Watching Whitney

by Jerri Drennen

  Steve shifted beside her and Whitney was forced out of her sense of euphoria. She turned to look at him and found his blue-gray gaze on her.

  “You okay,” he asked in a husky tone. He sounded so damned sexy after sex. She could keep him in bed forever just to listen to him.

  She nodded, and then threaded her index finger through the hair on his chest.

  He smiled, grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly. “We’d better go get Kylie. Do you need to stop by your house and get anything?”

  “I should get a few more clothes. I’d also like to make sure no one tried to break in again.”

  “Let’s get dressed.”

  Whitney rose and gathered her things. She turned just in time to see Steve stand and caught a glimpse of a jagged mark on his lower back as he pulled on his boxers. “How did you get that scar?”

  He turned to look at Whitney, and then reached for his pants. “I got caught in a crossfire.”

  “Is that why you have the prescription painkillers in the medicine cabinet?”

  He pulled on his pants and reached for his shirt. “I don’t need them much anymore.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “A little over six months ago,” he said and frowned, studying the shirt in his hand.

  “What?” she asked, worried she’d brought the painful event back for him to relive.

  “I hope you can sew on a button because if you can’t, you owe me a shirt.” He winked, and Whitney couldn’t help but laugh.

  • • •

  Steve reveled in her delight, chuckling at her calamity.

  Making love to Whitney McAllister had to be the highlight of his stay at Crane Lodge — hell, the highlight of his whole life. He knew the moment they touched that he’d be able to perform, and that had given him the courage to proceed — to love her completely. He wished they could hole up in the cabin for the remainder of his stay and repeat the experience over and over until neither could walk. But Whitney had a child to care for and he had a murder to solve. Her life depended on that.

  Steve slipped into another shirt he’d taken from the dresser when his cell went off. He walked to the table and flipped it open.

  “Steve,” he said. He looked over at Whitney who had started to pull on her top. The woman had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  Flint’s voice drew him away from her. “No luck on that number. It came from a prepaid model. Couldn’t get anything on it. The name they registered it under was John Doe.”

  Shit. That wasn’t what Steve wanted to hear.

  “I think I should fly back and see if I can’t help you find this guy.”

  “I’ve got a cabin full right now and the lodge is booked, but if you’d be willing to sleep on the floor.”

  “Hell, I can sleep in a chair if need be. But why is your cabin full capacity. You meet someone in that little town of yours.”

  “You could say that. Let me know if you decide to come. I’ll clear a space for you.”

  “I will.”

  Steve closed his phone and hooked it onto his belt. “You ready?”

  “Who was that?”

  Steve cleared his throat. “My cousin. You met him the other day at the café.”

  “That man was your cousin?” Her cheeks turned a rosy pink.

  “Why? Who did you think he was?” Steve studied her closely.

  She turned away and mumbled something under her breath.

  “I didn’t catch that, Whitney.”

  “I thought he was your lover.”

  Steve’s jaw dropped.

  “Why did you think that?”

  “You hugged him.”

  He frowned. “And guys don’t hug other guys?”

  “Not two hot looking ones with buff bods.”

  Steve took that as a compliment. She thought he was hot and buff. What more could a man want?

  • • •

  While Whitney gathered a few of her things, Steve sat on the front porch with Kylie. He watched as she played with a doll she’d gotten from her room. Maybe this would be a good time for him to call Doc Leland and see if he couldn’t tell him if the victim had ever given birth or not. A missing mother might be easier to find than a childless one.

  Steve pulled his phone from the case and found the doctor’s number and pressed call.

  “Carl Leland.”

  “This is Detective Morgan, Doc. I have a question.” Steve glanced at Kylie who’d stopped playing to watch him. He turned away from her, unsure of what a three-year-old could comprehend.

  “What’s that, detective?”

  “Can you tell if the victim had had a child?”

  “I meant to tell you the other day, but yes, she had. You can tell this by the expanse of her pelvic bones.”

  “Is there any way to tell how long ago?”

  “Not really, unless she had given birth in the last few months, and I can tell you that wasn’t the case.

  “I found something else, Steve. I was searching through her clothes and I found a hair. It was entwined in a thread on her sweater. It’s a brown color, about three shades lighter than hers.”

  Steve smiled. “That will definitely give me something to go on. Thanks a lot, Doc.”

  He tucked his phone away and looked over at Kylie. She smiled and held out her doll to him.

  Steve returned her grin and took the baby, rocking it in his arms.

  Kylie giggled.

  “Are you two having fun?” Whitney asked from the doorway, sporting an amused grin of her own.

  Steve handed Kylie the doll, and then stood and took the bag from Whitney’s hand. “You ready to go?”

  She nodded and locked the door. “I can’t believe Ben and Bill came out and repaired the window that creep broke.”

