Rocky Mountain Mystery. Cassie Miles
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couldn’t imagine why. They obviously had nothing in common but a weird interest in violent crime. She and David were both damaged people, struggling to overcome the disasters in the past. If she was smart, she wouldn’t see him again. Why sign up for a voyage on the Titanic when you know it’s going to run into an iceberg?
“Tomorrow’s Friday,” he said. “May I take you out to dinner?”
“Yes.” The word popped out of her mouth. “What should I wear?”
“Something skimpy.” He stood and pulled his wallet from his trouser pocket. He placed his business card on the table. “Call if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you at seven tomorrow night.”
She accompanied him to the door. “One question, David. When I saw you a year ago in the grocery store, why didn’t you call?”
“Timing.” He had a ready excuse. “I was on my way out of town. When I came back, it seemed like too long. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I’m old-fashioned. I believe in letting the man make the first move.”
“Yeah, right.” David doubted that she had one non-assertive, old-fashioned bone in her entire delectable body.
“There were other reasons,” she said, “that you didn’t call me.”
“Right.” When he saw her a year ago, David had pitched backward in time. She reminded him of the investigation, the Fisherman. “I wasn’t ready.”
“For what?”
“Memories. Keeping the past where it belongs.”
“The past isn’t all bad,” she said.
“Not entirely.” He remembered taking care of her after the accident, nursing her. There was something very satisfying about being needed. “We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?”
She nodded. “And we both survived.”
He looked down into her turquoise eyes. “It’s time to write a new chapter in our story—one that includes a lot of kissing.”
“You sound awfully romantic for a true crime reporter.”
“Tomorrow,” he said as he closed the door behind himself and went down the hall to the elevator.
Her condo building had fairly decent security, but David didn’t think it was enough if Blair was really in danger. No surveillance cameras on the floors. And there wasn’t a doorman. Earlier today, he and Adam had gained access to the swimming pool by buzzing the resident manager and asking where they could find Blair.
Until he knew what was happening with the investigation, he wanted to make sure she was safe. Since she wouldn’t let him hire a bodyguard, he’d take on that duty for himself.
At his Cherry Creek town house, David parked in front and ran up the concrete steps. He unlocked the door and charged inside, full of purpose. His gun, if he remembered correctly, was in a shoe box on the top shelf of the downstairs linen closet. He glanced past the sunken living room to the kitchen counter where Jake stood, eating pizza in the midst of scattered newspapers.
“Hey, bud,” Jake called out. “What’s up?”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“In about an hour. There’s a press conference on last night’s murder.”
At the linen closet, David pushed aside the stacked sheets on the top shelf. He found the box, opened it and took out his black Glock automatic. The heft of the weapon felt good in his hand. He held the gun straight out and sighted down the barrel.
“What the hell?” Jake stood at the end of the hall. “What’s going on?”
“I need protection.”
“Is somebody coming after you?”
“Not me,” David said. “Blair.”
“Blair Weston?” Jake stumbled back a step. He looked like somebody had punched him hard in the gut, knocking all the hot air out of him. “Damn.”
At least, David thought, his friend had the belated decency to realize he’d behaved badly toward Blair. After nearly killing her in the car accident, Jake had ended their relationship.
“She looks great,” David said. “Her hair’s short. Real cute. It makes her eyes look huge.”
“What happened to her was a damned shame,” Jake said. “Poor kid.”
Disgusted, David turned away. He couldn’t stand to look at this supposed fun guy—love-’em-and-leave-’em Jake Zitti. “Don’t waste your pity on Blair. She’s completely recovered.”
“After the accident…” Jake’s voice faltered. “I couldn’t stand to see her all beat up like that. It wasn’t really my fault. Some jerk cut me off. Hit-and-run. They disappeared.”
“Face it, Jake. You had an accident because you drive like a madman.”
And Blair had paid the price. Reaching into the shoe box where he’d kept his gun, David took out his permit to carry a weapon. He tossed aside the box and went into his first-floor office. In the bottom desk drawer, he had several clips of bullets filed among the computer discs.
He snapped in a clip and swiveled around in his desk chair to face Jake. “Now all I need is the shoulder holster.”
“Tell me again why you’re packing heat.”
“I’m investigating,” David said cryptically. “Which reminds me. Is Ted Hurtado still working at The Post?”
“Teddy’s back. He took off for a while to write a book or something. But I saw him the other day.” Jake glanced at the gun. “I can help you out with the holster. I’ve got one that should work. You just clip it onto your belt.”
David raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You carry a gun?”
“Not all the time. But there was this girl that I dated. Great-looking woman. Long red hair all the way to her butt. Anyway, she was…”
“Married?”
“Right,” Jake said. “I broke it off. But her husband was the jealous type and I thought he was going to kill me.”
David shook his head. “Jackass.”
AFTER BLAIR MADE THE CALL to Adam, telling him that she wouldn’t be at the autopsy, she began second-guessing herself. Should she go? If the murder yesterday was connected to the Fisherman case, she might be able to help. On the other hand, if David was right and she was targeted as a victim, she’d be smart to lie low.
Uncertain, she paced through her condo. The two-bedroom space had never felt so confining. When she stood outside on the balcony and peered at her glimpse of the mountains, she felt trapped as a baby bird in a nest, afraid to fly. Grow up, Blair! You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding out. She needed to get out, even if it was only to go to the bookstore or grab an espresso.
She grabbed her car keys and backpack. While recovering from her many operations, a lot of her time was spent on crutches, which meant she needed both hands free. She’d gotten into the habit of using a backpack or fanny pack instead of a purse.
Heading out the door and down the hall to the elevator felt like a victory march. She didn’t know exactly where she was headed, didn’t have a plan. But at least she wasn’t cowering.
Inside the elevator, Blair hit the button for the basement level where her car was parked. As soon as she opened the door to her Camry, she was met with a sickening stench. What was that smell?
On the passenger side, staining the upholstery, was a dead, gaping trout. Blood and guts spilled across the seat.
A cold dead fish. From the Fisherman.
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