Spotting a sign ahead, he pointed. “There are the cabins.”
Odie stepped up the stairs onto the front porch of the cabin they’d rented. There were two left and Jag had paid for the one with two bedrooms. If he’d have picked the one-bedroom cabin, she’d have said something. There was no restaurant here, but plenty of fish. The woman who’d checked them in had given her the fish her husband had caught that morning. She’d also succumbed to Jag’s charm and handed over a pasta salad and a bottle of wine.
Inside the cabin, Odie turned on a light. A small living room with a gas fireplace in the corner was sparsely furnished with a brown sofa and chair with a lamp next to it. One picture hung on the wall. Stairs near the door led to a loft, off which were two bedrooms.
Odie went through the living room to the kitchen and searched for a pan to cook the fish in. She turned on the oven and a few minutes later put the fish inside. The sound of a cork being freed from a bottle made her turn and smile.
Jag poured wine into two glasses and handed her one.
“Who’d have thought we’d be vacationing tonight?” She sipped the wine, a good Chardonnay.
She eyed Jag’s chest and biceps in the black henley.
“Yeah, all alone with a woman who can shoot better than me and probably give me a black eye.” He looked down at her boots. “Sexy shoes, too.”
“You like them,” she said. “Admit it.”
“You prefer your women more flowery?”
He didn’t agree or disagree, but she could tell he did like her shoes. It made her wonder what kind of woman he was attracted to.
“What was your wife like? Do you mind me asking?”
“You’re asking if I mind?”
She leaned her butt against the stove. “What was she like?”
He grinned. “Actually, she was a lot like you.” He moved to stand in front of her. “Not that I’m comparing you to a criminal. I just mean she was outdoorsy and independent. Strong-willed. Tough.”
So, he liked women like that? Women like her? “I pictured you with someone more feminine than that. You know, the kind that can’t kill spiders.”
His grin renewed and he nodded as if to some kind of irony he’d found in that. “I’ve found that most women like that are too afraid of me.”
“I don’t always dress like this.” She looked down at her jeans and boots.
“Did you wear a dress for the nerd?”
“No. He never took me anywhere fancy.”
“He probably didn’t think you’d want to.”
That was probably true. “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” His last marriage might have tainted him.
“Sure. If the right woman comes along. I’m going to be a lot more careful next time, though.”
“Who can blame you?” He probably felt as if he had to be careful with her.
“What got you into this kind of work, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject.
He lowered the glass after taking a sip. “When I was growing up I was interested in everything going on in the world. I read the paper, watched news programs, and read all kinds of books. I wanted to get into politics and maybe work my way to Congress, but I was too restless for that. I also wanted to travel the world and try new things. That’s why I joined the navy.”
“What about the world intrigues you?”
“
Intrigue
might not be the best word.
Pissed off
does a better job.”
“What kinds of things pissed you off?”
“You already know. Terrorism, poverty, dictatorship. Reading about those kinds of things made me feel lucky to be an American. It’s a little clichéd, but I wanted to fight to preserve what made this country what it is.”
He believed in the foundation of America and wanted to fight for it. Make a difference. Why did that appeal to her so much? It never appealed to her in other men like him, so why was he so different? She’d never noticed it in other men. She’d never really spent any time with men like him, either. Sure, she’d dated, but that had never lasted and she’d never allowed the conversations to go very far. Since Sage died, she’d been so sensitive to men like him. Guarded.
“Did you ever wish you’d have chosen another career?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve never regretted it. But I’m not going to do this type of work much longer.”
That got her attention. “Why not?”
“I’m getting older for one thing. There are other things that interest me, for another.”
“What things?”
“You’re awfully curious for someone who can’t stand guys like me.”
Yes, but he wasn’t like the others she’d met. The more she got to know him, the more that was true. And now he was telling her he wasn’t planning to work for TES much longer. For a moment she actually considered the possibility of pursuing him. Then a familiar sensation circled and plunged in her stomach, something dark, a reminder of how she’d felt in those months after Sage died.
For the first time since then, love seemed possible again. Really and truly love. Not like it was with the nerd. That wasn’t love. She’d almost married that engineer because she’d felt safe with him. There was never the threat of loving him the way she’d loved Sage. But Jag…
“I like to cook and fix old motorcycles,” he said.
“You cook?”
“My dad owned a bakery. I learned at a young age how to make great bread. Some day I’d like to open one.”
“Huh.” She took in his big frame and rugged face, marveling. “I’d have never guessed.”
“I fix up old bikes, too.” He sounded worried about what she thought.
“That saves your masculinity.”
He grunted a laugh. “I like to woodwork, too. I’ve built furniture.”
“Wow. The tourists would love you in Roaring Creek. Fresh bread, furniture. And motorcycles, too.”
