Waking the Dead (3 page)
While she spoke the man seemed to have regained his powers of speech. But twin flags of color rode high on his cheeks and his dark eyes still looked dazed. “Certainly.” He dragged his gaze away from Cait and fixed it on Kristy. “Certainly,” he repeated.
“Then I’ll leave you to get started.” She didn’t know if Barnes would be here yet, but she wasn’t anxious to spend any more time with the ME who looked like he’d just cast them in a low-budget porn fantasy involving a threesome and a stainless steel coroner’s station. She started out of the room, throwing a look at Kristy over her shoulder. “Keep me posted.”
As she headed through the door she heard her assistant say sweetly, “So Michaels Steve, why don’t we go out to the truck and you can help unload the mother-fucking equipment.”
A smirk on her lips, Cait decided to let it slide. Nothing was more guaranteed to shatter a guy’s X-rated fantasy than a pint-sized angelic blonde with a mouth like a sewage plant. She almost felt sorry for him. Would have if she weren’t still annoyed at his all too common reaction. As it was, she figured he was going to get exactly what he deserved working with Kristy.
When she stepped out of the morgue doors she saw the Lane County sheriff patrol car pulling up to the curb a full fifteen minutes early. Her good humor restored, Cait rounded it to approach the driver’s door. A stocky deputy got out, extended his hand. “Mitch Barnes, Ms. Fleming.”
Belatedly, Cait realized she was still wearing the morgue temporary ID. She snatched it off with one hand and she offered him the other. “Looking forward to working with you, Mitch.”
The man came to her chin, had receding blond hair and brown eyes that were pure cop. And it’d been her ID that drew his attention rather than her face or figure. She liked him immediately for that fact alone.
“Sheriff says you want to head up toward McKenzie Bridge. Over to Castle Rock.”
She nodded as she dropped her ID into her purse. “I’d like a look at the dump site. Get a feel for it.”
“You got the pictures?”
Understanding what he was getting at, she nodded. “Still want to see it.”
Shrugging, he leaned into his front seat only to withdraw a moment later with an armful of maps. “Andrews said you asked for these.”
“I did, thanks.” She took the stack from him. “If you want to lead the way up to the McKenzie Bridge area, I’ll follow this time. That way you don’t have to wait around while I go through the cave if you don’t want to.”
“Sounds good. It’s about a forty-five minute drive. I’ll call Sharper on the way and let him know we’re coming by.” A smirk flashed across the man’s otherwise professional de meanor. “He’ll be thrilled to take you to the cave.”
Coupled with the sheriff’s comments the night before, Cait had the distinct impression that the guide they kept mentioning was light on social graces. The thought didn’t bother her nearly as much as it would if he were another ogler like the ME.
Men like that rarely brought out the best in her.
How the hell had he gotten into this mess?
Fuming, Zach Sharper threw another look at the rearview mirror and the empty ribbon of road behind him. The answer was swift in coming. Ever since he’d reported his findings from that cave, Andrews had had him wrapped up like a damn trick monkey. First he’d had to lead law enforcement to the place. Hang around while they did their thing. Then there’d been the endless questioning.
And now he found himself forced to be at the beck and call of some consultant hired by the sheriff’s office. Playing glorified nursemaid to a cop—or close enough to it—promised to be worse than the biggest pain-in-the-ass client he ran across from time to time. At least he had a choice when taking on the clients.
Yeah, not being given a choice here rankled the most.
He saw the county car headed toward him. Zach put on his sunglasses and got out of his Trailblazer. Damned if he’d been about to travel down to Eugene and then back again once he’d heard what the consultant wanted. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to arrange for the cops to meet him at his place. Whispering Pines was his getaway. His refuge. Guests were rarely invited.
A navy SUV pulled off the road in back of the sheriff’s car. He was unsurprised to see Mitch Barnes get out of the lead car. The way Zach heard it, Barnes did most of the grunt work for Andrews while she got all the glory. He’d been the first of the cops to follow Zach into that cave. The sheriff sure hadn’t gone in, though she’d been present, running things on top Castle Rock while her people had hauled the bones out. If Barnes wanted another pass at the cave he sure as hell didn’t need Zach. He knew where it was located.
