Authors: Kylie Brant
Waking Evil 02 (57 page)
How the hell had he gotten into this mess?
Fuming, Zach Sharper threw another look at the rearview mirror and the empty ribbon of road behind him. The answer was swift in coming. Ever since he’d reported his findings from that cave, Andrews had had him wrapped up like a damn trick monkey. First he’d had to lead law enforcement to the place. Hang around while they did their thing. Then there’d been the endless questioning.
And now he found himself forced to be at the beck and call of some consultant hired by the sheriff’s office. Playing glorified nursemaid to a cop—or close enough to it—promised to be worse than the biggest pain-in-the-ass client he ran across from time to time. At least he had a choice when taking on the clients.
Yeah, not being given a choice here rankled the most.
He saw the county car headed toward him. Zach put on his sunglasses and got out of his Trailblazer. Damned if he’d been about to travel down to Eugene and then back again once he’d heard what the consultant wanted. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to arrange for the cops to meet him at his place. Whispering Pines was his getaway. His refuge. Guests were rarely invited.
A navy SUV pulled off the road in back of the sheriff’s car. He was unsurprised to see Mitch Barnes get out of the lead car. The way Zach heard it, Barnes did most of the grunt work for Andrews while she got all the glory. He’d been the first of the cops to follow Zach into that cave. The sheriff sure hadn’t gone in, though she’d been present, running things on top Castle Rock while her people had hauled the bones out. If Barnes wanted another pass at the cave he sure as hell didn’t need Zach. He knew where it was located.
Made a guy wonder if this was just one more way for Andrews to yank his chain, show him who was calling the shots.
He walked toward the deputy, who was approaching on the shoulder. The driver of the SUV got out, too, but it was Barnes Zach concentrated on. He wasn’t a bad sort, for a cop. Maybe he could talk him into a change of plans. Zach was resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get out of this forced alliance with the sheriff’s office. But Andrews wouldn’t necessarily have to know whether he was the one playing nursemaid or if one of Zach’s employees fulfilled the duty.
Although he wasn’t sure he had an employee he disliked enough to saddle with this job.
“Barnes,” he said by way of greeting. The other man gave him a nod. Wasting no time, he continued, “Maybe you and I can reach an . . .”
“Sharper, I want you to meet Caitlin Fleming, a consultant for the sheriff’s department. She’s with Raiker Forensics.”
The inflection in the man’s voice imbued his last words with meaning. But it was his earlier words that had Zach halting in disbelief. Tipping his Julbo sunglasses down he looked—really looked—at the woman approaching.
The mile-long legs could be right. And she was tall enough; only a few inches shorter than his six-three height. The kiss-my-ass cheekbones were familiar. But it was the thick black hair that clinched it, though shorter now than it’d been all those years ago. He didn’t need her to remove her tinted glasses to know the eyes behind them were moss green and guaranteed to turn any breathing male into an instant walking hard-on.
His voice terse, he turned his attention to the deputy and said, “Is this some kind of a joke?”
Barnes blinked. “What?”
“I mean are there going to be TV trucks and cameras following our every move?” Christ, what a clusterfuck. He could already imagine it. TV channels were filled with so-called entertainment featuring desperate cultural celebrities and he could anticipate what was going on here. “I’m not about to get involved in a reality TV show or whatever the hell she’s part of. You can tell the sheriff the deal is off.” Andrews had threatened to jam him up with the constant renewal of permits needed to take his clients camping or kayaking. But maybe he could bribe someone at the permit department to circumvent her meddling. He was willing to take his chances.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“He’s talking about me.” The voice was smoke, pure sex. He’d never heard her speak before, but he’d imagined it often enough years ago in his adolescent fantasies. “Probably recognizes me from some of my modeling work, isn’t that right, Sharper? A long time ago. If you want me to believe you’ve changed from a sweaty hormone-ridden teenage boy who undoubtedly used one of my posters to fuel your juvenile wet dreams, then you’ll have to credit that I too grew up and moved on. I want a first-hand look at that cave. You’re going to take me there.”
Somehow when he’d imagined her talking decades ago it had been without that tone of withering disdain. His disbelief dissipated, the skepticism remained. He slanted a glance at the deputy. “Seriously, Barnes.
This
is the department’s consultant?”
This
is the department’s consultant?”
The man’s manner was stiff. “Like I said, she’s from Raiker Forensics.
The Mindhunters.
That might not mean anything to you, but in law enforcement circles it carries a helluva lot of weight.”
The Mindhunters.
That might not mean anything to you, but in law enforcement circles it carries a helluva lot of weight.”
Caitlin Fleming as a cop. The implausibility of it still rang in his mind. But then he gave a mental shrug. Most people in these parts used to be something else. Many were reluctant to talk about their pasts. Including him.
Especially
him.
him.
He looked her over again, noting the jeans, tennis shoes, and long-sleeve navy T-shirt. “Either we hike down Castle Rock or climb up it. Either way, it’s not a walk in the park. Mitch here can tell you that. You might want to rethink visiting it in person.”
Instead of responding, she looked at the deputy. “You coming along?”
He shook his head. “Once was enough for me. I’ve been stopping in at the forest service stations in the area to look at the citations they’ve issued in the last few years. There might be a pattern. Maybe some common names.”
She nodded. “I’ll be anxious to hear what you find. See you back in Eugene, then. This will probably take most of the day.” She walked back to her SUV and pulled a pack out of the back end. Then she locked it and headed back to where they stood waiting for her.
“We’ll use your vehicle, Sharper. I’ll want to explore both approaches to the cave.” She headed toward where he’d left his Trailblazer parked on the shoulder of the road. Her voice drifted behind her as she walked away. “I’d already been warned you were an asshole, so your attitude isn’t much of a surprise. But it’ll be up to you to convince me that you’re as good at your job as I’ve heard. Right now, I’ve got to say, I have my doubts.”
About the Author
Kylie Brant is the bestselling author of nearly thirty contemporary romantic suspense novels, including
Waking Nightmare
,
Waking Evil
, and
Waking the Dead
. She’s a two-time Rita nominee and a Romantic Times Career Achievement award winner. One of her books is listed by
Romantic Times
magazine as an all-time favorite.
Waking Nightmare
,
Waking Evil
, and
Waking the Dead
. She’s a two-time Rita nominee and a Romantic Times Career Achievement award winner. One of her books is listed by
Romantic Times
magazine as an all-time favorite.
Kylie lives in the Midwest with her husband and a very spoiled Polish Lowland sheepdog. Visit her website at
www.kyliebrant.com
or contact her at [email protected] .com.
www.kyliebrant.com
or contact her at [email protected] .com.
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