Читать книгу Classified Cowboy - Mallory Kane - Страница 8

Nina shook off the renewed grief over losing her friend. She couldn’t afford to get emotional. She needed to concentrate on the bones.

She reached for her camera and viewed the flash photos she’d taken.

She tried to view the three thigh bones in close-up, but the exposures were too dark. She’d have to send them to Pete, the graphics expert at the university, to have them corrected and enhanced.

She glanced at her laptop. She ought to send the photos tonight so Pete could get to work on them as soon as he got in tomorrow. The sooner she got the enhanced photos back, the sooner she could make more specific determinations of age, sex and time of death.

Still, in the morning she’d be able to look at the bones themselves. She glanced at her watch and yawned. Tonight it was more important to get her first impressions down on paper.

She continued writing.

Bones too covered with dirt and mud to tell much more. Already dark when we arrived at the site at 8:30 p.m.

History. (See fax from Ranger captain.) Two days ago road workers were breaking ground for a state route on land owned by Jonah Becker when they unearthed bones, which the foreman suspected were human.

The foreman stopped the ground breaking and called Sheriff Reed Hardin, who called the county medical examiner. The ME found the bodies “too decomposed and mixed up to identify” (i.e., skeletonized) and requested help from forensics experts.

Because of the state of decomposition and the fact that three people have disappeared from the area in the past five years, Sheriff Hardin called in the Texas Rangers, who were responsible—

Nina paused, then crossed out that last word.

—who were involved in one of the disappearances. The Rangers put together a Special Investigations Task Force.

Nina paused, clicking the cap of the ballpoint pen she held. If the site was a Native American burial ground …

Her pulse jumped slightly. She couldn’t deny her excitement. New burial sites were rare. A junior professor getting a chance to be the principal on such a find was even rarer.

In fact, she wasn’t sure why Professor Mayfield had acquiesced so easily when she’d asked him to let her take his place on this task force. Maybe he already knew the site wasn’t old.

That thought gave her mixed feelings. She’d love to have a significant find with her name on it. On the other hand, she couldn’t forget the real reason she’d requested to be on this task force. That could be Marcie lying out there. If it was, then she deserved a proper burial, as well as closure.

Nina clicked the pen angrily. Who was she kidding? If her best friend had been murdered, she deserved vengeance.

Nina twisted her thick black hair in her left fist and lifted it off her neck. Glancing down at the pad, she saw that she’d written vengeance and then underlined it three times.

She crossed through it and took a deep breath. Okay, Dr. Jacobson. Get it together. You’re a professional.

Plan: Tomorrow students will construct a plywood platform from which we can extract the bones with as little disturbance of the site as possible. Until I can determine whether the site or any part of it is of archeological significance (a historic burial site), I am compelled to treat the entire site thusly.

First order of business: take samples of the three femurs for physical examination, dating and DNA extraction.

Nina chewed on the cap of the pen and read back over what she’d written, but she found it hard to concentrate. At least she’d gotten her first impressions down. She could add to it tomorrow.

She set the pad and pen on the bedside table, set her cell phone alarm for 7:00 a.m., and then turned off the lamp and sank down into the warm bed. But light from a streetlamp reflected off her camera lens. She turned her back to it.

It would take only five minutes to transfer the photos and send them.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered to herself.

Tonight, the camera taunted her.

Sighing, she threw back the covers and turned on the lamp. She retrieved her laptop and booted it up, then grabbed the camera and transferred the photos into an e-mail and sent it off to Pete.

By the time she was done, her arms and legs were thoroughly chilled. She turned off the lamp and dove under the covers.

Despite how tired she felt, it took her a long time to fall asleep. To her surprise, it wasn’t thoughts of the burial site or the identities of the remains buried there that kept her awake.

The image that seemed burned into the insides of her eyelids was of Wyatt Colter lying in a matching double bed not forty feet from hers, his broad bare shoulders and torso dark against the white sheets. Was he also having trouble sleeping?

Even if he was, she doubted it was because he was picturing her lying in bed this close to him. More likely, if he were fantasizing about her, it was a dream of watching her mud-covered backside recede as he ran her out of town.

She sniffed and squeezed her eyes shut. She had no idea why she couldn’t stop thinking of Wyatt Colter. Probably she was just too tired to concentrate on anything rational, and too excited about the case to calm her mind for sleep.

She concentrated on her breathing, counting each breath until she dozed off. But as soon as sleep claimed her, an image of Wyatt rose in her vision—in boxers. In briefs. In nothing.

“Stop it, Nina!” she growled as she turned over and pounded the pillow again.

Finally her breathing relaxed, and her brain began to banish the sensual but disturbing images.

