Killing Time Read online

  “No. I was checking a digital file.”

  “Won’t there be a record of that?”

  “If someone knows where to look, yes.”

  “Or they access your cell phone records. Look, I know you’re federal and have a lot more resources than we do here, but if someone’s out to kill you, then that means somehow Mr. Allen’s murder is connected to the Wichita homicide, that someone in your office is involved, and the best thing for you to do is disappear. Those other possibilities are small, and you can’t afford to play the odds.”

  “I can’t afford to walk away, either, not knowing who’s behind this.”

  “Meaning you’re going to stay here.” He said it as a fact, not a question.

  “Unless you run me out of town, yes.”

  “All right. Then I’ll see if I can find some way to make you hard to find while you’re here.”

  His easy acceptance of her decision took her slightly off balance, and gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you being so accommodating? I know local law enforcement resents the FBI getting involved in their cases.”

  “Oh, it’s just the way I am,” he said, smiling. “I just love a good mystery.”

  6

  The SWAT team and deputies combed the tree line behind the Allen house and found where the shooter had likely stood, as evidenced by some scuffed-up leaves and a handy low branch on which to rest the rifle, but he himself was long gone. They had determined the angle by the simple means of sticking a pencil in the bullet hole in the house; since the bullet traveled in a straight line over a relatively short distance, the pencil would show the exact angle of impact and point toward where the shooter had been standing.

  Nikita stood where the shooter had stood, Knox Davis beside her, and studied the geometry of where she and Knox had both been standing. From this angle, Knox had been on the left and she’d been on the right, facing him. The bullet had passed slightly behind her, imbedding itself in the wall. If Knox had been the target, the shot had missed by several feet; assuming the shooter had any degree of competency with a rifle, the person had definitely been aiming at her.

  “Damn it,” she said mildly.

  His eyebrows lifted. “Damn it, what?”

  “I wish you’d been the target.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You know what I mean. If someone shot at you, that’s fairly straightforward. You live around here. Maybe you got on someone’s bad side. Maybe whoever murdered Mr. Allen wanted to take out the investigator, too.”

  Instead, she had lost her last hope that her mission hadn’t been sabotaged. She was truly and completely alone, cut off from any help because she didn’t know whom she could trust. She couldn’t even return to headquarters, knowing what she knew and carrying a warning; she would likely be exterminated before she could pass on that crucial information.

  “I’ve been thinking about the situation,” he said, taking her arm and ushering her back toward the house. He used a light touch, so that she’d taken several steps before she realized what he was doing. She hadn’t been quite ready to leave the site—in fact, she’d been hoping for a moment of relative privacy so she could scan the area for any telltale DNA left behind—but now she couldn’t dig in her heels without raising his interest, which meant she wouldn’t get that moment of privacy she needed.

  He was good, she realized. That low-key approach took people off guard. She might not have been wise to him even now if she hadn’t seen the steel in his eyes when he had first found her snooping around “his” crime scene, or been pinned to the wall by his arm to prevent her from taking action on her own. She needed him, but she had to be on her toes around him, too.

  “Are you listening?” he asked with faint irritation.

  “To what? You haven’t said a word since the ‘thinking about the situation’ announcement.”

  “You looked like you were off in the ether somewhere,” he explained.

  He thought she looked sedated? She understood the gist of what he was saying, though, so she merely replied, “I was thinking.”

  “Can you think and listen at the same time?”

  “Sure. Women are multitasking miracles of nature.”

  He chuckled as he steered her around a fallen log that she could easily have stepped over. She’d read that southern men were relatively protective, so she accepted the unnecessary aid.

  “You can stay at my house,” he said, and held up a hand when she opened her mouth to immediately refuse. “Hear me out. I’ll move into Starling’s bed-and-breakfast, tell people that the house has to be rewired or something. None of the neighbors will check, or even think twice at seeing a light on there because I usually park in the garage. I’m not there much, anyway, so it’s no big deal to me—”

  “Except for the financial cost.” How was she supposed to deal with this? She couldn’t repay him, in fact didn’t know if she’d be able to access any funds at all. The cash she had with her might have to do.

  He waved a negligent hand. “Don’t worry about that. You can pay me back later.”

  The offer, though outwardly kind, disturbed her. Why would he offer her his home when they’d just met, under less-than-perfect conditions? It wasn’t as if they were friends. Moreover, in her experience, those in law enforcement were far more cynical and suspicious than the average citizen.

  The answer knotted her stomach. He was suspicious—of her. He wanted her where he could keep an eye on her while he checked her out; he might even have already made a call to start the process.

  Casually, she pulled her arm out of his grasp while she stepped around a tree; then she waited for him and fell back into step. Her willingness to walk beside him would keep him from being suspicious of the little maneuver, but now her arm was free if she needed to take drastic action.

  She thought furiously, trying to decide on the best approach to deal with him. He was crucial to her mission; her plan all along had been to approach the head of the local investigation, but the way he’d found her snooping around had started her off on the wrong foot and even getting shot at hadn’t completely convinced him that she was one of the good guys.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she finally confessed. “I’m . . . well, this is my first assignment, and the way things are going so far, I’ll probably be working at a reception desk for the rest of my career if I mess up.”

  The expression in his eyes, instead of softening, cooled instead. “A rookie was given an assignment like this?”

  “Legwork,” she said, staring straight ahead. “No one thought I’d stumble into anything.”

  “Then why send you here? Even more, why try to kill you, because that sure let the cat out of the bag?”

  Cat? Rapidly she considered the context of his statement and decided on the most likely meaning. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I can’t make sense of it. I’ve just been doing basic investigation, gathering rough data and sending it to Quantico for the brains to assemble.” That, at least, was the truth—as far as it went.

  “You saw something, questioned someone, and uncovered a crucial piece of the puzzle.”

  “I can’t think what, and certainly nothing that the local investigators hadn’t initially uncovered.” She shook her head, then said, “Going back to the original subject, I’d feel very uncomfortable staying in your house—”

  “Even if I’m not there?”

  “Even if,” she said firmly. “It’s such an imposition—”

  “Not to me. Like I said, I’m not there much. I work long hours, and the house is mainly just a place to crash for a few hours’ sleep.”

  “You’re not married?”

  “No.” An expression flitted across his face, so fast she couldn’t read it. “The other investigators are, though, so I let them have as much time at home as I can.”

  That was nice of him, she thought. Overall, he seemed like a very nice guy. Suspicious, but nice.

&n