Made a guy wonder if this was just one more way for Andrews to yank his chain, show him who was calling the shots.
He walked toward the deputy, who was approaching on the shoulder. The driver of the SUV got out, too, but it was Barnes Zach concentrated on. He wasn’t a bad sort, for a cop. Maybe he could talk him into a change of plans. Zach was resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get out of this forced alliance with the sheriff’s office. But Andrews wouldn’t necessarily have to know whether he was the one playing nursemaid or if one of Zach’s employees fulfilled the duty.
Although he wasn’t sure he had an employee he disliked enough to saddle with this job.
“Barnes,” he said by way of greeting. The other man gave him a nod. Wasting no time, he continued, “Maybe you and I can reach an . . .”
“Sharper, I want you to meet Caitlin Fleming, a consultant for the sheriff’s department. She’s with Raiker Forensics.”
The inflection in the man’s voice imbued his last words with meaning. But it was his earlier words that had Zach halting in disbelief. Tipping his Julbo sunglasses down he looked—really looked—at the woman approaching.
The mile-long legs could be right. And she was tall enough; only a few inches shorter than his six-three height. The kiss-my-ass cheekbones were familiar. But it was the thick black hair that clinched it, though shorter now than it’d been all those years ago. He didn’t need her to remove her tinted glasses to know the eyes behind them were moss green and guaranteed to turn any breathing male into an instant walking hard-on.
His voice terse, he turned his attention to the deputy and said, “Is this some kind of a joke?”
Barnes blinked. “What?”
“I mean are there going to be TV trucks and cameras following our every move?” Christ, what a clusterfuck. He could already imagine it. TV channels were filled with so-called entertainment featuring desperate cultural celebrities and he could anticipate what was going on here. “I’m not about to get involved in a reality TV show or whatever the hell she’s part of. You can tell the sheriff the deal is off.” Andrews had threatened to jam him up with the constant renewal of permits needed to take his clients camping or kayaking. But maybe he could bribe someone at the permit department to circumvent her meddling. He was willing to take his chances.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“He’s talking about me.” The voice was smoke, pure sex. He’d never heard her speak before, but he’d imagined it often enough years ago in his adolescent fantasies. “Probably recognizes me from some of my modeling work, isn’t that right, Sharper? A long time ago. If you want me to believe you’ve changed from a sweaty hormone-ridden teenage boy who undoubtedly used one of my posters to fuel your juvenile wet dreams, then you’ll have to credit that I too grew up and moved on. I want a firsthand look at that cave. You’re going to take me there.”
Somehow when he’d imagined her talking decades ago it had been without that tone of withering disdain. His disbelief dissipated, the skepticism remained. He slanted a glance at the deputy. “Seriously, Barnes.
This
is the department’s consultant?”
This
is the department’s consultant?”
The man’s manner was stiff. “Like I said, she’s from Raiker Forensics.
The Mindhunters.
That might not mean anything to you, but in law enforcement circles it carries a helluva lot of weight.”
The Mindhunters.
That might not mean anything to you, but in law enforcement circles it carries a helluva lot of weight.”
Caitlin Fleming as a cop. The implausibility of it still rang in his mind. But then he gave a mental shrug. Most people in these parts used to be something else. Many were reluctant to talk about their pasts. Including him.
Especially
him.
him.
He looked her over again, noting the jeans, tennis shoes, and long-sleeve navy T-shirt. “Either we hike down Castle Rock or climb up it. Either way, it’s not a walk in the park. Mitch here can tell you that. You might want to rethink visiting it in person.”
Instead of responding, she looked at the deputy. “You coming along?”
He shook his head. “Once was enough for me. I’ve been stopping in at the forest service stations in the area to look at the citations they’ve issued in the last few years. There might be a pattern. Maybe some common names.”
