Krewe of Hunters: The Hidden Part 12

So the couple had been killed with a weapon from the museum?

"What is it?" Scarlet asked.

"Time to get a locksmith in-now," Diego said. He headed upstairs, uneasily aware that the statue of Nathan Kendall seemed to be watching him as he went. As the others followed, he wondered if any of them sensed something eerie about the mannequin, too.

In the kitchen, he greeted Lieutenant Gray, who really did seem to have done a complete one-eighty, judging by the way he and Meg were laughing about something. Gray had a sandwich in front of him. A large pot of coffee sat on the stove and there was a big plate of sandwiches on the counter.

Gray smiled and said a friendly h.e.l.lo, then added, "I gather you guys were just at the morgue."

Diego nodded. "And I'm glad we did. Did you know that your medical examiner is also a historical reenactor? He named that exact model as the possible murder weapon."

Gray nodded. "Yeah, I know. And he's right, according to the forensic lab. Handmade bullets out of an antique mold. The bullets weren't antique, though. They were made of new materials, melted lead and gunpowder. Someone was in the museum and stole the gun that killed Mr. and Mrs. Parker," he said solemnly, then tried to lighten the mood with a joke. "Or maybe Nathan Kendall has come back to kill people for... I don't know, trespa.s.sing on his land or something. h.e.l.l, that statue downstairs looks pretty d.a.m.n lifelike. Maybe it stole that gun and gets up to no good at night, when everyone else is asleep."

Diego saw Scarlet's eyes widen. "How sure are you that the gun that's missing from the museum is the gun that killed the Parkers?" he quickly asked Gray, hoping to focus people's attention away from Scarlet.

Gray looked at him curiously. "Let's see, an 1849 Colt pocket percussion revolver is missing, the same weapon the murderer used and not exactly your garden-variety gun. h.e.l.l yes, I think the murder weapon is the one that's missing from the museum."

"Do you have a suspect in mind?" Diego asked.

Gray shrugged, frustrated. "The department got and executed a search warrant for the Conway Ranch, but the gun wasn't anywhere to be found. It's at the bottom of a lake somewhere, I suspect. We've questioned everyone who was here at the time of the murders, but there's no evidence pointing to anyone at all."

"The museum has no security to speak of and never has," Meg pointed out.

"A situation that's about to change," Diego interjected.

"Meanwhile," Meg said, shooting him a frustrated look, "there's nothing but a basic lock on the door.Before Ben hired Scarlet, no one was living upstairs, and in fact the apartment was still being renovated. Dozens of workers were in and out, and the door was left open half the time. Foolish on his part, if you ask me, given the value of his collection, but his choice."

"I'm sure you're right and the murder weapon came from the museum, but since there was ample opportunity for pretty much anyone to steal it, that also means pretty much anyone could have used it," Diego said. "I'd pretty much guarantee, though, that your killer is someone who knew in advance about both the museum's weapons collection and the Kendall family history, quite likely someone who'd already visited the museum at least once."

"Which is pretty much anyone who's ever stayed or worked here at the ranch, at least when it comes to knowing about the guns. The family connection is another matter," Gray said. "We're not fools, Agent McCullough. I have men going over lists of all the workers and past guests."

"It could also be someone who lives in the area and knows about the museum and the ranch's history," Matt said.

Gray nodded. "Which is pretty much everyone in town. And then there are all of us who are descended from Nathan Kendall." He nodded at Scarlet and grinned.

Diego wasn't sure why, it looked to him that there was something scary about that grin. "True, though I'm not sure why one of the man's descendants would want to kill any of the others. It's not as if there's an inheritance involved.

"Listen," Diego said, looking at Gray. "We need a security upgrade for this place. Can you give me the name of someone reliable who can put in better locks and arrange a security system? I'd like the locks changed by tonight."

"Why don't you let me take care of that?" Gray offered, and promptly pulled out his phone to make a call. When he hung up, he was smiling. "There's a guy on the way," he promised.

"Thank you," Diego said. Whatever had changed the guy's att.i.tude for the better, he was glad of it. He leaned forward to talk to Lieutenant Gray. "I understand that you're handling the human remains found up on the mountain."

