“At first glance, this looks like Harley tripped over the rug and hit his head on the corner of the table.” Frank pointed to the table. “But see the bloodstain there?”
Again, Bobby nodded.
“It’s a smear of blood. No tissue that I can find.”
“And that means?” she asked, finally in control of her emotions again.
“It means the blood smear was planted. Probably by our killer, to make us think this was an accident.” He pointed to the wound on Harley’s head. “This wound isn’t consistent with hitting the corner of the table. If that had been the cause of death, the injury would’ve been more of a gash, similar in shape to the table’s corner.”
Bobby leaned a little closer to look at the wound. “It looks like he was hit more than once.”
“You’re right, Gage. She is good.”
Gage had complimented her to this expert? The knowledge warmed her a little and eased her nausea.
Frank pointed to the left of the body. “And the pattern of blood splatter to the side of the carpet over here suggests that the person was hit with blood and tried to clean it up.”
Daniel stuck his head into the room. “The ambulance is here, Gage.”
“Good. You ready to transport the body, Frank?”
“I’m pretty much done with him.” He set his camera down. “Let me get the body bag from the truck.”
While the men covered the body and loaded it onto the ambulance’s gurney, Bobby looked around the room, careful not to disturb anything. The papers on the table seemed harmless. Just old bank statements and some correspondence. She wandered over to the bookcases. Many of the classics lined the shelves, along with mysteries and thrillers. She smiled. She and Harley had the same taste in books. He seemed to have every one of Robert Ludlum’s novels. She did too.
She leaned against the shelves and stared at the fireplace across the room. Something wasn’t quite right about it.
“What’s wrong?” Gage asked, coming to stand in front of her.
She moved to the side, continuing to study the fireplace. “The mantle. Does it look odd to you?”
He turned to look at the other side of the room, too. “No. Why? What do you see?”
“It’s what I don’t see. It’s asymmetrical.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why is that a problem?”
“Look at the rest of the room,” she waved her hand in the air. “Everything is neat, orderly, exact.”
“Yes. We already discussed that. Harley was neat to the point of obsession.”
“Not just neat—precise. Those maps are hung exactly equal distance from the ceiling and floor. The books are alphabetized and grouped by author. Now look at the mantle. There are two candlesticks, one on each side of the mirror. Two vases, one on each side of the mirror.”
“And only one statue of a horse.”
“Right.”
“I believe Ms. Roberts has just discovered our murder weapon, Gage,” Frank said from the doorway. “Good work.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Bobby smiled.
“That she did. You might think she’s a trained investigator,” Gage said, winking at her. “Let’s spread out and see if the killer dumped it anywhere in the house. I’ll take the back trashcans. Bobby, you take the house cans.”
Thanks to the victim’s penchant for orderliness and neatness, the search was quick and futile. The only thing that Bobby found out of place was a bottle of bleach.
“That would explain why we couldn’t find a real blood splatter on the floor around the body,” Frank said when she carried the bottle out to him. “Our killer knows enough to try and eradicate blood with bleach. We’ll bag this up and run it for fingerprints back at the lab.”
“Can the bleach completely wipe out the blood evidence?”
“Not entirely. I’ll have to bring out the county’s Luminol and UV source. I didn’t think I’d need them when I left the office.”
“No weapon in the back trash,” Gage said, entering through the kitchen door. He held up an envelope. “But I did find this.”
“What is it?”
“The return address is White, Taylor, Davis & White, Attorneys at law, postmarked from Cincinnati.”
Bobby inhaled and exhaled slowly. “That’s Chloe’s law firm.”
Chapter Eight
By the time they finished processing the remainder of the crime scene, an act that yielded nothing new, the streetlights had come on. Most of the crowd had lost interest in finding out the gossip about the activity at Harley’s house and gone home.
“I dread going to the café or the tavern for dinner tonight,” Bobby said as she scooted into the truck’s passenger seat. She glanced out the window at the crime scene house once more, her skin feeling as if a thousand ants crawled across it. She rubbed her arms. “Everyone in town will be asking questions.”
Gage snorted a laugh. “You’re learning what life in a small town is all about. It’s one of the reasons I’m leaving when this term’s finished. Sometimes I feel like a shark in a giant fishbowl.”
The anger in his voice caught her attention. His mouth had set in a hard line once more. She’d quickly learned that meant the subject was closed, at least for the time being.
The man fascinated her. He professed a desire to shake the town’s dirt from his shoes, yet knew everyone in town by name. Over the past two days she’d seen his concern and compassion for the citizens, and watched their love of him as a friend and respect of him as their chief law enforcement officer. She wasn’t sure who was confused, her or him.
He put the truck in gear and drove down another house-lined street. The homes on this street were a mix of style, some two-stories, a few Cape Cods that were popular after World War II and a few more modern ranch-style houses.
“Where are we going?” she asked, since they weren’t headed back into the heart of town or toward her motel. A tremor went through her and she shivered. Her heart started pounding. What was wrong with her? Being alone with him was what she wanted, right? Why was she suddenly so nervous?
