Against the Wild (22 page)

“I'm thinking of someone in particular,” Dylan said. “About my height. Athletic. Confident. Maybe even arrogant.”

“Good-looking,” Lane added.

Brian's dark eyebrows drew slightly together. “I don't know. . . . Doesn't sound like any of the regulars.”

“Could be an ex-cop,” Dylan added, “or maybe ex-military.”

Brian's head came up. “Now that I think about it, there was a guy . . . been in a few times over the last couple weeks. Mentioned being in Iraq.” Dylan and Lane exchanged glances. “But he wasn't with Holly. At least not on my shift.”

“But he may have been in here that night.”

“I don't know. Might have been in the night before. Good-looking S.O.B.”

“What color hair?”

“Brown, I think.”

“Eyes?”

He shook his head. “Don't recall. A couple of girls came onto him, but he didn't seem that interested.”

“Did he come off the ferry?” Dylan asked.

“I don't know. I don't think he's from around here, though. I'd never seen him in here until lately.”

“You catch a name?”

Brian just shook his head. “Sorry. He kind of kept to himself. He'd just leave money on the bar when he left and slip out real quiet like.” He swirled the rag on the bar top. “He was just a guy, you know? This time of year, we get lots of people in here.”

Dylan pulled out his wallet, took out an Eagle Bay Lodge card. He tossed the card down with a pair of twenties.

“We appreciate your help, Brian. If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

Brian nodded. “If it's worth anything, I don't think Caleb did it.”

Lane flashed the bartender a smile. “Neither do we. Thank you, Brian.”

Dylan rested a hand on her waist and led her outside. He tried not to think how well she fit with him, how she steadied him somehow. Considering how fast the summer was passing, it was an unsettling thought.

Even more unsettling was his brother's warning. He told himself to be careful, keep his distance. He tried to remember what had happened with Mariah.

But when he looked at Lane, his mind refused to go there.

Convenient Rental Car at the Waterside Airport was closed on Sundays. Prearranged car pickup and returns only.

“We'll have to come back tomorrow,” Dylan grumbled as they walked back across the parking lot to the beat-up blue Toyota.

But Lane's hopes had been lifted. “We got a lead, Dylan. Brian told us about a guy in the bar who fit our description. It could be him.”

Dylan scoffed. “We have no idea if our theoretical killer is the man at Mad Jack's. The killer could have been some guy she was conning out of money.”

“Look, I watch those detective shows on TV. Stuff like
Blue Bloods
, reruns of
NYPD Blue
. The cops come up with a theory, then try to prove it. We've got a theory. Until we prove ourselves wrong, we push forward.”

A slow grin spread across Dylan's face. He pulled her into his arms. “Damn, I'm crazy about you.” A little thrill slid through her as he bent his head and kissed her.

It was followed by a jolt of alarm. “Please, Dylan, don't say that. We . . . we have to be careful. We can't let this whole thing get out of hand.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek, and he glanced away. “I know.”

Steeling herself against the sudden tightness in her throat, Lane went up on her toes and kissed him. As always, the heat was there, the hunger. She eased away though she didn't really want to.

She pasted on a smile. “Where should we go next?”

Dylan gave her a last slow glance, then looked back toward the rental car agency. “We can't talk to these guys till tomorrow. But if our suspect came in on the ferry, he had to have transportation to get out here. There's a couple of drivers who meet the boat when it docks, hoping to get a fare. One of them works with Johnnie at Pete's Garage, but they're closed on Sundays, too.”

A small plane, the commuter from Ketchikan that Dylan had talked her out of taking so that he could pick her up and fly her back himself, buzzed overhead.

“You know, he didn't have to come in on the ferry. He could have flown into the airport.”

“I thought of it. That would mean Waterside was his final destination. He'd have to have a reason for coming. Working on our theory, according to Brian, the guy in the bar has only been in town a couple of weeks. I haven't heard of any new jobs opening up, something big enough to attract someone from someplace else.”

“That makes sense. It looks like most of the businesses are owned and run by locals.”

“If he's a loner, he probably didn't come up with friends to go fishing. More likely, he's a drifter, some guy just following the ferry route north, taking a look at Alaska.”

“All right, then what about talking to some of Holly's friends?”

“I guess we could try Maggie, but she seems pretty convinced Caleb did it. I doubt she'll be much help.”

“How about some of the people she works with?”

He nodded. “We need to do that. At least the hospital's open.”

But none of the nurses or any of the staff at the Waterside Medical Center had been particularly close to Holly. None of them knew anything about her private life or the men she was involved with. Dylan did get her home address, an apartment in a four-plex walking distance from the hospital, which meant it was also close to town.

