Rocky Mountain Maneuvers

by Cassie Miles

  It occurred to Molly that Ronald had taken photos at all the weddings where thefts had occurred. Seeing those pictures might be useful. “Do you keep copies of your photos?”

  “I hold the negatives for a couple of years,” he said. “Sometimes a bride will want to reorder.”

  She scanned her research information and found the name for the wedding where jewelry was stolen at the reception. “How about at the Deitrich wedding? Did you take candids at the reception?”

  “Do you still work for that investigation place?”

  “Colorado Crime Consultants,” she said.

  “Are you playing detective, Miss Molly?”

  “Of course not.” There was too much bluster in her voice. After seven years with Adam, her lying skills were sadly out of practice. “I’m engaged. I’ve got a ring. I just want to see what kind of candids you do.”

  “Not convinced,” Ronald said. “If I were you, sweetheart, I wouldn’t get involved.”

  “Why not?”

  “See you tomorrow,” he said. “Wear something fantastic.”

  “I always do.”

  She disconnected the call. Why had he told her not to get involved? She had to wonder if he meant to threaten her or to warn her. Either way, it was obvious that Ronald knew more than he was saying.

  On the other hand, his advice seemed solid. It’s all about the money, honey. She needed to delve more deeply into Pierce’s business dealings. Tomorrow morning, that’s where she’d start.

  Tonight, she had dinner with Adam and Amelia.

  After locking up, she left the CCC headquarters and followed the sidewalk to the rear parking area. It was a lovely evening for October. Clear and clean. In the early night sky, the stars were already out. It seemed much later than seven. No one else was on the street. Shadowy foothills loomed closely around her.

  As she approached the parking lot, a shiver went through her. She had the sense that someone was watching her—and not in a good way. These eyes from the dark weren’t the gaze of an admirer. Molly glanced over her shoulder. She saw no one.

  Hustling across the parking lot, the high heels of her boots hit the asphalt with hard clicks. Was she imagining danger? Or did she have a real cause for alarm? It was smart to assume the latter. She remembered the terror she’d felt in Pierce’s office when she was taken by surprise and was too terrified to react. That wouldn’t happen again. If anyone came at her, she’d be ready for him. She held her car keys with the sharp edge protruding through her knuckles. A hard blow from her fist would be painful.

  Her lavender Volkswagen was parked with the nose facing a narrow row of conifers that separated the small asphalt lot from a darkened house up the hill. Parked a couple of spaces down was a white van—the type of anonymous vehicle used for deliveries. She didn’t see a logo on the side.

  She pointed her car keys and clicked, hearing the reassuring chirp of the car doors unlocking. Her hand was on the door handle when the side door of the van swept open.

  A tall figure dressed all in black leapt out. The face was a blank—hidden behind a black ski mask. In the gloved hand of the attacker, Molly saw the gleam of a blade.

  With no time to think, she reacted. Braced against the side of her car, she lashed out with a fierce kick, aimed at the knees of her attacker. The tall figure darted back.

  Molly swung with her purse.

  The worst mistake she could make was to allow her assailant to get close enough to do damage with the knife.

  Self-defense lessons from Adam told her to aim for the knees, the groin and the throat. And to make noise.

  With a loud yell, Molly kicked again. Her legs were long, and her boot heels were lethal weapons. Her assailant backed off.

  Beside her, the interior of the van gaped like the maw of a beast. No way in hell would Molly get herself thrown in there. She had to act fast.

  With another yell, she yanked open the door to her car. The interior light flashed on. If she could get inside the Volks, she’d be safe.

  But she couldn’t turn her back on her attacker.

  A weapon! She needed a weapon.

  Groping around inside her car, Molly found the long plastic brush she used to wipe winter snow off her car. Using the long brush like a sword, she charged at the attacker who backed off a few more paces.

  Taking advantage of her attack position, Molly kicked high and fast. Her boot heel connected with the attacker’s thigh. Another kick. The assailant tumbled backward, off balance and fell.

