Читать книгу Deadly Sight - Cindy Dees - Страница 7

Sam warily eyed the dark-haired man lounging in the chair across from her. She had to admit, he was a hunk. Although that wasn’t exactly the right word for him. He looked … patrician. Not a word she used frequently, or that frankly ever came to mind. But it fit him. His features were classically handsome. Heck, flat-out well-bred.

“Do people actually call you Grayson?” she asked abruptly.

He looked irritated at the change of topic. Must be the intensely focused type. In her experience, such men made great lovers if they could get over their other hang-ups. But this guy seemed wired pretty tight. Probably would be as boring as they came in bed.

“My friends call me Gray. Why?”

She snorted. “The name suits you.”

A flash of heat flared in his gray-green gaze. Hmm. Maybe not so boring in bed, after all. Were he not Jeff’s friend, she might be tempted to find out for sure.

“What’s your super-ability, then?” he demanded.

She never just up and told people about herself like this. But Jeff had been clear. She was to brief in Grayson Pierce fully on Code X. And orders were orders. Taking a deep breath, she removed her sunglasses.

He stared like everyone did at her eyes. No human had eyes that color. At least no normal human did. She knew good and well that she looked like an alien with her eyes uncovered like this.

He mumbled, “Okay, so your eyes are a unique shade of … of gold. And it’s very striking, by the way. Surely that’s not why Jeff sent you here.”

Striking. What a polite word for weird. Her eyes were brilliant, freaking yellow. She responded drily, “I imagine he sent me here because I can read a newspaper from a hundred feet away.”

“That’s it! An eagle,” he exclaimed.

“Excuse me?” That was not the usual reaction she got from people when they saw her real eye color or first heard about her eyesight. Usually they called her a damned liar and demanded a demonstration.

“You reminded me of a predator earlier, but I couldn’t figure out which kind. It’s a bird of prey. A powerful one like an eagle.”

“My eyesight is better than an eagle’s,” she responded, more than a little flummoxed. “They rely on spotting movement, whereas my superior human brain can better process and analyze acuity-based input.” She broke off before she could descend into even greater geekdom. She wasn’t about to give this guy the slightest advantage over her if she could avoid it.

“Seriously?” he blurted.

“Seriously.”

His face lit up. “Surveillance. I’ll bet that’s why Jeff sent you here.”

“Could be. My eyes don’t require any electronic enhancements to do their thing.”

“If you were to look at a person, how far away could you be and still make a positive facial ID?”

She shrugged. “A mile or so, day or night.”

“Huh?”

“I see as well at night as during the day.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Call Jeff if you don’t believe me.”

“I think I’d rather see a demonstration in person.”

There it was. The skepticism and mistrust. This was more like it. She was back on familiar territory with this man who, up till now, had put her so off her stride. She shrugged casually. “Sure. When it gets dark.”

“Why not now?”

She glanced at the heavily covered windows. “Sun’s out. Small drawback of my eyesight—I have about ten times as many rods in my eyes as you do. Cones see color, but rods are light receptors. And that means I’m a wee bit sensitive to bright light.”

“After dark, then. It’s a date.”

Surely he’d meant those words innocently. But their double meaning sent a ripple of something she’d rather not name through her body. He really was gorgeous in a mysterious, brooding way. He was far too clean-cut for her usual taste, though. She went for wild guys. Losers with no ambition or, more important, no sense of self-preservation.

Gemma Jones said Sam had a death wish but pushed it onto her lovers rather than face it in herself. Whatever the heck that meant. Sam had had enough of well-meaning but clueless counselors after she’d landed on the streets in her teens and periodically got dragged into shelters by various do-gooders.

She stood up, acutely aware of Gray’s sharp gaze on her. For a moment, she almost regretted her choice of leather, then thought better of it. Let the guy look. It wasn’t like he was ever going to get a taste of any Sam candy. With a toss of her head, she announced, “I’m going to go catch a few hours’ sleep. I do my best work at night.” And she darned well meant that double entendre.

She lived nights, truth be told. But she wasn’t about to share any more of her personal life than she had to with this man who already knew enough about her to make her feel naked. And frankly, the sensation was unsettling. Grayson Pierce was far too attractive for his own good. She needed to get away from him for a little while. Get her feet back under her.

