Читать книгу Snowblind Justice - Cindi Myers - Страница 13

“Thank you, Professor. That would be so helpful. I’ll review everything and be ready to discuss it when I see you next week after the wedding.” Emily hung up the phone and mentally checked off one more item on her Tuesday to-do list. All her professors had agreed to excuse her for another week so that she could help with the preparations for Travis and Lacy’s wedding. Though she could have made the six-hour drive back to Fort Collins to attend a few classes and try to catch up on all she had missed while stranded by the snow, the last thing she wanted was for the road to close again, forcing her to miss the wedding.

Instead, someone in her department had volunteered to make the drive out here to deliver files for Emily to review. She had protested that it was ridiculous to make such a long drive, but apparently more than one person had been eager for the excuse to get off campus for a while. The risk of getting stranded in Eagle Mountain if another storm system rolled in had only heightened the appeal.

She moved on to the next item on her list. She needed to check on her horse, Witchy. The mare had developed inflammation in one leg shortly after the first of the year and veterinarian Darcy Marsh had prescribed a course of treatment that appeared to be working, but Emily was supposed to exercise her lightly each day and check that there was no new swelling. Slipping on her barn coat—the same one she had worn as a teenager—she headed out the door and down the drive to the horse barn. Sunlight shimmered on the snow that covered everything like a starched white sheet. Every breath stung her nose, reminding her that temperatures hovered in the twenties. She still marveled that it could be so cold when the sun shone so brightly overhead, giving the air a clean, lemony light.

The barn’s interior presented a sharp contrast to the outside world, its atmosphere warm from the breath of animals and smelling of a not-unpleasant mixture of molasses, hay and manure. A plaintive meow! greeted Emily, and a gray-striped cat trotted toward her, the cat’s belly swollen with kittens soon to be born. “Aww, Tawny.” Emily bent and gently stroked the cat, who started up a rumbling purr and leaned against Emily’s legs. “It won’t be long now, will it?” Emily crooned, feeling the kittens shift beneath her hand. She’d have to make sure Tawny had a warm, comfortable place to give birth.

She straightened and several of the family’s horses poked their heads over the tops of their stalls. Witchy, in an end stall on the left-hand side, whinnied softly and stamped against the concrete floor of her stall.

Emily slipped into the stall and greeted Witchy, patting her neck, then bent to examine the bandaged front pastern. It no longer felt hot or swollen, though Darcy had recommended wrapping it for a few weeks longer to provide extra support. Emily breathed a sigh of relief. For a brief period during her childhood, she had considered studying to be a veterinarian, but had quickly ruled out any job that required dealing with animals’ suffering.

“Are you contemplating climbing down out of your ivory tower and hiring on as the newest ranch hand?”

Emily froze as Brodie’s oh-so-familiar teasing tone and velvety voice flowed around her like salted caramel—both sweet and biting. She was aware of her position, bent over with her backside facing the stall door, where she sensed him standing. She turned her head, and sure enough, Brodie had leaned over the top half of the stall door, grinning, the cat cradled in his arms.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she released her hold on the horse’s leg and straightened. “Brodie, what are you doing here?” she asked.

He stroked the cat under the chin. Tawny closed her eyes and purred even louder. Emily had an uncomfortable memory of Brodie stroking her—eliciting a response not unlike that of the cat. “I was looking for you,” he said. “Someone told me you’re in charge of a bonfire and barbecue here Wednesday.”

“Yes.” She took a lead rope from a peg just outside the stall door and clipped it onto Witchy’s halter. The mare regarded her with big gold-brown eyes like warm honey. “What about it?”

“I was hoping to wrangle an invite, since I’m staying on the ranch. It would be awkward if I felt the need to lock myself in my cabin for the evening.”

She slid back the latch on the door and pushed it open, forcing Brodie to stand aside, then led the mare out. “I have to exercise Witchy,” she said.

He gave the cat a last pat, then set her gently aside and fell into step beside Emily, matching his long strides to her own shorter ones. “I didn’t realize you were staying at the ranch,” she said. He hadn’t been at dinner last night, but then, neither had Travis. The two men had been working on the case. Frankly, she was shocked her parents had invited Brodie to stay. They certainly had no love lost for him, after what had happened between him and Emily.

“When the CBI agreed to send an investigator to help with the Ice Cold Killer case, Travis asked your parents if they could provide a place for the officer to stay. They were kind enough to offer up one of their guest cabins.”

“Wouldn’t it be more convenient for you in town?” she asked.

