TRACE EVIDENCE (8 page)
Authors: Carla Cassidy
"According to my sisters, that isn't focused, that's obsessed," he replied dryly.
"Yes, I've heard that term used where you're concerned," she said.
"So, I guess in that respect we're two birds of a feather," he observed.
His eyes still held a light that seemed to glitter and shine inside her. Dangerous. The man was positively lethal, she thought. She stood.
"Clay, it's getting late and I've had a long day. Is there anything else you need to know?"
He set his cup down and stood as well. "Actually, there is." She looked at him expectantly.
"I was wondering if perhaps you'd like to have dinner with me tomorrow night."
Shock swept through her. A dinner invitation was the last thing she'd expected from him. Accepting would be the height of stupidity. He was nothing like what she needed, what she wanted in her life. "Dinner sounds nice," she was appalled to hear herself say.
"Good." They walked together to the front door, then he turned back to face her. "Why don't I pick you up about six."
Stop it now, her brain screamed. Just say you've changed you mind. "Six sounds perfect."
The gleam in his eyes seemed to intensify and she felt as if the ground beneath her feet was shaking slightly. "Then I'll see you tomorrow at six."
Before she knew his intention, he leaned forward and placed his lips against hers. He touched her in no other way, but the feel of his warm mouth shot fire through her entire body.
He didn't attempt to deepen the kiss, but rather stepped back abruptly as if the intimate contact had surprised him as much as it had her. "Good night, Tamara." Without waiting for any reply from her, he disappeared out her front door.
She shut the door behind him and carefully locked it, surprised to see that her fingers trembled slightly. With the simple touch of his lips against hers, he'd sent a volcanic wave of heat through her. He'd made her feel needy and vulnerable, but more frightening and exciting than that, he'd made her hunger for more.
Chapter 5
A
distraction. He was in desperate need of a distraction and what better to serve the purpose than an intelligent woman who exuded sensuality.
A desperate need for distraction was the only way to explain what had happened last night at Tamara's place.
He'd felt it again last night the moment he'd walked through her door—a calm peacefulness that he'd found oddly soothing. It had been like walking from the middle of a busy highway into a lush, quiet garden. He didn't know if it was the surroundings or the woman that created the mood of tranquility.
He took a bite of his sandwich and stared out the single window the small lab possessed. It was just after
Heat. It was what he'd felt every time his gaze had met hers the night before. Heat—it was what had prompted him to issue a dinner invitation and what had led to that kiss that had shaken him to his very core.
The kiss had kept him up half the night. Even though it had been brief, nearly over even as it had begun, it had stirred his senses into overload.
In that brief mouth-to-mouth contact with her he'd wanted to tangle his hands in the length of her hair, lay her down on the plush throw rug beneath their feet and drag his mouth over every inch of her body.
In that split second of tasting her lips his blood had pumped rich and hot throughout his body. He couldn't ever remember such an instantaneous, physical reaction to a simple kiss before.
Even now as he thought of that tiny piece of yellow silk he'd seen on her bed, the heat from the outside seemed to crawl inside him. Yes, she would make the perfect distraction … at least for a little while.
"Is this what we pay our tax dollars for … to let our law enforcement officers sit and daydream out the window?"
The deep, familiar voice brought a smile to Clay's mouth as he turned to see the slightly stout, dapper gentleman standing in the doorway.
"Jacob, what brings you to the lab? Did I forget to make a mortgage payment?" He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
"Ah, I never have to worry about the James family making their payments on time." Jacob eased into the chair and patted the top his head, as if to assure himself that every one of his short gray hairs were in place. "What I am worried about is you."
"Me?" Clay looked at him in surprise.
"My sources tell me you're working far too many hours."
"I am," Clay agreed. "But, until we find Mom and we've got the person who is stabbing men and leaving them naked in the street behind bars, I'm probably going to be working too many hours."
"I've missed you dropping in for coffee."
Affection for the older man Welled up in Clay. Jacob Kincaid, the only banker and the wealthiest man in town, had been a close friend of his parents, but he and Clay had always enjoyed a bond of friendship.
"I thought about it the other day, that it had been too long since I'd dropped in to visit with you, but then I got busy with things."
"I stopped by to see your dad earlier this morning," Jacob said. "He seems to be having a difficult time of it."
"Uncle Sammy isn't much of a substitute for Mom."
"Your uncle Sammy isn't a very good substitute for a man," Jacob said, then grimaced. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"No need to apologize for speaking the truth." Clay leaned back in his chair and thought about his uncle Sammy. Sammy James was Clay's father Thomas's baby brother.
Sammy's past had been checkered, although he'd been a favorite relative of the James siblings. Throughout their childhood, Sammy had flown in and out of Cherokee Corners like a turbulent summer storm. He'd changed addresses like other people changed clothes. His family never knew for sure where he'd been before a visit or where he was headed when he left. When he was around there was always excitement and laughter.
But more than once, Clay had heard Sammy and his dad fighting. Thomas had often told his brother to grow up, take responsibility for his life, to stop being a leech.
Still, he was glad that Sammy had come to help take care of Clay's father, leaving Clay and his sisters to spend most of their time and attention on trying to find their mother and the person who was responsible for the crime.
"Anything new?" Jacob asked.
