Cassie Miles - Rocky Mountain Mystery

“You sound awfully romantic for a true crime reporter.”

“Tomorrow,” he said as he closed the door behind himself and went down the hall to the elevator.

Her condo building had fairly decent security, but David didn’t think it was enough if Blair was really in danger. No surveillance cameras on the floors. And there wasn’t a doorman. Earlier today, he and Adam had gained access to the swimming pool by buzzing the resident manager and asking where they could find Blair.

Until he knew what was happening with the investigation, he wanted to make sure she was safe. Since she wouldn’t let him hire a bodyguard, he’d take on that duty for himself.

At his Cherry Creek town house, David parked in front and ran up the concrete steps. He unlocked the door and charged inside, full of purpose. His gun, if he remembered correctly, was in a shoe box on the top shelf of the downstairs linen closet. He glanced past the sunken living room to the kitchen counter where Jake stood, eating pizza in the midst of scattered newspapers.

“Hey, bud,” Jake called out. “What’s up?”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“In about an hour. There’s a press conference on last night’s murder.”

At the linen closet, David pushed aside the stacked sheets on the top shelf. He found the box, opened it and took out his black Glock automatic. The heft of the weapon felt good in his hand. He held the gun straight out and sighted down the barrel.

“What the hell?” Jake stood at the end of the hall. “What’s going on?”

“I need protection.”

“Is somebody coming after you?”

“Not me,” David said. “Blair.”

“Blair Weston?” Jake stumbled back a step. He looked like somebody had punched him hard in the gut, knocking all the hot air out of him. “Damn.”

At least, David thought, his friend had the belated decency to realize he’d behaved badly toward Blair. After nearly killing her in the car accident, Jake had ended their relationship.

“She looks great,” David said. “Her hair’s short. Real cute. It makes her eyes look huge.”

“What happened to her was a damned shame,” Jake said. “Poor kid.”

Disgusted, David turned away. He couldn’t stand to look at this supposed fun guy—love-’em-and-leave-’em Jake Zitti. “Don’t waste your pity on Blair. She’s completely recovered.”

“After the accident…” Jake’s voice faltered. “I couldn’t stand to see her all beat up like that. It wasn’t really my fault. Some jerk cut me off. Hit-and-run. They disappeared.”

“Face it, Jake. You had an accident because you drive like a madman.”

And Blair had paid the price. Reaching into the shoe box where he’d kept his gun, David took out his permit to carry a weapon. He tossed aside the box and went into his first-floor office. In the bottom desk drawer, he had several clips of bullets filed among the computer discs.

He snapped in a clip and swiveled around in his desk chair to face Jake. “Now all I need is the shoulder holster.”

“Tell me again why you’re packing heat.”

“I’m investigating,” David said cryptically. “Which reminds me. Is Ted Hurtado still working at The Post?”

“Teddy’s back. He took off for a while to write a book or something. But I saw him the other day.” Jake glanced at the gun. “I can help you out with the holster. I’ve got one that should work. You just clip it onto your belt.”

David raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You carry a gun?”

“Not all the time. But there was this girl that I dated. Great-looking woman. Long red hair all the way to her butt. Anyway, she was…”

“Married?”

“Right,” Jake said. “I broke it off. But her husband was the jealous type and I thought he was going to kill me.”

David shook his head. “Jackass.”

AFTER BLAIR MADE THE CALL to Adam, telling him that she wouldn’t be at the autopsy, she began second-guessing herself. Should she go? If the murder yesterday was connected to the Fisherman case, she might be able to help. On the other hand, if David was right and she was targeted as a victim, she’d be smart to lie low.

Uncertain, she paced through her condo. The two-bedroom space had never felt so confining. When she stood outside on the balcony and peered at her glimpse of the mountains, she felt trapped as a baby bird in a nest, afraid to fly. Grow up, Blair! You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding out. She needed to get out, even if it was only to go to the bookstore or grab an espresso.

She grabbed her car keys and backpack. While recovering from her many operations, a lot of her time was spent on crutches, which meant she needed both hands free. She’d gotten into the habit of using a backpack or fanny pack instead of a purse.

Heading out the door and down the hall to the elevator felt like a victory march. She didn’t know exactly where she was headed, didn’t have a plan. But at least she wasn’t cowering.

Inside the elevator, Blair hit the button for the basement level where her car was parked. As soon as she opened the door to her Camry, she was met with a sickening stench. What was that smell?

On the passenger side, staining the upholstery, was a dead, gaping trout. Blood and guts spilled across the seat.

A cold dead fish. From the Fisherman.

With a gasp, Blair yanked herself out of the car. Her gaze flitted to the far corners of the underground garage. “Anybody here?”

Her voice echoed back at her, and she could hear the sound of her own fear. Her panic. He could be anywhere. Hiding inside the stairwell. Ducked behind another parked car.

In spite of the stink, she climbed behind the steering wheel of her Camry and locked the doors. The inside of her head whirled like a centrifuge. She was about to black out. An overwhelming vortex dragged her down into darkness. She was falling, unable to catch herself.

She blinked, forcing herself to see. Through the windshield, the concrete wall wavered as her vision faded. The light and shadow blurred.

Fighting dizziness, she turned the key in the ignition. Her fingers shook. She had to get away from here. Slowly she backed from her slot, turned and drove up the ramp onto the street where May sunlight splashed in a burst of ironic cheerfulness.

Breathing hard, she drove to the corner, turned right, drove two more blocks and parked. The sense of vertigo began to ebb, leaving her trembling and confused. She stared out at the street. Quite literally, she didn’t know which way to turn.

It wouldn’t do any good to return to the condo, run upstairs and lock her door. He knew where she lived.

Call the cops? Eventually, she’d turn over the dead fish for forensic analysis. There might be prints or fibers. But right now she wasn’t ready to face a police interrogation.

Escape? She could move in with a friend. Go to Tucson and stay with her parents. But what if he followed? She couldn’t be responsible for bringing danger to someone else’s doorstep.

Blair knew what she must do.

The dead fish in the passenger seat took precedence over her prudent, don’t-get-involved attitude. Like it or not, she was a part of this inquiry. She needed to be at the autopsy.

And she wanted David at her side.

After a stop at a convenience store, where she bought a newspaper and used it to wrap the fish, which she stashed in the trunk, she got back into the driver’s seat and rolled down all the windows hoping to blow away the stench. Ventilation didn’t help. The disgusting odor clung to her, sinking deep into her pores, reminding her of the danger. He’d been close enough to put the dead fish in her car. And he could come even closer.

Checking the address on the business card David had given her, she aimed toward the Cherry Creek area. Though David lived only fifteen minutes away from her high-rise—close enough that they both went to the same grocery store—his town house was obviously in a higher tax bracket. The row of six two-story units, set back from the street, were expensively charming with molded stucco curves swooping around large windows. Each unit had its own attached garage. To afford a place like this, David must be doing very well for himself.