Читать книгу Classified Cowboy - Mallory Kane - Страница 7

“Whoa, cowboy,” a low amused voice said.

Wyatt carefully relaxed his trigger finger.

Nina Jacobson. Son of a …

He blew out breath in a long hiss and holstered his gun. “I told you to get out of here.”

“No. You told me to—and I quote—'get them out of here.’” She lifted her chin and stared at him defiantly. “I did that. For now.”

He set his jaw. “Great. So we’ve established that you can follow directions. Good to know. Follow this one. You get out of here. Now.”

She shrugged. “No can do. No transportation.”

His gaze snapped to the empty road where the SUVs had been parked. Then back to her. First her face, then her left shoulder, which was weighed down by a heavy metal case, and on down to her right hand, where it rested on the telescoping handle of a small black weekend bag.

Oh, hell. He raised his gaze to meet hers.

Her eyes widened, and like before, he was grimly pleased that he could so easily intimidate her. He knew the effect of his glare. He’d seen it in the faces of suspects, subordinates and, occasionally, friends.

“Then you better start walking,” he muttered, turning and propping his boot up on the fallen tree trunk again.

“Not a chance, cowboy. I’m staying with my site. I need to get some more pictures.” Her hand moved from the bag’s handle to the camera around her neck.

“It’s not your site. It’s my crime scene.”

She didn’t answer. Wyatt felt a cautious triumph. Maybe he’d won. Of course, he knew he was going to have to take her back to town, so she scored props for that. But there was no way she was going to turn his crime scene into a field trip for a bunch of students.

No way. He set his jaw and got ready to tell her to get into his Jeep.

“The ME said he thought there were two bodies.” She spoke softly, but her tone got his attention.

Reluctantly, he slid his gaze her way. “He thought? Does that mean you don’t?”

She stepped over the crime-scene tape and dropped to her haunches at the edge of the hole. He started to stop her, but she’d piqued his curiosity, so he followed her and crouched beside her, sitting back on his heels.

She slid her narrow, powerful flashlight beam over the clods of dirt and debris left by the road crew. After a couple of seconds he picked up on the pattern she was tracing.

Across, up, down and back. Then she moved the beam back to where she’d started and traced the pattern again. “What? What are you showing me?” he asked.

“Look closer.”

“If I look any closer, I’ll fall in.”

She laughed, a sexy chuckle that impacted him like a bullet straight to his groin. Surprised at his reaction, he shifted uncomfortably and swallowed hard to keep from groaning aloud.

“See this?” She shone the beam on her starting point and slid the light back and forth, over what looked like a ridge in the dirt. “That’s a human thigh bone.”

Adrenaline shot through him again. “That?” He pulled his own flashlight out of his pocket. “How can you tell?”

“I’m a forensic anthropologist. Bones are my business.”

“What else can you tell about it? Is it male? Female?

Child? Adult?”

She shook her head as she fished a brush out of her pocket. She telescoped the handle of the brush and leaned over to run the bristles across the surface of the bone. The dirt covering the bone was a mixture of dust and mud, so brushing at it didn’t accomplish much.

“It’s not a child. But making all those determinations is never quite as easy as the TV shows make it seem. Now look at this.” She swept the beam of light across and up, then back across.

“Another thigh bone?”

“Go to the head of the class, cowboy.” The beam moved again.

“And a third,” he said, tamping down on his excitement—and his dread. One of those bones could be Marcie’s. “Three thigh bones? Everybody has two, so was the ME right? There are two bodies in here?”

“Not so fast. These closest two may be similar in size, but the three femurs are all different,” she said, with the same lilt in her voice that he was trying to keep out of his.

“Three? You’re saying they’re from three different people?” He looked at her, dread mixing with excitement under his breastbone. Three sets of bones. Three people gone missing in the past five years. Was it going to be that easy? “That’s three different thigh bones, laid out like that?”

She met his gaze, her dark eyes snapping. “Yeah. Exactly. Look at that placement. They’re crisscrossed in a star pattern. I suppose it could be chance that they ended up like that.” He shook his head, but she wasn’t looking at him. She had turned back to the bones and was brushing at them again. She gasped.

“What is it?”

