Hiding His Witness Part 14

He splashed cold water on his face and returned to the bedroom.

Carey had turned down the bed and was sitting on the left side watching television. She had a faraway look in her eye as if the program hadn't kept her interest.

"What are you watching?" he asked, trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness that had bloomed between them.

"Holiday movie."

She turned her head to look at him. The muscles in his body flexed in awareness. Their eyes met and held, heat sparking between them. She felt it, too. A deep, burning need intensified.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. "I'm going to take a shower." She swallowed hard and stood, rus.h.i.+ng into the bathroom, leaving him standing there, half-mad with l.u.s.t.

A few minutes later he heard the water running. Reilly ran a frustrated hand through his hair. A thin wall separated him from a naked Carey.

He needed air. He needed to think about the case and not about her. He cracked the door on the balcony, letting a slip of fresh, cold air enter the room. He kept his attention on the bathroom in case she called for him. Is that what he wanted? For her to call out to him?

He couldn't get the image of her in the shower out of his head. If she wasn't a witness, he would have joined her in the shower and seen where it led.

The shower shut off and ten minutes later, Carey emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was combed and she'd changed into her baggy nights.h.i.+rt. It hung on her curves, revealing the lines of her body.

"How was the shower?" he asked, forcing his eyes on her face, though he longed to let them wander down her body to her long, bare legs.

"Fine. The hotel soap and shampoo weren't too bad."

"I guess it's my turn then," he said. A cold shower. That would calm him. He closed the door to the balcony and locked it. "Holler if you need anything."

The shower did nothing to take his thoughts off Carey. His mind was fixated on her.

When he returned to the bedroom, Carey was curled on her side away from him, covered with the sheets and blanket. She had turned off all the lights except for the one on the far side of the bed.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

She rolled to face him. "A little. I hate hotel blankets. They're always so rough and thin."

Reilly adjusted the thermostat, turning up the temperature. "I can call the front desk and ask for another blanket."

She pulled the blanket tighter around her. "The thermostat should do it."

He didn't miss the fear and worry in her eyes. It had been a rough night for both of them. "Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?"

She hesitated a moment. "I'd rather not sleep alone."

He could offer her some comfort. Even if part of him knew it was a mistake, he found himself agreeing. "We can share the bed."

He walked to the side of the bed and got under the sheet and blanket. Reaching for the light on the bedside table, he turned it off. She was s.h.i.+vering and his resistance lasted five seconds. He reached for her and pulled her against him, tucking her into the curve of his body. She fit perfectly.

s.h.i.+fting her hips, she maneuvered closer, setting her backside against his growing arousal. He looped his arm around her waist and she slid her bare foot up his calf.

"You were cold," he said against her neck, as if he needed to give her an explanation for why he'd reached for her. Her cold toes tickled the hair on his legs.

"Not anymore. I'm feeling quite toasty now."

He didn't know what to say to her, or if she expected him to say anything. She needed comfort and he was holding her to make her feel better. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, trying not to think about making love to her.

Reilly awoke at 6:00 a.m. with sunlight sneaking in between the dark green curtains and Carey's hot body snug against him. He'd dreamed of her, as he'd known he would. Dreamed of kissing her, of rolling on top of her, of sliding inside her. Things that shouldn't happen. Couldn't happen again. It wouldn't end well for either of them.

The coc.o.o.n of warmth beneath the blankets made getting out of bed unappealing, but if he didn't get up now, the craving building low in his gut would become unmanageable.

Trying to hold the blankets close to the mattress, Reilly slipped from the bed.

Carey moved in her sleep and her eyes opened into narrow slits. "What time is it?"

"Six. We need to get moving soon."

"Where are we going?"

As much as he hated it, they had to keep moving. He didn't like being on the defensive. Running wasn't how he handled problems, but going on the offensive with Carey in tow was dangerous. If Mark sensed he was coming after him, he had resources at his disposal to disappear.

Reilly couldn't return to his place in Denver. He had to a.s.sume Mark knew where he lived. If they moved from hotel to hotel, someone would see them or recognize Carey eventually.

The ranch was still one of his safest options. His parents had it well protected from public records. Could he return to the ranch without putting his family at risk? "I need a couple of days to gather information. Then we'll decide."

Carey scrubbed a hand over her face. "What information? I know everything about Mark. Or are you talking about the Vagabond Killer?"

"I'm talking about both." Though another killing had occurred while the Vagabond Killer was in jail, the situation made Reilly uneasy. He couldn't quite banish the niggling sensation he had overlooked something about the case.

"You want to find both?" Carey asked, sitting up in bed.

Her eyes were drowsy, her hair tousled. She looked good-too good. Reilly rolled his shoulders, trying to work out some of the pent-up tension. "Big picture-we need to find them both. For now, I need to keep you safe. I'm going to get cleaned up. There's energy bars in the bag if you're hungry."

Carey nodded and reached for the television remote control. "I'll see if the news has something about the shooting."

Forty minutes later, Carey was sitting on the pa.s.senger seat in Reilly's car, hot coffee in one hand and a bagel from the hotel in the other. "Where are we going?"

Reilly climbed inside the car and set his takeout coffee cup in the cup holder. "To meet a friend who works in the detention center where the Vagabond Killer was being held."

