At Close Range

by Jessica Andersen

  “Okay.” His voice was gravelly and pulled at something deep inside her.

  She swallowed hard and stepped inside the narrow bathroom, with its waist-high counter, double sink and soft piles of folded towels.

  And began to strip.

  HE HEARD A ZIPPER slide down, and the soft sound of shoes being kicked aside, and focused his attention on the parking lot, which was lit with orange sodium lights.

  There was no sign of a watching presence, but one prickled along his nerve endings like a warning. A threat. He scanned the area again, looking for a misplaced shadow, a telltale hint of motion, a—

  Cloth rasped against cloth, derailing him. No matter how hard he stared out the window, he was too aware of Cassie in the bathroom, taking off her clothes, piece by piece.

  Leaving her naked.

  “You got a paper bag for this stuff?” she asked suddenly, her voice as loud as if she’d been standing beside him.

  A faint quiver in her tone betrayed…what? Nerves? Excitement?

  No, he told himself with a mental curse. Call it what it was. Stress. For God’s sake, in the space of two days she’d been involved in a foot pursuit, had her brakes sabotaged and nearly been killed in her own home. Now she was being forced to strip in front of—or behind—a near stranger. There was no way she found this titillating.

  The fact that he did was, frankly, a little disturbing. But he was ultra-aware of her every motion within the small bathroom, hypersensitive to each rustle of cloth, each small noise. He pictured her removing her shirt, imagined her unfastening her jeans and sliding them down over the long, sleek lines of her legs.

  He had to clear his throat before he said, “I didn’t bring my kit up,” which just went to show that he was off-stride. He never went anywhere official without the toolbox full of evidence collection basics. “There are paper bags for the dry cleaners in the closet. That should do.”

  A good evidence tech learned to improvise.

  “Can you pass me one?”

  “Sure.” Seth forced himself to cross the room with a measured pace and reach inside the closet casually, as though this were a normal evidence collection.

  As though he wasn’t picturing Cassie naked, sitting on the marble counter between the double sinks, knees parted slightly in invitation.

  “Get a grip,” he muttered. He scrubbed a hand across his face and felt stubble rasp. It had been a long day, that was all. His anti-Cassie defenses were low.

  “Varitek? The bag?” Her voice wrapped around the corner between the closet and the bath, making it all too clear that she was mere feet away.

  “Here.” He hooked his arm through the bathroom door and shoved the bag in her direction, then returned to his window. He pressed his palms against the cool glass and summoned up a memory of Robyn’s face, not as he’d last seen her, bloodied and dying, but as he’d known her in life, sassy and snappy and always ready to stir up trouble.

  In that, she and Cassie were alike, he realized, and was faintly disturbed to find himself comparing the two as he struggled to ignore another rasp of cloth from the bathroom. It wasn’t going to happen between him and Cassie. He wouldn’t let it happen. He wasn’t ready for a new relationship, and was pretty sure he’d never be ready for someone like Cassie.

  She was too much damn effort, like Robyn.

  He and Robyn had worked on their marriage, sometimes harder than it seemed like they should have. When he looked at his sister’s marriage, it seemed like CeeCee and Jack glided effortlessly through the years and the children. In contrast, he and Robyn had busted their butts to get along. They’d gone through three counselors and two sets of mediation sessions, but they had refused to give up, even when things were at their worst. Seth because he believed in one marriage for life. Robyn because she didn’t mind fighting. Hell, sometimes she seemed to enjoy it.

  And when you came down to it, they’d stayed together because while they hadn’t always liked each other, they had loved each other.

  “All set,” Cassie’s voice said at his shoulder. He turned to find her standing there with one hand clutching a bulging dry cleaner’s bag and the other holding her robe shut.

  A faint blush stained her cheeks and he could see the pulse at her throat. It beat fast, as though she were nervous.

  He took the bag. “I’ll enter this into evidence and have someone from my team pick it up as soon as they get into town.” When her eyes darkened, he sighed and said, “I know you don’t like my people being involved, but what other option do we have? Call Fitz back?”

