A strident digital ring interrupted the memory, yanking him back to the highway and the surrounding cars. When the ring came again, he slapped at the dashboard button, annoyed. “Hello?”
“We have a problem.”
The hunter was surprised to hear the voice emerge from the hidden speakers.
There were days he was nearly convinced that the voice, and the plan, existed only within his skull.
“Did you hear what I said?” the planner demanded.
The hunter’s equilibrium was off, with the past and present tangling around each other, along with the memory of a gunshot. A scream. Blood.
He swallowed. “Yes, I heard. I’m following the prey right now. The blonde and the FBI agent. They’re headed out of town on the highway.”
“They’re going to the airport,” the planner said. “To Florida. It’s time to mix things up…I want you to follow them and take care of them down in Key Lobo.”
The hunter scowled. “That’s outside my territory.” Like most predators, he had marked a space as his own. He allowed no other hunting in his territory, but by the same token wouldn’t kill outside of it.
“Territories can be adjusted as necessary.” The planner’s voice chilled. “Do you understand?”
The hunter preferred to study his prey, to plan and predict the chase before he made his move. He disliked stalking outside of his comfort zone, disliked acting on impulse.
His father’s advice rang in his head. Plan the hunt, son. Plan the kill.
Then again, sometimes the impulsive shot netted the greatest reward.
“Well?” the planner demanded. “Are you in?”
“I don’t like it. It’s not my style.”
“I know, but with Bradford gone it’s just the two of us, son. I need to know I can depend on you.”
The word son laced itself around the hunter’s soul, touching a deep, dark place within. “Yes,” he finally said, “you can count on me.”
“Good.” The planner’s voice softened. “Do as I ask, son, and everything will be forgiven.”
Chapter Nine
Varitek—she still couldn’t think of him as Seth, never mind saying it aloud—slept through the nonstop flight to Southern Florida, but Cassie was too wired to doze.
She’d bought a paperback at the airport gift shop, thinking to entertain herself by dissecting the policework in the story. But once the big jet lifted off the runway, she was too jittery to read, too aware of Varitek’s nearness and the way his shoulder and arm pressed against her. He’d used frequent flier miles to upgrade them to first class because the regular seats were too small for him, but he still crept into her space, warm and solid.
She watched him in spite of herself.
He didn’t soften in sleep. He didn’t snore, or even relax all the way. He could have been carved in stone, all uncompromising angles and lines that made her think.
That made her wish for the impossible.
Thanks to the time zone change and a brief delay, they landed near dinnertime.
Once the wheels touched the tarmac, Cassie turned to wake Varitek, only to find his eyes open and clear, with no residual sleep fuzz.
Either he was one of those people who woke up immediately, or he’d been faking it.
They spoke about small, inconsequential things as they deplaned and headed down to the rental car pickup. But Cassie was aware of the brush of their arms as they jostled together in the line and the touch of his breath at the back of her neck when he looked over her shoulder.
“Get something big. A truck or an SUV. I hate little cars.”
“Already done.” She edged away from him, unnerved by a flicker of sexual heat.
This wasn’t a romantic getaway. Hell, they weren’t even romantic.
But still, she was hyperaware of him as they collected their rented SUV. She was attuned to his every motion as they stowed their gear and pulled out a map. The chief had wanted the questioning handled in a very casual fashion. He didn’t even want them to go through the local P.D., which worried Cassie.
Varitek paused before climbing into the SUV. “Something wrong?”
She tried not to notice how his pale green eyes fixed on her with full attention, and how the intangible contact set up a warm jangle in her stomach. Damning herself for the weakness, she said, “I don’t like this. We have a fingerprint match, so why not have the locals haul Fitz in for questioning? It feels like the chief is trying to spare his old friend’s feelings at the expense of the case.”
“I wouldn’t let the chief dictate my investigation,” Varitek said shortly. “We’re here because we need to be.” He jerked his head at the vehicle. “Get in and I’ll explain.”
Cassie bristled at his peremptory tone, but snapped a salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”
Once they were on the road headed to Key Lobo, Cassie prompted, “So? Explain.”
Varitek glanced at her, then returned his attention to the road, which was fringed with palm trees and grass visible under the street-lights. “My people found three of Fitz’s fingerprints—two partials at the first murder scene, one at the second.”
“And?” Cassie demanded, tone sharp with annoyance at the involvement of “his people” when she should have been the one to run the analyses.
“They’re all fragments of his left thumbprint.”
“Oh, hell.” Cassie sank back in her seat. While a thumb was a common enough print to find, the law of averages said that finding an index finger print was just as likely.
“You think it’s a plant?”
“Could be.” Varitek hit the blinker and took the exit ramp leading toward the keys.
“It’s possible our perp got hold of a single print from Fitz and made a mold. I’ve got the lab testing for latex residues and synthetic oils now.”
“But why bother framing Fitz?” Cassie asked, then thought a moment and answered her own question. “To throw it back on the police department. It always seems to come back to the Bear Claw P.D., doesn’t it? Croft went after Alissa. The new guy went after me. The lab was torched.” She paused while the passing scenery changed from neon tourist glitz to pastel residential areas. “He’s after the police department.” Then she contradicted herself. “Then why the elaborate kidnappings?