She had yet to hear about the guy whose pictures were spread all over the kitchen counter and why Jeff had asked her and Gray to check him out, but that would have to wait until she could think clearly. Until she’d achieved a little emotional distance from the disturbing man staring intently at her.

“The second bedroom’s pretty small,” he offered, “but it’s clean and reasonably comfortable.”

It sounded like he’d had to go to some effort to achieve both. “Thanks,” she muttered. She relished the view of his muscular physique as he showed her down a short hallway and into the room. Streaks of sunshine leaked between the slatted blinds, and she slammed the sunglasses back over her eyes as icepicks of pain stabbed her eyeballs.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ve got an errand to run, but I should be back by the time you wake up.”

As he backed out of the room, she quickly dug in her duffel for eye drops and her good blindfold. She never spent this much time in daylight, and for good reason. She’d forgotten how bad direct sunlight hurt. She put in the anesthetizing eye drops and sighed with relief as they numbed her burning eyeballs. She popped a pain pill for her smashing headache, pulled a velvet blindfold over her eyes and fell asleep to visions of a tall, enigmatic stranger who was far too sexy for his own good and not her type at all.

She woke to the sounds of quiet swearing from the living room. Based on the rosy light that made her squint as she peeled up a corner of her blindfold, it looked to be near sunset. But just to be safe, she donned her sunglasses before taking off her blindfold all the way.

The swearing led her to Gray, who was seated on the living-room floor with nylon cord tangled all around him. And yet, he still managed to look … noble.

“Making your own fishing net there, Sparky?” she teased.

“Putting together a new curtain rod for your room. But these instructions stink. They’re really, really badly translated into English.”

“And I need a new curtain rod why?”

“I got you some blackout shades, but you need something to hang them on.”

The thoughtfulness of the gesture pierced her defenses almost painfully. People didn’t do nice things for Sammie Jo Jessup. Ever. She knelt down beside him and said softly, “That’s incredibly sweet of you. Thank you.”

He looked up in surprise and their gazes met. She rocked back on her heels, startled at what she saw there. It was like looking into the depths of … nothing. It wasn’t that he was a psychopath. She’d looked into the eyes of guys like that a time or two. After all, punks and jerks were her specialty.

Rather, it was as if everything Gray was had been stripped away from him. As if he was completely, utterly lost. He wasn’t caught in the abyss. He was the abyss.

Shaken, she offered lamely, “You don’t have to bother with a curtain rod.” She looked into his eyes again, and this time saw only a wall of gray-green. Had she been hallucinating there for a minute? She mumbled, “If you have a roll of duct tape, just tape the curtain to the wall. Minimizes leakage of light.”

“But it won’t be very attractive.”

She shrugged. “I’m more about functionality than beauty.”

“That’s too bad,” he remarked as he climbed to his feet. “Life’s too short not to enjoy its beauty.”

The words made sense, but they felt recited. Like he’d heard them before and was parroting them back with no conviction or real understanding. What in the heck was going on with him? Is this why Jeff had sent her out here? To rescue his buddy?

Gray fetched a roll of duct tape from a drawer in the kitchen and she followed him to her bedroom. Bemused, she held the fabric in place as he neatly taped the curtains to the wall. Their shoulders brushed as he taped his way across the top of the window frame, and a strange little shiver of pleasure washed over her.

That was weird. She’d just dumped the latest loser, Ricky “The Rocket” Rossini, and was still deep in her mandatory, man-hating, post-breakup phase. There weren’t supposed to be any shivers, thank you very much.

Gray cleared his throat as he stepped back from her hastily. “I got weather stripping for around your door frame, too. It’s the self-adhesive kind and shouldn’t take long to install.”

Stunned, she stood there in the middle of the tiny room and stared at the open doorway through which he’d disappeared. When he came back, holding two rolls of narrow foam stripping, she demanded, “Why are you going to all this trouble for me? You barely know me.”

He stared at her and looked downright confused. “Because it’s the polite thing to do?”

She scoffed. “What’s your angle? What do you want from me?”

