Up in Flames (7 page)

She did now, blinking at the magical place he’d created out of a patch of wilderness and his own imagination. “Obviously there are exceptions,” she said.

“Yeah.” His tight smile dripped sarcasm. “I must be an exception.”

She didn’t understand why he was so upset, and wanted desperately to see his softer side again. She’d glimpsed it before he’d taken offense at her words. It was the same unguarded Zane she’d discovered ten years ago hiding beneath a hard, defensive shell, the one who’d touched her so deeply.

She tried to make him see her sincerity. “What you’ve done here is wonderful, Zane. You have a special talent.”

“Thanks.” It lacked enthusiasm, but his guarded expression relaxed again as he let his gaze roam over his accomplishment.

She smiled. That pride was the key. “You must be proud of what you’ve done.”

He shrugged. “Reznick liked it. That’s all that matters.”

She could see that wasn’t all that mattered, but it was all he’d admit to out loud. Taking pride in his accomplishments wasn’t something he would have learned at home. She ached for that boy, and for the man who still couldn’t pry an ounce of respect from the people who insisted on judging him based on what his family had done. She blushed again, remembering when they’d met at Zoe’s reception. She’d been nearly as bad, assuming he couldn’t have amounted to anything without any education or defined goals.

She was determined to make up for it. “I wish more people could see this. You’d have more business than you could handle.”

“Maybe.” He was quiet a moment, then admitted, “I showed the plans to another client and he’s very interested.”

She hadn’t thought about the planning stage, which was another talent altogether. “You had this all drawn on paper?”

“Of course. I had to show Reznick how it would look.”

“You taught yourself how to do design work?”

He shrugged again. “I always liked to draw.”

“I remember.”

He looked at her then, his dark eyes zeroing in on hers in the way that used to make her catch her breath, direct and piercing. They still had that effect, and the memories came flooding back.

Their camping trip in the mountains when he’d brought his sketch pad.

How he’d impressed her with the details he’d captured in a few fluid strokes—the dew glistening on a late-blooming columbine. The glory of thunderheads forming over snowcapped peaks.

And sketches of her, bare skin glowing in the firelight, her smile mysterious, holding on to the secret feelings she’d been afraid to tell him.

The memories rushed back, vibrant and hot, overwhelming the feeble reality of a summer afternoon. She was suddenly back in the sheltered glen on Two Bears Mountain, the darkness held back by firelight and the chill of the night held back by the heat of her own skin and the warm, solid wall of Zane’s body hovering over hers.

She’d run her hands over his bare chest the way she’d longed to touch him all summer, stroking slowly as she marveled at how erotic a simple touch could be once you were committed to giving yourself to another person. Electricity danced beneath her fingers, igniting an answering tingle inside her own chest. She smoothed her palm over the hard muscles and pressed her lips to the dusting of hair in the center, just because she could. Because he was hers now, in the same way she was about to become his.

He’d teased her nipples, first with his fingers, then his tongue, stirring an aching need in her pelvis. She groaned her approval, then gasped as his mouth latched on to hers, sending such a fierce desire shooting through her that she opened her legs and arched against his hand, silently begging for more. He shushed her softly, then slid his fingers into her, catching her next gasp in his mouth as his skilled strokes turned her desire into burning ecstasy. She flew with it, energized and thrilled.

Also stunned.

The logical, academic part of her had tried to analyze it, to marvel at the way the human body combined emotional and physical reactions to create such a strong sexual drive. Her mind wouldn’t cooperate. It spun off into a dizzy, happy oblivion, soaking in every sensation and thinking only about how she could return the pleasure.

She’d been so naive. She’d thought the shared intimacy of making love would have been enough, a tender memory to wrap around her heart and cherish forever. But he’d given her more, coaxing her to amazing heights even as he pushed past the final barrier between them then held still, their bodies glistening with sweat as he looked down at her. Every detail of that moment was clear in her memory—the dark hair that fell over his forehead, the pop and sizzle of pine sap in the flames, the cool touch of wind on her hot skin. Firelight glowed on half his face, while the other half was in shadow, giving him a look both tender and remote. Two parts of the same man.

She was in love with both.