“I think this largest bone has a piece of pelvis attached. That could definitively tell us if it’s a male or female.” She leaned a fraction of an inch farther forward and brushed at the far end of the bone. “Damn it,” she muttered.

“What now?”

“The ground’s too wet. I’m going to have to wait to unearth the bones.”

“I guess you can’t just pick them up.”

She laughed shortly. “No. There might be something attached to them—clothes, another bone, a piece of jewelry. No. I have to be very careful to avoid destroying evidence.”

“But you’re absolutely sure the three bones are different.”

She sat back on her haunches and tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Absolutely.”

“Are you thinking …” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He needed to know if one of those bones belonged to Marcie James.

Dear Lord, he hoped not.

Nina’s face closed down immediately, and he saw a shudder ripple along her small frame. She needed to know, too. He understood that. But she had a very different reason.

She shook her head. “I can’t say yet.” Her voice had taken on a hard edge—the outward manifestation of an obvious inner struggle between her love for her friend and her professional detachment.

She hissed in frustration as she collapsed the brush handle, wiped the bristles against her jeans-clad thigh and then put the brush in her forensics kit.

“I need to build a platform so I can get to the bones without disturbing the site any more than it already has been.” She informed him. “I can’t rule out the possibility that this is a Native American burial site.”

“Burial site? Are the bones that old?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll need to clean them and test them to be sure. But the layout of the land around here is consistent with the places the Comanche chose for their sacred burial grounds. I didn’t see the site before excavation started, but the level of rise and the general shape suggest the possibility.”

Wyatt grunted. He’d thought the same thing as soon as he’d gotten his first glimpse of the scene. The thought had gone out of his head once he’d seen the kids milling around.

“As soon as I can study the bones, I can give you the sex and race. However, to estimate the time of death requires more testing and equipment. Fresh bones will glow when exposed to ultraviolet light. The fluorescence fades from the outside in over time. Still, my opinion right now is that these bones are recent. As soon as I get them cleaned up, I can look at them under my portable UV lamp. Then I’ll take samples for DNA analysis.”

Wyatt’s chest felt tight. There were only a few reasons that DNA would do her any good. “For a positive ID,” he said quietly.

Nina nodded solemnly. “For a positive ID.”

Both of them knew whose DNA they were thinking of.

He stared down at the three ridges. “So, Professor, I guess you need your students and their spotlights to help you get the platform built and extract the bones.”

“That’s right, cowboy.” Her eyes glittered with triumph as she stood and pulled a cell phone out of her pocket.

He stood, too. “Tomorrow.”

“Tonight. You just agreed that I need them.” She flipped the phone open.

“Tomorrow.” He folded his hand over hers, closing the phone. A funny sensation tingled through his fingers. For a second he thought the phone had vibrated.

She looked at their hands, then up at him. “Give me one good reason why not tonight. I told you I need some more pictures, and I do not want anybody disturbing the bones.”

“Because I’ll be overseeing every stick, every bone, every clod of dirt that’s removed, and I need some sleep.”

“Speaking of clods,” she muttered, pulling her hand away from his. “It’s dangerous to delay. This rain could turn into a deluge and bury the bones again. Any disturbance of the site increases the chances for contamination.”

A pair of headlights appeared, coming around the curve beyond a thick stand of evergreens.

Wyatt checked his watch. “That’s Deputy Tolbert. I didn’t realize it was midnight already. That settles it. He’s here to guard the site tonight. He’ll make sure it’s not disturbed. You and I are heading into town.”

“I’ll stay with the deputy.”

“No, you won’t.”

“But the weather—”

“No more rain in the forecast.”

“I need to—”

“I said no.” He didn’t raise his voice, but there went her eyes again, going as wide as saucers.

He gave a small shrug. “You’ll get more done in the daylight.”

He could practically see the steam rising from her ears, but she pressed her lips together and nodded once, briefly. He knew she’d been informed that as the senior Texas Ranger on the task force, he was in charge, even of the civilian members.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Can I at least call my team and let them know what I’ve found and what I’m going to need in the morning?”

“Be my guest,” he said, putting his hand to the small of her back, his gentle but firm pressure urging her away from the crime scene.

They stepped over the yellow tape as Deputy Tolbert’s white pickup rolled to a stop and he jumped out.

“Deputy.” Wyatt held out his hand.

