Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) (23 page)

He moved his lips to form an “o” as he thought about her question. “It varies a little. I can check the schedule, but I think Roman was in charge of dinner duty that night. Roman Huxley.”

“Professor Huxley?”

“You know him? Wonderful man. He and his students help out regularly. We always need volunteers,” Mr. Cane said, not so subtly.

Erin and her family had often helped out in local shelters and food banks when she was growing up. It was part of the community spirit in Queens, and also a big part of the church they’d attended. She hadn’t done that here, and she rarely went to church anymore. She hadn’t tried to integrate into the community at all, which might explain why she felt like she didn’t fit in. All she’d wanted was to be left alone and, eventually, that’s what happened.

Erin checked her watch. It was too late to call the professor now. She’d check in with him tomorrow. Soothe the ego Darsh had ruffled at lunch.

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Cane.” Erin handed him her card. “If you think of anything else…”

“Peter’s not in any trouble is he? He’s a gentle, if tortured, soul. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Thanks again,” Erin said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“There’s a donation box on the wall on the way out. Feel free to contribute,” Cane called after them.

Erin dug out a twenty and stuffed it in the box. Darsh did the same.

They headed back to the car and as they climbed inside, Erin leaned her head back against the headrest.

“So we’ve still got nothing.”

“I’ve got some people digging into Zimmerman’s background,” Darsh told her. “We should know something by morning. Where’s the bridge from here?”

“Keep heading east.” Even though she was tired, she needed to figure out if Peter Zimmerman could actually be their killer. The idea of another person becoming a victim because she was too tired to do her job pushed the sleepiness away.

Darsh drove through the gathering snow, flicking the wipers on slow.

They stayed silent except for Erin’s directions. After a couple of minutes, she saw the single span suspension bridge. “Pull up over there.” She pointed in the direction of a turnout just up ahead on the right-hand side of the road. There were tracks in the snow but no vehicles.

He turned off the engine and they got out. The snow was growing steadily thicker now. Dark woods edged the highway.

Darsh walked around to the back of the SUV and pulled something out of his bag. He flicked a light on and off. Flashlight. She didn’t think they’d need it, the snow was so bright.

“How long would it take him to walk from the mission to here?” Darsh asked.

“It’s about a mile. Ten minutes, assuming he was sober.”

“Was he?”

She shook her head. “He said he had a date with a bottle of vodka, but it isn’t clear where he got it from or when he started drinking.” They needed to trace his movements. Fast. But no one had reported seeing him. Maybe Huxley could help.

“There’s a path over there.” Darsh led the way, keeping the flashlight off as they followed the footsteps of cops and crime scene techs who’d visited earlier.

It was deathly quiet in the forest, the only noise the creak of branches and the groan of ice on the river. The occasional whoosh of a car along the highway reminded her they weren’t that far from civilization, even though it felt like a million miles away.

She slipped down a small incline, and Darsh turned in time to catch her against his body. “Steady.”

The connection sent shockwaves through her. She backed away and struggled to find her footing.

The path curved away from the bridge, and she thought they must have gone the wrong way when Darsh suddenly stopped in front of her, and she came up beside him. The path forked, and when they looked left, the riverbank was cordoned off with yellow tape. He flicked on the flashlight, and they both ducked under the flimsy barrier. The crunch of snow beneath their feet marked their progress. A few moments later, they got to the bridge. The void beneath it looked black as hell and just as welcoming. The bank was slippery, and she almost went down again, but Darsh grabbed her under the arm and hauled her up the slope in front of him. “Careful.”

Her heart pounded, and she wished her body didn’t enjoy the touch of his hands quite so much. They stood under the bridge, and it was like entering a different world. Out of the wind, the air was dank, damp, stale, and the smell of urine so strong she grimaced. She looked around as Darsh shone the flashlight into every corner.

“Looks like the crime scene people removed everything they thought might be related to Peter Zimmerman’s camp.” Darsh’s expression was disbelieving. “I have a hard time knowing veterans live this way.”

“He was running from a DUI charge down in Texas.”

Darsh shook his head. “He might have been running, but it wasn’t from the DUI charge.”

Her eyes shot to his.

“Demons.”

“From his time as a Marine?”

“Who knows.” He looked up from his perusal of the dirt and snow and concrete. “We all have demons, Erin. Sometimes we chase them, sometimes they chase us.”

“What about you?” she asked.

He smiled. “I’m here aren’t I?”

She huffed out a laugh, wishing she wasn’t so interested in what made this guy tick.

“Did they find a handgun?” he asked.

“No. Just a pocket knife.” She was sure the crime scene techs would have alerted her if they’d found another weapon.

He frowned. “So where’d he hide it?”

“Why do you think he had one?”

“Because he was a former Marine, and he was vulnerable. He’d have a gun unless it was stolen or he pawned it for booze. Why’d the cops check him out anyway?”

“I have no idea. I guess they were searching the area for Cassie Bressinger’s missing sheet.”

“We still within the town limits?”

She nodded. “Bridge is the line.”

Darsh studied the ground and frowned. He walked all the way under the bridge and came out in the forest on the other side. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but she followed him anyway. She hated to admit it, but being alone out here in the woods gave her the creeps.

They followed a natural path between the trees. During spring this part of the bank flooded, and it was littered with fallen logs. Darsh shook his head and then headed towards the frozen river. Erin grabbed his arm. “Careful,” she warned.

One side of his lips curled as he grinned at her. “Worried about me?”

She let go of his arm and swallowed uneasily. Dammit. “Just don’t expect me to jump in and save you.”

