The Perfect Victim

by Linda Castillo

  ''Enough.'' The old pain transformed into something much more terrible. Vaguely, she was aware of the heat of his fingers coming through her sweater. So strong and reassuring. How easy it would be to step forward and fall into his embrace....

  "How did it happen?" he asked.

  She stared at him, realizing with some discomfort that his dark eyes had seen things she couldn't imagine even in her nightmares. She studied his face, hating it that he was so shuttered, that she couldn't even begin to read him. She allowed him to guide her into the living room, needing that instant of contact before she uttered the words that curdled like old milk in her stomach. "Their car slid out of control on an icy patch in the road and went down a ravine. They were killed instantly."

  "Had you been looking for your birth parents prior to the accident?"

  "Not seriously. I dabbled mostly. I was always afraid I would hurt them ...." Her chest ached with the thought. "I never wanted them to think it mattered."

  He looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I need to look into the accident."

  "You don't think it was an accident, do you?" She sank onto the sofa.

  ''That's what I need to find out."

  In all the months since their deaths, Addison had never considered any other scenario. She refused to believe her parents had been murdered. Not until it was proven to her. The consequences were much too painful.

  Taking the loveseat opposite her, he gave her a sage look.

  "I'll drive up tomorrow."

  "I'll go with you."

  "You'll only slow me down," he said. "Besides, Jack could use some help with the computer. He'll need social security numbers. Birth dates."

  Anger snapped through her like a whip. "Don't you dare try to shut me out of this."

  "You'll be safer with Jack."

  "This is important to me. I need to do this."

  "You need to stay alive."

  "You work for me. This is my call. My decision. Dammit, I go with you." She hadn't meant for the words to come out so angrily. But she refused to be shut out of something so important, even for the sake of her own safety.

  "We had an agreement," he said. "You agreed to abide by my terms."

  "I agreed before you told me what you knew. That wasn't fair. I won't abide by that.”

  "I'm not taking you with me."

  "My parents were killed in that ravine, not yours. I'll be damned if I'll let you go up there without me. I deserve to know what happened."

  Rising abruptly, Randall started for the door.

  Addison watched him, apprehension pumping through her. "Where are you going?" she asked, appalled by the alarm in her voice.

  At the kitchen door, he turned to her, hitting her with the full force of his stare. "I'm going to call Jack and ask him to find out what he can about the accident." His lips curled into a dark smile. "You didn't think I was leaving, did you?"

  That was exactly what she'd thought, but she'd rather have her fingernails pulled out than admit it.

  Punching in the number, he raked her with a blatant onceover that made her want to squirm. "I'll sleep on the sofa tonight."

  The image of that long, hard body stretched out on her sofa flashed in her mind. As much as she didn't want to admit it, the' image intrigued her. He was such a difficult man, so uncompromising, that she found it hard to imagine him vulnerable in sleep.

  Telling herself she was crazy to let her imagination—or her hormones—run amok, Addison turned on her .heel and headed for the linen closet. The past week had taken its toll on her emotions and obviously affected her ability to handle stress. Funny how it had affected her libido, she thought, disgusted. She was crazy to be thinking about a man like Randall Talbot in the physical sense. They were about as compatible as water and oil. "More like fire and gasoline," she mumbled as she opened the closet door.

  He was standing in front of the fire, looking into the flames, when she returned to the living room lugging a comforter and sheet. She'd purposefully chosen pink, knowing it would grate against that macho facade he wore so well. Without sparing him a glance, she draped the sheet over the sofa and proceeded to tuck the edges into the cushions.

  Satisfied with her work, she brushed her hands against her slacks and turned to face him. "I prefer to get an early start, if you don't mind—"

  The intensity of his gaze stopped her cold-and told her more about his frame of mind than she wanted to know. He was standing so close she could smell the subtle scent of his aftershave, feel the heat and energy pouring off him. A pleasant alarm trilled through her body. She didn't date much, but knew enough about men to recognize lust when she saw it. The realization shook her all the way down to her toes. Not just because she saw that disconcerting light in his eyes, but because she knew that same light was in her own eyes as well.

  His flannel shirt hung open, revealing a well-muscled chest covered with thick black hair. His belly was flat and rippled with muscle. The hair thickened slightly below his navel before disappearing into the waistband of low-rise jeans. Fleetingly, she wondered what that hard flesh would feel like under her fingertips. Was he as dangerous as he looked? Or was he the kind of man who used that hard facade to hide a heart that was every bit as vulnerable as hers?

  Disturbed by the thoughts rushing through her, Addison broke eye contact and stepped back. How could she be thinking of that muscular chest when she should be thinking about getting her life, back?

  His gun was lying on the coffee table looking out of place and menacing next to a crystal votive. She stared at it, wondering which was more dangerous at the moment, man or gun.

