Naked Edge (31 page)

He was looking for a pattern, but there was no pattern.
Goddamn it!

He threw his pencil down on the table, feeling ready to explode.

Any more bright ideas, Rossiter?

No. Not a single one.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. He needed to work out or have a beer or do something to take the edge off. He felt frustrated, tense, angry. It was as if his skin were on too tight, and the damned death threats were only part of his problem. The other part had soft skin and big eyes and long dark hair and was sitting upstairs on his living room floor.

What an idiot he'd been to think he could just ignore her! All day long, X-rated images from last night had filled his mind, making it damned hard to concentrate. Kat naked in the bathtub. Kat exploring his body, wrapping her fingers around his cock. Kat riding his hand, a look of bliss on her sweet face as they both climaxed.

Hell, yeah, he wanted to get inside her, but the truth was that somehow she'd gotten inside him. He didn't just want to fuck her. He wanted to talk to her, to sit and watch her work. He wanted to banish her fear, to make her feel safe. He wanted to hear her laugh, to see her smile again. And it pissed him off. He felt torn between going upstairs just to be with her--and running as far and as fast as he could.

Call Darcangelo. Ask him to move her to a safe house.

Even as the thought occurred to him, he knew he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to stand being away from her. So if he couldn't take not being around her and he couldn't face her without risking his sanity, what exactly was he supposed to do? Hide in the basement all day?

Coward.

He glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost five--time to think about making supper. And that meant facing Kat.

Maybe he could order pizza and distract himself with a few climbing videos. If they watched TV while they ate, they couldn't talk. In his experience, nothing made the average woman's eyes glaze over faster than watching scruffy men inch their way up some big wall in Canada or a mountain in Nepal. Yeah, tonight might be the perfect night to catch up on
Masters of Stone.
How many of those damned DVDs did they plan on making, anyway? The series had more sequels than
Rocky.

With that plan in mind, he stood, glanced down at the red dots on the map. "Well, you son of a bitch," he said to the dots, "you sure were lucky."

Somehow, the bastard had managed to pick pay phones that were nowhere near city surveillance and was probably going to get away ...

And then Gabe knew.

That
was the pattern.

The son of a bitch who'd made those calls hadn't been lucky. He'd chosen those phones precisely because they weren't under city surveillance. Gabe might not be able to prove it, but he knew in his gut he was right.

He headed for the stairs, took them two at a time. He'd call Hunter or Darcangelo--whoever answered first--and get them on it. They could find out who had access to information about the city's surveillance system, and that would give them a list of potential suspects. They'd finally have something to go on.

KAT RUBBED THE back of her neck, tried to ease the stiffness. She'd read halfway through the file of documents, but she hadn't found a single thing that might explain what was happening at Mesa Butte. There was nothing to indicate the city knew Indian people used the land. There was no mention of looting or Indian artifacts. There were no complaints about the
inipi
ceremonies either from city land-use officials or nearby residents. The documents she'd read so far indicated that Mesa Butte was just a boring plot of land on the outskirts of town. But she knew that wasn't true.

She leafed through the remaining documents and saw only more of the same--property--line surveys, various plant and wildlife studies, GPS surveys, soil studies, groundwater surveys. Was something missing?

She pressed her fingers to her temple to soothe away a nagging headache, feeling sleepy despite three cups of coffee, her mind sluggish. Maybe she needed a fourth cup of coffee or more water--or a break. Realizing it had been at least two hours since she'd budged from this spot, she set the documents aside.

She got to her feet, started to stretch, but she must have stood too quickly. Blood rushed from her head, leaving her dizzy. She stumbled forward a step, catching the arm of the sofa, the toes of her left foot hitting something hard, sending whatever it was skidding across the floor. Only when the wave of dizziness and the pain in her toes passed did she see what it was.

A photo album.

It must have been just hidden beneath the sofa. Now, it sat near her foot, its cover kicked open to reveal the first page. Without meaning to, without even thinking, she reached for it, picked it up, her gaze fixed on an image of Gabe and Jill.

They sat next to each other near a campfire, leaning toward one another, but not touching, smiles on their faces. Gabe had the same long hair he'd had in their engagement photo, but no goatee. He was wearing a flannel shirt over climbing pants, while Jill, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, was wearing a hoodie and blue jeans.

"The day we met," read the caption, the words printed on a little strip of paper. "Camp 4, Yosemite, September 15, 2004."

Slowly she turned one page and then the next, lost in the photographs, years of Gabe's life laid out before her. Gabe walking along a rope strung high in the air between two pine trees while his friends watched from below. Gabe and Jill skiing, ice climbing, camping in the snow, always with the same group of friends. Gabe and Jill sitting in front of a Christmas tree, looking sleepy and very much in love. Jill catching snowflakes on her tongue. Gabe and Jill naked in a hot springs together, Gabe's hands cupping Jill's breasts to hide them from the camera. Gabe and Jill drinking beer with a group of friends beside a row of overturned kayaks as the seasons came around to spring.

Kat knew the man in these photos, and yet she didn't know him at all. She'd only ever glimpsed this happier, lighter side of him. And she wondered again what had happened to change him from a man who had loved so deeply to a man who no longer believed in love.

GABE STARED. KAT sat on his sofa, leafing through Jill's photo album. He forgot what he was doing, forgot what he'd been about to tell her, anger rising hot and thick from his gut. "What the hell are you doing?"

She gasped, looked up, clearly startled. She'd been so busy snooping into his past that she hadn't even known he was there.

