Waking the Dead (26 page)
“I’ve got to take some soil samples to Kristy. I’d promised to get them to her today and never got the chance.”
“Don’t worry, Mitch has been keeping her plenty busy.” Although the temperature in the room was comfortable, the sheriff’s face was flushed. She fanned herself with the file folder. “He spent the day researching which manufacturers make black biodegradable garbage bags and sent a couple deputies to pick up different samples found in the area. Picked up the bags from the crime lab without latents, and she’s logging reference comparisons on them.”
“Well the fluorescent paint we ordered should be here tomorrow, at the latest. I’ll probably spend the day in the lab and run those tests.”
“How soon can we expect that DNA sample from Recinos’s mother?”
“It depends on how quickly Drecker can get her to a lab. Day after tomorrow at the earliest, probably.” Forestalling the woman’s next comment, Cait said, “I’ll compare the DNA profiles the minute it comes in.”
Giving an abrupt nod, the sheriff moved toward the door, the file folder still clutched in her hand. “Sounds like a plan.” Her hand was on the knob before Cait halted her.
“I’ve got Sharper’s elimination prints here, too. And mine.” She crossed to the desk and picked up the ten print cards she’d labeled and put in evidence bags. Handing them to Andrews, Cait tried not to think about the awkward moments spent lifting them. Zach’s mood had bordered on dangerous when she’d reminded him, after they’d returned to her vehicle, about the need for the prints. But he’d cooperated as she’d led him through the process of inking each finger and pressing it to the card. Hadn’t, in fact, uttered a word the entire time. Had just fixed her with a smoldering stare that had made her movements unnaturally clumsy.
After cleaning his fingers with the wipe she’d handed him, he’d walked away. Climbed back in his Trailblazer. Pulled out of the lot. And left her with a vague sense of guilt, the memory of which still annoyed her. There wasn’t a man alive who would be allowed to make her feel guilty about doing her job.
At least there never had been before.
Andrews slipped the bags inside the folder she carried. “Great. I’ll get these to the regional lab myself.” She gave a cynical smile. “Helps to keep the Stateies at least marginally involved in case we need something from them later. They’re none too happy about not being invited to help with the investigative end of things on this case.”
The statement explained a lot. Cait had wondered why the latent work on the bags had been parceled out, when she and Kristy could have handled it. And she wasn’t surprised the sheriff was territorial about the case. She’d want all the credit for the successful resolution of this case.
“We’ve got all the staff’s prints on file, so we’ve run those for the personnel who were at the scene. Got elimination prints on the civilians we used, too. We still need to get your tech’s.”
“I’ll do that tomorrow,” Cait promised. She’d go through the motions as a matter of procedure, but she knew neither her assistant’s nor her prints would match the one left on the bag. They’d been too careful.
“With any luck we’ll discover that leaving that print was the first mistake the UNSUB made,” the sheriff said grimly. “And once we catch him we’ll be able to use it to nail his ass to the wall.”
It would be a critical piece of evidence tying the UNSUB to the crime, Cait agreed silently. But first they had to catch him.
Another thought occurred. “Oh, and we found Kesey today. One of the roamers Barnes discovered with a record?” The woman looked at her inquiringly, and Cait gave her a quick rundown of her findings.
Andrews was philosophical. “Not much chance he’s involved, if he’s only got one arm. You think he’s telling the truth about seeing someone around at night that once?”
“Fairly certain.” Cait snuck a look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. She wanted to get a look at Ketchers sometime this evening. “He was motivated by the money. I figure if he thought there was more in the offing, he’d have spilled everything he knew.”
Nodding, Andrews opened the door. “They usually do.”
An hour later Cait was feeling fairly human again after a thirty-minute soak in the tub. She was even feeling marginally friendly toward her hiking boots. After the ground they’d covered the last couple days, a less-than-perfect fit would have had her feet in agony. But they’d been well broken in before this trip.
That didn’t mean, however, that she wasn’t looking forward to a break from them while she did some work in the lab tomorrow.
As she dressed, she put in a call to her assistant and got her voice mail. Grimacing, Cait pulled on a green tank and denim shorts. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out where Kristy was. Or at least whom she was spending her time with.
Her cell rang almost the moment she set it down, and she picked it up again to look at the screen, expecting her assistant.
But recognizing the number that appeared there, Cait dropped the phone into her purse, unanswered. This would make the third time her mother had called back since their conversation last night. And she’d delete this message the same way she had the others, without listening to it.
Distractions were something she could ill-afford in the middle of a case. And Lydia Regatta redefined the term
distracting
.
distracting
.
She took her weapon from her holster and placed it in her purse. Not because she credited Sharper’s warning of trouble at the tavern, but because Raiker drilled into each of his investigators the need to be armed at all times. It was easy to guess where his insistence came from. All of his employees had heard the story of his final case with the Bureau. After her boss had been caught by the serial child killer he’d been trailing, he’d been imprisoned and tortured for three days before finally freeing himself and killing the man. He bore the scars as a haunting reminder. He regularly insisted on a concealed permit for his operatives before he ever accepted a job from a law enforcement entity.
Finally ready, she went to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. Then jumped back, startled. It was difficult to say who was more surprised—her or the man on the other side of it.
“Sharper. What are you doing here?”
He’d used the intervening time since they’d parted to shave and change clothes. He must have a never-ending supply of jeans and T-shirts, since she’d seen him in nothing else. Or maybe, she thought consideringly, he knew exactly how well they suited him.
“You’re going to Ketchers tonight, right?” Without waiting for an invitation, he brushed by her to enter her motel room and immediately shrunk it with his presence. “Thought we decided last night that you weren’t going alone.”
