TRACE EVIDENCE (16 page)
Authors: Carla Cassidy
Funny that he had chosen a place as isolated as she had to live. Her art and the need to regroup after leaving Max had drawn her to the cottage in the woods. She wondered what had driven Clay to this empty stretch of road and the house in the middle of farmer fields?
She returned to the table and drank two cups of coffee before heading back down the hallway to the bathroom for a shower. After showering and dressing once again, she stood in the doorway of the bathroom and gazed down the hall. She knew the first bedroom on the left was where she'd slept the night before.
The other two bedroom doors were open and she walked down the hall and peered into the first one. It was obviously used as a home office. Bookshelves lined the walls and a desk held a massive computer system.
The other bedroom was Clay's and it was the one room in the house that held any signs of real life. The bed was unmade, the sheets twisted as if to indicate the person who'd slept here had not enjoyed a restful night.
The dresser top was littered with odds and ends, loose change, brown paper envelopes, several bottles of cologne and a childish drawing of a forest filled with elflike little people and signed to Uncle Clay with love from Maggie.
The room held his scent, that clean masculine smell that had enchanted her from the first moment she'd met him. She backed out of the room, reminding herself that she wasn't here because Clay wanted her here, or because she wanted to be here. She was in his home for her own safety. He'd just been doing his job in inviting her into his personal space.
She was seated in one of the two chairs in the living room, sketching on a pad she'd salvaged from her bedroom closet the night before when Clay returned home at
"Hope you like burgers and seasoned fries," he said as he came in carrying a sack from a drive-through. "Even if it isn't your favorite, it's better than what you'll find in my refrigerator."
"Burgers and fries are fine," she said. She put her sketch pad down and followed him into the kitchen. He pointed her to a chair as he distributed the food onto paper plates. "I'll pick up some groceries this afternoon. I'm not used to having a houseguest. Iced tea?"
She nodded and sat at the table. He seemed wired up, filled with reckless energy and she didn't say anything to him until he was seated next to her. "Busy morning?" she asked.
"Yeah, instead of working in the lab, I've been interviewing some of your students, checking out their whereabouts yesterday after school."
"Which ones?"
"According to his mother, Terry Black came right home from school yesterday to help clean out their garage. You were right, the kid has a bad temper. He wasn't happy about me asking questions about him, got into my face a bit, but I set him straight."
She didn't ask how. She only knew that if the burly teenager and Clay went head to toe, her money would be square on the man seated across the table from her.
"So, he has an alibi for yesterday afternoon," she said.
Clay shrugged. "A mother's alibi … not exactly without suspicion. On the other hand, Charlie Tamer has an airtight alibi. He was at a counseling session with his psychologist. I checked it out with his doctor and he was there all right."
"What about my class this afternoon? And the adult class tonight?"
"I spoke with Will Nichols this morning and he agreed that you're finished teaching for the summer. He said with just a week left it was ridiculous to take chances with your safety. I agreed with him."
She frowned thoughtfully and toyed with one of her fries. "Don't you think maybe we're overreacting a bit?"
His gaze held hers with a light of disbelief. "Have you forgotten what happened at your cottage yesterday? Have you forgotten that in your legend the bear wreaks havoc to show his prowess before he corners the Native maiden and kills her? Are you willing to take a chance that whomever is responsible for this is going to stop before he reaches the end of the legend?"
"No." The word fell from her lips in a grudging whisper.
"Look, I know you don't particularly want to be here, but you need to be someplace safe until we figure out who is behind all this. The bad news is, I'm not a great host. The good news is I'm not home much."
His words should have assured her, but they didn't. "I just feel like I'm imposing." In truth, even though she had only spent a single night and half a day here, she already felt ill at ease.
But it wasn't because he might be a poor host, it was because having seen the bed where he slept, she wanted to sleep there, too. It was because her desire for Clay James was reaching a proportion that was getting more and more difficult to ignore.
* * *
He watched her on the cameras that were built into the ceiling of her rooms and gave him a bird's-eye view of everything she did.
She had yet to open the dress box he'd sent in through the slot in her locked door. She'd carried it to the bed and now stood staring at it as if afraid of what it might contain.
She need not have been afraid. The dress box contained exactly what it was meant to hold … a lovely gown. He'd ordered it specifically for her, knowing the coral color would look exquisite next to her bronze skin.
A sweet rush of anticipation swept through him as he watched her. He could already imagine her in the gown. She would look so beautiful.
He was rushing things a bit with her. With the others he'd waited three months before making his first contact and giving them a gown. But with Rita, he was as anxious as a schoolboy, eager to know that finally, finally he'd gotten the one that was meant to last forever.
As she sat on the edge of the bed and drew the box closer to her, he felt a bead of sweat run down the side of his face. "Open it, my sweet," he said to himself. He could have flipped an intercom button and spoken directly to her, but he knew it was far too soon for that kind of personal contact.
"Open it and put it on. Wear it for me." His hands clenched into sweaty fists as he continued to watch the screens.
She picked up the box and shook it, then once again set it on the bed and drew off the lid. He watched closely as she pulled away the white tissue paper to expose the coral silk.
