Chapter Twelve

"There's been a new development." Shelby sat up straight and kept her expression neutral, just as if she was seated across from Special Agent in Charge Lester, instead of speaking to him on the phone. "A threat has been made against Camille Gregory's brother, and I've identified two suspects in her murder. I need to stay in Eagle Mountain a little longer."

"Who are the suspects?" Lester asked.

"A man calling himself Todd Arniston and a woman named Janie. Both names could be aliases. They were known to be in the same area as Camille at the time of her murder, and they have both shown an unusual interest in Zach Gregory. His townhouse was broken into the other night after his house key was taken, and both of them had the opportunity to take the key."

"Have the local authorities brought them in for questioning?"

"After the break-in at Zach's, they've disappeared, though I believe they are still in the area." She had no proof of this, merely a strong hunch.

"How was Gregory threatened?"

She explained about the mutilated bear. "Camille often referred to her brother as a ‘bear of a man' or a ‘teddy bear of a man,'" she added.

"This doesn't sound like the Chalk brothers," Lester said. "They don't play games with the people they kill. They assassinate them, and they don't leave evidence behind."

"If Todd or Janie are working for the Chalk brothers, they haven't shown up on our radar before," she admitted. "But Camille definitely believed her brother was in danger. I think that's why she came to Eagle Mountain."

"If she believed that, she should have shared her fears with the Marshals Service and the FBI and allowed us to investigate," Lester said.

"Yes, sir." Shelby thought she knew why Camille hadn't done so. She hadn't trusted law enforcement to act on her suspicions. Or she hadn't believed they would act in time. Testimony at the Chalk brothers trial had shown that the FBI was aware of the threat to Judge Hennessey weeks before he was murdered, and they had failed to act. Camille hadn't wanted to take a chance that her brother would meet the same fate.

"We have the DNA results on the hair you sent from Camille's campsite," Lester said. "There's no match in any database we've consulted."

"So this could be someone the Chalks haven't used before."

"Or someone unrelated to the Chalk brothers. Camille was a single woman, camping alone. She could have been killed by someone random who saw her and decided to kill her, or because she refused someone's advances, or because they wanted her campsite. As much as we'd like to prove the Chalk brothers are guilty of some crime, not everything necessarily relates back to them."

"Yes, sir. But we need to prove that before we move on. I'd like to stay a little longer and continue to look for Todd and Janie. Questioning them might clear up everything."

"All right. We'll take it day by day."

She ended the call and stood. She might not have much time left in town, so she needed to get to work.

She started at the front desk of the Ranch Motel. No registration for anyone who fit Janie's description. She moved on to the Nugget Inn, a sprawling new property in the center of town. The sheriff's department had said Arniston was registered here, but the clerk confirmed that he had checked out the previous afternoon.

"Do you have a woman named Janie registered here?" she asked.

"Do you have a last name?" the clerk, a middle-aged woman with short, tightly curled hair, looked suspicious of this snooping.

"I don't." Shelby pulled out her credentials and watched the woman's eyes widen as she took in the official Federal Bureau of Investigation logo. "But I'd like to speak to her if she's here."

The woman shook her head. "We don't have anyone named Janie here."

"She's in her late twenties to early thirties, blond hair and very tall—almost six feet."

"She sounds like a model," the clerk said.

She had looked like one, too. "Do you have anyone who fits that description staying here?" Shelby asked.

"No. I'm sure I'd remember someone like that."

"Are there any other motels or hotels in town? Other than this one and the Ranch Motel?"

"There's the Alpiner—that's a bed-and-breakfast inn. And there are a lot of private rentals."

A pleasant older woman at the Alpiner confirmed that neither Janie nor Todd was staying with them. Shelby left the inn and sat in her car, trying to decide what to do next. She phoned Zach. He answered on the fourth ring, the sound of heavy equipment in the background. "Hello?"

"It's me, Shelby," she said. "How are you doing?"

