Two hardheaded investigators chase danger—and each other—in New York Times bestselling author Carla Cassidy’s newest Scene of the Crime case
Gabriel Walters didn’t need some know-it-all FBI agent charging in on his territory. But Jordon James wasn’t about to let some local police chief derail her, not with three unsolved murders over at the Diamond Cove B and B. If she just immersed herself in the investigation, she could avoid the troubles she’d left back home…and run head-on into some new ones with Gabriel. He didn’t want to discover a fourth victim, which, if the note slid under Jordon’s bedroom door was to be believed, would be her. Now it will take their full cooperation to catch a killer—before he strikes again.
“There is also a killer using this bed-and-breakfast as his personal playground.”
“All the more reason for me to stay here,” she replied.
Gabriel frowned. “I really don’t like the idea. I think it would be much better if you stayed somewhere else.”
“I’ll be fine here. I’m armed and I’m trained. Just get me a key and point me to a room.”
The burn in his gut intensified. Even though he barely knew Jordon, he recognized the stubborn upward thrust of a chin, the resolute shine in her eyes.
The killer was savvy enough not to leave any evidence behind. In savagely murdering three people, he hadn’t made any mistakes that Gabriel had been able to find.
The last thing Gabriel wanted was for FBI Special Agent Jordon James to become the fourth victim.
SCENE OF THE CRIME:
MEANS AND MOTIVE
New York Times Bestselling Author
Carla Cassidy
Carla Cassidy is an award-winning, New York Times bestselling author who has written more than one hundred and twenty novels for Harlequin. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from RT Book Reviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from RT Book Reviews. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write.
Books by Carla Cassidy
Harlequin Intrigue
Scene of the Crime
Scene of the Crime: Bridgewater, Texas
Scene of the Crime: Bachelor Moon
Scene of the Crime: Widow Creek
Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake
Scene of the Crime: Black Creek
Scene of the Crime: Deadman’s Bluff
Scene of the Crime: Return to Bachelor Moon
Scene of the Crime: Return to Mystic Lake
Scene of the Crime: Baton Rouge
Scene of the Crime: Killer Cove
Scene of the Crime: Who Killed Shelly Sinclair?
Scene of the Crime: Means and Motive
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CAST OF CHARACTERS
Jordon James—An FBI agent who has come to Branson to solve a trio of murders. She quickly becomes marked by the killer as the next victim.
Gabriel Walters—Chief of police. Can he protect Jordon from the killer and still hang on to his heart?
Kevin Rollings—The former owner of Diamond Cove. Has his need for revenge turned him into a cold-blooded murderer?
Ed Rollings—Is the handyman really doing his brother’s dirty work?
Ted Overton—Has the present owner of the bed-and-breakfast hatched an evil plot to get his family back where they belong?
Billy Bonds—The groundskeeper has secrets… Is one of them deadly?
To Bob and Jenny Offutt, thanks for the wonderful hospitality we received when we stayed with you at your beautiful resort, Crystal Cove Bed and Breakfast in Branson.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from In the Arms of the Enemy by Carol Ericson
Chapter One
FBI Special Agent Jordon James hated two things—winter and murder—and she was about to be immersed in the middle of both. She frowned and stared out the small window of the helicopter that had carried her from Kansas City to the rousing tourist town of Branson, Missouri.
When they’d left Kansas City the ground had been winter brown and the temperature had been a balmy forty-five. Unfortunately, as they approached the Branson airport, the temperature had dropped into the teens and four inches of snow had fallen in the small vacation destination overnight.
As the helicopter circled for the landing, visions of a beach with a bright sun, a chaise lounge and a fruity alcoholic drink flirted in Jordon’s head. She’d booked a long-awaited vacation in Florida for the end of next week. Hopefully, this mess in Branson could be cleaned up soon enough that she wouldn’t have to postpone the long-awaited vacation.
She was here only in an advisory position as a favor between her FBI director and the Branson mayor. All she knew was that there had been three murders in as many months committed in a popular bed-and-breakfast. The latest murder victim had been stabbed to death and discovered by a maid in her room the day before.
Jordon played nice with others when it was absolutely necessary, but she preferred to work alone. She had a feeling that Director Tom Langford had tapped her for this job, knowing that she would have to try to work with a police chief who probably didn’t want her here.
“It builds character to step out of your comfort zone.” She wished she had a dime for every time Tom had said that to her in the last couple of years. “Don’t be a cowboy, Jordon. That’s what nearly got you killed a year ago,” he’d reminded her right before she’d left.
The heart-shaped pattern of cigarette-burn scars on her left hip itched as memories of an old cellar and a serial killer named Ralph Hicks flashed in her head.
