Protective Confinement

by Cassie Miles

  “None,” Dash said firmly. “But you’re not the only witness under our protection.” He nodded to Wesley. “You made the right move.”

  “Thanks, sir. I appreciate that,” Wesley drawled then grinned. Like Flynn and the other full-time agent living at the safe house, he was dressed like a cowboy from the boots to the Stetson. She wondered how long it would take for Dash to adopt western garb. He was already wearing jeans with his tweed sports jacket.

  She looked back at Wesley. “Did you see my cat?”

  “That big orange guy? He’s probably hanging around with the other barn cats. There’s a real pretty little calico girl.”

  Yazzie had not only found something to keep him occupied, but he also had a girlfriend. “I’m worried that he might get lost.”

  “I’ll find him,” Wesley promised. “And I’ll put him back in your room.”

  Behind his shoulder, a horse nickered. A beautiful animal. Sleek, black and shining. Cara approached the stall. “Can I pet him?”

  Wesley raised an eyebrow. “Been around horses much?”

  “Not really.” She’d been riding exactly twice, which was enough for her to know that she wasn’t cut out to be a horsewoman. She noticed there were six stalls on this side of the barn and two on the other. “How many horses do you have here?”

  “Five. Soon to be six. One of the mares is about to foal.”

  Tentatively, she stroked the bristly coat. The black eyes of the horse glanced down at her, then he snorted dismissively, as if to tell her that she didn’t know what she was doing. Stepping away from the stall, she wiped her hand on her jeans.

  “I’m surprised,” Dash said, “that you’re not into horses.”

  “Because I’m half-Navajo?” She was willing to put up with stereotyping from Bud. But not Dash. “Because all Native Americans spend their spare time riding bareback across the plains?”

  “Because you grew up in Denver,” he said.

  “Denver is a major metropolitan area,” she informed him. “We have stoplights and everything.”

  Ignoring her sarcasm, he offered, “I could teach you how to ride while we’re here.”

  “Maybe.” At least she’d come away from this protective custody situation having learned a new skill.

  As she watched Dash with the black stallion, she pictured him on horseback with the wind in his face. Though she knew from experience that most cowboys didn’t make good boyfriends, she felt a primal attraction to that breed of loners. Manly men. Like Dash. “Where did you learn how to ride?”

  “Polo.”

  So much for the cowboy image. He was preppy through and through. “I’d like to get started with my computer.”

  “It’s kind of late to be working.”

  “I’m a night person.”

  After another assurance from Wesley that he’d find Yazzie, they left the barn. Crossing the yard, they entered the bunkhouse, which was divided into two sections. On one half of the long building was a potbelly stove and six single beds, arranged like an army barracks. Through a door was the safe house office area, filled with high-tech surveillance equipment, four different computers and other devices Cara couldn’t identify. The air trembled with an electronic hum. “This room doesn’t look like it belongs here.”

  “That’s the general idea,” Dash said. “This place is supposed to be a farmhouse.”

  “I didn’t notice any crops.”

  “The horses,” he said. “If anybody gets curious, we tell them that we raise horses.”

  He went to a desk with a computer, unlocked the top drawer and took out a plastic case with a memory chip, which he plugged into the computer. With a few strokes on the keyboard, her regular menu was displayed.

  Seated at the desk, she adjusted her hands to the unfamiliar keyboard and opened her documents. All the files seemed to be intact. “This is a huge relief. I have some research on here that I’d hate to lose. Can I use the Web?”

  He leaned over her shoulder. Though he’d finished his coffee, the scent lingered on his lips. He pointed to the screen. “What’s that one? Casino.”

  “Some research I’ve put together for the tribal meeting at Window Rock. Remember? You promised I could go.”

  “How about this file? Wedding.”

  “My half sister is getting married next month.” It occurred to her that all her private documents and information had been scrutinized by FBI agents. “There’s nothing nefarious about my computer information.”

  “I didn’t say there was.”

  “Is it okay if I open my e-mail file and see what’s there? I promise not to answer.”

  When he reached around her to tap on the keyboard, his arm brushed hers. If she leaned back, her head would rest against his shoulder. A lovely thought.

  Abruptly, he stood. “Here’s your e-mail account. Put in your password.”

  She plugged in the code she used on everything: the Navajo word for the people. Dineh. Followed by 321. Her birthday.

  The screen lit up with forty-seven new messages, but she saw only one signature line. An e-mail from the Judge. The message line said: U-R-MINE.

  She recoiled and yanked her hands away from the keyboard as if it were red-hot. This was how it had all started. With stalker e-mails. Turning to Dash, she asked, “Did you know about this?”

  “Our people have been monitoring your e-mails, but this is new.”

  She stared at the screen, willing the message to disappear, knowing that it wouldn’t. “I can’t ignore this.”

  “Open it.”

  With an ominous click on the keyboard, she revealed the message: You’ve been bad, Cara. Others will be punished in your place. One a day until I have you.

  Her blood chilled in her veins. She couldn’t let other women die in her place.

  Chapter Nine

  Dash stared at the threatening message on the computer screen. It hadn’t been there earlier when he’d reviewed her documents. Russell must have logged on moments ago. If this e-mail could be traced, they would have his location.

