Cold Case Cop (9 page)

There was no point lying about her lead. “I’m here to see Bess Conway.”

He nodded. “I knew if I didn’t delay you this morning you’d be up bright and early, just like you were yesterday, and out storming after your story.” He slipped on a blue sports jacket. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Mackey. You’ve got a cop’s instincts when it comes to finding the truth.”

The backhanded compliment pleased her. “I told you I’d keep you posted on my findings.”

“Then why did you ditch me yesterday? And why did you ignore my calls?”

“I haven’t proven anything yet. There’s nothing to report until I go up to that lighthouse cottage.”

“We’ll talk about that over breakfast.”

His aftershave still lingered with the mist of his morning shower. He smelled good. “Let me just do my job, Kirkland. I don’t need your help.”

His expression turned deadly serious. “You need back up.”

“Please, I’m a reporter, not a cop. I can take care of myself.”

“You are after someone who most likely doesn’t want to be found.” From the top of the TV he grabbed his wallet, keys and loose change and pocketed them all. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Want to grab breakfast?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I lost my appetite.”

“You’re not going anywhere until I do, so you might as well share breakfast with me. Besides, whoever you’re after isn’t going anywhere. I’ve got state police watching the bridges and roads. No one is getting in or out of town without me knowing it.”

“Nice to have connections.”

“Yes, it is.” He shut off the TV and moved to within inches of her. His thick, short hair was still damp from his morning shower. He’d just shaved but she knew there’d be a shadow on his jaw by late afternoon.

Her heart beat faster. She’d had her share of dreams about him last night. To play it safe, she moved to the door and opened it. “Let’s grab breakfast. And you can fill me in.”

“Share and share alike. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He pressed his hand into the small of her back and guided her out to the breezeway. He closed the door and double-checked the lock to make sure the door was secure.

Kirkland escorted her into the diner and they found a booth. The place was filled with the smells of coffee and bacon. A waitress in a yellow uniform served coffee to a grizzled local fisherman who had worn hands and stooped shoulders before she made her way to their table.

“Busted my truck up good,” the waitress said to the fisherman. “The front headlight is broken and the fender is bent. He says he didn’t take it out last night but I know he’s lying.”

The fisherman shook his head. “Teenagers will drive you to drink.”

“Tell me about it.” The waitress glanced in their direction. “Let me take care of these folks, Ezra. Be right back.”

The waitress, a coffeepot in hand, came to their table. “Morning, folks. You want coffee?”

“Please,” Tara said. “High test.”

Kirkland nodded. “Same.”

The waitress grinned as she served each a cup. “Couldn’t do without my morning cup.” She set menus down in front of them. They each ordered the Number Two—pancakes, eggs and bacon. “That was easy. Be right back for your order.”

Tara glanced out the window at the parking lot as she sipped her coffee. Three spots down from her car was a truck with a banged-up front end. “That must be the car our waitress’s boy wrecked.”

Kirkland sipped his coffee. “Looks like about five hundred dollars worth of damage.”

“I wrecked Roxie’s car when I was sixteen. I did eight hundred dollars worth of damage. I washed dishes after school for six months to pay that one off.”

“Were you drinking?”

“Good Lord, no. Roxie would have tanned my hide. I backed out of the school parking lot too fast. I was in a rush to get to a debating tournament.”

He lifted a brow. “Actually, I can picture you on a debate team. I bet you were good it.”

“I was the captain. Arguing has always been a strength for me.”

The waitress brought their breakfasts, and as Kirkland sliced into his eggs he said, “Fill me in on what you’ve learned so far.”

“I’d rather not until I have more information.”

“If you don’t share, Mackey, we’ll head back to Boston now and you can consider yourself under arrest for obstruction of justice.” He spoke calmly, but there was steel in his voice.

She stiffened. She didn’t doubt for a moment he’d do it. “You would not.”

His gaze reflected resolute determination. “I’d do it in a heartbeat. And don’t ever forget that I don’t make idle threats. I want this case solved in a very big way and I’ll do what it takes to see that it’s closed.”

