Scorched (10 page)

Kelsey gathered her groceries and got out. The porch light glowed and she noted the freshly swept grooves in the dirt around the wooden steps, which told her no one had been tromping around here during her trip to town. Kelsey unlocked the door and paused to listen.

All was quiet except for the gurgle of the nearby creek and the whisper of wind in the surrounding woods.

Something buzzed, and Kelsey jumped. She caught her breath and pulled the cell phone from her pocket. Ben Lawson.

“What’s up?” she asked. She’d told him only to call her if it was something important.

“You don’t sound happy to hear from me.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Just thought you’d want to know, the FBI was out at the lab again today, looking for you.”

Kelsey felt a stab of guilt for involving him.

“You don’t have to lie for me,” she said, locking the door behind her. She dropped her grocery bags onto the sagging couch.

“I didn’t. They talked to Mia. And anyway, you haven’t told me where you are, so why would I have to lie?”

Kelsey stacked cans of soup in the cupboard as she thought about that carefully worded statement. She hadn’t told Ben where she was, but she had no doubt he’d figured it out. Ben worked in the Delphi Center’s cyber-crimes unit. He was a genius on computers and had been known to bend a few rules to track down information. Kelsey would bet that within minutes of her phone call last night, Ben had not only traced her call to the nearest cell tower, but also pinpointed her most recent credit-card transaction. The FBI could do the very same thing, which was why Kelsey had cleaned out her bank account on the way out of San Antonio. All her purchases—from her dinged-up Dodge Neon to her prepaid disposable cell phone—had been with cash. She was doing everything she could think of to stay off the grid.

“So, I ran down those numbers you wanted,” Ben told her, and she heard the pride in his voice.

“That was fast. I would think hacking the phone records of an FBI agent might be something of a challenge.”

“I got everything, no problem. But you said you’re
most interested in the calls he made in the three days before his death.”

Tears burned her eyes.
Death.
She still couldn’t believe it. But she couldn’t get emotional right now—she had to be objective.

“Kelsey?”

She cleared her throat. “What did you learn?”

“Well, almost everything was a Bureau call—him phoning his office, his coworkers, that kind of thing. There were two numbers that weren’t, excluding a call placed to you. You have a pen handy?”

She grabbed the steno pad off the kitchen table, where she’d been sitting earlier and making notes. Ben recited several numbers.

“First one is the cell-phone number of a C. Weber in Provo, Utah. I’m working on that name. Second one is the main number for UC Berkeley. No idea where they routed the call. They’ve got tons of extensions.”

“Interesting.” She didn’t know why Blake would be calling a university.

“There’s something else you might want to know. I took a look at the phone records of another agent in Blake’s office.”

Kelsey’s nerves jangled. Was he referring to Trent? She’d purposely avoided any mention of Trent because she didn’t want Ben knowing details that might put him at risk.

“I thought you were only going to look at Blake?”

“I was,” he said. “But then I got curious because of the high volume of calls between these two over the weekend. There’s some interesting overlap with the non-FBI numbers they were both calling. For example, Agent
Trent Lohman called the Weber number multiple times. And Berkeley, too.”

“When did he call Berkeley?”

“Twice last Thursday and once Friday.”

A dog barked outside. Kelsey’s pulse picked up as she went to the front window. She switched off the overhead light and moved the shade aside so she could look out. The cabin was dark except for a band of light coming in from the porch.

“This Weber person,” she said. “You don’t have a full name?”

“Just an initial. I should have more by tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” She gazed out at the darkened road running past the cabins, but saw no one. “Be careful, though. I hope you aren’t leaving your fingerprints on this.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself, all right? I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks.”

She hung up and looked outside again. No more barking. She was being paranoid. Ever since she’d arrived here, she’d been hearing footsteps and jumping at shadows.

Kelsey stared down at her throwaway cell phone. She was tempted to make one more call, but she probably shouldn’t.

On the other hand, how was she going to get herself out of this mess if she didn’t track down some critical information?

