Grave Danger (19 page)

“Libby,” Dan said, “I think I have a box or two of Angela’s research papers to give to you, too.”

Dan gained her full attention. “What? Why would you have Angela’s papers?”

“I went to grad school with her. We were officemates at U-Dub. I’ve known Jason here since he was a pup, but hadn’t seen him or Jack in decades.”

A lightning-fast shiver ran through her. Dan could easily have gotten the spearhead from the Lithic Master. Had Dan known about the Warren site before they’d found it in their survey last fall? “Why didn’t you tell me you had boxes of Angela’s Kalahwamish research notes when you told me about the detailed background section Rosalie wants?” she asked.

“I’d forgotten which Olympic Peninsula tribe Angela was studying,” Dan said. “It was nearly twenty-five years ago. You know how cultural anthropologists and archaeologists get along.” He smiled at the inside joke. Libby knew well the friendly rivalry that existed between the two anthropological disciplines. “She didn’t talk about her work much,” Dan continued. “It was later that Jack reminded me she was studying the Kalahwamish.”

Libby wondered why Angela’s research had left such a void in everyone’s memory.

“I packed up her remaining papers when I finished my PhD and moved out of the office in ’81. Never got around to giving her papers to Jack. They’re in storage somewhere. I’ll see if I can find them this weekend.” Dan paused. “How’s the draft coming?”

“I’m nearly done with the interviews. Today I went through several of Angela’s boxes. The police are allowing us to resume digging tomorrow, so I’ll be at the site in the morning but by the afternoon Angela’s papers will be my primary focus.”

“I’d like to see a draft as soon as possible,” Dan said.

Libby continued to smile, not wanting to show what she really thought. She was dealing with a stalker and finding dead bodies, and he wanted to see a draft.

Laura Montgomery tapped Jason on the shoulder. “I’m leaving,” she said, casting a glare at Libby. Earl stood next to Laura, his look equally menacing.

It was too much. The stalker, a murder victim, this hostile elderly woman who’d accused her of stealing an artifact, and, she reminded herself, the nasty reporter who would probably be more than happy to ruin Libby’s reputation. She wanted this part of her day to end. She had better plans.

At last, the room cleared, and she was alone with Mark. He smiled at her, and all worries slipped from her mind.

“I enjoyed your talk,” he said.

She smiled. “Oh, is that why you left the room?”

“That was unavoidable. Work.”

Something was different. She wasn’t sure what. His curly light brown hair and blue eyes were as knee-weakeningly handsome as ever. The she realized the change: he was off-duty. Not like Sunday night, when he was off-duty but answered her 9-1-1 call. Tonight, he was completely off-duty. He always wore plain clothes, but tonight he was without the shoulder holster. Wearing a gun altered his stance; he emanated heightened awareness, reminding everyone he was top cop in town. But now he looked…relaxed. Ready for a night off. And yet she knew he would still answer his phone, during a lecture, in a restaurant, in a movie theater. For him to be truly off-duty, he’d have to leave town.

Could she really get involved with someone whose work was so much a part of him, so important, he had to answer the phone no matter what, even while making love?

“I don’t pass inspection?” he asked.

She’d been staring at him, and now she realized she’d frowned. “You more than pass. You set a new standard.”

“Then why the frown?”

“I was just wondering what the odds are we’d have a whole evening without any interruptions from your cell phone.”

He flinched. Obviously, this had been a problem in the past. He put an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “We have many issues to navigate, and that’s probably one of the biggest. For now, just know I’m not waiting for the phone to ring. I’m not thinking about work. I intend to enjoy every moment we have together. The rest is out of my control. But I won’t apologize for doing my job.”

She rose up on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m sorry. I feel stupid for complaining. I want to bite my tongue.”

His smile came like a breaking wave, pulling her into a dangerous undertow. “Thank you, but don’t bite your tongue. I’m hoping that will be my job.”

A fluttery, giddy feeling infused her as his mouth lowered to hers.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to lock up the library.”

She flushed as she faced the head librarian. Caught making out in the library. She felt like a teenager, except they hadn’t gotten to the good part yet. “We were just leaving.”

Mark took her hand and led her through the doorway past the librarian, who, Libby could see, was having trouble maintaining a stern face.

“Couldn’t you have waited thirty seconds, Wanda?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

“Honey, that was no quick kiss you were getting ready to plant on Libby.”

Mark threaded his fingers through hers as they walked down Main Street. The Coho library was in the same part of town as the police station. After unionization came to Thorpe Log & Lumber in the late 1940s, a separate Coho developed outside the historic district. This secondary hub of shops, restaurants, and municipal buildings had been outside Lyle Montgomery’s control.

Residential areas radiated outward from this part of town. The majority of Coho’s three thousand residents lived and worked here, and more than geography separated the two town centers. While the historic district represented a community before electricity, telephones, and automobiles, Main Street was pure 1950s Americana. Neon progress.

Mark had made reservations at a small restaurant three blocks down. They sat in a private booth in the corner. All five restaurant employees found an excuse to come by their table to check Libby out. Everyone treated Mark with deference, and from the proprietor there was banter filled with genuine fondness.

