Scene Of The Crime: Means And Motive. Carla CassidyЧитать онлайн книгу.
chair next to the fireplace, her thoughts consumed by the man who had just taken his bedroom eyes and his heady woodsy scent with him.
She had no idea how well they were going to work together. She wasn’t sure yet how open he was to hearing anything she might have to say about the cases. But the bottom line was she had a job to do and she would do her best with or without his cooperation.
She pulled herself up off the chair and opened one of the suitcases on the bed. It took her only minutes to unpack and then place her toiletries in the bathroom.
She set up her laptop computer on the small coffee table in front of the fireplace and for the next half hour typed in notes and impressions while things were still fresh in her mind.
By the time she finished, she was still too wound up even to think about going to sleep. She should just pull her nightgown on and go to bed, but she had a feeling she would just stare at the dark ceiling while sleep remained elusive.
Although the idea of going outside in the cold night air was abhorrent, she pulled on her coat and snow boots with the intention of retrieving one of the flavored coffees that tasted like dessert from the guest shed.
The path to the shed was lit by small solar lights in the ground, and despite the frosty air, she kept her coat open and her hand on the butt of her gun. The night was soundless, the eerie quiet that thick snow cover always brought.
All of her senses went on high alert. There was no way she intended to be careless on her first night or any other night she stayed here.
A faint scent of pine lingered in the air and she noticed through the bare trees that the main building was dark. She was all alone on the Diamond Cove grounds.
When she reached the guest shed and stepped inside, a light blinked on and the bell tinkled overhead. She made sure the door was closed firmly behind her and then checked behind the door that hid the washer and dryer to make sure nobody was hiding there. She then moved to the storage room. With her gun in her hand, she threw open the door and breathed a small sigh of relief.
Assured that she was alone, she picked out a chocolate-flavored coffee, placed it in the coffee machine and then faced the door as she waited for the foam cup to fill.
This was what poor Rick Sanders had done. He’d come in here seeking a nice cup of hot chocolate and instead had ended up stabbed viciously in the back.
When the coffeemaker whooshed the last of the liquid into the foam cup, she turned and grabbed it and went back out into the quiet of the night.
She was halfway to her cabin when the center of her back began to burn and she had the wild sense that somebody was watching her.
She whirled around, her sudden movement sloshing hot coffee onto her hand as she gripped the butt of her gun with the other. Nobody. There was nobody on the path behind her.
There was no sound, no sign of anyone sharing the night with her. She hurried the rest of the way to her room, unlocked her door and went back inside. She set her coffee on the low table in front of the fireplace and then moved the curtain at the window aside to peer out.
Despite the fact that she saw nothing to cause her concern, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somebody had been out there, somebody who had been watching her...waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
* * *
GABRIEL WAS UP before dawn, his thoughts shooting a hundred different directions and making any further sleep impossible. He got out of bed, pulled a thick black robe around him and then padded into the kitchen to make coffee.
As it began to brew he took a quick shower, dressed for the day and then sank down at the kitchen table with a cup of hot coffee before him.
He should be thinking about murder. He should be thinking about the interviews he’d set up for the day, but instead his head was filled with questions about the long-legged, green-eyed woman who had blown into his case...into his town on a gust of cold air.
Could she accomplish what he hadn’t been able to do? Could she somehow identify the killer, who had remained elusive so far to him, and get him behind bars? If she could, then it would be worth whatever he had to put up with to work with her.
All he wanted was to get this murderer off his streets. He’d never dreamed when he’d left the Chicago Police Department behind three years ago to take this job that he’d be dealing with a serial killer in the town known as America’s family destination.
He’d also never imagined he’d be working for a mayor who was contentious and petulant, a man who was also a pompous ass and passive-aggressive. It was no wonder the last chief of police had quit after only less than a year on the job. More than once throughout the past three years Gabriel had considered walking away from here and starting over someplace else.
Once again his thoughts went to Jordon. There was no question that he found her extremely attractive. He even admired the fact that she’d called him out on the jabs he’d shot at her. But that didn’t mean he was going to like her and it certainly didn’t mean he was going to work well with her.
She already had one strike against her. He hadn’t approved of her decision to stay at Diamond Cove. She’d known he didn’t like it and yet she’d done it anyway. She was placing herself in the eye of a storm, and as far as he was concerned, it was an unnecessary, foolish risk.
By the time he finished two cups of coffee and his scattered musings, the morning sun had peeked up over the horizon and it was almost six thirty.
He made a call to arrange for a patrol car to be taken to the bed-and-breakfast for Jordon to use and then pulled on his coat to head out.
It was going to be a long day. Diamond Cove employed four people full-time and he’d arranged for all of them to be interviewed today along with a few others away from the bed-and-breakfast, as well.
As he got into his car he swallowed a sigh of frustration. Everyone they would be interviewing about the latest murder were people he’d interviewed at least twice before with the first two homicides.
He was desperate for some new information that might lead to an arrest, but he really wasn’t expecting to get any that day.
Thankfully, the road crews had handled the snowfall well and the streets had been cleared for both the locals and the tourists who braved the winter weather for a vacation.
There was another snowstorm forecast for early next week. Jordon better enjoy the next few days of sunshine because, according to the weather report, the approaching snowstorm was going to be a bad one.
Maybe they’d get lucky and solve the case before the storm hit. She could keep her date with the Florida beach and he could get back to dealing with the usual crimes that always occurred in a tourist town.
He arrived at the bed-and-breakfast at ten till seven and parked next to the patrol car that Jordon would use. He retrieved the keys from under the floor mat and then headed to the dining room.
Jordon was already seated at a table and he didn’t like the way his adrenaline jumped up a bit at the sight of her. Once again she was dressed in the black slacks that hugged every curve and a white, tailored blouse—the unofficial uniform of FBI agents everywhere.
“Good morning,” she said. Her eyes were bright and she exuded the energy of somebody who had slept well and was eager to face a new day.
“Morning,” he replied. He took off his coat and slung it over the back of a chair and then got himself a cup of coffee and sat across from her. The scent of fresh spring flowers wafted from her.
“Are you a morning person, Chief Walters?” she asked.
He looked at her in surprise. “I’ve never thought about it before. Why?”
“My ex-husband wasn’t a morning person and he found my cheerful morning chatter particularly irritating. If you need me to keep quiet until you’ve had a couple of cups of coffee, that’s information I need to know.”
“How