The Fog

by Amanda McKinney

  She turned back to the body. Now she knew why she was there, but the only thing she didn’t understand is what Wesley Cross had to do with it. He said he wanted to hire her to get him out of a jam. He had to be involved somehow. Related to the victim, maybe?

  She opened up her briefcase and got to work.

  Minutes ticked into hours as she worked tunnel-visioned in the silence until a boom of thunder pulled her from her focus. She straightened and glanced at the clock—1:33 p.m. She’d been working for over three hours already. As if on cue, her stomach growled. She took a deep breath, stretched her neck from side-to-side and yanked off her gloves. Maybe a quick break to check email and snack on the protein bar she’d tossed in her purse. And a coffee… a coffee sounded great.

  She turned and startled at the dark silhouette of a man standing in the doorway across the room, staring at her.

  “Jesus, you scared me.”

  The first thing she noticed was the sheer mass of the silhouette. Tall and thick as a bull. He stood motionless, in a way that made her want to check over her shoulder to make sure one of the bodies hadn’t jumped out of the freezer.

  She swallowed the knot in her throat, squinted and cocked her head.

  “Sorry,” the man said.

  She instantly recognized the voice. Wesley Cross.

  He stepped into the dark lab and as he walked across the room, the fluorescent light above her slowly illuminated his face.

  And butterflies tickled her stomach.

  CHAPTER 8

  Wesley Cross was hot. Like, ruggedly handsome, drop-to-your-knees, gorgeous. He reminded her of a sexy cowboy from the early westerns, the black and whites where the men rode horseback, smoked cigars, and the hard look in their eyes dared you to disrespect them. As he drew closer she decided, no, he wouldn’t be the cowboy… he’d be the bank robber with that cocky grin and a twinkle in his eye. The kind of guy that could get away with anything.

  His gaze pinned her as he crossed the room, blurring everything and everyone around it.

  She glanced down and shifted her weight, and—Oh, God—the oversized lab coat and enormous goggles. Of all the times to look like the damn Michelin Man. She quickly slid the glasses to the top of her head and squared her shoulders with an attempt to come off as confident, despite the unbalance she suddenly felt.

  “You must be Gwyneth.” His voice was deep as he walked up, the fresh scent of rain on his skin. He wore a black T-shirt with the words Cross Combat across the chest, faded jeans and cowboy boots. His hair was wet with speckles of gray at the temples and she wondered how much older he was than her.

  His gaze skimmed her body, and her stomach fluttered. She felt like she was back in junior high and the star quarterback had just taken notice of her. This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous.

  She thrust out her hand. “Yes, Gwyneth Reece.”

  He smiled, widely, as if laughing at her professionalism. They shook hands, a firm shake against skin that was no stranger to manual labor.

  “Wesley Cross. Call me Wes.”

  “Okay.” She glanced past him.

  “She ran to get something to eat.” He said, as if reading her thoughts.

  Another boom of thunder, and this time, the windows shook.

  “Hope she has an umbrella.”

  “Supposed to rain for two days straight.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over her lips, then slowly trailing back up to her eyes. “You’re different than I expected.”

  She cocked her head. “You were expecting beady, black eyes and antennas poking out of my head?”

  He laughed. It was a nice laugh. Deep. Sexy. She wanted to ask what he meant exactly—was she younger, older, taller, or worst-case scenario, not as attractive as he’d expected—but decided to stay on task. Focus on the job at hand.

  “Well,” she opened up her palms. “You got me. Here I am.”

  He looked past her at the blonde on the table, the twinkle in his blue eyes disappearing. “Thank you for coming. Really.”

  She nodded and turned toward the table. “I’ve been here since around ten. I have some questions—

  “What have you found so far?”

  She shook her head. “I’d like to get a better understanding of the scene before reporting my findings.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. “Just tell me what you’ve found so far.”

  “No,” she said defiantly. “Not until I get some questions answered.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Hungry?”

