Naked Edge (15 page)

Deeply touched, Kat stared at the card until she could no longer see it, tears blurring her vision, a hard lump in her throat. She blinked the tears back and looked up to find the other I-Team members gathered around her desk.
"Ahehee'.
Thank you."

Natalie stood. "If there's anything we can do ..."

"Thanks. You already have."

Sophie and Natalie gave her hugs, then went back to their desks, while Matt went off to buy her a cup of coffee, leaving her with Joaquin.

His dark eyes were shadowed by grief. "I only spoke with him once--at the protest last Monday--and it was only for a few minutes. But there was something special about him, something real, something holy. I don't know. I'm just sorry he's gone."

"He touched a lot of people." Kat rose up on her toes and kissed Joaquin's cheek.

"If you need anything--"

"Oh, look at all the flowers! Is it your birthday?" Holly walked up to the two of them, smiling. "And, hey! You cut your hair! I love the new length, but ... Well, the ends are a little uneven. Where'd you get it done? I hope you didn't tip. I have the world's greatest stylist if you need a referral."

For the first time since Saturday, Kat laughed.

Joaquin stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Holly's shoulders. "Hey, Holly. Let's go have a little chat, okay?"

KAT LOGGED INTO NewsLink, her fingers hesitating above her keyboard. She really shouldn't do this. It was none of her business. If Gabe had wanted to tell her, he would have. Using the news database to pry into his past was wrong.

It's public information. It's already been published.

That was true. Every article listed in the database had already run in a newspaper somewhere in the United States. It wasn't as if she were requesting a criminal background check through the FBI or probing his tax records.

Bolstered by that thought, Kat typed "Gabriel Rossiter, Jill" into the search field and hit return. A moment later twenty or so references came up on the screen. There was a link for images, too. And before she could stop herself, Kat clicked.

A single color image filled the screen--an engagement photo. Gabe sat on a large boulder next to a beautiful blond-haired woman with sparkling eyes. A forest of ponderosa pines made up the background, a red sunset stretching behind them. But it wasn't so much the scenery that caught Kat's eye but Gabe himself.

He looked different--younger, happy, relaxed. He wore gray shorts and a navy tank top, his arm around Jill's shoulders, a wide smile on his face, a coil of orange and green rope at his feet. His hair was long, drawn back in a ponytail, a goatee on his chin. His love for the woman beside was clear to see in the way he held himself--and her.

Jill was the image of the all-American girl. Her wide smile told Kat she'd been laughing when the photo had been taken--laughing and loving life. She had a blue bandana tied around her forehead, her pink tank top and tiny black shorts revealing the well-toned body of an athlete. So, she'd been a climber, too.

Jill Chandler. Her name had been Jill Chandler.

An ache swelled in Kat's chest for the people in the photo, a man and woman who sat smiling and laughing together, clearly in love, unaware that their life together would soon be over.

How would Gabe feel if he saw you looking at this?

He would think she was prying. And she was. She was using a professional resource for personal reasons, trying to unearth the secrets he hadn't chosen to confide in her. It wasn't right, and the next best thing to having never done it in the first place was to stop. Now.

Kat closed the search window and logged off, still desperately curious as to what had happened to Jill. But if Gabe had wanted her to know, he would've told her. Besides, she had a lot of other things she could and should be doing now besides digging into his personal life--like checking in with the Boulder County Coroner.

She'd already read through the police report and had found it surreal to see one of the worst days of her life reduced to a few pages of choppy police jargon. Three lines of the report had been redacted, the words blacked out with a marker, not unusual when a case was still open and under investigation. Still, it caught her attention because it meant they'd found something at the scene, something crucial to the police investigation. She was both relieved and frustrated by this--relieved because it meant detectives had something to go on and frustrated because she'd been there. If there'd been something unusual at the scene, why hadn't she noticed it?

She stood and was about to head to the break room for another cup of coffee when Natalie called to her from across the newsroom. "I think you'll want to see this."

Kat turned to find the I-Team gathered in front of the bank of six television sets, where an image of news anchor Nell Parker flashed onto one of the screens, the sound muted, the closed captioning hidden by a row of heads. She grabbed her notepad and threaded her way through the desks just as Natalie turned up the volume.

"The Boulder County Coroner's Office has just issued a press release announcing that the death of a prominent local American Indian leader was an alcohol-related accident. The release states that George Red Crow died after getting too close to the edge of a cliff while intoxicated and falling two hundred feet. He is believed to have died instantly."

The blood rushed to Kat's head, thrumming in her ears, leaving her almost dizzy.

Alcohol-related accident?

That was impossible!

Shocked, for a moment all she could do was stare at the television. Then shock turned to rage. "That's a lie!"

She turned and took a step back toward her desk, some half-formed thought of calling the coroner's office in her mind, then stopped in her tracks.

Tom stood there, blocking her path.

"In my office." He motioned with a jerk of his head, then walked off.

Her heart still pounding, Kat followed.

CHAPTER 9

"YOU ARE FUCKING kidding me!" Gabe met Webb's gaze, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You brought me in on my day off for this?"

Webb looked at him through weary brown eyes that said he'd already swallowed far more than his recommended daily allowance of bullshit. "Look, Gabe--"

"This is a serious matter, Mr. Rossiter." Ira Feinman, the city attorney, glanced at Gabe with a disapproving frown on his thin face, then brushed imaginary lint off the sleeve of his gray Gucci suit. The man had instantly gotten under Gabe's skin with his nasal voice, fussy manners, and condescending attitude. "Given the potential liability here, the city must do all it can to manage the risks."