He drew himself up to his full height, clearly not missing her implication. “I don’t want anything from you,” he snapped. “Not in that way. If you can help me figure out what Luke Zimmer and this Proctor guy are up to so we can both go back to our regularly scheduled lives, that would be fantastic. But that’s it.”

He didn’t give off a gay vibe. Was it possible he was straight and actually wasn’t interested in her? Truly? Every guy wanted to do her. It was just a fact of life she’d learned to live with. But this one … didn’t?

She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. She supposed she ought to be vastly relieved, particularly since they were going to be working together. But somehow, she wasn’t. Man-hating phase, darn it. She would be relieved he wasn’t panting after her, and that’s all there was to it.

“I’m glad we’ve got that clear,” she declared. Yup. Relieved. That was her. Except something buried deep in her gut felt … restless … at the notion.

“Hungry?” he asked casually.

“Uhh, sure.” Dang, a man who could cook was smexy—smart and sexy!

“What’s your pleasure, ma’am?”

Her gaze snapped up to his, startled.

“For supper,” he clarified dryly.

Darn it. So much for relieved. “I prefer vegan. But I’ll take simple vegetarian.”

He snorted. “You are going to stick out like a sore thumb around here. This is the land of hardcore carnivores.”

“I’ll be fine with a salad for now if you’ve got the stuff. I’ll go shopping later and lay in my own food supply.”

“Grocery closes at nine,” he commented from deep within the refrigerator. He emerged with an armload of salad fixings.

Great. How was she supposed to live her night-owl existence in a town that rolled up its sidewalks and went to bed about when she was waking up? And she wouldn’t even have satellite TV or streaming, Wi-Fi internet to keep her company in the wee hours. This place was going to suck.

She hopped off the stool. “If you’ve got a knife, I’ll start chopping. But you’re going to have to move those pictures so I can fix my breakfast.”

“Would you like an omelet to go with that salad?”

“You know how to make omelets?”

He shrugged. “Sure. They’re not that hard.”

Hah. She had literally ruined a pot while boiling water before. The crash of the Hindenburg came to mind when she thought about her one and only try at omelet preparation. As she recalled, a fire extinguisher had been necessary before it was all said and done.

“What kind of salad dressing do you like?” he asked.

“Anything sharp and tangy.”

“Should’ve known.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“In my experience, women’s food preferences match their personalities.”

“I’m sharp?” Hey, she’d been on her best behavior for him.

“As in clever and intelligent, yes,” he replied smoothly.

“Nice save,” she retorted skeptically. She wasn’t about to tell him what a sucker she was for a high-quality, smooth milk chocolate to see where he went with that. Instead, she said, “Tell me about you.”

He went still. Completely, head-to-toe, not-moving-a-muscle still. That was weird. He formed words, but they sounded torn from deep inside him. “Not much to tell.”

If only she had her laptop and a wireless connection! She’d know everything there was to know about this mysterious man in two minutes. What had happened in his life to make him so brittle and closed? She said lightly, “You know everything about me. Don’t you think I deserve a little reciprocation, here?”

“I do not know everything about you,” he declared.

He was trying to divert her away from the subject of his life. Interesting. She had to find access to the internet, somehow, and get the scoop on this guy. “Name one thing you desperately want to know about me,” she declared.

“What did you have on under that leather jacket this afternoon?” he shot back at her.

Her jaw dropped momentarily before she managed to control it. That was way out of left field. Revealing, too. The man found her attractive, after all, huh? That restless feeling in her tummy felt a little better. “Tell you what. I’ll wear the same thing tomorrow, and you can find out for yourself … if you’ve got the courage to try.”

He whirled and had his hands on the counter on either side of her so fast she barely saw him move. Trapped between his arms and more titillated than she cared to admit, she stared up at him defiantly.

He spoke quietly, his voice a dangerous caress. “Be very careful about teasing me, little girl. You may get back more than you bargained for.”

Little girl? She hadn’t been one of those since she was about six and her mom’s latest boyfriend made a punching bag out of her for the first time. She ought to be offended. Tell Gray to go to hell. But he actually did make her feel young and rather foolish with that extreme self-control of his.

