Rocky Mountain Maneuvers

by Cassie Miles

  WITH HIS NIECE loaded in her car seat, Adam drove to the Denver Medical Center, where Pierce had been taken. He was plenty mad at Molly for getting herself enmeshed in a dangerous investigation. She’d blithely walked into a crime scene. She could have been injured. She could have been killed.

  While he talked to her on the phone, not knowing if she’d live or die, he’d been in his own special hell. Many times before, he’d been in situations where he saw danger approaching and was powerless to stop it. When he was in the Corps, he’d lost two men in his pla toon. One to a sniper. One in a mine field. Their safety was his responsibility, and he had failed them. Thank God, Molly was all right.

  From the backseat, Amelia babbled cheerfully. “Aunt Molly,” she said. “We go see Aunt Molly.”

  “That’s right, Amelia.”

  “Molly’s pretty.”

  “Yes, she is,” Adam said. “Aunt Molly is also a damn troublemaker.”

  “Damn pretty.”

  Adam winced. He knew better than to swear around this little parrot.

  “I’m damn pretty,” Amelia said. Then she began making barking noises. “I’m a doggy.”

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Am too. Woof.”

  They’d had this discussion several times today—enough that Adam feared his niece had found her calling in life. And it was canine.

  He should probably talk to his sister about her daughter’s obsession, but then he might have to explain about how he spent half the day today pretending to be a mastiff while Amelia was a poodle.

  He parked in the lot outside the hospital, lifted Amelia from her car seat and went inside.

  Among several other people in the waiting room, Molly sat in a plastic chair. Her complexion was pale. Her thick blond hair, disheveled. The sleeves of her denim jacket were stained with dried blood, and there were smears on her legs. Above her head, a television screen showed a sitcom with canned laughter.

  As soon as she saw him, she leapt to her feet and came toward him. They’d been in tense situations before, but the danger had never been so personal.

  He sat Amelia down on a chair and held open his arms. Molly stepped into his embrace. She clung tightly to him. For once, she didn’t have a smart-aleck comment.

  Her body felt warm in contrast to the cool from outdoors, but she was the one who shivered. Though he shouldn’t have been thinking of her as a woman, a sensual being, he couldn’t help his natural reaction as her body rubbed against his.

  When he patted her back, his hand molded her slender torso.

  She leaned away from him and gazed up at him. In her eyes, he saw her inner torment. Fear and sorrow were written clearly across her lovely face.

  He could have offered meaningless reassurance, but she’d know he was lying. After seven years together, they communicated silently at a deep level.

  He asked, “Have you heard anything about Pierce?”

  “He’s in surgery,” she said.

  Amelia had scooted off the chair and attached herself to Molly’s leg. “Aunt Molly. I want hugs.”

  Molly stepped away from Adam and lifted the little girl. “How’s it going, kiddo?”

  “Woof.” Amelia beamed. “I’m a poodle.”

  “Well, of course you are.”

  “Uncle Adam says you’re damn pretty.”

  Molly’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Uncle Adam should know better than to swear in front of a poodle.”

  She sat with Amelia on a chair and turned to Adam. “Pierce’s situation is critical, but his chances for survival are good. He lost a lot of blood. Has a punctured lung. And a concussion.”

  He was surprised that she’d managed to glean so much information. Molly wasn’t a relative of Pierce’s, and the E.R. wasn’t usually so forthcoming with their initial prognosis. “How did you find this out?”

  “You remember Blair Weston, don’t you?”

  “Dr. Blair?” She worked as a medical examiner and often did forensic consulting for CCC—most recently, she’d worked on a serial killer case.

  “I called her,” Molly said. “She got the inside scoop.”

  He should have been annoyed that Molly used her CCC contacts to bypass regular hospital protocol, but Adam wasn’t about to scold. She’d been through enough tonight.

  Little Amelia turned Molly’s head toward her. “Play dog with me. Uncle Adam plays dog with me.”

  “Does he?”