  Only then did she realize she faced another kind of danger when it came to Randall Talbot. A danger that had nothing to do with masked men or guns—and everything to do with her heart.

  "You should follow your instincts sometime, Ace," he said huskily. "Might be interesting for both of us."

  "Animals follow their instincts." She met his gaze levelly despite the fact that her cheeks were on fire. "Human beings rely on intelligence."

  One side of his mouth curved into an enigmatic smile. "I’ll try to remember that next time you look at me that way."

  Shaken by his words, by her own reaction to them, Addison turned away and headed for the safety of her bedroom.

  Chapter 10

  The snow-covered peaks of the Rockies rose up out of the earth like ancient stone dinosaurs. Juniper, scrub, and bare-branched aspen jutted from the broken ridges, cradling patches of snow in their spindly boughs. The mountains had always been a place of escape for Randall. Even during that terrible last year with the NTSB, he'd made it a point to hike or camp in the mountains every chance he got. He liked to believe it was the tranquility of this endless expanse of rock and sky that had helped him hang on to his sanity as long as he had.

  He felt stronger after nearly five months out of the field. Stronger, but not yet fully healed. He wasn't sure if he would ever recover fully. He wasn't sure a man ever came to terms with the kinds of horrors he'd seen.

  Still, he knew he had to go back to D.C. And even as the thought sent a quiver of fear through his gut, he felt the pull of its seductive draw and knew it was something he had to do no matter what the cost to him personally. He'd been successful in D.C. A good investigator. Aggressive. Thorough. Tough. A man with integrity who commanded respect. He knew the wide-body jets inside and out. He knew the hydraulic systems, the Pratt and Whitney engines, the Rolls Royces. A pilot himself, he knew firsthand the stringent training programs commercial pilots went through.

  But with all the invaluable knowledge and experience came the terrible, intimate knowledge of death that had pushed him so close to the edge. Death that knew no bounds and struck by the hundreds without regard to age or gender or status. He'd been arrogant enough to believe he was immune. But he'd only managed to fool himself. Death had left a permanent imprint on his heart and darkened his soul so that for months he'd felt its power pressing down on him, isolating him until he'd
felt so alone he thought he would die. The nightmares had eased since he cut back on his drinking, but sometimes when he smelled smoke or heard an ambulance, the death and devastation came rushing back.

  Refusing to think of the past or the shaky state of his future, Randall forced his attention back to the present—and to the young woman beside him. She looked fresh and wholesome and untainted, reminding him of everything he was not—and the countless reasons he ought to stay away from her. He let his eyes skim over her unfettered. Navy blue leggings hugged long, shapely legs. Her oversized sweatshirt sported a University of Colorado logo. The thick wool socks and lace-up hiking boots looked huge on her slender legs. He drank in the subtle outline of her breasts, her graceful neck, the delicate line of her jaw. Even in profile, she looked beautiful. But it was the sight of her full, wet mouth that turned him inside out every time he looked at her.

  Lord have mercy, he'd forgotten what it was like to look at a woman and want to lose himself inside her.

  He'd tried to talk her into spending the day at his office with Jack, but she refused. No surprise there; she wasn't the most agreeable creature he'd ever dealt with. He'd tried to convince her to meet with Van-Dyne then hole up the rest of the afternoon at Jack's cabin in Golden, but his efforts to sway her had failed. The woman could be downright exasperating when she put her mind to it.

  But if he was honest with himself, he would be forced to admit he was glad for her company today. With his thoughts drifting back to D.C. with increasing frequency, he needed the diversion. He supposed she had no way of knowing she turned him into a walking hard-on.

  Randall sighed, not happy about the situation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been with a woman. Not since he'd been in Colorado. Maybe that was the problem; maybe he just needed some good old-fashioned mindless sex. A man's needs could only be shoved aside for so long. A bottle of Chivas Regal only went so far to stanch them. Maybe what he needed was a one-night stand, a moment of unfettered warmth and the release that went with it.

  He wasn't buying it.

  The last thing he needed in his screwed-up life was an attractive, complicated female in trouble up to her eyebrows. The problem was, he wanted her anyway.

  It had taken every bit of self-discipline he could muster not to take her into his arms last night and get a taste of that heart-shaped mouth. Of course, she probably wouldn't have thought that was such a good idea. But he wasn't going to be able to keep his hands off her much longer, even though he knew where that would lead. The moment he touched her, he would not only lose the advantage of distance, but probably end up hurting her as well.

  She didn't know about his diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder. Randall didn't plan on telling her. He didn't want her to know his life had been turned upside down. That he'd lost his integrity. His self-respect. Or that he'd been flirting with alcoholism for the better part of a year.

  The smartest thing to do was to turn the case over to Jack, then haul ass back to Washington before he got tangled up with her. Before she found out what kind of man she was dealing with. When this was all over, she could go back to her coffee shop and find the kind of man she deserved.

