He arched his neck and consciously relaxed his shoulders. The sheriff’s words had calmed Trace down, so Wyatt kept his mouth shut. He’d talk to Hardin later about getting Deputy Spears to check Trace’s and Tolbert’s boots against the tracks around the site.
The ground was damp from the rain. Unlike the limestone road, the mud ought to show every footprint and the tracks of every vehicle that had come near.
As Trace’s four-wheeler faded in the distance, the sound of a big engine filled his ears. He turned and saw a pickup roaring up.
“That’s Kirby Spears,” Hardin said from behind him.
“The deputy who let Nina talk him into leaving the crime scene unguarded.”
“Tell you what,” Reed said on a sigh. “You discuss who can authorize what with your bone doctor, and I’ll do the same with my deputy.”
“I haven’t met him yet.”
“Let’s take care of that right now.” Hardin led Wyatt over to the deputy’s truck and introduced them. Then he turned to Wyatt. “You’re coming to my office around nine tomorrow morning, right? Woody—Mayor Sadler—just called me about what’s going on. He’ll meet us there.”
Wyatt got the sheriff’s message. They’d accomplished all they could for the moment, and since it was already after four o’clock in the morning, everyone was going to be sleep deprived and grouchy, anyway.
“See you at nine,” Wyatt said. Turning on his heel, he headed for his vehicle. He still had to deal with Nina until he could get her back to the Bluebonnet Inn.
He climbed into the driver’s seat, put the Jeep into gear and headed back to town. The heated air was laced with the earthy smell of mud and rain, but underneath those expected odors was a totally unexpected one.
The subtle scent of roses. He gave in to the urge to take a deep breath, even while he lectured himself.
Nina Jacobson was a distraction, not an attraction. His body disagreed, as the sudden tightening in his groin emphasized.
He clenched his teeth and pressed his lips together, concentrating on the dark country road. He owed it to Marcie to find the person responsible for her death. He couldn’t afford to let anything or anyone distract him.
No way.
“What?” Nina asked.
“What?” His response was automatic.
“You said something.”
Had he? He pulled up in front of the Bluebonnet Inn. “Eight o’clock is going to be here before you know it,” he muttered, opening the driver’s-side door.
He glanced over at her. In the pale glow of his overhead light, with those big dark brown eyes and her ponytail coming loose, she looked like a bedraggled puppy.
He had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling. There was a reason people couldn’t resist puppies. He deliberately tore his gaze away from hers.
Nina got out, wrapping her hoodie around her. She grabbed her forensics kit and stalked to the front door of the inn.
Wyatt was there before her. He opened the door and held it, ignoring her suspicious glance. “You’ve got the evidence, right?” he asked.
“Do I look like this is the first time I’ve done this?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, because Wyatt’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Well, it’s not,” she said quickly. “I’ve assisted Professor Mayfield on several cases. Even if you’re not impressed by my credentials, you should be impressed by his.”
“I’m thinking that’s why the captain requested him for the task force.”
She was not going to let him bait her. Not going to get drawn into an argument. “If you’re so concerned about my abilities—”
No. Don’t go there. “Call Dr. Mayfield,” she finished lamely as she pushed past him to climb the stairs.
At the top, she fished in her jeans for the room key. Finally, her fingers closed around it, and she unlocked her room door. She felt a tug on her drooping ponytail. Her head whipped around.
Wyatt held out his hand, streaked with mud. “Looks like you’re going to need another shower,” he commented. “Try not to make too much noise.” He yawned and checked his watch. “I’m planning on getting three hours of sleep before I have to get up.”
Nina made a face at him, but it was wasted energy. He’d already disappeared into his room and closed the door.
She let herself in and turned on the overhead light.
And gasped.
Someone had been in her room.
Chapter Six
Nina’s fingers flew to her mouth as she stared at the bedside table. Her camera wasn’t where she’d left it. She glanced around the room, trying to remember if she’d moved it.
Her gaze lit on her weekend bag. Had she stuck the camera inside with her laptop? The bag didn’t look like it had been disturbed.
She shook her head. No. Her last thought before rushing out the door to catch up with Wyatt had been that she’d forgotten her camera. She remembered glancing back at it sitting on her bedside table.
Stay calm, she told herself. This was a small-town B and B. Betty Alice certainly knew that Nina and Wyatt were gone. Maybe she always got up by 5:00 a.m. Maybe she’d come in to bring fresh towels, and decided that the camera shouldn’t be sitting out in plain view.
Or maybe she’d just been curious about the pictures. Even Betty Alice, with all her homespun giddiness, probably knew how to view stored pictures on a digital camera.
She stepped farther into the room and glanced apprehensively toward the bathroom. What if whoever had come into her room was still here? Not wanting to look like a wimp in front of Wyatt, she stepped over to the bathroom door and flung it open.
Empty.
She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Nothing looked out of place in the bathroom. The towel she’d used was draped over the shower curtain rod, and the floor was still puddled with water where she’d stood to dry off. So Betty Alice hadn’t come in to replace the dirty towels.
