Page 50 of Mile High Mystery

Zach sat once more. “Apparently the real reason he’s been following me around isn’t because he’s grateful Search and Rescue saved his bacon when he wrecked his ATV on the Jeep trails, but because he wants to interview me about Camille.”

“Then why not come right out and ask you to talk to him?”

“Maybe because he knew I’d turn him down flat.”

“What else did he say?”

“I asked him if he was the man seen at Camille’s campsite before she was killed, and he got pretty excited,” Zach said. “He swears he didn’t know Camille was at the campground, or even that she was alive. For what it’s worth, I believe him.”

She sat in the chair across from him. Putting distance between them, he thought. Making sure there was no repeat of the other night. She didn’t have to worry. He had gotten the message. No more kissing the fed. “Did you get your tires fixed?” he asked.

“Yes. But we have no idea who shot them. No one saw anything. I always thought small towns were full of nosy people, and that anyone who is a stranger would stand out.”

“Word has probably gotten around that you work for the FBI.”

“I’m not here undercover. But people don’t need to worry about me. They need to pay more attention to everyone else.” She hugged her arms across her chest. “Did Todd say where he’s staying now that he’s checked out of the Nugget Inn?”

“No. I didn’t ask. Guess I wasted your time, even calling to tell you he was here.”

“No, you didn’t waste my time.” She moved to sit next to him on the sofa. Her floral scent distracted him, so he almost didn’t hear her next words. “I’m frustrated. But that’s not your fault. And I was planning on stopping by to see you this afternoon, anyway.”

“Checking up on me?”

She didn’t really have the face for fierceness, no matter how much she tried to pull it off. “I let my boss know about the man you saw outside the pub the night Judge Hennessey was murdered. I informed the sheriff, too. The FBI artist will be here tomorrow. You need to come into the sheriff’s department and give your statement, then work with the artist to come up with a sketch of the man you saw the night Judge Hennessey was killed.”

“I have a job,” he said.

“This is more important.”

“I already took off half of today to go on a Search and Rescue call. I can’t take off again tomorrow.”

“Come after work, then.”

He didn’t say anything, merely took another drink of beer. She was wearing a blazer over her blouse, but he could see the silky black fabric of the top stretching over her breasts. He remembered how soft she had felt against him. How lithe and strong her body was. He didn’t want to think about her that way, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“What was the Search and Rescue call?” she asked.

“A hiker broke her ankle. We had to hike up and bring her down on a litter.”

“Was that hard?”

“Not really. Harder on her, I’m sure. As rescues go, it was pretty easy.”

“What would she have done without you?”

“I’m not sure. It would have been about impossible to navigate that trail with a messed-up ankle.”

She was looking at him differently now. That look made him uncomfortable “Do people realize how lucky they are to have volunteers like you who will drop everything and run to help them?” she asked.

“I’m not doing it to be anybody’s hero,” he said.

“There’s no rule that says there’s only one per family.” She stood. “I’m starved. Have you eaten yet?”

What had she meant by the one-per-family remark? “My search and rescue work isn’t about Camille,” he said.

“Of course not. What do you have to eat?”

He followed her into the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator and began pulling out produce and cheese. “If you have pasta, I can make a primavera,” she said.

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