by Cindi Myers
“My dad would let Scott and I set up a tent in the backyard sometimes in the summer. We’d play tag in the dark, then sit around in the tent with a flashlight and scare each other with ghost stories.” Her smile was wistful. “Whenever I see homeless people with packs and bedrolls, I wonder how many nights Scott has spent camping out because he had to, where there are so many scarier things than ghost stories.”
Luke took her hand and squeezed it. “The not knowing is hard, I know.”
“You do know, don’t you?” She turned her hand over and twined her fingers with his. “I hope you find your brother, and that he’s okay.”
“I won’t stop looking until I find him,” he said. “And I won’t stop looking for Scott, either.”
The waiter brought their food and they fell into the easy silence of two people who don’t have to speak to communicate. “Would you like another drink?” he asked, when her beer mug was empty.
“I think what I’d really like to do is take a walk,” she said. “Just to enjoy the evening.”
“That sounds like a great idea.” He paid the bill and they set out. When he held out his hand, she laced her fingers with his and bumped her shoulder against him, as if they’d known each other for years instead of only a few days.
They joined the pedestrians on 16th Street Mall, maneuvering around a clot of excited teens in matching T-shirts who were all talking at once as they took in the sights, then pausing to listen to a busker playing a guitar on the street corner. Morgan tossed a couple of dollar bills into the open guitar case before they continued down the street.
“We have to check out the Tattered Cover,” she said, pointing toward the sign for the venerable Denver bookstore.
They waited for a mall bus that had stopped to unload passengers. Out of habit, Luke studied the faces of the people who stepped off the bus, looking for the familiar features of his suspects. Then the bus doors shut and the vehicle roared away. He focused his gaze once more on Morgan and opened his mouth to ask her what she liked to read. But the screech of tires on pavement and a woman’s scream shattered the evening’s peace.
He looked up to see a car hurtling toward them. He had an impression of black and chrome, roaring like a malevolent beast. He only had time to shove Morgan out of the way and go diving after her before all hell broke loose.
* * *
MORGAN RESISTED THE urge to pinch herself to prove she wasn’t dreaming. This time with Luke had been a magical respite from the stress and worry that had wounded her heart for the past few days. How was it that, with all the things she had to be unhappy about, with him she could find such peace and contentment?
She had turned to him, to ask this question, when he shoved her hard. She fell, crying out as her knees struck the pavement, then Luke landed on top of her and they rolled together out of the way of the car that ran up onto the sidewalk. The roar of the engine was unnaturally loud in her ears and exhaust stung her nose. Screams tore from her throat and she clung to Luke, even as he pushed himself off her.
She struggled to a sitting position in time to see the driver’s door of the car pop open and a figure in black leap out. Luke lurched to his feet and took off after the man, who was running like a wide receiver who had intercepted a pass, dodging and weaving, even leaping over obstacles as he raced down the sidewalk with Luke in pursuit.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” Two of the teenagers in green shirts that they’d passed earlier helped Morgan to her feet. The shirts, with black lettering and musical notes against the vibrant green, said something about a choral convention.
“I’m okay. Thanks.” She let them help her to her feet and stood between them, staring in the direction the fleeing man and Luke had run. She could no longer see them for the press of people around her.
“That guy must have been drunk,” someone said.
“I don’t know,” someone else said. “He looked like he was aiming right at that couple.”
“Let me through, please.” At the authoritative tone, the crowd parted and Luke returned to Morgan’s side. He had his phone to his ear and was talking to someone even as he moved to her side. “Black Toyota Camry, Colorado Plate Kilo, Victor, Sierra, five, five, five. The driver was headed east on foot down Sixteenth. My guess is he had someone waiting to pick him up. Get a team over here to get what we can off the car. I’m going to take Morgan back to her hotel.”
He ended the call and stowed the phone, then turned to her. “Are you okay?”
“Just shook up.” She hugged her arms over her stomach. “What happened?”
He pulled her closer, his arm a warm, strong support holding her up and steadying her nerves. “I don’t know, but we’ll find out.”
Local police arrived and Luke pulled her toward them. He identified himself. “The driver ran away,” he said. “I can give you a description, but he was wearing a ski mask and gloves, so I don’t think it will help much.”
“The person who called it in said it looked like he deliberately tried to run someone down,” the cop said.
Morgan gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand. Luke pulled her closer. “I’ve got a team on their way over to process the scene,” he said. “We think this might be related to a case we’re working on.”
“What case is that?” the officer asked, but Luke ignored the question.
“If we find anything, we’ll let you know,” he said. He dug a card from his pocket and handed it to the officer. “Or if you hear or see anything... I’m going to take Ms. Westfield back to her hotel.”
He led her away from the car, his arm still securely around her. “Do you want to walk or take a cab?” he asked.
“I...I guess we’d better take a cab,” she said. The memory of the car headed toward them made her stomach clench. “I mean, what if the guy comes back and tries again?”
