At Close Range

by Jessica Andersen

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, just growled, “Nothing you need to know about.

  It won’t happen again.” Then he brushed past her, climbed into the SUV and yanked the door shut with a final slam that sounded gunshot-loud.

  Conversation closed.

  CASSIE’S QUESTION reverberated in Seth’s head an hour later as Chief Parry stood at the front of a BCCPD conference room and walked through a summary of the Canyon kidnappings.

  What the hell had happened back there?

  A flashback, maybe, or a memory. He didn’t know. Whatever it was, he’d suddenly been back in a different, darker alley while a brown-haired woman bled out in his arms. Her eyes had focused on his face just before she died.

  The thought of it, the guilt and the rage of it, closed a fist around his heart.

  “The evidence showed that Bradford Croft killed his mother,” Chief Parry said, drawing Seth’s attention out of the past, to the current case, which refused to behave cleanly. The chief said, “And he admitted his guilt of the kidnappings to Officer Wyatt. However, he died of his injuries before we were able to clear up a number of discrepancies, including his original alibis, which collapsed under scrutiny, and whether the skeleton found at the scene of the first explosion was tied to the case.”

  “Which makes all this pretty darned speculative,” Tracy Mendoza interrupted, then tacked on a belated, “Sir.” When the chief nodded for her to continue, the homicide detective said, “The missing finger seems to connect the older skeleton with today’s murder, but our only evidence tying the skeleton to the kidnappings is location. It could be a coincidence.”

  The chief nodded. “That’s possible, but we’re not ruling out anything until the evidence tells us to. Until that time, we’ll remain open to the possibility that the older skeleton is connected to today’s body and both are related to the Canyon kidnappings.” Parry’s eyes hardened to flint. “There’s a murderer on the loose in Bear Claw. Let’s get him.”

  He got nods and murmurs of agreement until Mendoza’s partner, an older, harder detective named Piedmont, said, “It would’ve helped if the crime lab had reconstructed the old skull.” He curled his lip at Cassie, who was sitting alone at the far edge of the room, over near the wall. “Too bad they lost it.”

  Cassie shot to her feet and snarled at Piedmont. “We didn’t lose the skull. The kidnapper blew it up along with my lab. And let’s not forget that it was your sloppy security that let the guy into the police department in the first place.”

  The Bear Claw cops grumbled, but she had a point. The forensics lab was located in the basement of the P.D. Nobody should have been able to walk in past the front desk and make it to the stairs without authorization.

  Nobody but a cop, Seth had thought at the time, but none of the other evidence backed up that possibility.

  At least none that they’d found.

  Chief Parry stepped in before the grumbles could degenerate. He raised his hands.

  “Okay, here’s how it’s going to work. I’m breaking the task force up into three teams. Team one is going to investigate the canyon skeleton. Use the ME’s notes and whatever forensics can tell you and go from there. Team two is going to work the new murder. Team three, composed of the forensics department and Special Agent Varitek, will act in a support capacity for the other teams.”

  The chief read off the names on teams one and two, but before he could dismiss the task force, Seth stood, knowing there was one thing left to say, knowing it wouldn’t make him popular. “Chief? May I have a moment?”

  Parry acknowledged him. “Of course.”

  Seth cleared his throat. “We need to consider one more aspect of this—the safety of our officers, particularly the women.” Saying it aloud brought the dark memories closer. “I’m not trying to be sexist here—” well, maybe he was, but he had a damn good reason for it “—but don’t forget what happened during the kidnappings. Croft focused his attentions on Alissa Wyatt and nearly killed her. If this is connected, then the pattern could repeat.”

  Cassie frowned and spoke up. “If it’s connected, then he’s already broken pattern.

  All the other victims, including the skeleton, were women under twenty. The murder victim was a man in his mid-twenties.”