  Using the safe house walkie-talkie, Dash contacted Wesley in the barn. In addition to working with horses and making great coffee, the younger agent was their resident expert on computers and electronic communication.

  There were other procedures to be followed, other experts Dash should call in. Negotiation with a psychotic subject benefited from the skills of a professional psychologist like Dr. Treadwell. But the shrink wasn’t staying at the safe house, and Dash didn’t want to wait and take a chance on losing this slender thread that might lead to Russell. “I’ll respond to him.”

  Cara stood and faced him. Tension shuddered through her, but she didn’t look scared. Sparks flared like lightning from her stormy gray eyes. “Let me do it.”

  Putting her in contact with Russell, even via e-mail, worried him. He’d already made a mistake by letting her in on the Mesa Verde crime scene where she’d mistakenly gotten the idea that she might become a part of this investigation.

  At the same time, having her write the response made sense. Russell Graff was accustomed to her patterns of speaking and writing. He might be more susceptible to Cara’s voice, even on e-mail. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

  “I want to,” she said. “He’s threatening to punish one person a day until he has me. I can’t let that happen.”

  “Take a breath, Cara. Calm down.”

  Her nostrils flared as she inhaled. He saw anger in the jut of her chin and the hard line of her mouth. Fired by rage, she was fierce. And stunning. He’d follow this Amazon into battle any day.

  “Sit down at the computer,” he said. “Use your own words. Encourage him to write to you again, to keep the contact going.”

  Her slender fingers poised over the keyboard for only a second before she began to type.

  Dear Russell,

  I’m terribly concerned about you. In my mind, I keep seeing the brilliant young student who took my classes. Please, please, please don’t h
urt anyone else. You must turn yourself in. It’s the only way you can be helped.

  Stay in touch,

  Cara.

  “Wait,” he said. “Ask if there’s someplace you could meet him.”

  She added one more line. “How’s that?”

  “Perfect.” He never would have thought to add the three pleases. “Send it.”

  She did as he asked and rose from the chair. Energy crackled all around her. In the white sterile room, she was a mesmerizing burst of color. Her black silky hair. The pattern on her vest. Her cheeks flamed with color.

  “The woman at Mesa Verde,” she said. “Was she his first victim?”

  Her question puzzled him. “Not the first. He’s been killing for years.”

  “I meant the first on this sick vendetta to punish one person a day. Tomorrow, he’ll look for another. Damn him. I’ll do anything to stop him from killing again.”

  Wesley rushed into the office, and Dash briefed him. “I want you to monitor these e-mails. Let me know if he answers.”

  At the computer, Wesley tapped his way through several databases and worked the connections. The best possible thing that could happen would be for Russell to respond. If they got a dialogue going, they could track his signal.

  “Still no response,” Wesley said.

  It was too much to hope that Russell had been sitting at his computer waiting for Cara to answer. “How long do we wait?”

  “It depends on Russell’s location and how he made the connection. Could be minutes.” Wesley shrugged. “Or hours.”

  “Let me know as soon as you hear anything.” Dash turned to Cara. “If you want, I can load that memory chip with your documents into a laptop, and you can use it like a word processor in your room.”

  “Not tonight.” She shook her head. “I’m too angry to concentrate.”

  She looked as if she might explode if he didn’t get her cooled down. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Outside, a breeze rustled the leaves of the cottonwoods. Though cool, the air held little moisture. In San Francisco, the mist penetrated through clothing and skin. In this high desert, the wind was a dry slap in the face.

  “Smell that,” Cara said.

  “Dust?”

  “The scent of sage and pine.”

  “Sounds like a cleaning product.”

  “You don’t appreciate this land.” Instead of climbing the porch steps to the kitchen door, she walked beyond the lights into the surrounding shadows. “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

  Though he didn’t want a lecture about the charms of the western states, he wasn’t anxious to go inside. The contact with Russell had stirred his blood and awakened his instinct for the hunt. He wanted to take action.

  Following Cara around the corner of the farmhouse, he knew she felt the same way. The need for speed. She moved with determination, and he admired the way her jeans outlined her long legs and cupped her butt. Her black hair shimmered in the moonlight.

  She walked all the way to the split-rail fence at the front of the property. This wide-open valley was sheltered by mountains that rose in jagged tiers to high peaks. Apart from the safe house, they were alone. But the night was far from silent. There was wind, and the nocturnal rustling of predators.

  When she turned and faced him, he was struck by her natural beauty. She didn’t smile; her anger was still too strong. She spread her arm in a wide gesture, taking in the full scope of the landscape. “This is something you’ll never see in San Francisco.”

  “Empty space? Total desolation?”

  “Look up.”

  His gaze lifted above the mountains to the dark skies where countless galaxies spanned the heavens. One hell of a light show. More stars than he could count.

  “No clouds to get in the way,” she said. “No ambient light to hide the view.”

  The stars appeared close enough to touch. Clear, sparkling diamonds. “There’s Orion’s belt. And the Dipper. I wish I could remember the names of the constellations. My grandfather used to point them out to us kids.”