"I'm at work. And I'm kind of busy."

He sounded annoyed. He was probably still upset with her. Because she was being overprotective? Or because she distracted him? She had wanted him to explain exactly how she distracted him, but was a little afraid of the answer. Maybe she had only imagined that he had wanted to kiss her that night in her motel room. And maybe she was the only one who tossed and turned later that same night at his townhouse, aware of him occupying the bed in the next room. He was a good-looking man, and through his sister she had come to know him better and care about him. Her attraction to him was natural, not unprofessional. But acting on it would be, and it would be downright embarrassing if she had misjudged his feelings. Maybe she distracted him because she reminded him of what had happened to his sister, or the way that the FBI and Witness Security had inadvertently ruined his family's lives.

Too bad. She was going to look out for him whether he thought he needed her or not. For one thing, if Camille's killer was hanging around intending to take out Zach, Shelby's best chance of catching the murderer might be to intercept him on the way to Zach. Two, she owed it to Camille to protect what was left of her family. There were other agents watching Zach's parents, but she was all he had. "What are you doing after work?" she asked.

"Going back to my place."

"I'll come over."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to stay, but I want to talk to you."

She wasn't sure if the silence that followed was because he was debating the question or due to an interruption. "I'll bring pizza," she added.

"All right," he said. "You can come over around six. And I like pepperoni and sausage. No mushrooms."

He ended the call before she could say anything else. She smiled. Zach might be put out with her, but he wasn't shutting her out altogether. She counted that a small victory, at least.

Z ACH REMINDED HIMSELF again that inviting Shelby over was probably a bad idea, but he hadn't been able to say no. Around her, he didn't have to pretend nothing was wrong. No one at work or among his friends knew about his stolen house key and the sinister stuffed bear. And unlike the FBI agents he had dealt with before and after the Chalk brothers trial, he thought Shelby would tell him if she learned anything about Camille's murderer or whoever had threatened him.

But when he opened his door and found her standing there in cropped jeans and a sleeveless black top that showed off toned arms, her hair loose about her shoulders, he questioned the wisdom of letting her inside. She didn't look like an FBI agent right now. She looked like a woman he wanted to date.

"Let me in before this pizza gets cold," she said, hefting the large pizza box she carried in both hands.

"Sure." He looked away as she brushed past him, but her floral perfume teased him over the scent of pepperoni.

He moved past her. "Come on into the kitchen."

She followed him, and he took plates and glasses from the cabinet. He didn't ask what she was doing here. "What would you like to drink?" he asked. "I've got beer and water."

"Water is fine."

"Are you saying that because you're on duty?"

"I'm saying it because I don't really like beer. But you go ahead."

He took a pale ale from the refrigerator and filled a glass with ice and water for her. She opened the pizza box. He studied the pizza before him. "Are those mushrooms?" he asked.

"Only on half the pizza. Your half doesn't have any."

"You didn't think I could eat more than half?"

"If you do, you'll have to pick off the mushrooms." She popped a bite of the topping in question into her mouth. "I love them."

He kind of liked that she didn't back down or try to cater to him. Or pretend that she didn't like mushrooms either—he had encountered women like that before, who tried too hard to please. Shelby clearly wasn't trying to please him at all. How perverse was it that it made him like her more?

They sat and began to eat. For a while, neither of them spoke. Hunger sated, he began to feel a little better. "Any new developments?" he asked.

"Todd checked out of his hotel yesterday afternoon. No one seems to have seen or heard of Janie."

"Do you think they've left town?"

"I don't know. But I'm operating on the assumption that they haven't." She plucked a mushroom from her slice of pizza and popped it into her mouth. She wasn't wearing any lipstick that he could tell, but her lips were a natural pink. They looked soft.

At the thought, he looked away again. "If they have left," he said, "it blows away your theory that I'm in danger."

"Maybe not in danger from them. But whoever killed Camille is still out there."

