Tainted Mind (10 page)

“Happens more than we'd like to think.”

Something in Ian's tone drew her eyes back to him. He continued looking forward and she studied his profile. He looked watchful, silent, and still, but she knew his mind was working fast, assessing the situation.

“I suppose it does,” she said, turning away. She tried to hitch her knees up but her wet jeans made it impossible. Sighing, she propped her elbows on her thighs instead and watched the storm unfold.

“You're going to freeze,” he said.

“It's seventy degrees. Between the wind and the rain, I'll get chilled, but it's better than being a human divining rod,” she added with a nod toward the empty field.

“Still,” he said, unbuttoning his uniform shirt and handing it to her. She didn't think she needed it, much less deserved it. After all, she was the one traipsing through the woods with only a tank top.

“Your gun will get wet.”

“My gun will be fine,” he responded, untucking his white cotton undershirt and pulling it over his belt.

She held the shirt for a moment longer before sliding it on. The poly-cotton fabric was damp, but the lingering heat from Ian warmed her. And it smelled of him. In a good way. “You like to take care of people, don't you?”

Ian inclined his head, whether in agreement or not, she didn't know. “Everyone needs to be taken care of at some point or another.”

Another glimpse into the man who was Ian MacAllister.

Vivi jumped when his cell buzzed between them. He cast her a glance, as if to make sure she was okay, then pulled it from his belt and answered.

“MacAllister. Yes? Shit. Okay, go ahead and start filling out the warrant papers based on what we know from Julie Fitzpatrick and the report.” He paused and listened. She didn't need him to tell her what the conversation was about. She knew and her heart sank. “No,” he continued. “Don't talk to Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Just use the information we already have. Do what you can and leave it on my desk. I'll take care of it when I come back tonight. And Granger, I know I don't need to say this, but not a word to anyone. You got that?”

He hung up then waited a heartbeat. “Fuck.”

“Rebecca Cole is missing.”

“Yep. Her boss reported it a few weeks back. A couple of friends have called to check in with the police in the city over the last few days.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Why is it we can know so quickly with Rebecca but still be waiting on the Jane Doe?”

“Different databases. With Rebecca we have a name and know where she lives. It's a lot easier. Facial recognition matches take more time, especially when we have no other information to narrow down the search.”

They sat in silence for a long time. The rain turned to a drizzle, then after another few minutes, stopped altogether.

“How do you do this?” he asked. She didn't need him to clarify what “this” was. “This” was the business of death, often violent and senseless death. He had probably seen a lot in his previous career, but war was war—it was different, psychologically, when it was at home. It was harder to separate yourself from the victims and sometimes even the killers. And she had a whole repertoire of bullshit she often fed herself to make it easier, or at least manageable. But Ian didn't need her patronization.

“Because someone has to do it and I happen to be good at it,” she said instead as she shifted her weight.

“I'll grant you that, but it doesn't mean it's easy. What do you tell yourself to make this better?”

“A whole host of things,” Vivi muttered, mostly to herself.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me, Vivienne,” he said in earnest. “I've been to war, I've seen some of the worst of the worst. But, somehow, this is different.”

She shrugged, not entirely comfortable sharing this part of herself with him. Still, she knew she would. Ian needed to have this conversation, and she doubted there was anyone else who would understand. Or who would be honest with him, given everything else he'd already gone through.

“These ones are easier,” she started. “Or so I tell myself. Rebecca Cole went missing long before I came onto the scene. Long before you came onto the scene. She was missing before we even knew there was one murder, let alone suspected there might be two. There was nothing I could have done to stop what happened to her. So I tell myself,” she added as she stood and moved away, needing some space.

“But the others,” she continued quietly. “The ones where we know, we just
know
someone is going to die and we can't do a thing to stop it. Those are worse. Those are the ones that I try not to think about too much.”

“The ones that haunt you.”

“They all haunt me, Ian. Everyone last one of them.”

They lingered there in a macabre kind of silence. He stayed still on the old foundation and she stared at the middle space between her and an old decaying log. One last distant rumble of thunder brought her reverie, their moment of quiet, to an end. She shook her head. There was work to do.

