by Lee Winter
He was whispering things, obscene things meant for the other woman, but Lauren could clearly hear them. Tears of frustration began to leak from her eyes. She had to stop this… But her legs. Why the hell wouldn’t they move?
She struggled furiously, and her gasping, silent cries turned into a full-blooded shout.
“Lauren!”
She twisted her head around at the new intruder. Suddenly cool air was filling her lungs, and she sucked in one deep breath after another.
“You’re safe now. Come on, Lauren, wake up.”
She felt a hand—soft, so soft—gently touching her arm, and her eyes flashed open. She exhaled, getting her bearings. She slowly made out the features.
Catherine Ayers came into focus, sitting on the side of her bed, rubbing Lauren’s arm.
She sat up abruptly, disoriented. “What’s wrong?”
“A nightmare, Lauren. Your shouts woke me.”
“Nightmare?” Lauren wrapped her arms around herself and pressed her chin into her chest.
“What was it about?” Ayers asked not unkindly. “You were thrashing when I came in.”
Lauren shook her head, but the images wouldn’t leave. “I…uh…was running. And no matter how fast I ran, I was useless. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t…” She swallowed and clenched her trembling hands.
“I’m sorry you’re enduring that again,” Ayers said quietly.
“Again?”
“Olencha. The two truckers. You’re safe now.”
Lauren bit her lip. It would be a world of awkward for them both if she admitted what had really scared her. Even now, the curdling fear of being too late clawed at her, of what might have happened if she’d been lining up at the diner’s counter while Ayers had been trapped.
Goosebumps broke out across her flesh, still damp with sweat. Ayers’s hand instantly flattened and rubbed her arm automatically, warming her. Lauren stared at the fingers in surprise. Ayers tracked her gaze and retracted her hand instantly, dropping it back to her lap.
“Is it time to get up?” Lauren asked, already missing the soothing touch.
“It’s nearly five thirty. Seems like you’ll have time for that workout after all,” Ayers said, offering a small smile.
Lauren nodded, too tired to bother with her usual retorts.
“Are you really okay?” Ayers asked with a frown.
Lauren dragged her fingers through her hair as she tried to think of a way to honestly answer that without sounding even more pathetic.
“I just need some water,” she said and struggled to rise. “Throat’s as dry as a Nevada highway.”
“Stay there, I’ll get it,” Ayers said. She placed a stilling hand on Lauren’s thigh as she rose.
For the first time since she’d woken, Lauren fully took in Ayers’s form. Catherine was back lit by the light streaming in through the open door to the adjoining room and wearing a long, white, button-up shirt that barely came down to mid thigh. The swells of her breasts were contained by just four buttons. And that, Lauren realized, as her poor, abused heart thudded faster, was absolutely all she had on.
She sneaked a look at Ayers’s face just before she turned to leave. Scrubbed free of make-up, she looked much younger, as though the bruising weight of the world added a burden in years that she only carried in the waking hours. Her thick, auburn hair fell messily around her shoulders. Everything about her seemed softer.
Lauren hissed to herself. There was absolutely no good that could come from that line of thought.
Ayers reappeared a moment later and sat on the side of the bed. She tucked one foot under her bare thigh and passed over a bottle of water from her mini-bar. She watched silently as Lauren took a sip and then finished the rest of it in a series of hasty gulps.
“Thanks.”
She shivered. Her bedding was strewn all over the place. Two blankets and a pillow were on the floor. A sheet was wrapped in a strangled twist around her hips, and her long legs stretched out across the bare mattress.
“How do you sleep in so little? This room is freezing.” Ayers stared at her tank top and boxers.
Lauren shrugged, struggling not to feel self-conscious. “Habit.” She flicked her eyes over to Ayers’s revealing white shirt. “I could ask you the same thing.”
Ayers glanced down, and her eyes widened. A faint pink stained her cheeks, and she discreetly attempted to tug the hem of her shirt a little farther down her thighs. “It was warm last night,” she said tightly. “I dressed for the conditions.”