"Yes, a month or so ago. I mean, what's left of the body was found a month or so ago. It had been there awhile. It's strange when you find remains at the tundra level. Because they're above the tree line, there's a lot less cover to protect them, so sometimes they're nearly perfect, if the snow comes in time to cover them, but otherwise, it's a c.r.a.pshoot. In this case, we don't know yet when he-we do know it's a man, by the way-was killed, whether it's been months or even years. Our department experts can't agree. Betsy Wiggin, the department head, is convinced he died this summer, so not even a year ago yet. A couple of the others say the fabric sc.r.a.ps found under the body suggest that the remains are a lot older. But Betsy thinks we're looking at the reenactor wearing authentic clothing. At this point we've got a forensic anthropologist working on it, and we'll wait and see what he says."

"You said it's a man, but do you know anything else?" Matt asked.

"Somewhere between thirty and forty, but that's it," Gray said.

"No one similar in the missing persons database?" Brett asked.

"No one so far, but once we figure out when he died, maybe we can focus our search more effectively."

"Have you done a facial reconstruction yet?" Diego asked.

"No," Gray said. "Right now we're focusing on how he died-along with when, of course. There aren't any nicks on the bones that suggest a knife wound. No bullets were retrieved from the area. He could have gotten himself lost up there and just frozen to death. Or fallen. We're still working on it."

Diego made a point of not looking at any of the other agents. He knew the Bureau had the resources to figure that out-and quickly.

"We don't believe he was from around here," Gray told them. "There's definitely no one missing locally who's anywhere near the description."

Matt cleared his throat. "We have an agent in our unit who's a brilliant forensic artist. We can bring her in, if you want."

When Gray didn't say anything right away, Diego thought he was going to refuse their help, since the case didn't have any connection to the murders of Larry and Candace Parker.

But then the lieutenant surprised him by shrugging. "Sure. Quite frankly, we have no idea what we're dealing with, and I'd appreciate any help."

"I'll get on it," Matt said.

"On another note, what can you tell us about the guests who left the Conway Ranch after the Parkers' bodies were discovered?" Diego asked.

Lieutenant Ernie Gray almost smiled. "The interview reports have already been emailed to all four of you."

"Thank you," Meg said.

"I like to think we could have handled this," Gray said gruffly. "But, hey. A solved murder is a solved murder, right?"

Scarlet stood. "I think I heard someone at the door," she said, and started out of the room.

Diego rose quickly, blocking her.

She turned to him almost indignantly. "I was going to look before I opened the door."

"That should be the security guy," Gray said.

Diego went with her to open the door and discovered that Gray was right.

He was young, no more than twenty-five, but he was with the police, one Officer Benjamin by name, and he seemed to know his stuff. He'd not only brought state-of-the-art locks, but he'd also come with an alarm system and a motion detector. He had the system installed and showed them how it worked, and by the time he finished, the agents, who'd left ridiculously early that morning, were dragging.

Meg and Matt said good-night and headed over to the main house, promising that before they went to bed they would tell Ben and Terry to use a little extra caution, just in case the connection to Nathan Kendall had played a role in the recent murders. Brett told them that he was going to call Lara before he turned in for the night.

"I can't wait for her to get here this weekend. You're going to love her," he a.s.sured Scarlet.

"Of course I will. If you love her, so will I," she told him.

Words, Diego thought. They were all saying the right words, but what difference did it really make if Scarlet and Lara got along? They would all be leaving as soon as this case was solved.

Except for Scarlet. Scarlet would stay.

And that, he realized, didn't matter at all. He'd come here to keep her safe. No matter where they might be in life, or with whom, it wouldn't change a thing. He loved her, and nothing mattered more than keeping her safe.

Brett left them to close himself into the far bedroom for the night and make his call. And once again, Diego and Scarlet were left alone.

"I need to get some sleep, too," he said.

"Of course. Your things are in the room," she said. She sounded nervous, but she met his eyes as she spoke.

He shook his head, smiling slightly. "We don't have to do anything, Scarlet."

"What if I want to do something?" she asked.

