No Chance in Hell (24 page)

Had she been caught in a revolving door? One minute, the man was distant, and the next he had steam rolling off him. Whether he’d admit it or not, he felt something for her. Why else would he work so hard not to show it?

“Good. I need something to do. My mind is jumping all over the place. If all these killings were because of me, I don’t know how I’ll handle it.”

“Don’t start doubting yourself,” Marcus snapped. “You’re stronger and smarter than the killer. Together, we’ll figure it out.”

She didn’t argue her point. Instead, she leaned back in the seat and stared at the scenery out the window. After a few miles, he exited the freeway and headed east onto a two-lane road. “We’re pretty far out of town.”

“About twenty miles. We’re staying in a fishing cabin. Ty and Ana spent the night there before they returned to Colombia.”

“Is there Internet coverage?”

“I’m sure there is. Nate knew we were bringing the tablets.” Marcus turned off the two-lane and maneuvered the SUV down a winding farm-to-market road. Chris was almost convinced they were lost when he drove under a huge sign that read Camp Watson.
For the next couple of miles, she thought for sure the SUV would bottom out in one of the deep ruts. Then the ground beneath them leveled out, and a bait shop and small grocery store came into view. A row of small houses lined the bank of a monstrous body of water.
 

“Welcome to Lake Watson. The third cabin is ours.” Marcus drove past the main buildings, straight to the house and parked to the side.
 

“Won’t we look odd, showing up without a boat and fishing gear?” Chris got out and walked to the porch. Marcus retrieved the keys from inside an old mailbox that was obviously there for decoration. He opened the door and then went back for Diablo and the suitcases and tablets.

“They’ll think we’re newlyweds or lovers sneaking off for some alone time.”
 

Chris scanned the area, deciding the word isolated was an understatement. Marcus walked past her carrying their suitcases. “Sorry. I could have helped.”

“Not a problem.” He paused in the doorway. “Come in.”

She and the dog followed Marcus into the house. He placed one suitcase and both tablets on the couch. “I’ll put your stuff up in the loft.”

The inside of the cabin wasn’t too bad. Rustic would have best described the few pieces of mismatched furniture. Blinds and bright yellow curtains covered three windows. The couch had seen better days, but the place was clean, private, and quiet.
 

She and Marcus set the computers on the table and turned them on. Marcus took over, his oversize fingers moving smoothly across the small keys. His ability and dexterity didn’t surprise her. He’d worked wonders on her body with those hands. The memory of him skimming across her bare skin set off that ball of heat that seemed to be firmly seated in her lower stomach.

“Ready?”

She nodded and took her place next to him. For a few minutes, they worked as teacher and student. He took one of the blond victims’ files and demonstrated how to use the Lost and Found online access to records. They would start with the parents and siblings, pulling the records of those no longer living.
 

“You got this?” he asked.

“I think so.”

He moved to the opposite side of the table and picked up a file. His cell buzzed, startling them both.

“It’s Dalton.” Marcus placed his phone between them and accepted the call. “Dalton. You’re on speaker. Chris is here with me. You find something already?”

“Maybe. Chris, I’m glad you’re listening. Kay sent me the names of your family members and the dates of their deaths. I started by pulling the police record of your dad’s accident. Was he a heavy drinker?”

“No. He was a surgeon and always on call. He didn’t consume alcohol of any kind. Why?”

“Without a toxicology screening, I can’t be sure. The state trooper who found the wreckage made a note that he detected a strong order of alcohol in the car. It was one sentence, and nobody thought it significant enough to pass on to anyone. That there was no autopsy is ridiculous, because that one statement should’ve triggered an investigation.”

“They swept it under the rug?” Chris couldn’t believe her ears. Her dad had dedicated his life to helping others, and somebody had murdered him? She shivered even though the cabin was warm.

“I wouldn’t say they covered it up. There could be any number of reasons the medical examiner didn’t do an autopsy. Those Texas boys are usually better than this.”

“So the first death you’ve looked at is suspect,” Marcus stated.
 

“That’s the key word. Suspect. Doesn’t prove a damn thing except somebody overlooked the trooper’s statement, but I didn’t have to dig deep to find it.”

“Now what?” Chris asked, hanging on to Dalton’s words that he had no proof.
 

“I’m taking a few days off and coming to Texas. Nate has to leave on his next assignment in a little over a week, and we’re going to put this to rest before he leaves.”

Marcus’s gaze held hers for a second. “Is it feasible to do an autopsy on the remains?”

That they were talking casually about her father’s death pushed Chris’s heart to the back of her throat. She understood the need to go over everything, but that didn’t lessen the hurt. “Marcus, my dad died three years ago, Mom six months later, and then Chelsea.” Chris swallowed hard. “Both my mother and father were cremated.” Diablo must have sensed her stress. He abandoned the throw rug he’d claimed as his temporary bed, walked over, and put his head on her knee.
 

“I had to ask,” Marcus said.

“Chris?” Dalton asked.

“I’m here.” Stroking the dog’s head helped, enabling her to speak calmly.

“Had your mother been taking tranquilizers long?”

“Her doctor prescribed something after Dad’s death.”

“Okay. I’ll dig deeper into her records tomorrow after I get to Dallas.”

“Thank you.” She stood, walked to the back door, and pulled the curtain aside. A long wooden dock sat within steps of the cabin. The water rippled and danced under the bright sunlight. The movement was relaxing and peaceful.
 

Marcus’s strong hands encircled her waist. His chin rested on top of her head. She’d been so distracted by the lake that she hadn’t heard the conversation end. She leaned against his rock-hard chest and breathed in his strength.

“I wish I could make this easier for you.”

“Me, too.”

“Think you should rest for a while?” he asked.