Right. Sobering thought. "Have you found out anything more?"

"No. Has anything else happened to raise your suspicions? Have you seen anyone following you? Have you received any threats you haven't told me about?"

The way she fired the questions reminded him that she was a law enforcement officer with a job to do. Not his friend, or date. "No. Honest."

"I believe you."

They finished eating. She slid the last piece of pizza toward him. "You can have this one. I picked all the fungi off it for you."

The way she said it, with a sneer of sarcasm, made him laugh out loud. He ate the pizza, then stood to carry the box to the trash. "Thanks for dinner," he said.

She rose also.

"You said you wanted to talk to me," he said.

"Let's go into the other room."

They moved to the living room, and he settled on the sofa, her in a chair across from him, hands on her knees. "The results of the DNA test on the hair we found at Camille's campsite didn't find a match in our database," she said. "That doesn't mean the hair doesn't belong to her killer, only that the killer might not be someone known to us."

"Someone associated with the Chalk brothers, you mean?"

"They have a big organization. We have files on most of the principals, but it's always possible they've brought in someone new. It's also possible that Camille's killing has nothing to do with the Chalk brothers. And it's possible that the threat to you isn't connected to Camille."

He stared. "Are you saying my sister dies and someone steals my key and plants a mutilated stuffed animal in my bed and those are just two random things? Bad luck?"

"I'm saying I don't know." She moved to the edge of the chair. "Who knew that Camille nicknamed you after a bear?"

"I don't know. I guess anyone who knew her. It wasn't a secret."

"She told me you were a bear of a man and a big teddy bear. Did she tell other people that?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Does anyone in Eagle Mountain know about it?"

He shook his head. "No. I never talk about Camille with people." Only with Shelby. He looked away, trying to control his emotions. "I miss her," he said. "I thought maybe after a while I wouldn't miss her so much, but I still do." He didn't think of calling her every day, the way he had for a while, but there was still an emptiness inside his chest when he thought of her.

"I do, too." Her eyes met his, and he saw his own pain reflected there.

He couldn't keep looking at her this way. It made him too unsettled, wanting things he shouldn't. He stood, and she rose also. "Was she really happy there, in Maryland?" he asked.

"I think so. I mean, none of us are happy all the time, but she had a job she enjoyed and friends, a nice house. I thought she was pretty well settled."

"How did the two of you become friends? I know you said you questioned her about the Chalk brothers, but it sounds like you stayed in touch after that."

"We just really hit it off," Shelby said. "We were about the same age, and she was easy to talk to. She was so smart and thoughtful, and she was a risk-taker. I guess we had that in common."

"I guess you don't get into law enforcement if you're the type who always wants to play it safe." He glanced at her again, and she was looking at him, head tilted to one side, as if she was studying a painting or statue. What was she seeing? Was he Camille's brother to her? A potential witness who could contribute to her case? A guy who had lost his sister, someone she felt sorry for? A man she wanted to know better?

"She talked about you a lot," Shelby said. "She said people underestimated you because you were such a big guy. They sometimes treated you like a dumb jock, when you were really smart."

He shook his head. What she said wasn't a lie, but it wasn't like he was a genius or anything.

"She said you were really funny, too, with this dry sense of humor and a deadpan delivery. She told me so many stories. I felt like I knew you even before I met you."

Camille could have told her some stories, all right. "She probably told you all my most embarrassing moments."

"Only the endearing ones. She never told me anything bad."

"I let her take all the heat from the Chalk brothers," he said. "I never admitted I was waiting for her that night at the pub."

"You did it for your parents. And for her."

"Maybe. But it was also easier not to get involved. When I saw what the prosecution put her through on the stand, I was glad that wasn't me up there being cross-examined."

"I read the trial transcripts," Shelby said. "She did a great job."

"She did. And then afterward..." The familiar vise squeezed his chest. He would never forget the FBI agent telling them that Camille was dead. That moment still replayed itself in his nightmares. His sister had vanished from his life at that moment, even if her real death had occurred four years later.

