Waking the Dead (31 page)
“I’ve already washed, thanks.” One-handed, of course, which hadn’t gotten any less awkward, as she’d attempted to keep her right hand out of the spray in an effort to keep the Steri-Strips dry. But certainly she hadn’t spent the care he was expending as he soaped her breasts. Trailing a path of lather down her stomach. Lower.
“Then you can wash me.” Somehow he seemed to loom closer. And there was a glint in his eye as he lowered his head toward hers that had hormones revving to instant life. “You look good wet, Slim. I knew you would.”
And when his lips covered hers, Cait realized that this didn’t have to be awkward at all.
It could be very, very easy.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s slinking back to the lab.”
“I make it a point to never slink,” Cait responded. She set a white bakery bag on the desk in the corner. “Bad for the spine. I brought you pastries.”
Kristy’s expression lightened. “Cream puffs?” She scurried over to the desk, opened the bag, and made a sound of rapture. “It
is
cream puffs! Oh, I love you, Cait. I’ve missed you.”
is
cream puffs! Oh, I love you, Cait. I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah, I could tell by that rousing welcome.” She watched in bemusement as her tech lifted one out of the sack and began to devour it with delicate greed. Kristy’s appetite never failed to astonish her.
“Called you last night to catch up but didn’t get an answer.”
The other woman’s brows rose. “I went to a movie. Didn’t see your missed call until this morning, so if you hadn’t come in I would have . . .” She stopped midbite, stared harder at Cait. “You had sex!”
Shock flashed through her. Followed quickly by a ridiculous tug of guilt. “What?”
“You did, I can tell in your face. And your eyes.” Kristy pointed the remainder of the pastry at her. “You’re all . . . loose and glowing. That’s a sex glow. I’d know it anywhere.”
It wasn’t that she was ashamed of the night she’d spent with Sharper. And the morning, she recalled, remembering their shower together. But damned if she was going to stand here and discuss every detail for her assistant’s lascivious pleasure. “If anyone should recognize a sex glow it’d be you. But in your case too much sex has scrambled your brains. I’ve been hiking forests by day. Dodging bar fights by night.”
As usual Kristy was easily diverted. “Bar fights? And you didn’t call me?” She finished one pastry and reached in the bag for another. “I’m great in fights. Especially in a mob of guys. Because of my height,” she explained around a mouthful of pastry. “I’m just the right height to punch them in the balls.”
“That’s charming. Really.” Because her lips threatened to curve, she firmed them. “Perhaps you could demonstrate when Michaels takes you home to meet his mother.”
“I don’t do mothers. Meet them, I mean. What would be the point? We’ll be done here in a couple weeks, right?”
“M-mm.” Spying the workstation her tech had set up for the comparisons on the garbage bags, Cait approached it. “Found anything so far?”
“Outside the more obvious qualities, like drawstring or tie top, the only real points of reference are whether the heat seals are on the sides or bottoms.” Because she obviously wasn’t done eating, only Kristy’s voice followed her. “The two marked are similar to the bags found in the cave. And they’re biodegradable.”
Cait gave her a sharp look. “Different brand names?”
“Yep.” Having devoured the pastries, Kristy balled up the sack to throw it away before going to scrub her hands. “One of the deputies who dropped them off yesterday said he’d bought both samples in Eugene. Don’t they need to start looking closer to where the bodies were actually found?”
“Maybe.” Depending on the results on the Recinos DNA test they might become very focused on that area. “Barnes already has this information?”
“I don’t have his number.”
Quickly Cait called the deputy, and when she got his voice mail, apprised him of Kristy’s find before disconnecting. He’d put some officers to work calling local businesses in the area, she figured. Discovering who stocked the bags and how long they’d done so. He was nothing if not methodical. It was a tedious thread that would have to be followed up on, but she doubted it’d lead anywhere. They couldn’t be sure they were bought in the area, and it’s not like anyone would keep records of those sorts of sales. It was, however, one more thing that could tie the offender to the crimes if they found similar bags in his possession. Just like the saw would.
“Before you start work this morning, I need to get an elimination print from you.”
“Like I’d be unprofessional enough to touch one of the bags.” But Kristy went to the shelves and started rummaging for the materials they’d need. She was obviously more cheerful now that she’d gotten her sugar high. “You got a couple boxes from FedEx this morning. I started stacking them over here. It’s that invisible paint you ordered to run comparisons on.”
“Nothing on the fax machine yet?” She glanced over at the machine on the desk, as if she could make Recinos’s DNA profile appear by sheer force of will.
“Get to work on the paint comparisons,” Kristy advised. After washing and drying her hands thoroughly, she inked each finger and pressed it against the cards she’d laid out. “It’ll make the time go faster.”
“Speaking of time going faster . . .” Cait went to her pack that she’d set just inside the door and unzipped it, withdrawing the soil samples she’d been gathering while she and Sharper were in the forest. It was surely a character flaw that had her enjoying the way her assistant’s expression went glum when she saw what Cait was holding.
“Fuck a duck.”
“That’ll be a dollar. You can pay me after you run these samples.”
“Maybe I was wrong about your sex glow.” Kristy made a production of turning her back on Cait, but the snippiness in her tone was a giveaway to the alteration of her mood. “Sex typically relaxes people, not make them meaner. At least good sex does.”
Lips curved, Cait headed over to the boxes that had arrived that morning. It was nice to have her assistant off that subject even though she did have an urge to tell her just how wrong she was. She was more than a little relaxed. And the sex had been
very, very
good.
very, very
good.
It felt great to get back on the water. Though nowhere close to the longest or wildest river in Oregon, the McKenzie had always been his favorite. Maybe because he’d grown up on its banks. He’d been floating it since he was eight.