“Ian,” she said, turning toward him. He looked up at her voice and she watched as his expression changed to surprise then fear. Then she heard the crack and hit the ground.

C
HAPTER
8

VIVI LAY ON THE GROUND
trying to catch her breath. For a space of several seconds her mind was a complete blank. And then her breath came back and an awareness that, while she was in pain, there wasn't anything wrong with her that might spell the end of her days.

She turned her head against the dirt to see Ian. Having hit the ground at the same time she did, he lay a few feet away. He looked up from his position on his belly. His gaze swept over her, taking everything in. Including the fact that they weren't under fire.

“Fuck,” he said, rolling over onto his back and wiping a hand across his face.

“Don't knock yourself out for doing what years of training taught you to do,” she retorted, still on her back. Something had collapsed under her foot and it
had
sounded like a gunshot. She didn't know what'd actually happened, but she wasn't about to let him feel like a fool for reacting the way he had. He glanced over at her and then seemed to pull himself together.

“Are you okay?” he asked, coming to her side.

Vivi's head hurt from hitting the ground, her right ankle was twisted, and her left leg—from her knee down—was stuck in some kind of hole.

“I'll be fine. Especially if you help me get my foot out of the hole it's in. Lord knows how deep or dark it is in there.”

“Good news is we don't have a lot of poisonous snakes around here,” Ian offered. That didn't make her feel any better.

When she sat up she could feel something dripping down her buried leg—something she was pretty sure wasn't water. She wanted to
yank it free, but Ian kept a hand on her knee until he'd cleared around the hole and made it large enough to pull her foot out without scraping it up any more. When it was loose, she lay back again, catching her breath.

“You okay?” he asked again. Concern laced his voice, even as he peered over her and into the hole.

“A little more banged up than I thought.”

He looked up, and again his eyes swept over her. “Your leg is a mess. We need to get it cleaned and put some antiseptic on it. You may even want to get some antibiotics. What else hurts?”

“My head and my other ankle.”

He scooted to her other foot. As gentle as he was, she couldn't stop the hiss that escaped when he tested it with his fingers.

“Sprain?’

She shook her head. “I'm pretty sure it's just a twist. A little ice and some ibuprofen and I should be good to go. Can you help me up?” she asked, already struggling.

He stood, then took her hand in his and leaned down to wrap an arm around her torso, pulling her up with him. “I should carry you.”

“I have no doubt you could, but please don't,” she answered. Now standing, Vivi balanced on her scraped-up leg and put her arm over Ian's shoulders. Her leg hurt like hell, but she knew it would bear her weight better than her foot with the twisted ankle.

Ian looped an arm around her waist and they began to inch their way down the hill and back to the car—a distance that seemed at least twice as far as it had on their way up.

“What was that anyway? Do I want to know?” She didn't care at this point, but anything to take her mind off their slow progress would work for her.

“Probably the old well to the house. At least that's what it looked like from what I saw.” They hobbled their way closer to the Jeep. “Really, I can carry you,” Ian offered again.

“I'm sure you can, but I already messed up once today,” she said with a motion toward her soaking wet clothes and now mangled sandals. “Please let me keep at least a shred of dignity.”

Vivi thought he might be contemplating swinging her up into his arms. If he did, there wouldn't be a whole lot she could do about it. But he surprised her.

“Okay.” He didn't seem put out or bothered at all about humoring her. She was beginning to realize that while some things bothered Ian MacAllister, they were only the things that should bother him. Not petty things like having to take an extra ten minutes to descend a hill so she could maintain some dignity.

“You're very accommodating.” Vivi meant it as a compliment, but he let out a bark of laugher.

“I wish some of my Army buddies could hear you say that.”

“Well, you are,” she defended him as they reached the car.

“For the record, you're easy to accommodate since you don't ask for much. Especially considering what you're giving me in return.” Ian opened the door and helped her hop in. As soon as she was seated, he got a good look at her leg and did not look happy. His jaw ticked as he held her ankle, turning her leg back and forth, investigating the damage the best he could without wrestling with her wet jeans too much. He looked like he was contemplating pushing them up to see better, but something stopped him. He let out a huff, jammed a fist on his hip, and continued to contemplate her bloodied calf.

