Scorched (15 page)

“No.”

Gordon pulled his phone from his pocket to check a text message as Elizabeth used her cell-phone cam to snap a picture of the notebook page. Kelsey Quinn’s handwriting—assuming it was hers—was barely legible.

“What’s your take on the bedroom?”

She glanced up, and Gordon was watching her intently.

“I agree with Coffman and Kimball,” she said, trying to be diplomatic as the two agents stepped into the cabin. “Looks like she left in a rush. There’s at least forty dollars’ worth of cosmetics and toiletry items still sitting in the bathroom—everything brand new. I doubt she’d leave all that behind if she’d had time to pack.”

“They’re photographing a tire impression from the cabin two doors down,” Coffman said. “Looks like someone was there, but the caretaker didn’t see anyone.”

“Whoever it was, she could have left with them in that vehicle,” Kimball added.

“Have we checked the windows for latents?” Elizabeth turned to the CSI who was at the back door developing prints. He was using a Styrofoam cup to trap Superglue vapor around the doorknob. “Anything on the windowpanes?” she asked him.

“I got fingerprints on the doorknobs and throughout the kitchen,” he said. “Also got a few in the bathroom.”

“Goddamn it,” Gordon muttered, scowling down at a message on his phone. He stepped out of the cabin, and Elizabeth returned her attention to the CSI.

“What about palm prints?” she asked him.

He stopped what he was doing and gave her an icy look—clearly not happy with her suggestion. Only the most thorough police departments took prints from the side of the hand, known as the “karate chop.” But the Bureau was building an ever-growing database of those prints because research showed that many criminals cased a house by leaning the side of their palm up against a window and peering through.

“The palm database is growing,” she said. “It’s at least worth a try.”

“I’ll get to it,” he said, and Elizabeth could tell he didn’t appreciate being told how to do his job.

Gordon poked his head in. “LeBlanc, get out here.”

She hustled onto the porch.

“That SEAL buddy of Brewer’s,” Gordon said. “Where is he?”

“Derek Vaughn? Uh, I’m not sure.”

“Find him. Right now. Get him to tell you where Brewer is. Pay him a personal visit if you have to, but get the information.”

“Actually, I already asked him and he wouldn’t—”

“Make him talk.” Gordon checked his watch. “And do it ASAP. I’m on the phone with the lab. They just ID’ed Gage Brewer’s fingerprints at the homicide scene.”

CHAPTER 9

“There’s supposed to be a town here,” Kelsey said.

“Think you’re looking at it.” Gage tapped the brakes as they approached the first of only two traffic lights on Main Street. The town of Briggs seemed to consist of little more than a dusty gas station and a few storefronts.

Kelsey glanced at her watch. Already seven-thirty. After leaving Gage’s truck at the Bakersfield airport and driving across three states in a rented Explorer, they’d visited the address of every Weber in the Provo phone book. Three separate stops had netted them zero hits. No one had heard of Charles Weber.

They were down to their last possibility—a “Chuck” Weber living in Briggs, Utah, about thirty miles west of Provo. The neighbor at one of the addresses they’d visited had said Chuck moved away a couple years ago. She didn’t have his new address, so the first order of business was to track down a local phone book and see if they could find him.

It was a long shot, but at the moment it was the only lead they had.

“What a wasted day,” Kelsey muttered.

“Depends on how you look at it.”

She glanced at Gage. “How else is there to look at it?”

“Well, you haven’t been followed or shot at, so I’d say that’s a win.”

She tipped her head back against the seat and sighed. “Thanks for all the driving.”

“No problem.”

“Maybe we should look for a motel.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the disappearing intersection. “There’s not much here, though.”

“I saw a sign a while back. There should be an Econolodge down the road.”

“Fabulous.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that sarcasm? What happened to the fearless anthropologist who liked to spend her summers living in tents?”

“Campers,” she corrected. “And I never said I
liked
living in them.”

“Then why did you?”

“Part of the job. Same reason you jump out of airplanes and eat MREs.”

He smiled. “You’ve never jumped out of an airplane, have you?”

“No. So?”

“So, you should.”

“Why would I want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane?”

Gage turned into the parking lot of a cheap-looking motel and whipped into a space. “Because it’s like sex, only better.”

Kelsey bit her tongue. He was getting to her, and
he knew it. It was the way he looked at her with those warm blue eyes. It was his low voice, his two-day beard. Just the sight of his muscled forearm propped on the steering wheel right now was giving her a bone-deep craving for something she knew she shouldn’t have. She should insist on separate rooms tonight. But instead of insisting on anything, she turned and looked out the window.

“This isn’t an Econolodge.”

“Local alternative.” He pushed open the door. “SIG’s in the glove compartment. I’ll be right back.”

Kelsey watched him saunter into the office of the Desert Rose Inn. The seventies-era building had white stucco walls and a Mexican tile roof. A courtyard beside the office had a lone yellow umbrella table. About a hundred yards up the highway was a diner. No bars, no nightclubs. With four cars in the parking lot, the grocery store looked to be the town hotspot.

Which meant there wasn’t going to be much to do tonight except hang out in the room.

Her stomach fluttered. What was she doing? This was emotional suicide.

Gage reappeared with his cell phone pressed to his ear. She couldn’t read his expression. He slid behind the wheel and steered the Explorer to a room at the very end of the row.

“Keep me posted on Hallenback,” Gage said into the phone.

Kelsey collected her purse from the backseat, along with the shopping bag filled with items she’d picked up at the gas station where they’d stopped for lunch.

“Okay, man. Be good.” He ended the call and
reached across her to retrieve his pistol from the glove compartment.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Vaughn.”