“No. My brain is working at warp speed. Resting isn’t an option.”
 

“Okay. I’m taking Diablo out. We’ll be right out front by the tree. I’ll leave the door open so you can see us.”

Chris nodded and returned to the back door. The water gently lapping at the bank was mesmerizing. She should have gone with Marcus. Spending a few minutes in the fresh air might help her clear her head. She took her pistol from her purse, slipped it into the waistband of her jeans, and then stepped out onto the small porch. Before venturing any farther, she looked around. Either this was a slow time of year or everybody was on the lake fishing, because she didn’t see a single person.
 

With a couple of steps, she stood at the water’s edge. The lake, the trees, and the blissful quiet engulfed her, giving her a moment’s peace.

A hand clamped over her mouth, and an arm grabbed her from behind. She was lifted off the ground.

A deep, angry voice said, “What the hell were you thinking? Oh, wait. You weren’t.”

“Put me down,” she commanded, and he complied. Feet firmly on the ground, she whirled on him. “Why did you sneak up on me? I could have shot you.”

Angry brown eyes stared down at her. “How did you plan to pull that off with your feet dangling a foot off the ground and your gun pressed into my belly?”

Chris backed away from Marcus’s anger. “That was a dirty trick.”

“Don’t try to guilt trip me.”

“You were right out front.”

“And you needed to understand just how easily the killer could get to you. Granted, I’m fairly sure we weren’t followed. But there’s no guarantee.” Marcus advanced two menacing steps. “You could have told me you wanted to walk out here. Hell, you’d have been safer if you’d brought Diablo. A stranger would be more reluctant to come near you with him along.”

“I made a mistake. You don’t have to get so mad.”
 

Marcus’s eyes closed, and he pulled in a deep breath. When their gazes met again, he smiled. “I’m not mad. But anytime you get careless, I’m going to be scared shitless.”

Chapter 19

DaVinci fumbled with his fork, spilling rice on the tablecloth. The simple act of picking up an eating utensil sent pain shooting through his fingers. Scrubbing his swollen knuckles, applying ointment, and then wrapping them in gauze had been a painful experience.

“Would you like a bowl of soup?” Michelangelo asked. His patronizing tone grated on DaVinci’s already frayed nerves.

“No.” He motioned the waiter to take his plate away. “Why didn’t you stop me before I injured my hands?”

“My boy. At the time, you were drunk and insane. I couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t lash out at me.”

“When we talked on the phone, you mentioned you know people who’d help us with Christine. Exactly who are they and what do you have in mind?” DaVinci’s patience was stretched tightly. His mentor’s lack of concern that they might have left DNA or other evidence at the motel taxed his nerves even further.
 

“They are specialists in locating and eliminating people.”

“And how did you come to be acquainted with this group?”

“Do you think I’ve been selling your faux masterpiece paintings to museums? This country has produced some high-class criminals with expensive tastes. They like to impress their friends and business associates while not paying the price of an original. You and I provide them with art pieces to furnish their private collections.”

“Fine. I want to know where she’s hiding, how many people are guarding her, and when it will be easiest to take her.” Using Michelangelo’s contacts meant if things went bad, he’d take the fall. Could DaVinci go it alone? “No one is to touch her. That includes you. Understand?”

“Customers are staring. Lower your voice before we’re asked to leave.”

DaVinci clenched his jaw to keep from shouting. “I don’t like this side of you. Makes me wonder who you really are behind that cavalier attitude. We do this my way or you’re out.”

“My boy,” Michelangelo said softly. “I haven’t changed. You have. Your youthful enthusiasm has been replaced by an out-of-control, hate-driven fanaticism. No harm will come to Christine. You have my word.”

****

Chris washed dishes while Marcus dried them. She’d peeled the potatoes for the home fries, and he’d handled the scrambled eggs, but they’d worked and eaten in silence. She could stay mad if it meant she’d exercise more caution. A sharp pain stabbed him in the heart if he even thought about her falling into the hands of the crazy bastard.

He tossed the kitchen towel onto the counter. “Diablo ate more eggs than either of us. I’d better take him outside.”

Chris had gone back to her research when he and the dog returned. Diablo, belly full and body refreshed, trotted over to a throw rug and dropped like a rock. Marcus took out his tablet from the protective sleeve, turned it on, and resumed his search right where he’d left off.

“Want a cup of coffee?” Her voice relaxed the tension that seemed to have taken up residence between his shoulders.

He lifted his head, catching her gaze. The sparkle in her blue eyes was returning. “You buying?”

“Will it work as a peace offering?” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

The memory of kissing her until she sighed flashed through his mind, sending blood rushing south. Her lips were supple, giving, and so damn tasty. He could’ve kissed her for days, just exploring and enjoying her. The image of her taking his erection deep inside her mouth slammed into him. He blinked, hoping his thoughts weren’t written all over his face.

“Well? Yes or no.” She chuckled, reading his mind too easily. He knew it by the raised eyebrow and the darkening of her eyes. Lust on Chris was a beautiful thing.

“Yes,” he answered. No way could he stand up without revealing the evidence that thinking about sex with her had left on his body.
 

Soon, the ancient coffeepot groaned and began to sputter fluid into the carafe.
 

“Locating these records takes longer than I expected.” She returned to the table and opened the next file on the stack.

“Faster downloads would help,” he agreed. “You can barely call this Wi-Fi. The pages couldn’t load much slower.”

“More speed would be good. That and a bigger screen. My eyes are crossing.”

He wouldn’t describe their small talk as interesting, but it qualified as an improvement over not speaking at all. So when the coffeepot beeped, he put down his tablet and fixed two cups. “Let’s walk down to the end of the dock. An old bench sits on the far side of the gas pump. We can watch the sun set over the water.”