"Manage the risks?" Gabe couldn't help but laugh. "The city wouldn't be in this mess if Daniels hadn't ignored jurisdiction, gone in like the marines to break up the sweat lodge ceremony, and dragged an innocent woman by her hair!"

Feinman gave a prissy little sniff. "Officer Daniels acted in the line of duty to protect the city's interests based on the information he had at the time. In his statement, he said that Ms. James became belligerent and that his hand got caught in her hair when she resisted. As I see it, she's lucky she wasn't arrested."

Anger flared white-hot in Gabe's gut. "Daniels's statement is pure bullshit. I saw him bend down, take a handful of her hair, and drag her. I stand by my statement."

Feinman looked at him through the soulless brown eyes of a man who'd spent his entire life twisting the truth. "You place the city in an awkward position, lending credibility to her complaint."

"So, you want me to withdraw my statement and lie about what I saw?"

"Rossiter!" The tone in Webb's voice told Gabe he'd crossed the line--again.

The skin on Feinman's throat turned a mottled red. "That's not what I said. The city simply can't afford to wage fruitless court battles against litigious people who try to line their pockets with taxpayer dollars. I was hoping you would understand."

"Oh, I understand all right." Gabe gave a snort. "You're trying to get Daniels and the city off the hook."

Feinman said nothing, but reached down, picked up a copy of a newspaper that had been lying on top his briefcase, then perused its front page.

The moment Gabe saw the paper's banner he knew what was coming. It was the
Denver Independent,
Kat's paper.

Shit.

"Here's the article she wrote last week about the unauthorized ceremony. It reads, 'According to a source close to the investigation, no complaints were filed with police about the ceremony that night. The raid was initiated by Officer Frank Daniels, an eight-year veteran of the Boulder Police Department, who saw the fire and took it upon himself to act, ignoring jurisdictional boundaries."' Feinman looked over at Gabe. "I certainly hope you're not the source to which Ms. James refers here. If the city were to discover you giving information to the media without your supervisor's authorization, your employment would be terminated immediately. It's not part of your job description to respond to media requests."

Nothing subtle about it--that was an outright threat.

Before Gabe could get in a word, Feinman went on. "Nor is it your job to visit police dispatch asking questions. Yes, I know about that."

Okay, now Gabe was really pissed. "Did it occur to you that, as the ranger on duty that night, I might want to know how Daniels ended up on the scene instead of Mountain Parks?"

"Did it occur to you that Ms. James might be dating you just to get information from you for her articles?"

Gabe was on his feet. "Ms. James is not sleeping with me! Oh, don't look shocked. That's exactly what you meant. She doesn't have a deceitful bone in her body. And if she were sleeping with me, it wouldn't be any of your damned business!"

"Rossiter, sit down!" Webb glared at him, then rubbed his face with his palms. "The important thing to acknowledge here is that we're all on the same team. The city wants contact with the media to go through the proper channels. I've assured Mr. Feinman and the city manager's office that you had nothing to do with that news article and have no problem following policy."

So Webb was sticking his neck out to defend Gabe, probably knowing full well that Gabe was guilty as charged. Gabe owed him.

He sat, met Feinman's gaze unblinking. "No, I've got no problem with that. I just hope the city takes steps to make sure nothing like this happens again. We all know the city violated federal law that night. And guess what, lawyer man--it is part of my job description to uphold the law."

Feinman tucked the newspaper away in his briefcase and stood. "I think we've reached an understanding. I need to get back to the office. Ms. James has just arrived at city hall, threatening to sue unless we open our files to her."

Gabe gave a snort. "It sucks having to comply with the law, doesn't it?"

Give 'em hell, Kat.

Webb stood, shook Feinman's hand. "Thanks for coming."

Gabe kept to his seat.

Not bothering to acknowledge Gabe, Feinman walked out of the office and disappeared down the hallway.

Webb shook his head, dropped into his chair. "I hate that son of a bitch."

So did Gabe. "What a prick!"

"You're a pain in my ass, Rossiter. If you weren't so damned good at your job, I'd fire you myself." Webb pulled a roll of Turns out of his desk, tossed a few tablets into his mouth, and chewed. Then he pointed a beefy finger at Gabe. "You stay out of this and let the suits sort it out."

Gabe looked at his boss and saw a man he respected, a man whose weathered face was proof of the years he'd spent patrolling trails. It disappointed him to hear Webb say those words. "The city broke federal law when it sent cops to raid the
inipi.
Now Feinman is helping the city bury its shit, and you want me to look the other way? We're supposed to be the good guys, chief."

"We are the good guys, but we'll be good guys without jobs if you keep flipping off the city brass. That might not scare you, but I've got two kids in college and bills to pay." Webb washed down his antacids with a gulp of coffee. "Go home, Rossiter. And try to stay out of trouble--and away from Ms. James if you can."

"Yeah. Right." And as Gabe walked out the door, he told himself that's exactly what he planned to do.

KAT SAT IN the lobby outside the Boulder City Manager's Office, waiting to speak with him. Tired of playing games, she'd showed up without an appointment, refusing to leave until Mr. Martin met with her and handed over the documents on Mesa Butte that she'd requested more than a week ago. Mr. Martin's executive assistant had snippily informed Kat that Mr. Martin had an important job to do.

"That's fine," Kat had answered. "So do I."

Media all along the Front Range were now reporting that Grandpa Red Crow's death was likely an alcohol-related accident, something she knew in her heart could not be true. She'd known people on the reservation who'd let their addiction to alcohol kill them. Their lives had been marked by hopelessness and an inability to see the blessings and beauty around them. Grandpa Red Crow had always been full of hope for himself and others. If he'd had a drinking problem, he would have shared it with them and asked for their prayers, not kept it secret.