by Mallory Kane
And now, too few hours later, the sun was getting brighter, defying her attempts to ignore it. She stuck her nose out from under the quilt and squinted at the window, then sat up and reached for her purse. Groping inside, she finally closed her fist around her cell phone. She looked at the display. Seven o’clock.
She groaned.
A movement caught the edge of her vision. Cade stood in his bedroom doorway in the sweatpants she’d fantasized about. They rode low on his hips. His upper body was bare, as were his feet. The early morning sunlight dusted his skin with gold as he rubbed his chest and yawned, then pushed his fingers through his tousled hair.
“D’you sleep okay?” His voice was soft and rough.
Trying to pretend that seeing him warm and sleepy, just out of bed wasn’t turning her on, she shrugged. “Pretty well considering.”
She sank back down onto the couch and pulled the quilt up over her breasts. Her satin pajamas were fairly modest but she still felt self-conscious, especially considering the sexually charged intimacy of their situation.
“I told you to take the bed.”
“It wasn’t that. It was just—everything.”
He clamped his jaw. “I know. Need the bathroom?”
She shook her head. “Go ahead.”
By the time he came out, she’d taken a quick tour of the kitchen, rinsed out the coffeepot, found a can of coffee in the freezer and brewed a pot.
“Wow.” Cade rounded the corner between the bathroom and the kitchen. He grinned as she handed him a full mug.
“What a great way to wake up. Coming straight out of the shower to a hot cup of coffee.”
She looked at him over the brim of her cup. “Your coffeemaker has a timer on it.”
He shook his head. “That’s too much trouble. I like this method better.”
She squeezed the cup tightly and did her best not to melt under his killer grin. Was he flirting with her?
Enough of that, she lectured herself silently. “So I guess we’d better get going. Do you mind if I take a shower?”
“Not a bit.” His gaze left her face and traveled down the front of her satin pajamas. She’d have sworn she felt them dissolving under his heated gaze. Why did she ever think they were modest?
“Let me know if you need any help.” When he met her gaze again, she was shocked to see raw hunger there. Then his mouth widened slowly into an innocent smile.
Heaven help her, he was flirting with her. She set her cup carefully on the counter, working hard not to smile. “I think I can manage.”
She glanced toward the bathroom. She was going to have to squeeze past him to get out from behind the counter. She waited for him to step aside, but he didn’t. He just stood there.
With a glare, she rounded the corner of the counter. At the very last second, he stepped aside enough that only her shoulder brushed his bare chest.
She couldn’t look at him. “What’s first on the agenda this morning?” She tossed the question over her shoulder.
“I wish it wasn’t Sunday. I’m ready to officially request the FBI’s help.”
Her heart leaped as she turned. He did believe she could help him—unless he was going to request another agent. “Help with Debra’s death, or with Wendell’s case?”
“Both.”
“And you want to request me.”
He nodded.
“We can call my boss, Mitch Decker. He can authorize my official presence on the case. Want to talk to him now while I shower?”
“Sure. It’s not too early?”
She grabbed her phone. “He and his wife have a new baby. He’s probably been up for hours already.”
Sure enough, when Mitch answered his phone, Laurel could hear the baby crying.
“Mitch, hi. Sounds like you’re having a great morning.”
“Morning, Laurel. Joelle is teething, so she’s grouchy and her mom and dad are sleep-deprived. What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be having fun at your high-school reunion weekend?”
“Mitch, I’m going to put you on the phone with Cade Dupree. He’s the chief of police here in Dusty Springs. A woman was murdered at the reunion party last night. Cade would like to ask for the FBI’s help.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s good. So how does this woman’s murder fall under our purview?”
“We think it’s connected to an apparent suicide from ten years ago.” She met Cade’s gaze, hoping he wouldn’t contradict her. He did say he was including Wendell’s death.
“Apparent suicide?”
“A boy from my graduating class was found hanged on graduation night ten years ago. But I think he was murdered and the murdered woman knew something about it. She was waiting to meet with me when the killer struck.”
Chapter Eight
“Your boss thinks a lot of you,” Cade said, shifting his pickup out of reverse.
“I think a lot of him. Mitch Decker is the most honorable man I’ve ever known. He won’t accept anything less than a hundred percent effort, and he gives two hundred percent himself. Any one of his agents would take a bullet for him.”
“Sounds like a good place to work.”
Laurel heard an odd note in Cade’s voice. Almost a wistfulness. He’d trained at Quantico and had just received his first assignment when his brother died and his dad had a stroke.
Did he wish he’d followed through and become a special agent? Was he jealous of her for achieving what he hadn’t? She wanted to tell him that he could still go back to the FBI. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was possible.
She knew he’d originally returned to Dusty Springs because of his dad, but why had he stayed? She hated this town, but her perspective was skewed. Maybe he loved it. Somehow, even as she thought the words, she knew they didn’t ring true.
“Why did you resign your position with the FBI? You could have taken bereavement leave when your brother died.” She’d come to expect the tense bulge of his jaw when she said something he didn’t like. And there it went. She almost smiled.