The murders? Why not just target the P.D. directly?”
“Because this guy goes for the grand gesture,” Varitek said. “You don’t need Dr.
Cooper to tell you that.”
Which reminded Cassie. She needed to call Maya again. Her last two attempts had gone directly to voice mail, and Alissa reported that she hadn’t seen the psych specialist all day.
Something was up.
Varitek continued, “What worries me is the fact that we might be playing into exactly what he wants us to do.” He glanced at her. “Think about it. Why pick on Fitz? Why not one of the active officers?”
A shiver worked its way down Cassie’s neck. “O’Malley retired awfully quick. What if he actually is involved?”
“And what if the killer wants us down here for some reason?” Varitek countered.
“It’s all a bunch of ‘what-ifs’ at the moment, at least until we figure out the story on the fingerprints and interview Fitz directly.” He turned off the main road. “I think we should assume the worst until the evidence suggests otherwise. We’re going to stick together and watch each other’s backs. Okay?”
Cassie tilted her head to one side. “Watch each other’s backs. As in partners?”
A muscle beside his jaw ticked. “For the time being. You willing to give it a try?”
For a crazy moment, she thought he was asking her something else entirely. Maybe it was the balmy, warm air caressing her winter-dried skin, or the night-shrouded greenery, which reminded her that they were far away from Bear Claw and prying eyes.
Maybe it was the strange intimacy of having sat beside him through the long plane ride. Or maybe it was realizing that even now, stone-cold sober and awake, she w
anted to reach out and touch him like she had down in the lab, when they’d been mindless for each other and had no thought for the consequences.
Then she looked up and saw that they’d pulled into a small motel. “Where the hell are we?”
He parked the SUV outside a neat, green-painted door marked “Office,” unhooked his seat belt and dropped down from the vehicle. Before she could react, he opened her door and stood in the gap, not quite blocking her from exiting, but not giving her much room, either.
His eyes were intent as though he, too, knew they were having two separate conversations. “We need to wait on the results from the additional fingerprint analysis. It isn’t worth talking to Fitz until we know whether or not the prints are legit.” He glanced over his shoulder at the motel, which was modest but neat, a single-story row of numbered doors that gleamed with fresh paint in the glow of stained-glass-shaded porch lights. “It’s late. I think we should get a couple of rooms, maybe go out for a bite to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“I could eat,” Cassie said carefully, confused by the sudden change in him. She tilted her head. “Why are you asking me rather than telling me?”
He stepped away and his features darkened ever so slightly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, then said, “I did some thinking while you were sleeping off your ketophen-and-mudslide backlash. Maybe I’ve been out of line.
You’re a cop and an evidence technician, and you’re good at your job. I haven’t given you enough credit for that.”
Cassie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It took her a moment to recover.
Then she said, “Wow. You come up with that on your own?”
His expression shaded toward rueful. “Not exactly. I took Alissa to your house so I could check on my team and she could grab your clothes. She, ah, pointed out that the way I treat you and the way I treat my female techs are light years apart.” He looked away, but didn’t retreat. His throat worked when he swallowed. “Look. I’m sorry. Robyn used to get after me for bossing her around, for always thinking I know the best way to do things. I guess I just, ah, fell back into old habits.” Now he looked at her, and she saw the struggle in his pale green eyes. “I’ll work on it.
Okay?”
She swallowed hard, feeling the burn of a small victory. “Let’s get those rooms and find a restaurant. You’re right. I’m starving.”
It was no big deal, she told herself. She could keep this casual.
She hoped.
BUT ONCE CASSIE was inside her motel room, which was saved from generic by whimsical touches of seashell and coral along the molding, she had trouble holding on to that blasé attitude. Her stomach jittered with more nerves than hunger, and she found herself staring into her suitcase, wishing she’d packed something sexier than pants and light businesslike shirts.
“This isn’t a date,” she told herself, and scowled into the mirror above the motel-issue dresser. “It’s a convenience. He’s here. I’m here. Why not eat together?”
But her reflection showed color riding high in her cheeks, and her pulse thrummed with anticipation as she quickly showered, blew her hair into soft, dry waves and pulled on clean underwear and her jeans. She left the businesslike shirt untucked, and knotted it at her waist so a hint of her stomach showed when she moved.
Then she took a deep breath, gave herself a little pep talk, and let herself out of her room, locking the door securely at her back, even though she’d left nothing of value.
These days, she was more afraid of something being left in her room. The thought—and the reminder of danger—brought a faint shiver, but she pushed it aside as she marched to Varitek’s door. She’d done what she could do for the night.
She’d checked in on the progress the task force had made, and had finally gotten in touch with Maya, who insisted she was fine. There was little more to do now than wait for Varitek’s people to finish with the fingerprints.
She might as well give herself permission to kick back for a few hours, so she took a deep breath, told herself this wasn’t a real date, and knocked on the door to Varitek’s unit.
But when the wood panel swung open and she saw his shower-slicked hair and caught the faintest hint of aftershave, her resolve crumbled against a wash of heat.
