Rocky Mountain Mystery

by Cassie Miles

  He suspected she was a tomboy, the kind of kid who dissected her Barbie dolls to see what made them work. "Tell me how reading a magazine makes you a relationship expert."

  "I can see the signs." She exited the elevator and trooped down the hall to her condo. "Maybe it's female intuition."

  He set down the box while she opened the door to her condo. His intention was to enter the condo ahead of her and to search, making sure there was no threat. "Let me go first."

  "Why?"

  "Because that's what a real bodyguard would do."

  She pushed open the door and stepped back. "While you're bodyguarding, what should I do? Do I leave the door open or closed?"

  It didn't seem smart to leave her standing in the hall. There could be a psycho lurking in the stairway. "Come inside and close the door."

  When he glanced at her, he saw the flicker of a smirk playing on her lips. And he felt damned silly. He wasn't a former Marine like Adam, wasn't a federal agent like O'Hara who could materialize out of the shadows and disappear just as fast. David was just an average guy, flying blind and trying to do the right thing.

  When she closed the door, they were both standing in the narrow hall that led into her condo. He went first into the living room, dining area and kitchen. Down the hall and into the bathroom, he peered behind the shower curtain. He checked in the cabinet beneath the sink.

  "What do you expect to find under there?" Blair teased. "A midget psycho?"

  "You're not making this easier," he grumbled.

  "Because it's a waste of time."

  "Not when you consider the facts," he said. "Two of the victims were abducted from their homes. They were women who lived alone, like you."

  In her second bedroom which she used as an office, he opened the door to the closet. This room was filled with clutter, books, a desk and computer. But there were no good hiding places.

  He entered her bedroom. Unlike the rest of her functional living space, this room was pretty and feminine. He could easily imagine the, woman who lived in here reading girlish magazines and thinking about the perfect relationship. On the bedside table was a single white orchid in a bud vase. The furniture was dark wood, and the covers on her four-poster bed were white with a sprinkle of tiny pink and yellow daisies. After looking in the attached bathroom, he returned to the bedroom. It smelled great, like cinnamon and honeysuckle.

  "Is it safe?" Blair asked from the doorway.

  When he saw her standing there, so close to her bed, his thoughts proceeded down a risky path. He wondered if he could manufacture a valid precaution that might include lying down on the bed, possibly removing some of her clothing.

  "David?" Her gaze was cool and sardonic. "Are you done in here?"

  "I should look under the bed." He bent down and did so. "And the closet."

  Her walk-in closet was impeccably organized. He reached out, and lightly touched her silky blouses and dresses. The fabric caressed his fingers. "These are pretty."

  Behind him she said, "I never wear dresses anymore. You know, because of my leg."

  Dozens of shoe boxes were stacked in a corner, reaching from floor to ceiling. He gestured to them. "Do you wear all those?"

  "Not for the past five years." She pivoted abruptly and walked away, leaving him in the closet.

  David winced, feeling like an ass for being so insensitive. If he'd concentrated for two seconds, he would have realized that she didn't wear the fancy shoes anymore. She needed a seven-eighths-inch lift.

  But it was hard for him to remember that Blair was handicapped, especially after watching her at the autopsy where she was obviously smart and competent and respected by her peers. Yeah, sure, there were scars on her leg, but she didn't seem limited in any way.

  He came out into the living room and found her curled up in the one decent chair, nibbling at a Godiva chocolate. She was irritated. He could almost see the miniature storm cloud above her head.

  "Okay, Blair. There's one more hiding place I need to check, and you need to help me."

  "I'm really tired."

  "One more thing." He caught hold of both her hands and pulled her to her feet. "The balcony."

  "Fine. Take a look."

  "Come with me," he said. "If there's a wall-crawling psycho out there, I'm pretty sure I'll need your help to subdue him."

  "For goodness sake, David!" She tried to wrench free, but he held on tight, dragging her along with him to the sliding glass doors. "Just open the blinds."