  Her eyebrow arched at the abrupt and seemingly inappropriate change of subject. “No. I mean, well, yes. I’ve got a protein bar in my bag that I was just about to eat.”

  “Gross. Fake protein is overrated.”

  “Oh, well, your opinion means everything to me, Mr. Cross.”

  “It was Mr. Wes last night.” He smirked. “Seriously. Protein bars taste like cardboard. How about some real food?”

  Real food sounded like heaven, and it would be a good opportunity to gain some more insight into the case. Before she could formally accept, he smiled and said, “Good. Let’s go.”

  She looked past him, again. “We should wait for Jessica to get back.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll lock it from the inside. She’ll be back soon.”

  “Okay, well,” she looked down at the circus tent that draped her. “Let me just…” She slipped it off, covered Leena’s body, and grabbed her purse. “Alright.”

  As he led her out of the lab, her eyes drifted to his backside, powerless to not take a look at the way his jeans hugged his ass.

  He paused at the front door, scanning the coat rack. “No umbrella.”

  “Didn’t take you for an umbrella kind of guy. No offense.”

  “Definitely none taken there. I was looking for you.” He glanced at the rain pounding the sidewalk. “Stay here. Come out when I pull up.”

  “No, it’s fine. My boots are already soaked. I don’t mind getting wet.”

  The corner of his lip curled up as her last statement lingered in the air. “Be right back.”

  She watched him jog to his truck, the wet T-shirt melting across his shoulders. Wesley Cross was built like an ox. She slowly shook her head from side-to-side and muttered, “Un-believable.” Of all the things she’d expected to happen in Berry Springs, meeting a man that gave her butterflies wasn’t one of them.

  A second later, a brand-new, blacked-out truck zoomed up from the side, hopped the sidewalk and skidded inches from the front door. Instinctively, she jumped back from the window. She looked at the media van—were they seeing this?

  Wesley jumped out and opened the passenger side door. She took two spidey-like leaps, and jumped into his truck. After locking the office door, he slid behind the wheel.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” She said.

  “Of course I did. If I had an overcoat, I would’ve laid it over the puddles for you.” He looked at her and winked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Like the black and whites, huh? The good ol’ days.”

  “Like a good, southern gentleman.”

  “Those still around?”

  He slid her a glance. “Absolutely… And challenge accepted, Miss Reece.”

  She smiled at the twinkle in his eye as he said it. “Do you consider stalking a woman and not taking no for an answer a characteristic of a gentleman?”

  “I do.” He said matter-of-factly.

  “Well, so do eighty-percent of people in prison.”

  He laughed. “You’re a tough gal to get ahold of.”

  “You almost ran my battery out.”

  “Time is of the essence.”

  “And the why is exactly what I want to learn at lunch.”

  “Jessica explained everything to you, right?”

  “The CliffsNotes version. There’s more to this story, and I want to know it.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “A gentleman never keeps a lady in the dark.”

  A devilish s
mirk crossed his face. “Only if the occasion calls for it.”

  Just then, lightning sparked ahead of them. She leaned forward and looked at the sky, and something tumbled down her back. The goggles. She’d forgotten to take them off. Her eyes rounded and her mouth dropped. Seething, she looked at Wesley, who was chuckling.

  “Something wrong?” He asked, grinning.

  “Oh, no, not at all.” The annoyance and sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I just love wearing autopsy goggles around town. Geez, Wesley, these could have human… fluids or something on them. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Wes. And I thought you looked cute in them. Lab teacher hot.”

  “So cliché.” She stuffed them into her purse as a crack of thunder had her nerves jumping out of her skin, followed by another flash of lightning.

  “You ever been here?” He asked.

  “To Berry Springs? No.”

  “We get wild weather at the change of the seasons. Supposed to get quite a bit of flooding with this storm.”

  “Too bad you didn’t reserve me a rental boat, then.”

  “I have one of my own I could lend you.” He smiled. “Anyway, I figured you’d be used to seasonal storms. Not too different from your hometown.”

