Secrets of the Lynx

“I’m a confirmed bachelor,” he said, then before she could press him for more of an answer, he added, “What about you? Is there a guy back in Denver?”

“Not in Colorado, not anywhere at the moment, but in case you’re wondering, I have no intention of becoming one of those career marshals married to the job. I want...more...for myself.”

“Like what?”

She shook her head, signaling him to drop it.

“A woman of mystery...” Paul smiled slowly.

The impact of that very masculine grin spread an enticing warmth all through her, and she avoided looking at him, afraid she’d give herself away.

Paul was big trouble, no doubt about it. He was a man who loved flying solo, yet he was built to perfection and could entice any woman with a pulse. Everything about him, from those wide shoulders to those huge hands, spoke of raw masculine strength. The steadiness of his gaze mirrored courage.

“I imagine you’ve got no shortage of girlfriends,” she said.

“I can usually find a date,” he said.

She suspected that was the understatement of the year. A man like Paul probably left a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he went.

* * *

T EN MINUTES LATER they reached their destination, an old brick building just one block south of Main Street in the business district. Paul drove his pickup down the alley, then parked beside what had been a loading dock. The big steel back door had a massive padlock attached to it. This entrance had clearly not been the one compromised.

“Let me go in first,” Paul said, pointing toward the door and interrupting her thoughts. “If we come across squatters, I don’t look like a cop, so we’re more likely to avoid a confrontation.”

“I don’t look like a cop either. I’m in plainclothes, just like you.”

He shook his head. “You’re wearing business district clothes—dressy slacks and a matching jacket to look professional and cover up your handgun. You’re also wearing sensible shoes, not heels, so you can fight or chase a perp. I’m wearing jeans, a denim jacket, worn boots and a working man’s shirt.”

“Okay,” she said, glancing down at herself and shrugging. “Remind me to dress country. For now, take the lead.”

She smiled as he moved ahead of her. He was long-legged, slim-hipped, and had the best butt she’d seen in a long time. Sometimes being second in line had definite advantages.

Chapter Five

Paul unlocked the door, then slipped inside noiselessly. He heard a faint scuffling and saw a mouse dart behind a discarded cardboard box. Against the wall stood an array of damaged exercise equipment, most missing key parts, like the treadmill without a walking surface.

They went through the two-story building quickly, verifying no one was about. Checking inside a large closet, they found that a weight bench had been placed beneath an access panel in the ceiling. The bench was dusty and revealed the imprints of small shoes—probably a woman’s.

Paul climbed up and lifted the access panel. There was a built-in ladder there leading to the roof. “This is how she’s been getting into the building. My guess is she’s pried open the hatch on the roof, and climbs down.” Paul stepped off the bench and brushed away the dust, not wanting to leave his boot prints behind.

“Hopefully we’ll find Annie before she realizes that we’re on her trail,” Kendra said.

“If she comes in after dark, she probably won’t notice the absence of dust on the bench,” Paul said.

They resumed searching and after a few minutes they found signs of an occupant in the men’s locker room.

Paul tried the faucet at one of the three small sinks opposite the shower area. “No water, but it looks like Annie has made herself at home.” He gestured to a mirror that had been wiped clean.

“She probably chose the men’s room because it’s closest to her exit,” Kendra said. “What we still don’t know for sure is whether it’s Annie who’s living here or someone else.”

Kendra walked around and saw the roll of blankets on top of an anchored wooden bench opposite a row of metal lockers. Farther into the room, two matching weight benches placed side by side served as a table. An empty can of soup, plastic spoon, and a bottle of soda had been placed on top of it.

Paul opened the locker closest to the blankets. “Take a look, Kendra.”

Taped to the back of the locker was a small photo of two women in their late teens.

“That’s Yolanda,” Kendra said, pointing to the tall girl on the left.

Paul nodded. “I’m guessing that’s Annie next to her. This must have been taken ten or fifteen years ago.”

Kendra edged up next to him and studied the photo. “Memories may be all Annie has to hang on to these days.”

“Do you want to wait around and see if she shows up?” he asked.

“I don’t think she’s coming back anytime soon,” Kendra said, picking up a small plastic bag on the top shelf of the locker. It held minute traces of a white, crystalized substance. “She’s either out looking for another hit or trying to raise the cash.”

“Next stop, that alley over by the bus station?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Paul’s phone rang as they reached the door. He listened for a second, then spoke. “Whoa! Slow down, Nick. I’m going to put you on speaker, then start again from the beginning. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Okay, Mr. Grayhorse. It’s like this. A stranger came into the coffee shop while I was bussing tables. He said you weren’t home and asked me if I’d seen you around. He had a badge, but it wasn’t from the Hartley P.D. and didn’t look like the ones the federal marshals carry. When I asked him who he worked for, he said he was a cop with the Bureau of Indian Affairs,” Nick said, and scoffed. “But he was paler than me.”

“Nick’s blond,” Paul mouthed to Kendra.

“You didn’t let him think you didn’t believe him, did you?” Paul asked Nick.

“No way, I didn’t want to piss him off. I just nodded.”

“Smart move. Have you called Preston?”

“Not yet. I followed the guy outside to take a look at his license plate, but he drove off before I could get his number. He was driving a dark green pickup, not one of those generic white sedans or SUV’s, and he didn’t have government plates.”