  "Not sufficient," he said. "We can't see in the corners."

  They stepped outside onto the fifth-floor balcony. Beyond the rooftops, the lights of downtown Denver shimmered like diamonds in vertical trays. The gold dome of the state capitol gleamed against a dark purple background of sky and sheltering mountains. Spreading lights of the city and suburbs glimmered into a faraway perspective, consumed by the velvet prairie night.

  Of all the places David had traveled, he loved Denver the most. Definitely a city. But there was also a sense of natural isolation, a home for the rugged individual. He leaned his elbows on the balcony railing and inhaled a breath of springtime air. "Nice."

  "I like the view." Standing beside him, Blair exhaled a sigh. "If we were up higher, we'd see more of the mountains. But I prefer being at this level, even with the treetops."

  For a long moment they stood, secluded by the night, lulled by the sounds of the city stretched out below them. He placed his hand atop hers. "It's good to spend time with you again."

  "Even though I'm a smart aleck?"

  "I like your sass."

  "My what?"

  He grinned. "Doesn't seem like we've ever been apart."

  "But we were never really together, David. We didn't date. We weren't a couple."

  He gazed down into her moonlit face, a perfect oval dominated by turquoise eyes. "I would've made a move on you the first minute I saw you. Except for Jake."

  "Jake the Snake," she said automatically. "But you're not remembering correctly. Five years ago, when we met, you'd just lost your sister. You were a raw nerve ending."

  "I've healed." He stroked his fingers through her soft brown hair. "All better now."

  "Are you?"

  "Kiss me, Blair."

  Chapter Five

  The scent of cinnamon and honey—Blair's perfume— enveloped David as he pulled her close. He'd asked for a kiss but wasn't willing to wait while she considered the alternatives and came up with excuses from ladies' magazines. He had to kiss her now, right now, while they stood on her balcony with the twinkling city lights as a backdrop.

  His mouth slanted across hers, tasting gently, savoring the smooth texture of her lips. Her fragrance swirled around him, arousing him to the erotic possibilities of Blair—who would never call herself a girly-girl, but was all woman.

  She responded to him. Her supple arms wrapped around his shoulders, and she held on tight. Their bodies tensed. In five seconds' time, they'd gone from zero miles per hour to 120. He needed to slow down before they crashed. His grasp lightened. He left her gasping lips and kissed her cheek, her earlobe, the sharp edge of her jawline. His hands outlined the shape of her body, the slender indentation of her waist and the sexy flare of her hips. Each caress fed his rising passion.

  Her fingers kneaded his back, and he hoped those skilled hands, medically trained, would teach him the special secrets of her anatomy. She shuddered as he cupped her breast. The pliant weight and hard nipple, a taut little bud of passion, drove him crazy.

  David hadn't expected to make love to Blair today, but her touch felt so right. Her body was made for him. On some level, he had always wanted her.

  When she started to pull away, he wouldn't let her go. He kissed her again, not wanting her to speak. He didn't want to hear that they were moving too fast.

  Playfully she pushed against his chest. "No, David."

  "Yes, Blair."

  He silenced her with another kiss. Her lips parted. Her tongue engaged with his. />
  Then again, she tore herself away, panting. "No."

  Though he had to respect her stated refusal, he knew she was hot. And he was on fire, up to his neck in boiling lava. "I don't want to stop."

  "A relationship between us..." Turning away from him, she stood at the railing, staring toward the glistening downtown skyscrapers and the mountains beyond. "You and me? David, it just won't work."

  "You're wrong, Dr. Weston."

  He came up behind her, and she leaned her back against his chest. As his arm encircled her, she moaned softly. "Please, David. No."

  He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. Her soft brown hair tickled his nose. "Give me a chance."

  "It's not going to happen."

  With an effort, she shoved away from him. Why was she was fighting the natural urge that drew them together? Her eyes shone with a strange desperation. She almost looked scared. Well, damn. He didn't want her to be frightened of him.

