Rocky Mountain Manhunt

by Cassie Miles

  “Nobody, really,” she said. “When I die, all my stuff—property, trust fund, assets and shares of RMS—goes to my mom. With some bequests to charities.”

  “If the money goes to your mother,” he said, “it ultimately passes to her husband and then to your stepbrother.”

  “Peter and Tom,” she said. “Neither of whom need the money.”

  “Does Peter have an independent source of income?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “He doesn’t need one.”

  “Not unless he’s thinking of leaving the Carradine family fold.”

  “Doubtful,” she said. “I don’t like Peter, but he’s wonderful with my mom. And they had a prenuptial agreement that gives him a massive payoff in case of divorce.”

  When Liam had been an assistant D.A., the rule in any complex investigation was: follow the money. “RMS is a big, powerful company. With all these assets floating around, money has to figure into the motive.”

  “If I die, there would be a power shift on the board,” she said. “I own a third of the company stock, which is enough to throw a wrench into developments I don’t approve of.”

  “What about your mother? How much does she own?”

  “Also a third. But Mom isn’t interested in the business end of things. She generally goes along with the rest of the board.”

  “Including Jonathan.”

  “Right,” she said.

  He clarified. “She chooses Jonathan’s opinion over yours?”

  “My mother can be formidable when she wants to be. Most of the time, she doesn’t bother with the business end of RMS. Jonathan makes money for the company. That’s his job, and he’s good at it.” She sat up straighter. “He threatened me today. After the press conference, Jonathan told me that things went better at RMS when I wasn’t around.”

  “So he has a motive for wanting you dead.”

  “It’s kind of a stretch,” she said.

  He agreed. The idea that a CEO would arrange attacks by assassins to eliminate a problem on the board of directors was over the top.

  Likewise, there was no obvious motive for Peter or his son. If they killed Kate, they would also have to kill her mother to benefit. “It’s too complex. Too Byzantine.”

  “What are we left with?”

  “The obvious motive—you witnessed the murder of Wayne Silverman. Wayne’s killer needs to eliminate you before your memory kicks in.”

  “If it ever does.” She gave a frustrated little bounce on the bed that turned his thoughts from their investigation toward the obvious fact that they were in her bedroom. The smooth fabric of her green T-shirt outlined her slender body. Her feet were bare.

  “About Wayne,” she said. “We don’t have enough information to know why anybody would kill him, but we can find out. Tomorrow, when we go to his town house with Detective Clauson, we’ll look for answers.”

  With an effort, Liam dragged his thoughts back to their investigation. “When it comes to suspects, I keep returning to the big three—Peter Rowe, Tom Rowe and Jonathan Proctor.” He shook his head. “I still don’t get why you married that jerk.”

  “Blame it on my bad judgment in men.”

  Her answer was flip, too easy. “That’s what was going on in your head. What about your heart?”

  “Did I love Jonathan?” She sounded shocked by the concept. “I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve never been in love with anybody.”

  “Hard to believe.” She was beautiful, vivacious and rich. “You must have had a hundred proposals.”

  “I’m talking about real love—perfect love, the kind that sweeps you off your feet. An all-consuming love is when the sight of your lover and the sound of his voice send thrills up and down your spine. And his touch? Oh my God, making love is pure pleasure. Every waking thought focuses on him. At night, he lives in your dreams.”

  As Liam listened, he fell under the spell of her story-making. Her perfect love sounded like a fairy tale. A pretty fantasy. “Go on.”

  “My perfect lover would make me laugh. Whenever anything happened, I wouldn’t be able to wait to tell him. He would become my all—my past and present and, especially, my future. He’s the person I want to grow old with.”

  “Is that how you felt about Jonathan?”

  “Never.” Her response was lightning quick. “I’ve never felt that way about anyone. Maybe I settled for Jonathan because I never really thought true love would happen for somebody like me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m competitive, aggressive. I take what I want, when I want it.” She fidgeted on the bed. “Mom says I act more like a man than a woman.”