It sure as hell felt like a date.
HE WAS IN SERIOUS TROUBLE. Seth knew it as surely as he knew his own name the moment he saw her hair tumbling free across her shoulders. The soft blond waves made him itch to touch, to bury his fingers deep while he kissed her until they both ran out of air.
He cleared his throat. “The lady at the desk recommended a seafood place about a block away, right on the water.”
Cassie nodded. “Sounds good. Want to walk?”
“Let’s drive. Just in case.” He couldn’t shake the suspicion that the killer had sent them to Florida on purpose, but why? What was back in Bear Claw that he didn’t want them to see?
Or was there something in Florida he wanted them to see?
Not knowing, Seth kept his guard up as they walked to the rented SUV. Unable to stop himself, he opened the door for Cassie. She was one of the most capable women he’d ever met, yet he felt compelled to offer her a hand to help her inside.
He half expected her to throw the gesture back in his face. Instead, she took his hand, stepped close and looked up at him, and said, “Look, Varitek. I know this isn’t really a date, but I think we’ll both feel better if we get this out of the way.”
Without warning, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him.
Surprise rocketed through him at the feel of her soft, lush lips against his, at the freshly showered, feminine scent of her rising up to surround him and cloud his brain. That was the only explanation for why he tightened his fingers on hers rather than pulling away, why he opened his mouth at the touch of her tongue rather than telling her this was a bad idea.
Or was it? Did he really need an explanation for something that felt this good?
Her flavor washed over him, into him, as their tongues met and mated. He looped their joined hands behind her back and pulled her closer, until their bodies were nearly aligned at thigh, hip and chest.
Where their first kiss had been a flameout of adrenaline and fighting madness, this was a meeting. A compromise. And the softness of it, the glory of it shimmered through him like the sunrise.
Heat rose, but it was a patient, binding heat that stayed warm when they eased apart.
Cassie’s eyelids flickered then lifted, revealing now-confused blue eyes. She held his gaze for a long moment, during which he was acutely conscious of her rapid heartbeat and the rise and fall of her chest, which mirrored his own.
“Well,” she finally said.
He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her again.
“Yeah. Well.”
She laughed nervously. “That didn’t really clear the air, did it?”
“Nope.” He jerked his head toward the rental. “Get in. I need to eat.”
It was either that or sling her over his shoulder and carry her to his room.
THEY PASSED the short ride to the restaurant without speaking, but Cassie was getting used to Varitek’s silences. When he had something to say, he said it. When he didn’t, he was quiet. She liked that.
Actually, she was starting to like entirely too much about him, from the way he thought on the job to the way he’d admitted treating her differently and promised to work on it.
Not to mention the way he kissed.
She pressed her lips together, savoring the full, tender feeling of them. It had probably been a mistake to kiss him, but they’d both been wound tight and part of her had thought that might dispel the tension.
Wrong. If anything, it had made things worse, because now she knew that her memory of kissing him in the lab had been a hundred percent accurate. The man could kiss.
Hoo boy, could he kiss.
Her system had
barely leveled by the time they pulled into the restaurant, which boasted an old boat purporting to be a prop from The African Queen out front and a kitschy collection of Bogart memorabilia and plastic fish hung near the door. She jumped out of the SUV before he could open the door and heard his faint chuckle as she led the way into the restaurant.
The kiss might have been her idea, but letting it go further wasn’t part of the plan.
Once they’d placed their drink orders, she said, “I talked to Alissa. Turns out that two of Jasmine Gardner’s friends positively ID’d a picture of Peter Dunbar.
Apparently, he and Jasmine had sex and he snuck out on her—get this—the night before he was found dead.”
Varitek nodded. “I’ve got my people processing Jasmine’s bedroom right now. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Maybe not.
Cassie made a face that he already knew about the Jasmine-Peter connection, though she shouldn’t have been surprised. Oddly enough, it didn’t tick her off nearly as much as it would have a few days ago. Maybe she was mellowing, she thought, then was struck by a much less welcome thought.
What if she was caving on her own opinions to make Varitek like her more?
Suddenly annoyed, she straightened in her chair and glared when the waiter leaned over to place her drink on the table. When he was gone, she said, “Alissa is sitting down with the girls right now to put together some sketches and a vehicle description. Apparently, Jasmine had been seeing someone else in the past week or so, someone older. She never introduced him to her friends, but one of the girls thinks she saw Jasmine get into his car the day before she was murdered.”
Varitek didn’t comment on whether or not he knew about the possible witness, because the waiter interrupted to give them the specials. Once he’d taken their orders and gone, Varitek said, “How do you figure Peter Dunbar and Jasmine Gardner fit in with the older skeleton, Marcia Pennington?”
“Marcia was practice, maybe.” Cassie sipped her drink. They’d both ordered sodas without discussing the fact that they were, if not on duty, then on guard. “But if that’s the case, where has he been for the past decade? Killers don’t just stop killing. Not usually. And then why bait us so we reopen the grave after so long? It doesn’t make rational sense.”
At Close Range Page 11
