by Dee Davis
"And we need to talk to Cullen." On its face the sentence meant nothing, but taken together with the intensity of Gabriel's expression and the ticking muscle in his jaw, Madison knew they were back to talking about Dr. Martin's disclosure.
"You're still thinking there's something sinister in Cul-len's quashing the autopsy."
"Yes."
"Well, I don't." She shook her head for emphasis.
"Why not?"
"I already told you. I think he was trying to protect the widow. Spare her from the needless agony of having her husband cut open and dissected."
"Maybe." Gabriel rubbed his jaw, the bristles of his day-old beard dark against his fingers. "But then again maybe there's something else going on. He obviously knew firsthand about Stewart's death, and most likely he was aware of Aston's and Macomb's, too, yet despite all his talk about patterns and conspiracies, he doesn't mention them at all. Only Smith, Dashal and Barnes."
"He could have started investigating the most current deaths and when he met with resistance, he stopped and called us in. Or maybe he didn't connect the first three to his supposed pattern. There's a fourteen-month gap between Barnes and Stewart, after all. And the negotiations were only in the infant stage when the first three men died."
"It took Harrison about fifteen minutes to come up with the connection, and he doesn't even know the players. There's no way I'm buying into the idea that Cullen didn't make the same leap."
"Maybe he wanted to be certain we were up to the task." Madison frowned, not certain she liked the train of thought he was following, but unable to dismiss it out of turn.
"And so he purposely left out information?" Gabriel shook his head, moving to lean against the arm of the couch. "I don't think so."
"Then what?"
"I don't know. But I don't like being played. And no matter what his reasons were, Cullen intentionally kept information from us."
"But for what purpose? He was bound to know we'd find out eventually."
"That's another thing that bothers me." Gabriel crossed his arms, his expression thunderous. "It seems to me that it's been too damn easy to establish the murders. It's almost as if someone wants us to find out."
"I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"I mean that with very little effort we've managed to prove that Smith was murdered, that Aston was murdered, and that most likely both Stewart and Barnes were murdered."
"We have Tracy to thank for that."
"Do we?" Gabriel interrupted. "It still smells like a setup to me. I mean how logical is it that two men are murdered with the same drug and the same M.O. and yet two different medical examiners missed the whole thing?"
"You heard Tracy. They're understaffed—"
"And underpaid," he said, cutting her off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But what if it's really just a matter of someone wanting the information to come out now?"
"Cullen?"
"I don't know who else it could be. I mean you saw yourself, he wasn't at all surprised when Harrison announced the additional deaths."
"He wouldn't have been." Madison shrugged. "I told him."
"When?"
"After I talked with you. I ran by his office to let him know we'd met." And to vent, but she wasn't about to share that fact. "And told him what Harrison had found."
"What did he say?" Gabriel closed the gap between them, his expression if possible more intense.
"Nothing, really. I admit he didn't seem all that surprised, but I certainly didn't get the feeling he was hiding something." She tried to replay the conversation in her mind, but instead found herself caught in Gabriel's steely-eyed gaze. "You honestly believe Cullen is manipulating the investigation to facilitate some hidden agenda?"
Gabriel shrugged.
"Well, I don't buy it." She stood up and walked over to the window, feeling suddenly restless. "He wouldn't do something like that."
"If it was to his advantage he would." He'd come up to stand beside her, his proximity unnerving. "And you know it as well as I do."
"Maybe." She nodded, determined to keep her emotions at bay. "But it still doesn't make sense. If he were manipulating things to aid the success of the negotiations, he'd keep the murders under wraps, not drag them out in the open. The more it seems like a conspiracy, the more it's going to scare the Chinese, and that would ruin any attempt for alliance."
"It would."
Anger flooded through her. "Cullen has spent the past three years living, eating and breathing the accord. There is nothing on this earth that would make him do anything to sabotage those efforts. Calling us in to investigate just underscores the fact."
"Maybe." His propensity for one-word answers made her want to scream.
She spun around to face him, mouth open to retort, but stopped when she saw the expression in his eyes.
"I don't want to believe Cullen has anything to do with this, Madison. But I don't like the way this feels. And I always trust my gut." His face was so close she could feel the heat of his breath.
"Then we're not as different as you'd like to believe. Gut feelings are a major part of profiling." She licked her lips, her body responding to his nearness, blatantly disregarding the fact that she didn't even like the man.
"My instincts are built on years of experience. Not a lot of psychological bullshit."
Anger beat out pheromones. "Profiling isn't about mumbo jumbo. It's about learning from past experiences. Taking known information and applying it to new situations. There are commonalities among serial killers, or among terrorists. You know this as well as I do. Profiling just takes the similarities and uses them to predict behavior. Or to narrow an investigation to probable offenders. It isn't a hundred percent accurate, but it's a damn sight better than shooting in the dark."
"Hey, I didn't mean to bring out the claws." His smile was crooked, and despite herself she felt her anger evaporate. "I just have a problem with things I can't quantify."
"I imagine it ranks right up there with your dislike of authority."
Something flashed in his eyes, but before she could identify it, he managed to mask it. "Practicing on me?" There was a hint of mockery now, the sparring begun in earnest.