  “They’re good men.” There was something to small-town living that appealed to Steve. People helped people. In Denver, life moved too fast to even think about doing such a thing. Time seemed slower in Marble — not at all a bad thing to him. So strange since days before he couldn’t wait to leave.

  Steve opened the SUV door for Whitney once she had Kylie strapped in the backseat. He came around and got in. “Care to visit a few more of the shops today?” he asked her.

  “If you’d like. I could use some shampoo from the drugstore.”

  He pulled away from the curb and turned onto the road leading into Marble.

  In town, they parked in front of Kline’s Rexall Drug.

  “Who is Kline,” Steve asked, trying to eliminate as many of the locals as he could. He knew that a woman from Idaho had been murdered nine years ago by the same man who killed the woman in the lake. So he could cross off anyone who had lived here all their lives.

  Then again, maybe the killer had gone on vacation to the potato capital.

  No. He’d bet money whoever killed these women had a tendency to move around, which would cause less suspicion.

  Whitney opened her car door. “Mr. Kline has lived here all his life. Happens to be our mayor. So try not to get on his bad side.”

  “Me? Why would I do that?”

  She gave him a lopsided grin. “Because you are two for two on first meetings.”

  Steve scratched his chin. So he wasn’t good on first impressions, but he’d made up for those moments attending a barbecue and going fishing.

  He rushed to help Whitney get Kylie out of her car seat, and then opened the door to the drugstore for her. This meeting was a waste of time since Mr. Kline had lived here forever and couldn’t be the man he was looking for.

  Inside the store, Steve wandered around while Whitney picked up what she needed. He walked past an aisle of prophylactics and thought about buying a box.
Wouldn’t that seem presumptuous of him? Maybe he’d better wait until Whitney wasn’t around. Then again, he didn’t plan to leave her side until he found the killer.

  “Can I help you with something?” a man asked from behind him.

  Steve turned to find a tall, wiry man standing beside him. He had a pair of glasses Steve had only seen on TV. The lenses were a thick as Coke bottles.

  “Is there a certain type of condom you’re looking for?” The words were spoken so loud he was sure Whitney had heard them. Not only would she be angry, everyone in town knew they were staying in the cabin together and would assume they were having sex. Why else would he need condoms?

  “No, I’m just looking around.” Steve hoped the man would leave it at that. Not press him any further.

  “Are you the detective Bill and Ben have been talking about?” the man asked.

  “Mr. Kline,” Whitney said as she came toward them. “This is Steve Morgan.”

  “You’re here on vacation, right?”

  “Yeah,” Steve said reluctantly.

  Mr. Kline removed his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his white work jacket. “And you’re a detective from Denver.”

  “Correct, again.”

  “As the mayor of Marble I want to welcome you to our little city. If there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you.” Steve couldn’t believe how nice the people were here. In Denver, he barely knew anyone besides the men he worked with and a few waitresses from the café where he ate on a daily basis.

  Whitney handed Mr. Kline the basket she had tucked in her hand. “Can I get these rung up please?”

  Mr. Kline smiled. “You sure can.” He glanced down at Kylie. “I bet I can find you a lollypop.” The little girl jumped up and down, and then ran to the register.

  On leaving the drugstore, Steve expected a chiding about the condoms but was surprised that Whitney said nothing. Was she waiting to rip into him later when they were alone — a sneak attack, so to speak?

  “Let’s get something to eat. Do you have a favorite place?” he asked Whitney.

  “There’s the Dairy Freeze. It’s a perfect day. We can sit outside. We might even run across a few of the locals there.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Steve allowed Whitney to lead the way, Kylie’s hand tucked into his. He wasn’t for sure but he thought the little girl had a crush on him from the way she always looked at him. Then again, maybe she watched him because she didn’t trust him. Steve had no idea what a girl her age thought.

  At the window to the drive-in, Steve glanced at the menu. “Order what you’d like, Whitney, it’s on me.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Steve. I got paid yesterday.”

  “Paid or not, I want to buy you and Kylie lunch.”

  She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

  Once they had their food, they found a table and sat. Kylie dug into her chicken nuggets and Steve couldn’t help but smile. She looked like a miniature Whitney, except her eyes were a shade lighter. They’d probably be the same color when she got older.

  Steve bit into his chili dog and looked around at the people having lunch. A man caught his attention. He sat with a frail looking woman in her late forties. He looked to be a few years younger than her. But what drew Steve’s focus was the man’s hair color: medium brown.

  Steve touched Whitney’s arm. “Who are those people sitting at the far table?”

  Whitney glanced over to where he indicated, then turned back to him. “That’s Dennis Schaefer and his wife Molly. It’s sad. They lost a child about ten years ago. She died of leukemia.”

  “Ten years ago?” The first woman died nine years back. Was Steve trying to find something that wasn’t there? Probably. “What does Mr. Schaefer do?”

  “He and his wife run the secondhand store on the edge of town. I buy a lot of Kylie’s clothes there.”

