At Close Range (14 page)

How had she not known about this? Because, she realized, Maya rarely talked about herself, and never about the past. Everything with her was carpe diem. Seize the day. Live for the moment rather than looking backward or forward. It wasn’t until that moment that Cassie realized that she didn’t know a damn thing about Maya, unless it had happened at or after the police academy. The knowledge made her feel small, like she’d been so caught up in her own stuff that she’d taken her friend for granted.

“Hell,” she said aloud, and took a step toward the door, intending to track Maya down and…well, she didn’t know what she was going to say, but she knew the friendship was precious, knew that somehow she needed to help.

But a shadowy form darkened the doorway, filled the frosted window and paused outside as though uncertain of welcome.

Cassie’s gut identified the figure before her brain had quite caught up with the rush of heat and the sudden acceleration of her pulse. Varitek.

Instead of waiting for him to knock and enter, she yanked the door open and faced him squarely. “I don’t have time to deal with you right now. I need to talk to Maya.”

He didn’t budge, just stood there and stared down at her, face expressionless, pale green eyes reflecting something she couldn’t even begin to identify. After a moment, the corner of his mouth kicked up. “I see you’re feeling better.”

“Sorry,” she said pausing when she saw that he had her jacket draped over his shoulder. “I don’t mean to be rude. You caught me at a bad time.”

“It happens.” But he didn’t step back when she moved to push past him. Instead, he held up two commercial airline folders. “Not so fast. We have a plane to catch.”

Cassie looked at him in surprise. She saw the marks of strain and too little sleep on his face, and felt a spurt of guilt that he’d been working the case while she napped.

“Where are we going?”

“Florida. The chief wants us to interview Fitz in person.”

THE HUNTER FOLLOWED his new prey to her home, then the hotel where the FBI agent was staying. They spent under fifteen minutes at each location, emerging with small bags—one for him, one for her. Once they were on the road again, headed out of downtown Bear Claw, he followed at a discreet distance, confident that neither of them would pick up the tail.

His old man had taught him that the chase was part of the hunt.

He remembered following his father deep into the forest, trying hard to step in the big, widely spaced boot-prints. Then the big man had halted and held up a hand.

Stop, the gesture had said, then Look!

His boyhood self had frozen in place, an excited rictus of muscles that longed to twitch and run and play. Slowly, ever so slowly, he had turned, and—

A strident digital ring interrupted the memory, yanking him back to the highway and the surrounding cars. When the ring came again, he slapped at the dashboard button, annoyed. “Hello?”

“We have a problem.”

The hunter was surprised to hear the voice emerge from the hidden speakers.

There were days he was nearly convinced that the voice, and the plan, existed only within his skull.

“Did you hear what I said?” the planner demanded.

The hunter’s equilibrium was off, with the past and present tangling around each other, along with the memory of a gunshot. A scream. Blood.

He swallowed. “Yes, I heard. I’m following the prey right now. The blonde and the FBI agent. They’re headed out of town on the highway.”

“They’re going to the airport,” the planner said. “To Florida. It’s time to mix things up…I want you to follow them and take care of them down in Key Lobo.”

The hunter scowled. “That’s outside my territory.” Like most predators, he had marked a space as his own. He allowed no other hunting in his territory, but by the same token wouldn’t kill outside of it.

“Territories can be adjusted as necessary.” The planner’s voice chilled. “Do you understand?”

The hunter preferred to study his prey, to plan and predict the chase before he made his move. He disliked stalking outside of his comfort zone, disliked acting on impulse.

His father’s advice rang in his head. Plan the hunt, son. Plan the kill.

Then again, sometimes the impulsive shot netted the greatest reward.

“Well?” the planner demanded. “Are you in?”

“I don’t like it. It’s not my style.”

“I know, but with Bradford gone it’s just the two of us, son. I need to know I can depend on you.”

The word son laced itself around the hunter’s soul, touching a deep, dark place within. “Yes,” he finally said, “you can count on me.”