The last thing she needed was to cool her heels in a Boston jail cell while Kirkland cracked this case. She wanted in on the story and if that meant she had to play ball she would.

Tara buttered her pancake and poured a healthy dose of syrup on it. She gave him the rundown on Brenda’s past life in Cadence. “I’d have gone to see her yesterday if not for the storm.”

Kirkland nodded as he peppered his eggs. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Afraid I’ll beat you to the punch?”

His expression grew serious. “If this woman is Kit or Brenda, she’s worked very hard to stay hidden. She might not think twice about killing a reporter who gets too close.” He frowned. “Any more thoughts on who sent you the initial information on Brenda?”

“None. I reread the information last night but there was nothing.” She cut into the pancake with her fork and took a bite. It tasted great and she ate half the plate of food before she realized it. “What time did you arrive last night?”

He’d eaten his entire meal. “About two.”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“Someone rattled my door last night about quarter to eleven.”

He frowned. “Did you see who it was?”

Her stomach tightened. “By the time I got up the nerve to look out the window, whoever it was had left.”

Kirkland shook his head, his gaze deadly serious. “I don’t like this, Mackey.”

“Who was trying to get into my room?”

“That’s a good question. Did anyone know you were headed to Sable Point?”

“I told my editor.” She tried to shrug off her worries over the incident. “It was likely a fluke. Someone must have gotten their room number mixed up.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

Thursday, July 17, 8:00 a.m.

A
fter breakfast, Tara got her gear out of her trunk and put it in the back of Kirkland’s car. The rain had stopped but the air was thick with humidity and the skies above remained dark and ominous. They were in for more rain and, according to Florence, this storm was supposed to be worse than yesterday’s. Kirkland drove up the rutted coastal road toward Bess Conway’s cottage.

Kirkland’s broad shoulders ate up the space in the front seat of the car and Tara was very aware of him. Despite all her griping at breakfast, she liked having him close.

Tara couldn’t shake her sexual attraction to the man. He dominated her thoughts far too much. She turned her gaze out the window. She was courting trouble—
big-time
.

To keep her mind off Kirkland, she stared at the desolate, rocky terrain. Sea oats blew over barren sand dunes. “Kit gave up the lap of luxury for this place. Why would she do it?”

“I don’t know. But this would be about the last place I’d have looked for her. And I can’t picture Pierce coming here, either.”

Tara shoved out a breath, wishing Kirkland would drive faster. “If Bess is Kit, are she and Pierce still legally married?”

He shook his head as the car snaked up the rocky coast. To their right, the rough waves washed onto rocky shores one hundred feet below. “She married him under false pretenses, so who knows? An annulment is very possible. But that’s a job for the lawyers.”

Wind gusted over the hood of their car as Kirkland drove up the coastal road. She glanced out her window and realized they were a hundred feet above the rocky shore below, where waves crashed over jagged rocks.

He rounded a blind corner and slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt. Tara lurched forward, her seat belt catching her before she hit the dash.

Kirkland swore.

She glanced up to see a pile of rocks in the center of the road. They’d fallen from the hillside to the west. If Kirkland had been going any faster, he’d have hit the rocks and they could have tumbled over the edge.

Kirkland shoved out a breath. “That’ll wake you up.”

Tara tried to laugh off her own fear. Suddenly, she was very glad to have him with her. “Tell me about it. Can we get around it?”

He nodded. “Barely.” He put the car in Reverse and backed up a hundred feet. Then, very carefully, he started forward, inching the car wheels round the rocks littering the road.

Tara wanted to close her eyes, but she forced herself to look out her window. They had just inches to spare before the shoulder of the road dropped off. “God, I hate heights.”

Kirkland didn’t take his gaze off the road. “I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of a lot of things. The trick is to not let the fear show.”

