Freezing Point (5 page)

In the short time she'd known him, she had been in his arms at least twice now. Distancing herself from the crazy whirlwind emotions, Casey reminded herself of the circumstances that had drawn her into his arms.

“How do you like it? Strong or weak?” His question broke into her morbid thoughts.

Casey realized he was staring at her. “Strong. I love a dark brew with a tablespoon of half-and-half.”

He grinned. She could get used to that grin.

“A woman after my own heart.”

Finally, Jesse made his way to Casey, holding a steaming mug of dark, rich coffee. “Maybe this will not only warm you but wake you up, too.”

Casey widened her eyes and sat tall, taking the mug from his hands. “I'm not falling asleep.”

Unease flickered across his eyes. “You didn't sleep last night after your uncle's friend accosted you in the house, did you?”

Unwilling to admit she hadn't slept all that well for an entirely different reason, Casey focused on sketches on the wall behind him. She was tired because of the traumatic days, weeks and months before yesterday—but she couldn't tell
him about that, either. Still, she'd slept a little, she knew, because Jesse had made her feel a degree of safety. She smiled into her cup.

“It was a restless night,” she finally said, and took a long swallow of Jessie's coffee. “You should go into the coffee business. I'd come to your coffee shop every day.”

Jesse laughed. “That's what Ricky says.”

“Ricky?”

“He's my assistant, helps me with the ice. I can't do everything without a few extra hands. But he's a floater, so sometimes he's here, sometimes he's helping out in another department.”

“So, he's not an ice sculptor like you?”

“I'm not sure that's his aspiration.”

“I've never seen one at work,” she said. “An ice sculptor, that is.”

“Then you're in for a real surprise. It isn't nearly as glamorous as one might think. If you're ready, follow me.”

He led the way into another small office in the corner of the larger room where he'd made the coffee.

“Here's where I create conceptual drawings.” Jesse showed her the artwork that he'd printed from a computer.

“There are some similar sketches on the wall out there,” Casey said.

Jesse nodded. “Yes. I can tell how big I need to make the blocks of ice. I've been working a few days on preparing blocks for my next sculptures.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “This is the sort of stuff you wanted to know, right? How it's all done?”

Casey nodded. “Well, that and I'll want to interview you personally. This is all very intriguing. Keep talking.”

She tugged out a small notepad and her pen, wishing she had her camera.

Jesse tugged a navy blue hoodie over his head that said
Helms Ice on the front and tossed a pair of gloves and a cap at Casey, then pulled a pair of thin white gloves over his hands.

“Follow me.” He led her into another room connected to his office.

Casey stepped inside after him, realizing it was a refrigerated room. “Now this is definitely freezing.”

“Below freezing, actually. Twenty degrees to be exact.” He shut the door behind her. “You can have a seat on that stool by the counter, if you'd like.”

A huge chunk of ice rested on a table. “As you can see, I've already drawn out a design on this. I use a special kind of chalk that contains ammonia and penetrates the ice.”

“But how did you get a block of ice that size?”

A wry grin spread over his face. “This is an ice company, remember?” He chuckled. “We make ice here. See those two machines over there? They're working to make ice right now. They freeze the ice from the bottom up while water is circulating through. That keeps the air bubbles out, keeps the ice for sculptures from becoming cloudy. Takes three to four days.”

“Wow. How much does that chunk on the table weigh?”

“The machine creates three-hundred-pound blocks. For a large sculpture like what I'm working on today, I have to fuse the blocks together. First I cut them to the right size for the sculpture I have in mind, then sand them to a smooth surface. Then to fuse them, that's done by heating up an aluminum sheet and what amounts to ironing them. The chunk on the table is just over five hundred pounds.”

Jessie strode to a desk and opened a small box then moved back to Casey and held out his palm. In it lay two small foam cylinders.

“What are these?”

“Earplugs.”

