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Authors: Kat Martin

Against the Tide (20 page)

BOOK: Against the Tide
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It was crazy. She was falling for him and that wasn't good. But it was happening and she couldn't seem to find a way to stop it.
Ignoring the tightness in her throat and needing to clear her head, Olivia walked into the bedroom to change into her running clothes. A few minutes later, she was headed back downstairs.
Running always made her feel better. She hoped it would work today.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rafe headed for the FedEx shipping center on Airport Road. He'd been reluctant to send Nick the DNA sample he had retrieved from the hairbrush in his bathroom that morning, a few strands of glossy dark hair that smelled like Liv and made him think of sex.
But she had lied to him. Looked him straight in the eye and lied. She wasn't born in Medfield. She hadn't gone to the University of Massachusetts.
A thread of anger burned through him. He wasn't a man who put up with a woman out-and-out lying to him. If he wasn't pretty sure she had a damned good reason, he would end things with her now.
His chest clamped down at the thought. Which told him he was in up to his neck with Liv and had no choice but to see this thing through. He sent the hair sample via FedEx overnight to Seattle, along with the Revlon ad and the date of the magazine. He didn't think it would take Nick long to track down the name of the model, and even getting the info on her DNA wouldn't take long these days.
On the way back to town, Rafe phoned Ben. “Our suspects back in their room yet?”
“Suspects. I like that. Makes me feel like it's okay for us to be spying on them. And no, they aren't back.”
“Good. I need to get inside the room, take a look around.”
“No way,” Ben said sharply. “Surveillance cameras in the corridor outside is one thing—”
“See you in five minutes.” Rafe hung up the phone.
When he reached the motel, Ben was in the office, pacing behind the counter. “I can't let you go in there, Rafe. I know you're trying to find Scott's killer, but—”
“I need to take a look, Ben. I won't touch anything. I just want to look around. Maybe I'll see something that'll give us some idea of what those guys are doing in Valdez.”
“Maybe they're doing just what they say. Vacationing, just like the rest of the tourists who come through here.”
“Maybe.”
“Okay, if that's not it, maybe they're gay or something. They're a nice gay couple renting a room. There's no law against it.”
“Their sexual preference isn't the point.”
“No, but there's no indication they're involved in Scott's murder, and that is the point. We don't have a single reason to think they are.”
“Nevin told me they were drunk the night of the murder. Said they crashed in the room after they got home and that's the reason they didn't hear anything outside that night. Bartender at the Catch says they were barely drinking, just sipping light beers. If that's the case, no way were they drunk. Which means they were lying.”
“Maybe they went somewhere else, drank more beer before they came back.”
“If they did, why didn't they tell the police?”
Ben ran a hand over his balding head. His eyes slid toward the row of keys in the boxes behind the counter. With a sigh, he reached over, grabbed the key out of box number two and handed it to Rafe.
“Hurry up, dammit. You gotta be out of there before they come back or one of the other guests shows up.”
“You've got my cell number, right?”
Ben pulled out his phone. “I've got it.”
“Give me a heads-up if they show or somebody else drives into the lot.”
“This is against my better judgment,” Ben grumbled. “I'm doing it for Scotty.”
“I know that. We all are.” Rafe set his phone on vibrate, stuck it into the pocket of his jeans, and headed out the door. There was a maid at work in one of the rooms down the corridor, her cart sitting in front of the open door, but she was busy cleaning inside the room.
Rafe slid the key into the lock on room two, slipped inside, and quietly closed the door. The curtains were drawn, but enough light filtered through for him to see. The twin beds were unmade since the maid hadn't reached that room yet, but the place was neat.
He did a quick visual survey, then pulled his shirttail out of his jeans and used it to open the dresser drawers so he wouldn't leave fingerprints. The suitcases had been unpacked, clothes neatly put away.
The bathroom was relatively clean, wet towels hung up, shaving gear neatly arranged on the counter. He returned to the bedroom, started prowling. No liquor bottles in the trash. No condoms in the nightstands. They weren't having wild monkey sex, or if they were, they were doing it somewhere else.
There was something rolled up in the corner. He walked over to take a closer look. He could feel the what-the-fuck? vibes even before he realized what he was looking at.
Prayer rugs. Had to be. He had seen them on TV. He wrapped his shirttail around his fingers to examine them, saw one was red and gold, the other blue and brown, both Middle Eastern patterns with paisley designs. He made sure they were rolled up exactly the way they had been before, and turned to take a last look around.
No sign of blood—not that he'd expected to find any—or anything that might have to do with Scotty's murder.
He moved to the window, checked to make sure no one was around, stepped out the door, then eased it closed, and strode down the hall back to the office.
Ben was waiting, nervously shifting back and forth as he looked out the window. Rafe tossed him the key.
“So did you find anything?” Ben asked, walking behind the counter and setting the key back in box number two.
“They're Muslim. Found prayer rugs in the room. One's Middle Eastern. That's the accent I couldn't quite place. I don't have a clue what that means, but there it is.”
“That's it? That's their big secret?”
“I don't know if it's a secret. It just is what it is. One more bit of information to put with everything else we've got—which is zilch.”
“Unless Chip Reed killed Scott like the police are saying.”
“That what you think?”
“No, it isn't. That's why I let you into that room.”
“I appreciate your help, Ben, I really do. I know you're an ethical guy and that was asking a lot.”
He relaxed, smiled. “It's okay. I'm kind of glad you didn't find anything, though. Would have been hard to explain.”
“Yeah. Thanks again.”
Rafe left the office and headed for his truck. He needed to think, and swimming was a good way to do it. He checked his watch. Kids were out of school by now. He kept a suit in his go-bag behind the seat. Rafe headed for the pool up the hill.
Olivia was jogging, Khan clicking along beside her. She'd been gone for more than an hour, her feet pounding the dirt at the edge of the road, her legs carrying her in no particular direction.
If she'd been paying attention, maybe she would have felt it sooner. Maybe she would have noticed a shadow here or an outline there, something concrete that proved it wasn't her imagination.
But the sky was dark and the clouds were thick and a mist had begun to settle over the town. The uneasy feeling persisted, shifted and changed, but stayed with her. Even as her awareness sharpened, she didn't see anyone.
She was just jumpy, she told herself. Nervous after Rafe had found the ad in the magazine. There was no one there, no reason to believe they had found her. And if they were still searching for the person she was before, the last place they would look was remote Valdez, Alaska.
She came to a halt at a stop sign, felt that odd tingle of paranoia again. “Sit,” she said to Khan, who sat down close beside her. “Good boy.”
She scanned the area around her, but saw no movement, just a dark green Subaru driven by a woman with a couple of kids in the back.
Several people hurried past, pulling up the hoods on their jackets and heading off down the street. The clouds were getting thicker, the sky darker. A light rain had begun to fall. She needed to get inside before a full-fledged downpour set in.
“Heel,” she said to Khan and he fell in beside her, quickly matching his pace to hers. “That's my sweet, smart boy.”
She didn't see anyone on the way back to the café and the uneasy feeling began to fade. She wondered if she would always be this paranoid, hoped that someday she could actually feel safe.
She turned the corner, saw the sign for the Pelican up ahead, felt that little tug of pleasure at seeing the business she had built and the apartment she considered home, something she hadn't thought she would ever have again. When she released Khan back into his yard, she was surprised to see Tuxedo's black-and-white face peeping through the doorway of the storage shed doghouse, waiting for Khan to get back.
Tux was not a rainy weather cat. On days like this, she usually stayed home. Her whiskers looked wet, though she was inside the door enough to keep her black-and-white fur dry.
Khan saw her, barked, and galloped over to greet her, and they disappeared inside the shed. Liv smiled as she turned away, went inside and climbed the stairs to her apartment.
She couldn't help thinking how good half an hour in Rafe's hot tub would feel, but settled for a nice warm shower and dry clothes—a clean pair of skinny jeans, blue this time, and a lightweight burgundy sweater. She twisted her hair up and put on big silver hoop earrings, told herself it wasn't because Rafe would be coming in at six.
At least she'd been honest with him about coming from the East Coast—a small town in upstate New York, not Massachusetts, but still . . . Being raised in a cold climate was good, because the weather here didn't really bother her.
Though she'd be glad when it warmed up a little.
Thinking of New York sent her thoughts back to the magazine ad. Revlon had liked the ad and used it quite a bit. She hadn't thought of it in years, certainly hadn't expected it to turn up here. She prayed Rafe wouldn't press her for more information, prayed he wouldn't still be mad at her.
But a few hours later when he walked into the café, the dark look on his face said her pipe dream had just blown like smoke out the window.
 