“You think we can get inside?” Lane asked as they climbed back into the Toyota and started in that direction.

“We'll drive by, see if there's a manager. Maybe he'll let us in.”

The two-story building on Monrovia Road sat on a hillside overlooking the sea. It was painted brown and yellow, and like most of the buildings in Waterside, had a really great view.

As they crossed the grassy knoll in front, Lane spotted a sign on one of the apartments downstairs. MANAGER. Lane flashed Dylan an excited glance as he knocked on the door.

There was a shuffle of feet, and then a short, bald-headed man in faded jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt opened the door and looked up at them. “What can I do for you?”

Dylan smiled. “I heard you had a vacancy coming up. That right?”

“Looks that way. Word sure travels fast. Young woman who lived here just died a couple of days ago.”

Dylan flicked Lane a glance and settled into his role. “Not inside, I hope.”

“No, nothing like that. Police came by yesterday, spent a couple of hours going through her things. They said she was murdered.”

“That's terrible. Maybe renting the place would be bad luck.”

The little man shook his head. “No reason to think that way. 'Course, the apartment won't be available till the end of the month. That's when Holly's rent was due.”

“Any chance we could see it?” Dylan asked.

“Couldn't have yesterday, but it looks like the police are finished in there now. Trouble is they dusted for fingerprints so it looks pretty bad in there. Kind of small for the two of you, anyway.”

“I was looking at it for a bachelor friend of mine,” Dylan said. “He doesn't need all that much.”

“I guess I could show it to you.”

They climbed the outside stairs and the little man shoved a key into the lock. He turned the key, then the knob, and the door swung silently open. As Lane walked inside, her throat closed up. A young woman was dead, her life over. What kind of man would commit such a horrible crime?

“Terrible thing,” the manager said, echoing her thoughts. “Too bad they can't give the bastard the needle.”

Maybe so, Lane thought but first they needed to find the right man.

“Did you know her well?” Dylan asked. As the manager had said, the apartment had been thoroughly searched, stuff moved on top of the coffee table, the lampshades slightly askew. Black fingerprint powder coated every surface.

“She kept pretty busy. She worked two jobs, you know? And she liked to go out.”

Lane glanced around. Holly might have been busy, but she'd kept the apartment clean. No dishes in the sink, her clothes hanging neatly in the closet.

Lane swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Did she have any family here?”

“Told me once her folks live in Juneau. I don't think they were close. She had some guy she was sweet on, but I don't think he ever spent the night. Holly was always by herself.”

“You know his name?” Dylan asked.

“I think she said Carlos or Carter or something. Said they'd dated once before.”

Not Carter. Caleb. Lane was beginning to realize how determined Holly had been to rebuild her relationship with the man who'd once loved her.

“The apartment's nice,” Dylan said. “I'll mention it to my friend, but I don't think you'll have any trouble renting it.”

“Nah, stuff goes quick up here. Not much around.”

That was for sure. Not many people. No need for more than a handful of apartments. They headed back downstairs, paused in front of the manager's place.

“Thanks, Mr. . . . ?”

“Granger. Harlan Granger. Let me know if your friend wants the place.”

“I will.”

Thinking of the woman whose life had so senselessly ended, Lane reached for Dylan's hand as they crossed the lawn. When she climbed into the car, she slumped against the seat.

“I'm beginning to feel like I know her. It's really sad, Dylan.”

“Yes, it is. But it'll be a lot worse if they convict an innocent man.”

“Oh, God, Dylan.” She thought of Caleb and how scared he must be. “We can't let that happen.”

Dylan sighed, rubbed a hand over his jaw. “The day's pretty well shot. We need to get back. We'll fly in again tomorrow, talk to the rental car people.”

A worrisome thought occurred. “When's the ferry due back?”

Dylan's blue eyes swung to her face. “I think it's in next week. You're thinking our guy might get on the boat and leave?”

“If he hasn't already gotten on a plane.”

Dylan shook his head. “I don't think so. This guy is careful. He'll be worried about the police. My hunch is he hasn't left yet. Probably lie low for a couple of days, let things settle down, get back to normal.”

But there was no way to be sure. She read the same worry she was feeling in Dylan's face.

“We'll start again tomorrow,” he said. “We need to catch this guy—and we need to do it soon.”

Lane couldn't agree with him more.

 

 

By the time Dylan got back to the lodge, he was worried and angry. Worried that Caleb's killer would find a way to leave before they could catch him. Angry at himself for relaxing his guard, letting himself get in so deep with Lane.

