His brows snapped together.
How had the killer known that Carmen would be there?
Dumb luck? Griff shook his head. He didn’t believe in luck. Or coincidence. Or random chance.
He might have followed her, but how likely would it be he could have gotten a last-minute flight on the same plane?
While he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Griff’s fingers flew over his keyboard as he pulled up a program he’d designed for the FBI and typed Carmen’s name into it. The software would allow him to monitor Carmen’s online identity. If anyone searched her name or tried to break into her accounts, he would be notified.
He’d just finished his task when Carmen returned to the room. Her face was rosy from the heat of the shower, and her hair was a mass of golden curls that defied her attempts to smooth them as they tumbled past her shoulders.
She looked unbearably young and vulnerable.
At least until her eyes narrowed at the sight of his computer gear, which was spread across the bed as well as the small dresser.
“Make yourself at home,” she muttered.
He closed the laptop and rose to his feet. “Actually, I was thinking we should go somewhere to have dinner.”
She started to frown, but then she realized just what he was saying.
“Maybe a truck stop?” she asked.
“First a drive.”
“Okay.” She moved toward the door where she’d left her shoes. Sliding them on, she reached for her coat. She grimaced as she ran her finger over the cut in the sleeve. “I don’t suppose the truck stop will have any jackets for sale.”
Griff ground his teeth together at the vivid reminder that she’d been injured.
What was the point in dwelling on how easily she could have become one of the victims? Carmen Jacobs was determined to finish this crazy quest of tracking down the person responsible for sending her the pictures.
Nothing was going to stop her.
“If you want I could drive you into Kansas City. There should be a local mall still open,” he said, trying his best to keep the frustration out of his voice.
He wasn’t entirely successful, as her expression tensed with wariness. Did she suspect that he was considering the viability of hauling her back to his home and locking her in his house?
Or better yet, he could handcuff her to his bed . . .
“Maybe after dinner.” She interrupted his dangerous thoughts. “I’m not really much of a mall person anyway.”
On cue, his gaze lowered to the gray sweatshirt she was wearing. It had a picture of the Grand Canyon on the front. No doubt she’d picked it up at the airport during her layover. His lips twitched as he recalled the clingy spandex she’d worn when he’d first seen her on the beach months ago, and then the fuzzy sweater she’d been wearing yesterday.
Her taste leaned more toward sex kitten than frumpy tourist.
Who could blame her? She was a smart woman who knew how her gorgeous curves affected poor men’s brains.
“You can’t convince me you don’t love clothes,” he said.
A small flush stained her cheeks as his gaze slowly returned to her face.
“I prefer the vintage shops,” she said, looking oddly flustered as she slid her arms into her coat, careful not to scrape the sleeve against her wound. “There was one in the small town near my grandparents’ place and I worked there during the summer months.”
He tugged on his own coat and grabbed his laptop before moving to pull open the door.
“Your grandparents had a horse farm, didn’t they?” he asked, sticking to the info that had been revealed in the bio at the back of her book.
He wasn’t ready to tell her that he’d done a full background check on her after he’d realized she’d tried to trick him.
Her past had been traumatic, to say the least.
He desperately wanted to ask her questions, but he sensed she would shut down as soon as he tried to pry.
Proving his point, she grabbed her purse and stepped past him, refusing to meet his gaze.
“We can take the SUV,” she said.
“Wait.” He pulled shut the hotel door, making sure it automatically locked. “Let’s take the truck.”
She jerked her head toward him, her brows lowering. “Why?”
“It has four-wheel drive.”
The icy breeze tugged at her curls. “And I suppose you have to drive?”
He shrugged. “Not if you want to.”
“No fight for dominance?”
“Nope.” He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his jeans to pull out the keys. He tossed them to her. “It’s been years since I’ve driven in the snow. Plus, I want to run some searches.”
She caught the keys with an exaggerated expression of surprise.
“Astonishing.”
He climbed into the passenger side of the truck, tucking the computer on his lap and keeping the hot spot open on his phone so he could have Internet access.
“My manhood isn’t based on whether I’m the one behind the steering wheel,” he told her as she climbed in beside him and turned on the engine.
It was true. He’d been a scrawny kid living in a tough Chicago neighborhood with a mom who was a cop. He was never going to be big enough or mean enough to survive. So he had to be smart. Really, really smart.
Carmen’s defensive expression eased as she headed toward the exit of the parking lot.
“Which way?” she asked.
“West,” he said.
She turned onto the narrow road, crunching over the ice before she reached the nearest ramp to veer onto the highway. The plows had been out to scoop off the worst of the snow, leaving narrow paths in the middle of the lanes. Carmen held on to the steering wheel with a tight grip, cautious enough to keep them at a sensible speed as they traveled through the gathering dusk.
