Dead Ringer. Sharon Dunn

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СКАЧАТЬ bent over, resting her palms on her knees. Rain slashed against her skin and dripped from her long hair.

      Now she was going to have to call the police whether she liked it or not. Her hand was shaking when she picked up the phone. Would this time be different from every other time she had gone to the police for help? As she changed out of her wet clothing, a sense of dread filled her. She doubted that the police would be able to find the thief, if they would even make the effort.

      Detective Eli Hawkins saw only a partial view of the woman who had called in a robbery, but he liked what he saw—mainly long dark hair and a slender build. She had opened the door but left the chain lock on. Even with such a narrow view of her, heat flashed across his face. Very attractive.

      “Ma’am, did you report a robbery? I’m Officer Eli Hawkins.”

      She lifted her chin. “I know all the cops on the force. You don’t look familiar.”

      “I’m new.” He’d only been in town for six hours. Now he wondered why all the other officers had been so eager to send him out on a call right away. None of the Mountain Springs officers had said anything directly, but the implication was that no one wanted to handle a call from Lucy Kimbol. Maybe she was one of those people who constantly called the police.

      She rubbed her shirt collar. “Can I see your badge?”

      Her voice had a soft melodic quality that quickened his heartbeat. He pulled his ID from his back pocket and held it up so she could look at it.

      Her blue eyes narrowed. “Spokane police?”

      “I’m a transfer.” She didn’t need to know that he was a temporary transfer for a special investigation, which had to remain under the radar. Four years ago, he had put a serial killer behind bars in Spokane. The conviction had made him the serial killer expert in the Northwest. And Mountain Springs needed that expertise.

      She undid the chain lock and opened the door. “I tried to catch him myself, but he got away.”

      That explained her wet hair. The jeans and white shirt were dry. She must have changed after she’d called in the robbery. The lack of makeup made her pale skin seem almost translucent and her blue eyes even more noticeable. A pile of crime-scene photos flashed through his head. Lucy had the same features, dark hair and blue eyes, as the five known victims of the serial killer. Could she be a potential target for the killer? Would keeping tabs on her lead him to the murderer?

      “You should leave catching thieves to the police.” Part of keeping the investigation under wraps involved him playing the small-town cop. Answering this robbery call might win points with the local police department, too, and go a long way toward them learning to work as team.

      “Calling the police is always a last resort for me.”

      He picked up on just a tinge of bitterness in her voice. Something must have transpired between Lucy and the Mountain Springs police. “Why is that?”

      The question seemed to stun her. Emotion flashed across her features before she regained composure. Was it fear or pain?

      “Let’s just say that it has been my experience that most cops don’t always do their job,” Lucy said.

      He had a feeling there was way more to the story, but now was not the time to dredge it up. He’d just have to tread lightly and go by the book. Whatever her beef was, maybe being professional would be enough to convince her that all cops were not the same.

      “If I’d had shoes on, I might have been able to catch him.” She raised a scratched, bare foot.

      “Pretty impressive.” That blew his first theory of why no officer wanted to come out here. Any woman who would run after an intruder was not the type to be calling the police all the time.

      “Actually, I had a moment of lucidity and realized I wouldn’t know what to do once I caught the guy.” She forced a laugh.

      He detected the strain of fear beneath the laughter. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? You think it was a man?”

      “He had a man’s build. I couldn’t see his face.” She spoke in a firm, even tone. Only the trembling of her hands as she brushed her forehead gave away that the break-in had rattled her. “I…I was upstairs tying flies.” She tilted her head toward a loft. “I teach fly fishing. I’m a river guide.”

      Eli knew enough not to interrupt. People usually had to back up and talk about safe things before they were able to deal with the actual crime.

      Her lips pressed together. She stared at the ceiling.

      He glanced around the living room, which consisted of rough pine furniture and a leather couch and matching chair. “Would you like to sit down, Mrs. Kimbol?”

      “Miss, it’s Miss Kimbol.” She looked directly at him. “And no, thank you, I can stand.”

      Her voice held a little jab of aggression toward him. Her demeanor communicated that she did not trust him. It wasn’t personal. He’d seen it before with people who had had a bad experience with the police. Best to back the conversation up. “I hear fly fishing is big in this part of Wyoming.”

      “It brings in a lot of tourists.” The stiffness faded from her posture. “I know I love it.”

      He spoke gently. “Can you tell me what was stolen?”

      She stared at him for moment as though she didn’t comprehend the question. “I didn’t think to look.” She shook her head. “My dresser drawers were all open. He went through my closet.” Her speech became rapid and clipped. “He was holding something…like a bag or pillowcase.” Her hand fluttered to her mouth as her eyes rimmed with tears.

      That she had managed to hold it together as long as she had impressed him. She was a strong woman. The sense of violation from a robbery usually rose to the surface slowly, not like with an assault or violent crime, when the victim acted immediately. All the same, a home invasion was still enough to upset anyone.

      She collapsed into a chair and let out a heavy sigh. “I guess I do need to sit.” She stared at the floor, shaking her head.

      He had to do something. “How about a drink of water?” As he skirted around the back of the chair, he reached a hand out to touch her shoulder but pulled back. He desperately wanted to comfort her, but he wasn’t about to feed into her ill feelings toward police. She might misinterpret his motives.

      Water would have to do. Eli walked into the kitchen, found a glass and flipped on the faucet. When he glanced at her through the pass-through, she was slumped over, resting her elbows on her knees, her hair falling over her face.

      Eli walked back into the living room and sat on the couch opposite her. He placed the glass of water on the coffee table between them. No need to push her. She’d start talking when she was ready.

      Lucy took a sip of water and nodded a thank-you. He noticed the coffee table when she set the glass back down. Underneath the glass was a three-dimensional wooden underwater scene. Trout swam through the wooden stream complete with carved plant life.

      “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She touched the Plexiglas. “My brother made it. He used to fish quite a bit. He was going to help me with the guide СКАЧАТЬ