by Freya Barker
“Nope,” I tell her, handing over my truck keys. A little smile twitching the corner of her mouth is my reward.
With a quick word with Seb to let Arlene know we’re off, we slip out the backdoor.
“I’d forgotten you live here now,” Kendra says as she adjusts the seat and the mirrors in my truck. “I still think of this apartment as Mal’s.”
“A year now, Kendra,” I snap, suddenly irritated. From the corner of my eye, I can see Kendra’s hands still on the steering wheel and I feel her eyes on me. Now I’m pissed at myself.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she says softly as she starts up the truck. “It’s just that I haven’t been up there since you moved in.”
The reminder that she so easily befriended Malachi, while keeping me at bay the entire time stings, but I know I overreacted. Reaching over with my left hand, I cover hers on the steering wheel. “Sorry I snapped,” I apologize a bit weakly.
“No worries.” She briefly turns her hand to give mine a squeeze before releasing it and grabbing the stick shift. Easily slipping the truck into first, she pulls smoothly out of the parking lot. “Dagnabit,” I hear her mumble under her breath.
“What?”
“I forgot Naomi and Joe are in Durango this weekend, packing up Fox’s room.”
Naomi’s son, Fox, started attending Fort Lewis in Durango a few years ago. Majoring in anthropology. Although he’d always shown a keen interest in the archeological digs around the area, spending a few months each summer volunteering on a variety of digs, his aim is medical anthropology. When I first met the kid, he was just sixteen years old but seemed far older and wiser than his years. He’d encountered some problems when first moving to the area with his mom, and ended up losing his father, so we’d ended up spending quite a bit of time together. I like the kid, although at almost twenty, and almost as tall as his stepfather, Joe, he could hardly be considered a kid anymore.
“I forgot about that. This will be the end of his second year, right?”
Kendra smiles when she turns to me. “Sure is, and he’s doing really well. I had him on the phone last week and he mentioned hooking up with you for some ass-kicking, as he called it.”
It makes me laugh. Fox had a hard-on about beating me at a game I helped develop. We’d hung out gaming quite a bit, and I have to admit, the kid is good. Almost had me a time or two. “He wishes,” I tell her with a smile, glad some of the tension is gone from the truck cab.
“Okay, so I’ll just head for Southwest in Cortez. I’ll make sure you’re in and out of there quickly.”
The mention of the hospital turns my focus on my hand, which is still throbbing steadily in my lap. Damn.
“Are you ready to tell me what happened?”
My eyes take in Kendra’s profile as she keeps her gaze steady on the road. So damn pretty. Her hair is back from her face in its signature ponytail, a few strands having slipped from the elastic band holding it back, drifting around her face. Her clear and observant eyes are framed with thick, dark lashes and ringed with fine laugh lines. Evidence of the weather is smattered across the skin of her nose and forehead, with a sprinkling of freckles that seem to get darker and more spread out as spring progresses. She really does look like the prime example of a girl-next-door. Pretty, fresh, and outdoorsy looking. A face I’ve become intimately familiar with over the past few years. But that mouth...holy fuck...those lips. That’s the stuff dreams are made of. And that’s what I focus on when I take a deep breath in and try to answer as honestly as I can.
Kendra
I can feel his eyes tracing my features and I can’t help but wonder what it is he sees exactly. I know I’m pushing, but something happened back there at the diner and it worries me. Before I have a chance to prompt him again, I hear his sharp intake of breath as if he’s preparing himself, so I wait him out. It doesn’t take long until I’m rewarded with his words.
“It’s funny actually. The food got me thinking about my mother—my family—and the reasons I enlisted in the army.” The derisive chuckle emitting from him is quite obviously self-directed, and I try not to react. “I was so full of myself then. Thinking I would be able to make an impact. What a joke. I was just a cog in a very large war machine.” His gaze finds mine before he quickly turns back to look outside once more. But not before I catch a hint of torment behind his eyes. Yowza. Carefully keeping my expression level, I direct my focus back to the road. “Sometimes when I let my thoughts go, when I think about some of the shit... Whatever...” he shakes his head before he continues. “I sometimes lose track of where I am.”
