Hold Your Breath (Search and Rescue) (9 page)

She hesitated, her hand on the knob. She was being ridiculous, right? No one had broken into her house only to hide in the pantry. Besides, if there
was
someone in there, she didn’t think she wanted to know. Maybe she should just return to bed and be blissfully ignorant.

Not that she’d be able to sleep, wondering if she’d been wrong.

Annoyed at her wishy-washiness, Lou tightened her fingers and gave a hard twist. The door swung open—and a dark shape lunged at her.

With a shriek, she jumped back, twisting out of reach. Something fell to the floor with a loud smack. As Lou stared at what was just an innocent broom lying on the floor, she resisted the urge to kick it. It wasn’t the broom’s fault she’d turned into a horror-movie cliché. Trying to ignore her too-quick breaths, she bent to pick up the fallen broom. After putting it back in the pantry, she closed the door.

Her stomach tightened as she glanced at the black windows of the living room again. The exposed glass brought a prickling feeling of unease that made her long for blinds. She was tempted to grab the blanket from the couch and use it as a temporary curtain, but she shook off the idea. It was just nighttime nerves making her crazy. There was no one out there.

As she moved toward the bathroom, the only unsearched room left, her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The wind had died down earlier, and Lou almost missed it. Without the usual whistling and groaning, everything was quiet—too quiet. The silence felt almost watchful. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she pushed the bathroom door open and forced herself to step inside.

The light from the fire didn’t reach very far into the small room, so the corners were draped with heavy shadows. The shower was the scariest, its heavy curtain hiding who-knew-what. Although she was tempted to back out of the room and go back to bed, pretending like she’d checked behind the curtain and her little home was secure, Lou knew she needed to see for herself if she ever wanted to sleep again.

Her hand shook as she reached toward the closed shower curtain. Her obvious fear annoyed her, and she yanked the covering aside with more vehemence than she’d planned. The rings rattled against the curtain rod, making her jump, even as she realized that no one was crouching in the shower. Her exhale shivered even as she smiled. At least her life hadn’t turned into a scene from
Psycho
.

After adding some firewood to the stove, she double-checked that the front door was locked and then headed back to her bedroom, peeking into the closet before crawling back into bed. Even though she’d just checked every space in her home big enough to hide even the smallest of people, Lou still felt like she was being watched.

“Silly,” she scolded her paranoid brain as she snuggled into a ball, tugging the covers to her chin. As she drifted to sleep, the thought of seeing Callum in just a few hours crossed her mind and made her smile.

Her fear was forgotten—for now.

Of course she slept late. When her blurry eyes finally focused on the face of her cell phone, it was seven minutes before Callum was supposed to arrive. Jumping out of bed, she immediately tripped on the voluminous covers she’d dragged with her, and Lou sprawled across the floor, banging her left knee painfully.

Grumbling and rubbing her knee, she untwisted the blankets from around her legs and piled them back on the bed. Grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor, she frowned at the mud-crusted hems and tossed them back in the corner. She and Callum were headed to a clinic, so she should probably wear something a little less dirty. It seemed only sanitary.

The next pair of jeans she snatched appeared to be fairly clean, or at least didn’t have any obvious dirt. She did a smell test and immediately rejected three shirts before pulling on a long-sleeved crewneck and topping it with an Avalanche hoodie. Her socks were sort of a good match, although they were slightly different shades of blue.

As she darted for the bathroom, she heard the diesel grumble of Callum’s truck. Lou swore. Of course the guy couldn’t be late just once in his life. Her teeth received about five strokes of a brush, and her hair got a couple less than that. She used the toilet, even trying to pee quickly.

It was probably less than a minute after he pulled up to her cabin when she ran for the front door, but she could still hear him grumbling on the porch.

“I know! I’m late—sorry!” she babbled as she yanked open the door to find a scowling Callum. He didn’t seem to be focused on her, though.

“What the hell’s on your door?”

Lou blinked at him, confused. That wasn’t the complaint she’d expected. “What?”

“That.” He stabbed a gloved finger toward her opened door, and she followed the gesture to where he was pointing.

“Gross.” Frozen trickles of amber goo ran down the exterior of her door. “What is that?”

He gave her
the look
. Biting back a sharp comment, she reminded herself not to poke the bear, or it was going to be a long day. Callum
was
giving up his morning to help her with Operation Identify HDG, after all. “That’s what I asked you,” he said with exaggerated patience.

Instead of shutting the door in his face and immediately returning to bed, she focused on the light brown streaks, poking one with her finger. It was frozen, but still oddly sticky. She smelled her finger.

“Don’t lick it!” Callum grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from her face.

This time, she couldn’t hold back an eye roll. “It’s fine.” Tugging her arm free, she stuck her finger in her mouth just to bug him. “It’s honey,” she mumbled around her fingertip.