  “No, not too different at all.” She blinked. He knew where she lived. She turned to him with narrowed eyes. “Alright, I don’t know who you had dig into me, or how exactly you knew I was on a job in Oregon. Or, how you got my personal cell phone number, but I’m feeling like a fish out of water here, and that’s going to change right now. For starters, what do you do, Wes?”

  He was smiling ear-to-ear, obviously entertained at the attitude in her voice. He flicked on his turn signal and slid into the only open parking spot on the town square.

  She looked at the sign hanging above an aged, red wooden door—Gino's Pizzeria.

  “We’re here.” He turned off the truck, pulled the keys from the ignition and looked at her. “To answer your question, I make guns for a living. Now can you relax a little so we can eat?”

  She rolled her eyes, and before she could respond, he was out of the truck and at her window.

  He opened her door, the rain pouring down his face. “A gentleman.” He smiled and winked.

  God, what the hell had she gotten herself into?

  ***

  He held open the front door for her and motioned her inside Gino’s, taking a moment to check out her curves as she breezed past him, with just a touch of attitude in the sway of her hips. Her sexy hips. She was nothing like he’d imagined, and her sarcastic description wasn’t too far off—beady eyes and antennas. Truth was, he didn’t expect anyone who studied flesh-eating bugs for a living to be attractive, let alone smoking hot.

  But she was. Gwyneth Reece was smoking hot and all woman.

  When he’d walked into the lab, the first thing he’d noticed was the long, brown ponytail that cascaded down her back. Pretty, silky hair was his first surprise.

  His second surprise was when she’d turned around and behind the goggles were the most beautiful deep brown eyes he’d ever seen in his life. Like chocolate. Smooth, milk chocolate. And her lips—big, pouty, and rosy pink.

  The third and biggest surprise was the little kick his heart gave when their eyes met.

  One thing Wesley prided himself on was that he was rarely thrown off his game. Rarely surprised. But when the snippy, impatient entomologist from the phone call the night before turned around in that lab, he was floored by her beauty.

  The invite to lunch was two-fold—he’d never been in the vicinity of a beautiful woman and not asked her out and, based on the attitude she’d given him when he asked for information, he knew he needed to loosen her up a bit. At least before he told her that the body she’d been working on all morning was found in his basement. He’d made Jessica promise not to say anything in case it scared her off. Would she instantly think the guy who’d talked her into helping him out was the killer?

  He stepped next to her as the owner-slash-waiter-slash-cook, Gus Dickey, called out from the kitchen. “Howdy, Wesley! Sit where you’d like.”

  The small Italian restaurant was quiet, with only two people sitting at the bar. The dim lights, dark hardwood floors, and antique jukebox gave a subtle romantic vibe, although he hadn’t thought about that when he’d chosen the restaurant. The only other option close was Donny’s which would be packed for lunch, and he didn’t want to deal with the whispers and side-long glances implying his involvement in Leena’s death. He didn’t want Gwen to notice, either.

  He motioned her to walk ahead, “You pick.”

  She led him to the back corner booth. Exactly where he would’ve chosen. He slid in across from her as she looked over the menu. Apparently, she was very hungry.

  “You’ve got to try the pizza. Best around.”

  She shrugged, keeping her gaze on the menu.

  “You’ll regret it if you don’t. Trust me.”

  Gus walked up, wiping his tanned, calloused hands on an apron that said kiss the cook. His hair was freshly buzzed, highlighting the deep scar above his right ear. To this day, Wesley didn’t know if Gus chose buzzers because the style was low maintenance, or to showcase the scar like a badge of honor. The former Green Beret had opened the restaurant years earlier and due to their similar backgrounds, Gus and Wesley had become instant friends, spending many late nights at the bar discussing the thin line between war and peace. Wesley had yet to pay for a single beer.

  “Howdy do, Cross?” His curious gaze flickered to Gwen. “Ma’am.”

