TRACE EVIDENCE Read online

  It irritated him, making it difficult for him to focus on the task at hand. "You go on inside. I'll let you know when I'm finished here."

  His voice was sharper than he intended, but it served his purpose. She stepped over the deer and disappeared into the house, silently closing the door behind her.

  Clay pulled on latex gloves and got to work. At first glance it appeared as if vicious claws had ripped the deer, but it didn't take long for him to discover that the cause of death had been a bullet in the chest. The claw marks had been made postmortem.

  He took photos of the dead animal, then carefully measured the claw marks and took notes so he could find out if they matched the ones from the classroom.

  It was difficult to discern when the deer had died, but it had been some time in the last twenty-four hours. He frowned and stood as he ripped off his gloves. Somebody had killed a deer with a bullet, then carried it here, to Tamara's porch, then had scored the hide with some sort of claws. Why?

  He knocked twice on her door then pushed it open and entered the cottage. She wasn't in the living room, but he found her seated at the table in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in front of her.

  She rose as he entered the room and went to the cabinet to retrieve another cup. She poured the coffee, then handed it to him.

  "Thanks," he said and sat at the table. She returned to her chair across from him and gazed at him expectantly. "You've got a dead deer on the porch."

  She smiled. "I didn't need a police officer to tell me that."

  "The deer wasn't killed by being torn apart by claws, it was killed with a bullet."

  "A bullet?" She looked at him in surprise. "A hunter? But why would he put the deer on my front porch? And what about those marks on the deer's side?"

  She still wore the yellow dress that she'd had on when they'd had lunch, and he instantly thought of the yellow silk nightgown he'd seen splashed across the red of her bed.

  He could almost envision that tiny piece of silk against her skin, the length of her long legs beneath the short nightie. He mentally shook himself, trying to remove the image of her wearing that little piece of silk.

  "I think we need to consider that the deer and the vandalism in your classroom are tied together."

  "Because of the claw marks," she said.

  He nodded. "They appear to he the same kind of marks, either cougar or possibly a small hear. What I don't understand is why the deer was left here … possibly to frighten you?"

  "Or perhaps as an offering." She said the words as if she had some sort of secret knowledge.

  "An offering?" He gazed at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

  She sighed, the sound like the wearied wind through the tops of the trees. "I think it's possible that this is all some sort of crazy joke."

  He leaned back in the chair and eyed her intently. "Then you'd better tell me what the joke is because I'm not finding anything about this funny."

  * * *

  Tamara stood. "Let's go into the living room where it's more comfortable, then I'll explain." She grabbed her coffee cup and gestured for him to do the same.

  She was intensely aware of him just behind her as she went into the living room. It had been a shock to see him. She'd expected an officer, but she hadn't expected Clay.

  When those dark eyes of his focused on her so intently, it was difficult for her to concentrate. She was again aware of the hint of something dangerous, yet delicious, simmering just beneath his surface.

  Her kitchen table had been too small to sit opposite him. She needed some space between herself and him.

  In the living room she sat on the chair, leaving the sofa to him. She didn't speak until he'd sank down onto the cushion, his cup of coffee in hand.

  "I think it's very possible that one of my students is playing a prank of sorts," she said.

  "The destruction in your classroom goes beyond a simple prank." He leaned forward and set his coffee on a coaster on the coffee table.

  "Yes, but if it is one of my students, you have to remember they're teenagers and sometimes they don't have a handle on the area of boundaries."

  "What makes you think this might be the work of one of your students?"

  She leaned back in her chair, hoping the additional inches of distance from him would make her focus on the conversation at hand. She tried not to focus on the length of his dark lashes, the broadness of his chest, and the scent that clung to him that reminded her of an untamed forest coupled with the bold scent of clean male.

  "Part of what I teach my students are Native legends, like how the Milky Way came to be, why the opossum's tail is bare, how the earth got fire. You know, the kinds of legends we grew up on. Anyway, the past week, I've been teaching a more obscure legend … the legend of the bear."

  "Legend of the bear?" He frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure I'm familiar with that one."

  "There are several legends involving bears, but this particular one is about a lovesick bear. One day in the forest the bear sees a lovely Native maiden and he falls in love with her. For the next two full moons, the bear wreaks havoc on the village, killing their animals, terrorizing their children and scoring the trees that surrounded the area."

  "And so the moral of this story is love makes men savage beasts?" Clay asked dryly.

  Tamara smiled. "No, that isn't the moral of the story. You have to hear the rest of it before you realize the moral."

  "Then please continue," he said.

  She nodded. "Finally the hear gets the maiden alone and he tells her of his love for her, that for the past two moons he's been showing her his strength, his prowess. He tells her he wants to claim her as his mate, but the Native maiden tells him no, that hears are quick to anger and savage when roused. The bear assures her that he can overcome these innate characteristics, that with her he will be as gentle as a lamb, as good-natured as a rabbit. Still, the maiden said no and the bear got so angry he killed the maiden. As she is dying she asks him why and he tells her that despite his intentions to the contrary, it's his nature."