Witnessing his horrified and completely grossed-out expression was very satisfying. “You just… I can’t believe you put it in your
mouth
…”

“What? It’s just honey.” Pulling her finger out of her mouth, she examined it closely. “Besides, doesn’t cold kill germs and bacteria and such?”

“I can’t…” He couldn’t seem to think of anything more to say.

“Get in here.” She grabbed his forearm and pulled him through the doorway. “You’re letting out all the heat.”

He allowed her to tug him inside, and she swung the door closed once he was clear of it. The heat seemed to help him recover from his germ-phobia-induced fugue state. “Why is there honey on your door?”

She shrugged. “No clue.” When he eyed her narrowly, she planted her fists on her hips. “Why would I put honey on my door? That’s crazy!”

“Then who? It couldn’t have just appeared there.”

“I don’t know! Someone who wants to set a trap for Winnie the Pooh? Who puts honey on a door?”

His expression turned thoughtful. “You think someone wanted to attract a bear?”

“No, sorry, that was just a joke. Not one of my best, but then I just woke up about eight minutes ago, so I’m not really on my game yet.”

“You woke up eight minutes ago?” And critical Callum was back.

She sighed. “I had a rough night. I woke up really early because I thought I heard…” Her eyes went wide. “I’m an idiot!” She yanked the door open and hurried outside, ignoring her coatless state. From her perch on the top of her tiny porch, she examined the three steps leading down to the snowy ground.

The wind had blown off most of the light snow from the previous evening, so all that remained on the steps was a dusting of white powder caught in the corners and cracks. She popped back into her cabin to yank on her boots, and then she jumped off the porch into the foot of old snow heaped around the foundation of her home.

“What did you hear last night?” Callum asked, his proximity startling her. She hadn’t realized he was walking next to her as she circled the perimeter of the cabin.

“Nothing. I mean”—she made an impatient gesture—“something woke me, but I don’t remember what it was. I did a tour of the cabin, decided I was paranoid, and went back to bed.” She shivered. “I hope whoever it was wasn’t watching me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Callum said grimly, pointing toward some impressions in the snow. Her stomach twisted as she took another step closer and saw distinct boot prints in the drift right outside her bedroom window.

* * *

Chris was at her house within a half hour after she called him. His serious expression sat oddly on his normally cheery face.

“Your stalker is changing things up on us,” he said as he climbed out of his squad car. “I’m not liking this new development.”

“Me neither,” Callum said, his words clipped.

“Me third.” Lou gestured at the door. “What do you think the deal is with the honey?”

Chris shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe he thinks you’re sweet?”

“Why stick knives in my tires if he likes me so much he’s giving me compliments with condiments?”

“Lou thinks he might’ve been trying to attract a bear,” Callum said, and Chris looked at her with interest.

“Not really. I actually said Winnie the… Never mind.” She waved her hands, flustered. “I mean, that would be stupid, right? It’s like a plan thought up by a five-year-old.”

“It fits better with the slashed tires MO.” Chris leaned in close to the door to examine the frozen rivulets. “It does look like honey.”

“It is honey,” Lou affirmed. “I tasted it.”

The deputy’s head whipped around. “Are you a toddler? Don’t be putting random shit in your mouth. Especially shit left by your stalker.”

With a sheepish shrug, Lou carefully didn’t look at Callum. “Fine. No more taste-testing the evidence. It just seemed like the easiest way to identify it.”

“Nope. Bad idea. You can use all your senses in an investigation except taste.” After Chris took some pictures of the door, he stepped back and turned to Lou. “Show me these boot prints.”

She led the way, followed closely by Callum, with the deputy taking up the rear. As she pointed toward the tracks beneath her bedroom window, Lou was unable to hold back a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. When Callum gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, she jumped and looked at him in surprise. Reassuring gestures felt strange coming from Callum. She was more used to getting withering looks and barked commands from him. His focus was on Chris, however, so he missed her startled glance.

“Will these prints help?” Callum asked.

Chris took some photos, then laid his small ruler in one of the prints and took some more before answering. “If we have a suspect, then yes. Definitely. Every shoe or boot wears differently, so they’re almost as unique as fingerprints. If we have probable cause to think someone’s responsible, we can get a warrant to check out the guy’s footwear. Most people know better than to leave their fingerprints around a crime scene, but not as many think about shoe prints. We had a burglary about four months ago where all three suspects were tied to the scene by their tread.”

He opened a shoebox-sized case and pulled out what looked like an old-fashioned shaving brush and a small jar of black powder. After dipping the brush into the powder, he held it over the print and tapped the brush handle.

“What are you doing?” Leaning closer, Lou watched, fascinated, as the black powder drifted over the print in the snow.

Chris repeated the process of photographing without and then with his ruler. “The fingerprint powder gives the boot impression more definition in the pictures. We could also do a mold of the print, but I usually don’t have much luck with that. The casting material heats up as it sets, which melts the snow. The conditions have to be perfect to get a good cast. I like pictures better.” Tucking away his equipment, he stood. “Did you follow the prints?”