“Good.” The planner’s voice softened. “Do as I ask, son, and everything will be forgiven.”

Varitek—she still couldn’t think of him as Seth, never mind saying it aloud—slept through the nonstop flight to Southern Florida, but Cassie was too wired to doze.

She’d bought a paperback at the airport gift shop, thinking to entertain herself by dissecting the policework in the story. But once the big jet lifted off the runway, she was too jittery to read, too aware of Varitek’s nearness and the way his shoulder and arm pressed against her. He’d used frequent flier miles to upgrade them to first class because the regular seats were too small for him, but he still crept into her space, warm and solid.

She watched him in spite of herself.

He didn’t soften in sleep. He didn’t snore, or even relax all the way. He could have been carved in stone, all uncompromising angles and lines that made her think.

That made her wish for the impossible.

Thanks to the time zone change and a brief delay, they landed near dinnertime.

Once the wheels touched the tarmac, Cassie turned to wake Varitek, only to find his eyes open and clear, with no residual sleep fuzz.

Either he was one of those people who woke up immediately, or he’d been faking it.

They spoke about small, inconsequential things as they deplaned and headed down to the rental car pickup. But Cassie was aware of the brush of their arms as they jostled together in the line and the touch of his breath at the back of her neck when he looked over her shoulder.

“Get something big. A truck or an SUV. I hate little cars.”

“Already done.” She edged away from him, unnerved by a flicker of sexual heat.

This wasn’t a romantic getaway. Hell, they weren’t even romantic.

But still, she was hyperaware of him as they collected their rented SUV. She was attuned to his every motion as they stowed their gear and pulled out a map. The chief had wanted the questioning handled in a very casual fashion. He didn’t even want them to go through the local P.D., which worried Cassie.

Varitek paused before climbing into the SUV. “Something wrong?”

She tried not to notice how his pale green eyes fixed on her with full attention, and how the intangible contact set up a warm jangle in her stomach. Damning herself for the weakness, she said, “I don’t like this. We have a fingerprint match, so why not have the locals haul Fitz in for questioning? It feels like the chief is trying to spare his old friend’s feelings at the expense of the case.”

“I wouldn’t let the chief dictate my investigation,” Varitek said shortly. “We’re here because we need to be.” He jerked his head at the vehicle. “Get in and I’ll explain.”

Cassie bristled at his peremptory tone, but snapped a salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Once they were on the road headed to Key Lobo, Cassie prompted, “So? Explain.”

Varitek glanced at her, then returned his attention to the road, which was fringed with palm trees and grass visible under the street-lights. “My people found three of Fitz’s fingerprints—two partials at the first murder scene, one at the second.”

“And?” Cassie demanded, tone sharp with annoyance at the involvement of “his people” when she should have been the one to run the analyses.

“They’re all fragments of his left thumbprint.”

“Oh, hell.” Cassie sank back in her seat. While a thumb was a common enough print to find, the law of averages said that finding an index finger print was just as likely.

“You think it’s a plant?”

“Could be.” Varitek hit the blinker and took the exit ramp leading toward the keys.

“It’s possible our perp got hold of a single print from Fitz and made a mold. I’ve got the lab testing for latex residues and synthetic oils now.”

“But why bother framing Fitz?” Cassie asked, then thought a moment and answered her own question. “To throw it back on the police department. It always seems to come back to the Bear Claw P.D., doesn’t it? Croft went after Alissa. The new guy went after me. The lab was torched.” She paused while the passing scenery changed from neon tourist glitz to pastel residential areas. “He’s after the police department.” Then she contradicted herself. “Then why the elaborate kidnappings?

The murders? Why not just target the P.D. directly?”

“Because this guy goes for the grand gesture,” Varitek said. “You don’t need Dr.

Cooper to tell you that.”

Which reminded Cassie. She needed to call Maya again. Her last two attempts had gone directly to voice mail, and Alissa reported that she hadn’t seen the psych specialist all day.

