Falling Hard and Fast (13 page)

Giving a sympathetic grimace, Cage said, “Well, that's enough to bust up a man's life but good for a while, isn't it? I'm not looking to kick you while you're down, Delbert. You're the best asset I have in the investigation unit. If you need to take some time, just say the word.”

Fisher's gaze jerked to his. “The last thing I need is more time alone to think about Betsy. This job is about all I've had to keep me sane lately. I messed up when I questioned the beautician, Sheriff, but don't blame it on my personal life. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.”

Nodding, Cage said, “If you tell me you're fit to do your job, that's good enough for me. Anyone can make a mistake.” Pausing a beat, he added, “But if you make another one on this case, I'll have to remove you. It's too damn important for me to take chances with.” Their gazes held.

“Fair enough, Sheriff.” Fisher nodded at the report lying before Cage. “Why don't you fill me in on what I missed?”

His desk chair gave a protesting squeak as he leaned back in it. “Well, it appears as though the victim had false nails reapplied two days before her death. Coroner found the remnants of the glue on her natural nails.” He waited patiently for Fisher to process that information.

“We didn't find any false fingernails on the body, at the crime scene or in the victim's apartment.” Fisher looked grim. “You think the killer removed them?”

Cage inclined his head. “That's what I think.”

“Well, you guessed the killer was highly organized. He must have thought we'd find traces of his skin beneath her nails.”

“Seems to me that he's more than organized.” More than lucky. More than smart. Cage scrubbed his hands over his face, acidic snakes churning in his stomach. Whoever killed Janice Reilly had been careful. Murder was a nasty business. It was his experience that killers tended to mess up. They got scared, or remorseful, or sloppy. Janice Reilly's crime scene had yielded no clues to the identity of the killer. Which meant that the murderer had taken precautions to avoid detection.

“What do you mean, Sheriff?”

He heaved a sigh and wished to hell that he weren't so certain he was right. “I mean he didn't just get lucky. And I don't think the lack of clues is merely the result of careful planning. I think our killer has had practice.” He looked at his deputy, watched the grim mask settle over his face. “I'm beginning to doubt Janice Reilly was his first victim.”

U
nder the cover of night, the killer stalked, his movements swift and sure. There was no hesitation in his steps, no hint of caution. Detection was unthinkable, capture impossible. He was invincible.

The anticipation had started building the moment he'd chosen his next victim. He'd learned to savor that anticipation, to stoke it for days, weeks, until the timing was right. It made the final moments razor sharp, the culmination almost unbearably sweet. That first rush of power when he seized his prey, that pure, godlike feeling when he held the decision on her life and death in his hands. But there was really no decision to be made. He chose death, every time. Her death.

She walked by him, unsuspecting, as blind as all the others. He drew in a deep, soundless breath, letting the dizzying rush of his own power roar through him like an out-of-control locomotive. One step. And then his hands reached for her….

Zoey's fingers stilled on the keyboard for a moment, and
she raised her unseeing gaze as she considered what came next. Like a movie playing in slow motion, the next scene unfurled in her head and she automatically translated it into words. Her fingers poised again, then faltered.

It took long moments for reality to break through the self-induced world she was lost in. One instant bled into the next, as she stared through the window at the stranger's face; saw the sun glinting brightly off the lethally sharp blades in his hand.

She stood abruptly, stumbling out of the chair in her haste. A scream rushed to her throat, balled there. In the next instant, even while panic was pounding through her veins, she felt the first thread of comprehension, swiftly followed by a sense of foolishness.

She watched as the stranger crossed her yard a few feet, bent over a bush, and brought up those shiny blades again. Pruning shears. She expected they came in handy when trimming bushes.

The breath streamed out of her and she propped one hip against the desk. There could be few things more humiliating than overreacting to a scene of her own making. The only thing that saved her from complete mortification was that there were no witnesses to her momentary flight from her senses.

There was a slight sound at her feet, and she dropped her gaze to where Oxy watched her hopefully, his new black collar lending him a dapper air.

“Some watchdog you turned out to be,” she scolded. “Shouldn't you at least bark or something when someone is outside?”

The pup cocked its head and looked at her quizzically.

“It's just the man Cage arranged to have do the lawn, but that's no excuse. I don't know who looks more stupid over this scene, you or me.” Oxy gave a doggy grin, his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth. “Yeah, you're right. I
do
know.”

There was a sound of a motor starting up outside, and
she went back to the window for a look. The man had climbed on a riding lawn mower and was proceeding to cut her grass, which was long overdue for a trim. She looked from her computer to the window again, and then gave a sigh. The mood was definitely broken. She wasn't going to get any more writing done until her lawn was finished, that was clear.