“That sounds like a challenge,” she responded belatedly. It was a lame comeback, but all she could manage with his large, muscular frame only inches from her own. Darned if her breathing wasn’t going all wonky, too.

He pushed away from the counter and she let out a careful breath. He turned around and something metal flashed in his hand. Knife. Her own hands flashed up defensively and her foot lashed out and connected with his shin. Hard.

“Ouch!” He leaped back from her. “What’d you do that for?”

“The knife … Saw it coming … Didn’t stop to think …” She trailed off into silence, too embarrassed to continue.

He was studying her far too intently for her comfort. “Are you a trained martial artist?” he finally asked.

“I’ve had some self-defense training.” Although her reaction had a lot more to do with a long string of jerkwad boyfriends—her mom’s and hers—than any self-defense training. But she wasn’t about to tell Mr. Perfect that. He’d probably never had a bad breakup in his entire life. But then, he probably never dated nut-balls, either. His women were no doubt as perfect and well-bred as he was.

He laid the knife down carefully on the counter in front of her. “If you’d like to chop up the tomatoes and cucumber, I’ll wash the lettuce.”

Crap. She berated herself silently for making a fool of herself over a stupid knife and vented her irritation onto the hapless veggies, which she minced nearly into pulp.

The omelet turned out to be as irritatingly perfect as its maker, all fluffy and light and neatly folded. It didn’t help her bad mood that Gray was quiet through the meal, alternately staring at his food and glancing up thoughtfully at her. She’d inadvertently revealed far too much of herself to him, and clearly he wasn’t hesitating to draw all kinds of no doubt accurate and damning inferences about her.

Too jumpy to stand those thoughtful looks any longer, she leaped up and cleared the table. While she washed and dried the dishes by hand—apparently dishwashers were off-limits in this wacky place—he gathered the pictures he’d piled together earlier and spread them out across the table.

She dried her hands and approached them.

“Sit beside me,” he ordered absently.

Startled, she sank into the chair he’d pulled up beside his. It brought their ankles, knees, hips, elbows and shoulders into a proximity that threatened to destroy her concentration. Really, she ought to just jump the guy’s bones and get him out of her system so she could work with him. Otherwise, the next few days could be seriously miserable.

Gray filled her in efficiently. “Luke Zimmer’s upbringing was pretty normal. Middle class, Midwest, average home, average income. He ran with a neo-Nazi gang in high school, however, in—” he shuffled through the printed pages “—a suburb of Chicago. But his current political leanings are more antisocial than that.”

“What’s more antisocial than neo-Nazis?” she blurted. She’d hung out with a skinhead or two, and they’d been way too violent for her taste.

Gray continued, “Zimmer moved into this area several months ago, apparently at Jeff’s request.”

“Given that Jeff mentioned a cult leader to both of us, I’m assuming Luke got sent here to infiltrate Proctor’s group on behalf of Winston Enterprises?”

A flicker of something suspiciously like respect passed through Gray’s opaque gaze. “That’s a good guess. Although why Proctor’s a threat to an international conglomerate with no business dealings anywhere near here is a mystery to me.”

“Maybe Luke’s profile can give us a clue into what kind of a person Proctor is, or at least what the orientation of his cult’s stated beliefs is.”

The respect thing flickered again in Gray’s gaze as he replied, “My main impression of Zimmer is that he’s severely paranoid. I did a little reconnaissance on him yesterday, but without electronic equipment, I couldn’t get even remotely close to him. Although I don’t know if his paranoia predates his relationship with Proctor or is possibly a result of it.”

“Enter the girl with eagle eyes.”

He smiled a little at her. “If you can point your eagle eyes at this guy and learn more about him, that could be enormously useful.”

“Does Luke have a job?” she asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“How’s he paying his way, then?” she asked. Even losers had to eat and buy drugs.

“I’m working a little too off-book to just stroll into the local bank and ask.”

“I could hack into the bank’s computers—” she broke off “—but nobody uses computers around here, do they?”

“A few folks actually have them. They have to use hard-wired, buried cable lines, though, and there are no Wi-Fi networks.”

She shrugged. “It probably doesn’t matter, anyway. Guys like Luke work in cash. Leaves less of a trail for the cops to follow. What else do you know about him?”