It had been nearly a year since she’d almost become the sixth victim of the man who had tortured and killed five other women over a six-month period in the Kansas City area. Thankfully, she had been the one who had walked out of that dank, terrifying cellar and Ralph Hicks had come out in a body bag.
The bump of the helicopter touching down snapped her back to the here and now. Jordon thanked the pilot, grabbed her two bags and climbed down to the tarmac, where a uniformed police officer greeted her.
“Agent James, I’m Lieutenant Mark Johnson.” He shouted above the whoop whoop of the helicopter blades as the aircraft took off once again.
He grabbed her bags from her. “Good to have you here. My car is parked over here.” He turned and headed for the parking lot in the distance. An icy gust of wind half stole her breath away as she quickly followed behind him.
Within minutes they were in his patrol car with a steady flow of heated air blowing in her face. “Have you been to Branson before?” he asked when they pulled away from the airport.
“Never, although I’ve certainly heard a lot about it from coworkers who have been here
,” she replied. She held her hands up to the air vents and squinted against the late-afternoon sunshine that glared off the snow cover.
At least the highway they traveled had been cleared, but as he turned onto a narrow snowpacked street that headed straight downhill, her breath caught in the back of her throat.
They had gone from city highway to thick woods and a precarious country road with a simple right-hand turn. “Diamond Cove is down this way,” Mark said. “Chief of Police Gabriel Walters is waiting for you there.” He eased up on the gas as the back end of the car slid ominously to the left.
Every muscle in Jordon’s body tensed and didn’t relax again until they had turned into a driveway in front of a cozy-looking log cabin. He parked next to a police car that was already there and shut off the engine.
“Welcome to Diamond Cove Bed-and-Breakfast,” Mark said. “This is the main office and dining area.” He pointed to the right. “As you can see through the trees up on the ridge there are four cabins that hold two suites each. The latest victim, Sandy Peters, was found in her bed in unit three yesterday morning by one of the housekeeping staff.”
Jordon gazed at the four small log cabins with front porches. With the lack of leaves on the trees they were easily visible. Outside each doorway were two rocking chairs for the guests’ pleasure.
In the spring and summer the thick woods that surrounded the cabins would hide them from view. The air would be filled with birdsong and squirrels would provide comic relief with their antics. Those rocking chairs would make perfect perches to nature-watch.
On the surface, the Diamond Cove resort appeared to be nestled on a secluded mountainside and promised peace and seclusion for the city-weary. But the peace had been shattered by three horrendous murders.
Mark opened his car door and Jordon did the same. A gust of frigid air greeted her and snow crunched underfoot as she got out of the car. Once again she thought of the beach and released a frosty, deep sigh.
“Follow me,” he said after grabbing her bags from the backseat.
He bypassed the front door and instead led her around the building on a wraparound porch. They passed a beautiful waterfall that was obviously heated as the water trickled merrily over rocks and into a small pond despite the below-freezing temperature.
They entered the building and stepped into the main dining room. The air smelled of a hint of cinnamon, wood smoke and rich, freshly brewed coffee.
It was a small, cozy area with two long tables draped in elegant white cloths. Fat white candles and crystal salt and pepper shakers marked the center of each table. A bookcase holding preserves, jellies and cookbooks for sale was against one wall, and a fireplace with two chairs added to the homey atmosphere.
Jordon took all of this in with a single glance, for it was the man seated in one of the chairs by the fireplace that captured her full attention.
Chief of Police Gabriel Walters held a cup of coffee in his hand and stared into the flames of the crackling fire. He was apparently so deep in thought he hadn’t even heard them come in.
His black hair was neatly cut and broad shoulders filled out the dark blue uniform shirt. His profile indicated a strong jawline and a perfectly straight nose.
“Chief?” Mark said hesitantly.
He shot up out of the chair and a touch of annoyance flashed across his handsome features. It was there only a moment and then covered by a smile that warmed Jordon right down to her frozen toes.
He might not mean the smile, but it didn’t matter. He wore the gesture well even though it didn’t quite light up the depths of his intense blue eyes.
“Special Agent James... I’m Chief Walters,” he said and took her hand for a firm, no-nonsense shake.
“Please, make it Jordon,” she replied.
He nodded and released her hand. “Jordon it is. Please, have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“That would be great,” she replied. She unzipped her coat, shrugged it off and sat in the chair next to his in front of the fireplace.
He walked over to Mark and spoke so softly to the man that Jordon couldn’t hear. Mark nodded a goodbye to Jordon and left the way they had come.
She watched as Gabriel moved over to a small table that held a coffeemaker and all the accoutrements for all tastes. “Cream? Sugar?” he asked.
