Carnosaur Crimes (18 page)

There was no way Broderick could have gotten to Sheriff Combs this fast. Reid took the device. “Lieutenant Dorbandt.”

“Lieutenant. Dr. Birch called. The reconstruction is done. She's faxing me head photos as we speak. Go to Billings and gather up her final report, our papers, and the skull. I just got an official request sent to the Coroner's office from the state FBI in Glasgow. I have to transport the remains there immediately. I need that head to go with the body even if it is cleaned to the bone. Those bastards can't grouse if the deed is already done.”

Reid looked at his watch. Five-thirty. He could be in Billings by ten if he hustled. He could see Chloe. “Will I spend the night?”

“I don't see why not. Get back here by five tomorrow. Clock your travel time and don't worry about completing a request for expenditures. Just get receipts. You've been putting in a lot of overtime, and I promise you'll get some time off when these pressing cases are closed.”

“I'm leaving now. Thank you, sir.”

Sheriff Combs hung up and Reid handed the phone to Odie, who'd been listening to every word. “The reconstruction is done. I'm leaving for Billings to get everything. Be back late tomorrow. Find out all you can about the slaughterhouse.”

“The info will be on your desk,” Odie assured him, grinning.

“What the hell are you smiling at?”

“Nothing.”

“I know what you're thinking.”

Odie beamed. “I know what you're thinking, too. Have a good trip, Reid.”

“Oh, I will.” Reid grabbed the essentials he'd need to make the drive: shoulder belt holster, cell phone, beeper, and suit jacket. He already had a pre-packed bag in his car trunk for traveling emergencies. In seconds he was ready to depart, energized by his excitement about seeing Chloe. The evening promised to be very special.

First he had to get out of the station before Agent Broderick got to Sheriff Combs.

Chapter 22

“Our first teacher is our own heart.”

Cheyenne

Ansel sat beside Parker on one of the double beds inside room one-ten of the Rimrock Motel, swinging a crossed leg back and forth like a metronome. Outerbridge had just informed her and the ERT members, minus Agent Walthers, that they were not leaving Billings for another eighteen hours. The small consolation that her split skirt showed a tantalizing amount of leg between boot top and thigh, which Parker seemed to be enjoying, was Ansel's single high point in this entire Machiavellian drama.

Outerbridge, wearing thin, silver-framed reading glasses, sat at the tiny round table just inside the door. The sale papers from the clasp envelope were splayed across it. Dixie sat across from him, puffing on a cigarette with carefree abandon. Smoke rose to the ceiling of the pocket-sized, industrial grade room like steam. He seemed oblivious to the fact that this was a non-smoking room.

“There's been a lot of activity since you two left the store,” Outerbridge intoned. “Plenty of people coming and going. We're getting some solid information about co-conspirators in this group. Walthers is taping everything. I don't want to pull up stakes until we've gleaned every piece of evidence we can. Then agents from the local office will continue monitoring things. Sorry for the inconvenience, Ansel. We'll get you home soon.”

He sipped from a Coke can and continued. “Walthers is on surveillance through tomorrow morning. After that, we're flying out of here. We won't be back until De Shequette sets up the skull viewing appointment. Parker, you'll be the only person going in on that. Questions?”

Ansel waved her hand. “I have to make some phone calls tonight. There will be people worrying about me if I don't make contact. No one knows I left Big Toe.”

“That's usually not possible in cases like this, but I'll compromise. I can let you contact one person. Decide who needs to know your whereabouts the most.”

Ansel didn't like it. She'd never reach Dorbandt at this rate. “I'd like to call my parents.”

“Fine. After we finish this meeting, you can do that.” His quick brown eyes surveyed the rest of the group. “Anything else?”

“What's next after we leave here?” Parker said.

“I'm not sure. We'll have to wait and see how long before the suspects set up the skull sale and how it goes down. Then we'll have plenty of new information to process. There is, however, a chance we'll go back to Utah right after the Vernal buy.”

Ansel wasn't sure she understood Outerbridge correctly. “That's after you bust De Shequette and his gang, right?”

“Not exactly.”

Ansel looked around the room. Nobody seemed to be as confused as she was or acted the least bit annoyed. “You will prosecute them, correct?”

Outerbridge nodded. “Eventually, yes. We'll take possession of the skull in any case. We'll pay for it, and De Shequette can deliver it to Parker a.k.a. Peter Georges. It's essential evidence for conviction so we must regain possession of the Allosaurus skull at all costs. It's also important that we follow the poaching links to the top of the food chain. That's the only way we'll break it.”

Ansel checked her anger. “Are you saying that you have no immediate interest in prosecuting bottom feeders like Billy and Claude?”

