Cold Conspiracy

by Cindi Myers

  “Travis is following him,” Nate said. He touched her shoulder, forcing her to look at him. “What did he say to you?”

  “He flirted in this horrible French accent,” she said. “In fact, it was so bad, I think that was the point.”

  “He wanted to disguise his voice,” Nate said.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “After you danced—was he trying to convince you to leave with him?” Nate asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “But when Donna and the O’Keefes interrupted, he slipped away.”

  “He didn’t want anyone else to see him with you,” Nate said.

  “I tried to memorize everything I could about him,” she said. “But his costume covered up everything. And he didn’t have any really outstanding features—no visible moles or a crooked nose or anything.”

  “I took a few pictures of him with my phone,” Nate said. “Travis will have them analyzed. Maybe he can get something from that.”

  “That was a good idea,” Jamie said.

  Travis joined them once more, a little breathless. “I lost him,” he said. “I saw him slip out the back door to the parking lot, but by the time I made it out there, he was gone.”

  “Did you get a look at his car?” Nate asked.

  Travis shook his head, then turned to Jamie. “What information did he give you?” he asked.

  “Not much,” she said. “He avoided any of my questions about who he was or where he was from. The costume hid most of his face, and he spoke with a terrible French accent.” She sighed. “About all I can tell you is that he has brown eyes, good teeth and is about six feet tall, average build. And he’s strong. I think he probably works out. He could have easily overpowered those women.”

  “I think he’s fairly young,” Nate said. “He moved like a younger man.”

  Jamie nodded. “Yes. In his twenties, I think. Maybe early thirties.”

  “That doesn’t give us much to go on,” Nate said.

  “Send me those photographs you took,” Travis said. “We’ll print them up and try to find out if anyone else talked to him tonight.” He looked around the room. “We’ll talk to as many women here as we can tonight. Let’s find out if he approached any of them. Maybe they saw or heard something we didn’t.”

  “Adelaide is taking tickets at the door,” Jamie said. “She probably saw him when he came in, and she talks to everyone.”

  “I’ll question her,” Travis said. “We’ll also compare the photograph to the sketches the police artist did from Henry and Tammy’s descriptions.”

  “Were the sketches of the same man?” Nate asked.

  “Two different men,” Travis said. “If we’re right, the man Henry saw with Michaela—the one who called himself Al—is the masked man who came up behind Tammy. The man she described to us is the decoy and accomplice.”

  They separated to question the other party guests. Though a couple of people Nate talked to had seen the pirate from a distance, none of them had spoken with him. By midnight, the party began breaking up. Nate met up with Travis and Jamie once more. “Adelaide remembers the guy,” Travis said. “But she couldn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.”

  “I found one woman he approached,” Jamie said. “He asked her to dance, but then her boyfriend returned with a drink and he left in a hurry.”

  “He doesn’t want any witnesses,” Travis said. “I’m becoming more and more certain that this is one of the killers.” He watched guests file toward the exit. “I don’t think there’s anything more we can do here tonight. Let’s go home, and in the morning we can take a look at the photos Nate took.”

  He left them. “I’d better get my coat,” Jamie said, heading for the cloakroom.

  Nate limped alongside her. “Where’s Donna?” he asked.

  “She’s going to spend the night at Henry’s house.”

  “So you’re going home alone?”

  “I guess I am.” A smile ghosted across her lips. “That’s something I haven’t done in a very long time.”

  “I’ll follow you home,” he said.

  “You don’t have to do that.” She accepted her coat—the same down parka she had worn the day he met her and Donna snowshoeing—from the man behind the counter in the cloakroom.

  “I know.” Nate took the coat and held it for her. “But there’s a killer out there who may have been targeting you. I think it’s safer if I follow you.”

  She slipped her arms into the coat, then glanced up at him. “Okay. Thanks.”

  They fed into the stream of vehicles leaving the community center parking lot, and he followed her to the bungalow on Oak Street. At one time he could have driven to this place blindfolded. He had spent as much time here back in high school as he had in his own house. He parked behind Jamie and followed her to the front door.

  “I’ll be all right now,” she said, as she unlocked the door.

  “Humor me and let me make sure,” he said.

  As soon as she opened the door, the three dogs galloped toward them, barking furiously when they saw Nate. “Quiet!” Jamie shouted. “It’s only Nate.”

  He had removed the fake mustache in the truck on the way here, along with the hat, so that he hoped he looked more like himself. He bent and offered the back of his hand to the biggest dog—the husky—to sniff. The other dogs followed suit and soon he was patting all three while they jostled for attention.

  “They’re obviously fine,” Jamie said. “They wouldn’t act like this if someone had managed to break in.”

  Nate said nothing, but stumped through all the downstairs rooms, looking for signs of any disturbance. Though, since he didn’t live here, how would he know if something was out of place or not, unless the intruder had done something obvious like leave a window open?

