Shades of Desire (7 page)

Whoa. Freeze frame. Rewind. Don’t go there.

She was acutely aware of her chilled skin, sweaty brow and hitching breaths. Curling her fingers so she felt the pinch of her nails digging into her skin, she forced herself to calm.

“The renovation layout for
Plainville
magazine,” she said, marveling at how composed she sounded even to her own ears. “It must have been a follow-up piece. How’d they look?” She asked the question to distract herself but found she was actually curious about Melissa’s answer. The farmers’ market pictures weren’t anything exciting, but even an innocuous subject could be photographed well. Or badly. “I wasn’t seeing too clearly at the time and then—”

“No, no. It was great, Nat. In fact, I was wondering if I could see some of the other pictures you took that day.”

Her brows crinkled. “Well, sure, but why…”

“I’m thinking of setting up a stand there. To sell some of my own photographs. Things are getting pretty tight, and I figured if I could see what other people are hawking, it might give me an advantage.”

Natalie cleared her throat. “Mark hasn’t gotten a job yet?” she asked gently.

“Not yet. But soon.”

Right. Soon. Why did Melissa put up with the guy’s crap?

Not your business, Natalie.

At her friend’s continued silence, Natalie waved her hand. “On my computer in the office. The photos are organized by date and location. You remember.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

Melissa rose. She stepped out of the room, and Natalie could hear her fiddling with the computer. “You’ve got such a cool setup here. But— Hey, what’s this?”

“What?” Natalie called.

“The farmers’ market pictures are already up. So you were looking at them already?”

A small laugh escaped her. “No. Of course not. I haven’t been on my computer since…” Icy fingers trailed up her spine to grip her by the throat.

She hadn’t been on her computer since before the burglary, and she certainly hadn’t been looking at those photos. But someone had.

The man who’d tried to kill her.

CHAPTER NINE

N
ATALIE
’
S
THROAT
SEIZED
as fear and confusion shot through her in equal measure. Unaware of her predicament, Melissa continued to chatter from the other room.

“Well, the monitor was off, and when I turned it on, there was a ‘job interrupted’ message on the screen. There’s also a flash drive removal error notification.”

“The guy who attacked me,” she whispered, her heart thumping against her chest. “Do you think that’s what he was after? Do you think he copied them before I came in? But why—”

Her friend was suddenly kneeling beside her chair. “Great. And I just got my prints all over the mouse and keyboard. The police are going to freak.”

Reaching out, Natalie laid a hand on Melissa’s arm. Her thoughts raced along with her pulse. The man had wanted copies of her photos? “You couldn’t know. Besides, they’ll probably just be happy to have another clue. Only…” Only why would someone want to steal her photos?
Those
photos? It seemed ludicrous. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions.

But she knew she wasn’t. No one should have been on her computer except her, and it was too much of a coincidence. First, her pictures run in the local newspaper. Just days after, a man attacks her in her home for no apparent reason. And then she finds out her computer’s been messed with? No, it had to be connected. Maybe she’d captured something incriminating in the photos and hadn’t even realized it.

Not too far a stretch. Not only had her vision been poor, but she’d been distracted. “Can you help me look through them?”

Her friend hissed in a breath. “There’s hundreds of them, Natalie. That could take hours. I can’t stay that long. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. But Melissa was right, and she didn’t want to put off telling the police about her theory if the missing photos were somehow important to their investigation. On the other hand, she didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up without good reason.

Agent McKenzie thought poorly of her as it was. She wasn’t about to give him additional ammunition—reason to think she was physically needy but also needy enough to imagine a significance to her photos that didn’t really exist—until she knew more. Next, he might call her an egotist, a cocky artist who actually believed all the press written about her and thought her photos were worth stealing. Even killing for.

“What are you going to do?” Melissa asked.

Natalie considered her options. “I’ll blow them up. See if there’s anything incriminating in them. Maybe I’ll see something, maybe not. Either way, I’ll get Agent McKenzie the photographs, so he can look at them himself. In any case, I probably shouldn’t give you copies until I’ve told Agent McKenzie what’s happened.”

“Um. Hmm.”

Her assistant’s hum of agreement was edged with something that made Natalie narrow her eyes with displeasure. “What’s that mean?”

“What?” Melissa’s voice dripped with honey.

“Don’t play innocent. I can still read you like a book.”

“You just seem a little…I don’t know…different when you talk about him.”

“It’s annoyance. He broke through my door!”

“He thought you were in trouble.”

“He
waved
his hand in front of my face.” That, probably more than his questions, had pissed her off.