The color of her eyes was like a mix of the sea and sky on a summer's day; the wistfulness in her voice seemed to touch something as old as time in his soul. He fought not to fall prey to his emotions, to remember that once they'd had something unique, special beyond anything he'd ever dreamed of, but it still hadn't been enough to last for all time.

And yet he couldn't stop himself.

"I have a feeling I could be convinced," he told her lightly.

She smiled. "Well, then..."

She turned to head for her room. He caught hold of her shoulder, and swung her back around and into his arms. He kissed her, relis.h.i.+ng the softness of her lips, her tongue...and a hunger that seemed to match his own.

He broke away, breathless. Her eyes seemed dazzling now on his.

"Wow," she murmured, then turned serious. "Brett is down at the other end of the hall."

He grinned. "And you don't think Brett knows what we're doing?"

She flushed. "Some divorced people hate each other."

"I never hated you."

"I only hated you a little."

That hurt-because he knew why.

He started to pull away, but she held him back. "Only a little bit-and only for a little while," she whispered, sounding almost desperate. "And I know that...that I was at fault, too."

"You were never at fault," he told her.

"But I was," she said. "I wanted the knight in s.h.i.+ning armor all the time, the man who was charming and teased and laughed, and could make everyone around him comfortable...who even made me jealous sometimes, but not really, because I knew I was the one you wanted. I didn't want to get between you and your work, because I knew it was a pa.s.sion for you, but at the same time I resented it for coming between us."

"I shouldn't have let that happen," he said. He started to turn away.

She stopped him, pleading in her eyes. "Can we forget the past for tonight? No past, no future. Just tonight."

His only answer was to pull her back into his arms. His physical response to her was almost embarra.s.singly instantaneous.

She felt him against her and practically melted into him. Her fingers started playing with the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt.

"Brett's down the hall," he reminded her, echoing her words in one last attempt to retain his sanity.

"Yes, but he knows what we're doing," she said.

Then she smiled, turned and walked down the hall to her room.

He followed.

She closed the door and kicked off her shoes. Her T-s.h.i.+rt hit the floor in seconds, her bra following suit without a pause. She s.h.i.+mmied out of her jeans and panties while he watched, and then she stood naked before him, smiling.

He grinned, pulling his holster and gun from his waistband, then set them on the bedside table before practically tearing off his s.h.i.+rt.

There had been a time when she'd hated the gun, when she'd asked him to put it out of sight the minute he got home, a request he hadn't recognized for what it was: an attempt to forget about his job for a little while and have him all to herself.

She didn't ask that tonight.

The minute he ditched the rest of his clothes she moved into his arms, her heated skin practically setting his aflame. "Remember how to do this?" she teased.

"I remember everything," he told her seriously. "I remember that one of the things that drives you the craziest is when I stand behind you and run the tip of my tongue down your spine. Want me to show you?"

She started to say something, but he didn't give her the chance. He caught her lips, then lifted her and set her down on the bed. He kissed her long and deeply, and he never really broke away, he just trailed down to her throat and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then her midriff and along the soft silky flesh of her inner thighs.

She writhed and moaned against him, her fingers on his shoulders, her body arching in a way that fed his hunger and desire nearly to the breaking point. He made love to her slowly, despite the burning need within him, taking her almost to the point of no return, then backing off and finding her lips again, teasing her flesh as he savored the feel of her, the pleasure of being with her again.

She cried out softly again and again, until suddenly she became the aggressor, s.h.i.+fting until she was on top of him, burning his skin with kisses and caresses, and then sliding onto him again until he rolled her under him again and drove them both to a violent climax. Finally, exhausted, sated, the sound of their heartbeats like a crescendo in the night, they rested.

As he held her, he remembered how they had promised each other forever...and how soon they'd broken that promise.

He was surprised when she spoke.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He turned to her. "No, thank you," he said, and smiled.

"I-I haven't, um, I haven't really even dated since..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked away.

Resting on an elbow, he watched her face in the pale light that seeped in through the window. "Neither have I."

"What? I don't believe you."

"One dinner," he told her.

"Was she nice?"

"Yes."

"Was she pretty?"

"Very."