He doesn’t look at me, but I can sense him waiting for a reaction. Rather than give him a verbal one, I slip my hand off the gearshift and find his resting on his thigh. Quietly, I slide my hand under his palm and lace my fingers with his. I never take my eyes off the road. The only response is the slight tightening of his hand on mine.
The entire rest of the trip to Cortez is traveled in silence, each of us with our thoughts. Whenever I pull my hand from his to change gears, he just as quickly places it back on his thigh, interlacing our fingers every time. Maybe that’s why, once we park the truck in the hospital parking lot and start walking toward the emergency entrance, it seems natural for our hands to find each other’s.
Walking into the lobby, holding hands with Neil should have me worried, but I’m not thinking about what it means. I just know it feels right in this moment, so I hang on.
It doesn’t take long for Neil to be led into one of the treatment rooms, where a second bed is already occupied by a little boy, his mom sitting beside him, doing her best to silence his crying.
“I’m so sorry,” she says immediately when she sees us come in.
Without hesitation, Neil walks over to where the five or six year old boy is, with his hand wrapped up in a kitchen towel, fighting his mother’s hold, protesting loudly. “May I?” Neil asks the mother, indicating the edge of the boy’s bed. She nods her head with a tremulous smile. The little guy is suddenly still, watching Neil sit down with suspicious eyes. With a broad smile Neil points at the boy’s makeshift bandage. “What did you do? I cut my hand on a glass,” he says, showing off his own bound hand. “It was silly, I wasn’t being very careful.”
The boy’s eyes look from Neil’s bandaged hand to his own, and with tears still tracking down his cheeks, he softly giggles. “Helping Mommy cook.” His words are almost whispered as he looks from under his eyelashes at Neil.
“I see.” Neil settles in comfortably on the boy’s bed, his back against the headboard and his feet crossed on top of the blanket, looking for all intents and purposes to be completely at ease. “Guess we were both a little silly then, right? Did you cut yourself too?”
The kid nods, his face serious as he moves out of his mother’s hold and settles back against the headboard as well, mimicking Neil’s pose. His mother looks at me and tries to hide her smile, as do I.
“My name is Neil, what’s yours?”
“Brandon. And I’m five.” He helpfully holds up his good hand, fingers spread wide.
“You go to school yet, Brandon?”
“After the summer, Mommy says.”
“Hmmmm,” Neil hums deep in his throat, and despite the odd situation, the sound gives me inappropriate goose bumps. “By that time your cut will probably be healed already. It won’t hurt anymore, but you’ll probably have a scar. Scars are cool.”
I only manage to swallow half the snort that wants to escape me when I see Brandon’s eyes go big. Neil turns his head and gives me a little wink before turning back to his pint-sized admirer.
When the attending comes in a little while later, Brandon is chattering away, his tears and his injury almost completely forgotten. But when he sees the white coat of the doctor, his bottom lip begins to wobble. Once again, Neil takes control. “Have you met my friend yet?” Big teary eyes look up at him. “This is my buddy, Doctor...”
Quickly cluing in on the game, the y
oung physician chimes up. “Ross. Doctor Ross, but call me Jeff. Everyone does.”
“My buddy, Jeff. He’s gonna fix us right up, Brandon. He’ll give us both a cool scar.”
Carefully, Neil tries to make room for the doc to get in, but Brandon starts shaking his head when Jeff reaches for his hand. “Him first,” he says, pointing at Neil’s hand.
“How about I look at you guys at the same time?” Jeff suggests.