  Someone who didn't have blackouts or spend most of his time thinking about the dead.

  "Good thing I came along, Talbot. The way you're daydreaming, you probably wouldn't have been able to find the place without me."

  Her voice jerked Randall from his thoughts. "I wasn't daydreaming," he growled.

  "Were, too."

  He glared at her, annoyed that she looked so damn good and that he couldn't seem to stop noticing. "I was thinking about the case—"

  "Bull—"

  "And what a pain in the ass you are."

  Flipping on the radio, she tuned it to an alternative rock station and gave him a cool look. "Cranky this morning?"

  He thought about telling her the real reason why he was feeling so surly, but decided the less she knew about his hormones the better off he'd be. "You'll know it when I feel cranky."

  "I'll take that as a warning."

  Studying her, he noticed the strain in her smile and realized the banter was a front. Damn. He should have realized this wasn't going to be easy for her. "You didn't have to put yourself through coming up here.”

  "Careful, Talbot, or you're going to say something nice."

  “Don't get your hopes up."

  They rode in silence for a moment. Then he asked, "Where did it happen?"

  "Near Hoosier Pass, just off of Highway 9."

  He looked away from his driving, noticed the pain in her eyes, and a jolt of affection shot through the center of him.

  "How much do you know about the accident?"

  She made a show of brushing a piece of lint from her leggings. ''I'd had Mom and Dad over for dinner that evening. I'd just moved into my apartment, and was having a sort of housewarming party. They left a little before midnight."

  Her voice was carefully monotone. Randall steeled himself against it, knowing it was her way of hiding her pain. He'd done the same thing too many times himself not to recognize it. Funny how clear 'things became when they happened to someone else.

  "They were almost home," she continued. "My father lost control on a curve. The car went off the road and rolled nearly two hundred feet." She stared straight ahead. Her hands twisted in her lap. "The sheriff's report said runoff from snow in the higher elevations earlier in the day froze after dark. My father hit a patch of ice. They didn't have a chance."

  "Who investigated the accident?" he asked.

  ''The Summit County Sheriff's Department."

  "We'll pay them a visit." Remembering his unpleasant encounter with Sheriff McEvoy back in Siloam Springs, he hoped the sheriff of Summit County would be a little more helpful. Damn, he hated small-town law enforcement.

  * * *

  Addison liked Sheriff Jefferson White the moment she met him. He was a burly African American in his late forties with intelligent eyes and an undeniable air of competence. He wore a crisp khaki uniform with a chrome badge pinned neatly below his name tag.

  "Sorry you had to wait." He extended his hand first to Addison, then to Randall.

  "We appreciate your time, Sheriff." Randall removed his P.I. license from his wallet and flashed it at the sheriff. "We'd like to have a look, at an accident report for a double fatality last February."

  "The files are in my office." White turned and guided them down a narrow hall. "Want some-hot coffee?" he asked.

  "No."

  "I'd love some."

  The answers came simultaneously, inducing grins from all three- "It's stale, but hot." White handed a cup to Addison then motioned toward the end office. "Right this way."

  The sheriff's workspace was overused and cramped. A large metal desk flanked by boxes faced the door. Addison seated herself in one of the two sled chairs opposite the desk.

  Randall sat beside her. The sheriff went to the file cabinet. "What were the names of the victims?” he asked.

  Addison didn't like the word victim. She hated it that her parents, two vivacious, loving people, had been reduced to “the victims.” "Patty and Larry Fox," she answered, forcing herself to relax her grip on her purse.

  The sheriff flipped through several files. "Ah, here we go."

  Addison's palms dampened as he pulled out a file folder with a case number typed in bold letters at the top. It was all that was left. Two lives condensed into a neat file with a typed label.

  Settling behind the desk, the sheriff opened the file and gave it a cursory read before handing it to Randall: "Do you mind if I ask why you folks are up here looking at a file that's, what, ten months old?"

  ''They were my parents," Addison answered quickly.

  Sheriff White touched the rim of his hat. "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. Tough to lose family."

  ''Thank you:" She was anxious to get her hands on the file. The last time she looked at it, she'd been so overwhelmed with grief that she hadn't paid
much attention to the details. She certainly hadn't been looking for evidence of murder.

  ''This is a beautiful country, but the weather's unpredictable as hell," the sheriff began. "Unfortunately, we have our share of accidents. I investigated this one myself." He pointed to the file. ''There are a couple of photos of the vehicle in there. If my memory serves me, I believe the car skidded on a patch of ice. Happened sometime between midnight and two A.M. The driver lost control. Vehicle went off the road and down a ravine. Rolled a ways before it came to rest against a tree big enough to stop it."

  Randall glanced at the sheriff. "Was there an explosion or fire?"

  "Small engine fire, but it was out by the time we got there."