Shelby rose and put her hand on his arm. She had small hands, and her touch was delicate, but he felt the heat of her seeping into him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry we put you through that pain. Not once, but twice."

He shrugged. "Camille agreed to it." Maybe later he would wrestle more with that idea—that Camille had played a part in deceiving him and his parents. She had always thought she knew what was best, but had she, really?

"She agreed," Shelby said, "but I don't believe it was easy for her. She wanted to protect you all."

"And it cost her everything."

He met her gaze again, and she moved closer, until they were almost touching. Her hand was still on his arm, and she brought her other hand up to grip the other arm, as if she might shake him. Maybe she was going to tell him to snap out of it, to quit moping and get on with his life. Other people had said as much.

But instead of scolding him, she pulled him close and laid her head on his chest. He slid his arms around her and returned the embrace, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming—sadness and regret and a rush of desire a confusing cocktail surging through him. The perfume of her hair, gently floral, surrounded him, and her breasts, soft and rounded, pressed against him. He slid his hand along her spine, tracing the fine bones, down to the dip above the curve of her backside. She must be feeling how much he wanted her, and he expected her to pull away at any moment.

Instead, she tilted her head to look up at him again, her eyes half closed, her lips soft and parted in invitation.

He kissed her, pausing when his lips met hers, giving her time to pull away. Instead, she returned the caress and brought one hand up to cradle the back of his neck, urging him closer still.

S HELBY HAD WANTED this from the first day she had met Zach Gregory. She had told herself her desire was inappropriate and would never be returned. She was used to the men she encountered on the job seeing her as an agent first and a woman second. That was how she wanted to be seen 99 percent of the time.

But Zach... Zach wasn't just any man. Everything Camille had told her had built up the image of this strong, thoughtful, sexy man. The kind of man she had longed for in her life. And then she had met him in person, and he had turned out to be so much more.

He deepened the kiss, and she arched her body to his. He shaped his hands to her backside and slid one thigh between her legs, tucking her in closer still, and she gasped at the sensation. He slid his tongue into her opened mouth, and she gave up all pretense of holding back, sliding her hands beneath his shirt to caress his muscled back.

Two sharp, loud reports that sounded as if they came from right outside the door made them freeze. Heart hammering hard in her chest, she pushed away from him. "That sounded like gunfire," she said. Hours spent at the firing range had drilled that particular percussive echo into her brain. She raced to the kitchen and retrieved her own weapon from her purse, then moved to the door, Zach right behind her.

"Maybe it's just a car backfiring," he said, his last words almost drowned out by the piercing squeal of brakes and the growl of tires on gravel.

Shelby wrenched open the door and peered out in time to see the red glow of disappearing headlights. The silence that followed fell heavy as a blanket. "I don't see anyone," Zach said. He stood over her, also looking out the door.

She waited another long minute, then opened the door a little wider. Zach's neighbor emerged from his door. "What was that?" he asked when he saw the two of them looking out.

Shelby tucked the gun in the back of her jeans and pulled her shirt down over it. "I don't know," she said. "Did you see anyone?"

The neighbor shook his head. "Maybe it was a car backfiring."

Still wary, Shelby stepped outside, but Zach pushed past her. "Your car," he said, and pointed at the rental Shelby had picked up in Junction. The sedan leaned sharply to one side. She followed Zach over to the vehicle and looked down at the flat tires on the passenger side. The tread on the nearest tire had clearly been shredded by the impact of a bullet.

The neighbor had followed them out. The young, stocky man, dressed in gray joggers and a T-shirt that didn't quite cover his belly, let out a low whistle. "Someone doesn't like you," he said.

Shelby suppressed a shudder. She was used to people not liking her, or at least not liking the job she had to do. But maybe this attack wasn't really about her. Maybe whoever had done this had known she was inside with Zach, and he was the real target.