He’d looked at her in return, wordless, but with a depth of feeling in his eyes that took her breath away.

Heat rose to every inch of skin now, more than could be attributed to the soft sunlight in Carl Reznick’s yard. Zane’s eyes held hers, dark and mysterious, as if he read her thoughts. As if he saw her cast in firelight, her body flushed and sated from his lovemaking.

She stared for one heart-stopping second then looked quickly away. Reaching for a piece of slate, she set it blindly in place, wiggling it into the sand too deeply, then pretending to be absorbed in resetting it. She knew if she looked up he’d still be watching her.

Awkward seconds passed. An eternity later, she heard him stand. “We need more tiles,” he said. When his footsteps died away, she groaned and raised her gloved palms, smacking them several times against her forehead. “Damn it,” she muttered angrily.

For allowing herself to remember.

For remembering too well.

The memory squeezed her heart painfully, reminding her of what she’d lost, and she whispered it again, fiercely. “Damn it.”

5

S
he’d thought she
was over him, with nothing left but resentment and disgust. Her heart wasn’t falling for it. The next morning she went to work prepared to avoid any reference to anything that had happened ten years ago. Denial was the only way she could survive eight hours with Zane.

She didn’t have time to put it into practice. She’d barely started helping Zane load balled trees onto the flatbed trailer when a police cruiser pulled through the open gate. She straightened on the flatbed, shading her eyes to watch. Zane’s face tightened as he jumped off the loader and strode toward the car.

Sophie had to look twice at the uniformed cop who stepped out. “Cal.”

“Hi, Sophie. I tried to call.”

Zane walked past the flatbed. “What do you want now?” he asked, his voice more clipped than she’d heard it before.

Cal’s expression wasn’t any friendlier than Zane’s. “Nothing from you, Thorson. I came to see Sophie.”

Sophie lowered herself to the edge of the flatbed, then slid off. Hoping to reduce the bristling hostility, she stepped between the two men. “Zane, this is Cal Drummond. He’s Maggie’s husband.”

Neither man made a move.

“My brother-in-law,” she added pointedly. “One of the good guys.”

His gaze flicked to hers, hard as steel, then returned to Cal with no more trust than before.

“Jerk,” she muttered under her breath as she turned back to Cal. “Why do you need to see me? Did something happen?” He didn’t look worried, but he was a cop, and practiced at delivering bad news. Memories of Pete’s heart attack seized her heart like a vice. “Is it something at the commune?”

Cal’s hard stare seemed to leave Zane reluctantly. “Nothing happened to your family. This is about the body you found.”

Crap, more questions. They might feel less impersonal coming from Cal, but she still wouldn’t tell him about Zane ordering her not to dig beside the barn. His defensive attitude obviously earned him enough mistrust as it was.

“I didn’t know you were working that case,” she said.

“
Everyone’s
working that case. We don’t get many murders here, but when we do, the good citizens of B-Pass expect them to be solved quickly.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you how I found the body, but it’s the same thing I already told that other officer. I don’t have anything new to add.”

“I’m not here to ask about finding the body, Sophie. This is about what’s on it. We need an entomologist, and we’re hoping you’ll help us out.”

“The police need an entomologist?”

“The coroner’s office, actually. They were going to send the samples they found to the state lab, but I told them I knew an expert right here in town. It would be a lot faster if you help us, Sophie. You can bill them for your time. You’re an expert, right?”

She shook her head. “I’m not a forensic entomologist, Cal. They need someone who specializes in the life cycles of insects, and which ones are attracted to a body at what stage.”

“That’s not what they’re looking for. It’s more basic than that—they’re hoping you can identify some bug parts that were found on the body. In her hair and clothes.”

She screwed up her face in confusion. “Bug
parts
?”

“Legs, mostly.”

“No bodies? No larvae or eggs?” If the girl’s body had gone unburied for even a day, it would make sense to find evidence of insect activity.

“That’s what they said. Pieces of bugs.”

It didn’t make sense, and curiosity alone was enough to make her say yes. Only one thing made her hesitate. “I, uh, I’ve never worked with dead bodies, Cal.” And she didn’t want to see that particular one ever again.