“I thought you hated that town.”
“I struggle between love and hate.”
“You do strike me as more of a big-city girl.” His eyes went on an unhurried journey down her body, lingering on her boots before returning to her face.
She smiled. “I do miss D.C.”
“Do you regret going to work for Cullen?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Did you want to leave the army?”
She knew what he was asking. Did she want to leave after her husband died or had she simply been unable to do her job? “I’ve never regretted going to work for Cullen. The only regret I have is that he relocated to a remote mountain town.”
Sipping her wine, she watched him read between the lines of her answer. No, she hadn’t wanted to leave, but she was happy where it had taken her. She let the conversation go quiet for a while. He moved to a window and peered outside, sipping his wine. She watched him until she realized more than a half hour had passed.
She faced the stove and removed the cooked fish, while he got some plates and put the unfinished bottle of wine on the table.
They sat and ate in silence. Odie stole a few looks at him. She was uncomfortable over how easy it was being with him all of a sudden.
“Don’t get any ideas, okay?” she said.
He stopped chewing to look at her. “About what?”
“You and me.”
Leaning back, he finished what was left in his glass. Then he lifted the bottle and poured more into her glass first before filling his.
“Why would I get ideas, Odie? You’re always reminding me how lacking I am as a TES operative.”
Yes, but he’d just told her he wasn’t going to do that much longer. “We’re getting along.”
“Would you rather fight?”
“You know what I mean. This is starting to feel…I don’t know…off.”
He breathed a laugh, sounding cynical, and shook his head as he ate more fish.
“Don’t you think it seems different?” she pressed.
“What’s the matter, afraid you’re going to start liking me?”
“I’m not afraid. You’re the one who should be afraid. I’m just trying to save you some grief.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I think I can watch out for myself.”
“I’m not having sex with you.”
“We might not be able to control ourselves.” He was still joking.
“I’ll be able to control myself. Stop trying to be funny.”
“I wasn’t. You’re overreacting.”
“I’m overreacting.”
“Yeah. I don’t want to have sex with you, either.”
And she immediately knew why. He had been married to a woman who hid things from him. He obviously wouldn’t want to make the same mistake twice.
“Right. It’s a silly concern.” She leaned back in her chair and drank some more wine, disconcerted by her sense of disappointment.
“When are you going to tell me how you know Frasier Darby?”
Back to business. Odie took her plate and put it in the sink. That was her answer. She wasn’t going to tell him.
Chapter 6
O
die stirred when she heard a sound outside her window. It took her a moment to remember where she was. She lifted her head and listened. Something clattered. Pulling the covers off her too-warm body she swung her feet onto the cold wood floor. After looking out the window and seeing nothing, she went to the door. Jag’s room door was open. Moving to the loft railing, she saw him peering through the narrowly open front door. His gun was drawn.
She watched him open the door wider and step out onto the front porch. Was someone out there? Her muscles tensed and her heart picked up a few extra beats. Feeling the chilled mountain air drift over her skin, she pulled her button-down stretch shirt tighter and went down the stairs.
Outside, she shivered and stayed close to the door. Jag appeared from around the corner of the cabin, gun lowered. His head moved as he searched the night. He wore only a pair of jeans.
That’s when she remembered she was only wearing a shirt and underwear. Seeing her, his steps slowed as his eyes took her in, lingering on her long legs and bare feet. A warm response flared in her.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
He took the steps slowly and stopped a couple of feet from her. “I heard a noise.”
“I heard something, too.”
“It was the people in the cabin next to ours. Two young couples, and they’re drinking. One of them went to the office for firewood. They keep bundles outside for guests. I think they’re having a bonfire.”
It was a nice night for a fire, cool for late summer. “You heard them getting wood?”
“I heard them when they passed our cabin.”
He must have really good ears, or his training had kicked in. Sleeping on the edge of alertness probably came secondhand to him. Special ops man that he was…
The reminder did little to stave her awareness of him. She glanced down at his bare chest and the perfect fit of his jeans at the waist. It was as if she were becoming desensitized to her aversion to his type. Either that, or it didn’t matter so much anymore.
Raising her eyes, she caught his moving up from checking out her lower regions. The energy heated up between them.
She pointed to the still open door. “We should…”
“Yeah.”
Going inside, she stopped at the base of the stairs while he closed the door. They just stared at each other, gazes locked. Odie resisted the urge to look her fill over his entire body. His quiet patience was equally tantalizing, intelligence and brawn blending to make an intriguing package. He observed her expertly. Read her. No man had ever learned her as quickly as he had. She watched him look down her body and meet her eyes again. She met those captivating green orbs and was afraid her passion showed.