  Seth countered, “The bomb squad didn’t find any charges under your truck, but the brake lines were severed and reconnected with a thermolabile polymer.” Anger flared in his chest at the thought, and at the fact that she didn’t seem nearly worried enough. The lines would’ve given out with heat and use—like once she was on the highway, or maybe one of the mountain roads. “Face it. You’re already a target.”

  She lifted her chin and stared him down. “Don’t try to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

  The words echoed through memory to another woman, another time. Seth growled, stepped around the podium and—

  “Thank you, Special Agent Varitek.” The chief got between them and diverted Seth to his chair with a warning look. “Based on that evidence, I think we need to assume that the female officers are at higher risk, and Officer Dumont in particular.” He scanned the room and made two partner changes, breaking up a pair of male detectives and a pair of female detectives and switching them. “That leaves everyone protected except Officer Dumont.” The chief looked at Seth. “You’ll keep an eye on her?”

  “Yeah,” Seth said, though he wished there was another option. “I’ll watch her back.”

  At that, Cassie shot to her feet and stalked from the room, shoulders tight, body language just this side of aggressive.

  The door slammed behind her.

  CASSIE POUNDED DOWN to the basement crime lab, nearly vibrating with fury.

  Maybe she should be used to being underestimated by now, but it still stung. How long would she have to fight the fragile female stereotype? How many heads did she have to bite off, how many testosterone-laden men was she going to have to chase away from her territory before they’d believe that she was smart enough, tough enough and street-savvy enough to do the job she’d been hired to do?

  In all honesty, Varitek probably wasn’t trying to be a jerk. There was some logic to his words. It had been a tense, ugly situation when Croft had targeted Alissa. But she wasn’t Alissa, and this wasn’t the same situation. Cassie couldn’t afford to be coddled, and she’d be damned if he shoved her to the side of another investigation.

  She glared around the lab, part of her wishing for someone to fight with, part of her glad to be alone in the one space that made her feel truly welcome. The banks of machines didn’t care what she looked like or whether she peed sitting down.

  They answered the questions she asked, using the information she gave them. She could load in two DNA samples and be confident that the next morning, the fluorescent peaks and valleys on the computer printout would tell her whether she had a match or not. Whether she had a mixed sample or not.

  The evidence didn’t care who she was.

  She let her fingertips drift over the stereomicroscope she used to examine fiber, hair and dirt samples. She glanced at the logged evidence from the apartment murder scene, the jacket and hat from the bastard who’d rigged her truck. But though she was tempted to dive in, she knew better.

  She was too ticked off to work effectively, too distracted. Her thoughts were jammed with Seth Varitek. She was all tangled up with the sound of his deep, masculine voice, and the feel of being pressed up against the wall of a crummy apartment building. He’d invaded her senses until she swore she could taste him on her lips, which was impossible.

  Cursing, she strode out of the lab and into her small office, where she threw herself into her desk chair and slapped her computer mouse to wake the machine from its screen saver.

  Then she stared blankly at the glowing icons.

  “Stop taking this so personally,” she said aloud, hoping the words would help put the scene upstairs into perspective. “He wasn’t saying you couldn’t take care of yourself. He wa
s just saying to watch out.”

  Only he’d said more than that. He’d agreed to “watch her back,” which she translated as “keep her in the lab while I work the field.” He was an excellent evidence tech, but so was she. And she was the one who’d be staying in Bear Claw once this was over. She was the one who lost status in her coworkers’ eyes every time she let the FBI take over a crime scene.

  She lost. Not him.

  So, yeah, it was personal. Maybe not to him, but it sure as hell was to her. With Alissa and Maya out of town, it was up to her to defend the value of the new forensics department. It was up to her to make herself indispensable to the BCCPD, so the other cops would finally realize that she was worth something to the department.

  That she was worth something at all.

  Lee’s voice whispered around the edges of her mind, telling her it wasn’t enough, that it would never be enough. Gritting her teeth against a press of anger, she clicked over to her favorite Web search engine. She typed two words into the query box.