  Something kicked at the back of Seth’s brain when he mentioned Bear Claw’s dinosaur of an ex-crime-scene analyst.

  Cassie shook her head. “No. You did what you had to do. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

  As though suddenly realizing that they were standing dangerously close, she backed away, giving him a flash of her bare feet. Her narrow toes were tipped at the ends with a hint of pink polish that was completely at odds with the woman he knew as Cassie Dumont.

  That fragile pink, that hint of vulnerability, only served to underscore the fact that she was wearing a hotel robe with nothing underneath.

  Seth clamped his jaw. “I should go. Once my people get to your house, I’ll have Marcy call you. She can sign some clothes out of the scene for you.” In retrospect, he should have snuck a change out for her in the first place, but he’d wanted the scene processed by the book.

  She dipped her chin in a nod. “Thanks.” Then she pressed her lips together. “But don’t think this means you’re in charge of the case. I don’t care what the chief says, or what you think. This is my case, not yours. Once your people are done processing my…” She faltered and swallowed, before continuing, “My house, they can turn around and head back to Denver, or wherever your field office is.”

  “You know damn well it’s in Denver,” Varitek snapped, annoyed. “And don’t tell me what to do with my team. Have you stopped to think that we could use their help?

  That you’re a one-woman shop in the middle of a case that’s looking way more complicated than any of us thought?” He took a step closer to her, then realized it was a mistake when her feminine scent reached out to him, reminding him that she was wrapped in a single layer of terry-cloth belted at her waist.

  Instead of backing down, she narrowed her eyes to blue slits. “Oh, no you don’t.

  Don’t even dare. We had an agreement, remember? I’m in charge of this case, not you.”

  He growled, attraction giving way to rising irritation. “Be logical. Alissa and Maya are away for at least another week and you’re a damned target. Do you really think the chief is going to let you out in the field if the bastard is looking for you?”

  “The chief isn’t going to let me do anything,” she hissed. “He’s going to expect me to do the job I was hired to do. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you get in the way of that, I’ll…”

  She left the threat hanging, but Seth didn’t care to ask you’ll what? He spun on his heel and headed for the door. It was either that or he was going to grab her and—

  hell, he didn’t even know what he’d do. Shake her until her teeth rattled. Kiss her until the frustration either bubbled over or went away.

  Neither was the right answer.

  Once he had the door open and one foot in the hall, he turned back. “Get some sleep. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

  He tried not to notice the fine smudge of a bruise developing on her cheekbone, or the faint shadows beneath her eyes. She was no more fragile than the iron roses his metalworking sister crafted for fun—pretty and indestructible at the same time.

  But even those roses could shatter if they were heated wrong. So he paused when he knew he should shut the door between them. “You going to be okay?”

  A shadow flickered in her blue eyes, there and gone so quickly he didn’t even know precisely what he’d seen. “I’ll be…” fine, he could see her start to say, but then she stopped and
corrected herself. “I need a weapon.”

  He nearly snorted at the incongruity of a beautiful bathrobe-wearing blonde with pink toenail polish demanding a gun.

  Then he saw she was serious.

  “You’ll be safe here,” he said. “You’re on the fourth floor. I’ve got a room just down the hall. Nobody’s going to get at you.”

  “You don’t know that,” she countered, voice low. “He got into my place. He got into the apartment building where the body was found. What’s to say he won’t get in here? Hell, it’s a hotel. All he needs to do is rent a room.” She held out a hand.

  “Your weapon, Varitek. I’m sure you’ve got a spare or two.”

  She didn’t flinch when he glowered, didn’t back down when he cursed. Finally, he reached down, yanked up his pant leg, and pulled out his spare piece. “Fine. Have it your way. Nothing new about that.”

  He slapped the smaller weapon in her palm, and this time got no sexual thrill from the contact. He was too stirred up, too irritated, though there was no good reason for the mood.