  David took a step backward, giving her space. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. You understand that."

  Her chin lifted. "We can't get involved. You and me, we're both damaged people. A couple of victims, clinging to each other."

  "Victims?"

  "Caught in the past." She pivoted and whipped through the glass door into her condo. "We don't have a future."

  He was much too aroused to chase after her. His body was set on high, ready for steamy, hot passion. Not logic! The hell with rational thinking! Seeking calm, he stared into the night heavens. Slowly he counted the pinpricks of cool distant stars. His breathing settled into a more normal pattern, but his mind was still agitated.

  He wanted to make love to her, and he didn't believe her diagnosis. Why wouldn't a relationship between them work? David didn't consider himself a victim.

  When he stepped inside her condo, he left the sliding glass door open a crack to allow the night breezes inside. Blair stood across the room with one hand resting on the handlebars of her stationary exercise bike. Her posture was rigid.

  She held up her hand, forestalling any comment from him. "I need to say this, David. It's not fair to either of us if I don't thoroughly explain my position."

  "Go ahead."

  "I can't look at you without thinking of who I was before the accident. When we first met, I had a career, doing significant work," she said. "I was a whole person with my life ahead of me."

  "You're still a whole person," he said. "And anytime you want to go back to work at the Coroner's Office, they'll take you. They love you there. They respect you."

  "My job was important, but there was something more—something I took for granted before I lost it." She raised one hand to cover her mouth, then lowered it. "I was pretty."

  He stared, uncomprehending. "But you're beautiful."

  "Stop," she snapped. "It's not the same. Before the accident, I was in my prime, wearing miniskirts and flimsy, fancy sandals." Her hand curled into a fist which she tapped against her injured leg. "My sandal-wearing days are over."

  "Damn it, Blair. If this is about shoes—"

  "Don't joke. You can't dismiss what happened to me. Or to you. We can't pretend it didn't happen." As she paced across the room toward the table, her limp was evident. "We're rooted in the past, anchored by our separate pain."

  "What if I told you how attractive you are right now? Right at this moment." He wasn't lying. "What if I told you that your eyes are the most intriguing shade of green I've ever seen? Your smile is a miracle. You're soft and strong at the same time. Your body is slender, hot and sexy."

  "I'd say you were the one in denial." She sighed. "Face it, David. You didn't come here because of my allegedly hot bod. The only reason we're together right now is to review a murder. You and me, we're still stuck in the past."

  He had to acknowledge a grain of truth in what she said. "I'm attracted to you, Blair. And I admire you. You're a survivor. You recovered from your injuries."

  "Did I? I still can't go back to work because I have these unexplainable dizzy spells. The docs can't find a neurological explanation for my weakness." Her lower lip trembled. "It's in my head. I can't accept who I am."

  "I can."

  "Liar!" She shook away the unshed tears. "And look at you! You say you're not a victim, but your whole life is devoted to the study of crime, trying to make sense of your sister's death. There isn't room in your heart for anything else."

  A stab of realization cut through him. Though he'd made peace with his past on a rational level, his heart still ached. He couldn't deny the pain. Or the effect.

  David hadn't been able to sustain any kind of relationship after his sister's murder. Sure, he pretended that he was being selective in dating, but that was a lie. He held back, still mourning Danielle. And when he thought of her, he was enraged, consumed by a driving need that could only be about revenge, a relentless poison.

  Until he knew without doubt that the real killer was on death row, David would be incapable of giving himself completely.

  "You might be right," he said.

  "Of course I am."

  "This investigation may be more important to me than I thought."

  She sank into the chair beside her dining room table. "I know. I could see all the signs."

  "What signs?"

  She braced her elbow on the table and rested her forehead against the heel of her hand, avoiding his gaze. "While I was working in the Coroner's Office, I saw the next of kin who came to identify their loved ones. I saw the investigators who became obsessed with the crimes and criminals."

  "I've seen them, too." Much of his investigative work involved interviews with those who were left behind—suspects, killers and victims. "They're all different."

