Face of Danger. Valerie HansenЧитать онлайн книгу.
She was about to give up on him and head for home when her phone rang. She snatched it up before the second ring. “Hello?”
“Ms. Bryant? This is Cade Jarvis,” the slightly breathless male voice said. “I’m going to be a little late.”
He was already more than a little late but something in his tone gave Paige pause and made her ask, “Are you all right?”
“Boy, news travels fast.”
“I beg your pardon?” It was becoming clear to Paige that this call was not the result of a normal travel delay. “What news? What’s happened?”
“I was run off the road not far from there.”
Her free hand flew to her throat and her eyes widened. “Oh, no! Are you all right?”
“Fine. Actually, I’m in better shape than my truck is. It would have been a lot worse if other drivers hadn’t steered around me after I spun out. As soon as the troopers finish their report, I’ll hitch a ride with one of them and have him drop me at your office.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Thankfully, there’s no problem with the remains I’m bringing you, either. I had the skull packed in a padded evidence bag, so it wasn’t damaged by the collision. I figured you’d probably make a composite copy to model the clay over, anyway, but I’d still like to get it to you in one piece.”
“It is a lot easier—and more accurate—if I don’t have to work with an original that starts out looking like a jigsaw puzzle.” Still concerned, Paige paused. “Listen, if you tell me exactly where you are, I’ll be glad to drive over and get you.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I don’t mind. It would give me a chance to peek at the evidence, too. I know how important it is to ID that victim ASAP.”
The Ranger’s chuckle struck her as sounding a bit cynical. When he spoke she was certain. “Oh, I get it. It’s not me you’re worried about, it’s these bones.”
“I didn’t mean anything of the kind.” Glad he couldn’t see her blush, Paige realized she was embarrassed by how close he’d come to the truth. “I do care about my job,” she insisted. “A lot. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about living people, too.”
“Hey, I was just teasing. No offense meant, ma’am.”
Whew. “None taken. So, do you want me to come get you or do you think you’ll be here fairly soon?”
“Hold on a sec.”
While she waited, Paige listened to a hodgepodge of muted conversations in the background. Between the overlap of voices and the humming traffic noise, it was hard to pick out individual words, at least not well enough to tell what was being said.
“Ma’am? You still there?” Cade finally asked.
“Yes. What did you decide?”
“One of the troopers will give me a ride while they haul my truck in so the lab boys can take paint samples from the parts that were sideswiped. I should be at your office within a half hour. Do you mind waiting just a little longer?”
“Not at all. See you soon.”
Hanging up, Paige busied herself tidying her office and trying to catch up on paperwork. Details like that always fell by the wayside when she was concentrating on drawing or sculpting the faces of nameless victims. Victims just like her sister.
Paige purposely tried to redirect her thoughts. There was nothing to be gained by beating herself up over past events. Amy was gone. Had been for sixteen years. The pretty three-year-old would probably never be located, alive or otherwise, and there was no way to change what had happened no matter how much Paige wished otherwise.
She pulled herself together and lifted her chin. “It wasn’t my fault,” she whispered into the silence. “I did my best to help her.”
That was true. And now she reached out to other victims of horrendous crimes and gave them faces. Gave their families closure and a chance at justice. What she did was more than a job. It was her calling.
It was also her atonement.
Cade thanked the trooper for the lift, squared his white cowboy hat on his head and straightened his tie before heading toward the main Ranger headquarters. He smiled when he saw a slim woman in jeans and a denim jacket waiting for him next to the rear entrance. “Ms. Bryant?”
“That’s me. We have met before, you know.” She extended her hand and Cade shook it. “In San Antonio.”
“I do remember you. It’s just kind of dark out here and I wasn’t positive.”
Actually, he’d recalled very little about the Rangers’ only forensic artist other than her being in her mid-twenties and having long, dark hair that she’d kept tightly gathered at the nape of her neck. Add to that the plain, half glasses she’d worn for close work and the woman had been the spitting image of a stern schoolmarm in an old Western movie.
When he saw her this time he immediately changed his mind. Paige Bryant was lovely, with expressive green eyes and long, loosely swinging dark hair that rippled around her shoulders and brushed against her cheeks as she tilted her head.
“I waited out here for you because I figured you didn’t have a key card for this door.”
“You’re right. Thanks.”
“Is that the victim you told me about?” she asked, eyeing the blue, cubelike case.
“Yes.” Sweeping his free arm toward the door he said, “Shall we? It’s cold out here and I know you’re anxious to see what I’ve brought you.”
She slid her card through the reader next to the outer door and led the way to her office.
Cade had never visited this particular room before so he was taken aback. It looked more like a cozy artist’s studio than it did a scientific laboratory. He spotted several computers at work stations and a small, boxy, black machine he didn’t recognize. Beyond that, the place was arrayed in a personal, extremely artistic manner.
There were rows of framed pictures of faces on one wall, a window on another and tall filing cabinets on the third. Beside them hung a painting of an ethereal-looking child whose face seemed to drift in the mist of the artist’s imagination.
Cade set the case on the nearest table and approached the painting while Paige removed her jacket. “This picture is amazing. Did you paint it?”
“Yes.” She was unzipping the carrying bag as she spoke. “Tell me again what you know about this victim.”
“Not a whole lot,” Cade replied as he joined her. “We’re pretty sure he’s tied to Gregory Pike’s murder. We just can’t prove exactly how.”
“I guessed as much when I was told to drop everything and give your case my full attention,” she said with evident empathy. “We’re all still in shock after what happened to Captain Pike. How’s the rest of that investigation coming along? Any hits on the sketch I made from his daughter Corinna’s description of her stalker?”
Cade nodded soberly. “Yes. We got him.”
“Wonderful. How about the likenesses I created from my photos of the man in the coma?”
“Those helped, too. We still don’t know his name, but a witness saw the pictures and came forward with some information.”
“So, what do you know?”
“He’s Irish. The witness remembered his brogue.”
“Good. At least that’s a start.”
“Yeah. A mighty slow one.” Cade sighed. “Greg was special. He was more than my superior, he was my friend