Giving him a “duh” look, Lou said, “Yes.”

Chris laughed for the first time since arriving at her house. “Right. Of course you did.”

“He came from the trees over there, to her window, around to the front of the cabin and back to the trees,” Callum said, gesturing toward a stand of evergreens that separated her property from her neighbors’. “I think he parked at the Moonies’ place, watched from the cover of the woods until he knew Lou was sleeping, and then did the honey thing.”

Making a face, Lou added, “And the creepy peeping thing.”

Without looking at her, he gave an affirmative grunt. Although Callum’s face was carefully blank, she could tell he was pissed. Deeply pissed.

“The Moonies have visited their cabin only twice since I’ve lived here,” she said, deciding to focus on her stalker and worry about Callum’s mood some other time. “It’s been empty for the past two months. Do you think this person might be staying there?”

Callum shook his head. “The boot prints end at their driveway, and there are fresh tire tracks. The snow covering their front and back porches is undisturbed.”

“Tire tracks?” Chris asked with interest. “This is my lucky day, forensically speaking—boot prints
and
tire tracks. I’ll go check it out.”

As the two watched the deputy plow through the snow—a safe distance from the boot prints so as not to disturb the evidence—Lou shot a sideways glance at Callum.

“What?” he snapped. Since he was still watching Chris, she wasn’t sure how he saw her look.

“Why are you so angry?” she asked. “Is it that I’m wasting your morning with my stalker drama?”

That made him focus on her. “What? No, of course not.”

“Then…?” She let her voice trail away, hoping he would fill in the blank.

“You really don’t know?” he asked. When she shook her head, he looked away again, readjusting his baseball cap. “I’m angry because some asshole is harassing you. He was fucking
watching
you while you were sleeping.”

“Oh.” It was her turn to look away from him. She shifted her weight, uncomfortable and pretty sure she would’ve preferred dealing with his anger rather than his concern. At least she would’ve known how to respond to his irritation—she’d had plenty of experience with
that
. “Yeah…hmm.” Giving up on her search for something fitting to say, she settled for the always-appropriate hum.

“You can’t stay out here alone.” Callum obviously didn’t have a problem finding words. “You’ll stay at my house until they catch this son of a bitch.”

Startled, she turned to face him again. “Um…no. My woodstove needs to be fed. And I’m not going to let him drive me out of here.” Plus, the idea of staying with Callum was much too appealing for her peace of mind.

“Fine.” The small muscles at the corner of his jaw were twitching. “I’ll stay here then. I have propane heat as a backup for my woodstove, so my house will be fine.” When she just stared at him, his face reddened, and he looked away. “I’ll stay on your couch.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said slowly, imagining him living in the midst of her mess. “It’s almost a twenty-minute drive to Station One from my place, compared to three minutes from yours. Won’t that cause an issue for dive-team calls?”

“I’ll work it out.”

She opened her mouth, frantically trying to think of another logical reason he couldn’t stay with her that had nothing to do with the tumbling mix of nerves and excitement the idea produced, when the sight of the returning deputy had her closing her mouth. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Nothing to discuss,” he said, and she glared at him—which he ignored.

“I’m going to head down the road to the end of the Moonies’ driveway, see if I can tell which direction this guy turned once he got on the county road,” Chris said once he got close enough for them to hear him. “Call me if anything else happens, even little things.”

“Will do. Thanks, Deputy Chris.”

“No problem, Lou.” He gave her a wink along with his usual grin. “You might think about installing one of those wild-game cameras outside of your cabin. They’re motion-activated, so you could get lucky and get a shot of your guy if he returns.”

Her stomach tightened at the thought of how much one of those cameras would cost. “I’ll look into getting one. Thanks.”

Turning to Callum, the deputy said, “I assume you’re going to be staying with her?”

“Hang on a second,” Lou protested again, but she was soundly ignored by both men.

“Yep,” Callum said, and the two men exchanged a look.

“Good.” Chris glanced at Lou and laughed. “Settle down, Tinker Bell. It never hurts to have someone around to watch your back.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the deputy turned away and headed for his squad car before she could decide which offended her more. All she could do was make a wordless sound of irritation.

“Tinker Bell,” Cal said thoughtfully as Chris carefully turned the SUV around and headed down her driveway. “It fits. You’re little and blond and feisty.”

Lou glowered at him. “Tinker Bell’s a huge bitch.”

Although he shrugged, a grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. Glancing at his watch, he changed the subject. “We’re not going to be able to get to the clinic and back in time for me to get to my one o’clock meeting. When’s your next day off?”

Grimacing, she said, “Not until next Wednesday. If we leave early tomorrow, though, we could get back before my shift starts at noon. Unless you can’t get another morning free?”