He raised his hand to flag a passing taxi and helped her into the backseat, then gave the name of her hotel.
Neither of them spoke on the drive over, or in the elevator to her room. Her hand shook so badly trying to slide the key card into the lock that he took it from her and let them in. Once the door was safely locked behind them, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her, a fierce, claiming kiss that went a long way toward numbing the knowledge of how close they had both come to death.
For a long time, even after the kiss ended, they stood with their arms around each other, her head pressed to his chest and listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. When she felt calm enough to speak, she looked up at him. “Do you really think the driver of that car was aiming at us?” she asked.
“We can’t know for sure, but it looked that way to me.”
“But why? Because the killer recognized you as an FBI agent?”
“Maybe. Danny saw me in the hotel kitchen, remember?”
“Do you think Danny was driving the car?” she asked.
“No. This guy was taller. Thinner. Maybe he’s another member of the group Danny is a part of.”
“Scott said I was in danger,” she said. “Maybe this is what he meant.”
“Until I can be sure you’re safe, I won’t leave you alone,” he said.
Her eyes met his, and she felt again the tidal pull of attraction. “I’d like it if you stayed,” she said.
“I can sleep on the floor.”
He started to pull away, but she tugged him back. “I don’t want you sleeping on the floor.” She touched her fingertips to his mouth to stop his protest. “I know what you said before, about not compromising the case or anything, but no one has to know. Can’t tonight just be for us?”
He looked into her eyes, and she saw the depth of his desire, matching her own. “Yes,” he said. “All right.”
They kissed again, but with the barely restrained urgency of two lovers who know the kiss is only
a prelude to what is to come. She pressed her body more firmly to his, one hand gripping his shirtfront, the other kneading his shoulder. He slid one hand down her spine and caressed her bottom. “I’ve been dreaming about holding and touching you this way,” he murmured.
“No photographers this time, I swear.” Her breathlessness belied the teasing note she was striving for.
“I’m not sure I’d even care.” He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her again, a thorough, claiming kiss that left them both just on the edge of control. A whole movie crew could have jumped out from behind the curtains and she wasn’t sure she’d even notice.
He pulled away slightly, putting some space between them but continuing to cradle her face, one thumb stroking the side of her mouth. “You’re sure about this?” he asked.
“I’m sure.” She searched his face, trying to read the emotions there. She saw passion, and a concern that touched her even more than his lust. Luke was a man who cared deeply—she’d already seen that in his dedication to his job. Now she felt that same consideration focused on her. “All I want to know,” she said, “is that right now, what we’re feeling, doesn’t have anything to do with your work or my brother. It’s just about us. And who we are and how we feel about each other.”
“This is about you and me.” He brushed her hair back off her forehead. “It’s all about the things you’ve made me feel since I first saw you in that surveillance video, before we even met.”
“How I made you feel?” The idea intrigued her. How could you feel anything for a stranger? Someone whose name you didn’t even know? “How did you feel about me?”
“It sounds crazy, but I felt a connection.” He put his fist over his heart. “As if I’d found something—someone—I didn’t even realize I was looking for.”
The words would have made a beautiful dialogue in a movie, but nothing about them felt rehearsed to her. Luke was telling her the truth, and it touched her more than any fancy speeches or smooth lines could have. “That is crazy, but I feel it, too.” She wrapped her fingers around the fist that covered his heart. “You’re someone I can be myself with. I don’t have to apologize for my nomadic job or my ill brother or anything else about me. I have never experienced that with anyone else. I always thought of relationships as tightrope acts. How much of myself could I really reveal? What was I going to have to compromise on? What were we going to end up fighting about because I wouldn’t give in? I don’t feel that way with you.”
“I don’t want you to change or give up anything,” he said. “How could I, when my life is full of its own complications?”
“I admire your dedication to your job,” she said. “And I understand your grief over your brother. But right now, I don’t want to talk about any of that. I just want to be with you.” She undid another button on his shirt. “Preferably naked, and under the covers.”
“One more thing we have in common.” He grabbed the hem of her dress and tugged it over her head.
After that, they couldn’t get out of their clothes fast enough. While he cleared the bed, she went into the bathroom and returned with a condom. “I was prepared to go down to the gift shop and buy a box,” he said, accepting the packet from her.
“I’m glad you didn’t have an excuse to leave the room,” she said. “I’d worry you might not come back.”
“Oh, I’d have come back.” He pulled her onto the bed beside him.
She laughed, then he smothered the sound with another kiss, his hands and his mouth skillfully stoking her passion to a simmer once more. He explored her body with the intensity of a detective examining a crime scene, as if he feared missing some crucial detail. She was equally determined to take her time and enjoy the sensation of him—the feel of his skin beneath her hands, the soap and musk scent of him, the play of light across his muscular body. She would only ever have one first time with him, and she wanted to fix the moment in her mind, not for comparison to future efforts, but as a foundation on which to build.