“He’s twenty-seven years old. Computer science major at Cal Tech. Didn’t graduate, though. Busted a couple of times for pot possession by campus cops. Thirty days in jail and a fine the last time. Nothing remarkable about his family. Two brothers—one older, one younger. He got decent grades in high school, ran about a 2.5 GPA in college. Nothing else shows up on him in the system.”

She doubted she could dig up more than that if she had a computer and internet access at her disposal. He didn’t sound like the kind of guy whose life would leave much of an electronic trail. “Anyone interviewed the family?” she asked.

“I don’t have those kinds of resources at my disposal.”

She frowned. What the heck did that mean? “What can I do to help your investigation?”

“Anything you can see and learn is more than I have to go on now.”

“And who do you work for, exactly?”

He leaned back in his chair. Crossed his arms. Pressed his lips into a thin white line. He even spoke tightly. “At the moment, Jeff Winston.”

He might have dodged her question, but all that body language spoke volumes. He had secrets to keep. “You do realize I have the equivalent of military top-secret clearances or better,” she commented.

He didn’t seem impressed. And he didn’t open his mouth. There were not too many employers in the United States who demanded complete and total silence from their employees. She considered him thoughtfully. He didn’t look like a mercenary for a private security firm. He was too clean-cut for that. Too by-the-book. Government, then.

“Okay, Sparky. I’m going to assume you work for some spooky, secret government agency until you say otherwise. Which begs the question of why you don’t just have your peeps poke around a little and hand you a complete list of names of every known associate of one Luke Zimmer. Order up a little surveillance detail on his cronies, and you’d know what ole Luke’s up to in under a week. I don’t see why Jeff thought you would need my help at all.”

“It’s not that simple. Given our total lack of ability to use electronics in this area, the manpower required to mount the sort of surveillance op that you’re proposing would be prohibitive. Not to mention, people in this region routinely live completely off the grid. They’re nearly impossible to track by any other means than direct visual surveillance. For all I know this kid’s using a fake ID and isn’t going by the name Luke Zimmer at all.”

She nodded. “Fake identities are pretty easy to get.”

“You say that like you have one,” he replied, amused.

She had several, in point of fact. More than a little of her youth had been misspent. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him. “It’s dark enough to go outside and do parlor tricks with Sammie’s eyesight. If you’ll grab something with writing on it, I’ll start jogging down the road.”

“I have a better idea. Let’s put your eyes to work for real,” he suggested.

“What do you have in mind?”

“How about you put on some walking shoes and I’ll show you?”

He definitely came from the government-intelligence community. Those guys always answered a question with a question. Curious, she went to her room and grabbed her neon yellow running shoes. When she came back, Gray was just finishing packing a rucksack.

“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “You were a Boy Scout and you’re taking along a few items in case we get stranded in the woods. With angry bears. In a blizzard. On the side of a cliff. And we need to put on Thanksgiving dinner for a dozen guests.”

He grinned. “I’m not that anal.”

“Had me fooled,” she grumbled under her breath.

“I’m trained to anticipate contingencies and plan for them.”

Oh, yeah. So a spy. When he headed for the passenger side of the Bronco, she rolled her eyes. “Really, Gray. I can get my own doors.”

“Really, Sammie Jo. Aren’t you confident enough to let a man get them for you?”

The quip hurt. She was sure he didn’t intend it, though. How could he know how inadequate she felt around polished, sophisticated people like him? To distract herself, she asked, “How old is this vehicle?”

“It’s a 1972. The first onboard car computers were put out in 1975, so all the cars permanently in the NRQZ have to be ‘74s or earlier.”

“This place is like some kind of bizarre time warp.”

He nodded. “Just think about how bizarre it’s going to seem in another twenty years. Tourists will come here to see the living history exhibit it’s rapidly becoming.”

“Where are we going?”

“Luke lives in the next valley over. Little town called Spruce Hollow. It’s known for being a bit cultish.”

That lifted her eyebrow. “Define cultish.”

“I wish I could. But I’ve only been here one day. As best I can tell, the folks there are particularly intent on eliminating all electronics from their lives. Real back-to-the-good-old-days fanatics. And apparently they’re pretty suspicious of outsiders. I thought it might be prudent not to just barge in and start asking questions.”