Tolbert ignored Wyatt’s hand and eyed Nina appreciatively.

Wyatt watched him with mild distaste. He’d sized up Shane Tolbert the first time he’d met him, over two years ago. The designer jeans and expensive boots, plus what Wyatt’s sister called product in his hair, had pegged him as a player back then, and from what Wyatt could see, nothing had changed.

“Nina Jacobson. Gorgeous as ever. I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Tolbert touched the brim of his hat, then glanced sidelong at Wyatt. “Lieutenant Colter.” His voice slid mockingly over Wyatt’s rank.

Wyatt stopped his fists from clenching. Tolbert grated on his nerves, but Reed Hardin had hired him, and the sheriff seemed to be a good judge of character.

Tolbert and Marcie James had dated, although they’d broken up by the time Marcie was tapped to testify. It didn’t stretch Wyatt’s imagination to figure out that Tolbert was one of the people who blamed Wyatt for Marcie James’s death.

“So, Nina,” Tolbert continued, “what did you find? Doc Hallowell thought there might be two bodies in there.”

Wyatt shifted so that he was a half step between Nina and Tolbert. “She’ll be back in the morning with her team to start examining the evidence.” He felt rather than heard Nina take a breath, so he spoke quickly. “We’re heading to town. I’ll be back here by nine in the morning, if not before. You know the drill. Don’t let anyone close except Dr. Jacobson and her team. Call me if anything happens.”

Tolbert’s eyes narrowed. “I do know the drill, Lieutenant. Happy to oblige.”

Wyatt directed Nina toward his Jeep. He’d talk to Sheriff Hardin first thing in the morning about the burr under Tolbert’s saddle. If Shane Tolbert was going to be a problem, Wyatt needed to know.

“I DON’T LIKE leaving the burial site unguarded all night,” Nina said.

Texas Ranger Lieutenant Wyatt Colter took a sharp right onto the main road into Comanche Creek. “The crime scene is guarded. Or did you miss your buddy Deputy Tolbert? He was the one in the black cowboy hat.”

“I don’t trust him.”

Wyatt’s head turned slightly, and she felt his piercing eyes studying her. It took a lot of willpower to meet his gaze. Finally he turned his attention back to the road. “Any particular reason?”

“Other than how mean he was to Marcie when they were dating?”

“They dated for how long? A year?”

“Something like that. Maybe eighteen months. Long enough for Marcie to figure out what kind of man he was.”

“And what kind of man is that?”

“A loser. A coward. An abuser.”

“He hurt her?” A dangerous edge cut through Wyatt’s voice.

Nina bit her lip. She shouldn’t have gone that far. She really didn’t have any proof of abuse. Marcie had never admitted any specific mistreatment. “She just said he could be mean.”

“Mean how?” He slowed the Jeep as they passed the high school and turned onto Main Street.

She should have known better. Wyatt Colter wasn’t the kind of man to dismiss anything he heard or saw without sticking it under his personal microscope. Right now he was focusing that scope on Shane Tolbert, and she understood why.

Tolbert was guarding his crime scene. Wyatt considered it his duty to know everything there was to know about the deputy.

Nina wasn’t sure how or why she had suddenly become an expert on Wyatt Colter. But she was definitely not comfortable with her newfound insight.

Time to change the subject. “I’m supposed to have a room at the Bluebonnet Inn.”

In the watery glow from the streetlights, Nina saw Wyatt’s jaw flex. She almost smiled. He was upset because she’d deflected his question.

“With your students?” he asked.

“No. They’re staying on campus at West Texas Community College. The college made arrangements for us to have one of their chemistry labs as a temporary forensics lab, so we don’t have to drive for an hour each way to the Ranger lab each time we need something. That’s why I was so late getting out to the site. I was setting up the equipment.”

“Is a community college lab going to be good enough? I can arrange for a driver—”

“It’s really nice. Brand-new. All the chemicals a girl could ask for, as well as sterile hoods and some very nice testing equipment. Obviously there will be specific sophisticated tests that can be done only at a forensics lab, but for the most part, it’s got all the comforts of home.” She smiled.

For a few seconds, Wyatt didn’t speak. “So you’re the only one who rated a hotel room?”

