Covert Kisses

by Jane Godman

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Her smile was mischievous.

  His heart gave a thud. “What might that be?”

  “Breakfast.”

  Chapter 8

  Bryce Delaney was definitely not one of those people who subscribed to the view that a tidy office also meant a tidy mind.

  “This reminds me of when we were kids and all the times Mom used to yell at you to straighten your room,” Cameron commented, as he moved a pile of paper, a takeaway container and an old boot from a chair so he could sit down. “Now I know how she felt.”

  Bryce’s grin was unrepentant. “My mess, my problem. I know where everything is.”

  The sad fact was, Cameron decided, Bryce was telling the truth. If his brother’s secretary came in right now and requested a file or docket from six months ago, Bryce would be able to put his hand on it immediately.

  “So at the risk of sounding like I’m not pleased to see you...where the hell have you been?” Bryce’s eyes, several shades lighter than his own, scanned Cameron’s face, with a trace of concern in their golden-brown depths. “And what can I do to help?”

  He wouldn’t double-cross me. The thought was fierce and certain. Of all the people in the world he might suspect, Bryce was the last on the list. An Explosive Ordance Disposal (EOD) officer in Afghanistan, his promising army career had been brought to an abrupt end two years ago by a roadside bomb. Although his physical injuries had healed fast and he was left with only a slight limp as a result, it was the mental wounds that had taken their toll. Since Bryce never spoke of that time, Cameron could only guess at how deep they went. Now and then, he caught a flash of something dark and tortured in his brother’s eyes and knew the damage had scarred his soul.

  “I’ll let you know if the time comes.”

  Bryce hesitated. “Tell me to butt out if you want to, but has this got anything to do with the girl who looks like Carla?” Cameron remained silent. “Because she’s not Carla.” When Cameron still didn’t reply, he plowed on, his face reddening slightly. “And it would be weird.”

  Cameron held up a hand, indicating enough was enough. Until he had this clear in his own mind, he wasn’t ready to talk it through with anyone else. Not even Bryce. “Thanks for your concern.” He felt the need to add something more. “For the record, she’s Carla’s cousin. And it’s not weird.”

  “Your business.” Bryce shrugged.

  “Exactly. Which brings me to why I’m here. What’s going on with you and Vincente?”

  A scowl crossed his brother’s handsome features. It was an expression he reserved uniquely for Vincente. “When is he going to stop treating me like the baby brother?”

  It was a question Cameron had heard many times. “Bryce, I don’t have long. Can we skip the preliminaries and get straight to the details?”

  Bryce pointed to a set of maps on the wall. Starting out with West County, they widened to include the state and then the entire country. Every map included a complex network of colored roads and symbols. Attached to each was a detailed, color-coordinated chart.

  “You know how much work I put into the planning process. I have to maximize fuel costs, driver time and depot space when I put each of these routes together. Then there are all the other factors such as arrival times at ports and airports, scheduled delivery times, third parties we outsource to and how many long-or short-haul trips each driver is doing. I’ve worked up a computer program to get this right so each driver gets his, or her, schedule at the start of each week.”

  “Her?” Cameron raised a brow. Something about Bryce’s voice when he said the word hinted at a problem.

  Bryce’s scowl lightened long enough to laugh. Was it Cameron’s imagination, or was there a trace of self-consciousness in the sound? “We have a few female drivers on the payroll, but only one of them is a chronic thorn in my side.”

  “It sounds like you have the perfect system.” Cameron gestured to the wall.

  “Had. I had the perfect system. For the past few weeks, all I’ve had is a constant series of phone calls from truckers calling me at all hours of the day and night, demanding to know why their schedules have been changed with only a few hours’ notice.”

  “Let me guess.” Cameron knew his voice conveyed intense weariness. “Vincente?”

  “Did someone say my name?” A drawling voice drew his attention to the open doorway. Vincente had a knack for arriving at the perfect moment.

  Cameron could never see his older brother without thinking of all the things Vincente could be, if he would only put his mind to it. Strikingly good-looking, Vincente was the artistic, intellectual one in the family, yet he could still outrun, outshoot and outswim his more openly athletic brothers if he chose. And that was the secret to Vincente. If he chose. Although Vincente had potential in abundance, he never seemed to choose the easy route. Life on Vincente’s terms was never simple.

  Cameron got straight to the point. “We were discussing the problem with the drivers’ schedules.”

  “I don’t have a problem with the drivers’ schedules.” Vincente’s smile was deliberately insolent as it flicked over to Bryce. He had always known exactly which buttons to press to send his younger brother into overdrive. He still used them to his advantage, and he did it now as skillfully as he had done when he was eight and Bryce was four. A furious expletive burst from Bryce’s lips as he rose to his feet.

  “Easy.” Cameron waved him back down. “Why have you been making changes without consulting Bryce? You know operations are his territory.”

  Although Vincente had been born and raised in Wyoming, some of his gestures unconsciously betrayed his Italian heritage. The shrug he gave now was as Italian as the taste of Chianti or the roar of a vintage Vespa’s engine. “Just trying to be helpful.”