  “He’s a mass-ive,” Amelia said seriously.

  “A mastiff,” Adam corrected. “I’m a mastiff.”

  Molly cast him a sidelong glance, then chuckled. When she laughed, the color seemed to rise in her cheeks. Her tension lessened.

  Sheepishly, Adam smiled. He didn’t mind looking silly if it gave Molly some relief.

  “How long do we have to stay here?” he asked.

  “I want to wait until Pierce is out of surgery,” she said. “And I still need to talk to the cops.”

  For once, he resented the time-consuming official procedures. He wanted to take Molly home and tuck her safely into bed…figuratively speaking. He wouldn’t actually enter her bedroom. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever being inside the bedroom at her cottage-sized house in Golden. They’d had coffee in her kitchen. They’d watched a hockey game in her living room. But there had never been a reason for him to enter her bedroom. Not once in seven years.

  From her purse, Molly produced a notebook and a couple of pens for Amelia to play with. Then she turned back to Adam. “I feel like the attack on Pierce is somehow my fault.”

  He automatically shook his head. “Doubtful.”

  “It can’t be a total coincidence. Just when I start poking around, looking into the magpie thefts, Pierce is attacked.”

  “But no one knew you were investigating.”

  “It’s somehow connected.”

  He put two and two together. “You’re not going to give up on this investigation, are you?”

  “How can I? Pierce needs me more than ever.”

  Though his instincts told him that nothing good could come of this investigation, Adam knew better than to try to dissuade her. Nor could he stand by while Molly sashayed into danger in her high-heeled boots. Not after tonight.

  He had no desire to relive the ineffectual helplessness he’d experienced when he thought she might be attacked. “I have only one thing to say about your plan to—”

  “Don’t forbid me,” she warned. “I hate it when you get all military and authoritarian.”

  He held out his hand toward her. “Have we met? I’m Adam Briggs, your new partner.”

  “You’ll work with me on this?” Her blue eyes sparkled with the vivacious energy he’d always taken for granted. “Do you think we can close the office?”

  “Everything’s under control.” None of their other cases required immediate supervision. “Well, Molly. Are we partners?”

  She grasped his hand warmly. “You’re on.”

  A HOSPITAL WAS NO PLACE for a thief, but he had been drawn here. The thief leaned against a tall oak at the edge of a park opposite Denver Medical Center. He would go no deeper into the park; there was a high school nearby, which meant gangs of teenagers.

  Motionless, he rested against the tree trunk, watching the ambulances come and go, discharging human cargo, human suffering and pain.

  Inside those brick hospital walls, Pierce Williams might be dying. It would be better for everybody if he passed away without ever revealing the secret he had learned. He ought to die.

  But Pierce might have a second chance. He was lucky. The big football player. The big star.

  Big fool! The thief had known the secret for many, many days. No one actually bothered to tell him or confide in him. They didn’t notice him, didn’t pay him any attention. He was invisible.

  But he listened and he overheard and he learned. There had to be a profit for him in this crime. Somehow, he would be paid for his stolen knowledge.

  The thief looked up. Th
e pattern of window lights from the hospital rooms began to dim as the patients went to sleep one by one. Some would recover. Some would die.

  Lucky Pierce. His friend, Molly, had showed up in the nick of time and called an ambulance. She’d better watch out. She might be next.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, after she’d arranged baby-sitting for Amelia, Molly and Adam were driving back into Denver in his Land Cruiser. Her plan of action was to pick up where she left off on her investigation yesterday. Last night, she and Pierce were supposed to meet with Denny Devlin, the caterer.

  “Tell me again,” Adam said. “Why is Devlin a suspect?”

  “He catered all the weddings where there were thefts. I don’t have anything else to go on.”

  “It’s a starting point.”

  He gazed benevolently at the panorama of the city that spread before them, and Molly studied his familiar profile. There was something different about Adam this morning. It wasn’t just that he’d offered to be her partner, although that statement was something of a shocker. Her partner? Implying that they were, in fact, equals? That was certainly different from his usual commanding officer attitude. But there was something else…something weird.