She knew Mark was an outsider, like her. He’d only lived in Coho for two years. Yet they’d accepted him as one of their own. She couldn’t help but compare Mark’s interactions with the locals to the obsequiousness given Jason. More important, when she was with Jason, her body didn’t hum like a tuning fork in perfect pitch.

Mark’s gaze met hers and the pleasant hum changed octaves. She actually might sleep with him tonight. She’d caught Simone shoving condoms into her purse and scoffed at the gesture because Simone knew Libby never, ever, slept with someone so early in a relationship. She usually took weeks to decide if she was willing to get naked and vulnerable. She came close to breaking that rule with Aaron. The mistake had cost her.

But now, tonight, a terrifying but exhilarating recklessness swept through her. She sipped her wine and enjoyed the heat her companion elicited.

After dinner, they walked to the police station to get Mark’s car. With an apology, he left her alone in the parking lot while he went inside. He returned moments later carrying a brown paper bag.

They drove to the historic district and parked next to the sawmill. He grabbed the bag and took her hand as they walked down a long dock that extended out over Discovery Bay. Full darkness had descended, and a canopy of stars glittered above them, the only sounds their footsteps on the wooden dock and the small waves lapping against the pilings.

They sat on a bench at the end of the dock. The water shimmered as ripples caught the starlight. Mark pulled from the bag a bottle of wine and two glasses, followed by two spoons and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream.

Libby loved Chunky Monkey with a passion that bordered on mania. This was no lucky guess. “How did you know?”

“I asked Simone.” He grinned. “I told you I’d find your weaknesses.”

“No fair. If I want to know about you, who do I get to ask?”

“Me,” he said.

“You’ll answer any question I ask you?”

“We can even use the polygraph machine if you want.”

“That sounds like fun.”

She scooped a bite of ice cream, making sure she got the perfect ratio of banana cream, chocolate chunk, and walnut. The cold ice cream slid down her throat. She wanted to purr with pleasure, not because of the treat, but because of him.

How had she gotten so lucky that this incredibly sexy, amazing man was interested in her? Her life didn’t work that way. Perhaps her luck had changed, but her pessimistic side worried he was too good to be true. If she had him strapped to a lie detector, she’d ask him if he was really as perfect as he seemed. She searched for a less neurotic question. “Baseball or basketball?”

“Football.”

“Liberal or conservative?”

“Depends on the issue. Moderate.”

“
Star Wars
or
Star Trek
?”

“
Lord of the Rings
.”

She laughed. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Mint.”

“Boxers or briefs?”

He flashed a sexy grin. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

She smiled. “I intend to.”

H
E WAITED FOR HER
in the living room of the Shelby house. Crouching low, he looked out the front window. She would come home tonight. Her car was here. The chain locked the back door from the inside. She would enter through the front.

He’d unscrewed the light bulb above the entryway and shook it until the element broke and then put it back. He would attack her in the darkened living room before she got to another light switch.

He heard a car pull up in front. At last. He glanced outside.

Fuck.
The car was driven by the police chief.

Maybe the cop was just dropping her off. His heart beat frantically when the chief climbed out of the vehicle. He held Libby Maitland’s hand as they walked up the front path.

He had a split second to decide. Hide upstairs, in the basement, or in the entryway closet. The basement would be safest. If the chief was here to get laid, they’d go upstairs.

They reached the porch. He’d hesitated too long and dove for the closet, and then concealed himself as best he could behind the hanging coats. He stood absolutely still, his finger on the trigger of his gun.

He could hear the click as the deadbolt disengaged. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone,” the police chief said as he entered the house.

“I just want to get the Suburban. I need it tomorrow. I’m staying with Simone tonight.”

“There goes my excuse to invite you to stay at my house.”

“You don’t need an excuse.” Even through the closet door and layers of coats, he could hear the blatant invitation in her tone.

“I know,” Colby said in a low voice.

Christ, listening to their verbal foreplay made his finger itch on the trigger. He’d shoot them for sure if they started screwing in the living room.

“Was this light burned out before?” Colby asked, his tone changing to alert. He’d gone into cop mode.

“I don’t think so.”

“I want to do another walk-through, make sure nothing has been disturbed.”

Fuck. Any other cop would have written off her complaints by now. This guy was taking her too seriously. If Colby searched the closet, he’d have to kill them both. He’d shoot the chief first.

He could hear only one pair of footsteps head toward the back of the house. Had they both gone, or just Colby? He couldn’t hear breathing or other movement in the room. If she was waiting in the living room, he could shoot her and run out the front before Colby saw him. He’d have to aim for her head, kill her instantly, so she couldn’t identify him before bleeding out.

He opened the door. The room was empty. He stumbled over her shoes in the dark as he silently slipped through the front door. No wonder he hadn’t heard her footsteps. No shoes. He ran down the front steps, around to the side of the house, and into the backyard. Inside the shed, he threw a tarp over the stuff he’d stashed there. He’d get it later.

Right now Colby trusted her. If the cop was smart enough to follow the trail of evidence, his opinion would change. But tonight wasn’t the night.

Tomorrow he’d try again. If she didn’t return to the Shelby house, he’d get her at the apartment building. He’d burn the whole damn building down if he had to.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN