Nowhere to Hide (28 page)

She tucked her legs up under her and rested her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to relax and reflect. Graham Harrigan had taken her to her first orgasm. And second. And third.

He stroked her hair. “Your refrigerator is full of Coke and Gatorade. Not a whole lot else. Nightmares? Flashbacks? Not eating?”

“
I’m okay.” She tensed for a confrontation, then thought about some of the messages from the Trauma group.
People are willing to help. Let them
. “Better, anyway.”

He dropped it, but didn’t look convinced. She sat up and met his eyes.

“
I’m dealing with it,” she said. “I told you I found a support group on the web.”

“
And I’m glad. Is it helping?”

“
Yes. I still get nightmares, but I can discuss them with these people. They understand.”

“
You can call me, you know. Any time.”

She smiled. “Thanks. Right now anonymous typing is all I can manage.”

“
Colleen?”

“
Hmm?” She wanted to lie down, preferably next to a warm, snuggly body. He was staring at her, his brow furrowed.

“
Come home with me. I’ve got a vat of homemade chicken soup.” He gave a quick smile. “I’ve also got a king bed and a full refrigerator. Not to mention a change of clothes.”

“
But—”

“
And I have pancake fixings.”

Graham placed a loaf of French bread and two steaming bowls of soup on the table. Colleen took a tentative spoonful, grinned in approval, then dove in. He ate, paying more attention to her than his meal.

“
There’s more,” he said when she’d devoured the soup. He emptied his bowl and tore off another hunk of bread.

She turned her green eyes to him, and he melted. He couldn’t imagine anything more natural than Colleen sitting at his dining room table, wearing sweatpants and another oversized jersey, her hair cascading past her shoulders.

“
Maybe a little,” she said. “It’s good. Super good.”

He took the bowls to the kitchen and ladled in another generous portion for both of them. What had possessed him to bring her back here? He never let women spend the night. He dripped hot soup onto his hand and swore under his breath as the realization hit him. He had to remind himself to breathe.

You just experienced the difference between having sex and making love.

He felt a little weak in the knees as he set the bowls on the table and sat down.

“
You’re staring at me,” she said.

“
Guilty as charged. I want to memorize you sitting at my table, eating my chicken soup.”

Her laugh made his heart skip. Damn it, everything she did made his heart skip. He was in way over his head. But it might be nice learning to navigate these new waters.

She stared back at him. “And I’ll memorize you watching me.” She mopped up the last bits of soup with her bread and pushed her bowl away. “Nice place. Do I get the nickel tour?”

“
Of course. We came in through the front door, which is over there.” He pointed.

“
I remember.”

“
And, here, we’re in the dining area, which is adjacent to the living area and the kitchen.” He stood and offered his hand.

“
I see.” She blushed. “I had another room in mind, actually.” She took his hand in hers, pulled him close and put her arms around his neck. “You said something about a king-sized bed?”

God, he was rock hard again. “Upstairs. That,” he said between kisses, “was going to be the end of the tour.”

“
Too far,” she whispered, fumbling with his belt.

“
Careful,” he gasped. He hadn’t bothered putting his underwear back on and his zipper was a little too close for comfort. “Let me.” He dropped his pants, and she was yanking at his shirt, stepping out of her own sweats, trying to undress both of them, kiss and caress him, all at the same time.

“
You still have one of those gizmos in your wallet, don’t you?” she said.

Panting, he found his wallet, pulled out the condom and dropped to the floor. He covered himself and positioned her over him. “Try it this way,” he whispered. “See what feels good for you.” A touch told him she was ready. He guided himself between her thighs and she lowered herself onto his erection. Slowly. Took him inside a fraction. Backed off. Another. He watched her face, saw her absorbed in the new sensations as she moved, experimented, discovered her pleasure spots. She arched her neck. He stroked her breasts. When she leaned forward, he buried his face in them. Wound his fingers through her hair. His control slipped, something he couldn’t believe could happen so soon. He grabbed her waist. His hips thrust and she rode him, hard and fast.

“
Let go, Colleen. Let go with me. Say my name.”

Her eyes went glassy, and she shuddered. “Graham.”

“
Sweet Jesus, Colleen.” And he emptied himself into her.

They lay together, joined, sleek with sweat, until their breathing steadied. “I’m not sure I can move,” he said. “But I know my bed is more comfortable.” He pulled himself to a sitting position, Colleen on his lap, her arms around his neck. “Can you walk? I don’t think I can carry you.”

She nodded. “Can’t talk.” She looked completely relaxed, her eyes barely open. Somehow, they got to their feet, and he helped her upstairs to the bedroom.

“
Hang on one second,” he said. He pulled the covers back and she flopped down, turned on her side and gave one long sigh. He curled up behind her. “Come have Thanksgiving dinner with me,” he said softly.

“
Sure,” she murmured. Then flipped over to face him. “What did you say?”

“
I asked you to Thanksgiving dinner.” He was smiling, but his heart was pounding. He propped himself on an elbow and toyed with a tendril of her hair.

“
Where? I thought your family was in Frisco.”

“
My parents still live there, yes, and so do Shawn and Jen. The whole clan tries to get together for Thanksgiving. It’s a madhouse, but you’d be welcome.”

“
I don’t think so. My parents weren’t pleased I was leaving Pine Hills before the holidays. They’d have a fit if I was on the west coast and didn’t spend time with them.”

“
So we’ll take an extra day and see them.”

“
You’re serious?”

“
Dead serious.”

He interpreted her kiss as a yes. She curled into him, and he followed her into sleep. And sometime in the pre-dawn hours, when her restlessness and whimpering woke him, he whispered her name, held her tight, and she went limp and slept again.

*****

Monday morning, Graham sat at his desk at the station poring over his legal pad and index cards. He shuffled the cards, placed them face up on his desk and started moving them around. Tried ordering them by chronology, by person, by location. He had too many holes. Nothing was clean.

He barely heard someone calling his name. Snapping his head around, he saw Crispin holding the phone and looking at him. “Wake up, Harrigan. Phone.”

He pushed the button and picked up the handset. “CID. Harrigan.” He still loved saying it.

“
It’s Vasquez. Gainesville Homicide.”

Any cobwebs flew away. “You have something for me?”

“
I’ve got the ME’s report from St. Johns County. I’ll fax it down. And our geeks finished going through Townsend’s computer. There are definite references to Stuart Gravely.”

“
Anything to tie him to Jeffrey Walters?” Graham tapped a rapid staccato on the desk with his pen.

“
Nothing on that name, no. There was some e-mail correspondence, one or two letters. We’ve got people checking Townsend’s bank and credit cards, the usual drill.”

“
Thanks.” Townsend was still Gainesville’s. He needed more on Gravely. “What did you get from the ME?”

“
Hang on.” Graham heard papers rustling over the phones, voices, the familiar humming of a busy office in the background. “Here it is. Cause of death was a blow to the head. Rock fragments. They’re working on trying to pin the location. Doesn’t seem to match the Saint Augustine geology. Also, a pre-mortem blow to the jaw.”

Graham ran it through his head. “So someone clips the guy in the jaw, he goes down, hits his head and dies?”

“
That’s what we’re going with. Looks like it could have been ruled accidental—maybe even self-defense. Who knows? But dumping the body in the landfill makes it a whole new ballgame.”

More paper rustling, and Vasquez continued. “They’ve got some trace. A few hairs don’t match his or other animals dumped in the pit. Unfortunately, given the location and condition of the body—well, let’s say the lab’s been busy trying to separate out human from animal evidence.”

Taking a deep breath, Graham dared ask his question. “Can we put any pressure on Gravely? Get a warrant for his files based on his connection to the deceased?”

“
I’m working on that one now,” Vasquez said. “Time of death seems to indicate Gravely might have been one of the last people to see Townsend. Assuming he even saw Townsend. Simply because he left the office after a phone call doesn’t prove they met. Physical evidence would help. How’s your end doing with the truck?”

“
They promised me something today,” Graham said, already planning to see if Schaeffer might be able to pull a little rank and get the lab to hurry up.

“
Get something there to make Gravely a suspect instead of a witness, and maybe I can get you the warrant.”

“
Think I should go question Gravely? See if he’ll volunteer any information about Townsend?”

“
Let’s give it another day. Get the lab results for me first. We have no grounds to show up and demand Gravely give us his prints, DNA, or anything else.”

Graham hung up and wondered if Erica would cooperate, or even if she still worked for Gravely. Deciding he’d better not go against the suggestions of both Schaeffer and Vasquez, he got up to check the fax machine. Ten interminable minutes later, the machine rang, hummed, and started oozing out pages. He pulled each one off the machine as soon as it came through, and started skimming.

Back at his desk, he read more carefully. Vasquez had summarized the autopsy nicely. Graham set those sheets aside and began studying correspondence connecting Townsend and Gravely. In the e-mails, everything was terse and cryptic.

From Townsend: “Thursday is fine. Make it ten.” From Gravely: “I need it right away. Double the usual?” Only the last message, from Townsend, seemed to send up the slightest hint of a flag. “I can’t do it for you. Not this time. The others were nothing, but this one is pushing too far.”

Graham ran through possible scenarios, most of them with innocent explanations. Setting up a meeting. Could be nothing but a lunch date. Odds were, given Erica had said Townsend had done consulting work for Gravely, it was a job, but nothing in these messages proved that.

He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. At a faint whiff of perfume, he looked up into the face of a civilian clerk. She pulled a folder from the top of a pile in her arms, flopped it on his desk and walked away. “Thanks,” he muttered to her back.

The lab report on Townsend’s truck. Fully alert now, he opened the folder and waded through the jargon. Even though someone had tried to clean the truck, the techs had been able to match some prints, hairs and blood samples. The Gainesville lab had actually talked to Orange County, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks to the law enforcement communication gods.

He scanned the report. Two gas cans, five gallon, both empty but definitely used for gasoline. Large footlocker filled with normal camping gear. The lock had been intact. Townsend was a field biologist. Nothing unexpected.

Questions whirled through his mind. Okay, you’ve killed someone. You dump the body, clean the truck and leave it at the airport. Why the airport? Because nobody notices a vehicle left in long-term parking? Or did you know he was going to leave town? But if you did, then why not dump the locker? He’d let the questions marinate for a while.

Turning back to work, he got out his index cards and started adding information to existing cards, making new ones for new information, highlighting them with different colors. His desktop was covered now, and as he rearranged things one more time, he sensed a presence behind him.

“
Looks like you’ve been busy, Harrigan,” Schaeffer said. “I’ve been tied up in a meeting with the brass this morning. You got something?” He touched individual cards, picked one up, set it down, started sliding them around. “Nice system.” He shifted a group of cards over and hiked a hip onto the desk.

Graham recapped, and Schaeffer listened in silent attention, nodding from time to time. “You think Walters is in here somewhere?” Schaeffer asked when Graham had finished.

“
I don’t know. I’ve been trying to get a handle on who owns the Crystal Shores property. I can trace it to Walters, but can’t tie it to Gravely in the public records, yet it’s Gravely Enterprises on the sign. There’s got to be a link somewhere.”

“
Can you tie Walters to Gravely Enterprises?”

Graham gave him an exasperated stare. “Maybe, if I could look at their files.”

“
When Peterson gets back, have him walk you through some of the financial databases. He knows where things can hide. See if you can find holding companies, anything in the public record to tie them together.”

“
Right.” Schaeffer seemed to have put the faked report behind him, and Graham was trying to. But he wondered what would be happening if the body had been discovered in Orange County, not St. Johns. Would he be allowed to play, or be left on the sidelines to watch while the real detectives called the shots?