  His craggy profile looked the same as always. Exactly the same. Adam never changed his haircut, always wore the same style in casual trousers—khaki today—and lightly starched, button-down collar shirts. Same aviator sunglasses. Same leather jacket. What was different?

  “For breakfast this morning,” she said. “What did you have?”

  “Corn flakes and milk. OJ.”

  Same as always.

  “Did Amelia have the same?”

  “She wanted puppy chow, but I convinced her that corn flakes were the preferred food for poodles.” Though he kept his eye on the merging highway traffic, he grinned.

  Ah ha! Molly thought she might have the answer. When Adam was with little Amelia, his nurturing side came out. “You like having your niece around.”

  “I didn’t enjoy baby-sitting when she was an infant,” he admitted. “I always felt like I was going to drop her or something. But now? That little girl lights up the room.”

  “Do you ever think about having kids of your own?”

  “Sure. I think about it.”

  “And?”

  “You know the answer, Molly. I’m a forty-two-year-old bachelor, set in my ways. My life is good and productive exactly the way it is. I see no reason to change.”

  Absolute control was his motto. As always.

  She leaned back in the passenger seat and stared straight ahead through the windshield as they exited the highway and continued east on Sixth Avenue through town. After all these years together, she ought to know that he’d never really change. With Adam, what you saw was what you got. No surprises.

  Still, his readiness to accept her as a partner signaled a difference. Or did it? She was certain that his real mo tivation for wanting to work with her on this investigation was because he wanted her back in the CCC offices full-time, taking care of his needs.

  Nonetheless, she wouldn’t complain. It was reassuring to have a rugged former Marine at her side while she tried to figure out who had attacked Pierce.

  Poor Pierce! His condition had been upgraded to serious, and he’d regained consciousness long enough to tell the police detective that he hadn’t seen his attacker. His inability to provide an ID was unfortunate, but plausible. He was stabbed in the back, probably clunked on the head first.

  “We can visit Pierce this afternoon,” she said. “After we see Denny Devlin.”

  “Our investigation might be wrapped up by then,” Adam said. “I think the caterer is our man.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “Don’t you always tell me to keep an open mind on investigations?”

  “It’s obvious,” he said. “The knife used to stab Pierce was a high-carbon, stainless steel chef’s knife from Germany. The kind of blade a caterer would use.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Detective Berringer told me.”

  “That pig?”

  Gruffly, Adam said, “You know how I feel about denigrating the Denver PD.”

  “Most of the cops are princes,” she said, “and I love working with them. But Berringer? He’s a creep.”

  He was one of those guys who never looked her in the eye but spoke directly to her cleavage. Though she knew for a fact that he was married with two kids, Berringer had asked her out for drinks more than once. And he wasn’t happy when she’d turned him down flat. She hated that he’d been the officer assigned to this case.

  Adam said, “Berringer also told me that there were no fingerprints on the handle of the knife blade.”

  “Which means?”

  “Could mean the attack was premeditated,” Adam said. “The assailant thought far ahead enough to bring the knife. And he was careful about not leaving prints.”

  “Or it could mean the knife was handy and the assailant wore gloves,” she said. “The real significance is that the police don’t have any leads.”

  “Nothing at all.” As they pulled up at a stoplight, Adam glanced toward her. “As you well know.”

  Last night, she’d endured a snotty lecture from Berringer about how her attempt to save Pierce had messed up the criminal forensics. But what was she supposed to do? Stand by and let Pierce bleed to death? “I think you’re wrong about Denny Devlin.”

  “Why?”

  “If he planned to attack Pierce, why would he use gourmet cutlery that would point directly to him?”

  “Tell me what you know about him.”

  “About a year and a half ago, one of his employees had hepatitis. All the food this employee handled was infectious, which meant that everybody who attended Devlin’s catered events had to get inoculated. It was a big scandal.”