“There aren’t any rooms in town,” Brodie said. “They’re all full of people stranded here by the road closure. I imagine that will change now that the avalanches have been cleared and it’s safe to travel again, but in the meantime, your folks were gracious enough to let me stay.” He fell silent, but she could feel his eyes on her, heating her neck and sending prickles of awareness along her arms. “Does it bother you, having me here?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

She led Witchy out of the barn, along a fenced passage to a covered arena. Brodie moved forward to open the gate for her. “Are you going to ride her?” he asked.

Emily shook her head. “She’s still recovering from an injury. But I need to walk her around the arena for a few laps.”

“I’ll walk with you.” He didn’t bother asking permission—men like Brodie didn’t ask. He wasn’t cruel or demanding or even particularly arrogant. He just accepted what people—women—had always given him—attention, time, sex. All he had to do was smile and flash those sea-blue eyes and most women would give him anything he wanted.

She had been like that, too, so she understood the magnetism of the man. But she wasn’t that adoring girl anymore, and she knew to be wary. “Of course you can come to the bonfire,” she said. “It’s really no big deal.”

She began leading the mare around the arena, watching the horse for any sign of pain or weakness, but very aware of the man beside her. “Tell me about Alex Woodruff,” he said.

The question startled her, so much that she stumbled. She caught herself and continued on as if nothing had happened. “Why are you asking me about Alex?”

“I’ve been reviewing all the case notes. He was here, at the scavenger hunt the day Fiona Winslow was killed.”

“Yes. He and his friend Tim were here. I invited them.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I knew the road closure had stranded them here and I felt sorry for them, stuck in a small town where they didn’t know many people. I figured the party would be something fun for them to do, and a way to meet some local people near their age.” She cut her gaze over to him. “Why are you asking me about Alex?”

He did that annoying thing Travis sometimes did, answering a question with a question. “You knew Alex and Tim from the university?”

“I didn’t really know them.” She stopped and bent to run her hand down Witchy’s leg, feeling for any warmth or swelling or sign of inflammation. “They both signed up as volunteers for research we were doing. Lots of students do. Most of the studies only pay five to ten dollars, but the work isn’t hard and cash is cash to a broke student.”

“What kind of research?” Brodie asked.

She straightened and looked him in the eye. She loved her work and could talk about it with almost anyone. If she talked long enough, maybe he’d get bored and leave. “I’m studying behavioral economics. It’s sort of a melding of traditional psychology and economics. We look at how people make the buying decisions they make and why. Almost every choice has a price attached to it, and it can be interesting what motivates people to act one way versus another.”

“How did Alex and Tim hear about your experiments?”

“We have flyers all over campus, and on social media.” She shrugged. “They were both psychology majors, so I think the research appealed to them. I ran into Alex in a coffee shop on campus two days later and he had a lot of intelligent questions about what we were doing.”

“Maybe he had studied so he’d have questions prepared so he could keep you talking,” Brodie said. “Maybe he was flirting with you.”

“Oh, please.” She didn’t hide her scorn for this idea. “He was not flirting. If anything, he was showing off.”

One eyebrow rose a scant quarter inch—enough to make him look even cockier than usual. “Showing off is some men’s idea of flirting.”

“You would know about that, wouldn’t you?”

His wicked grin sent a current of heat through her. “When you’re good, it’s not showing off,” he said.

She wished she was the kind of woman who had a snappy comeback for a line like that, but it was taking all her concentration to avoid letting him see he was getting to her. So instead of continuing to flirt, she started forward with the horse once more and changed the subject. “Are you going to be able to help Travis catch the Ice Cold Killer?” she asked.

Brodie’s expression sobered. Yes, nothing like a serial murderer to dampen the libido. “I’m going to do my best,” he said. “We know who we’re looking for now—we just have to find him.”

She managed not to stumble this time, but she did turn to look at him. “You know who the killer is?”

He frowned. “Travis didn’t tell you?”

“I haven’t seen Travis in several days. He’s either working or spending time with Lacy. He told me on the phone that one of the men he thought was involved is dead, but that there was another one he was after.”

Brodie said nothing.

She stopped and faced him. “Tell me who it is,” she said. “You know I won’t go talking to the press.”

“The man who died was Tim Dawson,” Brodie said.

All the breath went out of her as this news registered. “Then the other man is Alex Woodruff.” She grabbed his arm. “That’s why you were asking me about him. But he and Tim left town when the road opened briefly a couple of weeks ago. Travis said so.”