  She rewarded him with a surprised grin. “That might be the first time you’ve shared something personal without me having to drag it out of you.”

  “I had a great childhood.” It was only as an adult that he’d disappointed his family by leaving the law firm and joining the FBI. “Tell me more about the stars.”

  “Every ancient civilization has mythology about the night sky. From Stonehenge to the Mayans.”

  “And the Navajo?”

  “One of the creation deities, the Black God, wears a black mask with the Pleiades above the brow. He’s associated with fire, and he placed the stars in the sky. They were all neat and in order until Coyote, the trickster, messed them up. That’s only one of the stories. There are dozens more.”

  No doubt, she could lecture him all night, and he wouldn’t mind standing here and listening. When she was giving information, she seemed more comfortable and confident than at any other time. “I suppose I could stand to hear another.”

  “I particularly like the stories where the spirits of dead brothers rise into the skies and become stars. A star can live for eternity.”

  “I like that idea.”

  Her gaze lowered until she was staring into the red dirt below her sneakers. “We can’t let this happen, Dash. One victim a day.”

  “There’s a manhunt underway. Federal agents, local sheriffs and state police from all four states are looking for him.”

  “I want to do something.”

  He moved closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against his chest without embracing him. Her body hummed with tension. A wisp of her hair tickled his chin.

  With his thumb, he tilted her head up so she was looking at him. In her eyes, he saw the reflected glory of the night sky. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to go after Russell with both guns blazing, but there’s nothing we can do. He’s invisible. A shadow.”

  “But he has a weakness.” Her lips curved in a smile. “Me. I’m his weakness. His obsession.”

  “We talked about this before. I can’t use you as bait.”

  “And I can’t sit around doing nothing while Russell kills other people in my name. Use me.”

  Dash was tempted. If he could arrange a situation where she’d be thoroughly protected and yet visible, Russell might show himself. The tribal council meeting at Window Rock was the day after tomorrow, and he’d already made arrangements to drive her there with an escort of other agents. She wouldn’t be at risk. He’d have her completely secure.

  Her arms slid inside his sports jacket. Her gaze encouraged him to kiss her. Once before, he’d succumbed. But not again. It went against all the FBI rules to fondle a protected witness. “Did you know that out here we’re probably in sight of the surveillance cameras?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure you noticed the bank of monitors in the office. There are several cameras watching the safe house. Some are infrared. They can see in the dark.”

  “Spy cameras?” Her spine stiffened.

  “It’s important to keep an eye on what’s going on here. To watch for intruders.”

  She purposely stepped away from his embrace, leaving him with an armful of air. “Good night, Dash.”

  He watched as she strolled up the walk to the porch. The front door opened as she approached. Apparently, the other agent had been observing them from the front windows. Lack of privacy was part of the deal at a safe house, and he wished he could take her somewhere else. Maybe to a five-star hotel with Egyptian cotton sheets and champagne on ice. A resort with a hot tub where they could soak and relax and forget about serial killers.

  Leaning against the split-rail fence, he gazed up into the millions of stars, looking for a way out. For himself. And for Cara.

  THE NEXT DAY, CARA SPOTTED several of the hidden surveillance cameras that were tucked away in corners, invisible unless you took the time to notice. She hated
the idea of being watched. Her mood was edgy, tense.

  Russell hadn’t responded to her e-mail. He’d tossed out his threat and vanished into cyberspace.

  All day, she’d watched the clock. Would he take another captive? One a day. Dash had promised to tell her of any developments. Though she didn’t want to hear of another death, she needed to know.

  In her room, she sat at the pine table by the window and sorted through the final term papers that had been picked up by FBI agents from her office at the university.

  First, she worked her way through upper-level papers. A gratifying exercise. The archaeology majors had already learned the basics and were writing about more interesting topics. But she also taught an intro course with over forty students. These papers were mercifully short and much less than scholarly. She read a title aloud: “Egyptology, Graphology and Archaeology: Handwriting Analysis of the Rosetta Stone.”

  Not much research here. “But he gets an A for creativity. Right, Yazzie?”

  The cat lay sprawled in the center of her bed. He’d spent the morning strutting around in the barn, and she suspected he was happy for this chance to sleep. Acting the part of the stud took more energy than he was accustomed to.

  Not so for Dash, who was effortlessly studly, even when he was doing nothing more interesting than drinking coffee. He’d surprised her last night by mentioning his grandfather and his happy childhood. Was he secretly a family man? The kind of guy who could settle down? Yeah, right. No way could she imagine Dash mowing the lawn and taking out the garbage.

  She shuffled the papers again. It was important to get this work done today. Final exam week at the university was over and the grades for these students needed to be filed. Tomorrow was the tribal council meeting in Window Rock, and she hated to be dragging along a stack of term papers. Get to work.

  But thoughts of Dash distracted her. It simply wasn’t fair for him to be so amazingly sexy. Intriguing. And so unreachable.

  Now that she was aware of safe-house surveillance cameras, she had to keep her distance. Possibly that unnatural separation was the reason she was dying to touch him, to glide her hands over his muscular chest, to kiss him until they were both gasping. A forbidden attraction was so much more enticing.