He maneuvered around the rocks and had the car back in the center of the road. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The crisis had passed and Kirkland relaxed. Still, he kept his eyes forward and on the road in case there were other problems ahead. “So what else are you afraid of?”

She laughed, feeling her equilibrium returning. “Maybe another day.”

“We’ve got a few minutes now.”

“No comment.” He was the last person she’d reveal her fears to.

“Just one.”

“No way. A successful crime reporter needs a tough exterior. You better than anyone should know cops don’t respect weakness. And I refuse to have any of you guys condescending or coddling me when I show up at the next murder scene.”

There was a hint of understanding in his eyes. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She laughed. “I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything.”

“Before the shooting I was just a little too cocky. My near-death experience, as you called it, gave me plenty to fear.” His voice was quiet, pensive.

Tara wasn’t going to tell him not to worry or toss platitudes his way. “I’m afraid of heights and closed-in spaces. Fear can be a good thing. It keeps us on our toes and reminds us that we don’t control everything.”

Kirkland tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “On my toes I don’t mind. Being crippled by fear does worry me.”

She studied his jaw as it tightened and released. “You seem no worse for wear after the shooting.”

He swallowed. “I’ve yet to draw my weapon or be tested again.”

She smoothed her hands over her thighs. “Do you ever think about him?”

“You mean the guy I killed?” He shook his head. “I don’t lose any sleep over shooting Dr. O’Donnell. He’d savagely killed his wife and he was trying to kill one of my men.” He shoved a hand in his pocket and rattled the loose change. “But I worry that if I’d been a second slower, what would have happened to Brady? He’s a damn good cop and has five kids at home depending on him. I also worry that if I ever have to fire my gun again I’ll freeze or I won’t be fast enough to stop the bad guy.”

“You can’t do that.” Her voice had softened.

“Do what?”

“Play the
what-if
game. Believe me, I am the master at it and I can tell you that you’ll drive yourself insane and get nowhere in the process.”

A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “You sound like the department shrink.”

“No doubt he is a wise man.”

“She’s a wise woman.”

She smiled. “Naturally.”

Kirkland came around a final bend.

Tara leaned forward. “Bess’s cottage should be about two hundred yards down the road.”

Kirkland nodded. “Right.”

Their conversation silenced, he pulled into a short dirt driveway furrowed with ruts caused by Sable Point’s frequent rainstorms.

He followed the drive up to a small, gray stone house that looked older than the town, which had been settled around the turn of the nineteenth century. Dark shutters had been closed over the four windows that faced south. The garden had long been overgrown with weeds.

Kirkland parked the car and they both got out. A fine mist hung in the air and the clouds above were ripe with rain. “We better move fast or we’re going to find ourselves trapped in one hell of a storm.”

“Local weather said the second storm wasn’t expected until later today.”

Kirkland shook his head and unsnapped the snap on his gun holster. He started out ahead of her. “Don’t bet on it. This storm is moving fast.”

“So you’re a weather expert?”

“I’m damn good at gauging the weather.” He spoke with confidence, not arrogance, and she accepted him at his word.

Tara moved forward and almost immediately tripped over a vine that snaked over what was left of a brick pathway to the house.

Kirkland moved in front of her as they approached the front door. Weather had stripped most of the paint off and left the wood underneath cracked and swollen.

When she tried to step around him he held up his arm, blocking her path. “Stand to the side of the door.”

She did, feeling a little foolish. “Is this really necessary?”

“Always assume that what’s behind the door wants to kill you.” He also positioned himself beside the door before he knocked. “Bess Conway.”

They both stood in the morning silence, listening for any sign of someone inside. With the sun behind the clouds and the wind whipping, Tara was cold. She huddled a fraction closer to Kirkland to absorb his heat.

He pounded on the door again. “Bess Conway.”

When there was no sound or trace that anyone was in the house, Tara moved to one of the windows. She opened the shutter and rubbed the salt-streaked window clean with her hand. She peered through the clean circle into the main room.

Immediately, Tara saw a woman.

She was lying face-up on the floor in a pool of blood.