Confused, Casey lifted the earplugs and wondered why
she would need them. She watched Jesse, admiring his form as he marched to the other side of the refrigerated room.

He glanced over at her and pointed to his ears, then to Casey's surprise, he lifted a chain saw.

I
nside the refrigerated room, Casey sat on a stool and shivered, despite Jesse's jacket and the knit cap and gloves she now wore.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven? Her stomach already growled like a man-eating tiger. She wasn't sure she would make it all the way to lunch. Hopefully, the guy would break for one.

Jesse held the chain saw high in the air and squeezed the throttle, revving the motor. She had the strong impression that he did that for her benefit.

He sent a mischievous smile her direction, confirming her instincts—he was showing off.

A smile slipped onto her lips as she took a sip of her coffee, what she now thought of as Jesse's signature brew. She'd need to top it off again soon because it was fast growing cold. She would definitely have had her fill of caffeine by the day's end. Unfortunately, that could lead to another sleepless night.

Jessie pressed the chain saw against the ice, sending a plume of frozen water into the air. She had the feeling he enjoyed the feel of power in his hands. Watching Jesse grind away at the ice with the chain saw, she couldn't ask very many questions at this juncture. So, she sat back and enjoyed
watching the ice take shape under his careful and expertly placed cuts.

She'd have to figure out how to get her hands on a camera—this deserved to be photographed. Danny would expect the images, too.

As ideas began to grab her, questions for her interview began to fill her head. Casey leaned on the desk and began writing about what she saw and experienced—all the emotions that Jesse's artistry invoked in her, little by little.

Casey enjoyed slipping back into her role as a reporter working on an article, albeit a human interest piece, as opposed to an exposé. But Jesse's broad shoulders and masculine stance as he worked the chain saw were quickly becoming a distraction, invoking altogether different emotions.

Looking at Casey, Jesse allowed the chain saw to idle. “Right now,” he said, raising his voice above the tool's noisome cadence, “I'm cutting out the main form with the chain saw, then everything else is removed with various-size chisels.”

Casey smiled and nodded, taking notes like a good little reporter, trying to focus on the ice rather than the sculptor. At that moment, she realized she should have spent time learning more about Jessie Dufour. Though she had nothing to compare his artistry to, his confident stance and the fruit of his labor bore witness to his ability and talent.

Her fingers growing stiff, despite the gloves Jesse let her borrow, Casey couldn't write anymore. She dropped the pencil on the pad and stood to stretch and get her blood circulation going again.

The racket of the chain saw suddenly stopped, and Casey glanced up to see Jesse staring.

“You're cold,” he said, matter-of-factly.

She didn't want him to stop, but she couldn't deny the
truth. “I'm not accustomed to sitting around in twenty degrees all day.”

Jesse placed the chain saw on the floor and, when he approached Casey, she imagined how warm she'd feel if his arms were around her. But no, he simply tugged on her sleeve.

“Let's get you out of here.”

She allowed him to guide her to the door, his hand near the small of her back. Once she stepped through the doorway into his office, she drew in what she hoped would be a breath of warm air. “I'm not sure it feels any warmer outside your freezer. I was starting to feel like a slab of beef in there.”

Jesse laughed and took off his cap and gloves. “It's noon already. Did you need anything else from me?”

A sliver of disappointment lodged in her throat. Was he so anxious to get rid of her? Casey frowned, not caring that he saw. Admittedly, she was enjoying Jesse's company a little too much. She felt safe while she was with him.

“Actually, I need another cup of your coffee.” Casey strolled over to pour some more. “And, I need answers. That wasn't exactly an interview. Plus, the newspaper wants me to follow you through the competition. Something for the front page, or at least the entire spread of the culture or entertainment section. Come on, then you'd get some publicity. Your picture on the front of the paper, especially if you win.”

A deep crease grew in Jesse's brow and he stared at her as though he'd rather take a trip to a war zone. The man who gaped at her now was the old Jesse, not the thoughtful Jesse who'd saved her from an armed attacker in the house, or who'd changed her tire.