“You don’t accept your blindness. Why would anyone else?”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. What the hell was Melissa talking about? Natalie more than accepted her blindness. She was just trying to do the best she could. To move on, rather than cling to the past.

The silence hung awkwardly between them until Melissa cleared her throat. “Sorry. Will you tell him to meet you here?”

She resisted the idea immediately. She didn’t want him back here. It had already become too much of a distraction, remembering that he’d been in her house, marking it with his words and scent.

But then a thought struck her. Envisioning him in her space was far preferable to envisioning the man who’d attacked her, wasn’t it?

But the fact was, she didn’t want
anyone
intruding on the peace her house had always brought her.

“No,” she said. “I’ll—I’ll go see them.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Natalie’s denial was swift. Automatic. “No. Thank you. I’ll go alone.”

Melissa snorted. “You do alone better than anyone I know. But I’m your friend. Let me help you. Please.”

Melissa’s entreaty took her by surprise. So did her apparent need to help her. She forced herself to lower her barriers a bit. Melissa wasn’t Duncan. Plus, Melissa’s insistence brought her too much relief to turn her down.

Walking to the local Starbucks had been bad enough. The very idea of having to enter a public building like a police department made her feel dizzy. She didn’t want to walk into Agent McKenzie’s turf and be subject to everyone’s scrutiny except her own.

She didn’t even want to contemplate it.

And she knew exactly what that made her.

A coward.

Being a coward might be acceptable, but not when it could mean allowing a young woman’s murderer to go free… .

She inhaled sharply when Melissa covered her hand with her own.

Sure, she’d laid her own hand on Melissa’s arm just moments before. But people, Melissa included, had stopped touching her months ago. She knew why—that they hadn’t wanted to startle her or intrude—but in her mind, it somehow always turned into not wanting to be infected or feel embarrassed. She hadn’t realized how much the lack of physical contact had affected her until now. No wonder Agent McKenzie’s touch had thrown her.

Hell, who was she kidding? His sheer presence had thrown her, and that included any kindness he’d shown.

He’d been arrogant and pushy, but she couldn’t deny he’d also been kind. He’d been genuinely concerned for her well-being. He’d also smelled good. Looked—from what very little she could see of him—solid. Like he could easily take on the world’s problems, which he obviously did quite often, given his career.

And he doesn’t need to take on any more, Natalie, let alone a blind woman with the hots for him, so let it go.

Pressing her trembling lips together, she covered Melissa’s hand with her own. Her friend spoke again before she could.

“I
am
your friend, Natalie. And I wish you’d rely on me more. You can count on me. I’d never abandon you the way Duncan did. He was a fool—”

Natalie felt her mental walls slam back into place. She couldn’t believe Melissa was criticizing Duncan, no matter how well-deserved the criticism was, when her choice of men was so bad. Yet she knew her friend meant well and was, in her own way, reaching out. With a forced chuckle, she pulled away and shook her head. “He’s human,” she said lightly. “Most men fear commitment anyway. Can you imagine how they’d deal with commitment to a blind woman?”

Melissa didn’t have much to say to that. Natalie asked her to program Agent McKenzie’s and Agent Tyler’s numbers into her home phone and cell.

“Four-one-five area code. He’s in the bay area. You love it there.”

Natalie ignored Melissa’s words and her teasing tone. “I’ll call you later. If you really want to drive me to the station, that is.”

“Yes! Thanks, Nat. You’ve always been here for me. You deserve so much more than Duncan would have given you. Someday, I’ll prove that to you.”

After Melissa left, Natalie went to her office. It felt like a violation, knowing her attacker had sat at her desk, going through her things and getting insight into who she was and all the places she’d been. She supposed she shouldn’t mess with anything else, even if her fingerprints were already over everything. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t access the pictures the man had been after. Just like the computer in the living room, the contents of her desk computer were mirrored on her laptop, and that included the internet, all her pictures, and all the special programs she needed to access each of them.

Going back to the living room, she removed her laptop from its place inside the large mahogany console and sat down on the couch. Technology made it easy for the blind to navigate the web. Thanks to programs that not only converted text to speech but also described in minute detail everything on one’s screen, including the position of a mouse cursor, Natalie could “read” the newspaper online, upload songs to her iPod, and pretty much do anything else a sighted person could do. What she wanted to do now was enlarge and print out copies of the farmers’ market photos.

But first… First she wanted to know as much about Agent Liam “Mac” McKenzie as she could.

* * *

M

The single initial was all over the pages—witness interviews, copies of Lindsay’s diary, printouts of her MySpace, Facebook and Twitter messages—that Mac was reviewing. Unfortunately, the combined total told him jack shit about the person Lindsay had befriended before she’d run away from home last fall. Even when talking to friends about him, Lindsay had used the initial, being very careful never to reveal his identity, where they met, or anything significant about their relationship other than she loved him, he loved her, and everything was going to work out.