A SHRILL RING pierced Nina’s eardrums.

She moaned and squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t her phone. That wasn’t the theme from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Which one of her neighbors had gotten a new, hideously loud tone? She pushed her nose a little deeper under the covers.

“Colter.”

The low, commanding voice reverberated through her. Her eyes sprang open.

Colter. Bones. Marcie. Her thoughts raced. Had something happened at the site?

She sat up and kicked off the covers, squinting at the clock on the bedside table.

Four o’clock in the morning. She’d been asleep for over three hours. It didn’t feel like it.

“Son of a … No. You stay there.” Wyatt’s voice, even through the connecting door, was deep, harsh, commanding.

She held her breath listening, her heart fluttering beneath her breastbone. She pressed her hand against her chest.

Fear? No. She wasn’t afraid of Wyatt Colter. Maybe a little intimidated by his larger-than-life presence. But her reaction was definitely not fear. Now, if she were a criminal, she’d be afraid. Or a subordinate who’d screwed up.

“Have you called Hardin?”

Something had happened.

She shot up out of bed, grabbed her jeans and pulled them on, balancing on tiptoe as she zipped and fastened them. She didn’t even bother combing her hair, merely twisted it into a ponytail as she thrust her feet into her muddy work boots.

“Call him. I’ll be right there!” Wyatt’s voice brooked no argument.

Just as she pulled the Velcro straps on her boots tight, Wyatt’s door slammed. The picture hanging over her headboard and the glass lamp on the bedside table rattled.

She shoved her arms into her hoodie and threw open the door to her room. Wyatt’s broad shoulders were just disappearing down the stairs.

“Hey, cowboy. Wait for me!” she called.

His head cocked, but he didn’t slow down.

She started out, then realized she didn’t have her camera. It took only a fraction of a second to decide. If she went back, he’d be gone.

She vaulted down the stairs two at a time, landing at the bottom with a huff and a scattering of dried mud.

“What the hell are you doing?” Wyatt growled. “Go back to bed.”

Betty Alice poked her head out from the door behind the desk in time to hear Wyatt’s words. Her eyes sparkled, and she snorted delicately.

Nina’s face heated, and she sent Betty Alice a quelling glance. To someone who didn’t know what was going on, she supposed Wyatt’s words had sounded suggestive.

“Go on.” Wyatt sounded like he was shooing a disobedient dog.

“Not a chance, cowboy. Where are we going? Did something happen at the site?”

“We aren’t going anywhere.”

“You can’t keep me away from my bones,” she declared pugnaciously.

“Your bones?”

Now Betty Alice’s pupils were dark circles surrounded by white.

“It might be your crime scene, Lieutenant, but I’m the forensic anthropologist. They’re my bones.” Nina lifted her chin. “That was Deputy Tolbert, wasn’t it? Something happened at the site.”

Wyatt blew air out in a hiss between his teeth and tossed a peppermint into his mouth.

“Got another one of those? I didn’t get a chance to brush my teeth.”

He glowered at her, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. Finally he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped disk and tossed it toward her. She swiped it out of the air with no effort.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll pay you back.” She was pretty sure she heard another growl as he spun on his boot heel and headed out the front door.

WYATT DIDN’T SAY a word on the drive out to the crime scene. He was in no mood to deal with Nina Jacobson. Against his better judgment—almost against his will—he cut his eyes sideways. They zeroed in on that red lacy thing that peeked out from under her half-zipped hoodie.

The red lacy thing and the creamy smooth flesh that it barely covered. He growled under his breath as his body reacted to what his eyes saw.

Snapping his gaze back to the dirt road, he clenched his jaw and lifted his chin. Forget what Nina Jacobson is or isn’t wearing, he warned himself.

He had enough on his plate right now. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to separate his personal and professional life.

Yeah. Separate them so well that one of them no longer existed. His awareness turned to the slight weight of the star on his chest. That star, with its unique engraving and aged patina, represented who he was.

Wyatt Colter, Texas Ranger.

And as he knew very well, there was no place in a Ranger’s life for personal complications.

“Would you at least tell me what Shane said?”

Nina’s voice broke into his thoughts. It was breathy and low—sultry. Like a hot summer Texas storm. Like her.

He didn’t bother to answer her.

Shane Tolbert had sounded groggy, embarrassed and angry all at the same time. But that was nothing compared to how he was going to sound—and feel—once Wyatt had ripped him a new one, right before he did the same for Sheriff Reed Hardin.