Something was up.

Varitek continued, “What worries me is the fact that we might be playing into exactly what he wants us to do.” He glanced at her. “Think about it. Why pick on Fitz? Why not one of the active officers?”

A shiver worked its way down Cassie’s neck. “O’Malley retired awfully quick. What if he actually is involved?”

“And what if the killer wants us down here for some reason?” Varitek countered.

“It’s all a bunch of ‘what-ifs’ at the moment, at least until we figure out the story on the fingerprints and interview Fitz directly.” He turned off the main road. “I think we should assume the worst until the evidence suggests otherwise. We’re going to stick together and watch each other’s backs. Okay?”

Cassie tilted her head to one side. “Watch each other’s backs. As in partners?”

A muscle beside his jaw ticked. “For the time being. You willing to give it a try?”

For a crazy moment, she thought he was asking her something else entirely. Maybe it was the balmy, warm air caressing her winter-dried skin, or the night-shrouded greenery, which reminded her that they were far away from Bear Claw and prying eyes.

Maybe it was the strange intimacy of having sat beside him through the long plane ride. Or maybe it was realizing that even now, stone-cold sober and awake, she wanted to reach out and touch him like she had down in the lab, when they’d been mindless for each other and had no thought for the consequences.

Then she looked up and saw that they’d pulled into a small motel. “Where the hell are we?”

He parked the SUV outside a neat, green-painted door marked “Office,” unhooked his seat belt and dropped down from the vehicle. Before she could react, he opened her door and stood in the gap, not quite blocking her from exiting, but not giving her much room, either.

His eyes were intent as though he, too, knew they were having two separate conversations. “We need to wait on the results from the additional fingerprint analysis. It isn’t worth talking to Fitz until we know whether or not the prints are legit.” He glanced over his shoulder at the motel, which was modest but neat, a single-story row of numbered doors that gleamed with fresh paint in the glow of stained-glass-shaded porch lights. “It’s late. I think we should get a couple of rooms, maybe go out for a bite to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“I could eat,” Cassie said carefully, confused by the sudden change in him. She tilted her head. “Why are you asking me rather than telling me?”

He stepped away and his features darkened ever so slightly. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, then said, “I did some thinking while you were sleeping off your ketophen-and-mudslide backlash. Maybe I’ve been out of line.

You’re a cop and an evidence technician, and you’re good at your job. I haven’t given you enough credit for that.”

Cassie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It took her a moment to recover.

Then she said, “Wow. You come up with that on your own?”

His expression shaded toward rueful. “Not exactly. I took Alissa to your house so I could check on my team and she could grab your clothes. She, ah, pointed out that the way I treat you and the way I treat my female techs are light years apart.” He looked away, but didn’t retreat. His throat worked when he swallowed. “Look. I’m sorry. Robyn used to get after me for bossing her around, for always thinking I know the best way to do things. I guess I just, ah, fell back into old habits.” Now he looked at her, and she saw the struggle in his pale green eyes. “I’ll work on it.

Okay?”

She swallowed hard, feeling the burn of a small victory. “Let’s get those rooms and find a restaurant. You’re right. I’m starving.”

It was no big deal, she told herself. She could keep this casual.

She hoped.

BUT ONCE CASSIE was inside her motel room, which was saved from generic by whimsical touches of seashell and coral along the molding, she had trouble holding on to that blasé attitude. Her stomach jittered with more nerves than hunger, and she found herself staring into her suitcase, wishing she’d packed something sexier than pants and light businesslike shirts.

“This isn’t a date,” she told herself, and scowled into the mirror above the motel-issue dresser. “It’s a convenience. He’s here. I’m here. Why not eat together?”

But her reflection showed color riding high in her cheeks, and her pulse thrummed with anticipation as she quickly showered, blew her hair into soft, dry waves and pulled on clean underwear and her jeans. She left the businesslike shirt untucked, and knotted it at her waist so a hint of her stomach showed when she moved.