What had she done to create that change in him?

 

Growing warm, Jesse yanked off his hoodie, giving himself a chance to reply. Appearing on the front page of a
newspaper was the last thing he needed in the middle of an undercover assignment. An article using his fake name was one thing, pictures were another. Still, he'd cleaned up his appearance from his last assignment near the Arizona border, so it wasn't likely he'd be recognized, especially wearing his knit cap.

Once the hoodie was off, Casey walked toward him, a teasing smile on her lips. Jesse froze as she reached for him.

What was she doing?

With a soft laugh, she brushed her fingers through his hair. “Just needed a little grooming, that's all.”

He closed his eyes. Her touch knocked him like a shock-wave. He turned his back to her and tossed the hoodie over a chair. It landed on the floor instead. She was putting him off his game. He gave a huff and walked over to pick up the hoodie. Turning on his heel, he began busying himself in the room.

“Well? You haven't answered me. You said you'd give me an interview, but I haven't had the chance to actually ask you questions, have I? Can I watch you through the entire process? I won't be in your hair the entire time, if that's what's bothering you.”

This operation was difficult as it was, maintaining the cover of an ice sculptor as he worked his way deep to learn who the players in the crime ring were.
That
was his real job.

On the other hand, he'd already decided he needed to keep her close. But her presence was clouding up the ice. He couldn't think clearly with her near. “It's complicated,” he said.

She shrugged, and with a lilt to her voice, said, “I can do complicated.”

Cute. Very cute.
Jesse dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I believe you on that, but I'm not sure you can do cold.”

Keeping her around here could be dangerous for her. On the other hand, she didn't appear to have any inkling about what was going on, criminally speaking. That could be good, meaning she hadn't stirred any trouble with her sudden appearance and unmonitored exploration before Jesse had found her lost on the loading dock. Or he could be wrong—she could know very well what was going on and be using him to get into the ice company. Either way, Jesse needed to keep a close watch on her—because if someone in the crime ring had targeted her, Jesse would have to protect her.

Still, he was torn about what was the best way to keep Casey safe. She was an investigative reporter who claimed to be writing a human-interest story under the name Carson Williams.

“I'm pretty busy. Mind if I give it some thought?”

Though he hadn't meant his response as a commitment, she smiled like she'd won a Pulitzer. “I can learn to do cold. But I can't learn to do without lunch. How about I buy and you answer a few questions.”

Phew, boy.
Jesse ran his hand through his hair, wondering at the look she gave him. Did she detect he was already twisting under her scrutiny? No way did he want to be under the spotlight. But he'd done this to himself. “Sure, but I can't take long, because I have a few things to take care of this afternoon.”

Like delivering the tire and finding out what really happened this morning. Discovering who Harrison Spear was, and when the next cash delivery would take place. He had his work cut out for him, and he hadn't even counted the sculpture competition.

He still had to maintain the appearance of being the company ice sculptor, which meant doing all the work involved and creating high-quality sculptures for the competition.

Jesse suggested they eat at a small out-of-the-way place
he frequented. He had a few questions for her, too, like what she was really after. He hoped she was only going for the ice sculpting story. But, given her background, he needed to be cautious. They placed their orders, and Casey excused herself, heading to the restroom.

While she was away, Jesse checked his messages. Nothing. He intended to deliver her tire to forensics, but couldn't very well do that with her tagging along.

A few minutes later, Casey slid into the booth across from him. She tugged a recording device from the same bag Jesse had confiscated from Carlos and Miguel only yesterday.

He was liking this less and less by the minute. “Uh, do we have to record our conversation?”

She frowned. “I guess not. It's not the kind of reporting I usually…”

The waitress approached their table, carrying a bowl of soup for Casey and an Italian sub for Jesse. After she left, Casey offered to say grace. Jesse bowed his head, thinking about how long it had been since he'd heard someone bless a meal. It felt nice.

