Page 27 of Mile High Mystery

“Where was the rescue?”

“It was that day at the flooded campground. She was one of the campers.”

“The day Camille was killed.” She still felt a chill at the words. Maybe she always would. “What was she doing here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she saw me through the window and came in to say hello. It was no big deal.” He pulled his key fob from his pocket. “Let’s go.”

“She acted like the two of you were best friends.”

“She did not.”

“She couldn’t stop touching you.”

“Some people are like that. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Maybe she was, but seeing Zach with the blonde had unnerved her. “I’m trying to be careful,” she said. “You need to be careful, too.”

“You’re too suspicious,” he said. “I can’t live like that.”

“You need to be more suspicious if the Chalk brothers are after you.”

“Why would they come after me when all this time has passed?”

“You aren’t worried that the person who killed your sister will come after you?”

He put the truck in gear and backed out of his parking space. “They don’t have any reason to come after me.”

“They don’t need a reason. Maybe it’s enough that your last name is Gregory.” How could she make him understand that there were people in this world who were mean for the sake of meanness? They operated by their own code, and her job was to keep them from running over everyone who didn’t live by the same code.

He said nothing else on the short drive back to his townhouse. His silence had the weight of anger behind it. The fact that he still didn’t trust her hurt, but she couldn’t let that interfere with the job she had to do. She slid out of the truck and stood beside him. “You may not want to believe it, but you could be in real danger,” she said. “You have to be careful.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said. “But I’m not going to spend my life hiding in my room. And I can’t treat everyone I meet as if they’re dangerous.” Not waiting for an answer, he stalked away, toward his townhouse.

She didn’t try to stop him. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to anything she had to say. But she needed to make him understand that no matter how much he was used to trusting people, some of themweredangerous. And they didn’t always reveal that dangerous side until it was too late. She wanted him to believe this, but how could he? He hadn’t had her training. In spite of what had happened to Camille, he was still trusting. That was probably a good thing, but it meant she was going to have to work even harder to protect him.

Chapter Nine

Two months ago

The agents who had been around for the Chalk brothers murder trial talked about how cool Camille Gregory had been under pressure. The lead defense attorney, a beefy guy who had gotten as close to the witness box as he could and bellowed his questions, trying to intimidate Camille, got only cool scorn from the state’s star witness. “What I want to know, Ms. Gregory, is what someone like you—a waitress—has to gain from testifying against powerful men like my clients. Who put you up to this?”

“I’ve always had a strong sense of justice,” Camille said, looking him in the eye and not blinking. “But maybe you missed that class when you went to law school.”

The courtroom came apart at that, and the judge had to pound his gavel and admonish the witness to stick to answering the question. But Camille wasn’t cowed. “Was that a question?” she asked. “It sounded to me like an accusation.”

The media had loved her. Countless articles referred to her as a “brave young woman.” If she was losing sleep under the strain of the trial, she never showed it, those veteran agents told Shelby when she was first assigned to question Camille.

But Shelby had seen a softer side of her friend. One who confided that she spent more than one break during her testimony in the ladies’ room throwing up from the stress of it all. And even though she had been upset that the Chalk brothers had gotten away with murder, part of her was relieved to have that ordeal past her. She had focused on building a new life for herself and doing all she could to protect her family.

So when Shelby visited Camille one Saturday afternoon for a “girls’ night” of wine and videos and noticed the circles under Camille’s eyes and the chips in her manicure, Shelby knew something was up. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she watched Camille fumbling to open a wine bottle.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Camille tried to smile but couldn’t force the expression into her eyes.

Shelby snagged one hand and pointed to the mangled manicure. “Has someone else been picking at your nails, then?”

Camille pulled her hand away. “It’s nothing.”

“If you’re upset, it’s something.”

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