  She closed her fingers over the gun. “Varitek, I—” Then she stalled, looking up at him. Faint color stained the base of her throat, where cloth gapped a little over skin.

  “What?” he snapped as the heat rose between them like an unwelcome friend.

  She looked away. “Nothing.”

  He nodded sharply. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  And he shut the door between them before he did something really, really stupid.

  Chapter Five

  Cassie was on the room phone before Varitek’s footsteps faded in the hallway carpeting. To hell with the long-distances charges—it was on his card, anyway. She knew the cell number by heart, and waited two rings, then four before the line went live and Alissa’s breathless voice said, “Hello?”

  A bass rumble sounded in the background, a low, intimate laugh that brought an uncomfortable twist to Cassie’s midsection and revved her system back to the point where it had been when she’d stood too close to Varitek and forced herself not to reach out and touch.

  “Hello?” Alissa’s voice asked again.

  Cassie forced herself to breathe. “Hey, Lissa. Am I interrupting something?”

  When she heard another low murmur, she knew damn well she was interrupting and wished she hadn’t called.

  “Cassie!” Alissa’s voice sharpened with concern. “Is everything okay? What’s wrong?

  Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” Cassie answered quickly, even though she wasn’t really fine. Her arm stung where she’d been injected with God—and the biochemists currently testing her blood sample—only knew what, the back of her head hurt where she’d presumably banged it at some point, and she felt icky all over, like her attacker had touched her, only she wasn’t sure where.

  Finally allowing herself to feel the violation she’d held off while Varitek was in the room, she sniffed back tears.

  “Cassie, talk to me.” Her friend’s voice grew stern and Tucker’s background sounds quieted. Alissa continued, “You’re not fine. I know what fine sounds like.”

  You won’t be able to hack it in the field, Lee’s voice jeered. You’ll come crawling back in a few weeks. You’re not tough enough to cut it as a cop.

  Cassie’s stomach twisted. She was being selfish. Alissa and Tucker were on their first joint vacation, celebrating the fact that they’d managed to live together for the past month without killing each other. She was tough enough to handle this on her own. “I’m fine, really,” she said, voice stronger. “I just wanted to see how you guys are doing. It’s quiet here.”

  There was silence on the line. Cassie could almost feel her friend trying to decide whether to buy it or not.

  When Alissa spoke again, her voice was lighter, teasing. “What’s the matter? No hot date? Stuck home alone on a Saturday night?”

  God, was it really Saturday? Cassie thought furiously and realized that it was. She forced a laugh. “Come on, this is me you’re talking to. My idea of a hot date on a Saturday night is pizza and See Spot Run with my next-door neighbors and their new baby.” Which was a surprise. She hadn’t figured herself for a baby person. But go figure, she’d taken one look at little Eden and melted.

  That thought brought another, darker realization.

  Eden could have died, along with her parents, Dean and Mary McGlaughlin, for no better reason than because they were her neighbors.

  Anger sparked alongside the soreness of the day. When Alissa didn’t say anything, Cassie went with a half-truth. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little lonely. It’s silly, I know.

  The three of us have only been in town together for five or six months. I know how to entertain myself, it’s just…” She trailed off, realizing her words were more than a convenient excuse.

  “It’s just that of the three of us, you’re the one the other cops still aren’t sure about,” Alissa finished for her. “Are you ready to think about easing up on them yet? You know…you’ll catch more flies—”

  “Oh, please!” Cassie snorted, amused despite the situation. “If I wanted a lecture on making friends in Bear Claw, I would’ve phoned Maya.” Which was one of the reasons she hadn’t called Maya. “Never mind. Pretend I never called, okay? I was just having a moment.”

  Tucker’s baritone rumble rose in the background and Alissa murmured something husky in response, setting off another low flare of envy in Cassie’s stomach.

  Alissa’s voice returned, “Why don’t you hit the chocolate I know you’ve got stashed behind the canned veggies? This sounds like something brownies might fix.”

