Saving Amber - Zoe Dawson Page 0,12

coffee. It smelled good. “Cream?” she asked.

He gestured to the milk on the counter. “All I got. I drink mine black.”

Grabbing up the container, she poured some into her coffee. “Used to it, I suppose?”

“Yeah, not many amenities in the field.”

She watched him over the top of her mug of coffee. He was beautiful, yes, in that rough-edged way that she was getting used to, but he looked tired, too, like he hadn’t gotten any more sleep than she had gotten.

James Connelly had kept her up long past bedtime as she pored over the report of his death. She wondered if the kid had kept him up, too.

Looking out the window, she groaned. “There were supposed to be palm trees outside my window today. I wish I was in Aruba.”

He rinsed his cup out in the sink. Without warning, he grabbed her chin and brushed his thumb over her nose. “Flour.” His mouth tightened and he whispered, “I wish you were in Aruba, too.” For a few seconds he stared down into her eyes, his fingers tightened on her chin, then he let her go. He turned and left the kitchen. Minutes later she heard the shower start up.

She glowered at the snow. I’m such a man magnet. He wished her away from here. That was no surprise.

She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking about the trip she would have to spend alone. Suddenly it didn’t seem as appealing. She dreaded the rest of the day—meeting with James’s parents and delving into his death was going to be tough—but she couldn’t imagine how hard it was going to be for the master sergeant—Tristan. Turning toward the skillet, which was now sufficiently warm, she dropped in the batter. At least the pancakes would be good.

After her shower and getting dressed in a heavy sweater, jeans and her new snow boots, she came back down to the living area. Tristan was sitting at the table in his camo, scarfing down a stack of her pancakes.

That gave her some satisfaction at least.

“You ready?” he said, getting up and setting his plate into the sink.

“Yes.”

“What’s the drill?”

“I’d like to consult with the MWTC Police Department. According to the report, they were called in on the scene and sent the body off for autopsy. Looks like both the MWTC Police Department and the Mono County Sheriff’s Department were and are involved.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and led the way out of the town house and back to his jeep. “MTWC has a small military police force that handles the law enforcement for the base. They share jurisdiction overactive duty deaths with the local sheriff’s department. We have a small medical clinic, so they handle the autopsies too.”

“I saw the PD at the gate. I want to go to the scene, as well. I could go alone if that’s—”

“I’ll come with you,” he said flatly. “It’s quite a ways up the mountain, but we can go by helo. That will be faster. Hopefully the weather holds. I’ll clear it with the colonel.”

“Thanks.”

They backtracked out of the neighborhood and passed plows clearing the snow to the building that housed the police station. Once inside, they met Officer Craig Mendez and he ushered them into the police chief’s office. Scott Werner rose as they entered.

“Special Agent Dalton, we’ve been expecting you.” He nodded to Tristan. “Sergeant.”

He was small, thin and balding, and when Amber went to clasp his hand, it was soft as a grandmother’s. They settled into seats in front of the desk.

“Sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, Chief Werner,” Amber said.

“Agreed. We sent Connelly’s body to the Mono County Sheriff’s Department for autopsy with a rush request. We should have it within a day or two at the latest.”

“I’d like that report as soon as it’s available.”

“Of course.”

“I want to see the scene.”

“We protected it as much as we could, and I’d like to head up there with you.” The voice was a warm, well-modulated baritone.

Amber turned to find a man standing in the doorway. He was tall and long limbed, the personification of authority in his well-fitting brown-and-tan sheriff deputy’s uniform. His hair was black and short, not quite as short as Tristan’s.

“Deputy Garza,” the chief said as he rose, suddenly looking very small in the man’s presence. “This is—”

“Special Agent Amber Dalton, NCIS,” she said, rising and walking up to him. He was as imposing as Tristan, but unlike with Tristan, there wasn’t an ounce of attraction there even though his features were more