Perfect Victim, The (27 page)

"Unless you've got a set of tire chains in your purse
,
we may not make it
.
"

"Very funny
."

He started the engine
.
"That wasn't a joke
.
"

''This is a four-wheel-drive
,
right? We'll take it slow
—
"

"There are a couple of motels off the interstate," he said.

She shot him a look that made him smile despite the circumstances. "Like we're going to find a vacancy this close to Christmas."

"You got a better idea?"

"I'm thinking."

"While you're thinking, we're getting snowed in."

"We're not getting snowed in. I can't get snowed in. Van-Dyne told me not to leave town."

He raised his hands in defense. "You're the one who insisted on coming down the side of the mountain like an extreme rock climber."

"You were shutting me out."

"I was using my common sense, which is more than I can say for you." He grimaced at the snow. "We'll have to find a motel. There are some truckers' motels—"

"Listen, Talbot, I don't know what kind of a testosterone-induced scheme you've concocted in that so-called mind of yours, but I'll be damned if I'm going to sit up here on this mountain with you for the rest of the night."

"You think I planned this?" he asked, incredulous.

Crossing her arms in front of her, she leaned against the seat. "After the way you kissed me a few minutes ago, I wouldn't put it past you."

He was starting to get annoyed. Not because she was wrong—but because she was right. "I'll let you know if and when I want to sleep with you."

She shot him a killing look, then turned her attention to the windshield where the wipers waged a losing war against the snow.

Even in profile, he saw the worry leak into her features, like a dark stain marring the flawless surface of a fine piece of porcelain. Reaching out, he plucked the branch from her hair. "We'll try to get back. If we can't make it, we'll find something along the interstate. There's got to be something off of Interstate 70. Maybe a truck stop."

"My parents lived just south of here, near Alma."

Randall contemplated her, realizing why she'd waited until now to mention it
.
"Are you up to spending the night there?"

The wind whistled around the truck
with such force it trembled
.
The trees on either side of the road were barely visible through what was quickly becoming blizzard conditions.

Casting a dubious glance beyond the window, she nodded. "I don't think we have a choice."

The home where Patty and Larry Fox had once lived was a custom-built log cabin nestled in a pine forest at the end of a winding gravel drive. Randall rammed the transmission into four-wheel-drive and star
t
ed up the steep incline, cursing Mother Nature when the vehicle slid too close to a stand of trees before the tires grabbed.

He chided himself for not telling Addison the truth about what he'd found in that ravine. But they'd had a grueling climb to make, and he hadn't been sure how she would react, so he'd put it off. He'd planned on breaking the news to her once they reached the summit
.
Then she'd gone and tossed that snowball at him like some kind of a kid. She'd looked incredibly beautiful and ... undamaged, laughing and playing in the snow
.
Then, like the idiot he was, he'd gone off the deep end and kissed her.

"Shit," he muttered.

"What?”

He parked the truck in front of the garage and shut down the engine. Snow swirled crazily around them, pinging against the windshield.

Randall glanced over at Addison and felt a tinge of guilt
.
It had been wrong of him not to tell her; he couldn't put it off any longer
.
He wasn't going to enjoy hurting her, but she deserved to know the
truth about what had happened to her parents regardless of how much it was going to hurt her, regardless of how much it was going to change this case.

She reached for the door handle, but he stopped her with a light touch on her arm. ''Hold it," he said.

She shot him a wary look. "Okay, Talbot, you've got my attention. Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Your parents' car didn't spin out on ice, Addison."

"But you said—"

"Someone forced them off the road."

Her mouth opened, but she didn't make a sound. He watched a myriad of emotions scroll across her features. Disbelief. Denial. Profound sadness. Then a flash of anger. "I asked you back there. Dammit, why didn't you—"

"I didn't want to tell you while we were down in that ravine."

"Why the hell not?"

"I didn't want to take a chance on you falling apart on me."

She choked out a laugh. "Yes, the helpless female. Christ, you would think that, wouldn't you?"