It was just five o’clock, but night was already crowding in.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re headed?” she asked.
Griff turned his attention to his laptop, pulling up the file he saved.
“I want to see the spot where the truck was abandoned,” he said.
“Oh. That’s a good idea.”
“I do have them on occasion,” he said dryly.
“Hmm.” She reached to flip the heater on high.
“The police report says they found the truck abandoned six miles west of the hotel.”
“At least the snow has stopped,” she said.
He glanced up to survey the passing scenery. White. White. And more white.
“My feet are still going to get wet.” He swallowed a sigh. “I didn’t pack any boots.”
“Do you own any?”
“No.” He hadn’t bothered buying boots since he’d moved to California. He glanced at her feet, which were covered by a pair of tennis shoes. “What about you? I thought you were staying in the mountains?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t bother to pack them.”
He returned his gaze to his computer, keeping his tone light. “Do you own the cabin you were staying at?”
There was a long pause, as if she wanted to ignore his question.
“No, I just rented it for the holiday season,” she at last admitted.
“Alone?”
She sent him a quick glance. “Why do you assume I was alone?”
A strange tension clenched his stomach. As if the thought of her with another man was distressing.
“If you had a lover with you, he would never have allowed you to travel away from the cabin without him,” he said, feeling the heat of her glare.
“I don’t need a man to tell me what I can or can’t do.”
“Plus, he would have punched the deputy in the nose who assumed you sent those pictures to yourself for a publicity stunt, and you would be busy trying to bail him out of jail,” he continued smoothly.
She released a grudging laugh. “You are . . .”
“Adorable?” he suggested when she str
uggled to find the right word. She rolled her eyes. “Why a cabin?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I prefer to spend the holidays someplace where I can have some peace and quiet.”
“Me too.”
She shot another quick glance in his direction. “Do you have any family?”
He grimaced. It was his turn to feel the barriers come up. His past might not have hit the scandal pages, but it had been far from perfect.
Still, he knew that if he ever wanted her to open up, he would have to share at least a few details.
“My father and his second wife live in Texas.” He shrugged. His only contact with them was a Christmas card that had arrived the week before. It was sitting unopened on his desk. “Or maybe it’s Florida now,” he admitted, having a brief memory of the return address. Seemed like it had Miami typed on it instead of Austin. “They move every year or so.”
She slowed as a car whizzed past them, throwing up a slush of salt and ice that smeared their window. She hit the wipers.
“You’re not close?” she asked.
He snorted. That was the understatement of the century.
“No, we’re not close. My only real family is my grandmother. She lives in Iowa, but she’s spending the holidays with her sister in Arizona.” A genuine smile curved his lips. “She called me yesterday to say that she won seventy-two dollars at bingo. She couldn’t have been more excited if she’d hit the lotto ticket.”
“What about your mother?”
“Dead.”
He heard her breath catch. “I’m sorry.”
He pointed toward the mile marker that was listed in the police report.
“The truck was found just ahead,” he said, eager to change the conversation. “Why don’t you pull off the road at the rest area?”
She slowed, turning onto the narrow road. The rest area wasn’t much more than a couple of picnic tables and a small brick building that housed the bathrooms and a vending machine.
She parked and they both glanced around. “There’s not much here.”
Griff nodded, his gaze skimming over the snowy landscape still visible despite the deepening shadows.
“A perfect place to dump the truck,” he said. “There’s no exit ramps nearby. No businesses. No houses. No tourist attraction that might encourage a passerby to take pictures to put on social media. Or for the cops to have a license reader set up.” He grimaced. If he was going to abandon a vehicle, this was the exact spot he would choose. “Nothing but empty fields as far as the eye can see.”
“The killer must have had someone pick him up.”
“Yes.” Griff nodded. She was right. The killer had to have a way to dump the truck and then get away. A partner? Damn. That was disturbing.
“Do you think the women were murdered here?”
He shoved away the nasty fear there might be more than one person out there hunting women. Speculation wasn’t going to help.
Right now he had to concentrate on digging up as much concrete information as he could.
“I can’t say for sure, but according to the report, the truck was left on the shoulder of the highway. If I was the killer, I would be afraid someone might stop to see if I needed some help.” He waved a hand to the small rest area. “If I was searching for someplace to kill my victim, or to dump the body, I would choose someplace less visible.”
She gave a slow nod. “So where could you kill five women without being noticed?” She paused, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “The truck stop.”
“That would be my guess,” he agreed. “No one would think twice about a semi parked in the back of a lot reserved specifically for truckers. They wouldn’t even notice a woman climb into the back trailer with a man.”
She shifted the gear stick and eased out of the rest stop. “Where’s the nearest one?”
“Another five miles west of here,” he told her.