"I don't need to practice. You're easy enough to read." She shot him what she hoped was a self-satisfied smile. "You get off on adrenaline rushes. Take what you want. And are quick to put yourself smack-dab in the middle of danger. How am I doing so far?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't say anything, and ignoring the signs, she continued, "You're a natural leader, but you've never been comfortable with the role. You're a loner. Command loyalty, but don't allow yourself to get close to anyone."
He moved closer, his expression controlled, but the tic in his jaw gave him away. She fought against the urge to step back, instead holding her ground. "You probably come from a troubled background, self-reliance the only thing that got you through. You think you have the whole world fooled, Gabriel, but I can see who you really are."
She'd meant to hurt him. To get back at him for maligning her profession, but somewhere along the way, she'd lost her taste for blood. A shadow in his expression told her she'd hit home, and she wanted nothing more than to take back her words.
His lips curled upward. He'd recognized her moment of doubt. She sucked in a breath, ready to add insult to injury, anything to stop his smirk, but he beat her to the punch, closing the distance between them, his mouth taking possession of hers.
There was nothing tentative in the kiss. It was a declaration of war. Take all or perish. His fingers curled around the back of her neck, pulling her closer, their tongues dueling for position, for fit.
Some part of her not yet consumed knew she should stop this. That there was danger. But she pushed the thought ruthlessly aside, giving in, instead, to the sensory onslaught. He backed her against the wall, his body pinning hers, and she pressed back against him, determined to give as good as she got.
The air around them sizzled with electricit
y, as if their joining had completed a circuit. Positive to negative. Pole to pole. She twisted her fingers through his hair, the black strands wiry and strong. Like the man.
He cupped her breast, his thumb circling her nipple, and she swallowed a moan, the action only heightening her desire. His mouth moved to her cheek, then her ear. Waves of pure physical pleasure washed across her as his tongue found the soft whorl of her ear. This time she couldn't stop her cry, and he pulled back to look at her, his smile slow and sure.
Madison fought for breath, and met his eyes full on, their wills battling even as their bodies pressed closer. She licked her lips, the skin raw from his bruising touch, but all she wanted was more.
With an exhale that resembled a sigh, he closed the scant distance between them, his kiss different this time. Possessive. As if he was sealing a bargain she'd no idea they'd made. A shiver of worry rippled through her but was gone before she had time to think about it, replaced by the white heat of his touch.
His hands explored her body, and though they still wore their clothes, she might as well have been naked. His heat invaded every part of her, a raging fire that she had no desire to extinguish.
He pushed her blouse off her shoulder, his lips branding her, and she reached for the buttons on his shirt, determined to taste him as he had tasted her, needing him even now to know that she was a worthy opponent.
She slid her hands inside the cool cotton, splaying them across his chest. She could feel his heart beating wildly against her fingers, her own matching the rhythm, as if they could only operate in tandem.
His mouth found hers again, and they pressed close, her hands trapped between them, raw physical need overriding all other thought. She ground against him, rewarded by his muffled groan, and he cupped her buttocks, their bodies rubbing together in an age-old dance.
Madison let conscious thought go, intent instead upon riding the wave, finding release from the glorious pain building inside of her. Release that only he could give her.
The door shook with the force of a knock, the noise taking its own sweet time to register in Madison's beleaguered brain.
"Excuse me?" The soft western drawl on the other side of the glass was hesitant. Embarrassed.
The emotion hit Madison with the force of a tornado.
Embarrassed.
Sweet mother of God, what was she doing? She pushed away from Gabriel, fumbling with the buttons on her shirt, trying to ignore the still smoldering embers in his eyes. Turning, with what she hoped was a half-coherent smile, she walked to the door.
The ranch manager was standing on the other side looking through the window, shifting from foot to foot, looking extremely uncomfortable. Madison wished herself on another planet, but of course nothing happened, so instead she opened the door and apologized in a breathy voice that no doubt confirmed anything the woman had already seen.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," the woman said, her gaze darting back and forth from Madison to Gabriel who was leaning languorously against the wall. "It's only that there was a phone call for you." She looked down, consulting a piece of paper in her hand. "From Cullen Pulaski."
"What did he want?" Gabriel pushed away from the wall, his expression fierce.
Despite the screen between them, the woman took a step back. "He wants you to call immediately." She paused, twisting the paper in her hands. "He said to tell you there's been another murder."
CHAPTER TEN
Morgues smelled like hospitals. The fact had always seemed surreal to Gabe. People fighting to live shouldn't smell like people who had already lost the battle. He'd spent a hell of a lot of time watching people die. He supposed if he thought about it, he'd have to say he was an expert. But he'd always made it a point not to dwell on anything.
Ever.
Candace Patterson lay naked on the table, the three-inch gash in her abdomen a stark contrast to the pallid color of her skin. The victim of an apparent mugging, the body had originally been sent to the medical examiner's office, but once Candace's connection with the accord had been established, she'd been transferred to Braxton Labs.
Cullen Pulaski in action.