  "And so the moral of the story is you can't change the nature of the beast."

  "You can't change the nature of anything. We are what we are." She averted her gaze from Clay and stared at one of her own paintings on the wall just behind him. It was about the legend of the bear come alive, in vivid colors and broad strokes. The painting showed a bear hiding behind a tree, watching a Native maiden washing in a stream. "It would be a stretch of coincidence not to think that my teaching that particular legend in the past week and these two incidences happening now are related."

  "I think you're right, it's got to be related," he agreed. His onyx eyes gave nothing away as he reached into his pocket and drew out a pad and pen. "I assume you provided the officers at the scene at the school a list of the names of your students?" She nodded.

  "Well, now let's talk about what students you think might be capable of all this."

  "I can't imagine any of them doing these things," she replied.

  "You're going to have to do better than that, Tamara."

  She liked the way her name sounded falling from his lips, like a swatch of silk being drawn across soft skin. But the look on his face was anything but silky. He wanted answers and it was clear from his facial expression that he was short on patience.

  "Just tell me the first names that pop into your head when you think of potential suspects. I'd like to get this whole mess cleared up as soon as possible."

  "And I assure you my only goal is to help you do just that," she replied with a calmness that was in direct contrast to his sharp tone.

  He leaned back in the chair and reached for his coffee cup. He sipped his coffee, his dark gaze not leaving hers. "I'm sorry if I seem brusque or impatient: I've got a lot on my plate at the moment and the last thing this town needs is some crazed teenager acting like an enraged bear."

  She realized then that what she'd thought were brackets of grimness around his mouth was probably exhaustio
n. "Terry Black. He's a difficult student, a bully with a bad temper and comes from a very dysfunctional family."

  Clay wrote the name down in his pad, then looked at her again expectantly. She frowned thoughtfully, thinking of the students she taught in the summer school classes and the adults she taught at night.

  She rubbed her hand across her forehead, once again staring at the painting just above where Clay sat. "There's also Benjamin Smith, he's in my adult class and I'm not sure why he's taking the class. He's a jerk and doesn't seem to be the least bit interested in Native American culture, but he shows up for class every Tuesday and Thursday night."

  "Has he ever shown a personal interest in you?"

  "Benjamin Smith shows an interest in anyone who is female. He fancies himself something of a ladies' man and he's good-looking enough, but he's so obnoxious that it plays against him."

  Again he wrote the name down, then looked back at her. "Anyone else that sets off any kind of warning bells?"

  She frowned thoughtfully. "Not off the top of my head, but let me think for a moment." She stood and grabbed her coffee cup. "I'm going to freshen up my coffee, would you like some more?"

  "No, I'm fine."

  She escaped into the kitchen, her thoughts in turmoil. She didn't want to believe that one of her students was capable of vandalism and the senseless death of an innocent deer, but she had to face the reality that it was the only thing that made a horrible kind of sense.

  It wasn't just the pain of recognizing that somebody close to her was capable of terrible things, it was also Clay that had her stomach tied in knots.

  No matter how tightly he pressed his sensual lips together, she wondered what they'd feel like against her own. No matter how tense he held his shoulders, she wondered if the flesh that covered those taut muscles would be warm and firm beneath her fingertips?

  He made her aware of herself as a female. When those black eyes of his held her gaze she felt a tightening in her nipples, a liquid warmth sweep though her as her pulse raced just a little too quickly.

  Instead of refilling her coffee cup, she got a glass of ice and filled it with water. Maybe the iced liquid would stop the heat that seemed to suffuse her body. Maybe the chill of the drink would halt the physical reaction she felt whenever he was near.

  When she returned to the living room he stood looking at the painting on the wall that had drawn her attention earlier.

  He turned as she approached. "The legend of the bear," he observed.

  "The legend intrigues me on several different levels," she explained. "Which is one of the reasons I teach it."

  "What do you find intriguing about it?" He stood in front of the chair where she had been sitting, far too close to where she stood.

  She stepped backward and sat on the sofa, relieved to have just a little bit of distance from him. "I teach the legend because too many young women fall in love with men they think they can change and vice versa. I teach the legend to make the students realize that the nature of the beast can rarely be changed."

  "And what beast did you try to change?" Once again those dark eyes of his held her captive, making it difficult for her to draw breath. He moved across the room and sat next to her on the sofa, close enough that he was invading her personal space.

  "It wasn't a beast I tried to change. It was a beast who tried to change me, and we're getting way off the subject here," she protested.

  There were some areas of her past life that were far too personal to share with a man who was merely investigating disturbing incidents in her present life. "And I have another name for you to add to the list."

  He pulled the notepad and pen from his pocket once again. "Who?"

  "Charlie Tamer. He's seventeen, a good student but with some emotional problems. I think he's on some medication for bipolar disorder. Perhaps he's stopped taking his medication recently."

  "I'll check him out. I'll check them all out, and I'll call Jeb Tanner to remove the deer from your porch as soon as possible."

  "Thank you, I appreciate it." Again she noted the lines of exhaustion that seemed to have taken possession of his handsome features. Even though she knew it would be dangerous, she had a sudden desire to stroke her hand down the side of his face, run her fingers across his creased brow.