She pressed the Save command on the computer and turned back toward the room, nearly tripping over the dog, which had tangled itself in her feet. “You're getting close, real close, to earning the second half of your name. And wouldn't Cage just get a kick out of this scene,” she muttered, stepping around Oxy.

It would be satisfying to blame her stupidity on that infuriating man. Although he'd promised to have her lawn taken care of, he'd never given her a hint of when it would be done. But she knew she had only herself, and her sometimes-overactive imagination, to blame. Admittedly, it wasn't the first time it had gotten the best of her. What, besides pure inventiveness, could ever have blinded her to Alan's deviousness for so long? Others might make excuses for poorly formed decisions made in the name of love. Zoey didn't make allowances readily enough to be any less unforgiving with herself.

The puppy dashed to the front door, then turned back to her, waiting hopefully.

“Oh, all right,” she said, following him down the hallway and opening the closet for his leash. “We'll go for a short walk. Maybe by the time we return he'll be done.”

Oxy seemed to approve of the plan—at least until she fastened the matching leash to his collar. Then he gave a very good impression of a doorstop.

After several minutes of undignified tugging, Zoey dropped the leash and propped her hands on her hips, glaring at the dog. He remained where he was, haunches firmly planted on the floor. “You have to get used to the leash,
because I'm not about to engage in a tug-of-war with an animal that seems to be losing IQ points as we speak.”

Unimpressed, Oxy gave a huge yawn and lay down. Zoey stared at the puppy from narrowed eyes. If she opened the door right now, he'd be outside in a flash. But he liked to make his visits to nature without the bothersome trappings of civilization, like leashes. And since she'd learned from experience that he had a streak of wanderlust in him, he couldn't be trusted to stay nearby.

The answer, she decided, was in being smarter than the dog. She went back to the kitchen and opened the cupboard, taking out a box of puppy treats. The quiet clicking of toenails on linoleum told her that she had an audience. Oxy had already shown that he had disgracefully poor willpower where such treats were involved. While he watched, she took a handful, then slipped them into the pocket of her shorts. This time when she went to the front door, he was at her heels. Pausing for her sunglasses and a baseball cap, she swept all her hair up and pulled the cap over it. When she reached down to pick up the leash this time, Oxy came willingly.

She smiled smugly. She just needed to be smarter than the animal. Locking the door behind her, she led him down the porch steps.

It took a doggy treat every several yards to ensure Oxy's continued cooperation. Fortunately, he didn't seem to discriminate between part and whole treats, so she was able to feed him pieces each time. She knew she would have to conserve the blasted things in order to get him home again. There was no way she was going to carry him back to the house when the time came.

Right now he was expending more enthusiasm than sense running in and out between her legs, tangling her in the leash and nearly tripping her.

Muttering a few disparaging comments about the dog's parentage, Zoey stopped and unsnarled the leash. A car slowed on the road, and its electric windows lowered.

“Where's that dog taking you, Zoey?”

She looked up, saw Tanner Beauchamp grinning at her from the driver's seat. Giving a mental sigh, she gave one last hard look at Oxy. “He's practicing walking on a leash.”

Tanner guided the car over to the side of the road, parked it and got out, leaving it running so the interior wouldn't heat up again. Propping his hands on his hips, he surveyed the two of them. “It does look like he needs a lot of practice.”

The sight of the man wearing a lightweight summer suit of a quality she recognized made her grateful for her own casual clothes. The sun hadn't diminished in strength, though it was already past five-thirty. She mentally estimated how long it would take Tanner to melt where he stood.

Oxy made a dash to sniff out the newcomer, and when the leash jerked suddenly in her hand, Zoey barely managed to avoid landing face first on the ground.

“I think his training may be beyond me. He's going to need some classes.” She shot the dog a dark look. “A lot of classes.”

“Hey, fella.” Tanner squatted down and gave Oxy a vigorous ear scratching. “So what I'm hearing is that you're a little on the slow side. Is that right?”

Uninsulted, Oxy closed his eyes and enjoyed the attention.

“He's going to be a big one. Look at the size of those feet.” Tanner lifted his gaze to hers. “Are you figuring on taking him back north with you?”

It was the second time in as many days she'd been reminded of her home in Chicago. The second time she'd found that reminder strangely unappealing.

“He's not mine.” Surely that wasn't a pang of emotion for the little beast who was even now shaking himself off and investigating Tanner's shoelaces. “I'm just keeping him for Cage for a while.” Under the man's sudden scrutiny,
she added uncomfortably, “Until he has more time for him.”