“Perks of the job,” she murmured as he pulled into a parking place in front of the Bluebonnet Inn, a two-story Victorian with double wraparound porches and sparkling clean windows. It was one of the original buildings in town. “Wow. Betty Alice has really fixed up this place.”

He didn’t comment, just turned off the engine and reached for the door.

“You don’t have to—” Oh. For a second she’d thought he was getting out to walk her to the door. But that wasn’t it. His jaw action earlier hadn’t been because she’d changed the subject. “Don’t tell me you’re staying here, too? Well, isn’t that … convenient.” She sighed. She’d finagled herself onto this project, knowing she’d have to put up with Wyatt Colter. Relishing the opportunity.

He’d been so arrogant two years ago, pushing Marcie to testify against Jonah Becker and assuring her that she didn’t have to worry. That as long as she was under the protection of the Texas Rangers, she’d be safe.

Marcie had trusted him. Everyone had. And no wonder. Not only did the very large, reassuring shadow of the Texas Rangers envelop the entire state of Texas and everyone in it, but Wyatt Colter himself exuded competence, assurance, safety.

It was the first thing Nina had noticed about him when she’d met him back then.

From his honed jaw and the cleft in his chin to his confident, deceptively casual stance, from his intense blue eyes to the long, smooth muscles that rippled with reined-in power beneath his clothes, he was the perfect personification of the Texas Rangers. And as long as he was guarding Marcie, nothing could possibly happen to her. He’d promised her.

Well, something had happened.

And it was Wyatt Colter’s fault. Her best friend was gone—likely dead—because he’d never once doubted his ability to keep her safe.

When Nina had called in a favor to get on this task force, she hadn’t thought any further than her determination to be a thorn in Lieutenant Colter’s side and to find justice for Marcie. She hadn’t bargained on spending this much time this close to him.

Still, at least this way she could keep an eye on him.

While Nina’s thoughts whirled, Wyatt got out of the Jeep and headed for the front porch. As he climbed up the steps, it started raining again. He removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh, then glanced back at her before disappearing inside.

She could read his thoughts as easily as if they were printed in a cartoon bubble above his head.

Open your own door. No double standard for Wyatt Colter. If she wanted in on the task force in place of George Mayfield, then she should expect to be treated like him or any other member of the team.

Little did he know, that was fine with her. Gestures like opening doors, holding seats, paying for dinner all came with strings attached. And Nina didn’t like strings.

She was here in an official capacity. She expected to be treated like any other member of the task force. While it was true that there was a chance that the site could turn out to be archeologically significant, Nina wanted nothing more than to find out what had happened to Marcie.

Well, that and to keep an eye on Colter. Not that she thought he was less than honest and aboveboard. She just didn’t want to take any chances. This find could remove the haunting grief that had enveloped her for the past two years.

Marcie and she had been paired as roommates at Texas State, and despite their very different personalities, they’d become fast friends. Marcie had been there for Nina when Nina’s father died and when her brother was killed in combat in Iraq. She’d been Nina’s family. There was no way Nina was going to pass up this chance to find out what had happened to her friend.

The town was split. Half of the people thought Marcie had been killed. Her kidnapping had never resulted in a ransom notice. She and her mysterious kidnapper had just disappeared.

The other half figured she had got cold feet and arranged the kidnapping herself to get out of testifying against Jonah Becker, one of the most powerful men in the state of Texas. But if Marcie were alive, why hadn’t she contacted anyone in all this time?

Of course, Nina wanted Marcie to be alive and well, but there was one huge obstacle to that theory. If Marcie had arranged her own kidnapping, that meant she was responsible for shooting Texas Ranger Wyatt Colter.

And Marcie wouldn’t have done that. Nina couldn’t see her shooting anyone. Not even to save her own skin.

Through the glass front door of the Bluebonnet Inn, Nina saw Wyatt glance back toward her. With a wry smile, Nina opened the passenger door and climbed out, leaving her forensics kit on the floorboard at her feet. She hefted her weekend bag by its handles.

Wyatt was disappearing up the dark polished stairs by the time she got to the front desk.

“Hey there,” the round-faced woman said on a yawn. She’d obviously been asleep until Wyatt had slammed the front door. “I’m Betty Alice Sadler. Welcome to the Bluebonnet Inn. Can I help you?”