“I don’t think you’ll have to. They just want you to look at the bits they pulled from her clothes and hair, and see if you can identify them.”

It still sounded odd, but safely non-gory. She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great, thanks.” He smiled for the first time. “You want me to give you a ride?”

“You mean right now?” She glanced back at Zane, checking the level of his irritation. High, just like before. “We’re pretty busy today.”

Cal’s smile disappeared as he looked at Zane. “I’m sure Mr. Thorson can spare you for a few hours in the interest of solving this case.”

Zane’s stare was openly hostile, but his voice was calm when he spoke to her. “Go ahead, Dr. Larkin. You can join us after you’ve assisted the police with their investigation.”

She hated the way he used her title, as if it were a shield she put up between herself and the nontitled blue-collar class. Hated even more the feeling that it might be true, that she got a little too much pleasure from the prestige it implied. Used to, anyway. His scorn had shamed her out of that for good.

Throwing him one last dirty look, she marched to the passenger side of the cruiser. When Cal unlocked it she slid in without a word. She let him get out on the highway before turning a disapproving look on him, too.

“His name’s Zane. Stop doing that cop routine with him. It doesn’t help.”

She’d never seen him look so cold. “I
am
a cop, Sophie. Do you know what
he
is?”

“Yes, a Thorson. He’s also not his brother or his father.”

He took his time responding, and she knew she’d get the patient, logical reasoning that made her impulsive sister roll her eyes when dealing with Cal. “Sophie, how much of who you are has been shaped by your family?”

Damn, it was a good point. The commune had definitely shaped her ideas of family, of fairness and equality, and of contributing to society. “It’s not the same,” she protested. “I got love and guidance from my family. Zane got stuck with a dysfunctional family, and he distanced himself as much as he could.”

“Dysfunctional? Don’t sanitize it, Sophie. Nathaniel Thorson’s wife was battered by all accounts, and disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Nathaniel moved on to a series of violent domestic disputes with various girlfriends, one of whom he fatally stabbed, along with her new boyfriend.” She opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her a chance to interrupt. “His younger brother, Emmett, had a rape charge a lot of people think should have put him in prison, and a string of convictions for public brawling, drunkenness, and lewd behavior. Nice family. And your friend Zane repeatedly blocked attempts to let police search the Thorson home when he and Emmett lived there.”

That one she couldn’t let go past. “He wouldn’t stop police from searching if he thought for one second there’d been anything bad going on at that house.” She knew, because it was during the summer she’d met him.

“Then why not cooperate with the police?” Cal asked.

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because he thought they’d make a snap judgment about his brother’s guilt, just like everyone’s doing with Zane now. You aren’t even giving him a chance to prove he’s not like his father and his brother.”

His knuckles were white on the wheel, and she knew he’d gone beyond cool logic. “I’m not a social worker, Sophie. If Zane Thorson wants sympathy and understanding, he can call a therapist. My concern is the safety of the public.”

She knew he was right. But she could also see how years of butting up against that attitude could fray Zane’s temper and erode his trust. She sighed. “I just wish you’d both take a step back and treat each other with more respect.”

“Fine. He can go first. Then I’ll think about it.” She didn’t answer, staring out the window in frustrated silence. He slid a glance at her. “Why are you defending him, Sophie?”

She searched her conflicted feelings, but couldn’t decide if they swayed toward the man she’d once loved or the man who’d callously rejected her. She chose the neutral middle ground. “Someone has to.”

“That’s what lawyers are for. If you’re smart, you’ll leave it to them, and stay away from Zane Thorson.”

“Give me a reason,” she said, telling herself it was only to challenge Cal’s prejudices, not because she really needed one. She had more reason than he knew to stay away from Zane. “Give me something bad you can pin on him. Something concrete, not circumstantial.”

She waited, half fearful he would tell her something they’d discovered, then relieved when all he could do was scowl. “When has a Thorson ever done anything good? We’re working on finding the evidence that will convict him. In the meantime, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“It won’t.”

He looked at her, concern creasing his brow. “You can’t know that, Sophie. Zane Thorson is the kind of guy who keeps his feelings and opinions hidden. I’m not saying this as a cop, but as someone who cares about you. Stay away from him. The man is full of repressed anger and resentment, and at some point he’s going to explode.”