She took a deep breath and dialed a number she knew by heart.

“Travis County Medical Examiner’s Office.”

“Dr. Froehler, please.”

She held her breath and waited, hoping he was there. He worked a lot of late hours.

“George Froehler.”

“Hi, it’s Kelsey.”

“Well, well. Wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

It was a loaded statement, and she tried to interpret it. Did he know she’d left town? Were people looking for her? Would he call the FBI the second he hung up?

But she and Froehler went way back. She’d interned in his office one summer during grad school, and she happened to know the deputy medical examiner was fond of her. His drawn-out silence told her two things: First, he knew she was in trouble. Second, he wasn’t going to ask questions.

“I understand you performed the Reid autopsy,” she said, although this was a guess. Froehler was the workhorse at TCMEO, while the ME was more of a figurehead. “I had a quick question.”

“The official report hasn’t been released yet.” His voice was guarded. She needed to tread carefully.

“Manner of death?”

“Homicide.”

She waited, hoping he’d elaborate. From what she’d witnessed, she thought the weapon was either a knife or that gun with the silencer. But even with a silencer, guns weren’t really
silent,
and Kelsey was pretty sure she would have heard a noise. She was almost certain Blake had been killed with a knife.

“I assume nail clippings were collected from the victim autopsy,” she said. “Any blood or skin cells present? Any signs of struggle?”

“None.”

Kelsey’s heart sank.

“What about trace evidence?” she asked. “Hair, fiber, that sort of thing?”

Another pause, probably as he debated the wisdom of sharing anything with her. “We found one hair, on the back of the victim’s shirt. It’s inconsistent with the victim, so there’s a strong chance it came from his attacker.”

A breath of relief whooshed out.
Physical
evidence.

“The FBI was here today, taking custody of everything,” Froehler said. “I assume it’s at Quantico by now.”

“I see.”

“Anything else you needed, Doctor?”

Another bark, and she peered through the window. Still, she saw nothing.

“Kelsey?”

She heard the concern in his voice. In his guarded way, he was offering to help. Kelsey felt a twinge of guilt. This man had always been kind to her. He’d always been a mentor. But the sort of trouble she was in now was way, way beyond his ability to fix.

“I’m fine.”

Silence.

“Thanks for the info,” she added. “I appreciate it.”

She hung up before he could say anything else. She’d involved him enough, and she didn’t want to get him in trouble.

Kelsey stood in the darkened kitchen, thinking about what she’d learned. The FBI had a hair, which was good. Trent had been in Blake’s apartment countless
times, so fingerprints alone would do nothing to connect him to the murder.

Then again, the hair might not, either.

Next to bone and teeth, hair was one of the most durable elements of the human body. Kelsey worked with it all the time. But unlike DNA or fingerprint evidence, it wasn’t unique to an individual. It was considered class evidence, which was much less useful for investigators.

Still, it was something.

And then there was Ben’s information about the phone calls. Berkeley. Provo. She had been working on a timeline of Blake’s activities, but she had no idea how phone calls to either of those places might relate to his murder.

Kelsey reached for an apple and nibbled on it, waiting for some sort of epiphany. Nothing came to her. The most perplexing question of all was
why?
What on earth had made someone who’d acted like one of Blake’s closest friends decide to kill him?

Maybe the motive was personal, some sort of rivalry. Maybe Blake was having an affair with Trent’s wife. Given Blake’s penchant for womanizing, Kelsey figured it was possible. But what about the plainclothes cop who’d tried to kill her? If this was a crime of passion, why was
he
involved? The image of that man flashing a badge was keeping Kelsey up at night. It had shaken her faith in something she’d always taken for granted.

Maybe the whole thing had to do with one of Blake and Trent’s cases. Or the bones Kelsey had recovered in the Philippines. Blake had told her he’d consulted Trent about that case, and that Trent had
contacted someone in the Bureau who specialized in facial recognition software. But why would Trent be interested in some dead terrorist halfway around the world? More likely the motive was something much closer to home.