“You’re right about dinner. No way can we have a quiet meal after this mess.” He glanced at her a moment before focusing his attention on the road again. “Do you like steak?”
“Ribeye with a little pink in the middle. Why?”
“I know a place where you can get it cooked just like that, some steak fries on the side and no gossips bothering you while you eat.”
“Sounds delicious. Where is it?”
He pulled into the long drive of a two-story house, parking in back next to the detached garage shielded by eight-foot ficus hedges. “Here. I cook the best Ohio grain-fed beef steaks you’ll ever taste.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Trust me. You’ll be very impressed.”
Even as he teased her, panic suddenly flowed over her. What was wrong with her? She’d never felt like this before. She needed to get out of the truck now. To walk, run, move, or something.
Just as she climbed out of the truck her cell phone went off again. She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. Dammit, must be Chloe.
“Your sister again?” Gage stood next to the truck, leaning one hand on his door and staring at her with alert intensity.
“Yes. I’m surprised she waited until now to call. She’s never been one long on patience.” She pushed the talk button. “I told you I’d call you back.”
“That was like four hours ago and you said you’d call me back at five. It’s six. What have you learned?”
“There’s been a complication…” Bobby walked the width of the backyard between the hedges.
“What sort of complication?”
Turning, she paced back toward Gage. “The bank loan officer won’t be able to help us…”
“What do you mean, he won’t be able to help us? He’s the one who filed the lien on the property, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t know—” She pivoted and stalked back across the ya
rd once more, faster.
“Just ask him.”
Bobby pivoted again. Her pulse rapidly playing the drumbeat from Bolero in her head, faster and faster. “I can’t. He’s—”
“What do you mean you can’t? For crying out loud, sis, you’re making this more difficult than it should be. All you have to do is ask him if he got my letter and interview him on how the lien came to be.”
“Dammit, Chloe, stop interrupting me.” Her feet kept moving. She was almost jogging as she traveled back and forth across Gage’s lawn. “He’s dead, Chloe. Dead. As in his eyes are wide open, his heart isn’t beating, he can’t answer any damn questions, D-E-A-D, DEAD!”
God, her head hurt, her heart hurt. She closed her eyes as she paced. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
Suddenly she slammed into something hard and warm.
Gage.
She gripped his shirt in her hand and tears rolled down her cheeks. A sob escaped her. Then another. The dam broke.
Removing the phone from her hand, he wrapped his arm around her and held her tight against his body. He held the phone to his ear, his eyes never leaving hers. “Chloe, this is Sheriff Justice. Your sister will have to call you back in the morning. Yes, she’s fine, just a little upset.” Then he hit the end call button.
“You…can’t…” she hiccupped between stutters and sobs. “You…can’t…hang…up.”
“I just did, sweetheart,” he wrapped both arms tight around her and rubbed her back. “You don’t need to talk to a lawyer right now, even if she is your sister.”
“Don’t…know…what’s…wrong…” she managed between sobs.
He led her up the steps, into the back door and through the house. “It’s okay. You’ll be fine soon. It’s the adrenaline.”
“Adrenaline?” She sobbed and sucked in air, realizing he’d pulled her down beside him on a couch.
“It happens to rookies at their first big murder scene. Men usually go out and punch something,” he said as he rubbed his hands up and down her back, his body so warm against hers. Her body continued to tremble.
“And women?” She ran her hands up his chest, feeling each rib and the solid muscles beneath his shirt.
“Never had a female rookie. Saw a few cry like you just did, but never knew if it worked for them.”
“I need to do something. I feel like I’m going to explode.” She nuzzled his neck, nearly climbing astride him.
He lowered his lips, claiming hers. Her body seemed to be on fire, and he was the one stoking the furnace. She wanted the flames to lick her all over and consume this need inside her.
His hands kneaded her back muscles, making their way lower and lower, until he cupped her butt cheeks. He broke the kiss, panting as hard as she was. “You’re sure?”
“Stop now and you’re dead meat, Sheriff.”
“Far be it from me to allow you to commit a felony.”
“Bed,” she whispered.
“Bed?” he croaked back at her, sounding like a teen trying to get to first base. The woman truly could read his mind.
“Yes. Now, please.”
Gage grabbed her by the hand and hauled her off the couch and up the stairs before she changed her mind. Outside his bedroom door, he stopped her, crushing her to him in another heated kiss. She tasted of honey and raw need. Soft beneath his hands, yet strong in spirit. No woman should’ve seen what she did today, yet she hadn’t given in to the urge to flee. She stood her ground. Her fire fed his own, until now he needed her as much as she needed him.
Press her against the wall. Strip her and take her. Now.
His body demanded it plunge into hers.
Stop.
She deserves more than a fuck against the wall like some streetwalker.
He broke the kiss with all the self-restraint he had left. “Wait here” he murmured, pushing her away from him and up against the hall wall.
She panted and nodded, as if she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her if she touched him again at this moment.
Inside his dark room, he stumbled to the window to be sure the blind was down. He pulled the heavy curtains closed. No use giving the widow Munroe more images to titillate her nights, not to mention gossip for her quilting bee friends. He searched his bureau drawer until he found the condoms he’d tossed in there nearly a year ago.