Outerbridge pulled off his glasses. His expression was bland. “Prosecuting a bottom feeder takes just as much effort as prosecuting a shark, Ansel. The same amount of time, money, and back-breaking footwork with the same lack of evidence, resources, and judicial or legislative support. I'd much rather filet a twenty-foot Great White than a three-foot channel cat. It's a matter of profit per pound.”

Ansel sat there stunned. She hadn't offered to help so creeps like Billy and Claude could plea-bargain their way out of trouble by offering to rat out their higher associates in crime, but what could she do? It was the legal system, not Outerbridge, who set the conviction bar so high.

Outerbridge took advantage of her silence. He pulled out three room keys from his suit pocket and tossed one to each of them. “We'll stay here for the night. I'm in this room. I've got phone calls to make the rest of this evening and I don't want to keep anybody up. The rest of you are upstairs. Dixie, you and Ansel will bunk together again. Parker you have Walthers' room to yourself. He won't need it tonight. The three of you have the evening off. Enjoy it. Just stay on your toes and keep a low profile. We'll regroup at eight tomorrow in my room. That's all.”

Dixie got up quickly and headed for the door. Obviously she wanted first dibs on the dubious amenities the Rimrock could provide. Ansel felt too tired to move that fast.

“How about some dinner?”

Ansel looked up. Parker's smile was as inviting as his offer. “All right. I have to use the phone first.”

“I'll wait outside.” He gave her the second wink in two days and hurried out the doorway into the first floor hallway.

Outerbridge got up and closed the door behind Parker before turning to look at her. His accompanying sigh was long and audible. “You think I'm a real sell-out, don't you?”

“No. I think I made a mistake coming here.”

He chuckled and his face crinkled at the corners of his eyes, nose, and mouth. “Me, too.” He walked toward a small black suitcase setting on a collapsible stand, unzipped it, and pulled out a small pint of Jack Daniels. “I'm off duty. Want any?”

“No, thanks. I'm going to make that call.” She reached for the phone positioned on a night stand between the two beds.

“Not that one. Use my cell.” He pulled the blood red device from his suit pocket and walked over to pass it to her. “Keep it to a couple of minutes.”

As she dialed, Angel watched Outerbridge remove the shrink-wrap from a plastic cup on the bureau, pour Coke from the can into it, then add two fingers of booze. She only had seconds to think about what she was going to say to Pearl or her father, but her worries were fruitless. The answering machine kicked in. Outerbridge sat down in the chair again. When the machine began recording, she left a brief message explaining how she'd left Big Toe the night before to do some research for one of her drawings and would be back by the next afternoon.

Outerbridge reviewed the dinosaur papers again, but Angel knew it was a ruse. He was listening to her every word. She hung up, feeling frustrated over her lack of control over the situation but glad that her parents wouldn't worry.

She stood and approached the table. “Thanks.”

He set down his drink and accepted the phone with a brief, sad smile. “You did a terrific job today. It does count. No matter what you think.”

Angel didn't agree and might never. He was rigid, opinionated, and fiercely loyal to a bureaucratic system that couldn't support the weight of its own dogma, a federal cop through and through. To most Montanans she knew, Outerbridge was a trickster, bamboozler, and destroyer of the American Dream and everything westerners held dear.

Well, he'd loaned an Indian woman he hardly knew his private property without a second thought, and she figured that's all she needed to know about the Special Agent Outerbridge inside that government suit. She had to respect him for that.

Ansel gave him a brief, heartfelt smile. “Goodnight, Agent Outerbridge. See you in the morning.”

***

Parker was waiting as he promised, leaning against the hotel wall outside the door, legs and arms crossed. “We'll have to order in, but I know some really good take-out places here.” He gazed into her eyes. “Your place or mine?”

Ansel grinned. “Hmm. Let's see. I'm sharing a room with Dixie, and you've got one all to yourself. Which should it be?”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Certainly.”

Parker pointed a finger due east. “That way. I'll lead.”

And he did. They walked down the hall to a foyer where an elevator took them up to the second floor. They said very little on the way up, mostly because Ansel was too nervous to make even idle conversation. They exited and Parker stopped at room two-fifteen to unlock the door where he motioned inward.

“Welcome to Chez Parker.”

Ansel stepped inside. The room was a clone of Outerbridge's, right down to the laminated, fiber board table. Parker came up behind her, slid past her, and flicked on the orange, ginger-base lamp on the night stand between the beds. It was much cooler in this room. Goose bumps hitched up along her arms. Then he closed the door.

She wasn't sure if it was the temperature drop or her sense of arousal that gave her the shivers. She knew what this could lead to. How far did she want to go with this man? She knew nothing about him, except that he was Crow, an FBI pilot, good looking, and intelligent. And she'd been celibate for over a year. The last man she'd slept with had been murdered.