  "All damaged. Whether they're crying or screaming or yelling, there's a common need. An emptiness that must be filled before they can, once again, participate in life."

  Blair's telephone rang. She rose from her chair and went into the kitchen to answer, leaving him alone with a mountain of self-doubt.

  He knew that Danielle's murder was an important turning point. But had it crippled him emotionally? Had he spent the past five years in limbo, unable to feel anything? He was familiar with the psychology of survivor's guilt and post-traumatic stress disorder, but he hadn't applied those terms to himself. Until this moment it hadn't seemed necessary.

  David wasn't altogether sure he wanted to let go of his rage. That intensity drove his work. Maybe it was time for his impossible quest to end.

  Blair returned from the kitchen. "That was Dr. Reinholdt. Some of the sample analysis from the autopsy is complete. It was tap water in the victim's lungs, probably from a bathtub."

  "Like the Fisherman," he said. "What about the stomach contents?"

  "Chocolate. Godiva chocolate." She frowned. "If this is a copycat, he's precise."

  "Which means you're in danger," he said. "He stalked you before. He's stalking you now."

  "Maybe," she said quietly.

  This was a definite call to action. He could almost hear the trumpets blare. The sooner he got this investigation under way, the sooner it would be solved. Then he could have a life. "I need to get started with that box of information. Can I use your office?"

  "Let me tidy up the clutter."

  She walked past him with her eyes downcast and her shoulders sagging. She looked exhausted, but David knew better than to approach her. Blair had her own battles to fight, and she'd made it clear that she didn't want his help.

  While Blair scooped her personal stuff—bills and letters and documents into the drawers, he centered the box on her desktop and opened it.

  The information from CCC was neatly arranged in file folders with identifying tabs indicating forensic reports, Agent O'Hara's notes, newspaper clippings and court transcripts. Molly had done an excellent job in pulling this together. Additionally, she'd set up individual files for each victim which she labelled Mermaid 1 through Mermaid 6. David's sister was the fourth mermaid killed by the
Fisherman.

  Blair peered over his shoulder. "Give me the forensic evidence file."

  Since there was only one desk chair in the room, she perched on the edge of the desk to peruse the file.

  David looked down at the remaining data. Danielle's file was the place he had to start. He opened the flap of the manila folder. His sister's heart-shaped face stared up at him from a formal eight-by-ten photograph taken after she'd graduated from college. The camera caught a sparkle in her eyes that matched the diamond pendant she often wore. Tiny gems outlined the shape of a D. Danielle and David were the Crawford children, and their mother was Diana. They called themselves the Three Ds. Oh, Danielle... She should have had a long life, children of her own. She should not have been murdered.

  His stomach lurched. Bile rose in his throat. His rage and horror remained unquenched, even after all these years and the supposed conviction of her murderer.

  "Look at this," Blair said.

  She held up the arrest photograph of Eddy Adderly. The convicted killer's name was as bland as his appearance and personality. With his thinning blond hair and squinting myopic eyes, Eddy Adderly never looked smart enough to elude the police. But David had learned from his subsequent investigations that the face of evil is often nondescript. A stone-cold killer might be the guy next door, somebody you pass on the street without a second glance.

  "He's an ugly little vermin," she said.

  Preoccupied by the files, David nodded.

  "Hungry?"

  "I guess so."

  "I'm thinking we should order pizza."

  "No anchovies."

  She left the office, and he flipped the photo of his sister facedown. Quickly he skimmed the autopsy report, crime-scene report and investigative notes from the police, including Detective Weathers. There were no surprises, and the information was scanty as David knew it would be. None of the evidence indicated his sister had a personal connection with the killer.

  He opened up the file for the first mermaid. Because the cops had no pattern when she was killed, there was a lot more focus on the family and friends of this woman. She'd been a nurse, like Danielle, and was engaged to an anesthesiologist, Kevin Mac Kay. From the looks of these reports, he'd been considered a suspect.