She nodded. “I’ll be anxious to hear what you find. See you back in Eugene, then. This will probably take most of the day.” She walked back to her SUV and pulled a pack out of the back end. Then she locked it and headed back to where they stood waiting for her.
“We’ll use your vehicle, Sharper. I’ll want to explore both approaches to the cave.” She headed toward where he’d left his Trailblazer parked on the shoulder of the road. Her voice drifted behind her as she walked away. “I’d already been warned you were an asshole, so your attitude isn’t much of a surprise. But it’ll be up to you to convince me that you’re as good at your job as I’ve heard. Right now, I’ve got to say, I have my doubts.”
Chapter 2
Caitlin Fleming was worried about
his
qualifications. With dark humor, Zach silently drove east on Highway 126. Obviously he’d pissed off a major god in a former life. Though there were plenty who’d claim he’d pissed off his share in
this
one. Whatever his sins—and he was willing to admit they were numerous—he was going to be doing serious penance during the course of his work with the sheriff’s department.
his
qualifications. With dark humor, Zach silently drove east on Highway 126. Obviously he’d pissed off a major god in a former life. Though there were plenty who’d claim he’d pissed off his share in
this
one. Whatever his sins—and he was willing to admit they were numerous—he was going to be doing serious penance during the course of his work with the sheriff’s department.
Andrews was going to owe him big time, and not just his fee.
He drove in silence, and the woman beside him didn’t make any attempt to fill it. Point for her. If there was one thing that got on his nerves, it was a chattering client. She was poring over a map of the area like she was intent on memorizing it. Either she didn’t trust him to get her to Castle Rock in one piece, or she was doing her homework before getting there.
“What’s in your pack?”
“Why?”
“Because I have to know whether I need to swing by home and pick up extra equipment or whether you came prepared.” Already he was taking mental inventory of what he had in his garage. Most of the gear was at the store in Eugene, of course. That was their headquarters from where they took bookings and sent out guides with clients, whether for kayaking, raft ing, or hiking. But he had stuff at home. He tried to think whether any of it would fit her.
“I’m set for the climb and the cave. I don’t have line, though. I assume you do.”
He grunted. “You’ll need a flashlight. Batteries. Proper shoes. Gloves. Hard hat . . .”
“Like I say,” she responded coolly without lifting her gaze from the map, “I’m good except for the line. They brought the remains out this way, right?”
A shift of his gaze and he saw she was indicating the top of Castle Rock. “Rappelled over the edge,” he affirmed. “Lot easier to haul the bodies up rather than down, and it allowed them to continue their work once night had fallen.”
“They worked at night?”
He couldn’t help wondering at the note in her voice.
“Yeah. Had the outside lit up pretty good, but inside the cave . . .” He shrugged. It didn’t much matter once you went in if it were day outside or night. The only illumination was artificial.
“How’d you get to the cave the first time you discovered it?”
“Climbed up.”
“I’ll want to see the top of Castle Rock, but let’s approach the cave from the bottom first.”
Curiosity got the best of him. “Any reason why? It’s actually easier coming down from the top. The trail on that side is through the forest, but it’s a switch back. Going up the front involves more climbing.”
“I’ll want to see the back side, too, but first we go up from below. From the maps I studied, it seems more plausible that the UNSUB carried those bones up from the bottom than down from the top.”
“UNSUB?”
“Unknown subject. Whoever dumped the bodies, if in fact that’s what happened.”
“You mean the killer.”
“Murder hasn’t been established. And even if it is, the two people aren’t necessarily the same.”
He subsided with an inner sigh. Great. He’d have to follow her up the face of the cliff, shouting instructions about finger and toe holds and be ready to catch her when she slipped, which she inevitably would. Even having a close-up view of her world-famous ass during the climb wasn’t going to make the process any more appealing.
His mood, not sunny to begin with, soured further. And there was no more conversation for the next fifteen minutes, until he pulled off the highway onto an old logging road. He didn’t expend any energy to avoid the deep ruts. From the corner of his eye he saw Fleming jolt strongly with the lurching of the truck before slapping a hand on the dash to steady herself.
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