“Did you tell him where we are?”

“What do you think?”

She didn’t know what to think. According to him, there were “no secrets in the teams.” And yet he seemed to be taking every precaution to hide their tracks, from using a supposedly untraceable cell phone to renting the Explorer under a fake ID.

They got out of the SUV and Gage led her to a garish yellow door.

“Any news from Derek?” she asked his back.

“Not really.”

Another non-answer answer. She should be used to it by now, but it irked her to be kept in the dark.

Kelsey followed him inside and surveyed the room. In contrast to the exterior, the interior had been updated with eighties-era mauve and turquoise. The evening sunlight slanted through the blinds, making stripes across the purple bedspread.

She looked at Gage.

“They didn’t have a double.”

She searched his face, almost certain he was lying.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m going to clean up.”

She shut herself in the bathroom and took a lukewarm shower. She changed into a new T-shirt before calling Ben for an update.

“Hey, my favorite lab geek,” he said cheerfully. “I was just about to call you.”

“Tell me you have something about Weber.”

“Just an address.”

“First good news I’ve heard all day.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s another post office box, this one in a place called Briggs, Utah.”

“That’s where I am now. Someone gave us a lead on a ‘Chuck’ Weber who lives here, but they didn’t have a street address.”

“I don’t, either, but I’m working on it. I’m searching postal records for whoever rented that box, but this firewall’s surprisingly good. I’ll call you when I get something.”

“Thanks, Ben. I don’t know how I can repay you for all your help.”

“I do. This crazy woman showed up at my house tonight, and she’s staging a sit-in in my kitchen until I let her talk to you.”

Kelsey heard muffled sounds on the other end as he handed off the phone.

“Kelsey?”

The familiar voice made her heart squeeze. “Hi, Mia.”

“
What
is going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Didn’t Ben tell you?” Kelsey had asked him to get a message to Mia.

“Uh,
yeah
. He gave me your message, but since then I’ve had daily visits from the FBI. They really need to talk to you. Don’t you want to come home?”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“I’m so, so sorry about Blake. Are you all right? Tell me where you are and I’ll come see you.”

“You don’t need to do that. I’m totally fine.”

“Kelsey, I’m worried. Are you in Utah somewhere investigating this mess? Because you need to let the FBI handle it. This situation sounds dangerous.”

“Really, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry. Gage is with me.”

Silence on the other end.

“He’s just . . . looking out for my safety. While I sort out a few things.”

“Kelsey . . . oh my God. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Mia more than anyone knew the hell Kelsey had gone through after Gage broke up with her. Mia worked in the Delphi Center’s DNA lab, so they saw each other every day and there was nowhere to hide. And unlike her other friends, Mia knew that her I’m-fine-and-this-is-for-the-better routine was all an act.

“I mean, I want you to be safe,” Mia said, “but isn’t there someone else you can call? What about one of Blake’s friends at the Bureau? They could protect you from whatever you’re worried about. And they could do it without tearing your heart to pieces.”

“He’s not tearing my heart to pieces. And I’m not going to sleep with him.”

Mia snorted.

“I’m serious. And please, whatever you do, don’t tell anyone at the FBI you talked to me. They’ll be all over you. Pretend you haven’t heard from me until I get back.”

“And when is that?”

“Soon. Listen, in the meantime there’s a way you can help. You know Dr. Froehler over at TCMEO?”

“Sure, he sends me DNA all the time. Why?”

“Would you mind calling him and asking for a copy of an autopsy photo?”

Pause. “Is this Blake Reid’s autopsy? What on earth—”

“I need a photo of some trace evidence that was recovered from his clothing. Tell Froehler the request is for me, and he’ll know which picture to send you. It’s a human hair.”

“What good is a picture? I can’t run analysis on anything unless—”

“The evidence isn’t available—just the photo. But we should at least be able to get some class characteristics.”

The phone went silent.

“You there?”

“I’m happy to call Froehler. But Kelsey, I
really
think you need to reach out to the police here. Or the FBI.”

“I will. Just not yet. I have to nail a few things down first.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Are you sure you’re safe?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Mia didn’t sound convinced, but Kelsey managed to get off the phone. She wondered if Gage had been eavesdropping, but when she stepped out of the bathroom, he was sitting on the bed, talking on his cell.

“That’s right. And double pepperoni.” He looked her up and down, and she realized she’d left her jeans on the bathroom floor. She ducked out of sight to finish dressing as he ended his call.

“Are you sure no one can trace that?” she asked.

“Not a chance. It’s part of my E and E kit.”

She stepped out of the bathroom and eyed him warily. “E and E?”

“Escape and evasion. Don’t worry, it’s clean.”

“What else is in that thing?”

“Compass, couple IDs, some first-aid stuff. I’ve got some PowerBars I could break out for dinner, case you don’t want pizza.”

“I definitely want pizza.”

“Extra pepperoni, thick crust.”

“Sounds good.”

“See? I remember a few things.” He got up from the bed and walked over to where she stood beside the dresser. Her pulse started to race. He eased so close she had to tilt her head back to look at him, but she held her ground.

“You know, I’ve been thinking, Kelsey . . .”

Her body tensed because she knew what he was going to say. He rested his hands on her shoulders. He brushed his fingers down the back of her neck and a shiver moved through her.

“Maybe we made a mistake before.”

She held her breath and waited.

“I think we should give things another chance.”

She’d expected this. Still, her heart pounded as the words reverberated through her brain.
Another chance.
Part of her desperately wanted to believe him and another part of her—the logical part—knew that this wasn’t real. This wasn’t about second chances. It was about habits that were hard to break and physical yearnings that got sharper with every hour they spent in close proximity.