“What am I giving you in return?” she asked, perched on the side of the seat, her other foot dangling. She didn't like the expression coming over his face. He was worrying; she wanted him to stop.

“Huh?” he looked up, as if remembering her leg was attached to the rest of her. “Oh, your time, expertise, skills. Your vacation,” he elaborated with a wave of his hand. His eyes went back to her calf.

Vivi looked down at the blood dripping from her leg down her sandal and over his hand. “Seems like the only thing I've been giving you is bad news and grief.”

“You're just the messenger. Somebody at some point would have found that body and the same thing with Rebecca Cole. It just happened to be you.” His eyes never left her leg.

“You're a very focused man,” she commented, more to herself than to him.

Ian looked up with a frown, “I beg your pardon?”

“In the space of a few days we've found a body, suspect we might find another with our missing person, think a serial killer is at work, and gimped down a hill trailing blood. Do you ever get flustered?” Everything that had happened was all a little out of left field for him,
if not for her. And people asked her the same thing all the time. For the first time, Vivi saw in Ian what others must see in her. She was the queen of cool when she was in the field, her focus absolute. But when she was alone it was a different story. She wondered if it was the same with him. His military training and experience would require control in situations of stress—situations like this. And she knew what that kind of control cost—how she withdrew from everyone, even herself. Was Ian the same? Did he ever fall apart? Did he ever let himself go?

His eyes watched her for a time.

“Yes.” His single syllable answer to her question was laced with so much more. She opened her mouth to ask when, but he cut her off. “In you go,” he motioned toward her legs. “Unless you want me to get the first aid kit out right here?”

She shook her head, letting him change the subject. “My jeans are too wet to hike up and, while it's superficial, these are my favorite pair so I don't want to cut them off. If you get me back to my room, I can change and clean up there.”

“Fair enough,” he motioned again toward her legs, urging her to swing them into the Jeep.

“There's blood all over my foot. Do you have a rag or something to put under it?”

“It's fine.”

“Ian.”

He sighed. “Here,” he said, reaching behind her seat to grab a copy of the local newspaper. Setting it down on the floor, he stepped back.

“Happy?” he asked, resting his hands on his hips.

“Yes, thank you.” Vivi pulled her bloody leg in, placing it on the paper, then brought her other foot into place and braced herself as it made contact with the floor. Ian shut the door, rounded the car, and slid into the driver's seat.

“My place is five minutes away and a lot easier to navigate than the stairs at The Tavern. We'll go there. You can shower, warm up, and clean up. My sister has a dresser full of clothes. You can borrow something while I put your clothes through a rinse and dry cycle. I'll check in with my office and the warrant, we can eat, then I'll drop you off at The Tavern on my way in to finalize the paperwork.”

They were bumping down the dirt road, and for a moment, Vivi looked at him. When she didn't say anything, he glanced her way.

“What? I plan. I make plans. It's what I do.”

“I guessed,” she responded, trying to hide a grin at his defensiveness.

“You have a problem with the plan?”

She could have. She could have insisted on going back to The Tavern. But for a whole host of reasons, including the fact that her own first aid kit probably wasn't as extensive as his and was sitting in the trunk of her car, she didn't. She also knew what his plan was—it was his way of dealing with, of controlling the stress of the situation. It was useful, to be sure. She'd get clean faster, warm faster, dry faster. But more importantly, if she went along with it, he'd feel like he was doing something to fix the problem.

“No.” She shook her head and turned her eyes back toward the road.

“Good.” They drove in silence for the short time it took to get to his house, a cute bungalow with a sweeping view of the valley from the screened-in front porch. He pulled around back, and while there was a front door from the front porch, it was obvious from the shoes lining the slate patio that the back door was used more often. He helped Vivi out of the Jeep, through the back door, and into a bathroom. It had tile floors and would be easy to clean so she didn't feel too bad setting her bloody foot down.