“Good call. I’ve done cultish before, and you have to be very careful in your approach. Best bet is to find a way to get them to invite you in.”

He looked over at her sharply. “Define having done cultish.”

She winced. It simply was not in her nature to be secretive. Yet again, her big mouth had given her away. “Let’s just say my choice in boys wasn’t always stellar. A few of them were gang types.”

“What kinds of gangs?”

“Bikers. Skinheads. Drug dealers.” She omitted the coming apocalypse bunch her mother had dragged her into the middle of. She nearly hadn’t gotten away from that particular cult alive.

To his credit, Gray didn’t show any outward signs of horror. He asked casually enough, “Do you still go for guys like that?”

The question stopped her cold. Did she? Until this afternoon, she might have said yes. But Grayson Pierce was a revelation. She’d had no idea that decent men actually existed. She’d always thought they were a figment of television producers’ imaginations. She settled for mumbling, “I don’t go for men at all at the moment. I’m a committed single person.”

He made a sound that was probably supposed to pass for a laugh, but somehow failed. “Me, too.”

“Why’s that?” she queried. “You must have women falling all over you.”

“Work,” he answered from between gritted teeth. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he’d gone a little pale. What on earth?

She waited for more, but he didn’t add anything to that one-word response. She prodded, “Most men work and yet manage to have relationships. What’s the problem with your work?”

“Long hours. Lots of travel.”

“And then there’s the whole undercover thing,” she added sympathetically. “And the killing.”

His hands clenched the steering wheel abruptly, and in the glow of the dashboard, he looked a ghastly shade of gray. He gave no other outward sign of tension, but it was enough. Her eagle eyes didn’t miss much. She spoke quietly, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I have no secrets,” he ground out.

“Sure you do. You’re afraid of women. That’s why you avoid us.”

That made him actually jerk the steering wheel. The Bronco briefly swerved, and he righted its course angrily. “I am not afraid of women!”

So. There was passion beneath that calm, cool, collected exterior. Somehow, his outburst made him seem more human. More approachable. And a little color had returned to his face. Satisfied that he had himself back in hand, she sat back.

“What about you?” he asked. “Why the whole leather and chains bit? The scarlet lipstick and black nails thing shouts of insecurity and need for attention.”

He had no idea the nerve he’d just hit. She turned her head to look out the window. And there was no way she would let him see the tears in her eyes. She presented herself to the world as tough and savvy, and she wasn’t about to let down that facade.

The interior of the Bronco went silent. She fixedly studied the mountains outside the window. Although they were not all that tall, the terrain was rugged. Steep outcroppings of rock interrupted the carpet of green trees. Here and there she spotted movement. An owl circling in the dark overhead, a coyote slinking across an open field. The night was alive, and she sank into it, becoming a part of it.

“Do eagles hunt at night?” Gray asked without warning.

“They can. Although their prey mostly is active during the day, so they do the bulk of their hunting in daylight.”

“We’re coming into Spruce Hollow. Luke’s place is on the other side of town.”

She counted buildings—gas station, small grocery store, car wash, video store. Wow. She hadn’t seen one of those in a while. And of course, a church. Several dozen modest homes clustered around the businesses. Soft lights came from a few windows, and she frowned, not placing the dim glows. Those weren’t electric. Kerosene lamps, maybe? Wow. These folks did take going off the grid seriously.

“Don’t blink or you’ll miss the whole town,” she joked.

“Hence my confusion over why Jeff Winston saw fit to pull us both and send us here.”

“I get it now,” she replied quietly. “It is strange, isn’t it?”

“Luke’s cabin is up that turnoff. I figure we need to head on down the road a bit and hike back.”

She looked at the dirt track winding up a mountain into a heavy stand of spruce trees. She’d read before she came here that scientists had planted spruce trees inside the NRQZ in the 1950s because they believed the needles were the right length to absorb radio interference.

“Could we at least park uphill from his place so it’s a downhill hike?” she asked.

“You’d still have to hike back to the car.”

“I’ll wait at the cabin and you can bring the car to pick me up. After all, you’re such a gentleman.”