Turning around, she spotted her camera sitting on the lower shelf of the bedside table.
Again, her thoughts turned to that split second when she’d paused to decide whether to grab her camera. She shook her head. She hadn’t moved it.
Someone else had.
She started toward it, then stopped, taking a deep breath. Her camera could have been moved innocently, but did she dare make that assumption? What if whoever had stolen the thigh bone from the burial site had deleted her photos or taken her SD card to remove any proof that there were three unique thigh bones there in the first place?
Her logical brain immediately offered up reasons why that didn’t make sense. Surely the medical examiner had taken photos. And that begged the question, had the ME’s evidence been tampered with?
She glanced toward the door that connected her room with Wyatt’s. For a couple of seconds she considered not telling him. But if her pictures were missing, it could impact the case, and she could hear him now if she left it until tomorrow. So she rapped on the door.
At first she didn’t hear anything. Then the screech of old pipes assaulted her ears, and below that sound, Wyatt’s deep voice, although she couldn’t make out what he said.
She rapped again, and the knob twisted right under her hand.
He stood there with his hand on the knob. No shirt on, and damp, tousled hair dripping water onto his forehead and shoulders.
He had a towel in his hand, and he wiped its edge across his face and then looked up at her from under wet lashes. When he met her gaze, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s probably nothing…” she began.
“What?” he barked, looking past her and into her room.
“Somebody moved my camera.”
His eyes met hers as if deciding whether she was credible, then he pushed past her. When he did, she felt damp heat wafting from him and smelled clean water, fresh soap and peppermint. The combined scents made her knees weak.
Since when did water,
soap and peppermint smell like a hero? And why would she even think of that word in connection with Wyatt Colter, of all people?
He slung the towel back around his neck, the gesture sending graceful undulations along the muscles of his bare back and shoulders. “Where is it?” he said.
He still had on his khaki dress pants, but the belt was gone and the pants hung enticingly low, just covering the curve of his buttocks.
“Professor?”
“What?” She blinked. “The camera? Oh, it’s on the bottom shelf of the bedside table.” She went around him, trying her best not to touch him, and pointed. “There. The problem is, that’s not where I left it. When I left, it was sitting on top of the table.”
“Are you sure?”
She bristled. “Yes,” she said icily. “I wouldn’t have bothered you if I’d had any doubt. Was anything moved in your room?”
He shook his head, sending droplets of water raining down on his tanned shoulders. One drop hit the back of her hand. She rubbed it into her skin.
“Have you touched it? Checked it to see if they did anything to it?”
She shook her head, staring at the damp hair at the nape of his neck. A drop of water rolled lazily down the back of his neck. Her mouth went dry.
He turned to look at her.
“No,” she said quickly. “No. I left it where I found it.”
He crossed the room to the table.
“Should you glove?”
He lifted the camera by its strap. “You go ahead. Check to see if your card’s still in there. This is the camera you were using earlier, right?”
“Yes.” She still held her forensics kit in her hand. She opened it and pulled out a pair of exam gloves and quickly donned them.
Wyatt lifted the camera up to the light. “I can’t see the card slot.”
Nina took the camera in her gloved hand. “It’s on the bottom. The card goes inside here.” She pointed, flipped open the tiny hinged door. “It’s still there.” She pressed the preview button. “My photos are still here.”
“That’s good. What about the rest of your things?”
“I don’t think anything else has been touched. My laptop is in my bag.”
“You checked?” And there was that note of censure in his voice again.
“No. But the bag hasn’t been moved.”
He looked at it. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I’m sure. Before I went to sleep, I put the laptop in my bag and zipped it closed. It’s exactly where I left it, next to the bathroom door.”
“And are those—” he nodded “—exactly where you left them?”
Those were a pair of white silk panties.
Nina bent her head over the camera until her suddenly hot cheeks cooled off a little. “That’s right,” she said. “Exactly. What do you want to do with the camera? Fingerprint it?”
Wyatt took his time shifting his gaze from her panties on the floor to the camera in her hand. He shrugged. “We could, but I’m betting either it’s been wiped clean or whoever handled it has no prints on file.”
“Still, someone was in here. They obviously looked at the photos. What if it was the same person who knocked out Shane?”
He shook his head. “How did they get in? Your windows are locked from the inside, and the door was locked, right?”
She looked at the windows. They were locked. She hadn’t noticed him studying the room. He was good.
“And nothing’s out of place in my room,” he noted.
“Are you sure?” She asked. It was a silly question. If he’d observed all that about her room in the few seconds he’d been in here, it was a cinch that he’d already given his own the once-over.
He didn’t even bother to nod.
“Whoever knocked out Shane probably knows Betty Alice,” she said.
“Unless she’s right in the middle of all this—the disappearances, the theft of the thigh bone—she’d never let someone roam through here in the middle of the night.”
“You think Betty Alice looked at the photos?”