  “Do you want to look under the bed, too?” she asked, when he returned to her in the foyer, at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor.

  No, but he wouldn’t mind looking in her bed. He didn’t say the words out loud, but they must have shown on his face. She blushed. She looked so impossibly sweet and sexy. He reached out and removed the jester’s hat, and smoothed back her hair.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay here tonight, by yourself?” he asked. “If you’re nervous, I could stay. I’d sleep on the couch, I promise.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She took his arm and led him to the door. “Go home and I’ll see you tomorrow at the sheriff’s department.”

  “All right.” Maybe he wouldn’t go right home. Maybe he’d park his truck down the block and watch her place for a while, just to be sure. She didn’t have to know.

  He opened the door and started to step onto the porch, but the sight of a dark-colored SUV cruising slowly as it approached made him freeze. “Who’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the vehicle.

  Jamie peered past him, one hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  He reached behind her and switched off the porch light, plunging them into shadow. He was aware of her labored breathing as the vehicle drove slowly past. Though the driver was hard to make out in the darkness, Nate was sure he turned his head to look at them.

  “The license plate on the car is obscured,” Jamie whispered.

  Nate pulled her back into the house, and shut and locked the door. “Do you think that was him?” Jamie asked. “The man at the dance?”

  “I don’t know. It could have been.” Nate pulled her close, his heart pounding. He needed to reassure himself that she was safe. She didn’t fight him, but relaxed in his embrace, her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. “I’m not leaving you here alone,” he said.

  “No.” She lifted her head, her eyes searching his. Then she rose up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, her eyes still open, still locked to his.

  C
hapter Twelve

  Nate closed his eyes and gave himself up to the kiss, caressing her with lips and hands, welcoming the tangle of her tongue with his, the soft sweetness of her mouth, the dizzying want her touch sent blazing through him.

  He didn’t know how long it was before she pulled away. He was breathing hard, half wondering if he was dreaming, telling himself he had to keep it together. She had to set the pace here. He had promised himself he wouldn’t take more than she would give, and it was a promise he was determined to keep.

  “I don’t think you should sleep on the couch,” she said.

  He released his hold on her and took a step back. He couldn’t think clearly when she was so close. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice hoarse, not sounding like his own.

  She nodded. “I know if I turn my back on these feelings—if I don’t give us this chance—then I’m going to regret it.”

  “Yeah.” He raked one hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’ll regret it, too.” It felt big and important, a move that would change him—would change them. But it felt right, too.

  She leaned past him and double-checked the door lock, then took his hand and led him up the stairs.

  * * *

  JAMIE CLIMBED THE STAIRS, Nate’s grip firm and reassuring in hers, helping to calm the butterflies going wild in her chest. She led him down the hall, but not to the room that had been hers growing up. Nate had sneaked up to that room one night, climbing the drainpipe and shimmying across the porch roof to climb into her window. They hadn’t really done anything—too fearful of the consequences if they had been caught. But there had been something so thrilling about cuddling together on her bed—she in flannel pajamas decorated with pink hearts, he in jeans and a sweatshirt. They had kissed and whispered to each other until, hearing her father get up to go to the bathroom and sure his next stop would be her bedroom, he had slipped out the window and to the ground once more.

  But she didn’t take him to that room. About a year after her parents’ death, she had moved into the master bedroom. She had given away their king-size bed and replaced it with an iron four-poster she had purchased from a local antique shop, making payments each pay period for three months until the bed was hers. She had stored the family photos that had adorned the walls and replaced them with black-and-white photos of Eagle Mountain landscapes, also purchased from a local shop.

  Nate stopped in the doorway and surveyed the room. “What?” she asked. “Are you weirded out because this used to be my parents’ room?”

  “No. I’d forgotten this was theirs. I was just admiring it. Admiring you.”

  “You were looking at the walls—you weren’t looking at me.”

  “I was admiring what the walls tell me about you.”

  She faced him, hands on his shoulders. “What do they tell you?”

  His eyes met hers. “That you love beautiful things. Not frilly or over the top, but beautiful.” He tossed the cane aside and fit his hands to her waist. “That you love this place—you love Eagle Mountain.”

  “I do,” she said. That was one of the things that made her so uneasy about him. Nate had come back to Eagle Mountain, but she didn’t sense that it was home for him—not the way it was home for her.

  But she didn’t want to think about that now. And she didn’t want to talk anymore. When he opened his mouth as if to speak, she put two fingers to his lips to silence him, then she began loosening the knot of his string tie.

  Tie loosened, she began working her way down the buttons on his starched white shirt. He slid his hand around to lower the zipper on her tunic, the sudden rush of cool air on her back mitigated by his warm hand smoothing down her spine. Impatient to be closer still, she pushed his jacket off his shoulders, then his shirt, her heart thudding harder as she admired the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders. Stripped of camouflaging clothing, he resembled a Viking warrior.

