Cold Fear (7 page)

“Barney—or barmy, depending on the day.” She held his gaze, and he took it for the challenge it was. “You can talk to Kit alone, but if she decides she doesn’t want to speak to you anymore she doesn’t have to.” She called over her shoulder. “Did you hear that, Kit? I’ll be at the cottage. If you get uncomfortable with Agent—” She turned back to the guy. “Sorry, what was your name again?”

“ASAC Frazer.” His eyes glinted, obviously not used to women forgetting details. Or maybe knowing she’d lied about the fact to give herself a little power when she felt so powerless.

“If you don’t want to talk to ASAC Frazer, come over to the cottage and get me, okay?”

Kit mumbled something that could have been anything from “bitch” to “sure.” It certainly wasn’t “thank you” or “I love you.”

Her sister’s lack of appreciation and general sense of entitlement was staggering and Izzy swallowed the hurt and the resentment. Their mother had spoiled the younger girl, and Kit’s lack of consideration for others drove Izzy crazy. Another reason she’d spent so much time away from home.

The sharp-eyed Fed didn’t miss her momentary loss of composure. She buried her reaction, something she’d always been good at, but the military had honed the skill into a mask no one could penetrate. It made for a hell of a game of poker. “Upset her and you’ll find out where I conceal my weapon.”

His eyes creased at the corners, but he didn’t fool her for a moment. “Left shoulder holster, so you’re right-handed. Looks like a Glock-17, but tricky to say for sure without getting a better look.” The guy’s gaze slid over her chest with glacial indifference, but suddenly she knew that was an act too. A wall. His own defense mechanism.

His eyes landed on her mouth, on the mole that sat just above the left side of her upper lip. She resisted the urge to touch her face self-consciously. Warmth filled her, and she knew she was blushing. As a physician and a former soldier, blushing was not in her repertoire. She moved past him, heart beating frantically as she went out the door.

Emotions were high, that was all. She was not attracted to this guy. She’d rather date Hank, and he’d given up asking her months ago. Her dog stayed behind, and she left them to it. She wanted ASAC Frazer to find the killer and leave them alone. She had enough problems in her life without adding a tall good-looking federal agent into the mix.

Chapter Five

I
ZZY HEADED DOWN
the path between the two houses. She rounded a corner and almost screamed when she bumped into someone. “For Pete’s sake, Uncle Ted. You scared the crap out of me.”

Her mother’s brother gave her a repentant smile. “Sorry, I figured I’d come by, see how you were holding up. Heard about Helena. Reckon Kit would be pretty shook up.”

Izzy indicated she needed to get past him with her armful of linens. “She is, but she’s busy right now, and I need to go make up beds.”

“You’ve got guests?”

She heard his tread heavy on the steps behind her. “Two FBI agents while they investigate the murder. Hank suggested they stay here.” She rolled her eyes even though her uncle couldn’t see her.

“FBI? Jeez.” Ted blew out a breath. “That’s Hank for you, though. Always thinking about the bottom line. He doesn’t realize you have enough on your plate.”

She got to the top of the stairs and put the linens on the heavy wooden bench that sat on the deck. Working quickly, she pulled back the storm shutters and Ted helped her by opening up the other windows.

She gathered up the linen and put the key in the lock but paused to find the door was already unlocked.
Kit
.

Inside, she was hit by the distinct odor of weed. Dammit, this was why her sister had looked freaked at the idea of the Feds staying here. She must have come back here when she’d left the party without Helena—and Izzy doubted she’d been alone.

Ted cautiously sniffed the air. “When was the last time you were in here?”

“Over a month ago.” Bitterness leaked into her tone. “If the FBI weren’t here I’d kill her myself.” She flinched at her poor choice of words.

Ted chuckled and started opening the windows.

It was going to take a hell of a lot of air freshener to mask this odor. “If she has a boyfriend and is having sex in this cottage…” Izzy’s fingers clenched with frustration at all the things she couldn’t control.

“She’s seventeen, Iz-biz. Didn’t you have a boyfriend when you were seventeen?”