He murmured as he pulled the car off the narrow road and into the woods. “I’m not always a gentleman.”

Her head whipped around and she stared at him in the dark. That sounded like a come-on. Surely this man was not throwing pick-up lines at her. Not after he’d so strongly signaled his complete disinterest in her earlier. His features might be easy to see, but they were not easy to read. His face was completely devoid of hints as to what he’d meant by that comment. Expressionlessness aside, the innuendo behind that comment had not been her imagination. There was definitely something going on between the two of them. A spark. Or at least friction. But what kind of friction, she had no clue.

Gray hefted the rucksack and started off through the woods. He swore quietly as a tree branch snagged his shirt.

“How ‘bout you let the lady who can see in the dark go first, Sparky? You just show me which direction we need to head, and I’ll take point.”

He frowned but said nothing.

“What? You don’t like the idea of the girl going first?”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Keep in mind I’ll be able to see the bad guys way before they can see me.”

“I still haven’t had my demonstration of how well you can see.”

She glanced around in the trees, seeing every stick, every leaf. “Follow me.” She led him unerringly around the trees, calling out logs and low spots quietly over her shoulder. They topped the ridge that rose behind Zimmer’s house in a few minutes. She paused at the edge of a clearing and looked out over the town.

“Want me to start reading license plates in the driveways down there?” she murmured. “You can write them down and check them when we head back through Spruce Hollow.”

“What do you see over toward Luke’s place?”

She looked where he pointed and made out a darkened cabin through the trees. “No movement through the windows. Dirty dishes in the sink, though. I see muddy footprints on the porch, leading to the door and away from it.”

Gray stared at her. “You see footprints?”

“Shall we move in close so the blind, normal guy can verify it?”

“No. I’ll take your word for it.”

She studied the cabin for a moment. “If we move off to our right a bit, I ought to be able to see if anyone’s in bed. The curtains are open in the bedroom.”

“By all means,” Gray muttered. “All I see is a dark blob where the cabin is.”

She moved off confidently through the trees. It took her a minute to find a vantage point through the forest to see the cabin again, but she spotted it and reported, “No one’s in bed. Looks like Luke’s not home.”

Gray murmured, “He’s got a big dog. Any sign of him?”

“Nope. There’s no movement at all, and I can’t imagine any dog leaving the food on the kitchen table undisturbed like that. Luke took Fido with him. Want to move in closer?”

“Sure.”

“Too bad we can’t plant a few bugs while we’re inside.”

“I didn’t say we’d go inside!” he exclaimed under his breath.

“What’s the point of getting close if we don’t?” she retorted. “And I saw that eye roll, mister.” She grinned at the startled chagrin that crossed his features. It was good to be able to see in the dark.

She led the way down the hill to the cabin, approaching it using tree cover all the way. Gray touched her arm as they drew near and whispered, “We should check the garage. Make sure his truck’s gone.”

“I see recent tracks in the dirt. It’s gone.”

“Ohh-kay, then.”

“C’mon. The rain barrel on the porch has been moved recently—the ring of dust at its base is disturbed. I bet that’s where the spare key is hidden.” Sure enough, she was right. In short order, she let them into the cabin while Gray muttered his misgivings under his breath. She paused in the doorway and scanned the room.

“What are you doing?” Gray asked. “We know he’s not home.”

“Checking for booby traps, Mr. Impatient.”

Gray subsided behind her.

“All clear.”

He pulled out a flashlight and she slammed her hand over it fast before he could flip it on. “No lights. My eyes are fully dilated right now and you’d injure my retinas. You’ll have to make do in the dark as best you can. Downside of hanging out with me.”

He nodded his understanding and stowed the light. “What do you see, then?”

She frowned. “Actually, I see what could be signs of a struggle. That chair’s at an odd angle from the table. The hand towel lying on the floor was probably pulled off the stove handle and wasn’t hung back up. Fork’s lying halfway across the table from the unfinished plate of food.”

“Those footprints on the back porch. Could those be an intruder coming and going?” Gray asked grimly.

“Find me a pair of Luke’s shoes and I’ll compare the size to the prints on the porch.”

“Good idea.” He left and was back in a minute with a ratty pair of combat boots.