  Now! Molly raced to her car. Safely in the driver’s seat, she slammed and locked the door. She’d won! She’d escaped without a scratch. Plugging the key into the ignition, she cranked the engine and whipped into reverse.

  Her attacker had disappeared into the van. The sliding door closed.

  Molly’s heart hammered inside her rib cage. Her fingers clamped around the steering wheel, and her foot hit the accelerator. Speeding like white lightning, she drove two blocks toward the central business area.

  She’d done it! She’d escaped! She’d thought fast and moved even faster. Like a kung fu princess. Bring on the crouching tigers and hidden dragons. She could handle them!

  It was only after she’d driven a few blocks that she realized she’d made a mistake. A big one.

  She should have stayed with the van, followed it, taken the license number. She should have called the police so they could apprehend the villain.

  Too late now. Her attacker was gone—vanished into the night in a bland white van. She had nothing to show for the assault but a wildly elevated heart rate and the suddenly terrifying sense that someone had tried to kill her.

  SOMEWHERE IN THE BACK of his mind, Adam had known that he shouldn’t leave her at the office unprotected. He’d made a mistake, and his carelessness had almost cost Molly her life.

  Arms folded, he leaned against the granite countertop in his kitchen. Tension spread through his muscles. He could feel the vein in his forehead begin to throb. It wasn’t like him to be so lax during the course of an investigation. He’d been lulled into complacency. All those bridal veils and fancy gowns had masked the cutthroat nature of the wedding business.

  For the second time in as many days, he listened as Molly told him about a near escape from danger.

  “I was really cool,” she said. “I remembered everything you’ve ever told me about aiming for the knees and the groin and making a lot of noise. And then I grabbed my snow cleaning thingy and used it like a sword.”

  “The plastic snow scraper?”

  “That’s right.” She went into an en garde stance. “Maybe I should take up fencing.”

  Adam glanced through the kitchen door toward Amelia who was playing quietly in the living room. Though he didn’t want to bring his niece into this discussion, there wasn’t a choice. They needed to contact the police and make a full report. Then, he needed to arrange for a bodyguard for Molly.

  As she stalked back and forth across the terra-cotta tile in his kitchen, he could tell that her adrenaline level was still high. The first time she’d been threatened in Pierce’s office, she exhibited all the classic signs of fear. This time, she appeared to be excited. Her cheeks flushed red. Her blue eyes glistened.

  His natural inclination was to give her hell, to tell her that she shouldn’t take risks, to scare her into being cautious. At the same time, he didn’t want to undermine her confidence. Keeping his voice level, he said, “You did well, Molly.”

  “Damn right.” Her ferocious grin seemed shaky at the edges. “I was totally kick-ass.”

  “Did you get a license plate number?”

  She lashed out with a couple of high kicks. “I hit him once. In the thigh.”

  “Him?”

  “Hah!” She kicked again, balancing easily on her high-heeled boots. “That’s one bad guy who’s going to be limping.”

  “You’re sure it was a man.”

  “No.” With both feet on the floor, she exhaled a gush of air. “This perso
n was tall, dressed in a bulky parka and a ski mask. And the light in the parking lot was dim. It could have been a woman.”

  “Gloria?”

  “I don’t know.” Another sigh. The bravado was draining from her. “Everything happened so fast. At the same time, it was like slo-mo with each second passing in a tick. Why is that?”

  “Level of intensity,” he said. “A fight that seems to last for hours only takes a few seconds in real time. It’s like making love.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “How so?”

  Adam regretted the comparison. He hadn’t wanted to go in this direction; his newly awakened awareness of Molly was an unsafe topic. Time to change the subject. “We should call the police.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “You mentioned something about levels of intensity and making love.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And?”