He’d been tracking down clues to M’s identity for weeks but had found nothing, and that hadn’t changed simply because Plainville PD had found Lindsay’s pendant in Natalie’s home three nights ago. Still, even though their main objective was tracking down Alex Hanes, Mac needed to keep looking into other possibilities. Other potential suspects. Investigation wasn’t about focusing on one person but the weight of the evidence as a whole.

He was distracted, however, by thoughts of Natalie Jones.

He supposed that wasn’t such a bad thing. She was just as much a clue as Lindsay’s diary or pendant. But she was equally unrevealing, teasing him with hints of information that didn’t lead anywhere. So far, all his phone calls and interviews with Lindsay’s friends and family, trying to determine whether there was any connection between the young girl and Natalie Jones, had yielded squat.

No matter. Persistence and patience were a detective’s best tools.

As exciting as TV made police work out to be, most of it involved painfully dull legwork rather than back-alley chases. But it was always worth it when he got to see the relief on a victim’s or loved one’s face.

That was why he hated when things got away from him. When he couldn’t take seemingly unrelated pieces of evidence and work them into a complete picture.

Like the way he’d failed to discern Natalie’s blindness.

Like his inability to find Lindsay’s killer.

Like his indecision about whether Natalie, the same woman who’d reacted with hostility and fear the first time he’d met her, was a coward or the bravest woman he’d ever met.

The tip of the pencil Mac was using to make notes snapped, and he cursed. He tossed it in the trash and stood, stretched out his sore muscles and left his office to stride into the detective pen that was the hub of SIG. All bodies were accounted for except Jase, who was taking care of “personal business.”

He snorted and shook his head. He supposed the guy still had youth and freedom, so why not take advantage of it? So long as it didn’t affect his job performance, and it hadn’t so far, it was his business.

Rubbing his neck, he told himself to focus. Focus on the case. Focus on catching the bastard who’d preyed on at least two women and who knew how many more since he’d absconded from parole.

Reaching the coffee station, Mac frowned at the small package of coffee beans proclaiming today’s selection to be Tropical Thunder. The sound of stifled laughter made him turn. Carrie Ward, her red hair slicked back into a ponytail that accented her high cheekbones, cheerily raised her mug. “We thought of you when we made it.”

Bryce DeMarco, who stood next to her, nudged her and chuckled.

“You two are a riot. Thanks.” Muttering another curse, he reached for the pot. Before Jase had joined SIG, Mac and his fellow special agents had drunk Hills Bros. Simple. Predictable. Strong. Now if Mac wanted uncomplicated caffeine—one that didn’t come with a hint of macadamia nuts, or hazelnut, or some other candy-ass nut—he had to walk to the break room and the coffee pot there was invariably down to sludge.

Partly because he needed the caffeine and partly because he didn’t want to give Ward or DeMarco another laugh, he poured himself a cup of coffee, took several flavor-filled swallows, and stoically hid his grimace.

Whoever had opened that first Starbucks in Seattle should be shot.

“Hey, Jase,” DeMarco called, “Nice threads.”

Mac looked up to see Jase strolling into the office. He was wearing a snazzy gray suit with a cobalt-blue tie. Mac had seen Jase working at his desk a little after three in the morning. It was almost twelve hours later but Jase looked ready to conquer the world.

Leaning back against a desk, Mac nodded. “You’re not quite as ugly when you’re all cleaned up.”

Jase grinned and did a piss-poor imitation of Vanna White. Catcalls and wolf whistles echoed around them. Mac raised his brows at the other three SIG members.

“You like?” Jase asked. “I can get you one for four hundred bucks. My nephew Nick just got a job at Macy’s.”

Four hundred bucks for a suit was a deal? Not in Mac’s book. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

Mac groaned. “Cheesy.”

“Going to have dinner at your mommy’s house, Tyler?” DeMarco asked.

Unfazed by the taunt, Jase twirled—as much as a six-foot-three-inch guard with size thirteen shoes could twirl. “I’m testifying in court this afternoon. Then I’m meeting a date.”

“Who’s the lucky lady today?” DeMarco asked while waggling his brows. The handsome Hispanic man had almost as much luck with the ladies as Jase did, but he liked to give Jase a bad time. Simon Granger, the strong, silent one with secrets in his eyes, had a slight smile on his face, but it was the most amusement Mac had ever seen him express. He never grinned. Certainly didn’t laugh. Yet he still managed to have a sense of humor. Now standing next to him, Ward made a sound of disgust and turned away.