Jessica Andersen - At Close Range

“So we’ll skip that site,” she muttered to herself. “We’ll stipulate that he’s relatively hot and move on to the important stuff—figuring out what makes him tick.”

She kept one eye on the door as she clicked through lists of the papers he’d authored in recent years. He’d come looking for her sooner or later—to gloat if nothing else—and it wouldn’t do for him to find her prying. Wouldn’t do for him to know that she was interested, if only in the context of defending her territory.

The search results were sorted by date, so it took her ten minutes or so to work through the past couple of years’ worth of information on Varitek, mostly notations of meetings he’d attended or spoken at, research he’d done on computer simulation models and methods for integrating the various criminology databases.

“No wonder he has all those cutting-edge programs to work with,” she said, impressed in spite of herself. “He developed some of them.”

That also explained why he was a generalized evidence guru when so many of the FBI forensics experts specialized in one field, whether it be hair or paint chips or DNA. But that didn’t really help her. She needed something more. Something personal. Then she clicked on the next screen worth of information and hit pay dirt.

Only it wasn’t the sort of dirt she’d wanted to find.

It was far worse.

The newspaper articles were from the major Denver papers. The headlines jumped out at her, highlighted one-line summaries that told a terrible story.

She sucked in a breath and moved to blank the screen, but a hint of movement and a low curse from the doorway warned that she was already too late. She spun in her chair and saw that Varitek stood in the doorway of her small office, close enough to read the damning words over her shoulder.

His eyes were dark, his expression closed. “Find what you needed, Officer?”

Her stomach knotted and she stood, unwilling to let him loom over her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

He didn’t nod, didn’t smile, didn’t let her off the hook. Instead, he said, “No, you shouldn’t have. It’s none of your business.” He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to be breathing, though she knew that was an illusion. “How much did you read?”

“Not much,” she answered quickly. “Just the headlines.”

Headlines like Woman Murdered Returning Home From Art Show, and Cop Husband Vows Revenge Against Diablo Brothers.

“Then what else do you want to know?” he said, voice dark with an emotion that didn’t show in his face. “Should I tell you that Robyn and I fought about that damned art show? She wanted people to know how run-down the schools were in that section of town, wanted to help improve them. She moved her paintings down there and planned a party, a grand opening for God’s sake.” Grief deepened the lines beside his mouth and the muscles at his jaw bunched with tension. “I made her promise not to go out there without me. Then I let her down because I got a call. A break in the case.” He paused. “It was a plant, of course. A diversion. I got back just in time to find her. In time to say good-bye.”

Cassie made a wordless sound of sympathy while her heart tore in her chest and leaked pain. She reached out, but didn’t quite touch him. “I’m sorry.”

The words seemed inadequate. She reached over and blanked the computer screen, as though erasing the headlines could erase the memories.

“If I’d been there to drive her home…” His expression was closed, as though he were talking to himself now, as though this were a conversation he’d been through a thousand times in his head. “If I’d been better about separating my life from my work…” He trailed off and refocused on her. He scowled, but the expression didn’t seem as fierce as it had before. “Sorry. Not your problem.”

But it was her problem, she realized. It explained what had happened back in the alley, and why he had moments of being as overprotective as one of her four older brothers. Why he kept trying to push her to the edges of her own investigations.

It was her problem, because it was affecting her ability to do her job and make her place in Bear Claw.

Knowing it, but also knowing that she’d never been good at touchy-feely emotional conversations, she jammed her hands into her pockets. “I’m sorry, Varitek. There’s nothing I can say to make it better. Nothing at all. But I won’t let you shut me out of this case like you did with the kidnappings, just because I’m a woman and you’re afraid I might get hurt.”

He scowled down at her. “I didn’t shut you out.”

He was closer than she’d realized, a mere half step away. She wanted to retreat from the warmth of him, the sheer size of him, but held firm. “Yes, you did. Maybe you didn’t mean to, and maybe the lab fire made it simpler to use FBI equipment and personnel. But in the end, it was your work, not mine, and everyone here knew it.”

“I didn’t—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry. We’re both at fault because I let you take over. But not this time. This time you’re on my turf and I’m not giving it up.” She took a breath. “Look, I’ll admit it. With Alissa and Maya away, I could use help. But this is going to have to be my investigation and my evidence collection. I’m in charge this time.”

She expected an explosion, but instead he closed the scant distance between them, until that damn warmth kindled in her midsection and she saw the heat reflected in his eyes. “What do I get if I agree?”

Her first thought was so thoroughly sexual that she stumbled back on a wash of heat and surprise before catching herself and standing fast. Since when did her mind dwell in the gutter?

Sure she’d been on a dating hiatus for the past few months while getting settled in Bear Claw, and before that she’d stuck to casual things that rarely developed past pleasant kisses. She liked sex well enough, but she’d been…busy. Why had her body picked now to wake up?

She gritted her teeth, forced the heat aside and said, “What do you want?”

He stared down at her for a moment, and she didn’t dare interpret his expression, which was part closed off, part something else. Then he said, “The guy in the alley said he’d see you again. If he wasn’t focused on you before, he is now.”

The chilly logic chased away some of the heat. Cassie crossed her arms and swallowed a bubble of worry. “That’s good. It’ll give us something to work with. Maybe he’ll be stupid and make a mistake.”

“And maybe he won’t,” Varitek countered, voice dead level. “Bradford Croft wasn’t as smart as his crimes. That, plus the murder scene today, tells me we’re dealing with the slicker of the partners. We can’t count on him making a mistake.”

Cassie forced herself to meet Varitek’s eyes. “Which means?”

“That you’re in danger,” he answered flatly. “So here’s the deal. I’ll let you run the case and make you look good in front of the locals, but I’m in charge of security. In the lab, in the field, wherever. No debates, no questions asked. What I say goes.”

She bristled. “You’re not letting me do anything, and I don’t need you to make me look good.”

“Take it or leave it.” He shrugged. “I’m not here for a turf war. I’m here to help you people find a murderer before he strikes again.” His eyes sharpened on hers. “And he will strike again. Soon.”

She couldn’t argue against that. The pose and the missing fingertip argued for ritual. The lack of good evidence argued for the perfection of long practice.

Yes, the killer’s appetite would be whetted now. It was only a matter of time.

But it galled her to give Varitek control. She didn’t need anyone to protect her. She could take care of herself. Hadn’t she proved that when she moved away from her father and her four too-protective older brothers?