“My dad had a stroke.”
“But that was five years ago.”
He didn’t say anything. He threw up a barrier that might as well have been visible, it was so palpable.
Giving up for the moment, she looked out the window. “I thought we were going back to the crime scene.”
“You’re going to the office. You can go over the evidence we got last night and review Wendell Vance’s case file. See what Dad thought at the time.” He sounded a little too casual.
“And you? Where are you going?”
“The crime scene.”
“Oh, no. Not by yourself. I’m going, too.”
He cut his eyes over at her. “I guess you noticed it rained again during the night. You’re hardly dressed to crawl around in the mud.”
“Jeans and running shoes?”
“Designer jeans and brand new running shoes.”
“Don’t worry about my clothes. I’ve crawled through the mud in a miniskirt before.”
Cade muttered something. It took her a second to figure out what he’d said. I’d pay real money to see that.
“You don’t have that much money,” she murmured.
He laughed. “Maybe we could barter.”
Laurel’s cheeks grew warm and a sweet yearning built inside her. It was still hard for her to believe that he was flirting with her. Too bad she’d flunked flirting in junior high, she thought wryly. Still, it was fun to banter with him. “What could you possibly have that I’d want?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I could probably come up with something.”
Suddenly everything he said sounded like a double entendre to her. She was pathetic. Get a grip, Gillespie. This was a collaboration on a murder investigation, not a date.
“Okay, Dupree. I’m officially on the case now, so I’m going with you to the crime scene.” He didn’t argue, didn’t even look at her. He just turned the pickup a
round. Within five minutes, they were turning onto the road to the Visitor Center. He parked at the edge of the pavement.
The section of the path where Laurel had found Debra’s body was several yards south of the Visitor Center, only a few feet from the clearing where the Swinging Oak leaned over the creek.
Cade and Laurel trudged over a slight rise and looked down over the overgrown area that surrounded the creek. Part of it had been flattened by bulldozers in preparation for building the convention complex. But the crime scene was farther—along the path through the overgrown area.
They passed the digging and grading equipment—abandoned on Sunday morning, and two vehicles, one a dark green SUV, the other a sporty Lexus.
Cade grunted.
“You know those cars?”
“Yeah.” He sounded disgusted.
Just then, they topped the rise that looked down on the spot where Debra was murdered.
“Ah, hell,” Cade muttered.
“What you said,” Laurel growled.
There were two people standing just to the side of the crime-scene tape—two irritatingly familiar people. Ralph Langston and Kathy Adler. And they appeared to be arguing.
“Where’s Officer Phillips?”
“I told him he could leave around seven or so. That I’d be out here early.”
Cade lengthened his stride. “Hey!”
Laurel ran to keep up. The soles of her brand-new running shoes sank into the mud.
“Cade. Laurel.” Ralph greeted them as if they were sitting in a coffee shop, not trespassing on the scene of a brutal crime.
“Have you been inside the barricade?” Laurel snapped.
Ralph sent her an amused look. “No, ma’am. Although as barricades go, this one is pretty flimsy.”
“What are you doing here, Langston?” Cade moved a step closer to him.
Kathy stepped closer to Ralph. “We were discussing the idea of erecting a memorial to Debra on this spot.”
Laurel caught the look Ralph shot Kathy’s way.
“A what?” Cade waved a hand. “Never mind. I heard you. First of all, this is a crime scene. Nobody is going to do anything here until I release it. Second, it’s barely been twelve hours since she was murdered. I think a memorial could wait a few days.” His fists were clenched and his stance was commanding, maybe even aggressive. “And third, I wouldn’t be too hasty to make plans if I were you. Once we’ve uncovered the killer, you might not be so anxious to have an eternal reminder of the murder.”
Kathy gasped.
Langston’s face turned red with anger. “Is that an accusation, Chief Dupree?”
“Not at all. Merely a warning.” Cade took another step forward. “Now you two should get away from here. We’ve got work to do. And Langston—call off your heavy equipment until I release the crime scene.”
“You’re shutting me down? You can’t do that. The convention complex has got to be finished. I’ve got a schedule.”
“Not anymore. Now go home.”
“This is my property,” Langston groused.
“And my crime scene. I’ll get a court order if I have to.”
Kathy propped her fists on her hips and glared at Cade and then at Laurel. “Why does she get to stay?”
“Because she is an FBI special agent. She’ll be working with me on Debra’s murder.”
“FBI? You? That was the little badge you were waving around? It’s Laura or something like that, isn’t it?”
“Something like that,” Laurel said. She leveled a gaze at the former Cool Girl. Kathy was in the same outfit she’d worn to the party the night before. The dress was wrinkled and her high-heeled sandals were covered with mud. She looked like she hadn’t been to sleep at all. She also looked like she’d been drinking all night.
Kathy glanced at Ralph, then Cade. “Why didn’t somebody tell me she was an FBI agent?” she asked.
“Somebody did. Several times,” Cade said flatly.
