Scorched (14 page)

Everyone stood and started to file out of the room, clearly eager to call it a day.

Gordon caught Elizabeth’s eye and motioned for her to stay.

“This teammate you talked to,” he said. “Who is he?”

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Derek Vaughn.”

He flipped open a file on the table and skimmed some notes. “He was Brewer’s swim buddy during SEAL training.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s a good angle. Keep working it, but don’t get distracted.”

She nodded.

“And you’re riding up with me tomorrow,” he informed her. “I want you to interview the caretaker at these cabins. Kelsey talked to her at length and convinced her to give her a key to her uncle’s place. I’ll want you to find out if this woman knows anything about what Kelsey was up to or where she might be going next.”

“Yes, sir.”

She looked him in the eye, almost certain he knew what she was thinking. He’d used her earlier. He’d
counted on her inexperience and manipulated it to his advantage. The knowledge stung. She should have felt self-conscious, but instead she felt more determined than ever to prove him wrong about her.

“Grab a nap, LeBlanc. We need you sharp tomorrow. Any more screwups and I’m pulling you off this case.”

CHAPTER 8

Kelsey awoke with a start. She kicked off the covers and stumbled across the darkened room to find her bleating phone. As she rummaged through her purse, she glanced over her shoulder at Gage, who was facedown on his bed, completely immobilized and wearing only jeans. Her heart did a little lurch. She grabbed the phone and took it inside the bathroom.

“Hello?” She eased the door shut and switched on the light.

“Too early to call?” Ben asked.

“No, it’s fine.”

She glanced at her watch. How had she managed to sleep past seven? She’d hoped to be up and out of here by now.

“Listen, a couple things,” he said. “I took a closer look at Blake’s phone records and spotted something interesting. Two days before his murder, he made several calls to his voice mail at work. First one was about seven in the morning, bounced off a cell tower in San Antonio. Second one, about four hours later, bounced off a tower in Denver.”

“Denver?”

“Yeah, about eleven-fifteen.”

She had a sudden vision of the roll-on suitcase in Blake’s foyer. She remembered the luggage tag: SLC.

“He was going to Salt Lake City.”

“Why are you whispering?”

She glanced at the bathroom door. “I’m not.”

“Anyway, you’re right. Turns out he booked a ticket to Salt Lake City from San Antonio. It was for a Saturday-morning flight with a plane change in Denver. He returned to San Antonio Sunday around noon.”

Kelsey heard a noise in the bedroom. She peeked out just as the motel room door closed with a thunk. Gage was leaving, probably to go hunt up some coffee.

“Any other word on that Weber person?” she asked.

“Still working on it. Found out his first name’s Charles, and I’ve got a P.O. box in Provo, but that’s about it. This guy’s hard to run down. Which says something.”

“Says what?”

“I don’t know. But there’s something weird here. I shouldn’t have this much trouble getting basic info. I’ll keep digging.”

“Thanks, Ben. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“Don’t mention it. Go back to sleep.”

She ended the call and glanced at her reflection in the fluorescent light. A few hours of sleep had done nothing for her appearance. Her skin looked sallow and her eyes were puffy. She turned on the shower and set the water to molten hot, then stripped off the T-shirt
she’d slept in and stepped under the spray, hoping it would rejuvenate her. Her freshly washed socks and panties were drying on the towel rack, but she could really use a new shirt today. Maybe she could convince Gage to stop by a Walmart.

What are you doing, Kelsey?

She was getting too close again. She could feel it. And she knew Gage well enough to know he wasn’t going to be content with a platonic relationship for very much longer. It was completely counter to his nature.

She thought about him as the water sluiced over her. Instead of feeling relaxed, she felt edgy. And not just because of the mess she was in. She hadn’t spent any significant time around Gage in months, and her instincts told her it wasn’t going to go well. They’d either end up fighting or ripping each other’s clothes off, and either way, she was sure to get her heart crushed. She needed to come up with a plan that didn’t involve him.

The motel didn’t have luxury amenities such as shampoo, so she settled for rinsing her hair. She wrapped a too-small towel around herself and stepped out of the tub just as a knock sounded at the door. It swung open.

“Hey.” He leaned against the door frame.

“Yes?”

His mouth curled up at her curt tone. “Thought you might want some coffee.”

“Thank you.”

He handed over a cardboard cup, and she took a sip as he watched her, smirking.

“What?”

“Nothing, just . . . nothing.” He handed her a small
paper sack. “Few things I grabbed at the convenience store across the way.”

“Thanks. I’ll pay you back.” She peeked inside the bag. Shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrush. She glanced up, and he was eyeing her cleavage. “I’m almost finished in here.” She moved to close the door, but he stuck his foot in the way.

“Hey, what happened to your arm?” He squeezed into the bathroom and lifted her elbow to examine the scab. “Did I do that?”

“It’s from the other night. From when I jumped off the balcony and rolled.”

Something sparked in his eyes. She’d activated his protective streak. She tugged her arm down, and all at once the room seemed steamy and much too small.

Kelsey hitched up her towel. “Could you give me a minute, please?”

He glanced over her shoulder. Then he seized her wrist and yanked her out of the bathroom.

“What—”

“Get down.” He shoved her to the floor. “Someone’s out there.”

“Where?”

“Other side of the window. I saw a shadow.”

Her pulse jumped. She envisioned the frosted-glass window above the toilet.

Gage crouched beside her and pulled out his gun. “Stay here. Keep away from the windows.”

“But what are you doing?”

He held his finger to his mouth to shush her and eased out the door.

Kelsey waited, holding her breath, listening for any
hint of trouble. The fear spread through her system like novocaine and her skin started to feel clammy. For the third time in just a handful of days she was cowering on the floor, afraid for her life.

