Fatal Secrets. Barbara Phinney

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СКАЧАТЬ to tell him, but I thought of my parents, and Jackson, and even my mother, then when that officer first looked at me, remembering me from the crash, I just lost all…strength. I’m sorry.”

      “It’s okay. You’ve been through some rough times.”

      She blinked. “Have you ever lost someone you love?”

      He thought of his parents, and the beatings, the way his mother wouldn’t look at him for days on end. When he was young, he thought she was mad at him. Later, he realized she was saving her own skin. He didn’t miss them when they died, and he hated that truth.

      “I need to call Jackson back before I say anything more to the police,” she said when he didn’t answer her.

      “How do you know you can trust him?”

      “He works for the FBI. I was even in his office, and that building is like a fortress.” She paused, tossing her hand out. “Okay, I trust him, that’s all. He seems to be very careful dealing with me. It’s almost as though he treats me like a princess or something really delicate.” Her hands flew up in defense. “I know that sounds egotistical, but it’s not. I think he genuinely wants what’s best for me, and is determined to find my mother. But he’s afraid my mother and I will both be killed.”

      Pausing, she shook her head. “I don’t even know if I’m remembering his words correctly. I’ll call him back to make sure. He sounded as though he thought Vincent Martino was planning to come after me. That guy might already know where I am because of the trial.” She started walking again. “I realize that I’m not making any sense, but it’s hard to explain.”

      Zane stopped them. Holding out his hand, he said, “Give me the car keys. I need to do something.”

      Kristin handed him his keys. “Like what?”

      He looked at her. She stopped halfway to the car, holding herself close and rubbing her arms. The cold wind, now coming down from Canada, defiantly tossed around her hair. The flag nearby fluttered even more noisily. “I have to get you home so you can get a coat to wear. You do own a decent jacket, don’t you?”

      “Of course I do. But the vest was cute and I wasn’t cold this morning. And I certainly didn’t expect to surrender it to the police today.”

      Zane peeled off his sheepskin jacket and handed it to her. She was about to decline it, he could tell, but caught his stern look and changed her mind.

      “Now you’ll get cold,” she said as she slipped into it. The ends of the sleeves dangled beyond her fingers until she hugged herself.

      “I’ll be okay. This won’t take long. I’m going to collect my own forensic samples.”

      “But you already made me surrender my vest.”

      “You leaned back onto my car seat,” he answered. “There should be some residue there.”

      “Can you do that?”

      “I’m trained to collect evidence and have it still be legally admissible in court.” He unlocked the doors and dug a small kit from the backseat. He then took a photograph of the mess she’d smeared on the back of the driver’s seat. Once he examined it again, he lifted the smear and then swabbed what was left.

      Over his shoulder, Kristin peered at his handiwork. “Do you think you’ll find fingerprints in that?”

      Zane shook his head. “They probably didn’t transfer, especially considering how much it’s smeared. But I might find some trace DNA.”

      “Do you have your own lab? How long will it take?”

      He laughed, and then straightened out of the car. “I’m guessing you watch too many crime shows on TV.”

      She reddened. “I’m a full-time student trying to major in business and minor in science. I don’t have time to watch much TV.”

      “Sorry,” he answered her berate. “Anyway, to answer your question, no, I don’t have my own lab. I’ll use that independent lab you mentioned before.”

      “Good. I’ve never been in it. I wasn’t a chem minor until this past year. I did art history until I realized that I couldn’t tell a Vermeer from a Van Gogh, even if the artists were telling me which was which. But with Maggie working there, we may be able to get it done quickly.”

      “Excellent. We’ll go over just as soon as you pick up your jacket. Try to get a warmer one than your vest.”

      She glanced up at the sky. “The day was supposed to be warm.”

      “I’ve only been here two years, but I’ve already noticed how unpredictable spring can be.”

      “You’ve only been here two years? Why did you come here?”

      He packed away his collection kit and draped a car blanket over the driver’s seat before answering. “I came here to find my brother. I was adopted and when I learned I had a full brother who might be in Montana, I decided to move here and look for him. I just didn’t think I’d still be looking for him two years later.”

      She looked crestfallen. “Two years! I was hoping to find my mother within a few weeks.”

      “I hope you do, too.” He felt the urge to draw her into his arms, but checked it quickly. He hadn’t even decided to accept her case yet, so getting mixed up with her too much would not only be a waste of time, but highly unprofessional, as well. “Let’s get your jacket.”

      With Kristin directing him, Zane drove to her house. The small, well-kept bungalow was slightly outside of town on a quiet street that intersected a tertiary highway.

      Zane glanced around. There was no other traffic at the moment, he saw. But for a place this quiet, the feeling of being watched lingered heavily on him.

      Way too heavily.

      THREE

      Zane watched Kristin slip into the modest bungalow, only to exit a few seconds later with a faux suede tailored jacket in a dark blue color. She’d also chosen a long, thin scarf to ward off the cool breeze. She’d wrapped it once around her neck.

      He let out a long breath as he shook his head. She obviously did not know how to protect herself. If someone wanted to harm her, a long scarf would be a perfect weapon.

      She’d been pushed into traffic; he believed that, not only because of the smudges, but also because to trip right at that moment was simply too coincidental.

      And he didn’t believe in coincidences. Nor did he believe in wearing things that an attacker could use against a person.

      Patience, he told himself. She’s not as cynical as you are. She probably hadn’t seen her father try to strangle her mother.

      “I’ve got to teach you how to dress,” he muttered as she climbed in his car again.

      “I beg your pardon!”

      He had to smile at her shocked but polite words. She had excellent diction, though her accent was definitely northwestern. СКАЧАТЬ