  “I’m surprised he’s still in business,” Adam said. “Why does Pierce use him?”

  “Because, apparently, Devlin is good at what he does. Also, Pierce is a very loyal guy.”

  Like her, Pierce knew that people sometimes made mistakes…even criminal mistakes. It didn’t mean they were bad people.

  “It can’t be Devlin,” she said more firmly. “He owes Pierce a debt of gratitude for the continued business. Why would Devlin stab the hand that feeds him?”

  Adam parked outside a small building with an equally small but tasteful sign: Devlin Catering. “Is there anything else I should be aware of before we proceed?”

  “We’re undercover,” she said. “I’m planning my wedding, and I’m engaged to Rafael DuBois.”

  “The kangaroo farmer,” Adam said dryly. “And why am I coming with you?”

  “You’re the best man.”

  “Which means I know the imaginary Rafael.” He shook his head. “Not a good plan.”

  “Well, you can’t be my maid of honor.” She chuckled. “Though you’d be just adorable in a pink organza gown with rosebuds in your hair and—”

  He growled. “That’s enough, Molly.”

  “Let’s keep it simple. You’re a friend, helping me decide what to do at my wedding.”

  The interior of Devlin Catering was very white and spotlessly clean. In her red leather pants and jacket, Molly felt like a poppy in a snowstorm.

  Behind the long white counter, she saw an impressive array of stainless steel cooking equipment. The mouthwatering fragrance of fresh baked pastry hung in the air.

  A slim man in a white chef’s jacket and poufed hat came to the counter. “You must be Molly.”

  “Must be.” He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. “Do I know you?”

  “We’ve met.” He jogged around the counter and vigorously pumped her hand. “It’s okay if you don’t remember. I’m not a memorable kind of guy.” He turned to Adam. “And is this the groom?”

  “No,” Adam said quickly and vehemently. “I’m just a friend. Molly and I work together.”

  “So you’re helping her dec
ide a menu?”

  “Absolutely,” Molly said. “Adam’s great with food. A total gourmet.”

  “Right,” Adam muttered. “As long as it’s meat and potatoes.”

  When Denny Devlin smiled, he twinkled as if he’d been coated with sugar sprinkles. An aura of pink-cheeked cheerfulness radiated from him. Surely this taller, leaner version of a cookie-baking elf couldn’t have attacked Pierce with a high-carbon, stainless steel chef’s knife.

  Yet, when Molly looked more deeply into his eyes, which were beady and rather close together, she saw an edge. Quite possibly, Denny wasn’t as tasty as he first appeared to be.

  He escorted them to a white table near the front window. As soon as they were seated, he offered, “Can I get you something to drink? Espresso? Or herbal tea?”

  “Water would be fine,” Molly said.

  He rattled off half a dozen brands of bottled water, and she selected. Denny disappeared behind the counter and emerged carrying a tray with blue glasses, a plate of crudités and a sampling of various dips.

  “This one is clam,” he said. “This is honey Dijon. And this is wasabi, which is, of course, hot.”

  Though Molly enjoyed being catered to, she was afraid that the food-tasting atmosphere wasn’t conducive to asking probing questions about the attack on Pierce. Nor was her cover story. Brides—even undercover brides—weren’t given to interrogation. It was all about them and their wedding. Absently, she dipped a tender baby carrot into the honey Dijon.

  Denny sat at the end of the table and pulled off his chef’s hat to reveal short, curly brown hair. “Tell me what you have in mind for your wedding, Molly.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” she said. “I was counting on Pierce to help me. It’s so terrible what happened to him.”

  “Terrible.” But Denny got right back to the subject of food. “How many people at the reception?”

  “Three hundred and thirty,” she said, picking a number out of the air. “Did you know Pierce was stabbed in the back? I found him in his office. Bleeding.”

  A shadow dimmed Denny’s features, but he quickly smiled again. “Will this be a sit-down dinner?”