  His gaze slid over the angles and curves of her body. “No way would I mistake you for a man.”

  “That’s very sweet.”

  She hopped off the bed and came toward the chair where he was sitting. Leaning down, she planted a light kiss on his forehead and pulled back.

  Liam caught hold of her arm. Whether her teasing was intentional or not, he’d had enough of being treated like a useful appendage. If they were going to kiss, she damn well better mean it.

  He rose from the chair. One arm encircled her slim torso, pressing her against the length of his body. His lips joined with hers. Hard and demanding, his tongue probed the silky interior of her mouth.

  His grasp on her body tightened. Her breasts crushed against his chest. He could feel the flutter of her heart through her T-shirt. The clothing separating their bodies was a distraction. He wanted her naked.

  Then, he ended the kiss and stepped back.

  She stumbled back a pace and sat on the edge of her bed. “What happened?”

  “I kissed you the way a man is supposed to kiss a woman.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You came bouncing over here and gave me a peck on the forehead. Like I was your stepbrother.”

  “Just a friendly little—”

  “Forget it.” He was willing to put up with her little touches and her frequent insistence that he stay with her and protect her. But Liam would be damned if he allowed her to give him a kiss and a pat on the head as if he were a house pet. He warned her, “Don’t start something with me unless you’re willing to follow through.”

  “What if I am…willing?” she said.

  He hadn’t meant to throw down a challenge. Of course, he wanted to make love to her. But not like this. Not because she had to prove herself. Her blue eyes shimmered, and her lips trembled with such painful vulnerability that he backed off. “It’s all right, Kate. Forget it.”

  Her hand raised, and she covered her mouth. Her voice was little more than a breath. “I want to make love.”

  She sounded like she was accepting a fate worse than death. Swell! He’d done a real fine job, driving through their relationship with all the sensitivity of a dump truck.

  “I didn’t mean to push you,” he said. “You come across so strong that I forget what you’ve been through. Twenty-eight days in the wilderness. Assassins. Amnesia.”

  “But I—”

  “Tell you what, Kate. This never happened. Drop it. Let’s move on.”

  He shook his head and walked away from her to stand at her bedroom window. Pulling aside the drape, he peered at the patrol car parked at the end of the drive and the news van that staked out her cul-de-sac. Everybody was interested in Kate. Nothing about her was private.

  Liam wanted to shove the window open and take a taste of fresh air. Or maybe to jump out and go splat on the sidewalk, saving himself the frustration of dealing with this woman who ran hot and cold. Kate Carradine, the socialite. The well-groomed mannequin. The competitor. Damn it!

  He missed Rain.

  “You don’t understand,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’m an idiot.” He bonked his head against the windowpane—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind himself to back off.

  “Damn it, Liam. That’s not what I meant.”

  Kate lowered her
hand to her breast. Her heart was still beating fast. She’d gotten more from his kiss than she’d bargained for. Chimes had been ringing. An electric thrill had gone through her body, and she’d lost all control. Her knees were still weak.

  She wanted to make love to him. To give herself. To take what he offered. This urge wasn’t planned or programmed. Her need for him was as primal as survival.

  When she pushed off the bed, her feet seemed to float above the hardwood floor—similar to the feeling after she’d ridden in his small plane. Walking on air. Her forward motion was a glide. She was impelled toward him like the tide pulled by the gravitational force of the moon.

  Before she entered his universe, she hesitated. Her gaze swept from his thick, brown hair to his boots, pausing on the way to notice broad shoulders and a fine butt. A good-looking man, for sure. But he was so much more. He was honest and smart and he made her laugh. He was someone she might fall in love with. True love. With all the frills.

  With Liam, she might find the kind of all-consuming relationship she’d never thought possible. But did she dare take that risk?

  Her heart beat even faster. She wanted him. No matter what the emotional risk.