 
Rafe's gaze went to the woman walking toward him. She had the sexiest way of moving, all long legs and an easy, swivel-hipped grace. She said she'd been a dancer, and that part of her story had a definite ring of truth. Aside from that, it was all a load of crap.
His jaw tightened. He watched her pause next to a booth where Melissa Young and her baby daughter were being seated. When Melissa struggled with the high chair, Olivia rushed over and took the little girl, propping the baby on her hip. The smile she beamed down on the child was so warm and sincere, so sweet and yearning, Rafe felt a tightness in his chest.
Once the seat was in place, Liv handed the baby back, reached out and touched the child's soft cheek one last time. He wanted kids. He wasn't in a hurry, but he figured he'd have a family when the right woman came along. Clearly, Olivia would make a good mother.
His mind shot back to the lies she had told him and his anger flared again. He managed to hold on to his temper enough to stand up as she approached and politely invite her to join him, Sam, Zach, and Ben in the round corner booth.
Liv slid in across from him, a wise choice at the moment. She was reading him loud and clear, even though he hadn't said a word. She got him. One more thing he liked about her.
Damn.
“Okay, so where are we?” Sam asked, his solid physique taking up a good portion of the booth. Katie arrived with a fresh pot of coffee, refilled all their cups, flashed a look at Sam that Rafe couldn't read, then zipped away.
“Ben?” Rafe prodded to get them back on track. “Anything new on the cameras since our last conversation?”
“I wish I had something to report,” Ben said. “The men went out midmorning and didn't come back till late in the afternoon. They were still in the room when I left to come down here. Maybe you guys will get something off the GPS.”
Rafe glanced over at Zach. “I could use a lookout tonight when I go in to switch out the device. Ben'll be inside watching the cameras, but I need someone outside watching the lot.”
“You got it.”
“I have one thing that might be interesting,” Rafe continued. “Wong and Nevin told the cops they were drinking over at the Fisherman's Catch the night of the murder, got drunk and crashed hard in their room. Rusty Donovan says the bartender backs up that they were there, but says they were only nursing light beers.”
“So they weren't drunk,” Olivia said.
“Doesn't look that way. And I think I know why. These guys are Muslim. I found two Islamic prayer rugs in their room. Muslims don't drink alcohol.”
“You broke into their room?” Sam's black eyebrows shot up in disbelief and what appeared to be approval.
“Let's just say I thought I heard a noise and went in to check, make sure everything was okay.”
BOOK: Against the Tide
6.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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