While he carefully unwraps Neil’s hand and then Brandon’s, I take a seat next to the empty bed. Listening with half an ear to the conversation taking place, I try to analyze the warm and fuzzy feels I’m getting. Yet another aspect of Neil I would never have credited him with. I’m thinking I may not have been fair to him and I suddenly understand a little better why he might have gotten upset at my remark earlier. I’d been so focused on the fact he is younger, I stuck him into a box he doesn’t belong in. Never bothering—or daring—to look any further. What I’ve seen of him, especially this past year, in no way justifies the irresponsible label I somehow affixed him with. And after what he skimmed over on the drive here and the way he handles his new little buddy, I have a newfound respect for the man he is. Respect he deserved a long time ago and I’ve been too stubborn to grant him. Fiddlesticks. Now I feel guilty.
I sit there, staring at the floor, full of self-recrimination, when I see the toes of his boots step into my view. “Are you okay?” he asks, tucking some of my flyaway hair behind my ear as I look up. I obviously wasn’t paying much attention, too lost in my thoughts, because the room is empty except for the two of us.
“Where did everyone go?” I ask, feeling confused.
“We’re done. Brandon and his mom went home. He watched me get my stitches and was a trooper when it was time to have his hand stitched up. I thought you were sleeping. You’ve been quietly sitting here for over half an hour.”
“No. I mean, I wasn’t sleeping, I was thinking.” I push out of the chair to stand, but Neil isn’t budging. He just smiles down at me as my body brushes lightly against his. “Guess I lost track of time.”
“Guess you did.” Neil swings his good arm around my shoulders and walks me out. Unthinking, I slip my arm around his waist. It seems like the natural thing to do.
Walking up to his truck, he lets his arm fall away and I’m instantly hit with chills, despite the jean jacket I’m still wearing. I start walking around the front of the truck when a sound like shifting gravel has me look to the edge of the parking lot. Neil’s voice right behind me has me turn my eyes to him.
“Give me the keys and I’ll get her started up.” Neil holds up his hand.
“But you’re hurt. I’ll drive,” I protest.
“I’m good. I promise. I can shift the gears on this thing with two fingers and the local anaesthetic hasn’t worn off yet.”
Reluctantly, I pull his keys from my pocket and hand them over. In no time, the engine is running and heat is flooding the cab. Once again, the drive is silent and this time, because I’m sitting on the side of his injured hand, there is no handholding.
It’s not until he pulls into my driveway that I remember I wanted to try calling my sister again, but they’ve probably already hit the sack. It’s a little past eleven and they are scheduled to embark at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Not going to call them now. At this time of night, it’ll only freak them out and I don’t want them to have a bad sleep their last night on terra firma. As long as she’s out on a cruise, there isn’t much trouble she can get into. Right?
“I’m gonna head home,” Neil says as he pushes open my front door. “Been a long day, and I’m beat. Besides,” he mutters as he backs me against the wall beside the front door, bracing my head with an elbow on either side. “The plans I had for tonight will have to wait a little longer now that I don’t have full use of my hands. I’m gonna need them both for what I have in mind.”
How a smell that is part hospital antiseptic can be so appealing, I don’t know, but on Neil it most definitely is. Of course his proximity and the soft lull of his voice have something to do with that. Not to mention his message. There’s that.
Before I have a chance to string together a few coherent words, he rattles my brain even further with a soul-scorching kiss. By the time he pulls back, I’m literally gasping for air. The man can kiss, and with each one I feel myself slipping further and further under his spell.
Holy tater tits.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Neil
“H’lo...”
“You up?”
I run my hand over my face, immediately pulling back when the odd texture and biting sting in my palm hit me. Right. I forgot about that. I carefully peel back my eyelids. Damn, it’s bright outside. A quick glance to the alarm clock on my nightstand tells me I slept a hole in the day. Not surprising, given that I didn’t fall asleep until well past three this morning. I’d come home after dropping Kendra off, a feat that cost me a considerable amount of discomfort, since I was hard as a fucking post. Ever try to drive straight when you have a fully torqued NASA rocket trying to poke a damn hole in your jeans because it wouldn’t bend? Not fucking easy.