  Seth Varitek.

  If this was going to be a battle for control of the Bear Claw Forensics Department, it made sense for her to know her enemy, to know his weak spots, if there were any.

  And though public records might not give her the insight she needed, the Web was a good place to start. She didn’t need to be a full detective to know that.

  She avoided his public profile on the FBI field office Web site. She’d checked it out a few weeks after he’d left Bear Claw, just out of curiosity, and had been unsettled by the hot rush that had punched through her when she’d seen his official photo. In the picture, his dark hair was buzzed close to his skull and his pale green eyes seemed to stare directly at her. It was by no means a glamor shot, it was too rugged for that, too fierce. But it had encapsulated what she remembered of the man, and it had left her far warmer than she’d liked.

  “So we’ll skip that site,” she muttered to herself. “We’ll stipulate that he’s relatively hot and move on to the important stuff—figuring out what makes him tick.”

  She kept one eye on the door as she clicked through lists of the papers he’d authored in recent years. He’d come looking for her sooner or later—to gloat if nothing else—and it wouldn’t do for him to find her prying. Wouldn’t do for him to know that she was interested, if only in the context of defending her territory.

  The search results were sorted by date, so it took her ten minutes or so to work through the past couple of years’ worth of information on Varitek, mostly notations of meetings he’d attended or spoken at, research he’d done on computer simulation models and methods for integrating the various criminology databases.

  “No wonder he has all those cutting-edge programs to work with,” she said, impressed in spite of herself. “He developed some of them.”

  That also explained why he was a generalized evidence guru when so many of the FBI forensics experts specialized in one field, whether it be hair or paint chips or DNA. But that didn’t really help her. She needed something more. Something personal. Then she clicked on the next screen worth of information and hit pay dirt.

  Only it wasn’t the sort of dirt she’d wanted to find.

  It was far worse.

  The newspaper articles were from the major Denver papers. The headlines jumped out at her, highlighted one-line summaries that told a terrible story.

  She sucked in a breath and moved to blank the screen, but a hint of movement and a low curse from the doorway warned that she was already too late. She spun in her chair and saw that Varitek stood in the doorway of her small office, close enough to read the damning words over her shoulder.

  His eyes were dark, his expression closed. “Find what you needed, Officer?”

  Her stomach knotted and she stood, unwilling to let him loom over her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

  He didn’t nod, didn’t smile, didn’t let her off the hook. Instead, he said, “No, you shouldn’t have. It’s none of your business.” He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to be breathing, though she knew that was an illusion. “How much did you read?”

  “Not much,” she answered quickly. “Just the headlines.”

  Headlines like Woman Murdered Returning Home From Art Show, and Cop Husband Vows Revenge Against Diablo Brothers.

  “Then what else do you want to know?” he said, voice dark with an emotion that didn’t show in his face. “Should I tell you that Robyn and I fought about that damned art show? She wanted people to know how run-down the schools were in that section of town, wanted to help improve them. She moved her paintings down there and planned a party, a grand opening for God’s sake.” Grief deepened the lines beside his mouth and the muscles at his jaw bunched with tension. “I made her promise not to go out there without me. Then I let her down because I got a call. A break in the case.” He paused. “It was a plant, of course. A diversion. I got back just in time to find her. In time to say good-bye.”

  Cassie made a wordless sound of sympathy while her heart tore in her chest and leaked pain. She reached out, but didn’t quite touch him. “I’m sorry.”

  The words seemed inadequate. She reached over and blanked the computer screen, as though erasing the headlines could erase the memories.

  “If I’d been there to drive her home…” His expression was closed, as though he were talking to himself now, as though this were a conversation he’d been through a thousand times in his head. “If I’d been better about separating my life from my work…” He trailed off and refocused on her. He scowled, but the expression didn’t seem as fierce as it had before. “Sorry. Not your problem.”