  In two quick strides, she was beside him. “I never meant to be a tease.”

  “Forget it.”

  Slowly and purposefully, she turned him away from the window and wrapped her arms around his neck. In a clear voice, she said, “Make love to me.”

  He took her arms and firmly lowered them. His gaze maintained steady contact with hers. “No.”

  She shuddered. It felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. “You don’t think I’m attractive.”

  “Hell, yes. From the first time I saw you, I liked the way you looked. Wild and passionate. You’re amazing.”

  “Then why—”

  She had no more patience for words. Frantically, she wrenched free from his grasp. She threw herself at him.

  Her kiss held nothing back. She pressed hard against his mouth. Her tongue probed. Her passion was true. She couldn’t deny it for one more second.

  He held back, unmoving and stiff. By his actions, he rejected her. With a gasp, she jerked her head away from his.

  “I won’t give up,” she said. “Not until—”

  “Shut up, Kate.”

  His arms closed around her, and his mouth claimed hers with a tenderness that brought her to the edge of tears.

  His caresses were firm and strong, but gentle at the same time. His touch possessed the soft flesh of her breasts. His lips fed her desire for more.

  She had demands of her own. Her fingers clawed at the buttons on his shirt, and she flung aside the material, baring his muscular chest and torso. Greedily, she stroked the fine, black hair on his chest. The tips of her fingers vibrated with hot, intense desire.

  Their lovemaking grew—unchoreographed and wild as they tore away their clothing. Her gasps of surprised arousal mingled with his growls of pleasure.

  Together, they fell onto her bed. Their legs twined together. She clutched at his body, wanting more and more. Everything! All that he could give.

  His response was more than she’d even hoped for. First, he was on top. Then, she rolled over to take his place.

  Intense and primitive, her need for him was as desperate as her need for survival.

  He flipped her again to her back and loomed over her. His hazel eyes shone with a dark flame. His chest heaved. “Condom,” he said.

  “Drawer.” She frantically pointed to her bedside table.

  He lifted himself off her. Tearing through the contents of her drawer, he threw aside a book she’d been reading, a notepad, a pencil. Ripping open the condom package, he sheathed himself.

  He straddled her. His body was magnificent, powerful, strong. Never had she seen a more perfect man. She yanked him down on top of herself, welcoming the pressure of his weight on her body.

  They rolled again across the bed. Again, he was above her. Her thighs parted, and he entered her with a hard thrust. She closed around him, tight and moist. More, she wanted more. Bucking furiously, wantonly, she cried out as waves of pleasure spasmed through her body. Her flesh was sensitized from her toenails to her scalp. Nothing had ever been like this. No pleasure had ever been so intense. She climaxed as he did.

  Gasping, he fell beside her on the bed. “You’re amazing,” he said. “Rain, you are amazing.”

  She lay back on the pillows, trembling and content. He had called her Rain. And she was glad. In her life as Kate Carradine, she had never been capable of such perfect, primitive lovemaking.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, Kate dressed casually but carefully in designer jeans, with a coral linen camp shirt, sandals and jewelry—including diamond stud earrings. She wanted to look as pretty as she felt after last night. Their lovemaking hadn’t been the sweet, pink-icing fantasy of fairy tales. It had been wild and primitive and much, much better.

  Riding in the backseat of Detective Clauson’s sedan, she reached over to take Liam’s hand. The mere act of touching him caused her heart to flutter. Looking at him made the insides of her eyeballs steamy and hot.

  Holding his palm between her thumb and forefinger, she pinched with her nails. And when he glanced at her, she ran her tongue across her lower lip. In her classic blouse and diamond studs, she might look like the Kate Carradine who was a major stockholder in RMS. But when they were alone, she wanted him to know that she was Rain—earthy as the untamed forests of the Rocky Mountains.

  The smoldering heat in his eyes echoed her passion. Oh, yeah, he wanted her.