Lauren gave her a faint grin, and she was rewarded with a matching smile.
“Wanna get started on the day?” Lauren asked as she shifted in an effort to unkink her shoulders.
Ayers straightened. “Tell you what—take a long shower, decompress. I’ll order us breakfast, and we can get moving.”
“Okay. And, um, I think I need a stack of pancakes today.”
“Of course,” Ayers said obligingly.
Lauren side-eyed her. “With maple syrup,” she added, waiting for at least some snark. “And extra butter.”
However Ayers merely nodded and said easily, “Naturally.” As she got up, she leaned forward. Her white cotton cleavage briefly billowed and provided Lauren with an unexpected flash of naked skin.
She slammed her eyes shut. Okay, so Ayers really wasn’t wearing anything else. Her brain helpfully replayed that tantalising glimpse of soft breasts, much fuller than she’d have guessed. Arousal coursed through her.
“I could order your pancakes with double the sugar, too.” Ayers stood. “Why stop at one diabetic coma?”
“Um, I do have a line, believe it or not,” Lauren countered, her voice hoarse. She stood and stretched, her gaze fixed on the far wall as she warmed up her muscles. She gave her neck a rotation each way and then shook out her arms and legs.
Ayers seemed suspiciously silent. Lauren sneaked a peek to find her gaze fixed on her bare stomach. She watched curiously as Ayers’s hooded eyes shifted upwards, running slowly along the lines of Lauren’s tank top. They paused at the curve of her bust and then lifted higher and stopped.
For a moment they stared at each other. Lauren fidgeted under the close scrutiny, and she pulled her tank top back down her stomach. Ayers focused with surprising intensity on the fingers plucking at cotton.
“Catherine?” Lauren asked.
“It’s time to get up,” Ayers husked. “We should…get started.”
Neither of them moved at first, then Ayers suddenly shook her head, pivoted on one heel, and left the room. She banged the door shut behind her with a lot less grace than usual.
Lauren stared after her in confusion.
* * *
Topaz Lake just after dawn was beautiful, Lauren decided as they pulled up not far from Sands’s abandoned SUV. It would have been even more beautiful if it wasn’t for the tangle of yellow-and-black crime scene tape ringing the area.
“Think they’ve cordoned off enough?” she asked with a snort and turned off the engine.
“Police do like to be thorough to the point of overkill,” Ayers said. She reached for a black camera bag she’d tossed on the back seat half an hour before. “I brought my long lens in case we can’t get in close enough. But at least we’re early enough to avoid anyone telling us to move on.”
They walked around the perimeter of the police tape. A few boats dotted the lake in the background with anglers probably eager to hook some rainbow trout, but they were just distant smudges of color.
“Anything out of the ordinary?” Lauren asked after they’d navigated the edge of the tape completely.
Ayers set her camera bag down, crouched, and unzipped it. “Maybe. Depends on what that is on the dash.”
Lauren’s head whipped around and spotted a white scrap of paper.
Ayers clicked into place a 60-250mm lens to her DSLR. She trained it on the dashboard and zoomed in.
Lauren tried to get a clearer look at the paper herself but was stymied by th
e plastic tape. She made a step to go under when a hand flashed out and grabbed a fistful of her brown leather jacket.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ayers said, tugging her back. Your footprints will show up in the sand, and I don’t want to have to explain to the DA at your hearing that I witnessed you contaminate the crime scene resulting in California’s finest all chasing their tails, hunting for a size-nine suspect.”
She let go of Lauren’s jacket, returned her attention to her camera, and fiddled with a light setting. Lauren peered down at her boots, startled Catherine had accurately picked her shoe size. She shoved her fists into her jacket pockets and felt appropriately chastened.
“Um, don’t you mean Nevada’s finest?” Lauren said after she’d digested the warning. She glanced around at the early morning light and stamped her boots to get warmer. “We are still in Nevada.”