Clay knew Jacob was asking about his parents' case. Nobody except Clay, his sisters, and Glen knew about the decorative rock found at the scenes, and nobody else knew about the strong tie to the Frazier case in
Although Clay trusted Jacob, he knew the more people who knew about the elements of the case, the more difficult it might become to catch a culprit. "No, nothing knew," he replied.
"Do you think it would help if I upped the reward money?"
"No, I appreciate the offer, but I don't think it would help. In fact, it would probably simply complicate things. For the first week or two after you put up the reward, we got nothing but false leads and crank calls, people sniffing after the money with nothing to give us. Upping the reward will just result in another flurry of useless phone calls."
Jacob nodded, then sighed. "I just feel so helpless. Even your father won't let me do anything to help him."
"He's a proud man. All he wants is Mom back home, and unless you can accomplish that, there's nothing you can do to help him."
"What about you?" Jacob leaned forward, his pale blue eyes holding warm concern. The scent of expensive cologne wafted from him. "What can I do to help you?"
Clay laughed, the sound a grim bark that had nothing to do with humor. "You can find my mother, catch the serial killer and find out who's decided to terrorize our local artist."
One of Jacob's gray eyebrows lifted slightly. "Tamara Greystone?"
Clay nodded, surprised that even the sound of her name pulled forth the memory of the sweet taste of her lips. "Somebody trashed her classroom at the school, then last night a dead, mutilated deer was left on her front porch."
"Kids?"
"Probably. We're checking it all out now."
"Beautiful young woman," Jacob observed. "And quite talented. I own several of her early pieces. At the time I bought them I knew she'd be going places in the art world."
Clay smiled wryly. "You own several pieces of everyone's work."
Jacob smiled, lifting the jowls that had begun to form in recent years. "That reminds me, I just acquired a new bronze that you must come and see. It's absolutely stunning and is a beautiful addition to my collection."
"You're obsessed, Jacob," Clay said affectionately. "If you happen to pass away at home, it will take us days to find your body in that mansion of yours amid all of your collections."
"On that cheerful note, I think I'll take my leave." Jacob stood and Clay did as well. "Let me know if there's anything I can do, Clay," Jacob said as they reached the door to the lab that led into the police station proper.
"Just keep visiting Dad. He needs his friends' support right now."
"That goes without saying," Jacob agreed. The two men said their goodbyes then Clay returned to his desk, but instead of getting back to work, he stared out the window once again.
Anything new, Jacob had asked. How Clay wished they had a substantial lead to follow in the case of his mother's disappearance. The rock that he'd found might be important, or it might lead to nothing. The fingerprints in the house had all been identified as family and friends.
Trace evidence was still at the lab in
Oklahoma City
, a bigger lab with better equipment than what Clay possessed here. He was hoping something would be found there to point a finger to a likely suspect, but hope was getting more difficult to sustain with each passing day.
A distraction. In truth, that was probably the last thing he needed in his life at the moment. What he needed was more energy, more focus, more minutes in the day to find his mother. But she was such a fine distraction, a little voice whispered inside his head.
His gaze went from the window to the phone. Call and cancel. That was the smart thing to do. The last thing he needed was to go out to dinner with a woman he had nothing in common with, a woman who physically stirred him half-mindless.
The last woman he needed to get involved with in any way was Tamara Greystone, who taught Native legends he didn't believe in and adhered to old traditions he'd long ago eschewed.
Even knowing the smartest thing to do was cancel the dinner date, his hand didn't reach for the phone. It was already after two, and it would be rude to cancel at this late time.
No, he'd go ahead and take her to dinner. They had absolutely nothing in common and their only connection was the crime that had taken place in her classroom.
They'd probably suffer unendurable lengths of uncomfortable silences, followed by severe heartburn and both would come away from the meal knowing the idea of them sharing personal time together was nothing more than a bad idea.
* * *
It was ridiculous that it took her so much time to get dressed for a date she wasn't sure she wanted to keep. For the fourth time in as many minutes she pulled an outfit from her closet, then threw it on the bed.
It was five-thirty. She'd already had a long, luxurious bubble bath, washed and brushed her hair, put on a touch of makeup, but at this rate she'd be trying to pick a dress to wear as their dinner reservations were given to somebody else.
The problem was she wasn't sure if she wanted to dress to please herself or dress to please him. Even though she knew the dinner invitation had been spontaneous, prompted by who knew what, she still intended to have a nice evening.
She finally decided to dress to please herself. She'd spent enough time trying to please Max that now the idea of dressing for a man, being something other than what she was, left a bad taste in her mouth.
The tear dress she finally chose to wear was turquoise calico with an appliqué pattern of coral diamonds around the yoke and the bottom of the long skirt. Coral buttons adorned the dress from the neckline to the hem. She added coral earrings and sandals and pronounced herself ready.
As she stood in her living room, waiting for Clay to arrive, she realized that by choosing to wear a traditional Cherokee tear dress she was instantly placing a barrier between her and Clay.
She knew from spending time with Rita that, for some unknown reason, Clay had turned his back on the Cherokee ways and his Native American blood. He probably wouldn't be pleased to see her dressed in the traditional Cherokee clothing. But this was who she was and besides, it was only a meal they were sharing. She knew better than to expect or anticipate anything more.