  All business between them appeared to be at an end, but he seemed in no hurry to leave. "Now, I'd take a refill on the coffee," he said and leaned back into the sofa cushion.

  "Sure," she said in surprise. She set her water on the coffee table and picked up his coffee cup, then returned to the kitchen.

  A moment later she returned with his coffee. Again he surprised her by patting the sofa next to him. "Please." He took the coffee from her, then she sat on the other side of the sofa, wondering what he was thinking and why he was still here.

  "So, tell me again why I don't remember ever seeing you in town when we were growing up."

  "My parents and I lived on a small farm about twenty miles outside of Cherokee Corners. When I was a child I came into town for school, then back home again. By the time I was a teenager and could drive, there wasn't much point in my coming into town except for something I'd need to buy."

  "No Friday night hang with the girls, or cheer-leading practices?"

  Tamara laughed. "Definitely not. I wasn't the cheerleading type." Her smile faded as she thought of those teenage days. "As to hanging out with the girls, you have to understand something about girls. Friendships and cliques are usually formed in junior high, and during my junior high school days I wasn't in town much."

  "So, you missed out on being part of a clique?"

  She smiled. "Unless you consider being a nerd as a clique."

  He raised a dark eyebrow and one corner of his lips curved upward. "I thought I was the only nerd in high school."

  She laughed again, this time in disbelief. "I can't think of anyone less like a nerd than you."

  "It's true." He paused a moment to take a sip of his coffee, then continued. "Like you I didn't do any of the school activities, didn't belong to any clubs or play sports."

  She leaned toward him, intrigued by the glimpse of a younger Clay. "Why not?"

  She would have thought it impossible for his eyes to grow darker, but they did. "I already knew what interested me and it had nothing to do with clubs or sports."

  She nodded in understanding. "It was the same for me. Art was everything to me, but my parents made me realize that if an art career didn't pan out I needed something else to fail back on, something to pay the bills. I decided to get my teaching degree, but knew my parents didn't have the money to send me to college, so I started working at an early age to make sure my grades were good enough for a full scholarship somewhere. I was the studious weirdo who always had a sketch pad in my hand."

  "Surely a sketch pad didn't scare away the local boys," he observed, a new light in his eyes. His gaze swept over her, creating heat where it stopped and lingered. "I mean, you're an attractive woman."

  "Thank you for the compliment," she said, surprised to discover her voice slightly shaky. That light in his eyes seemed to bold the warmth of the sun. "I didn't take the time for boys when I was in high school or college, I was completely focused on my work." She'd waited for the right man … Mr. Wrong, Mr. Smooth-talking, Max Bishop.

  "According to my sisters, that isn't focused, that's obsessed," he replied dryly.

  "Yes, I've heard that term used where you're concerned," she said.

  "So, I guess in that respect we're two birds of a feather," he observed.

  His eyes still held a light that seemed to glitter and shine inside her. Dangerous. The man was positively lethal, she thought. She stood.

  "Clay, it's getting late and I've had a long day. Is there anything else you need to know?"

  He set his cup down and stood as well. "Actually, there is." She looked at him expectantly.

  "I was wondering if perhaps you'd like to have dinner with me tomorrow night."

&nbs
p; Shock swept through her. A dinner invitation was the last thing she'd expected from him. Accepting would be the height of stupidity. He was nothing like what she needed, what she wanted in her life. "Dinner sounds nice," she was appalled to hear herself say.

  "Good." They walked together to the front door, then he turned back to face her. "Why don't I pick you up about six."

  Stop it now, her brain screamed. Just say you've changed you mind. "Six sounds perfect."

  The gleam in his eyes seemed to intensify and she felt as if the ground beneath her feet was shaking slightly. "Then I'll see you tomorrow at six."

  Before she knew his intention, he leaned forward and placed his lips against hers. He touched her in no other way, but the feel of his warm mouth shot fire through her entire body.

  He didn't attempt to deepen the kiss, but rather stepped back abruptly as if the intimate contact had surprised him as much as it had her. "Good night, Tamara." Without waiting for any reply from her, he disappeared out her front door.

  She shut the door behind him and carefully locked it, surprised to see that her fingers trembled slightly. With the simple touch of his lips against hers, he'd sent a volcanic wave of heat through her. He'd made her feel needy and vulnerable, but more frightening and exciting than that, he'd made her hunger for more.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  «^»

  A distraction. He was in desperate need of a distraction and what better to serve the purpose than an intelligent woman who exuded sensuality.

  A desperate need for distraction was the only way to explain what had happened last night at Tamara's place.

  He'd felt it again last night the moment he'd walked through her door—a calm peacefulness that he'd found oddly soothing. It had been like walking from the middle of a busy highway into a lush, quiet garden. He didn't know if it was the surroundings or the woman that created the mood of tranquility.

  He took a bite of his sandwich and stared out the single window the small lab possessed. It was just after noon and the heat outside shimmered in the air, bouncing off the pavement and reflecting off a nearby tin roof.