“Nina Jacobson. I have a reservation. I apologize for getting here so late.”

“That’s all right,” the woman said, tapping the keyboard with her index finger. “I’m always happy to have a guest. Let me just look here.”

Nina sighed. “Oh, I forgot. The reservation is in the name of George Mayfield, Texas State University Anthropology Department.”

“Ah. Of course.” Betty Alice eyed her curiously. “This is about those bodies on Jonah Becker’s place.” In Betty Alice’s Texas drawl, the word bodies sounded sinister. “Will Mr. Mayfield be joining you?”

“No.” Nina didn’t see any need to explain.

However, Betty Alice obviously thought she deserved an explanation. She waited for a few seconds, hoping to get one, but Nina just stood there calmly.

“Well,” Betty Alice drawled finally and hit a few more keys. “I’ll need your ID.”

Nina handed over her driver’s license and glanced at her watch. Betty Alice yawned again and sped up the check-in process. Apparently she was ready to get back to sleep.

She handed Nina a room key—a real key, to room 204 on the second floor. “If I’d known you would be here instead of—” Betty Alice glanced at the computer screen “—Mr. Mayfield, I could have given you the pink room. I keep it for my female guests.”

Nina winced inwardly as she pictured how the pink room would be decorated. She didn’t need a pink room. She just needed a room. She was exhausted, and eight o’clock was going to come very early.

“That’s very nice of you, but I’m sure room two-oh-four will be fine. Do you have Wi-Fi?”

Betty Alice beamed at her. “We surely do. My niece hooked it up—or whatever you do with Wi-Fi. And it’s complimentary.”

Nina thanked her and headed up the stairs.

“Say, Nina Jacobson.”

She turned around to find the woman pointing a finger at her. “I thought I recognized you. You were Marcie’s friend. I remember you were staying here when she disappeared and that Texas Ranger got shot.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Nina said, forcing a smile.

“Oh, my goodness.” Betty Alice’s hand flew to her mouth. “I remember him, too. Lieutenant Colter was the one who got shot.”

Nina nodded, doing her best to suppress a yawn.

“Oh, honey, run along. Here I am, just talking away, and you’re asleep on your feet.” Betty Alice shooed her toward the stairs and turned around to head back to her own room behind the desk.

When Nina got to the second floor, Wyatt was holding a full ice bucket in one hand and pushing his key into the lock of room 202 with the other.

He turned his head and his offhand glance morphed into annoyance as his eyes lit on the key in her hand.

“That’s right,” she said, brandishing the key with a gaiety she didn’t feel. “Howdy, neighbor.”

He scowled. “Good night,” he said and went into his room and closed the door.

“Good night, cowboy,” she muttered.

After an ineffectual attempt to get mud off her black hoodie and jeans, and a defeated glance at her favorite work boots, which were beyond any help she could give them tonight, Nina took a hot shower.

By the time she had slipped on a bright red camisole and panties and was ready for bed, her mind was racing with her impressions of the burial site.

She settled into bed with both pillows behind her back and the pad and pen she always kept in her purse. She rested her pad on her bent knee and wrote the date, the location and her name. Beneath that she jotted a note to herself.

Ref: report of State Highway Dept regarding unearthing of remains. Attach copy.

Then she let her thoughts float freely. She’d type up an official report later on her laptop, but right now what mattered was getting her first impressions down before she lost them.

Incredible find. Texas Ranger Lieutenant Wyatt Colter has claimed it as his crime scene, but it’s likely to be of archeological significance. Appearance consistent with indigenous burial grounds.

Important to note that condition of the find suggests a possible hoax. Three unique thigh bones, laid out in a star pattern. Accidental? Or placed by someone? All three femurs appear to be of recent origin. The largest is certainly male. But I need to measure and examine all three to estimate gender.

Nina stopped and closed her eyes. Bones were her business, but that didn’t mean she was immune to the idea of handling remains that could turn out to be those of her best friend.

A wave of nausea slithered through her, and her eyes pricked with tears. What if one of the bones was Marcie’s?

Marcie. Sweet and kind, but impulsive, and maybe even a little bit self-destructive. Definitely not the best judge of character.

“Oh, Marcie, what did you get yourself into?”