“It makes sense. She or some other busybody that works or lives here. Betty Alice is the mayor’s sister. This is a very close-knit community—make that two very close-knit communities—on one side, the Caucasian element, and on the other, the Native Americans. There was a lot of hostility between them when I was here before…” He stopped, and she saw his jaw tense. “And it doesn’t seem to have changed much,” he added gruffly.
“Then we should probably get out of here before she or someone else steals evidence or—”
“Whoa.” He held up a hand. “Not so fast.”
“You don’t think we need to move?”
“To where? The dorm at the community college, with your students?” He shook his head. “I’d rather not. For one thing, it would cause a stir. Everyone would want to know why we moved. My suggestion is to keep all the evidence locked up. Back up photographs, notes and any other important information or transfer to a secure location.” He gave her a tiny smile. “I doubt we have to consider Betty Alice dangerous. But I’d rather be here, so I can keep an eye on her. Who knows? The fact that she’s the mayor’s sister may come in handy for us.”
Nina nodded. Everything he said made sense, but the fact remained, someone had been in her room and had touched her things.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt asked.
Nina frowned. “Okay? Sure I’m okay. What do you mean?”
“Why don’t we change rooms? The chain on my door isn’t broken. You’ll feel safer.”
“The chain?” She turned to look at the door to the hall. She hadn’t noticed that her chain was in two pieces.
“Later this morning I’ll let Betty Alice know that it needs replacing.”
“I don’t need to move. I’m fine.” She gave a short little laugh.
Wyatt picked up her weekend bag, carefully avoiding the panties, and set it on her bed. “Still, I’d feel better. Pack up and we’ll switch. Then if anything happens, you can just yell.” He went back into his room.
Nina quickly packed up her things and took them through the connecting door into Wyatt’s room. He was waiting for her.
“Okay. Not much time left until daybreak,” he said. “Make the most of it.”
“I’ve still got to take a shower,” she said on a sigh.
The look he gave her was fleeting but intense. “There’s a clean towel in there.”
Then he stepped through the door. “See ya later,” he muttered.
Once the door was closed, Nina set her weekend bag on the floor and opened it, moving her laptop to get to her clothes.
She sighed as she stepped into the bathroom. If she didn’t literally have mud drying on her back, she’d skip the shower and fall straight into bed.
Oh, no. The bathroom was still warm and steamy. The clean, fresh, minty scent of him permeated the air. A shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature skittered through her. Her knees went wobbly again.
For a few seconds, she stared at the damp towel he’d folded and left on the back of the toilet. It took willpower not to pick it up and hold it to her nose. It would be warm and clean and minty, like him.
With stoic deliberation, she left the towel where it was. She turned on the shower and took out her rose-scented shampoo and body wash. Taking the cap off the shampoo, she breathed deeply of its sweet, familiar scent.
A slight breath of mint didn’t have a chance against a bottle full of roses, she hoped as she peeled off her muddy sweatshirt and jeans.
WYATT STARED At the rumpled bedclothes and thought about Nina in that little red camisole and red panties scooting around between those sheets, trying to get comfortable.
He was pretty sure just from looking at her that she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d wear underwear that didn’t match. Or maybe he just hoped she wasn’t, because some day he’d like to see her in red bikini panties and nothing else—or maybe black ones. Of course, snowy white would work, too.
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He swallowed and debated placing his head under the water faucet again—this time with cold water running.
He pushed his fingers through his damp hair, then rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. If he was planning to get any sleep tonight—today—he needed to get to it. A glance toward the connecting door told him it was closed. He’d noticed when he’d first entered the room that, although there was a keyhole in the door, there was no key. He’d checked to see if his room key fit it. It didn’t.
As he’d climbed the stairs last evening, he’d overheard Nina declining Betty Alice’s offer of what she’d called the pink room. With a grimace, Wyatt formed a mental picture of that room. He smiled at her quick refusal. Nope. He couldn’t picture her in pink. Not with that midnight black hair and those sultry lips.
She just wasn’t a pink kind of woman.
Purple maybe. Black definitely. And he’d like to see her creamy skin in that color that seemed to disappear…Didn’t they call it nude?
But the red was his favorite. Bloodred. Like rich, velvety roses.
Any more of this kind of thinking and he was going to have to douse more than his head in cold water.
It took him only a couple of seconds to straighten out the bedclothes. Then he stalked over to the opposite side of the double bed and pulled the covers back and lay down.
But to his dismay, the other side of the bed wasn’t far enough. His nostrils were still filled with the scent of roses, and when he turned over, he somehow ended up with a long black hair tickling his cheek.
He punched his pillow and turned over again. Even so, every time he managed to drift off to sleep, some part of Nina’s body rose up in his mental vision.
Her breasts, their gentle swell hidden and yet highlighted by the shimmery red camisole she’d had on. Her bottom, barely covered by the low-slung jeans.
He knew nothing about her. He’d only met her three times. Once at dinner with Marcie and him, during which Marcie seemed to be trying to fix the two of them up. Then on that awful day when Marcie was kidnapped.
Classified Cowboy Page 6