The comment was like a knife to her flesh. Her eyes flashed to his, but he was unrepentant. “And look how that ended.” Shane had been seventeen when he’d wrapped his car around a telephone pole—driving drunk and going way too fast. Another painful memory she’d unsuccessfully tried to outrun.

She shook it off. It had happened a long time ago. She was tired and angry and miserable. She dumped the linens on the couch and dug under the kitchen sink for rubber gloves and a spray bottle of cleaner. Other people had it far worse than she did, she reminded herself.

Her mind flashed to Duncan Cromwell’s futile attempts to raise Helena from the dead. Dear God. Her heart lurched. Her sister sneaking off to parties and apparently smoking weed, and acting out, weren’t so bad when you stacked them up against that. But they were issues Izzy would have to deal with. And right now she didn’t have the energy, or the expertise.

She sprayed all the counters and began wiping them down.

“Need any help?” asked Ted.

“I can manage.”

“I’ll just stand here and watch you then.” He tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and slouched against the living room wall.

She grunted, then found another pair of gloves under the sink and tossed them at him. “Fine, start in the bathroom. There’s disinfectant under the vanity.”

Ted grinned. “Was that so hard?”

Asking for help didn’t come easy. Delegating stuff at work was different. Everyone had a role to play there. Everyone had a responsibility they were trained and got paid for. She checked her watch. “Look, I’m back on duty in a little over ninety minutes. I need the smell of pot out of the air, beds made and the place clean enough for two FBI agents to move in shortly thereafter. Pitch in or leave me alone. I don’t have time for chitchat.”

Ted chuckled as he headed to the back of the house. “You always were a sweet-talker, Isadora Campbell. It’s a wonder men aren’t queuing up around the block to take you out on a date.”

She straightened up to hurl an insult at him, but snapped her lips closed. He was right, so why bother arguing. She didn’t do sweet-talk. She was a realist. A pragmatist. She didn’t stroke egos or waste her time gossiping. She didn’t angle for information unless it pertained to her job or her sister, and apparently she was even crap at that because she knew very little about Kit’s life.

In the military Izzy had easily blended into the system and become an integral part of the machine. In the civilian world she intimidated people, especially men. Or she wasn’t attracted to the ones who were brave enough to ask her out. Hank, for example. And she wasn’t the type to be worn down by repeated asking. She was built stubborn, and that was a good thing.

She was fine on her own.

She frowned, trying to remember the last time she’d actually gone on a date. While she was in the Army, that was for sure. Well over a year ago. And as for sex…she snorted as she wiped under the toaster. If it were up to her,
homo sapiens
would be well on their way to extinction. She’d been in a few relationships over the years, and sex was a good way to relieve stress, which was important when the world was going to hell and wanted to take you with it. But the military’s way of moving people around and strict rules on fraternization had killed most of her relationships.

Didn’t mean she didn’t get lonely sometimes.

She pushed away the image of the FBI agent who was currently next-door in her home. He looked arrogant and aloof, but there was no denying the guy was hot. She smiled to herself, trying to imagine him in her home with the feminine sofas and laid-back beachy atmosphere. She couldn’t do it. He didn’t fit. She
could
imagine him naked in the shower, and her detailed knowledge of anatomy pushed her brain into overdrive. Wet hair slicked back, eyelashes spiked, hard muscles defined beneath warm skin beaded with water droplets. A fine sprinkling of golden hair arrowing down to… Hah! She eyed her yellow gloves and shook her head. Who was she kidding? Even if she were interested in someone like that, he wouldn’t look twice at a woman like her. He was made for black silk and satin lingerie. She was rubber gloves and white cotton. He was expensive brandy, she was
Lysol
. He was law enforcement—a lump formed in her throat—she wasn’t.

She thrust the image of him away. She couldn’t afford to let down her guard, not even in her daydreams.

Ted started whistling in the other room and she jolted. She’d almost forgotten she wasn’t alone. Ted and Kit were all the family she had left. Kit might be running a bit wild, but it was nothing Izzy hadn’t done when she was seventeen. She’d deal with it. Talk to Kit. Steer her back on track to finish high school and get into a good college.