Damn. Had it been that long since he’d had sex? No. Longer. Since before he’d been shot.
He tossed one on the bedside table, thought about it, tossed a second. Picked up several pairs of boxers from the floor and threw them in his hamper so neither he nor Bobby would trip on them on the way to the bed.
“Gage?”
Her sultry voice coming from the hallway sent new heat through him. Best get her undressed and in the bed before her ardor cooled. He turned toward the lit hallway, stopping dead in his tracks.
She stood silhouetted in the doorway.
An earth goddess of sexual desire.
Femininity personified.
A temptation to sin.
Nude.
His.
“Oh, God,” she murmured, stepping back. Timidity replacing the sex-siren call in her voice. “I knew I should’ve waited to do this in the dark.”
“No. Stop.”
The command froze her retreat.
He swallowed hard. Every inch of her was now highlighted in the lit hallway. Full breasts—not perky like a teen or porno queen, but not nearly middle-aged, with full dark nipples. The soft swell of her abdomen—not hard like a man’s. The gentle curve of her hips, the kind a man could hold on to without fear of breaking her.
For the first time, in a long time, he realized there had to be a heaven…and it was missing an angel.
“Gage?” The tremor in her voice broke the spell.
In three strides he closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her face, he stared into her eyes the color of milk chocolate on a hot day. “You are beautiful.”
She inhaled, her breasts rubbing against his arms.
He slowly lowered his lips to hers. The kiss started slow. He wanted to show her just how desirable she was to him. She moaned beneath his lips and all gentleness fled.
Her fingers at his shirt, she opened it as he maneuvered them back toward the bed. She started to pull it off, and he stilled her hands. He broke the kiss, panting against her.
“What?”
“I have scars,” he whispered, shoving the covers out of the way.
“I have fat hips and a big ass.”
“I love your ass.”
“You do?” she asked as he gently pushed her down in the bed.
“I’ve been dreaming about your ass since the first time I saw it.” As quick as possible, he shed his clothes before stretching out beside her.
“I just bet you have.” A sultry chuckle escaped her.
Good. She wasn’t crying anymore. That had to be a good sign. And she was naked beside him. That was a very good sign. He slid his hand over her hip to cup a butt cheek firmly. “This was the first part of you I ever saw, and lady, you were made for squeezing.” Which he proceeded to demonstrate and pulled her tight against him.
She gripped his biceps with one hand, arched her neck and moaned again. The sound thrilled him and stoked the need inside him.
So much for going slow.
With a growl, he lowered his lips to her neck, tracing the column from her collarbone to her jaw. She tasted of heat and smelled like lemons and some sweet flower, which poets probably knew the name, but he didn’t give a damn. All he knew was he wanted more. With a need he hadn’t known before, he slid his lips across to hers, not just kissing her, but memorizing the taste and feel of her. Claiming her, marking her as his.
A tremor raced through her body.
God. He had to slow down. This desire was consuming him. He needed to give her time. He broke the kiss off, panting heavily as his hands caressed his favorite part of her anatomy.
“Sorry.” He dragged in another breath,
opening his eyes to meet hers, which were half opened in arousal. “I’ll try to go slower.”
“Don’t,” she whispered, almost a plea.
“You want me to stop?” Not that. Anything but that.
“Don’t…go slower.” She stroked her hand down his side and across his hip until she held him in her hand. “I need you. Now.”
Yes, there was a God!
He reached for the foil packet and ripped it open with his teeth. She took it from him and sheathed him. Her hands shook. The knowledge that they did from either nervousness or need touched something primal inside him. Something that made him want to both claim and protect her.
Gripping both her hands, he lifted them high over her head and rolled her onto her back. She parted her legs beneath him and surged her hips up, pressing her mound tight against his hard-on. He took it for permission and entered her with one deep thrust.
A sound escaped Bobby. Half moan, half groan. He filled her so completely. She sucked in a breath, slid her feet up the back of his calves and pulled him in tighter.
It was his turn to groan.
All further thought escaped her. She rode the adrenaline rush and thrill of having him inside her. Each time he thrust, she parried with one of her own. The need inside her grew hungrier, the rhythm faster. The sounds of pleasure echoed in the dark.
Finally she clasped him to her with her legs and arms, her body arched beneath his as she crested the wave of passion. Above her he shouted out his own completion, clenching her to him.
Her eyes closed, she smiled and ran her hands over his back to soothe him as he collapsed upon her. As her finger crossed the two pucker marks on his back, she forced her hands not to linger, but gently caressed over all his sweat-covered skin.
Curious how he got the scars—she knew from crime photos she’d studied they’d come from bullets—she didn’t want to think how much pain he’d been in or why. And asking him questions would spoil the moment.
Slowly, as if the effort used more energy than he had, he lifted up onto his elbows to stare down at her. The intensity in his gaze made her heart flutter a beat or two. A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips and he brushed her hair from her cheek with his fingers, caressing her cheek with his knuckles.
Close To The Edge (Westen #2) Page 12