Still, I made it home in one piece and figuring I wouldn’t sleep, I flipped open my laptop. I’d spoken briefly with Gus earlier yesterday to put a bug in his ear about the douchebag Kendra had found online. Of course, Gus had felt the need to remind me to keep an eye on Kendra, as if I wouldn’t. After hanging up, I snooped around Facebook a little and managed to find two of the three unaccounted for Durango area missing women. When I found a link through their accounts with some of the popular dating sites, I was surprised at how easy it was to hack into their profiles. Neither woman had protected their Facebook account very well, and once there, it wasn’t hard to figure out how to access all their information. By that time, my eyes were hard to keep open and I finally rolled into bed. Painful hard-on long forgotten.
“I’m up, I’m up,” I finally answer Gus.
“Good. Get yourself ready and come down to the diner. We’re having a breakfast meeting. Gomez is here.”
I’m in and out of the shower in a matter of minutes despite the plastic bag I had to duct tape over my hand. About ten minutes after my call with Gus, I walk through the kitchen into the diner. A glance at the large station clock shows almost ten o’clock. Seb is just serving plates of eggs and bacon to Gus, Damian Gomez, Joe and Mal, who are sitting at the large round table in the corner. The rest of the diner is empty, the Closed sign still on the door.
“Sit,” Seb says, indicating an empty chair. “I’ll be right back with yours.”
“Coffee?” Gus asks, holding up a large thermos that was sitting in the middle of the table. I turn over one of the clean mugs in response. “What the hell happened to your hand?” Gus points at the bandage.
“Broke a glass. Had to get some stitches. Nothing a solid dose of caffeine won’t fix.” I wave the still empty mug.
“Good. You’ll need it. They just found another body early this morning. The twenty-nine-year-old pharmaceutical rep. Damian came straight from the scene,” he says as he pours the hot black liquid.
I take a decent-sized gulp of the coffee, barely noticing it burn my mouth. I have a feeling I’m going to need all the help I can get to stay sharp today. That’s why, when Seb shows up with my bacon and eggs, I dig in while listening to Damian’s briefing.
“She was found in a ditch off the road about a mile up from the Mesa Verde park gate by an early morning road crew checking for wildlife carcasses. Coroner arrived at the same time I did and did a preliminary examination of the body right there. Same carvings on the back, signs of asphyxiation, but also some evidence of injuries inflicted over time. There wasn’t much more he could give us without a proper autopsy, except for a general time frame. She’d likely been there between forty-eight to seventy-two hours. A slight difference with this one from the other three victims is that she went missing two weeks ago, while the other three were killed shortly
after their disappearances. It looks like our unsub kept this woman alive for two weeks before he killed her. He kept her somewhere.” Obviously stressed, Damian runs a shaking hand through his hair.
“What’s her name?” I put my fork down a little too loudly, but it always irks me how victims of crime seem to lose their identity along with their life. She was a person. Someone’s child, or perhaps even someone’s parent. People missed her.
“Sorry?” Damian looks up a little confused.
“Our victim, the woman you found, what was her name?” From the corner of my eye I spot Mal lowering his head, a smile tugging at his mouth, as Damian rummages through his papers.
“Tracy Poole, she was reported missing by her sister when she didn’t show up for a baby shower she had organized. Was last seen at Walgreens.”
“Thanks,” I simply say, having made my point. I understand that for people like Damian, sometimes the only way to get through the day is to maintain an emotional distance. We don’t have the kind of constant exposure to violent crime like he does. A name and person behind the victim motivates me to work harder, look further and dig deeper.
While I turn back to my breakfast, Damian continues to catch us up on the investigation, taking care to mention the known victims by their first names. I look up at the mention of my name.
“Sorry?”
“I was checking if there was any way you could link up with my office from here. Agent Greene—Jasper—is working on the victims’ social network and Internet histories, but with the possible number of victims we have, he can barely keep up.” Damian turns to Gus to further explain. “I’ve cleared it with the head office. We’re thin on technical support as it is, so convincing the powers that be to put together a task force was an easy one. Contract and conditions same as before.” With that, he shoves a thick document over to Gus.