He took a step forward and her heart fluttered anew. She stepped backward up the first stair. He stopped at the bottom of them. Turning, she climbed up to the loft, but paused there to look down at him. Still holding his gun, he put his other hand on the railing and trailed it along the wood as he climbed up after her. At the top, he stood close.
She couldn’t move. The desire in his eyes mirrored her own. All she had to do was take his hand and lead him into her room. She wanted that with such urgency she almost forgot why it was a bad idea.
They’d both declared they didn’t want to sleep together, and yet here they were, on the verge of doing just that.
“Jag…”
“Good night, Odie.” Walking past her, he went into his room and shut the door.
Going to her room, she shut the door behind her. Breathing deep breaths, she turned and leaned her back against the door, closing her eyes and fighting what felt both right and wrong at the same time. Confusion. She had to get her head straight regarding Jag. Was she ready to give another operative a try? Nothing much frightened her, but that did.
The rain was incessant. Outside the internet café, the sky was dark and everything was dripping wet. Odie tapped away on her laptop keyboard, occasionally checking around her to make sure no one noticed she was pretending to be busy. This morning she’d text messaged a computer savvy friend who worked at the IRS. Finally she’d convinced her to send over what she needed.
She and Jag had gotten back from their cabin stay late yesterday. This morning she’d waited for him to get in the shower before she dug in his duffel bag for Frasier Darby’s driver’s license. After writing all the information down and replacing the wallet in the bag, she’d managed to sneak away.
She’d given her contact at the IRS Frasier’s name and the address on his driver’s license a while ago. Now she was getting impatient. She checked her watch. Almost ten.
Her cell phone beeped the tone that let her know a text message had come through. She opened it.
Check your email.
Odie entered her internet email account and saw a message from her contact.
Yes!
she wanted to shout out loud. She picked up her phone and replied to her friend.
The usual thank-you is on its way.
It was their unspoken agreement. Bribery did work. Especially for a woman with three kids, no husband and a low-paying job. Five hundred would go a long way.
Odie opened the email.
Frasier Darby. Two addresses. One matched the location of the cabin. He was an engineer. Retired at fifty-six. Must have managed his money well. Married. No kids. Odie frowned. What did he have to do with Kate?
Her contact gave her the name of his wife. She didn’t work, either. She hadn’t been at the cabin. Trouble in paradise? Odie did an internet search of the D.C. address. It wasn’t far from here. An apartment in Georgetown.
“So you didn’t know who he was.”
Odie jumped, still seated on the chair, and whipped her head around. Jag stood there, reading the printout of the email. He’d picked it up from the printer.
“How the hell…?” She just couldn’t shake him.
His eyes rose to look at her over the printout. “I know you.”
“There are how many internet cafés in D.C.?”
“I knew you’d go to one of three. This is the second one I’ve been to.”
She should have known he’d find her. And damn if she didn’t like that. She tried not to gobble him up with her eyes, but it was impossible. He looked good in dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt, and his eyes were glowing with responding awareness.
“Who is he?” he asked, and there was a flirtatious lilt in his tone.
The night at the cabin had sure turned up the heat a notch. She couldn’t be near him and not feel the sizzle. “Nobody from what I can tell.” She looked at his hand holding the email. He kept his fingernails clean and trimmed.
“An engineer.”
“Yeah.” She loved his green eyes. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“You want to go talk to his wife?”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” But secretly she was thrilled he was going with her.
He grinned. “Come on. I have the rental out front.”
By early afternoon, Odie walked with Jag toward the entrance of a redbrick and white trim apartment building in Georgetown. Heather Darby lived on the fifth floor. All the way here she kept telling herself to stop drooling over Jag.
His long strides weren’t that much longer than hers, because she was pretty tall. She liked the way he moved. For as muscular as he was, he was agile. He knew how to handle her, too. He had a way of talking to her, and staying close even when she tried to get away. He calmed her. Made her forget her pact to never involve herself with an operative again.
There she went again. Drooling.
Stop,
she told herself.
After riding the elevator with four other people, they approached Heather’s apartment. The front door opened and two men exited, one carrying camera gear. A reporter had come with a cameraman to talk to Heather about Frasier Darby’s death.
Odie watched the reporter. He looked familiar. As he passed, he seemed to recognize her, too. That’s when it hit her.
He smiled and stopped, about to strike up a conversation, but Odie kept walking. She didn’t like reporters. Not after Cullen’s identity had been exposed after rescuing his wife from Afghanistan. It had nearly caused TES to crumble, but Cullen had renamed and restructured his business and saved it. That reporter had been the one to catch him declaring his everlasting love to Sabine, who was now his wife and the mother of his cute little girl.
“They didn’t waste any time,” Jag commented as they stopped at the door.
A fiftyish woman with dyed brown hair stood in the still open doorway. Her eyes were red from crying.
“Heather Darby?” Odie asked.