“They moved out of the cabin where they were staying, but now Travis believes they stayed in the area. If you have any idea where Alex might be hiding, or what he’s likely to do next, you need to tell me.” She released her hold on him and stepped back, the mare’s warm bulk reassuring. If her suddenly weak legs gave out, she’d have the animal to grab on to. “I hardly know him,” she said. “But a serial killer? Why would a smart, good-looking guy from a well-off family want to murder a bunch of women he doesn’t even know?” And how could she have spent time with Alex and Tim and not seen that kind of evil in them?

“You’re more likely to have an answer for that than I do,” Brodie said. “You’re conducting a lot of research on human behavior and motivation. Didn’t you do one study on what motivates people to break rules or to cheat?”

“What did you do—run a background check on me? That’s creepy.”

“All I did was look at your public Facebook page,” he said. “And there’s nothing creepy about it. I knew I was coming here and I wanted to see how you were doing—as a friend. I guess you never did the same for me.”

She couldn’t keep color from flooding her cheeks. She had, in fact, perused Brodie’s Facebook page more than once, as well as Googling his name for tidbits of information. Not because she still felt anything for him, simply because she was curious. “All right,” she said. “As long as you’re not being a creep.”

“Such technical language from a psychologist.”

“Behavioral economics is different,” she said. “There’s psychology involved, of course, but nothing that would give me insight into the mind of a serial killer.”

“I think you’re wrong,” he said. “I think you probably can tell us things we don’t know about Alex Woodruff. You’ve always been smart about people.”

I wasn’t smart about you. She bit her lip to hold back the words. “I’m sure the CBI has profilers who specialize in this kind of thing,” she said.

“Yes, but they don’t know Alex, and they don’t know Eagle Mountain. You do.”

She searched his face, trying to read his expression. He was focused on her in that intense way he had—a way that made her feel like she was the only person in the world he wanted to be with right this second. “What do you want from me?” she asked.

“I want you to think about Alex, and about this area, and see if you can come up with any ideas that might help us.”

She shook her head. “I think you’re grasping at straws. You need to consult a professional.”

“We will. You’re just another avenue for us to explore. You never know in a case like this what might be the key to a solution.”

“Does Travis know you’re asking me to help?”

“No, but I can’t see why he’d object. I’m not asking you to do anything dangerous.”

She nodded. “All right. I don’t think it will do any good, but I’ll think about it and see what I can come up with.”

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.”

How had he known he could count on her? But she couldn’t ask the question. He was already striding out of the arena, his boots making neat prints in the raked dirt.

Brodie had to know she would do anything to help her brother. If Travis had asked her for help with the case, she wouldn’t have hesitated. That she was less willing to cooperate with Brodie probably said more about her feelings for him than she cared to admit.

Never mind. She would try to come up with some ideas about Alex and—with her help or not—Travis and Brodie would catch him and put him in jail for a long time.

Then she could go back to her normal life, with no serial killers—and no former lovers—to unsettle her.

“YOUR SISTER HAS agreed to serve as a consultant on the case.”

Travis was so even-keeled and unemotional that Brodie considered it a personal challenge to attempt to get a reaction from him. He’d scored a hit with this announcement.

Travis looked up from the file he’d been studying, eyes sparking with annoyance. “What could Emily possibly contribute to the case?” he asked.

Brodie moved out of the doorway where he’d been standing and dropped into one of the two chairs in front of Travis’s desk. The small office was spartan in appearance, with only a laptop and an inch-high stack of papers on Travis’s desk, and a few family photographs and citations on the walls. Brodie’s own desk at CBI headquarters in Denver was crammed with so many books, files and photographs his coworkers had hinted that it might be a fire hazard. But hey, the clutter worked for him. “Emily knows Alex Woodruff and she’s studied psychology,” he said. “She can give us insights into his character and what he’s likely to do next.”

“She’s an economics major—not a profiler.”

“We’ll still consult the CBI profiler,” Brodie said. “But I think Emily will come to this with fresh eyes. Besides, she knows this county almost as well as you do. She might be able to give us some new ideas about places to look for him.”

Travis shook his head. “He’s probably left the county by now. The highway is open, and he has to know we’re on his trail. A smart man would be halfway to Mexico by now.”

“You and I both know criminals rarely behave the way most people would. Alex may be smart, but he’s arrogant, too. He’s been taunting you, leaving those business cards, killing a woman on your family ranch, going after one of your deputies. He still thinks he can beat you.”