  Cameron knew that look in Vincente’s flashing dark eyes. It was the look he had seen so many times when they were kids and Vincente had been caught in some wrongdoing.

  “Maybe you could confine your helpfulness to those times when it’s asked for in the future?” Cameron kept his voice level. Arguing with Vincente was like wresting an eel.

  He could feel Vincente’s rage in the air between them, darker, quieter and more brooding than Bryce’s stormier display. But there was a flash of something more in his older brother’s expression. Behind the anger, there was hurt. Just for a second, Cameron thought Vincente was about to say something. It was quickly gone and Vincente’s expression returned to neutral.

  Then, with a curt nod, he turned and left. A feeling of unease lingered in Cameron’s mind. He wanted to go after Vincente and ask him what the hell was going on, but he knew his brother too well. He would get nothing out of Vincente in this mood.

  “Think he’ll listen?” Bryce asked.

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll take it up a notch.” The prospect was not something he relished. Cameron rose to his feet, getting to the other reason for his visit. “Anything else before we go down to the depot?”

  “While you’re here, I don’t suppose you can get rid of that creep Vincente has hired.”

  The feeling of disquiet intensified. I’ve stayed away for far too long. “What creep would this be?”

  “Name of Zac Peyton. I have no idea what his job is meant to be, but the guy seems to spend most of his time snooping around. I even found him on his way into this office the other day. He claimed to be lost, but I don’t like the look of him.” Bryce’s face was serious. “I’m worried, Cam. I think Vincente could be up to something.”

  “I think you could be right.”

  * * *

  Was it really only a few days since he’d first pulled into the Paradise Creek vacation village for that first date with Laurie? If he’d known then what he knew now, would he have kept walking and still knocked on her door that night, or would he have tu
rned tail and run for his life? Cameron had never run out on a challenge. And—wherever the future took them—he would not have missed this chance to get to know Laurie for all the world. A flashback to last night hit him. The intent look on her face as they made love, the soft gasping sounds she made, her fingernails clawing his back, the velvet warmth of her muscles gripping him... Yeah, he was glad he’d hung in, even though this was turning out to be one hell of a week.

  He’d toured the transportation depot with Bryce and come away with one certainty. Whatever was going on at Delaney Transportation, it was not happening at the main depot here in Stillwater. Operations there, under Bryce’s eagle-eyed supervision, were running like clockwork. Cameron would have been happy to invite a dozen FBI special agents in to subject the place to a detailed scrutiny. He was certain they would not find anything untoward. So why, after that awkward encounter with Vincente, did he still feel uneasy?

  The vacation village was curiously quiet for a major crime scene, and that caused another uncomfortable feeling to settle in his gut. He had so many of these feelings chasing each other round inside him today, it felt like he’d swallowed a barrelful of butterflies. But he wasn’t wrong about this place. It was too quiet here. There should be local law enforcement and federal agents crawling all over this scene right about now. Instead, the only sounds were a faint breeze ruffling the trees and the distant warbling of a vireo.

  The door to Laurie’s cabin stood open, but there was no crime-scene tape stopping him from crossing the threshold. Even so, he paused, standing outside and leaning in to avoid contaminating the scene. The only person inside was a tall, thin man in dungarees. He was whistling to himself as he brushed the floor. What the hell is going on here?

  “Hi there.” Cameron raised his voice to be heard above the sounds of whistling and brushing.

  The man paused, a smile dawning as he recognized the intruder. “Oh, hey, Mayor Delaney. Are you looking for the owner, Mr. Johnson? He’s out at one of the other sites this morning.”

  The normality of the whole situation was getting to Cameron. Clearly he wasn’t going to contaminate anything. With another check to make sure he had the right cabin, he stepped inside.

  “No, I was looking for the woman who was staying here. A Miss Carter.”

  The guy, Cameron had seen him around town doing odd jobs in various places—what was his name? Ben? Bob? Bobby, that was it—shook his head. “Weirdest thing. Mr. Johnson said she just upped and left, even though she was paid up until the end of the summer. She even left her rental car out front.”

  “When was this?”

  “Last night.” How did Bobby know that? Particularly since he was wrong. Cameron should know. Laurie had actually left the night before. He had been with her.

  “How do you know she’s gone for good? She could be staying somewhere else for a few days. Maybe she went to Yellowstone for a visit. Lots of tourists do that.”

  “Some guy called Mr. Johnson on her behalf. Said she’d had to go away. Urgent business back home. Asked if Mr. Johnson could arrange the return of the car. There was some damage to this window. She left the cash to cover the repairs.” Bobby scratched his head. “Place was spotless. Like she’d cleaned before she left. Really cleaned, scrubbed the floors and all. Who finds the time to do that when they get an urgent call?”

  Who indeed? Cameron felt his hands shape themselves into fists, and he wished Grant Becker was here so he could pound them into that handsome face. Once again Grant had been one step ahead of them. The fake call pretending to be on Laurie’s behalf was all very neat, but what had he done with Moreton’s body? And why, when Laurie had rung her captain in San Diego to tell him what had happened to the FBI agent, had there not been at least some sort of law enforcement interest in this place?