It took a moment longer than it should have for her to recall the conversation he was referring to. Turning to watch his progression in the room, she let the door swing shut behind her. “This isn’t necessary.”
He raised a brow. “Are we really going to have that argument again?” Digging into his jeans pocket, he withdrew a white wrapper. “Figured you probably needed to change those Steri-Strips by now, too. Might as well do that first.”
Taking advantage of her momentary speechlessness, he ripped open the package and sat on the corner of the bed. “C’mere.”
The sight of him on her bed scattered her thought processes even further. Given his mood when they’d parted after she’d fingerprinted him, there was a definite Alice-in-Wonderland feel to the entire scene. “I’m perfectly capable . . .”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve got the whole Superwoman thing nailed, okay?” There was a glint in his eye that could have been amusement. Or she might be imagining it. There was something more than a little surreal about this. “But the sooner we get it taken care of, the sooner we can get to the tavern. Believe me, the earlier we get there, the better.”
Her feet seemed to approach him of their own accord. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought,” she began. Then winced a little as he yanked the strips off her palm. He wasn’t exactly angel-of-mercy material. It occurred to her that maybe he’d come to exact a bit of payback for taking his prints earlier.
“Looks like it’s healing all right.” He rubbed his thumb over the wound.
Lowering her gaze, she inspected it critically. “It’ll be okay.” It hadn’t slowed her down much, and she was doubly glad she’d resisted getting stitches. She’d never been overly fond of needles, and doubted she could have gotten any better results if she’d allowed him to haul her into the clinic. Because it would have seemed churlish to pull her hand away at this point, she waited awkwardly for him to finish replacing the strips.
“You’ve got hidden talents,” she said lightly, inspecting his handiwork when he was done. “Where’d you get your medical training?”
He smiled, slow and satisfied and devastating. “Actually I got all my skills from playing doctor.”
Something in his expression had her heart stuttering. It ought to be a crime to give a man who looked like him the weapon of a smile that powerful. It was all the more effective for being so rare. She was certain it could shred hearts of unsuspecting females at ninety paces.
And right now she’d feel a lot safer if there were that much distance between them. If she weren’t close enough to notice his eyes were alight with tiny golden lights that flickered like wicked flame.
If she weren’t close enough to be tempted, just a bit, to pick up his unspoken invitation and be wicked with him.
She took a deep breath. And then another. Cait didn’t make reckless decisions these days based on need and sheer self-indulgence. If there was one thing she’d learned over the years, it was that every act had consequences. Some had come at a price she was still paying, decades later.
“You wanna stay in tonight and play doctor, Slim?” Zach’s eyes were intent. His voice raspy.
“No.” Her answer shouldn’t be tinged with regret. But she was lucky to have forced it out at all. Her lungs felt like they were slowly strangling in her chest. “Something tells me you already have a specialty in that area. But once I figured out what lousy taste I had in patients, you could say I gave up my practice.” She took a step away. The next step was easier.
His expression was arrested, and she knew immediately that she’d said too much. “Uh . . . exactly how long has it been between ‘patients’?”
She was immediately sorry she’d let that information escape. “None of your damn business, Sharper. Unless you’re willing to answer the same question.”
“Two weeks.”
“Two . . .” her voice tapered off as his meaning became clear. “Well, no surprise there.” For the first time she found herself wondering if his commitment to the sheriff’s department was putting a crimp into his social life. “After this case is over, you’ll be able to get back to your normal . . . interests. Whatever they might be.” And whomever they might involve.
His gaze was sober. Searching. “After this case is over, the only woman I’m interested in will be gone.”
It was surprisingly difficult to draw a deep breath. “I’m not that interesting, Sharper. Unless you’ve got a thing for women with stratospheric IQs and abysmal taste in men.” It’d taken her a long time to recognize that she consistently chose males who didn’t see
her
, only their own reflection in her. Once she’d figured that out, she’d started to regain a measure of her self-respect. And she’d kept it all these years by removing the revolving door to her bedroom.
her
, only their own reflection in her. Once she’d figured that out, she’d started to regain a measure of her self-respect. And she’d kept it all these years by removing the revolving door to her bedroom.
But she’d be lying if she said that Zach Sharper didn’t present the most temptation she’d faced in years.
He rose and approached her. Cupped her jaw in his hands and lowered his head to whisper against her lips, “Turns out that’s exactly what I’m interested in. And I’m not sure which of us should be more surprised.” His kiss then was hard and much too brief. And while she was still reeling from the effects, he pulled away and walked to the door.
“I’ll drive.”
Ketchers was everything she’d been led to believe . . . and less. Cait looked around at the dim interior curiously as they stood in the doorway. A row of booths lined one wall, opposite the scarred bar. There were a couple dartboards hanging on the wall, and the area around them looked as though the participants weren’t too skilled at hitting the target. Two pool tables were jammed into another corner, and the center was filled with what looked like plywood-topped tables. The floor was concrete and the drinks were served in plastic cups.
Cait had the distinct impression that the owner purposely kept things low rent. Given the clientele, that was probably wise.
Zach’s next words echoed her thoughts. “Place has burned down three times in the last eight years.” With a hand in the small of her back, he nudged her farther into the interior. “Every time Kenny Smalley rebuilds, he goes more and more no frills.”
“No frills is one thing,” she muttered, aware that all eyes in the place were on them. “But isn’t the exterior tin?”
“Aluminum. No insulation, either. Place is an igloo in the winter. Hey, Jodie.” He spoke to someone who’d hailed him from a nearby table of card players.
“Hey, Sharper, you want in this hand? I gotta take a leak.”
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