"Why? He's not there anymore. I saw on the news he was released from police custody early this morning."

Reilly glanced at her. Some moments she could feel the intensity in his gaze, could sense the underlying need in him to kiss her. But he wouldn't. He believed getting involved with her would put this case at risk. "He might have talked to someone in jail. Or he might have had a visitor. I want to know everything about the time he was in custody."

Carey took a sip of her coffee, the hot liquid warming her. Coffee would make her feel normal and would help her think. "Why do you care about an innocent man's visitors in jail?"

Reilly started the car. "I'm not sure he's innocent."

Carey stilled, her eyes darting to Reilly. "You think they had the right guy?"

"A hunch tells me we did."

A sick feeling settled over her, her half-eaten bagel sitting like lead in her stomach. "How did he commit another murder while he was in custody?"

"I don't know yet."

"Don't you think Vanessa would have already checked the visitor log?"

Reilly reached into his pocket and handed her his phone. "She wouldn't have had a reason to check it. As far as she knows, she had the wrong person. Can you call Harris and put the phone on speaker?"

Carey set her cup in the holder in front of her. She dialed Harris's cell phone number.

Harris answered on the second ring. "Hey man, we were worried about you guys. The news was talking about another Vagabond Killer murder and how they released the guy they had in custody. Are you both okay?"

Reilly filled Harris in on what had happened in the last twelve hours.

"I think they had the right guy. I think someone else committed that murder."

Harris blew out his breath. "They wouldn't have let the guy go unless they had strong evidence it was the same killer in each case."

"What if the Vagabond Killer told someone how he commits his murders?" Reilly asked.

Startled, Carey's gaze swerved to Reilly's face. If the Vagabond Killer told anyone his secrets, who would be deranged enough to go on a killing spree?

"a.s.sume he did tell someone. That person would have to be willing to kill in the same manner as the Vagabond Killer, same signature," Harris said, his voice indicating he was considering it an option. "Generally, serial killers work alone and they keep their crimes separate from their life. For this guy to commit as many murders as he did without getting caught, he's smart and he doesn't say or do anything in his life to indicate he has these compulsive tendencies. For him to tell someone about them, he took a big leap."

The information swamped her, lighting the fear in her stomach. The killer was out there somewhere, maybe looking for her.

"I need you to find out what you can about Mark Sheffield. He took over Croswell Leone's enterprise after the man died."

"His relations.h.i.+p to Carey is what?"

Carey cringed.

Reilly needed his family's help. They could be trusted. "Mark Sheffield is the man she's running from and Croswell Leone was her father."

"So we're dealing with some seriously dangerous people," Harris said.

Misery and embara.s.sment streamed through her.

"It's good we know who we're up against," Reilly said.

Reilly's phone beeped twice. "Harris, I need to take another call. Let me know if you think of anything else that might be helpful."

Reilly motioned Carey to flip his phone to the other call, and an angry voice started before Reilly could give a greeting.

"Where have you been? Are you with the girl?" The lieutenant's voice shook with anger.

Carey's nerves tensed.

"Yes, I'm with Carey Smith. Things have been hectic."

"Get your b.u.t.ts down here now. I want her in protective custody. The mayor is furious for our incompetence and the media is having a field day with this."

"Respectfully, sir, she is in protective custody. I'm in the best position to watch over Ms. Smith."

Surprise streamed through her. Reilly had had a chance to pa.s.s her off to someone else and he hadn't. Her heart soared.

The lieutenant sputtered. "You were almost shot last night. Vanessa told me what happened."

"Neither of us was injured."

Reilly glanced at Carey and she self-consciously touched her face where a few scratches were. In the last month, she'd been battered more than she ever had in her life.

"Where are you now?" the lieutenant asked.

"I'm looking for a safe place to hide the witness," Reilly said.

"I don't have time for games. I need a status. I need to keep track of the witness."

"I'll let you know when I have a safe place to stay."

Was any place safe?

"I've got the mayor riding me on this. This is a total screwup. Get down here now. I won't stand-"

Reilly disconnected the call. "I don't care what the mayor's agenda is. I don't have time for that."

"Reilly!" Carey protested. They had enough trouble with Mark and the Vagabond Killer without adding the rage of an angry lieutenant to their list.

"If I take you to the DPD, Mark might be waiting. Or the media. And if they a.s.sign you other protection, will you trust them enough to tell them about Mark? Will you lay it out so it's clear what you're up against?"

She was putting Reilly in a difficult position, pinning him between her and his job. But in truth, it had been a leap for her to tell him about Mark. She wouldn't trust a stranger. "No. I can't tell anyone else."

"Then I'm not going anywhere."

Chapter 10.

Carey drank the last of her cold coffee, needing something to do with her hands. Reilly had arranged to meet an old friend at Crestmoor Park. His friend worked in the detention center where the Vagabond Killer had been held.

Would his friend have any evidence to support the theory that they'd had the right man all along? Apprehension swept over her.

They parked in the half-full lot. Carey stuck close to Reilly's side as they made their way toward the walking trail surrounding the park. His arm brushed hers and desire streamed through her. She resisted the impulse to press herself against him or reach for his hand. Her heart skipped a few beats, nervous energy tightening her muscles.