  “Did anyone else come by here today, Bobby?” Cameron did his best to keep his voice casual. He wanted to ask if the police had been around, but that would be too obvious.

  “Not that I know, but I only stopped by to fix the window. I’m just finishing up. Been here about an hour.”

  It was close to noon, roughly forty-two hours since Moreton had been killed. Three or four hours after his death, Laurie had rung Captain Harper in San Diego. What had been happening here since that time? It looked likely Grant had been back to this cabin, disposed of Moreton’s body and cleaned the place, before calling Johnson to say Laurie had left. But how had he managed to throw the police off the trail? Even if the FBI had been here and found nothing suspicious, they still had a missing agent and a missing undercover police officer. Something just wasn’t adding up.

  Nodding a quick goodbye to Bobby, who seemed eager to get on with his sweeping, Cameron returned to his car. The Stillwater Police Department was located in City Hall, the same majestic building that housed the mayor’s office. Cameron typically spent two or three days a week in his office, more if he was needed. His role was very much one of public relations and, as the city’s leader, he was prepared to devote as much time as necessary to the job. That was why the voters of Stillwater loved him. They could get to see their mayor with their problems pretty much anytime they wanted to. He hadn’t planned on a detour to this office in downtown Stillwater, just off Lakeview Drive, but, in view of what he’d just seen, he desperately needed to make some inquiries.

  Conscious he hadn’t been around for a few days, he paused at his secretary’s desk first. “Anything I should know about?”

  Alberta Finch regarded him over the top of her half-moon spectacles. “And who are you again? Just remind me...”

  Cameron grinned. “Don’t give me a hard time.”

  Alberta’s usually harsh features softened. Despite her formidable exterior, she was genuinely fond of Cameron and had been fiercely protective of him when Carla died, guarding his well-being and privacy like a gray-haired bulldog in a hand-knit sweater. She cast him a sidelong glance. “Seems like the whole town has been talking about a girl who looks like Carla.”

  Cameron groaned. “I was a fool to take her to Dino’s.”

  “Is she nice?”

  How was he supposed to answer that? A picture of Laurie’s face, eyes half-closed and head thrown back as he entered her, rose unbidden in his memory. Yes, she was nice. And a whole lot more. In the end he opted for a noncommittal reply. “Too soon to say.”

  “Your face tells me she’s nice.” There was no fooling Alberta. Her tone became gruff. “I’m glad.”

  This was one conversation he wasn’t having. “Is there anything you need me to look at?”

  “There’s been some graffiti out on the town welcome sign. I won’t damage your ears by telling you what it says.”

  Cameron groaned again. “Can you get someone out there and have it cleaned up?”

  She flapped a dismissive hand. “Already taken care of. There’s nothing else I can’t handle.”

  “Good. I have to go away for a few days.” He avoided her searching look. “Is Chief Wilkinson in?”

  Alberta snorted. “Since it usually takes nothing short of a minor earthquake to pry him out from behind that desk of his, I expect so.”

  She was being unfair to the man who had been the Stillwater chief of police for as long as Cameron could remember. Bradley Wilkinson was an administrator, rather than a hands-on cop, which was where the impression he didn’t budge from his office came from. But he was an astute police chief, and Cameron had a great deal of respect for him.

  “I’m too old for this job.” It was Wilkinson’s usual refrain, and the first words out of his mouth as Cameron entered his office.

  “Trouble?” Cameron had been wondering how to play this. Walking in here and pouring out the whole story wasn’t going to work. The city police department and the County Sheriff’s Office worked closely together. If he marched in and accused a well-respected police officer like Grant Becker of bei
ng a serial killer... Well, he could picture the looks that would signal the end of his political career, and likely his permanent exit from Stillwater. The gossip mill would start up. Never been the same since his girlfriend died, poor man. Or, Just when he seemed to be getting back to normal. And the worst of all. Appearances can be deceptive. You never can tell.

  But maybe, just maybe, Wilkinson was about to tell him what was going on without any prompting.

  Wilkinson waved the sheaf of papers he was holding. “Mrs. Martin.”

  Cameron slumped into the chair opposite Chief Wilkinson, his optimism fading fast. Mrs. Martin was the chief’s least favorite person, but her letters rarely involved any actual crimes. If she was uppermost in the police chief’s mind, it seemed probable there wasn’t much else going on. “What is it this time?”

  “Strange goings-on out at the Hope Valley coal mine. Seven pages. Count them with me, Cam. Seven of the damn things.”

  Cameron was barely listening. Why didn’t Chief Wilkinson know anything about a dead body out at the Paradise Creek vacation village? Because it was obvious he sure as hell didn’t. If he had, Cameron knew the other man would have come right out and told him about it. Hell, Cameron’s phone would have been ringing nonstop the minute Wilkinson got word of the murder. The excuse Cameron had used to Grant about preventing a panic had been a valid one. As the mayor, his role would be to do what he did best and manage public relations. Right now, there was nothing to manage. Not for the first time this morning, he wanted to put his fist through the wall in frustration. The thought of Laurie back at the cabin, counting on him, kept him calm.