Tanner rose, still staring at her. “Well, I'll be.” His gaze went back to the dog. “You know, I think this is Cage's first dog since Tooner. Has he told you about the dog he had when we were kids?”

For some reason, seeing the thin line of perspiration trickle down the side of Tanner's throat made him seem more human. She nodded. “He told me it accompanied the two of you on your share of misadventures.”

Teeth flashing, he agreed, “That's a fact. And in case that's disapproval I detect in your voice, I'll assure you we got our share of wallopings for the mischief we caused.”

Brows arching, she asked, “Was it worth it?”

This time his grin was wicked—a sudden, vivid reflection of Cage's. “Every last minute of it.” He chuckled richly at the memory, one hand going to his tie to loosen it. “My daddy was a real enthusiastic disciplinarian. But Cage caught heck as often as I did, because he lacked any imagination when confronted with the evidence of our misdeeds.”

Involuntarily, a smile pulled at her lips. “Neither of you seems to have suffered overmuch for it.”

“You have no idea.” His grin was rueful as he spread his suit jacket wide. “I still can't bring myself to wear a belt.”

“Obviously cause for years of intensive therapy.”

He shook his head in mock sorrow at her unsympathetic tone, but his eyes were gleaming. “You're a hard woman, Zoey. Does Cage realize that?”

The question had her spine stiffening. “Why should Cage's opinion matter to me?”

The chuckle sounded again, and his face was alight with real amusement. She wondered, fleetingly, if it had been that overdose of charm that had first bonded the two men together so many years ago, or their simple need for adventure.

“Why?” He finally addressed her question. “Maybe because you and he have been dancing around each other since the day you stepped into town. If we were still in fourth grade, we'd be saying you two were sitting in a tree,
k-i-s-s-i-n-g.
”

He'd managed to annoy her. “Unlike your ancestors, Beauchamp, I don't do my kissing in trees.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, you're a match for him—no doubt about it. You're…perfect. I wonder if he sees it.” He looked at her, his eyes still crinkled. “Chances are, he does. Although I've often chastised the boy about his deplorable sense of honesty, one thing he's never been is slow. You just might be the one to help him forget the reason he came back to this place.”

His words reignited her irritation, while at the same time lighting a spark of interest. “And what reason would that be?”

But Tanner was already looking as though he regretted his words, his gaze shifting slightly away. “Oh, just losing his daddy. And his mama was in real poor health by then.” His voice was a shade too innocent, his inching movements toward the car too furtive. “I'd ask you to Jonesy's tonight to discuss dog training over rib eye, but I know you're going to be busy.”

Although she was intrigued by his words about Cage, she refused to pump him for more information. There was something distasteful in the thought of gossiping about Cage at the side of the road, even if it was with his best friend. “You must be a well-rounded individual, Tanner, to add mind reading to your list of talents.”

Opening his car door, he said, “Wish I could claim psychic abilities.” He winked at her. “Fact is, before I came upon you walking your dog, I saw Cage heading up to your house with an armful of groceries.”

Whirling toward the direction of her home, she heard his parting chuckle, but never saw his car pull away. There was no sign of Cage on her front porch, but a vehicle she'd never
seen before sat in the driveway. She flinched as Oxy remembered which pocket held doggy treats and jumped up for some, his nails scratching her bare legs.

She paused long enough to break off a treat and toss it to him, before starting for home. She told herself that the anticipation she felt certainly wasn't caused by the thought of seeing Cage Gauthier again. She almost believed it.

 

Her kitchen was a fog of steam and there were heavenly smells coming from one of the pots on top of the stove. Although her traitorous stomach showed instant signs of interest, her mind wasn't so easily mollified.

She leaned against the doorjamb and surveyed the man moving competently about her kitchen. As a concession to the heat generated by the boiling water, he'd unbuttoned his shirt partway down his chest, revealing a wedge of smooth golden skin. “You know, I could have sworn I locked the door when I left.”

At the sound of her voice, Cage's head jerked around, and he didn't quite manage to wipe the guilty expression from his face. “You thought you locked the door?”

Thinking of the start she'd gotten when she'd been scared witless by the stranger's face at the window, she nodded slowly. “I know I did. So you have two things to explain—how you got into my house and what you're doing in my kitchen.”

She wasn't demanding that he leave yet, he noted, and took that as a sign of encouragement. “Actually, your front door was locked, but the back-porch door wasn't. A woman living alone really ought to be more careful. I figured it was my duty as sheriff to watch over things until you got back.”

She frowned and tried to remember the last time she'd used the back door. She was almost certain she'd checked it before retiring last night. “Does your duty as sheriff include making supper in empty kitchens?”