Ayers glanced over her shoulder at her. “I believe we crossed the state line a minute before you pulled in. We’re on California’s side now. I think this is probably Mono County Sheriff’s jurisdiction right where we’re standing.”
Lauren shook her head. “No, the border is in line with…” She peered up toward the highway to get her bearings and then drew a visual line down from a building on the border she’d mentally noted before they’d left. Her eyes travelled slowly down and landed squarely on the SUV.
“Huh. We’re both right.”
Ayers shot her a questioning look.
“Fairly sure Sands’s car is sitting right on top of the state line. Two wheels are on either side of it.”
Ayers lowered her camera. “Well. That certainly makes things interesting. Which police force has authority in the case? Usually it’s wherever the body is found, but in this case there isn’t one.”
“Maybe that’s what the bureaucratic gray area is? Must cost a bit to search Topaz. No one wants to foot the bill.”
“Mmm,” Ayers said. She lifted her camera again, zoomed in on the SUV’s dashboard, and shot off a few frames.
“You’d think they’d just combine forces and share the costs.”
She dropped to her haunches and examined the photo on the viewing screen at the back of her camera. “Okay. It’s a note for... I can see D-E-L,” she stopped and zoomed the image further to the right.
“Della?” Lauren suggested.
“Could be. I can’t read anything else without getting on the other side of the tape.” She flicked Lauren a warning glance. “Which we won’t be doing.”
She stood again and squeezed off a few more photos but found no better angles. Then she swapped lenses and began to shoot the general area itself.
“Are you sure we can’t just…” Lauren waved in frustration at the police line. The answers were so close she could taste it.
Ayers pursed her lips. “No. Now stop asking.”
She finished with her photos, headed back to the car, and packed away the equipment. Lauren trekked after her and wondered if they were done already.
Ayers rummaged through her bag and fished out a thermos of coffee and plastic cups and filled them. She passed one to Lauren. “Courtesy of the hotel’s kitchen staff who took pity on us leaving so early.”
Lauren took it gratefully and sank onto the sand, her back leaning against the car, and sipped. “Good thinking,” she murmured. “World’s a lot less grim with a caffeine hit.”
They enjoyed the coffee in silence—Lauren sprawled out beside the open rear car door; Ayers sat just inside, poised on the back seat, papers on her knees, sipping occasionally. Every now and then Lauren would hear the rustle of papers as Ayers checked something or scribbled a note to herself. The cry of birds passing overhead caught her attention.
She studied one.
“Common loon.” Ayers said without looking up and continued to write.
“Excuse me?” Lauren snapped her head around.
Ayers glanced down at her in amusement. “The bird that flew by. The common loon or Gavia immer. Probably a breeding ground around here somewhere.”
“You didn’t even see it,” Lauren accused.
“I heard it though.”
“You’re a bird watcher.” Lauren went back to leaning against the car. “Never would have picked that.”
“Why not?” The papers stopped rustling.
“Because political correspondents don’t have the most outdoorsy job.”
“I wasn’t always a political correspondent. In fact, in case it’s escaped your eagle-eyed attention, I’m not one now.”
“You will be again,” Lauren said with certainty and took another sip of coffee. “You’re too good at it not to be.”
There was silence, and for a moment, Lauren wondered if she’d annoyed Ayers by mentioning her beloved former job. She looked around again to find Ayers assessing her.
“What?”
“A vote of confidence from Lauren King,” Ayers said casually. She dropped her eyes back to her page. “Sign of end times for sure. How unexpected.”
“Just a fact,” Lauren said and shrugged. “I know you’ll be bolting soon for somewhere better where you’ll be appreciated. You’re probably counting down the hours till you get out of the Sentinel.” Lauren fluttered her eyes closed at that weirdly depressing thought and warmed her face in the morning sun.
“I would have thought you couldn’t wait for me to be gone? Aren’t I your evil nemesis or something?”
Lauren laughed. “Now what good is a superhero without a supervillain? Everyone knows that.”
“Ah. So my working with you is all about balancing the universe? Yin and Yang?”