  She nodded, gave a polite smile, and both men smiled back. Hard not to smile back at that face.

  “What can I get ya?”

  Wesley nodded to Gwen.

  “Oh. Iced tea, please. Unsweet.”

  “You got it.” He turned to Wesley.

  “Shiner, please.”

  “Be right back to take your orders.”

  She finally set down the menu and focused on him with a pensive look. Inquisitive. Or was it skepticism? Doubt? He stared back and knew instantly that those whiskey brown eyes didn’t miss much. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and he knew she was about to dive in.

  “Tell me about what happened. I want to know everything about Leena Ross.”

  “And then you’ll tell me what you found today?”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced at Gus behind the bar. He really wanted at least one sip of booze in his system before diving into the story. He looked back at her, her intense gaze feeling like a spotlight. He cleared his throat. “Leena and I had been… friendly a few months ago…”

  “Friendly, as in intimate?”

  No, those brown eyes didn’t miss much. “That’s right.”

  She nodded as if the news didn’t surprise her and a moment of insecurity shot through him. What the hell was it about him that screamed womanizer?

  “We went on a few dates here and there and that was it.”

  “Here you guys go,” Gus said as he slid their drinks onto the table. “Ready to order?” Wesley took two big gulps as Gwen ordered an Italian chicken salad.

  “Medium meat trio, double cheese,” he said.

  “You got it.” Gus walked away.

  He took another sip and continued. “Night before last, technically yesterday, I came home and found her in my basement.”

  Her eyes rounded. “In your home?”

  He nodded and gulped—again.

  She blinked for a moment, processing the information. “Wait… so your ex-girlfriend was murdered—her throat brutally slashed—in your home?”

  He nodded. “Literally, minutes before I got there. Best we can tell she was kidnapped from her apartment.”

  “Was anyone else there?”

  “No. I live alone.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  He nodded. “From a distance, and I chased him into the woods. It was dark. Son of a bitch—'scuse the language—jumped into an SUV and drove off. Didn�
�t see his face, couldn’t even tell the make or model of the vehicle. Nothing.”

  “Did anyone see anyone? Neighbors, whatever?”

  “No. I live off the radar; in the woods.”

  She stared at him for a moment, stunned as he knew she would be.

  “Jessica said there’s no suspects, is that right?”

  He shifted in his seat. “Not that I’m aware of. Not right now.”

  “Besides you, right?” She was blunt and to-the-point.

  “No. I have a dozen alibis for when it happened.”

  A heavy second ticked by.

  “Was anything found at the scene?”

  He paused for a second, considering the bracelet, then decided to keep that close, for now. “No. The basement door was broken into. Latex powder found on the knob.”

  “He wore gloves.”

  “Right. Tire tracks were faded with mine, so that gives us jack-shit.”

  Gwen mindlessly stirred her tea in deep thought. “Your former lover, taken to your house and murdered while you were gone…”

  “Thanks for the recap.”

  “A setup is the obvious angle here, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So you need to clear your name.”

  “It’s not just that…”

  “No, it’s not.” Her eyes leveled on his. “You think there’s more to this than a setup.”

  “I do.”

  She nodded, the skepticism leaving her eyes. “Okay. Now I see why you were so desperate to get me over here.”

  He leaned back, relieved. At least she wasn’t walking out the door.

  “The only thing they’ve found that seems odd, or off, is the eggs in her wound. So, after hearing you were the best forensic entomologist around, I called you up.”

  “Stalked me.”

  He grinned, sipped.

  “Okay, now I feel less like a fish out of water about the case, but there’s still something you and I need to clear up. How did you know where I was? And get my personal phone number and email?”

  “A buddy has an FBI buddy.”

  She shot him a look of disapproval just as Gus delivered their food. Her salad looked limp and boring, but his pizza—glorious. He caught her eyeing the steaming pie. He tore a piece away, put it on a napkin, and slid it across the table. “Try it. You have to.”