Though Jesse struggled with moral issues regarding his career choice and reconciling that with his Christian life—the things he'd done in the name of his job—he'd reached out only this morning, begging God to keep Casey safe. And God had answered that prayer, hadn't He?

It was a start.

She slurped her soup then looked embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Jesse smiled. “That's okay. You'll forgive me if I happen to drop sauce on my shirt, won't you?”

She laughed. He liked the sound, and to see this side of her, rather than the fear in her eyes, the tears and the trembling he'd experienced from her over the last day or so. Jesse's throat constricted.

“Since I don't have much time, what say you ask me questions while we eat?” he asked.

“I have a million and this could take days. First, where did you get your training? What is your background?”

A bite of Jesse's sub lodged in his throat. He grabbed his water to wash it down. These were the exact kind of questions he hoped to avoid, but what had he expected?

“I created a few pieces in college for fun. Entered competitions. I guess you could say I just have a knack for this sort of thing.” Of course, he left out that his dad was a master chef, and Jesse had learned from him, but that information could jeopardize his mission. He'd given her as much truth as he could.

If he didn't play this just right, his supervisor, McCoffey, was going to have his neck—he might anyway. Jesse admitted he'd grossly miscalculated where this path would take him when he agreed to her interview to begin with. But he'd had his reasons then, and he supposed those reasons still remained—to keep an eye on her. But, would McCoffey agree?

“College. Did you major in culinary arts then? Where did you attend?” Casey scribbled on her pad.

Jesse's cell rang. He glanced at the ID.

McCoffey.
“I've gotta take this call, sorry. Hold on.”

He slipped from the booth.

He was aware that Casey watched him, even as he walked out the front door. The phone call had given him a reprieve from her questions that had taken a personal direction. Somehow, he needed to direct the interview back to his current occupation, the ice-sculpting process, and the upcoming event.

If only they could have met under different circumstances. Fortunately, since he was using an undercover name, she wouldn't be able to discover anything about him on the internet, except what she could find about him on the company website.

But that could prove to be a problem, as well, if she became curious about his past. A fake background planted on the internet just for her benefit would mean lies upon more lies. Jesse wasn't sure he could stomach much more.

“What's up?” he asked, letting McCoffey know he was able to talk.

“Harrison Spear's story is not holding up—he doesn't appear to have any connection to John Helms as a family friend. But he's been seen talking to David Gussy. There could be a connection there.”

David Gussy was second-in-command to John Helms. “And the flash drive that Spear dropped?”

“The computer-analysis recovery team is on it. I'll let you know when I know.”

“And the girl?” Jesse already knew she was an investigative reporter.

“She's a reporter with a history—easy to track. She quit her job in Oregon about a week ago. It's unclear why she left, but it appears she drove straight to Southern California to John Helms's house.”

“To an empty house.” But why? Certainly not to see relatives. Jesse didn't bother telling McCoffey she was interviewing him. That would not go over well. He'd find out soon enough.

“Stay focused, Jesse. She's a distraction. Nothing more.”

Jesse ended the call and headed back into the restaurant.

At their table, he noticed Casey's bowl of soup was gone and a cup of coffee took its place. “You're still not warm?”

“Guess not. But no worries, it's decaf,” she said, and tugged her pen and pad out again.

“Listen, I'm sorry, but something's come up, so I can't finish the interview right now.”

“What about later this evening?”

Jesse didn't answer. What would it take to get her com
pletely out of the picture? McCoffey was right, she was an interruption to this operation, a distraction.

“Look, I really need this story. You see, I don't have a job if I don't interview you.”

Was she serious? He needed to weasel his way into hanging out with Miguel this afternoon. He was doing double duty as it was.

“Can you meet me at the studio at seven? I've got plenty of work left to do on that sculpture.”

“But I need to talk to you, ask you questions. Your noisy tool doesn't lend itself well to interviews.”