  Could be where the man had started to transfix on Whitney — or not.

  What was he thinking? The poor man lost a child. Why would he kill women with small children?

  Steve glanced back at the couple and found the man staring a hole through him.

  He pretended not to notice and turned back to his food. Had the man been watching him or Whitney? He couldn’t be certain.

  Jesus. Come on, Steve. Think like a cop. Sure, he had the same color hair found on the woman’s sweater, but so did a third of the population.

  Steve took another bite of his dog and kept his attention at their table. He wouldn’t allow himself to fixate on this man, but he wouldn’t eliminate him either.

  Later, he’d talk to Whitney about the couple, try to learn as much as he could about them. Then maybe he’d be able to cross Mr. Schaefer from his list of murder suspects.

  Chapter Eleven

  Whitney gathered the things she’d brought from the house out of the SUV and climbed the steps to the cabin. Inside she found Steve standing over her daughter’s sleeping form, smiling. He caught her watching him and cleared his throat, and then moved toward her to help with the bags.

  “I think I owe you an apology,” he said, his brows drawing together severely.

  “For what?”

  “I might have started some rumors about us.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How so?”

  “Kline found me standing in front of the condoms in the drugstore.”

  Whitney’s stomach dropped. She had no idea what the mayor would think. But she was fairly certain he wouldn’t spread any rumors. He wasn’t that type of man.

  “Were you planning on … I mean, had you intended to — ”

  “I’d thought about it.”

  Her face heated from his confession. It wasn’t like they hadn’t already slept together. He’d just been trying to prepare. “I wouldn’t worry about the mayor saying anything. Mr. Kline has better things to do than spread rumors.”

  He let out a strangled breath. “I wouldn’t want them to give you a hard time after I’m — ”

  “What … gone?” The words came out harsher than she intended. “I’m a big girl, Steve. I didn’t need you before you came, I’ll be able to handle any rumors after you’re gone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry. I knew what I was getting into when I slept with you. There’s no reason for you to feel guilty about anything. Now let’s drop this subject and talk about something else.”

  He looked unsure if she were serious, but shrugged his shoulders and went to the sofa and sat down.

  “The Schaefers? You say you often shop at their store.”

  “Yes. I can’t afford new outfits for Kylie since she grows out of clothes almost as fast as she grows into them.”

  “How long have they owned the consignment shop?”

  “I’m not sure. For a good eight years I’d say.”

  “Did they move to Marble after their child died?”

  “I guess. I was in my early teens. I really don’t remember.”

  “So you don’t know where they lived before moving to Marble?”

  “I don’t, but you could ask the mayor or Bill or Ben. I’m sure they know something since they’re business owners. Why? Is there something you’re not saying, Steve? All these question about the locals are starting to make me nervous. What are you keeping from me?”

  He looked away.

  Whitney had hit a nerve. Now she had to learn what it was.

  “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

  He shook his head. “You’re better off not knowing. Trust me?”

  “You tell me there is something but I’m better off not knowing what, and I’m supposed to trust you? Why should I do that when apparently you don’t trust me?”
/>
  His gaze turned stormy. “This has nothing to do with trusting you, Whitney. It has to do with protecting you.”

  Whitney’s temper spiked. “I don’t need protection. I’ve been taking care of myself since I turned eighteen.”

  He jumped up from the sofa and headed toward her. Whitney refused to allow him to intimidate her. She’d face him head-on without even a flinch.

  “You need my protection, Whitney. Someone broke into your house with intent. That same person sent you a threatening text with intent. Why can’t you see this isn’t something that will just go away because you want it to?”

  “Okay, then tell me this person’s intent, Steve, because I believe you know what it is.”

  He rubbed at his forehead and stared at her. He was about to say something when his cell rang.

  Whitney turned and fisted her hands at her side. Perfect time to be interrupted. He was going to tell her what he thought. Darn it.

  “Okay, thanks,” Steve said then snapped his phone shut. “We’ll be having another cabin mate. Flint will be here in a few hours.”

  Whitney turned back to face him. “Why? I want you to tell me what’s going on or I’m going to take Kylie right now and go to Bethany’s.”

  He blew out a breath and looked at the ceiling. “All right. I’ll tell you what I know and what I think. Then you can decide if you want to stay at Bethany’s or not.” Steve threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her over to the sofa. “Sit down.”

  His grim expression had Whitney taking a seat. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he’d been hiding from her.

  Steve sat next to her. “I’ll start by saying that the woman in the lake didn’t drown, she was murdered.”

  The revelation had Whitney sucking in a ragged breath. “What does she have to do with me?”

  “I’ll get to that later. First, I sent Flint to Washington D.C. to have them run DNA on the blood found under the woman’s fingernails. They found a match, but couldn’t identify the person, only that his DNA was found nine years ago on another dead woman from Idaho.”