They opened the back door and she stared down at the gray floorboards. “The prints are substantially larger than these boots,” she announced. “Luke had a visitor recently.” She headed down the porch steps to examine the marks more closely. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” Gray was instantly at her back, the heat of his big body close enough for her to feel.

“Drag marks. Two thick, parallel lines. Something heavy was pulled out of there.”

“Like a body dragging its heels?”

“Yup.”

He had a pistol in hand and jumped in front of her so fast she barely saw him move. “Cover your eyes, Sammie Jo. I’m turning on my flashlight.”

She slapped a hand over her face.

“Okay. The light’s off. I need you to come over here,” he announced.

He was crouching a few yards away from her. She joined him and immediately saw what he was looking at. “Do you think that’s blood?” she asked in a hushed voice.

He touched a dark, wet cluster of dead leaves and smelled his fingertips. “It’s blood, all right. Can you pick up anything from here? A trail?”

She walked around slowly, staring at the ground. “There are too many disturbed leaves and sticks. But I’m not seeing any more blood. Maybe someone bled here and then was carried away from this spot?”

“Could be,” he allowed.

She walked in ever wider circles, seeking some clue as to what had happened here. “I only see a few drops of blood near that first bit you found. I’d say someone was punched there. Maybe knocked out. I can’t discern a spatter pattern, and there’s not enough blood for a knife wound or gunshot.”

“Makes sense.” Gray went back into the house to conduct a more thorough search while she continued looking around outside. They’d been at it for maybe ten minutes when she heard something in the woods. And it sounded like it was headed this way.

“Gray,” she called out low. “Bring that gun of yours out here.”

He was by her side in an instant, shoving her behind him. She peered over his shoulder impatiently. She spotted the movement and let out a relieved breath. “It’s a dog.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“That’s why I’m here, Smarty Pants.”

A big yellow Labrador retriever bounded out of the brush a few moments later.

“That’s Luke’s dog,” Gray said. “Take cover. Zimmer may be close behind.” He took her arm, but she stood her ground, staring in horror at the dog.

“Uhh, I don’t think so,” she said thickly. She turned away, retching.

Gray flashed his light at the dog and swore, confirming what she’d seen. The dog’s muzzle and front legs were matted with blood, and he was carrying what looked like a severed human hand in his mouth.

“Here, boy.” He whistled to the dog, who bounced over to them eagerly. Gray grabbed the dog’s collar. “Can you get me a piece of rope or something to leash him?”

She stumbled back to the house and came back with an electric extension cord. Gray had disengaged the hand from the animal’s mouth. It looked badly mauled, and it looked male. “Luke’s?” she choked out.

He shrugged. “Let’s see if we can get Fido to lead us back to the rest of this guy.” He showed the dog the hand and said urgently, “Go get him, boy.”

The dog took off, straining against the makeshift leash. They raced along behind the dog who took off like an arrow through the woods.

The spruce forest had little undergrowth apart from dead, needleless branches that tried to scratch the heck out of her as she barged through them. Were it not for her excellent vision, they’d have succeeded.

The dog whined and Sam strained to see ahead. “There. I see something,” she panted to Gray.

He dragged the dog to a walk, and they approached cautiously.

“No movement,” she reported quietly. She eased forward, taking the lead whether Gray liked it or not. Her vision was simply so much better than his that she had to go first. There. Something roughly human in size and shape lay on a limestone outcrop. She slowed abruptly and Gray slammed into her nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Ooomph,” she grunted as his arms went around her to steady her. Oh, boy. He was as strong as she’d imagined.

“Sorry,” he muttered in her ear.

“About a hundred yards ahead,” she breathed.

“What direction?”

Usually, when she went out in the field, the men she was with had night-vision equipment. She’d forgotten he was as blind as a kitten out here. She stepped around behind him, turned his shoulders slightly to the left and gave him a little push.

He walked forward cautiously, his arms out in front of him. He looked like a zombie, and an urge to laugh might have claimed her if she wasn’t scared to death of whatever was ahead.

They walked for maybe a minute, and then Gray made a sound in his throat. “It’s a body. Looks like animals have been at it. You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”

But that was kind of the whole point of her being out here, wasn’t it? She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind him.