Correction: She was cowering on the floor
in a towel.
This was ridiculous. She stood up and yanked her clothes on. Then she grabbed the Mace from her purse and stalked over to the door just as it swung open.

“Maintenance guy.” Gage looked her over and frowned. “I told you to stay put.”

“Don’t
do
that.” She stomped her foot. “Stop leaving me behind while you rush off to fight bad guys! You’re driving me crazy!”

He watched her warily as he took the Mace from her hand. “Whoa, relax. It was a false alarm.”

A tear leaked out and she swiped it away.

“Hey.” He tried to wrap an arm around her, but she ducked out of reach.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

He smiled. “What, hugging you or trying to keep you from catching a bullet?”

“Gage, this isn’t going to work. Don’t you have to get back to base?”

“I’m on leave.”

“Well, then don’t you have plans? Don’t you need to go visit your family or something?”

He shoved the pistol in the back of his jeans and folded his arms over his chest. “Nope.”

“I really think it would be best if you drive me to a place where I can rent a car. Then I’ll lay low for a few days until I figure this out.”

“Oh, yeah? And then what?”

“Then . . . when I have some idea what’s going on and who I can trust, I’ll reach out to the police. Or maybe the FBI.”

He stepped closer and gazed down at her. “I’m not leaving you on your own with this, Kelsey. Get that through your head. Next plan.”

She stared up at him.

“Why can’t you just admit that you need me right now?”

A lump of frustration formed in her throat as she gazed up at him. Some of the frustration was from fear and lack of sleep. But some of it was because she knew he was right. She
did
need him. Her nerves were frayed, and she was only four days into this.

“I know a thing or two about personal security. You don’t.” His gaze dropped to her damp T-shirt. “Fact, I’m surprised you made it this far in one piece.”

She was surprised, too. She wasn’t accustomed to dodging bullets and people who wanted to kill her. That was his department.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asked. “And do I have time to shower first, or you want me to stink up the car? ’Cause I’m good either way.”

She let out a sigh. She glanced at her watch, essentially conceding the battle.

“Make it quick,” she said.

“Want to join me?”

“No.”

He smiled. “Want to tell me where we’re going?”

“We’re taking a road trip.”

•   •   •

Elizabeth made the three-hour drive to Piney Creek with little help from Gordon and even less from his vehicle’s navigation system. The software was outdated and didn’t include all the narrow, winding roads in this backwoods part of the state. So Elizabeth relied on road signs and instinct, ignoring the curious looks Gordon kept sliding her from the passenger’s seat as he conducted the investigation over the phone. He wrapped up a call just as they were nearing the sign for Piney Creek Cabins.

“Looks like the crime-scene techs beat us,” Elizabeth said as she squeezed the sedan into a space between a pair of white vans.

They got out of the car. The air smelled like damp pine needles—probably the result of the patch of showers they’d passed through on the way up here. The area was strangely quiet, except for the tapping of a woodpecker high above them. Kelsey Quinn’s cabin was swarming with men in white Tyvek jumpsuits. They looked out of place in the tranquil forest setting, like storm troopers in the land of the Ewoks.

“Find the caretaker,” Gordon said. “Find out everything she knows. I want descriptions, cars, clothing—whatever she saw. We need to know who Kelsey’s with and if she’s changed her appearance.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

They turned around to see Coffman and Kimball striding toward them. How had they beaten them here? They must have left at five in the morning—no doubt eager to redeem themselves after yesterday’s biker bar fiasco.

“We’ve been through the cabin,” Coffman reported. “Looks like someone left in a hurry.”

A woman stepped out onto the porch of the building near the road. She cast a worried look in Elizabeth’s direction. This would likely be Joyce.

“I’ll talk to the caretaker,” Elizabeth said, but Gordon caught her arm.

“Wait. I want your take on the cabin first.”

“My take?”

“You’re the only female investigator we’ve got here. See if anything strikes you as important.”

Elizabeth glanced at Coffman and Kimball and felt their annoyed gazes following her as she mounted the steps to the cabin. The window to the left of the door had been shot out. A technician crouched just inside the door picking up shards of glass with a pair of tweezers and depositing them into a cardboard box.

Elizabeth surveyed the door frame as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Dark smudges of fingerprint powder marred the woodwork. She guessed the prints had already been photographed and lifted because the photographer was on his knees now in the kitchen, which consisted of little more than a propane-fueled stove and 1960s-era refrigerator. The cabin’s mismatched furniture looked to be about the same vintage. She stepped farther into the dwelling and noticed the unmistakable scent of Pine-Sol. The place had been cleaned recently.

Elizabeth crossed the living room in a few footsteps and poked her head into the bedroom. A neatly made double bed filled the space. She stepped into the bathroom, where she expected to find the most telling evidence. Careful not to touch anything, she spent a few
moments looking around. Then she joined Gordon beside the stove.

“Where’d Kimball and Coffman go?” she asked.

“Up the hill to check out the sniper hide. Someone found flattened grass where it looks like the shooter camped out and waited.”

Elizabeth peered through the kitchen window at the wooded hillside across the street.

“That’s only about what, about fifty yards?”

“Sixty,” Gordon said. “And you’re right—doesn’t look like our mystery gunman’s much of a shot.”

“Lieutenant Brewer—”

“I know, I know. Expert marksman. I don’t think he did this.” Gordon turned to the photographer kneeling on the floor. “You finished with that?”

The man nodded and handed up the spiral notepad he’d been photographing. Elizabeth saw a vertical list of words and numbers and a few more scrawled diagonally in the margin.

“You have your phone on you? Take a picture of this.” He handed her the notepad. “I want you to run down these phone numbers, see what you get. The name Weber mean anything to you?”