She withdrew the gown from the box and held it up. His breath caught painfully in his chest. It was like a coral waterfall, so beautiful. The only thing that would make it better was if it was on her, draping from her proud breasts, emphasizing her slender waist.
"Put it on." His heartbeat raced faster than he could remember as he willed her to do as he bid.
There was no way to anticipate her actions, no way to be prepared for what she did. She appeared completely calm as she held the dress in front of her, then with a cry of sudden outrage, she began to rip the dress apart in a frenzy.
He heard the tearing of the expensive material, along with her screams of outrage. His heartbeat slowed and the sweet anticipation he'd felt only moments before faded.
Too soon. She wasn't yet ready to accept his gifts. He shut off the cameras and leaned back in his chair, fighting a wave of disappointment. Oh well, he'd been disappointed before. Patience. He needed to have a little patience.
He'd been patient before. Unfortunately in the other two cases, his patience hadn't been rewarded.
He hoped Rita was different. He hoped he didn't have to start the process all over again for the fourth time.
Chapter 10
C
lay had thought it wouldn't be difficult having her in his house, but he'd been wrong. He'd thought because she seemed even-tempered, undemanding and generally pleasant that he'd hardly notice her presence. He'd definitely been wrong.
For the past three days that she'd been in his house, he'd been on a slow burn. Her scent eddied in the air, filling his nose and seeping into his pores. She'd brought a new energy to the house that he found both irritating and pleasing.
For the past two nights he'd been kept awake by visions of her in that damnable nightgown, visions that kept him tossing and turning with the desire to make love to her.
She'd even brought in several handfuls of wildflowers and placed them in glasses around the kitchen, adding color and scent to what had otherwise been austere surroundings.
He now eyed her across the kitchen table, wondering if she could feel his desire for her. How could she not be aware of it? It seemed to be taking complete possession of him.
She'd surprised him by having dinner ready when he'd come in from the lab at seven. It was a fairly simple meal of meat loaf, mashed potatoes and corn, but it was the best meat loaf, the creamiest mashed potatoes and the sweetest corn he'd ever eaten.
"You're a good cook," he said, breaking the silence that had grown to mammoth proportions between them since he'd come home.
She shrugged, her shoulders bare and looking far too touchable beneath the light pink sundress she wore. "I like to cook when I have somebody to cook for besides myself."
"Why aren't you married?" He could tell the question took her by surprise. In truth, it surprised him. But now that he had asked it he was genuinely curious. "You're an attractive woman, a good cook, talented and bright. Why are you all alone?"
She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin before replying. "Haven't found the right man." She hesitated a moment, then continued, "I thought I did once, but he turned out to be Mr. Wrong."
"Somebody from around here?"
She shook her head, her hair moving like a curtain of shine around her head. "No, somebody from
"Why not?"
She flashed him an impish smile that stirred a flame deep in the pit of his stomach. "I just want to warn you, when I finish answering your questions, I intend to ask you a few of my own."
He started to protest, then slowly nodded. "Fair enough. Now tell me about this Max Bishop."
She pushed her plate to the side and leaned back in her chair, her gray eyes taking on the look of reflection. "I met Max at an art show in
Oklahoma City
. He was touring the country looking for new blood. We got to talking, I showed him my work and he talked me into coming to
"But that changed." He was surprised to feel just the tiniest flicker of jealousy as he thought of her being intimate with another man. It was a totally irrational piece of emotion that irritated him.
"Yes, that changed. Max seemed bigger than life to me. He was so enthusiastic about my work and I guess that made me enthusiastic about him. Anyway, our relationship became personal and I thought I'd found Mr. Right."
"So, what happened?" Clay shoved his plate aside, no longer hungry for anything but information.
"What happened was that Max loved having a Native American artist to represent. He loved having me dress up in tear dresses and braids for art shows. He loved me talking about Cherokee legends and traditions as long as there was a buyer nearby who might be charmed by the pretty Indian squaw."
Clay winced at the derogatory term. She got up from the table and carried her plate to the sink. She rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher then turned to face him once again, her eyes darkened by memories.
"The problem got even bigger. You see, Max wanted me to be Native when it suited his purpose, but he wanted me not to be Native when it was just the two of us. I tried to please him, but in doing so I realized I was slowly sacrificing my own self-identity."
"So you came back here to Cherokee Corners."
"And my Cherokee roots." She walked back to the table and took his plate, then carried it to the sink, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher next to hers. "The man I intend to marry will be a man who is proud of where he comes from, a man who is steeped in the same traditions as me."
She sank back down at the table, her eyes shining with determination. "The man I marry will be a man like my father … a warrior who is proud of where he came from, a man sensitive enough to carve a courting flute for the woman he loves, a man strong enough to raise his family with the teachings of his traditions."
"Are you sure such a man exists?" Clay's voice held a touch of amusement.
She raised her chin slightly, as if to deflect any mockery he might point in her direction. "If he doesn't, then I'll remain alone. I won't settle for less than what I desire."
Her passion stirred him, even though he thought her a fool for having standards no real man would ever be able to meet. A proud warrior, indeed. He started to get up from the table but she surprised him by rising up and punching a finger in his chest to reseat him once again.
"You aren't finished yet," she said. "You've interrogated me, now it's my turn to interrogate you."