  He knew from years of working with her that she wouldn’t let go of this topic until he explained. Aware that he was venturing into dangerous waters, he kept his voice level and calm. “When you make love, your senses are heightened.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this. Who the hell did he think he was? Dr. Phil? “Your brain is forced to interpret an excess of sensual information. Therefore, it seems like time slows down.”

  She nodded. “The more intense the experience, the longer it seems to take.”

  “Right,” he said. “Now we should call the police.”

  “Sometimes a kiss that only lasts for a minute goes on forever,” she said. “And it changes your whole life.”

  He picked up the mobile phone and held it toward her. “911, Molly.”

  She pushed the phone back at him. “I can’t identify the van except to say that it was white. I didn’t think to get a license plate number. All I can tell the police about my attacker is that he or she was tall and had a knife.”

  “Not much to go on,” Adam agreed. “All the same, we need to follow procedure.”

  “I never thought I’d be so bad as a witness.”

  “Not your fault,” he said.

  “But I know better. I’m a detective.”

  “It’s okay, Molly. The important thing is that you’re safe.”

  He flung an arm around her shoulder, intending to offer friendly comfort. But her nearness had a more profound effect on his senses. The natural scent of her body mingled enticingly with the kitchen aromas. She radiated heat, sensual heat.

  Leaning against his chest, she trembled slightly, and his awareness of her body increased. Though she was lean and not soft, her curves were gently feminine. Her hips flared from an hourglass waist. The side of her breast rubbed against his chest.

  “Adam,” she said softly. “I don’t want to call the cops. Please.”

  “They need to investigate.”

  “I can’t stand to see Berringer smirking, telling me how dumb I was. He’ll probably turn this around to be my fault. I should have tailed the van and called 911 on my cell phone.”

  “You followed your instincts.” He fought to ignore the tendrils of her gleaming blond hair that tickled his cheek. He was finding it difficult to be calm and controlled. It was damn ironic that he’d just been lecturing her about sensual overload. “You had to escape. That was the number one concern. And now, we call the police.”

  “I know we should. It’s the right thing to do.” She tilted her head to look up at him. “But there’s nothing the police can do.”

  There was a dangerous logic in what she said. Normally, he would never hesitate in following correct procedure.

  “Please don’t call them,” she said.

  His resolve faded. At that moment, he was so damned grateful that she hadn’t been hurt that he couldn’t refuse her request. He’d break any rule to make her happy. All he wished for was to continue holding her and to see her smile.

  He cleared his throat. “Just this once, we can deviate from protocol.”

  “Thanks.” She beamed.

  “But we can’t pretend this attack didn’t happen,” he said. “You can’t go home alone tonight. You’re staying here where I can keep an eye on you.”

  He braced himself for an argument that didn’t come. Instead, she nodded. “I’m glad you offered.”

  “You are?”

  “I know when I need protecting. And that time is right now.”

  As she stepped out of his arms and went toward the living room where Amelia was playing, his gaze feasted on her sexy gait. She was incredible. And she was spending the night.

  Inwardly, he groaned. It was going to be hell to sleep under the same roof but not in the same bed. Damn it, he ought to be more careful about what he wished for.

  Chapter Nine

  In spite of the fact that she’d been menaced by a knife-wielding psycho, this wasn’t the worst day of Molly’s life. Not by a long shot. There was her marriage. And her divorce. Her bankruptcy. The car repo. Being hired at a pathetic minimum-wage job. Being fired from the same job. Most of her life had been a precarious day-by-day battle.

  Then Adam came along. He’d given her a chance, and that changed everything. He was more than her boss, more than her mentor. She could always look to Adam for stability. If she hadn’t been able to come here tonight, Molly didn’t know what she would have done.

  They had just tucked Amelia into bed after a story of Cinderella the poodle with two rottweilers as the ugly stepsisters. Later tonight, Molly would slip into this guest room queen-size bed to sleep beside little Amelia.

