle lightly under her left breast, then up again to cup it, feeling its weight and its softness, playing with the hard core of her nipple. She shuddered lightly and he repeated the process with the other hand.

  Her own hands were busy now with the waistband of his jeans. She unsnapped the fastener, worked the zipper down. His cock, released from the constraining pressure of the tight denim, virtually sprang out into her hand. Her other arm went behind his neck and she moved into him, mouth open to his, her hand working rapidly back and forth on him. He marveled at her for a second before he let her draw him close. She was magnificent. He slid a hand down to her backside, lightly teasing the cleft between her buttocks, then ran his hand over the roundness there, feeling the softness of her skin contrasted with the firm muscle tone just below the surface. Steel wrapped in satin, he thought.

  She groaned softly and her tongue shot into his mouth, exploring, seeking, exciting. Her hands were working his jeans down over his hips now. She bent away from him for a second to get rid of the denim pants. He went with her, groaning in his own turn as her nails raked lightly over the taut stretched skin of his sac. Then the jeans were gone and they hobbled in a crazy off-balance dance for a few seconds as he kicked clear of them.

  He’d never fastened the flannel shirt and it took only a few seconds for her to shrug that off him. Then they stood, naked, aroused, straining together and he felt her, forefinger and thumb around him, guiding him into her, felt the wetness of her, felt the delicious warmth of her and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be inside her, and then he was, and her long, long, muscular legs were wrapping around his waist and he thrust into her and felt her respond.

  Again.

  And again.

  Their backs arced and they strained further, trying to work him deeper and deeper inside her, farther than was humanly possible but still they tried. She came and half a second later so did he, helplessly exploding away all those years of not realizing what they meant to each other, what they could be to each other.

  She kissed him, wet and fierce, her legs still wrapped around him, her hips still pumping at him, still drawing him into her.

  He took a few short steps and they collapsed across his bed. It skidded under them a few feet across the bare boards. And then, and only then, did she release him and smile up at him through the tangle of her wild blond hair.

  “Well, Jesus, Jesse,” she said. “You sure took your time coming back for more.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jesse woke to the sight of a bare breast a few inches from his eyes.

  Lee was sitting up in his bed, still naked, leafing through his notes on the investigation. Without moving his head, he swiveled his gaze up to her face. She was frowning slightly in concentration as she read. The angle and intensity of the light spilling through the uncurtained windows told him that it must be around seven o’clock and another clear morning.

  He looked back to her breast, watching it rise and fall slightly with her breath.

  “Well,” he said at length. “There’s a sight for sore eyes.”

  She looked down at him. A smile widened her lips, reached deep into her tilted gray eyes as she looked at him.

  “You never told me you snored,” she said. He shrugged, or as near to it as a man could manage lying prone.

  “Never seemed any call to mention it in conversation so far,” he said. “I guess I would have got around to it eventually.”

  She smiled again, then the slight frown returned as she tapped the papers in front of her. “So you figure four possibles here?”

  He nodded, then stretched and yawned before he answered. “Far as I can figure,” then added, “course, odds are that the real killer will be one of the unlikelys—or someone who’s not even on the list. But a man’s got to start somewhere.”

  He slid up in the bed and sat beside her, glancing at his watch. His guess had been close to the mark. It was five before seven.

  They’d made love again the previous night, after that first, desperate, headlong rush of passion. The second time had been slower, more deliberate, and just as satisfying in its own different way. He laid a gentle hand on her cheek now, marveling at the depths of desire that he had always felt for this woman, yet only realized the night before. She kissed his hand idly, then looked back to the notes.

  “So what makes these four special?” she asked. He reached for the notes, brushed his forearm accidentally against her breast, stopped and looked at her apologetically.

  “If we’re talking business, I wonder could we do it with some clothes on?” he asked.

  She grinned at him, delighted. “This upsets you?” she said, glancing down at her own bare upper body.

  “Hell, no!” he answered quickly, then, being strictly honest, he amended, “Well, yes. In a way. Upsets is maybe the wrong word. It sure as hell distracts me.”

  She laughed, a low-pitched sound that reached right into his heart, and slid out of the bed, gathering her clothes together from where they’d fallen on the floor the night before. He watched with some regret as she dressed. There was something indescribably enjoyable about the sight of her naked in his cabin.

  Or anywhere else, for that matter, he thought.

  She started to pull on her jeans, stopped as she was refastening the waistband and looked at him quizzic
ally.

  “This going to be a problem for you, do you think, Jess?” she asked, serious all of a sudden. He didn’t answer immediately, not sure what she meant, so she went on. “I mean, our working together and”—she grinned salaciously—“doing other things together as well. I don’t exactly see this as a one-night stand, you know.”

  “Neither do I, Lee,” he assured her, and thought he saw a trace of relief in her shoulders as she bent to buckle her belt. “And no, I don’t see it as any kind of a problem at all.”

  He’d thought about it the night before, just before sleep had claimed him. Normally he guessed, a situation like this could be awkward. But not this time. This felt so right, so natural, so normal. He didn’t see it interfering in any way with their work together.

  “Good,” Lee said shortly buttoning her shirt. “Now, if you think I’m going to stand here fully dressed discussing a case with you while you’re prancing around buck naked, it must be a frosty Friday in July Get some clothes on and show a little respect.”

  And grinning, she’d hooked his jeans off the floor with her foot and kick-tossed them to him. He dressed while she lit a burner under a pot of water to make coffee, then picked up the notes again.

  “So what makes you pick these four as likely suspects?” she asked.

  He pulled a sweater over his head, spooned coffee into his old enamel pot and moved to glance over her shoulder. She was sitting now in one of the hard chairs by the plain pine table in the kitchen area of the cabin. There wasn’t much in the way of interior rooms. Aside from a separate bathroom and toilet, it was just one open-plan design, the areas defined by the furniture and fittings in each. He had a bedroom area, a living room area and a kitchen/eating area. If he owned a desk and a stereo, he could have a den area as well. He laid his forefinger on the name at the top of the list.