"I thought you were in Colorado?" Tracy Braxton's smile was warm, a pleasant contrast to the harsh reality of the lab.
"I came straight from the airport."
"Which explains why you look like hell." It was just a comment, her gaze neutral, but Gabe flinched anyway.
Sleep was the least of his problems, actually. He and Madison had driven to Denver to take a red-eye in absolute silence, the black mountains echoing their mood. He'd wanted to reach out to her. To tell her that he hadn't meant to kiss her. Hadn't meant to want her. But he couldn't find the words, and she so obviously regretted the kiss, he'd decided finally that the best way to handle the situation was to pretend it had never happened.
Coward's way out, the voice in his head taunted, but he pushed it aside. It had been a mistake. It was as simple as that. A heat-of-the-moment reaction that had nothing to do with reality. Still, he was glad Cullen had ordered her back to headquarters. A little distance would do them both a world of good.
"Hey, you still with me?" Tracy's voice penetrated his ruminations, and with a wry grin he pulled his attention back to the present.
"Jet lag. Sorry."
"No problem." She shrugged, expertly cutting open the chest cavity to reveal internal organs. "I'm just glad you're here. Seems the death toll is rising."
"Looks like she met with the wrong end of the knife." Gabe tilted his head toward the wound. "Cullen said she'd been robbed?"
Tracy nodded, her braids swaying with the motion. "I'm guessing post mortem. That's when she was stabbed."
"You certain?" Gabe frowned, digesting the new information.
"Absolutely. Body temperature combined with lack of blood loss makes it certain. If this had been a mortal wound it would have bled like the dickens. But there was hardly any blood on the body at all, and according to the forensics folks, very little at the scene. My guess is someone found the body, and after making certain she was dead, stripped off her valuables."
"So you got any idea what did kill her?"
"Single shot. Back of the head." Tracy put down her scalpel and reached for a plastic tray behind her. Using forceps she picked up a bullet from the tray, holding it up for Gabe to see. "Hollow point. Whoever the killer was, the guy meant business."
Gabe took the forceps, examining the tiny lump of metal. "I'd say that changes the rules of the game a bit."
"Ups the ante, if I had to call it." Tracy's somber gaze met his.
"Whatever this is about, I'd say it's coming to a head."
Which meant he needed to get back to the operations room, to discuss this newest information with Madison and the team. It was time to put her profiling to the test. They needed to discover who was behind the attacks—before someone else wound up dead.
"So you think Alan Stewart was murdered." Harrison sat across from Nigel at the conference room table eating an Egg McMuffin. The table was littered with the residue of the rest of his breakfast, including a hash brown wrapper and the styrofoam container for pancakes. The man ate like a horse and never showed an ounce of it.
Madison pushed the hair out of her face, wishing she'd stopped to take a shower before coming to the operations room, but Cullen had demanded they come posthaste, and so despite her exhaustion, here she was. If Gabriel Roarke could keep going, then by God, so could she.
"Madison, are you listening?" Harrison was frowning, his brows drawn together to form a line, all semblance of the boy next door vanishing with the motion.
"Sorry. I guess I'm more tired than I thought." To emphasize the point, she yawned, then smiled ruefully. "You were asking about Alan Stewart, right?"
Harrison nodded.
"One of the first on the scene was a cardiologist. He believes Stewart had some kind of cardiac event. Combined with Aston's and Smith's cause of death, I think it's a definite possibility that Alan Stewart
was injected, as well."
"But you don't have any physical proof." This from Nigel who had moved to stand by the window.
"No. But we were planning to contact the widow to obtain permission for an exhumation. That way Tracy could prove the presence of potassium chloride. But in light of Candace Patterson's apparent murder, it may prove unnecessary."
"Same for Luther Macomb," Harrison said. "Which is probably just as well, as I suspect it's a dead end anyway. The scrap metal from the car is probably part of a hundred different machines by now."
"We can add Jacob Dashal to the confirmed list." Pay-ton Reynolds spoke up from a corner where he'd pulled something off the fax machine. "This is forensic verification that the saw was tampered with." He waved the paper for emphasis. "The man's electrocution was definitely not an accident?"
"Which means we're at three confirmed murders, two that seem likely, and one that fits the pattern but without evidence of foul play." Madison glanced over at the white board and the black-and-white photos of the deceased. Real people. All dead.
"Make that four confirmed."
Madison jumped at the sound of Gabriel's voice, wishing again that she'd grabbed a shower. Not that she cared what he thought, it's just that dueling with him took a lot of energy, and at the moment she felt as if she'd slept in a bus depot. Which wasn't far from the truth.
What she really needed was a way to erase the last twelve hours, or at least the part she'd spent in liplock with the man. What in the world had she been thinking? Fortunately, he seemed prepared to pretend the whole thing never happened, which suited her just fine.
"Candace Patterson was shot in the head." Gabriel's words jerked her out of her reverie.
"Do you have ballistics?" she asked.
"Just a slug. Hollow point. Tracy's folks are running it for ID. But I doubt she finds anything. The whole thing smells like a hit."
"Which is yet another change in M.O." Harrison pushed away the last of his food. "So where does that leave us?"