Pressing the gas pedal, Carmen had them back on the highway and headed west.
Chapter Seven
Carmen decided truck stops possessed a weird gravitational force.
They sucked in passing motorists, luring them in with platters of greasy food and hot coffee, and then spun them back into the cold with bloated bellies and the buzz of caffeine.
Tonight, however, the large restaurant and attached fuel station were eerily empty. The threat of more snow kept most travelers off the road, while the professional truckers were too anxious to get home for Christmas to linger over their meals.
Leaving Griff to speak with the manager about any strangers who might have been hanging around the night the truck was stolen, as well as any arrests that had been made in the area for prostitution, Carmen headed into the restaurant area, interviewing the handful of diners.
They’d all been eager to speak with her once they’d recognized her as the famous author they’d seen on the cable news shows. They all had a story they just knew would be perfect for a book. And they were all willing to offer her the rights, as long as they got a cut of the profits.
But not one of them had been in the area two weeks ago.
Or knew a trucker by the name of Lee Williams who’d had his semi stolen.
Certainly, none of them had any knowledge of prostitutes who worked the parking lot.
Taking a table, she’d waited for Griff, not surprised to discover that the manager denied any existence of illegal activities happening in or around the parking area.
Dead end.
To compensate for her disappointment, Carmen ordered the Trucker’s Special, which included a stack of pancakes, hash browns, scrambled eggs with onions and green peppers, a pile of crisp bacon, and a slice of cantaloupe.
It was enough food to feed a small tribe, so she left the cantaloupe. No need to be a pig.
They climbed into the pickup and drove back to the hotel in silence. It wasn’t until she’d parked in front of her room and turned off the engine that she at last heaved a frustrated sigh.
“Well, that was a colossal waste of time,” she muttered.
Griff unbuckled his belt and swiveled in the seat to face her. The security light was barely bright enough to make out more than his silhouette, but suddenly she was conscious of his close presence.
The rich, male scent of his cologne that laced the air. The soft sound of his breathing. The prickle of heat that was a tangible force between them.
He leaned toward her. Did he share her acute awareness?
“Not entirely,” he said in soft tones. “You did manage to consume an impressive number of pancakes.”
Carmen’s lips twitched. She’d always had a huge appetite. It was something she enjoyed without apology.
“I was hungry.”
“Hmm.” She could feel his gaze skim down her body. “I’m still not sure where you put them.”
“You sound like my grandfather.” She told herself the shiver that raced through her was from the cold that was already creeping into the pickup. “He used to claim I ate more than his farmhands.”
Griff ’s arm draped along the top of the seat, his fingers reaching out to brush her cheek.
“You were close to him?”
“Yeah.” The pang of grief had her retreating into her familiar shell. “Are you going back to California tonight?”
He stilled, one of his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “Are you returning to your home?”
She turned her head to study the hotel.
She could stay here and hope the killer tried to approach her again. Not the most pleasant thought. Or she could return to her cabin in the mountains and worry that there might be a monster under her bed. An even less pleasant thought.
Or she could return to the small horse farm that belonged to her grandparents. A place she hadn’t seen in months.
She gave a shrug. “I haven’t decided.”
“Then I’m staying.”
She turned her head, trying to make out his expression in the shadows.
“I don’t
need a babysitter.”
“What about a friend?”
“What?”
“Do you need a friend?”
Her breath lodged in her throat, a strange warmth curling through the pit of her stomach.
“Griff.”
His fingers brushed a stray curl behind her ear before he was pulling back and shoving open the door.
“Let’s get inside,” he said. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Stubborn,” she muttered as she climbed out of the truck and followed behind him.
“You know there’s a saying about a pot calling the kettle black.”
She pulled the key out of her purse and stuck it in the lock.
“I’m determined, not stubborn,” she informed her companion, pushing open the door.
“There’s a difference?”
“Of course.”
She reached in to flip on the light, then stepped into the cramped room. It was at least warm.
In the process of walking forward to give Griff the space to enter behind her, she abruptly froze.
A protective arm wrapped around her shoulders as Griff tucked her close to his body. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.
She lifted her arm to point toward the vase of flowers that was placed on the nightstand next to the bed.
“Look.”
She felt Griff tense as he took in the three blood-red roses that were a vivid splash of color in the otherwise drab room.
With a slow movement he laid his laptop on the chair near the door. Then, giving her shoulders a comforting squeeze, he lowered his arm and headed into the bathroom. He did a quick search before opening the closet to make sure no one was lurking inside.
Only then did he slowly approach the flowers. “Did anyone know you were staying here? Someone who might send you an early Christmas gift?”
Carmen wrapped her arms around her waist, giving a sharp shake of her head.
“No one.”
What Are You Afraid Of? Page 8