“Black is fine,” she replied. The man was definitely hot. He boasted not only wonderfully broad shoulders, but also slim hips and a stomach that didn’t appear to hold an ounce of body fat.
He hadn’t offered her the choice of calling him by his given name and that alone told her he might not be happy to see her. She’d seen him for only a minute and already she had him pegged as intense and probably uptight and rigid.
His physical attractiveness definitely stirred a little fire of heat in the pit of her stomach, but if her suspicions about his personality were right, then she had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before she might want to pinch his head off. Time would tell.
He held the coffee cup out to her and she took it with a murmured thanks. Then he returned to the chair next to her. “I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on here.”
“No real specifics. I was only told that there have been three murders here, the most recent victim discovered yesterday morning.”
He nodded. “Sandy Peters. She was thirty-four years old and a mystery writer. According to the owners of the resort, she came here every year in January to spend a couple of weeks holed up and writing.”
“Married? Divorced?”
“Single, and according to everyone I spoke to yesterday who was close to her, she wasn’t dating anyone,” he replied. “Besides, she was killed in the same manner as the other two victims.”
“Stabbed to death,” Jordon said.
“That’s right. My investigation hasn’t turned up anything the three victims have in common other than they were all guests here at Diamond Cove at the time of their deaths. In fact, they were the only guests here at the time when they were killed.”
Jordon took a sip of the coffee and leaned back in the chair. The warmth and scent of the fire combined with the deep smooth tone of his voice would make it easy to be lulled into a semicoma if they weren’t talking about murder.
She leaned forward and caught a whiff of his pleasant, woodsy-scented cologne. “So, this doesn’t sound like it’s about any specific victimology, but tell me about the other victims anyway.”
“The first one was twenty-five-year-old Samantha Kent. She and her husband had rented a suite just before Thanksgiving to celebrate their first wedding anniversary. She was stabbed to death on a trail near their cabin on a Tuesday morning.”
He grimaced and then continued. “The second victim, Rick Sanders, booked a room a week before Christmas. He was found stabbed in the guest shed. Samantha was a schoolteacher from Kansas City. Rick was a restaurant owner from Dallas who had come here to check out some of the local food. Sandy was from St. Louis.”
Jordon was impressed by how easily he rattled off the pertinent information of each victim without any notes. It meant he’d embraced the victims. They weren’t just dead bodies to him... They were people. She liked that.
She took another sip of her coffee as he continued. “When Samantha was found on the trail, the first person we looked at hard was her husband, Eric. But he had a solid alibi. He’d been here having breakfast with the owners when she was killed and I could find no motive for him wanting her dead.”
“What was she doing outside all alone?” Jordon asked, mentally taking notes of all the information he was giving to her.
“She was an amateur photographer...a nature buff, and according to her husband, she’d decided to skip breakfast on that particular morning to take some photographs. She had a quick cup of coffee here with the owners and her husband to start the
day and then she left by herself.”
“Who found her body?”
“Billy Bond, the groundskeeper. When he found her she was still breathing but unconscious and bleeding out. She died on the way to the hospital. According to the doctor, she had been attacked only minutes before she was discovered.”
“So, the killer is probably local and you have no clue as to the motive,” Jordon said.
Gabriel’s lips thinned slightly. “No clue as to who or why. I guess that’s why Mayor Stoddard thought it was important to bring in the big guns.”
A small laugh escaped her despite the obvious displeasure on his face. “Don’t worry, Chief Walters. This gun doesn’t intend to get in your way. You’re the big Uzi and I’m just a little backup handgun.”
She held back a sigh. She’d been here only half an hour and already the very hot chief of police appeared to be attempting to engage her in a spitting match.
* * *
SHE DIDN’T INTEND to get in his way.
But something about FBI Special Agent Jordon James was already under his skin.
As Gabriel led her out of the main cabin and toward the smaller cabins so that she could see each of the crime scenes, his gut twisted tight in frustration.
He hadn’t been happy when the mayor had insisted they get help from the FBI, even in just an advisory position. He’d taken it as a vote of no confidence from the man who was his boss.
Jordon James had said nothing out of line. She’d been a complete professional so far, but while they’d talked he’d had some very unprofessional thoughts roll through his head.
She was strikingly pretty with her short curly dark hair and green eyes that sparked not only a keen intelligence, but with what he sensed was also a glimmer of humor.
When she’d shrugged out of her coat it had been impossible not to notice the length of her legs encased in the tight black slacks and the thrust of her full breasts against the white cotton of her blouse. Even the holster around her waist didn’t detract from her innate femininity.
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