Zach kept his eye on the inflatable rafts, each manned with six clients and one of his guides, but his employees were in their element. Kirby Wendall had his people in stitches most of the time, and Pat Swenson was pointing out the flora and fauna while giving a running mini science lesson on the ways lava flows had impacted the river over thousands of years.
He was happy enough to leave the entertainment to his guides as he and another employee, Staci Lannert, acted as safety boaters in individual hard-shell whitewater kayaks. Although their jobs would be to rescue any clients in case of accidents, that wasn’t particularly likely on such a calm stretch. He’d spend more time this morning angling close to the rafts and begging for cookies when the snacks came out.
Zach dipped his custom paddle in the clear water, the polished white paint gleaming in the bright sunshine. Its blade bore the red and black insignia of the 75th Ranger Regiment. He’d had new personal paddles made when he’d returned home. It had seemed important, somehow, that he meld his past with his present. But his life in the military never seemed further away than when he was on the water.
He thought Cait would enjoy this. At least she seemed comfortable in the forest, even off the trails where the hiking sometimes grew demanding. And the climb up Castle Rock certainly hadn’t fazed her. The unexpected thought of her took him aback. But he couldn’t shake the mental image of her on the river with the group, similarly clad in helmet and wet suit.
Which made him a sap any way you looked at it.
At Staci’s shout, he followed the direction of her gaze and watched an osprey’s flight overhead, but his thoughts were still centered on Cait. Sleeping with the woman didn’t change anything between them. It sure as hell hadn’t altered the fascination she held for him. A fascination that somehow had grown rather than been depleted after last night.
There hadn’t been enough hours to touch her, taste her everywhere he’d planned. Not enough time to discover every soft and secret place on her body and linger over it until she strained and shuddered beneath his lips.
There’d been plenty of straining and shuddering, he recalled, stroking the paddle through the water rhythmically. And it definitely hadn’t been one-sided.
There’d be less to worry about if her attraction centered solely around the physical. But he found himself just as intrigued by things she’d said. Things she’d probably wished she hadn’t.
Unless you’ve got a thing for women with stratospheric IQs and abysmal taste in men.
And based on the couple examples of guys she’d mentioned from her past, he was inclined to agree. They’d sounded like assholes.
And then there had been what she’d revealed the time he’d caught her trespassing. The day after he’d heard about Drummy offing himself. He’d been like a wounded animal, he recalled. Hungover and raw, thinking of how his friend had ended things. He’d wanted to strike out. To shock her, and yeah, maybe scare her a little since she didn’t seem to have the sense to know when to feel fear.
But he hadn’t shocked her by demanding whether she’d ever seen someone blow his brains out. He’d been the one left shaken by her reply.
Blood spatter everywhere. Bone fragments in the chair cushions. Caught in the drapes. Gray matter on the desk. On the gun.
Just the memory of her recitation, her tone flat and emotionless, had his skin prickling. It was probably something she’d seen on the job. On a case.
Hell of it was, her voice had sounded young when she uttered the words. Vulnerable. And the moment between them had forced open an inner door that he usually was much better at keeping locked.
And what the hell was he supposed to do with that? The chatter of the people behind him faded to a distant buzz of background noise as he considered the question. His life was exactly the way he liked it. He had a job he never grew tired of. A home—at least the beginnings of one—slowly taking shape to his exact specifications. When he got tired of being alone, he could drive a few miles to where friends and conversation would be waiting. When he needed sex . . . well, finding a woman was never as difficult as ridding himself of her later. Shellie Mayer was just the latest to discover that he wasn’t long-term material.
On the surface, that made Cait and him perfectly matched. After this case she’d be on the other side of the continent. He should be grateful for the ready-made escape clause and try to get his fill of her while he could.
But there was a sneaky little sliver of doubt that told him that might not be possible.
“Otter slide,” he called back to the rafts, pointing toward the shore with his paddle. He heard Kirby and Pat relay the info to their clients as he scanned the river ahead. On the weekends it wasn’t unusual to run into several other outfitters manning floats on the river, but sometimes the weekdays were slower and they’d have the area to themselves, at least for a while. And according to Tucker’s call this morning, they’d had a couple cancellations in this area in the last couple days. Their schedule wasn’t hurting, though. They offered trips on several different rivers in Oregon, as well as the Lower Salmon in Idaho, and those remained popular.
He just hated to see this region’s tourism take a hit because of all the publicity about those bones.
“We’ve got nature calling.”
Zach looked over his shoulder at Pat’s call. “Mimosa Creek’s up ahead.” He waited as the guide relayed the information, and when he got a thumb’s-up signal in response, he paddled closer to shore, looking for a good place to exit the water. On a full-day trip Mimosa Creek would be a natural stopping point for his outfit, but this float was only for morning. There wasn’t going to be time to dwell on shore, which was a shame. It was one of the most unspoiled and little-known hot springs in the region and only easily accessible from water.
Getting everyone a place to pull ashore and then up on dry land took some doing. The rubber suits and booties they provided their clients didn’t make answering nature’s call an especially easy task.
There were six couples on today’s tour, so there was a great deal of bantering about which gender had the weakest bladders. But as Zach and his guides pointed out the most secluded nearby areas, he noted that the men were just as willing to take advantage of the break as the women were. And that was par for the course.
One woman—Marcy, he thought her name was—sent him a flirtatious look as she passed by him. “You can come, too, Zach. Keep me out of trouble.” She was a brassy blonde, heavy-set, maybe midforties, with a bawdy laugh that had sounded several times so far on the trip.
He grinned at her. “But then who’d keep
me
out of trouble?”
me
out of trouble?”
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