  “Your turn,” he murmured and pushed the tunic over her shoulders and down to the floor, followed quickly by the tights, until she was standing before him in her bra and panties, goose bumps prickling her arms and shoulders. He stripped out of his trousers and stood before her in boxers—which did little to hide his desire. She was contemplating this, dry mouthed and breathless, when he forced her attention to more practical concerns. “What about protection?” he asked.

  “In the drawer by the bed.”

  He moved the short distance to the bed, opened the drawer of the nightstand and took out a package of condoms, and gave her a questioning look.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, her face burning.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to—I could see it in your eyes.” She joined him by the bed. “You thought I bought these, planning to bring you up here.”

  “It’s none of my business why you bought them,” he said. “I’m just glad you have them.” He sat on the side of the bed and began to open the package.

  But she couldn’t not tell him now. “There was this guy I went out with a few times. I thought maybe...” She shook her head. “Nothing came of it.” She pressed her lips together. She had said enough. She didn’t want him to know there hadn’t been anyone else since him. She hadn’t dated much, what with Donna and her job. And when she did go out with someone, she found it difficult to let down her guard with men.

  He set aside the condom box and reached for her. “It’s okay. Come here.”

  She crawled onto the bed next to him, nerves warring with excitement. She wanted this—needed this. But she was afraid of making a mistake.

  Then he was kissing her, hands gently exploring, warm fingers coaxing delicious sensations from her. She began to relax and to make her own discoveries about his body. Everything about him—about being here with him—was both familiar and new. He was Nate—the first man and the only man she had ever made love with. The man she had trusted with all her secrets. He was the same—yet very different. He was bigger than she remembered. Broader and more muscular. A man, where he had been a boy.

  “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman,” he said, shaping his hand to one breast.

  “I guess we’ve both changed,” she said, breathless again as he dragged his thumb across her sensitive nipple.

  “For the better.” He kissed her fiercely, his hand moving down to stroke her sex, until desire all but overwhelmed her. She felt impatient, desperate and a little out of control.

  “I really don’t want to wait anymore,” she said, digging her fingers into the taut skin of his shoulders.

  In answer, he held her close and plunged two fingers into her, then began to stroke more deftly. She came fast and hard, thrusting against him, crying out in relief. He held her a little while longer and then, smiling, he reached for the box of condoms.

  When they came together again, she felt more in control, though no less eager for him. As he filled her she let out a long sigh that grew to a low moan as he began to move. Nervousness long vanquished, she matched his rhythm, every sense focused on the moment. Desire began to build once more, lifting her up, climbing with him to that wonderful height. When at last she could wait no longer and leaped, he followed, the two of them clinging tightly together for the glide back down to earth.

  Neither of them said anything for long minutes. She rested her head on his chest and reveled in the strong, steady thud of his heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his body beneath hers with each breath. She felt so connected to him it took all her strength to shove off the bed and head to the bathroom.

  When she returned a few moments later, she thought from the steady, deep rhythm of his breathing that he was asleep. She slid in next to him and he reached for her. “I was afraid for you tonight,” he said.

  It took her a moment to comprehend that he was talking about earlier in the evening, when the pirate had approached her. “I was never in any danger,�
�� she said.

  “I know. But if that was one of the killers—he’s murdered six women, seemingly at random. Someone with a mind like that—it’s terrifying.”

  “Yes, it is.” She propped herself on one elbow, wanting to see his face. “Thank you for following me home and for offering to stay.”

  “You would have sent me away, if we hadn’t seen that car driving past.”

  “I would have regretted it. I might even have called you back before you got to your truck.”

  He laughed and pulled her close in a bear hug. “I was going to park my truck at the end of the block and watch your house all night, to make sure you were safe.”

  The words brought a lump to her throat. To think that he cared so much. Fearing losing control, she rolled onto her back and searched for a less emotional topic of conversation. “How is your ankle?” she asked.

  “Sex is a terrific pain reliever.” He lay back beside her. “I figure in another week or so I’ll be able to ditch the cane.”

  “I’m glad it’s not bothering you too much.”

  “The worst part is the boredom. I haven’t been off work this long since I graduated college. I used to think I was lazy, but I’ve discovered I really hate being idle.”

  “Me, too.” She laughed. “Though sometimes I think it might be nice to try out a life of leisure—for a few days, anyway.”

  He reached down and laced his fingers in her hand. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. Tell me about Donna.”

  The question surprised her. It wasn’t as if Nate hadn’t known Donna almost as long as he had known Jamie. “What about her?”

  “She seems to have things together and is pretty smart. Will she ever be able to live on her own?”

  Jamie tensed and took her hand from his. Why was he asking that question? Why now? “Maybe. But she’ll always need help. The man I end up with has to take Donna as part of the bargain.” Might as well be up-front about that now. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.