"Where did you find that?" No one had seen these photos except for him and Jill. No one knew what they meant to him, how much he hated them, how much he hated himself for holding on to them.

"It was under the sofa. I ... I tripped on it, and it came open, and I--"

He crossed the room in two strides, jerked the photo album from her hands, and slammed it shut. "Just because we've fooled around a little doesn't mean you can pry into my life!"

Kat's head snapped back as if he'd slapped her. "I ... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to pry. I stubbed my toes on it--"

Some part of him saw her distress, but he was too damned angry to care. "You didn't mean to pry? Why the hell were you looking though it then?"

Kat stood up straighter, glaring defiantly up at him. "Maybe I was trying to understand why a man with so much heart acts like he no longer has one."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You know exactly what it means!" And then she blindsided him. "How did Jill die?"

The question was like a body blow. His heart slammed against his breastbone, and it took him a moment to find his voice. When he did, his words came out low and gruff. "That's none of your fucking business."

But Kat only pushed him harder, her soft voice cutting deeper. "You say you don't believe in ghosts, but she haunts you."

He took a step back. "You don't know a damn thing about it."

She reached out, put a hand on his chest--as if she cared, as if she had some idea what she was doing to him. "I know you loved her. I know you wanted to marry her. I know you were happy with her and that her death hurt you horribly."

She doesn't know anything, Rossiter. She doesn't understand.

Gabe squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, rage and grief and regret churning in his stomach. He could not go there. Could not go there. He drew a deep breath, willed his hands to unclench. "Look, Kat. I know you've convinced yourself that you're in love with me or some damned thing, but you're not. You only think so because I saved your life, and because I'm the first guy to make you come. Fooling yourself into believing you love me makes it easier for you to do what your hormones want you to do--which is to get good and fucked."

"If that's what you truly believe, then you know nothing about me." Her voice quavered as she spoke, her face flushed with rage.

"In the morning, I'll call Chief Irving and ask him to move you to a police safe house. I think it would be best."

Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Okay. If that's what you want."

Then, she turned and, cloaked in that damnable dignity of hers, walked to his bedroom, and locked the door behind her. As he stomped out the back door, desperate to get some air, his heart still pounding, he heard her break into sobs.

CHAPTER 21

KAT AWOKE, HER head throbbing. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. She sat up, gasping in shock at the pain in her head, dizziness washing over her, forcing her back onto the pillow. What was wrong with her? Was she sick?

The answer came with a wave of body aches and nausea.

Maybe she'd caught the flu--except that she'd gotten a flu shot. Or maybe she'd picked up something like food poisoning. Or perhaps it was a migraine. She'd never had one before, but she'd heard they made some people nauseated.

Outside the window, the sun had already set. She lay on her back in the darkness, fighting overwhelming drowsiness. She needed to get up and get some aspirin and water. Somehow, she needed to make it out of bed and out of the bedroom if ...

And then she remembered why she was in the bedroom. Gabe had come upstairs. He'd seen her looking at the photo album. He'd yelled at her--hurtful words, horrible words, words that had made her think of Samantha crying on his doorstep.

Just because we've fooled around a little doesn't mean you can pry into my life!

Is that how he saw it? They'd fooled around?

For her it had been so much more than that. And now it was over. In the morning, he'd call Chief Irving and have them move her to a safe house, and she probably wouldn't see him again. But if he'd truly meant what he'd said about "fooling around," he was probably doing her a favor, as painful as it might ...

She drifted again, only to be awakened by the throbbing in her head. Knowing she had no choice but to get up and get aspirin if she wanted to feel better, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Overwhelmed by dizziness and pain, her heart racing, she fought to stay upright. She couldn't think of the last time she'd felt so sick. Maybe when she'd had pneumonia as a kid. But even then, her heart hadn't raced like this.

She held a hand to her forehead and was surprised to find that she wasn't burning up. She thought of calling for Gabe, but she didn't want his help. She didn't want anything from him. Not anymore.

That thought got her on her feet. Out of breath, she steadied herself, her palms splayed on the bed. Then slowly she turned and step by step made her way toward the bedroom door, her heart slamming in her chest as if she were running up stairs. She grabbed the doorknob, turned it, stepped into the hallway--and felt her knees give.

Unable to stop herself, she sank to the floor. "Gabe!"

She managed just his name--and then the world went black.

IT WAS THE sound of his name that woke him.

"Kat?" Gabe lifted his head and glanced around, surprised to find that he'd fallen asleep. On the television, Steph Davis was making her way up El Cap. Certain he'd heard someone call for him, he sat up.

It was only then he realized how dizzy he was and how much his head hurt. Hell, his entire body hurt. He sat back, drew several deep breaths, his heart thrumming erratically in his chest.

What the fuck?

He never got sick. Ever. Well, not unless he'd gotten drunk--but he hadn't touched a drop today, not even when the sound of Kat's tears had left him hating himself and wanting to drink away the echo of his own words.

Well, you sure as hell are sick now, buddy.

Trying to ignore the pain in his skull, he fought to sit up, but found he could barely move, as if some unseen force were holding him down on the couch. "Shit!"

Again he sank back, his breathing as ragged as if he'd just climbed El Cap himself, and some part of him wondered if he should call an ambulance. But even as he decided that he was being a big wimp, he fell over onto his side, his head landing against the armrest. And that's when he saw her.

Kat lay unconscious in the hallway, her arm outstretched as if she were reaching for him, her dark hair a tangled mass on the polished wood.

"Kat?" He called out her name, but she didn't move.