I'm crazy about you.
What the hell was he thinking? Sure, they were good together. And he was damned glad to have that sharp brain of hers as they tried to track a killer. But it couldn't be more than that.

There was no way in hell Lane Bishop would stay in Alaska. She had a home, a business, friends in L.A. She was a city girl, for chrissake. She lived in fucking Beverly Hills. No way was she cut out for hard winters and loneliness, for raising a child with emotional problems, for living in the wilderness. It took a special breed of person, and Lane Bishop, interior designer, wouldn't last a year.

His jaw felt tight by the time he walked her into the lodge, left her in the office, and headed back outside. It was getting on toward supper. He needed to work off some of the restless energy that still raced through him. Heading out to the woodpile, he picked up the ax, cut half a cord of wood, and began stacking logs next to each of the four outside cabins.

The crew had worked them over a little, gotten them ready to rent. They were the most recent additions to the lodge, built by Jeff Fenton, so they didn't need to be completely remodeled. Since the old furniture still looked pretty good, Lane had just ordered a few new pieces to bring them up to date. She'd done some stuff with the curtains, added throw pillows to the small living rooms to brighten them up and make the rustic cabins look cozy.

Lane.
Just thinking about her made him mad all over again. He dumped a last load of wood next to the cabin on the end, stacked it neatly, carried a smaller stack inside, and set it on the hearth next to the fireplace. His brother was right. He had to get his head on straight, put his summer affair with Lane into perspective.

He wanted her, yes. He considered her a friend—more than a friend—but that was all she ever could be. He knew it. She knew it. All he had to do was keep his feelings in check.

He looked up just then, spotted her standing in the open doorway as if his thoughts had brought her there, felt the swift, hard punch in the gut, the sweep of hunger he felt every time he saw her. His jaw tightened. One of his hands clenched into a fist.

She strode toward him, stopped right in front of him. “All right, what's going on? You brought me back and dumped me off like a sack of dirty laundry. If you're worried about Caleb, that's one thing. If it's me—”

“Goddamned right, it's you.” He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but now that he'd started he couldn't seem to stop. “I can't get you out of my head. I think of you night and day. I have you, and it isn't enough. Just looking at you standing there in a pair of goddamn jeans makes me want to fuck you.”

Her eyes widened. He didn't talk that way. Not to Lane. Not to anyone. But he meant every word. She was a fire in his blood, a soul-deep need he couldn't seem to quench.

He raked a hand through his hair. “Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just need to work a few things out. Go on back to the house. I'll be there as soon as I'm finished.”

Lane just closed the door.

“What are you doing?”

She unbuttoned her white cotton shirt as she walked toward him, slid it off her shoulders, tossed it onto the sofa. His mouth went dry when she unhooked her bra and tossed it on top of the shirt, revealing her pretty breasts.

“You want me?” she said. “Here I am.”

He started shaking his head. “I'm not in the mood for slow and easy.”

She just kept coming. “Neither am I.” She framed his face between her hands, pulled his mouth down to hers for a kiss that was long, wet, and deep. If he'd wanted her before, he was on fire for her now. He filled his hands with those lovely, rose-tipped breasts, felt her tremble.

He was rock-hard and aching, no longer thinking of consequences or unwanted emotions, filled with nothing but raw aching need. The kiss went deeper, hotter. He reached for the snap on her jeans, popped it. She gasped as he turned her around, slid her pants down her long legs, and bent her over the back of the sofa.

She was wearing a tiny pair of blue bikini panties. Fuck it, he'd buy her a new pair. She made a little sound in her throat as he ripped them away, spread her legs, and filled her.

Lane moaned.

God, he didn't want to hurt her. But when he started to pull away, she arched her back, taking him deeper, making him even harder than he was before. The hunger burned through him. Heat and need and a desire for her he had never felt for a woman before. He drove into her, gripped her hips, and took her. Took her until all he could think of was Lane and how right it felt to be inside her.

She cried his name as she reached release, but Dylan didn't stop, just pounded into her until she came again. Reaching the limit of his control, he allowed himself to follow, jaw clenched hard against the rush of pleasure.

Quiet settled over him. The self-directed anger was gone. He'd needed her and she'd needed him. Whatever he felt for Lane, he would deal with it when the time came for her to go.

He pulled her back against him, kissed the side of her neck, pulled her jeans back up around her waist. He wanted to say he was sorry, but it would be a lie.

Lane turned in his arms. “Everything'll be okay,” she said, resting her palm against his cheek. “We'll make it be okay.”