Unfortunately, none of the pieces fit together. Kelsey couldn’t even envision the puzzle.

She finished the apple and tossed the core in the trash. The cabin was silent. Now that the phone calls were over, she was acutely aware of how alone she was. She stared down at her dirty jeans, which she’d been wearing since Monday when she’d fled Blake’s condo. She couldn’t run forever. She knew that. She didn’t have the skills or the funds. Or the capacity for lying. Luckily, Kelsey’s mom, a high-school French teacher, was in Paris with a group of students, so she wasn’t likely to be contacted by the FBI right now. But her trip ended next week, and Kelsey didn’t relish the thought of her mother returning home to find a couple of somber-faced agents waiting to question her about her daughter’s whereabouts.

Kelsey had to come up with some answers soon and she had to contact the police. But she wasn’t ready to step forward with her account of what happened until she knew which people she could trust. At the moment, anyone with a badge was off that list.

The back of Kelsey’s neck tingled. She glanced at the door. Was that—?

Creak.

A cold burst of adrenaline flooded her veins. Someone was on the porch. For a moment she stood motionless, not breathing. Then she crept to the other side of
the kitchen and took her purse from the counter. She’d bought a tube of Mace several days ago and she slipped it into her hand as she stared at the door.

A shift in the light—barely perceptible, but Kelsey caught it. Her pulse quickened. She wasn’t imagining it. Someone was definitely out there. She glanced around, grateful for the darkness of the cabin, which would enable her to see someone before they saw her. But the cabin was tiny. How could she sneak out the back without someone in front noticing? What had once felt like a refuge now felt like a trap.

She slid the car keys from her purse. She eyed the phone across the kitchen and debated whether she could get to it without making a sound.

Creak.

All her blood seemed to drain into her toes. She reached for the back door and fumbled with the latch.

Thud.

Kelsey wrenched open the door. She jumped down the steps and raced around the side of the house, toward her car.

Suddenly she was scooped off her feet and jerked back against something hard. A hand clamped over her mouth.

“Don’t scream.”

The arm tightened, and Kelsey’s heart did a flip.

Gage.

There was no mistaking the arm, the voice, the firm wall of muscle now pressed against her back. He loosened his hold and she sagged against him with relief.

“Someone’s there!” she hissed.

“It’s a woman.”

His voice sounded low, warm—the way she remembered from so many dark encounters.

Kelsey pulled out of his grip. She peered over the bushes and saw a short, plump figure tromping down the dirt road.

The caretaker’s wife. Not a homicidal maniac.

Gage took her by the shoulders and slowly turned her around to face him. In the dimness she saw those blue eyes gazing down at her and the hard angles of the face she knew so well. The familiar scent of him flooded her and she wanted to bury her head against his chest.

“Are you all right?” His voice was serious—as serious as she’d ever heard it.

“What are you
doing
out here?”

His jaw tightened. Instead of answering, he took her hand and led her around the back of the cabin and up the steps. The door still stood open. He pulled her inside and crossed the cabin in a few strides.

Kelsey shoved the Mace in her pocket and switched on a lamp as Gage opened the front door and picked up something from the porch.

“Boysenberry preserves.” He glanced at her as he shut the door. “‘Welcome to Piney Creek, from Joyce.’”

Kelsey pressed her hand to her chest. “God, she scared me to death! Why didn’t she just knock?”

He plunked the jar on the kitchen table. “You didn’t have any lights on. Maybe she thought you were asleep.”

He leaned against the wall now and folded his arms over his chest. Kelsey’s heart lodged in her throat as she took her first good look at him. With his broad shoulders and powerful build, he’d always looked to her like
he might be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. But her favorite feature was his penetrating blue eyes—which were fixed on her right now. He wore a desert-brown T-shirt that stretched taut over his chest, faded jeans, and sneakers. This was the closest he ever came to looking like a civilian, but it didn’t really work because everything about him screamed
warrior.
Disapproval emanated from him, and she felt the need to explain herself—which was ironic considering that he was the one who’d been skulking around her cabin late at night.