"That's not what I thought. But with bad weather moving in, I didn't want to spend any more time down there than we had to. I know this is an emotional issue for you. I figured you might want to ... talk about it."

"So you kissed me instead."

He ground his teeth. "I didn't plan for that to happen. It just ... did." Oh, that was just brilliant, he thought sourly. When she remained silent, he added. "I made a judgment call."

"God." Turning away from him, she stared out the window at the snow piling up on the windshield. "Are you telling me someone killed them?"

"I don't know for sure, but it looks that way."

"Oh, God." She sighed. "How do you know?"

Randall scrubbed a hand over his face, refusing to acknowledge that he felt like a bastard for having to be the one to tell her that. "Let's get inside and we'll talk."

She didn't respond, didn't look at him.

"Addison ?"

She cast him a cool look, her eyes contrasting darkly against her porcelain complexion.

"You got a key?" he prodded
.

With a nod, she picked up her purse and began fumbling inside
.
Randall watched her, and he hated seeing her look so incredibly sad. On impulse
,
he reached out and touched her lightly on the arm
.
"We can try the interstate if you
'
re not up to staying here
.
"

"I'm up to it
.
"

She wasn't happy with him and it showed. But even unhappy and angry, she was still ut
t
erly lovely. He resisted the sudden
,
overwhelming urge to touch her
.
To skim his fingers over her velvet cheek
.
Touch that lush mouth
.
First with his fingertips. Then with his lips.

Reining in his thoughts, he reminded himself that women like Addison Fox didn't fall for men like him. How would she react if she knew about his post-traumatic stress disorder? If she knew he'd botched a decent career because he hadn't been able to hack it and spent the last six months consoling himself with his bottle of bourbon? How would she react if she knew the thought of going back to his job in D
.
C
.
sent shivers of fear up his spine?

The last thing Addison needed in her life was a man like him. Hell
,
the last thing
he
needed was a woman
i
n trouble
.
He had enough problems just t
a
king care of himself these days. But Christ
,
she looked good sitting there, looking wild and inviting and vu
l
nerable all at once.

"
Let's go
.
" Tearing himself away from her, away from thoughts that would do nothing but bring him grief, he opened the door.

The snow was driving hard, coming in from the west like a frozen tidal wave. Visibility was down to zero
,
and Randal
l
knew they'd made the right decision by stopping
.
They wouldn
'
t have made it to Interstate 70, just twenty miles to the north
.

Keeping Addison in sight
,
he jogged toward the front door
.
She came up beside him a moment later, out of breath,
snow sticking to her hair and clothes like confetti. Without speaking, she jabbed the key into the lock, twisted, and swung open the door.

The cabin was small, yet designed with a flair that was distinctly Colorado. The first thing Randall noticed was the three-way stone fireplace that dominated the living room. It was constructed of river rock and jutted from pine flooring and ran all the way to the rough-hewn beams of the vaulted ceiling.

"Colorado stonemasons don't mess around," he said in admiration.

The living area was huge and largely bare. Most of the furniture had been draped with sheets. A camelback sofa faced the fireplace. Next to it, a heavy pine end table bore a single, oversized lamp.

The place smelled of old pine and mothballs. But the most pressing issue was the temperature. It was above freezing, but barely. "Where's the furnace?" he asked, rubbing his gloveless hands together in a futile attempt to warm them.

When Addison didn't answer, he turned to find her at the double set of French doors overlooking the cedar deck. Beyond the wall of snow, he knew, were thousands of trees and a spectacular view of Hoosier Pass. Concern inched through him. Her hands were knotted in front of her, her shoulders set and rigid. For the first time he realized just how difficult coming here was for her.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded, but her eyes were wistful. "My mom always loved snow. They loved this place. This house was their dream, and they worked their entire lives for it. I hate it that they're not here to enjoy it."

Awkwardness crept over him. He was a whiz at partaking in an occasional argument, but light-years out of his element when it came to dealing with emotions, particularly the female variety.

She continued to stare out into the blinding snow. "I've only been here a couple of times since they died. I thought
it would be easier this time
.
I mean, it's been ten months."