  But it was her problem, she realized. It explained what had happened back in the alley, and why he had moments of being as overprotective as one of her four older brothers. Why he kept trying to push her to the edges of her own investigations.

  It was her problem, because it was affecting her ability to do her job and make her place in Bear Claw.

  Knowing it, but also knowing that she’d never been good at touchy-feely emotional conversations, she jammed her hands into her pockets. “I’m sorry, Varitek. There’s nothing I can say to make it better. Nothing at all. But I won’t let you shut me out of this case like you did with the kidnappings, just because I’m a woman and you’re afraid I might get hurt.”

  He scowled down at her. “I didn’t shut you out.”

  He was closer than she’d realized, a mere half step away. She wanted to retreat from the warmth of him, the sheer size of him, but held firm. “Yes, you did. Maybe you didn’t mean to, and maybe the lab fire made it simpler to use FBI equipment and personnel. But in the end, it was your work, not mine, and everyone here knew it.”

  “I didn’t—”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry. We’re both at fault because I let you take over. But not this time. This time you’re on my turf and I’m not giving it up.”

  She took a breath. “Look, I’ll admit it. With Alissa and Maya away, I could use help.

  But this is going to have to be my investigation and my evidence collection. I’m in charge this time.”

  She expected an explosion, but instead he closed the scant distance between them, until that damn warmth kindled in her midsection and she saw the heat reflected in his eyes. “What do I get if I agree?”

  Her first thought was so thoroughly sexual that she stumbled back on a wash of heat and surprise before catching herself and standing fast. Since when did her mind dwell in the gutter?

  Sure she’d been on a dating hiatus for the past few months while getting settled in Bear Claw, and before that she’d stuck to casual things that rarely developed past pleasant kisses. She liked sex well enough, but she’d been…busy. Why had her body picked now to wake up?

  She gritted her teeth, forced the heat aside and said, “What do you want?”

  He stared down at her for a moment, and she didn’t dare interpret his expression, which was part closed off, part something e
lse. Then he said, “The guy in the alley said he’d see you again. If he wasn’t focused on you before, he is now.”

  The chilly logic chased away some of the heat. Cassie crossed her arms and swallowed a bubble of worry. “That’s good. It’ll give us something to work with.

  Maybe he’ll be stupid and make a mistake.”

  “And maybe he won’t,” Varitek countered, voice dead level. “Bradford Croft wasn’t as smart as his crimes. That, plus the murder scene today, tells me we’re dealing with the slicker of the partners. We can’t count on him making a mistake.”

  Cassie forced herself to meet Varitek’s eyes. “Which means?”

  “That you’re in danger,” he answered flatly. “So here’s the deal. I’ll let you run the case and make you look good in front of the locals, but I’m in charge of security. In the lab, in the field, wherever. No debates, no questions asked. What I say goes.”

  She bristled. “You’re not letting me do anything, and I don’t need you to make me look good.”

  “Take it or leave it.” He shrugged. “I’m not here for a turf war. I’m here to help you people find a murderer before he strikes again.” His eyes sharpened on hers. “And he will strike again. Soon.”

  She couldn’t argue against that. The pose and the missing fingertip argued for ritual. The lack of good evidence argued for the perfection of long practice.

  Yes, the killer’s appetite would be whetted now. It was only a matter of time.

  But it galled her to give Varitek control. She didn’t need anyone to protect her. She could take care of herself. Hadn’t she proved that when she moved away from her father and her four too-protective older brothers?

  That thought brought an insidiously undermining voice that said, Yes, and you hooked up with a man just like them, only much, much worse.

  “Do we have a deal?” Varitek asked, snapping her away from the memory of being weak.

  She stiffened her spine because she wasn’t weak anymore, damn it. But she also wasn’t stupid or suicidal. Varitek had a point, whether she liked it or not. The guy in the red hat had rigged her brakes, and he’d promised to see her again.