“Thanks for the advice,” she muttered.

He had it half right. Something explosive lay just beneath the surface in Zane, red hot and taut with tension, growing stronger each time she saw him. But she wasn’t sure it was anger. And as much as she wanted to deny it, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be out of range when it finally exploded.

The body was gone, they were informed. Sent to a pathologist in Boulder.

The bugs were in the refrigerator.

The middle-aged man who’d introduced himself as Dr. Frank Monroe shook their hands, alight with excitement. “Wait right here,” he told them, and hurried off.

Sophie exchanged puzzled looks with Cal as they waited in the small back room of the two-room coroner’s office in Juniper. The office was next to the morgue in the basement of St. Anne’s Hospital, and looked like it. The tiny exam room was furnished with nothing but a bare stainless steel table in the center, matching the stainless steel cabinets, countertop, and double sink that were bolted to the walls. Lovely; stark, white walls and cold steel, with dead bodies stored next door. Sophie shivered.

Dr. Monroe came back carrying what looked like two cookie trays covered with white cloth. “I’m glad you came so quickly, Dr. Larkin. I didn’t know the proper way to preserve these, and I didn’t want to do it wrong and ruin them. They’re not in very good shape as it is, what with having been buried for so long.”

He set the trays on the table and ceremoniously lifted the cloth coverings. Sophie stepped close. Three fairly regular rows of objects crossed the length of one tray, each row made up of tiny pieces varying from a couple of millimeters in length to as much as two inches. The top row appeared to be insect legs, both light and dark, some smooth and some showing barbs. The next row looked like bits of shell that she recognized as beetle elytra, the hard outer wing. Large beetles, judging by the size of some pieces. The third row was an assortment of pieces, insect parts that didn’t seem to fall into the two previous categories. The other tray held fewer pieces, sorted the same way.

She looked at some of the larger pieces. “Some of these look like they were smashed.”

He nodded. “They were. Judging by the stains on her clothes, I’d say they were squashed when she rolled on them.”

“They were in her clothes?”

He indicated the tray with the most specimens. “These were caught in the folds of her clothes. The pieces on the other tray were pulled from her hair. I took pictures before removing them, if you need to see where they were.”

She doubted that mattered, since she was only here to identify the insects they came from. And the spiders—she had noticed immediately that some legs and body parts were from insects and others from spiders. Most people didn’t care about the difference; a bug was a bug. To Sophie they were fascinating, complex creatures, often living in a surprisingly close partnership with humans.

But not these insects. Not in Colorado, anyway. She couldn’t be sure at first glance, but the pieces of legs and shells that were large enough to recognize as such were not from any of the native species she knew. In fact, if her suspicion was correct, at least one species here wasn’t from North America at all.

She examined a black curving piece about an inch in length that looked like a miniature tusk. Make that two species. In fact, if those two were any sort of clue, this assortment of bug parts was far more unusual than the coroner and police realized. She’d need to check some books to be sure, but there was one resource she could consult right now. Lifting her head, she asked, “Do you have a computer with Internet access?”

Dr. Monroe nodded. “In the front office,” he said, referring to the small room they’d walked through to get to this one.

“Great. And how about a small instrument I can use so I don’t have to touch these pieces? Forceps, a probe, something like that. Also, a magnifying glass, if you have one.”

“I’ve got a microscope.” He opened a couple of drawers beneath the stainless steel counter and came back with forceps and what looked like a dental pick. “Perfect,” she said, examining the fine point on the pick. “I didn’t expect a coroner to have dental instruments.”

He smiled. “Why not? I’m a dentist.”

She blinked. “I thought coroners had to be medical doctors.”

“Not in Colorado. Medical examiners do, but coroners can be almost anyone who gets the proper certification. That’s not to say a certified death investigator isn’t well trained—we are, for most cases. But in cases like this one, where the body has started to decay, that’s trickier. Takes a forensic pathologist. The guy I sent the body to in Boulder is as good as any. And if you can figure out anything from those bug bits, it might be just as valuable.”