But their patience could only extend so far, and before too long, he levered himself over her and looked into her eyes. “Are you ready for me?” he asked.
“More than ready.” And she pulled him to her.
Their lovemaking took on more urgency as they moved together, at first with the awkwardness of new partners, then with more assurance, driven by instinct and need rather than by conscious thought. Her climax thundered through her and he followed soon after, leaving her spent and shaken and more content than she could remember being in the months since Scott’s disappearance.
Afterward, they lay in bed, his arm around her shoulder, her head cradled on his chest. He yawned and she playfully pinched him. “It’s too early to go to sleep,” she said.
“I’m hungry again,” he said. “Maybe we should order in pizza.”
“And after that?” she asked.
He slid down in bed and nipped at her neck. “After that, I’ll be ready for dessert.”
Laughing, she rolled toward him and sat up to straddle him. An old-fashioned telephone ring startled her. She glanced at the bedside phone, but it was silent.
“That’s mine,” he said. He sat up and gently pushed her away. “I’d better answer it.”
She pulled the covers around her against the air conditioner’s chill as, naked, he climbed out of bed, located his jacket on the floor and dug out his phone. “Hello? Yes. Where are you?”
Those suits he wore didn’t really do his body justice. How had she failed to notice just how gorgeous he was? That pizza might have to wait...
Lost in a pleasant fantasy, she paid no attention to the phone call, but the look on Luke’s face when he ended the call and turned to her was like a bucket of cold water dumped on her head. “I have to go,” he said.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“A development in the case.” He found his boxers and pulled them on. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it.” He looked around the room. “You should be okay here tonight. Call hotel security if you see or hear anything suspicious.”
His cold tone and his refusal to look at her frightened her. “Luke, what is going on? What’s happened?”
“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” Jacket and tie in hand, he bent down to kiss her cheek and then he was gone, leaving her alone and confused. Was this what life with a federal agent was like? Or had something more than a routine case development driven him away from her?
Chapter Twelve
Luke stood at the edge of the clearing, out of the way of the crime scene techs, who were measuring, photographing and taking samples of everything from footprints to blood to bullet casings. The rush of water in the nearby creek and the thick screen of pines and oaks muffled the hum of traffic from the expressway half a mile away. If not for the presence of the techs and the yellow crime scene tape that marked off the area, this might have been an idyllic spot for a campsite. A tent, almost obscured by cut pine boughs, huddled on the opposite side of the space, and an ash-filled circle of rocks awaited an evening’s campfire.
“A woman who lives in a subdivision back there called in to the emergency operator and said she’d heard gunshots.” Special Agent in Charge Blessing, who had met Luke at the scene, pointed to the woods behind the tent. “A few minutes later, the operators got a call that a man had run out onto the freeway, dodging cars. Someone else called in that someone was chasing the man. That caller even snapped a couple of photos with a cell phone.”
Blessing angled his phone toward Luke, who studied a grainy, much-enlarged close-up of a man wearing a Boston Red Sox ball cap. “It could be Danny,” Luke said. “But it’s not clear enough for me to be sure.”
Frowning, Blessing pocketed the phone. “That’s the same answer I got from everyone else on the team.”
“Any photos of the guy he was chasing?” Luke asked.
“Nope. But the local cops did a good job. They brought in a dog, who led the investigators back in here. Looks like whoever was camped out here left in a hurry—didn’t take much with him.” In addition to the tent, the clearing contained two folding camp chairs, a five-gallon water jug and a plastic milk crate that held dishes and cooking utensils.
“Homeless people camp along the creek here, don’t they?” Luke asked.
“Yeah, but this is no typical homeless person’s camp,” Blessing said. “There’s too much stuff here, and it’s all high-end. That tent retails for upwards of two hundred dollars, they tell me.”
“How did we end up being called in?” Luke asked. Locals didn’t like to share turf with the feds unless they had a good reason.
“That’s where things get really interesting.” Blessing indicated the techs processing the scene. “We’re not getting much here right now because the Denver cops already did a thorough job. There was a lot of evidence at the scene.” He indicated the orange evidence markers that dotted the clearing. “One of the first things they spotted when they came in was a cell phone on the ground. It was smashed up, but they were able to get a set of prints off it. When they ran them, they came up with a name we’d put out an alert for. The lead investigator was smart enough then to put the brakes on and call us.”
A chill swept over Luke in spite of the warm night. “What was the name they came up with?” Though he thought he already knew.
“Scott Westfield.” Blessing fixed his gaze on Luke, watching for his reaction. “He was here, probably not too long before those nine-one-one calls came in. From the description the Denver cops got from drivers on the freeway, we think he was the guy who ran out in traffic.”
“The one the guy in the Red Sox cap was shooting at?”
“We think so.”
“What happened to him? Was he hurt?”
“No. He managed to dodge the cars and disappeared. We’ve got the phone and we’re going to see if we can get any call records, see who he talked to in the last couple of days. That might give us some leads.”