  For now, she returned to Adam’s masculine living room and sat in a heavy beige suede chair with her feet propped on an ottoman. Earlier, she’d showered and changed from her red leather pantsuit into one of his long flannel plaid shirts and white athletic socks. She wasn’t much to look at after washing her hair and let ting it dry straight, but she was totally relaxed, hanging out with an old and trusted pal.

  He came from the kitchen carrying two snifters. Without a word, he placed one in her hand. Then he settled into an overstuffed chair opposite her and swirled the golden liquid in the bulbous glass.

  “This is a first,” she said.

  “A first what?”

  “Ever since I started working for you, we’ve had a routine. Every evening at exactly six o’clock, you come out of your office, and I hand you a glass with three fingers of Jack Daniel’s.” She gazed down into the snifter. “This is the first time you’ve ever served me a drink. Cognac?”

  “Courvoisier,” he said.

  “I thought the one glass of Jack was the only alcohol you allowed yourself.”

  “You really don’t know very much about me, Molly.”

  It wasn’t for lack of prying. When they first met, she made a concentrated effort to learn something of his history. All she’d uncovered were the basics: He was briefly married once and divorced. No children. He had one sister. His father was in the Marine Corps, and his family lived all over the place. Adam had a distinguished military career of his own and was awarded two Purple Hearts.

  He wasn’t the type of guy who confided details about his past. Consistently, he brushed aside her questions, saying she was on a “need-to-know” basis.

  “Here’s to you, Adam Briggs.” She held up her snifter in a toast. “Now I know that you indulge in the occasional nightcap. And you buy the good stuff.”

  She took a sip and savored the rich liqueur. Even to her untrained palate, the flavor was remarkable— creamy, with a tongue-tingling bite. There seemed to be a faint citrus aroma, like orange blossoms in the spring. Definitely, this was the good stuff.

  “Now that Amelia has gone to bed,” he said, “we need to talk about what happened to you in the parking lot.”

  He got right down to business. That was so typically Adam. “Right.”

  “Describe your attacker.”

  “Tall, but not freakish like a basketball player or anything.” She closed her eyes to concentrate, trying to relive those terrifying moments when a shadow leapt from the van.
“It’s kind of a blur.”

  “Give me your impressions.”

  She shook her head, frustrated. “The person was dressed all in black. Black ski mask. Black parka. I saw the flash of a knife blade. It could have been Gloria or Denny Devlin or even Ronald Atchison.”

  “Who?”

  “Ronald is a photographer. We’re going to meet with him tomorrow. He’s the third name on my list of magpie suspects.”

  She opened her eyes and indulged in another sip of Courvoisier. “But it couldn’t be Ronald because I talked to him only minutes before I went outside.”

  “The height,” Adam said, “eliminates some people.”

  She nodded. “It wasn’t Lucien Smythe. Or the tailor at Gloria’s shop.”

  “What about the vehicle?”

  “A generic white van. The kind that’s used for deliveries. There wasn’t a logo on the side, but it might have been covered up. I’ll bet most of the wedding people use delivery vans. For sure, Denny Devlin, the caterer, would.”

  Adam made a grumbling noise deep in his throat, and she gazed over the rim of her snifter at him. It wasn’t an unpleasant view. His features were perfectly balanced. His firm stubborn jaw matched his broad forehead etched with fine worry lines. His deep-set blue eyes regarded her steadily, almost curiously. As if he didn’t know her face? They’d been together almost every day for seven years. They knew each other’s habits better than some married couples.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “The obvious question—why were you attacked?”

  “Beats me.”

  “You must have stumbled across some kind of clue.”

  Unfortunately, she had no idea what significant detail she might have uncovered. “I don’t know what.”

  “Tell me everything you’ve uncovered so far.”

  She rattled through all the data from her search of the NCIC crime database, including the interesting story about Lucien Smythe and the burglar.

  “He cut off the guy’s pinky,” Adam said. “That’s a little scary.”

  “And he looks like such a mild-mannered fellow.”

  “What else?”