He clambered down the bank. “I think it’s well and truly frozen.” He eased out onto the smooth surface, tested it with his foot, and then stamped on it and grinned at her.

“Please.” Her voice trembled. “Don’t. I hate the ice. What are you doing?”

“Looking for his weapon.” Her question had him running his flashlight over the surface as he walked back towards Peter’s camp. She followed his progress from the bank. Then she spotted it. A dark metallic sheen between several lumps of ice.

“Over there.” She pointed.

“You got an evidence bag?” he asked in a calm voice.

Reluctantly, she eased down onto the ice sheet and edged towards him. Her heart vibrated with fear. “The idea of this freaks me out so much I’m pretty sure my body is actually standing on the bank watching. I’d never be this foolish.”

“I got your back, Erin.” He grinned at her. “I’d dive in and save you.”

His words hit her unexpectedly, because for some reason, she knew they were true. And she figured, just this once, she wouldn’t mind being saved by this handsome federal agent.

She handed him the bag, and he used it to ease an old revolver from its hiding place.

“Saw the cops coming, and he didn’t want to get caught carrying a gun,” said Darsh.

“Because of his outstanding warrant and desire not to call attention to himself,” Erin agreed.

“Which he’d pretty much fucked up by admitting to murdering two coeds.” Darsh sounded angry.

“That would do it.”

Darsh started walking towards her. The sound of ice cracking had her grabbing his arm and shoving him onto the bank. He lay there in the snow, laughing, as she glared up at him from her position down on the frozen river.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. If her pulse went any faster, she was likely to stroke out. “I hate you.”

He held out his hand to pull her up to the path. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“It was good police work. Admit it.”

She stood over him as he lay there, her hands braced on her hips. “It was okay police work,” she conceded. “But I still hate you for scaring me.”

He stood up, and she was grateful it was too dark for him to see her expression. He leaned close to her ear, and she felt his breath on her neck. She shivered, but it wasn’t from cold.

“Damn good police work,” he said.

She raised an unimpressed brow. “You trying to impress me?”

He laughed. “Is it working?”

She shook her head in exasperation.

“Here, hold the flashlight.” He placed it in her gloved hands and then retrieved the weapon from his pocket. He checked the gun, which held six rounds, then unloaded it, all through the plastic of the evidence bag.

“What you going to do with it?”

“Confront him with it tomorrow, and see if it’s linked to any other crimes. Who knows, maybe he is our guy.”

They began the walk back to his SUV. The cold air sank farther into her lungs, making the climb harder than it should have been. The ache at the base of her skull told her it was time to go home and get some rest. “You got anywhere to stay tonight?”

He moved easily, clearly unaffected by the cold or the terrain. “Just a date with my office chair.”

She smiled but didn’t tell him it was
her
office chair. If she did, it would be back under her desk tomorrow, and he’d be riding the plastic monstrosity she’d been saddled with.

And he’d be gone soon—if not tomorrow, then in a few days.

“You can stay at my place.” The words popped out before she could stop herself.

He slowed and half-turned, brows raised.

“Don’t get excited. It’s not an offer of rampant sex.”

He caught her hand to pull her up another steep section. The moon shone through the trees, and she had to drag her eyes away from his lips. She unzipped her jacket, suddenly hot and definitely bothered.

He let go of her. Didn’t answer.

“I have two spare rooms, but no transportation. You’ll be doing me a favor by giving me a ride.” Why was she pushing this? Because it made sense, and she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to him yet.

“I could give you a ride home and pick you up again in the morning.”

“While I let you sleep in your office, and I have two unused beds at home? Not very hospitable. But if you don’t want to stay with me… Crap, for all I know you lied before and do have a girlfriend who wouldn’t appreciate you staying overnight with someone you once slept with.”

“No girlfriend.” The long pause made her hyperaware of the crunch of their footsteps through the fresh snow. “And I don’t remember much sleeping going on three years ago.”

Heat flamed in every part of her body. They got to the car, and he started the engine with a roar. The revs matched the rhythm of her heart, and she was grateful for the dark interior of the car even though the air had been sucked out of it. She wasn’t going to have sex with this guy. He already thought she had dubious morals, and she’d vowed to herself she’d never be vulnerable or weak again.

But he was leaving soon…

She closed her eyes. For the first time in years she was tempted, but she wouldn’t be stupid enough to act on it. She’d learned her lesson the last time the two of them had gotten together. The sex itself had been amazing, but the aftermath had been painful and humiliating. She wasn’t going there again.

D
arsh knew exactly
what he wanted when he followed Erin into the lonely isolated farmhouse she called home. It didn’t involve sleeping in the spare room. Cold moonlight shone through the thin kitchen drapes, casting an eerie light over an almost austere setting. She flicked on the light switch, but nothing happened.

The hair on his neck stood up as she swore.

It probably wasn’t healthy that his mind immediately went to “serial killer,” but his line of work tended to make him inclined to assume the worst.

Erin cocked her head, listening intently. Her right hand rested on her weapon, proving he wasn’t the only one who was paranoid. “Furnace is still on, so electricity supply to the house is good. One of the breakers must have blown.”

He heard the sound of a drawer being opened and saw a flashlight beam track across the floor.

“This happen a lot?” he asked.

“No.”

Tension crackled between them. Sexual, personal, professional. You name it. They were wading neck-deep in it.

“Got another torch around here?” He’d tossed his in with his vest in the back of the car when he’d grabbed the go-bag he’d brought in with him.

“Torch?” she asked curiously.

“Flashlight,” he translated.