“Exactly.” Lauren drained the last of her coffee and put her cup on the sand.
“And what makes you think you’re holding your side up on this balanced, cosmic see-saw?”
“You know I am,” Lauren said and gave her a smirk. “Or you wouldn’t even be here with me. Don’t bother denying it.”
There was a silence.
“Nothing to say to that?” Lauren prompted and fidgeted as she waited for a reply.
“I was busy not denying it,” Ayers said with a regal sniff. “As instructed.”
Lauren was contemplating Ayers’s playful response when a black car roared up emblazoned with Douglas County Sheriff down the side. A fat black grill guard framed the front of the vehicle, making it seem especially obnoxious.
“Who the hell are you two?” an officer barked as he leaned out the window before he’d even killed the motor. He had a round face, a small, pale mustache, and slicked back, light-brown hair that poorly hid a bald patch.
“Reporters,” Ayers told him, and she casually set aside her papers and climbed out of the car. Lauren scrambled to her feet beside her.
“LA Daily Sentinel,” Lauren added. She examined his car. “Are you the sheriff?” She indicated the lettering on his door.
“All our vehicles have that,” he grunted and got out. “So no.”
He slammed the door and ambled over and took a closer look at them. He wore a dark-blue uniform; the Taser, walkie-talkie, and holstered gun accentuated the way his belt strained around his ample midriff. Above his right breast pocket was a small police-issue US flag pin, underneath which sat a bronzed badge declaring J.P. Frost.
Appraisal over, he walked to the edge of the taped-off area to examine the sand. It had no footprints, size nine or otherwise. Seemingly satisfied, he turned back to them.
“Show me your press passes.”
Lauren hauled out her Daily Sentinel ID from her wallet. Ayers passed hers over as well. Frost made a note of both their names and returned them.
“Ain’t you two a little far from home?”
“Jon Sands was working in LA when he went missing,” Ayers said. “We’re following his trail. It led here.”
“We never released a name,” Frost said. “What makes you think it’s him?”
“You’re denying that’s his car?” Lauren asked. She shot him her best incredulous look, daring him to respon
d.
He didn’t bite and offered her a stony stare. “Tell me why a pair of reporters would care about a missing man who works on fixing up computers?”
Before they could answer, a white SUV crunched across gravel and sand toward them and rolled to an easy stop. This vehicle had Mono County Sheriff down its side.
The driver, in a pale khaki police uniform, wore a laid-back, easy smile under his wide-brimmed hat. Next to him was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark suit, with a buzz cut and mirrored sunglasses. He immediately strode off toward the abandoned vehicle and began to circle it.
“Hey Pete.” Frost welcomed the uniformed officer. The sour look he’d reserved for the journalists evaporated. “What drags you out here so early? Who’s your friend over there?”
“Well,” the officer said and scratched his chin. “You know how we put out that locate message on NLETS for info on that vehicle? After we got a hit the driver was an MP, Detective Rankin here just showed up at my office yesterday.”
He pointed to the man lumbering around the car, making notes in a small pad. “He’s from LA missing persons. Wanted me to show him the case file and drive him out here to see the scene for himself. So, here we are.” He shrugged.
Deputy Frost digested that and flicked a glance at Lauren and Ayers, then drew his friend to one side. As they walked away, Lauren quickly looked up “MP” on her phone. Oh. Missing Person.
She tried “NLETS” next. National Law Enforcement Telecommunications System. Okay, so that had to be an interdepartmental alert service or something. She turned the phone’s screen to Ayers who examined it and nodded.
Frost was a distance away now and had lowered his voice, but the wind, whipping straight off the lake, wasn’t helping his discretion.
“That seems a bit much for an MP,” she heard him mutter. “Why bother about someone who’s gone and drowned himself all the way up here? Doesn’t he trust your report’ll be any good or something? Why is that feller actually here?”
The Mono County deputy shrugged. “Got me,” he said. “He’s not saying much, either. Just that he wants the case closed. Okay, Jake, you gonna tell me who your friends are?”