She tried not to think about Jesse Tyson lying unconscious in the hospital. She definitely didn’t want to think about poor Helena or her heartbroken family. She put the cleaning cloths in the kitchen sink and pulled out the mop. Murder left an indelible stain on people that couldn’t be washed away. The sooner these Feds caught this bastard the better, even if it meant she ended up in jail.

*     *     *

F
RAZER STOOD IN
the middle of a shuttered room with Kit Campbell, a younger, less uptight version of her sister, who sat hunched up on the couch. She shared the strawberry-blonde hair and effortless beauty of the doc. He’d bet she had the boys at school jumping through hoops to get her attention and probably didn’t even notice.

The wariness in her gaze was from youth, not experience. Her hands formed fists. Her jaw was clenched. She looked scared and defensive, which didn’t work well when trying to gain information from interviewees. If her sister hadn’t been so overprotective he would have suggested hypnosis, but he’d save that for another day.

Maybe he could work the charm he was famous for in some circles. “How about you put on a coat and we go walk the dog on the beach?”

Kit frowned in sudden confusion and sniffed loudly. “I thought you wanted to talk about Helena.”

“I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs and, yes, I’d like to know more about your friend, Helena. It’s an important part of catching the person who did this to her.”

Huge, grief-stricken blue eyes latched on to his—as if she’d finally realized this wasn’t about her. She nodded and stood, then disappeared down the hall, presumably to put on some extra layers of clothes.

The dog nudged his hand insistently. Frazer had always been a sucker for animals. His ex had taken their dog, saying he spent too much time at work to take proper care of him. To forget the rest of what she’d done he gave the hound a good rub. He didn’t have time for a pet in his life because his hours were insane, but he missed the uncomplicated affection.

He looked up, wondering where the teen was. The gloom of the room was depressing. He walked across to the French doors, went outside and pushed back the storm shutters, latching them on the outside. He came back inside and closed the door to keep out the freezing wind. Even though the sun was going down, the natural sunlight helped relieve the shadows. Barney wagged his tail in approval.

He used the alone time to snoop. The floors were hardwood with brightly colored area rugs strewn throughout. A medium-sized fake Christmas tree stood in the corner, but the lights weren’t turned on. There was a pale blue sofa dotted with lacy white and flowery cushions, a pure white armchair which seemed risky considering Barney who was following him around like his new best friend, waiting for him to do something interesting. A pink poinsettia sat on the dining room table, pots painted in pastel colors lined the windowsills. And plants everywhere. Lots of healthy looking plants.

His ex had once said not even a houseplant could survive his neglect. Now he had an office full. Not that he was bitter.

He’d always known exactly what he was going to do with his life, something his ex had failed to understand even though he’d told her from the very beginning. Law enforcement sounded a lot more glamorous than it was. The majority of marriages didn’t survive the pressure—another shitty statistic from a job that took as much as it gave. But he wouldn’t swap it for the world. He’d been offered far better paying positions and turned them down without a single regret. He was meant to hunt killers.

The house was soft, warm, soothing even. A very feminine setting at odds with Dr. Campbell’s aloof persona—not that he didn’t see her as female, she was definitely female, but… He stared harder, trying to put a finger on what was bothering him about the juxtaposition. Had he expected military sparseness? Possibly.

The woman was an attractive enigma and he was a sucker for puzzles. But now he was thinking about a woman when he should have been thinking about a murdered teen.

He checked out the photographs on the mantel. Lots of pictures of Kit in various stages of development. A few with an older woman with almost identical features to the other two women—their mother? Probably. A photo of Isadora Campbell in her military uniform caught his attention. Hair smoothed tight against her skull. That damned beauty spot drawing his attention to her lips. She looked spick and span and bright as a new penny, but her eyes were shadowed. She was hiding something, he just didn’t know what it was or if he should care.

People who dedicated themselves to the service of their country always earned his respect, but it didn’t mean he trusted them implicitly. He needed to check her alibi and look at her service record. See what Parker could dig up. He glanced at his watch—five PM—and decided to call Parker later. He and Rooney had bigger things on their minds right now and Frazer wasn’t even sure why he was interested in Dr. Campbell. She wasn’t a likely suspect for the murder and, on a personal level, he’d be gone in a couple of days. Dr. Isadora Campbell would probably never cross his mind again.