  Except that her secret stash—a holdover from her days of living with her father and brothers—was blocked by crime-scene tape and she couldn’t even go out for ice cream because one, she had no clothes, and two, she’d become a target.

  Tears pressed alongside hysterical laughter. Cassie swallowed both and managed to say, “Yeah, that’s a perfect idea. Thanks, Lissa. I’ll let you and Tucker get back to…whatever you were doing. I’ll see you next week.”

  She cut off the call before she broke down and asked her friend to come home.

  Once the phone was back in its cradle, Cassie scrubbed both hands across her cheeks. “God, I’m a mess.”

  Her face felt oily and sticky, as though it were a stranger’s skin being touched by a stranger’s hands. Shivering, she checked the dead bolt on her door before heading into the bathroom. She laid Varitek’s drop piece—a nifty little SIG-Sauer that fit her perfectly and probably looked ridiculous in his hand—on the vanity before stripping off the hotel-issue robe.

  Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she nipped back out into the hotel room, stark naked, and crouched down in front of the minifridge.

  It was Saturday night, damn it. A drink wouldn’t kill her.

  She bypassed the hard stuff and grabbed two small cans of something that purported to be a premade mudslide. Figuring that was almost like eating a brownie, she opened one can and took a long swig.

  The stuff was thick and chocolaty, and though calling it a mudslide might be optimistic, she felt a little warmer when the alcohol hit her stomach.

  Part of her wondered whether she should be combining alcohol, natural gas and whatever sedative had been in that needle, but after the second sip, she decided she didn’t care. She drained the first can, carried the second mudslide into the bathroom, popped the top and toasted herself in the mirror. If she’d ever deserved a drink, tonight was the night.

  Besides, it wasn’t like she was driving anywhere, she thought, and watched her haggard-looking reflection smile sourly. Her truck was impounded as evidence, and even if she had wheels, she had a feeling Varitek wouldn’t let her go far. Knowing it, she drank the second mudslide and cranked on the shower full blast, set to parboil.

  Damn, she felt nasty. She could swear she could feel her attacker’s fingerprints all over her body. Her clothing had been prop
erly tucked in when she came to, but still she hated that she’d been vulnerable to the bastard, hated that—

  She shivered involuntarily and avoided completing the thought. She was fine. She’d gotten out in time.

  Yeah, thanks to Varitek.

  “Shut up!” she said aloud, because she didn’t want to owe anyone anything, and certainly not him.

  A little tipsy, more than a little grossed out by the fingerprints she swore covered her breasts and thighs, she turned and climbed into the tub. Once she was under the blasting hot water of the shower, she sighed with pleasure.

  The imaginary fingerprints washed away, along with the greasy feel of violation. She scrubbed herself from head to toe twice, then stood directly under the spray so it beat down on the back of her neck. Slowly, a coldness she hadn’t even been aware of began to melt. Her stomach loosened and her shoulders dropped.

  It was okay.

  She was okay.

  The words beat a litany in her head, and she realized that she was shaking. It wasn’t until she sniffled and tasted salt that she realized she was crying, too. A sob bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her and erupted before she could choke it down. Another followed, then another, until her ribs locked up and she had to press her palms against the water-warmed tiles to keep herself upright.

  Oh, God. I could’ve died. I almost did.

  She remembered arguing with Varitek on her front porch. He’d wanted to look around, she’d wanted him to leave her alone. She’d opened her door, stepped inside and turned to close it. Then—

  Nothing. She didn’t remember a thing until she heard him shouting, felt his arms holding her, felt the waves of sickness inside her, all around her. Swamping her, consuming her.

  Controlling her.

  Chilled now, though the water was still scalding hot, she shut off the spray and leaned against the cool wall for a moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

  “I’m a little drunk,” she said, and was startled at how loud the words sounded in the echoing bathroom. She grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapped it around her torso and wobbled out into the main room.