“No.” The woman glanced behind her, where two women sat on a living-room sofa. One wiped her eyes and sniffed as she looked toward the door, and the other had her hand on the sobbing woman’s back. That must be Heather.
A wiry man stood on the other side of the coffee table, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.
“I’m Odelia Frank and this is Jag Benney,” Odie said to the woman at the door, but loud enough for all to hear. She didn’t think there was any danger in revealing their real names. Besides, that reporter had recognized her. There was no point in lying. “We’d like to talk to Heather about her husband.”
The brown-haired woman glanced back at the crying woman again and then shook her head. “It’s really not a good time.”
“Please. We just need to ask her a few questions.”
“Frasier was murdered yesterday. We just got back from the coroner’s and identified the body. Reporters just left…”
“Yes, we know, and we’re very sorry, ma’am, but it’s important we talk to Heather. We may be able to help.”
“How do you know Frasier?”
“He came to us for help before he was killed.”
Jag looked at her when she spoke the lie.
“Help for what?”
“Please, can we talk to Heather?”
The woman hesitated. “Just a minute.” She left the door open and went to crouch before the dark-haired woman crying on the sofa.
“It’s okay,” the tearful woman said. She was almost identical in appearance to the one who’d answered the door. Twins. Not identical, fraternal, but uncannily similar in appearance. Wiping her eyes with her hand, she stood and approached the door, taking a tissue from the wiry man on the way and dabbing her nose with it.
“Why did Frasier come to you for help?” she asked.
“Can you tell us why he was at the cabin?” Odie countered, ignoring the question.
Large, bulbous tears bloomed in her eyes and spilled over onto her face. Her breath hitched in a pathetic whimper.
“I…I kicked him out of the apartment,” she wailed.
Her twin sister rushed to her side and put her arm around her shoulders. Then to them she said, “Maybe you should come back tomorrow. She’s had enough for one day.”
“No.” Heather shrugged free of her twin’s embrace. “It’s okay. If they can help, I want to talk to them.” To Jag and Odie, she asked, “Have you spoken with the police? They were here last night.”
“Not yet. We wanted to talk to you first.” It was a lie, of course. The police would only slow everything down. “Why did you kick him out?”
“I asked him for a divorce. He was having an affair. He was always coming home late and then one night he just didn’t come home at all. He confessed to me the next day.” She dabbed more tears with the tissue.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Odie said.
The woman looked from her to Jag. “Why did Frasier go to you for help?”
“I’m afraid we can’t divulge that.”
“Why not? It might have something to do with his murder.”
“Yes, it very well could, and we’ll do all we can to find his killer, but we can’t discuss certain aspects of our investigation.”
“What kind of investigation? Are you detectives?”
“Who was he having an affair with?” Jag asked, effectively ending the question.
Heather looked at Jag. “I don’t know her. I don’t want to know her. He’s a son of a bitch for cheating on me. When I first found out, I wished he was dead.” She burst into a wave of fresh tears and her sister put her arm around her again. “I wanted him to be miserable.”
Couldn’t get any more miserable than dead. “Did you ever see her?” Odie asked.
“No.”
“Did you ever notice anything odd about Frasier’s behavior? Other than his affair, I mean.”
“No. He was good at keeping his other life a secret.”
“His other life, meaning his affair?”
“Yes.” Odie thought any woman who ignored signs like her husband coming home late all the time and never calling her didn’t want to face the truth. And Heather hadn’t. Not until the truth had forced her. Her husband had confessed.
“Did you or Frasier ever know a man named Calan Friese?” she asked.
Heather thought a moment. Then she shook her head. “No. I’ve never heard that name before. Who is he?”
“Someone we think your husband might have known,” Odie answered neutrally.
“How would he have known him?” She looked from Odie to Jag. “Why did he go to you for help? You have to tell me. We may have been having problems, but I loved him.” She gasped for air as she began crying again. “I still love him.” Her crying became uncontrollable.
Her sister looked imploringly at Odie.
“We’ll come back later.”
The woman nodded. “Thank you.”
When the door closed, Odie left the apartment building ahead of Jag. Outside, she noticed a white truck parked on the other side of a flower bed with a tree in the middle. No one was inside.
“Look.”
He followed her nod. “What’s he doing here?”
“Why would he want to talk to Heather?” Odie asked.
“Maybe because we did.”
“Did he see us go into the building?”
“Must have.”
“You’d think he’d stay far away after killing Heather’s husband.”
“Yeah, you’d think. If he was the one who killed Frasier.”
Good point. What if Calan hadn’t killed Frasier? He could have walked in on a murder the same way she and Jag had.
Jag remained parked where he was. “Let’s give him a few minutes.”
Good idea. After about forty minutes, Calan emerged from the building, glancing their way before climbing into his truck.