  Over his shoulder, Clauson said, “I’m not sure what you two expect to find at Wayne Silverman’s place. Forensics has been over everything. They found no sign of blood. No forced entry. No struggle.”

  “Fingerprints?” Liam asked.

  “Sure, we found plenty of prints. A lot of them unidentified.”

  “How can that be?” Kate asked.

  Liam explained, “Not everybody’s fingerprints are included in the police data banks. Think of all the people who might come in and out of a house. Guests. Service people. Solicitors. They leave behind prints that could stay there for months.”

  Kate asked, “What about Wayne’s car? Did you do forensics on the car?”

  “Parked in the garage,” Clauson said. “It’s nice and real clean. Nothing unusual about it.”

  Wayne’s two-story town house in central Denver wasn’t marked with yellow crime-scene tape. As far as the police knew, nothing criminal had happened here. The two-story tan-brick structure looked innocent enough, with well-tended landscaping that matched the other three adjoining town houses. The window blinds were drawn as if hiding a secret.

  As she strolled up the concrete sidewalk, Kate knew she’d been here before. The details were more eerie than déjà vu. She remembered the stone urn filled with red and white petunias. She had been here with Wayne. Had they been talking about their camping trip? Discussing where they should go? Their conversation faded unintelligibly in her mind, as people talking behind a glass wall.

  Inside the town house, she noted the staircase. She’d never been upstairs. To the right was a home office, cluttered. Clauson entered the office first. “So, Kate, does this bring back any memories?”

  “I’ve been in this room before.”

  She squinted, trying to bring her memories to the surface. Her gaze surveyed the file cabinets, the surface of the desk that was covered with stacks of papers, unopened mail, a lamp, a telephone, stapler, tray of paper clips. Cardboard file boxes scattered across the light gray carpet.

  Liam sauntered over to the desk and picked up an envelope. “This doesn’t look like the desk of someone who was planning to leave town forever.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Clauson said. “There’s a lot of unfinished business here.”

  “Did you check Silverman’s financial information?”

  “You bet.”
/>   Liam asked, “Anything odd?”

  “Silverman stopped paying his bills after he took off for the camping weekend.”

  “When he disappeared,” Liam said. “No use of credit cards? No activity in a checking account?”

  “Nothing,” Clauson said. “Two days before he went missing, Silverman opened an offshore bank account in the Caymans. We had to pull a lot of strings to get a court order to open it.” He nodded to Kate. “Your mother’s influence helped.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “After the initial thousand bucks, there were no deposits or withdrawals.”

  Though Kate wasn’t an expert on offshore banking, she knew those accounts were a potential way to hide large deposits—like the cash she’d found in the backpack. Someone like Wayne Silverman, who knew the legal ins and outs of handling money, would be expert in manipulating such an account. He must have opened it in anticipation of making a large, untraceable deposit.

  But the cash in the pack was fifty thousand—not an unconscionably huge amount. A quick glance at the possessions carelessly arrayed in this town house told her that his tastes were expensive. He wouldn’t give this up for less than a million bucks.

  Liam held up a framed photograph of a bunch of guys in baggy jerseys and jeans. “This looks like a beer-league baseball team.”

  “The RMS team,” Kate said. “Jonathan is the coach and star pitcher.”

  She moved closer, to study the photograph, and pointed to a shaggy-haired young man on the end. “There’s Tom.”

  “Your stepbrother,” Clauson said. “He and Wayne were friends. Matter of fact, Tom took Wayne Silverman’s disappearance hard.”

  Her stepbrother’s name kept coming up in association with Wayne Silverman, and she couldn’t help wondering if their friendship had sinister overtones. What if they’d plotted the theft of the jewelry together and then had a falling out? Tom had a bad temper, and he was an expert marksman. But was he capable of murder?

  She followed Detective Clauson and Liam through the kitchen, which was also messy. A couple of dishes in the sink were caked with dried food. The tile floor was grungy. They entered the garage, where Clauson turned on the light.