Wyatt’s first act upon hearing about the discovery of the bodies less than forty-eight hours ago had been to demand two guards on the crime scene twenty-four hours a day. Sheriff Hardin had countered that one guard per eight-hour shift was plenty. “Nobody’s bothered the scene,” the sheriff had said. “There were a few folks who drove up there on the first day, right after the road crew discovered the bones. Most notably Daniel Taabe and a couple of his cronies, who wanted to know if what the road crew had unearthed was a historical burial site. But after that … nothing. My deputies can handle things just fine.”

Wyatt had requested the extra men from his captain, but the captain had sided with the sheriff.

Now, as he’d known he would be, Wyatt had been proven right. If there had been two men guarding the site, this wouldn’t have happened.

He roared up to within a few feet of the crime-scene tape and slammed on the brakes.

To his amusement, Nina uttered a little squeak when the anti-locking brake system stopped the Jeep in its tracks.

He jumped out, leaving the engine running. He stalked over to Sheriff Hardin’s pickup, where Deputy Tolbert was sitting on the tailgate, with Doc Hallowell and the sheriff hovering over him.

“Need to go to the hospital?” Sheriff Hardin was asking as Wyatt walked up.

Doc Hallowell shook his head. He reached inside the black leather bag sitting beside Tolbert.

“Sheriff,” Wyatt said.

“Lieutenant.” Hardin didn’t look at him. He pointed a pocket flashlight at Tolbert’s head. “That’s a nasty cut.”

“I’m going to stitch it right here,” Doc Hallowell said, searching in his bag, “as soon as I can dig out my suture kit.”

A doctor making a house call or a crime-scene call. Wyatt shook his head. Small towns. They were a mystery to him.

“What happened?” Nina asked from behind him.

Wyatt wished he could pick this damn crime scene up and transport it to a secure location. He desperately needed some time alone here. Just him and the crime scene, and maybe Olivia Hutton, the top-notch crime scene analyst. He could use her expertise, but while she was available to him as part of the task force, she hadn’t been called in yet, since this was classified as a cold case. He made a mental note to call her and ask her opinion.

Tolbert looked up at Nina sheepishly. “Got myself conked over the head. I heard something and went to investigate. I’m thinking there were at least two of them. One to distract me and the other to bash my skull in.” He winced as Doc Hallowell poured alcohol on the gash on the back of his head. “Ow! I guess I’m lucky I’ve got a thick skull.”

From the corner of his eye, Wyatt saw the thinly disguised look of disgust on Nina’s face. She really didn’t like Tolbert.

“Doc,” Wyatt said. “can I look at that cut before you start working on it?” He pulled out his own high-powered flashlight and shone it on the deputy’s skull.

The gash looked fresh, of course. And it was edged by an inflamed strip of scalp, which disappeared into Tolbert’s hair. As far as he could tell, it had been made with a honed-edged instrument, like the edge of a plate or a board, or maybe even a hatchet, if it wasn’t too finely sharpened.

The doctor had trimmed the hair around the gash, and now he was stitching it, quickly and neatly. Wyatt watched with casual interest as he tied the stitches. He counted seven.

“Any idea what they hit you with?” Wyatt asked.

Tolbert shook his head. “No clue. Something with an edge. Maybe the back side of an ax. You see how much it bled.”

Wyatt gestured to Nina. “Professor, can you get a couple of photos of the wound?”

“Hey,” Tolbert said, ducking his head. “It’s humiliating enough without a record of it.”

Nina snapped a couple of shots.

“I need it for a match with a possible weapon,” Wyatt explained.

“Stay still, Shane,” the doctor said. “I’m almost done.”

“They just hit you once?” Wyatt asked.

“Ow, Doc!” Tolbert exclaimed, blinking as Nina’s camera flashed. “Are you done yet?”

Hardin took a step backward. “Lieutenant Colter? Looks like Doc’s getting Shane fixed up. Why don’t we check out the crime scene?”

Wyatt looked at Tolbert, then at Hardin. He had a lot more questions for the deputy, but the sheriff obviously wanted him at the crime scene—or away from Tolbert.

“You mean nobody has checked out the damage yet?” Wyatt replied.

When Wyatt turned to head over to the burial site, he saw that Nina was there. As he watched, she crouched down to sit on her haunches—the exact position she’d been in earlier.

Only this time he knew who she was. How could he have thought she was a middle-aged, sedentary professor of anthropology? Granted, it had been raining and she’d been cloaked by that oversize black hooded sweatshirt. But looking at her now in the same position, he couldn’t believe he’d mistaken the feminine curve of her back and behind for a male’s.

She pushed the hood of her sweatshirt off her head and shone the beam of her high-powered flashlight along the ground.

By the time they walked up beside her, she had sat back on her heels, her face reflecting disgust and anger.

“One of my bones is missing,” she said.