Parker returned to her side. “You're cold. He ran his hands briskly over her bare arms, then moved away. “I'll boost the temperature.”

Ansel felt as if his warm hands had been coated with fire during that brief moment of interpersonal touching. She swallowed back a gasp of sheer pleasure and stood almost paralyzed as he fiddled with the thermostat controls beneath a metal flap on the central unit beneath the picture window. Was he going to try and kiss her or not? she wondered as he dragged the flowered curtain closed along the rod, and then came toward her. She didn't move. She couldn't even speak.

“I've wanted to do this for a while,” Parker said, his voice husky.

He leaned toward her and kissed her. Just like that. Smooth and easy. No pressure. No abrupt motions of indecision or hesitation. His lips were soft and feather light on hers, and she responded instinctually by kissing him back more powerfully – an open invitation to continue in any way he saw fit.

Still, Parker never used his hands to caress her or his arms to envelope her. Only his lips. Ansel restrained herself, too. No other limbs. No other body parts touching. Only their lips joined as one in a long, soft, sensuous expression of mutual exploration. Suddenly Parker drew away. Disappointed beyond reason, Ansel opened her eyes and peered at him questioningly.

He smiled impishly. “First, we eat and talk. Japanese, Chinese, or Greek?”

Relieved that he had rejected her only for gentlemanly reasons, she replied haughtily, “Steak. The Black Angus restaurant down the road is great. My father raises those, you know.”

“No, I didn't.
That
,” Parker said facetiously, “wasn't in your file. How did the Bureau ever miss it? Steak it is. I'll call and order a couple of thick, carbohydrate and cholesterol-filled beef slabs for both of us.” He headed for the phone. “I'm ravenous.”

Ansel walked forward slowly and exhaled. “Parker?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the others?” She stood by the bed nearest him.

“Others?” The phone receiver was in his hand.

“The crew. You know.” She shifted her eyes to the left meaningfully.

“Oh. You mean...”

“Yeah. Should we be doing this? I don't want Outerbridge to freak out.”

Parker shrugged. “I'm off duty, Ansel. I have a life. Pathetic though it is, I am allowed to have one. Don't worry.” He patted the bed. “Relax.”

And she did. Parker made the call and placed the order while she pulled off her knee boots and turned on the TV to find a news station. She wanted to see if there had been any information about Chief Flynn, but the brief, fifteen second sound byte she saw about the investigation revealed only that there was no news. She could see what was happening as plain as day. Flynn was no longer a big story. Without sufficient gore spin, Cullen's fifteen minutes of notoriety were winding to a close.

When Parker left for a bucket of ice and some sodas from a vending machine, Ansel toyed with the idea of using the phone to leave Reid a message, but it would be long distance and appear on Outerbridge's hotel tab. Not possible. Besides, Parker could appear momentarily. A flash of irrational guilt scorched through her. No matter how attracted she felt toward Parker, Reid's face seemed to superimpose itself over the pilots' when she least expected it.

Dammit. I don't owe Reid anything.
Except your life
, a tiny voice tittered in her ear. So? I'm indebted to him for my mortal life, not my love life.
Splitting hairs, aren't we?
He doesn't like me enough to even kiss me.
Maybe you should have kissed him.

Further self-recriminations were impossible when Parker returned. “You look like somebody kicked your dog,” he said, staring at her oddly. “Everything all right?”

“It's been a long day. I'll be better after I eat.”

“Why don't you take a shower. I'll watch TV and wait for the chow.” He went to a medium-sized pouch on the floor and pulled out a navy black tee shirt. “This ought to cover the most critical spots.” He tossed it to her, his expression totally serious.

The thought of a long, hot shower almost made Ansel purr with delight. She grabbed the shirt off the end of the bed and looked at it. How would Outerbridge feel about her strutting around half-naked in this?
Oh, the hell with him, too.

“Maybe I will get cleaned up. Thanks.”

Once in the bathroom, an oversized closet-space with a wall counter, toilet, and combination tub and glass shower stall, Ansel flicked the light switch and closed the door. Her vision in the wall-spanning mirror under the harsh white lights was not a flattering one. She ignored it and stripped off her clothes, pantyhose, and jewelry in less than a minute.

She had no energy for a tub bath and a twist of a single knob to the right setting sent a splatter of deliciously warm water cascading out of the shower head. A single pre-pack of herbal shampoo provided by the hotel would have to do for her hair.

Ansel stepped into the tub, slid a frosted door across the upper portion of the stall and simply stood in the wash of hot cleansing liquid. She'd just turned to wet her hair when the bathroom door opened. She stopped abruptly and tried to stare through the steamy tempered glass.