“Maybe.” Travis fixed Brodie with a stare that had probably caused more than one felon to shake in his shoes. “This isn’t some scheme you’ve come up with in order for you to spend more time with Emily, is it?” he asked. “Because I’m not going to stand by and let that happen again.”

“Let what happen?” Brodie had a strong sense of déjà vu. He recalled another conversation with Travis that had begun like this, five years ago, when his friend—only a deputy then—had accused him of trying to seduce Emily.

“Emily really hurt when the two of you broke things off,” Travis said. “It took a long time for her to get over you. I don’t want her to have to go through that again.”

Brodie bristled. “She’s the one who ended it, not me.”

“You must have had something to do with it.”

Brodie ground his teeth together. He did not want to argue about this with Travis. “I didn’t come here to get back together with your sister,” he said. “I came to help with this case. I asked Emily to consult because I think she’s another resource we can draw on.”

Travis uncrossed his arms, and the tension around his mouth eased. “Fair enough. I won’t rule out anything that might help us catch Alex Woodruff. Speaking of that, have you had any luck tracking down Lynn Wallace’s car?”

“Not yet. She drove a white Volvo.” Brodie opened his phone and read the license plate number from his notes. “Nothing flashy. Fairly common. Easy to hide.”

“Right. I’ll put my deputies on the lookout.” He turned to a map pinned to the wall of his office. Pins showed the locations where each of the Ice Cold Killer’s seven victims had been found. “Alex and Tim working together concentrated the murders in three areas,” he said. “Christy O’Brien and Anita Allbritton were killed within Eagle Mountain town limits. Kelly Farrow and Michaela Underwood were both murdered in the area around Dixon Pass and the national forest service land near there. Fiona Winslow, Lauren Grenado and Lynn Wallace were all killed within a couple of miles of the Walking W ranch.” Travis indicated a third grouping of pins on the map.

“Does that tell us anything about where Alex might be hiding now?” Brodie asked.

Travis pointed to a red pin on County Road Five. “We know Tim and Alex were staying at Tim’s aunt’s cabin, here, when the first three murders took place. They spent some time in a vacation home here.” He indicated another pin. “And they may have been at this summer cabin in the national forest, here, for the other murders. Now—who knows?”

A tapping on the door frame interrupted them. Both men turned to see office manager Adelaide Kinkaid, a sixtysomething woman who wore what looked like red monkeys dangling from her earlobes, and a flowing red-and-purple tunic over black slacks. “We just got word that a fresh slide on Dixon Pass sent one vehicle over the edge and buried two others,” she said. “Fortunately, they were able to dig everyone out pretty quickly, but the road is closed until they can clear up the mess.”

Brodie groaned. “How many delivery trucks do you suppose got caught on the wrong side of this one?” he asked.

“Probably about as many as were able to leave town when the road opened,” Adelaide said. “Everyone is just trading places.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Brodie said. “You do seem to know everything.” He leaned toward her. “Are those monkey earrings?”

“Yes.” She tapped one earring with a red-painted fingernail. “Do you like them?”

“Only you could pull off a look like that, Adelaide,” Brodie said, grinning.

She swatted his shoulder. “You’re the kind of man I always warned my daughters about.”

“What kind is that?”

“Too smart and good-looking for your own good. The kind of man who’s oblivious to the broken hearts he leaves behind.”

“Adelaide, Brodie is here as a fellow law enforcement officer,” Travis said. “He deserves our respect.”

“I’m sure he’s a sterling officer,” Adelaide said. “And a fine man all around. Just not marriage material—which is probably okay with him.” She grinned, then turned to Travis. “And speaking of marriages, don’t you have a tux fitting to see to?”

Color rose in the sheriff’s cheeks. “I don’t need you to keep track of my schedule, Addie,” he said. “Right now I have a case to work on.”

“You always have a case to work on,” Adelaide said. “You only have one wedding.” She whirled and stalked away.

Brodie settled back in his chair once more. “Do you have a tux fitting?” he asked.

“I canceled it.”

“Unless you’re going to get married in your uniform, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Travis scowled at Brodie. “They have my measurements. They don’t need me.” His phone rang and he answered it. “Hello?”

He listened for a moment, then said, “I’ve got Brodie in the office. I’m going to put you on speaker.” He punched the keypad. “All right. Say that again.”

“I’ve got what looks like another victim of the Ice Cold Killer,” Deputy Dwight Prentice said. “Taped up, throat cut, left in her car near the top of Dixon Pass. Only, she’s still alive. The ambulance is on its way.”

Travis was already standing. “So are we,” he said.