“Come on, Kathy, let’s leave the cops to do their job.” Ralph put a hand on the small of Kathy’s back. Given their argument and Kathy’s faintly apprehensive expression, Laurel suspected Ralph’s touch was more of a warning than a gentlemanly gesture.
“Don’t go too far, Kathy,” Cade said. “You disappeared during the questioning last night. Where were you?”
“I—wasn’t feeling well. I left early and went home to bed.”
“Shelton will contact you,” Cade said. “There are questions we need you to answer.”
Kathy shot Laurel a cutting look as she stalked away.
As soon as the two topped the rise heading back toward the Visitor Center, Cade held up the crime-scene tape for Laurel to slip under. He handed her a pair of rubber gloves and a few small evidence bags.
“Who knows if we’ll find anything, but if we do, at least we’ll be prepared.”
Laurel nodded as she stuck the bags in her pocket and pulled on the gloves. She studied the scene. In the daylight, it looked just like it had felt the night before.
Overgrown, the path littered with roots and vines, leaves and twigs. In the daylight, Laurel could see the end of the path where it opened out into the clearing at the creek bank. She could see the sun dancing on the water in the creek and the dark shadow of the rope fragment that hung from the branch of the Swinging Oak like a broken noose. She shuddered.
“Laurel?”
“She was almost there. Another ten feet or so and Debra would have made it to the clearing. I didn’t realize we were so close.” Ten more feet and it might have been harder for the killer to sneak up on her, Laurel realized.
“I followed the path as well as I could. Even in the dark I could tell that someone had recently gone the same way. Most of the raindrops had already been knocked off the leaves.” She moved slowly forward.
“About right here I heard someone headed back that way. Toward the Visitor Center. They were trying to be quiet, but I could tell it was a human. He or she was about three feet or so to my left.”
She stopped. “And right here is where I tripped over Debra.”
“Wait a minute. Raindrops?” Cade was right behind her. “It had rained earlier. Did you have trouble walking? What kind of shoes did you have on?”
Laurel sighed. “Black sandals.”
“Like Debra’s. We bagged them. They were covered with mud. What did you do with yours?”
“I left them on your front stoop. I’m sure they’re ruined. And then it rained again in the night. Looks like whatever physical evidence you picked up last night is all we’re going to get.”
He was still looking at her feet.
“What are you thinking?”
“Kathy’s feet.”
She assessed him. “You’re right. Kathy had on the same clothes she wore last night. Were those the same shoes? I can’t remember.”
“Don’t look at me.”
“We need her shoes. We might be able to detect two different samples of mud on them.”
“It’ll be tough to prove she was out here last night, but it would certainly give her something to explain. I’ll get Shelton to get her shoes first. Then he can go back and check everybody else’s.”
Laurel turned her attention to the ground where Debra was found. She took her flashlight and shone it slowly across the crushed leaves and grass, not really expecting to find anything. Still she had to look. She owed it to Debra to figure out who killed her.
“So how do you deal with situations like this? If you only have two officers, what happens when you have a major case?”
Cade pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and began scanning the opposite side of the cordoned-off area. “We don’t have major cases. This is the first death by foul play we’ve had since—hell, since Wendell’s suicide.”
Something caught Laurel’s eye. She crouched down. “Cade. Look here. It’s a pink fingernail, or at least part of it.”
He skirted the area they hadn’t yet searched and came up behind her. She stood
so he could crouch down and look at it.
“Debra’s missing nail. It’s broken.”
“I know. I don’t see the missing piece anywhere. It wasn’t on her?”
“We’ll have to wait to hear back from the ME. But I searched her clothes and the ground right around her. This is—” he looked around “—what—three feet from where she was found?”
“Have you got your camera? We need to get a photo of this before I bag it.”
“It’s in the pickup. Let’s go get it.”
She shook her head. “You go. I don’t want to take a chance of losing this. Who knows who else might come wandering around. What if the other piece of her nail is caught in the killer’s clothes? It could turn out to be the vital piece of evidence that convicts the murderer.”
“Here.” He pulled a small plastic marker from his pocket. “Mark the place.”
“Thanks. Why don’t you go get the camera? It’ll take you two minutes. I don’t want to leave the scene unattended. What if Ralph or Kathy comes back?”
Cade scowled at her. “I’ll be right back.” He stood and carefully made his way out of the cordoned-off area.
Laurel crouched down again, slowly sweeping the area around the broken nail with the flashlight beam. She bent close to the ground to look under leaves and in between blades of grass.
There. Under some scattered leaves. She started to brush them aside, but she didn’t want to chance disturbing the nail fragments.
Standing, she reached into the back pocket of her jeans for the miniature pad and pen she always carried. She could use the pen to carefully lift the leaf without disturbing anything else.
Something hit the tree trunk right beside her head. She dropped instinctively just as another thud echoed and two quick reports reached her ears.
Gunshots! Someone was shooting at her.
She drew her weapon and rolled up into a crouch. She glanced up at the tree, trying to judge the trajectory of the bullet. She felt a brush of air on her cheek as the bullet whizzed past. She touched her cheek then looked at her fingertip. Nothing. No blood.
