Shadow of Danger by Kristine Mason Page A

her ear.
    She turned. His touch gave her comfort and confidence. His woodsy scent filled her senses. She flicked her gaze to his lips, only a fraction of an inch from her own, then back to his eyes. They challenged her, and if she wasn’t mistaken held a hint of...admiration? Couldn’t be. Then again, who knew with this man? He had her confused, intrigued, and despite what they were about to do, turned on. Could her week become any more weird? “I plan to,” she finally said, then pulled away from him, and took two steps at a time.
    Jesse held the door open for her. Roy walked in next to her as she stepped inside, while John trailed behind. A faint trace of his scent still clung to her, reminding her of the desire he’d awakened. She needed to rein those emotions in and stay focused, which wasn’t hard once she stepped into the foyer.  
    Dean Atwell greeted her, his expression grim and devoid of the normal, shy grin that usually tilted his lips when he visited the diner. “Hey, Celeste. Roy, Jesse.”
    She’d known Dean all her life. He’d grown up in Wissota Falls. While he now lived in Eau Claire, he was always visiting his family, and was considered a regular at The Sugar Shack. “Hey, Dean.”
    Roy shook Dean’s hand. “Lookin’ good, kid. That crabby old bastard must be treating you right.”
    “He goes for the gut where the bruises can’t be seen.”
    Roy chuckled. “I bet he does,” he said, then nodded to John. “This is John Kain, he’s part of the investigation. John, this is Dean Atwell, Carl Saunders’ right hand man.”
    After the two men shook hands, Dean led them down the hallway. He stopped, then angled his head through the only open door. “They’re here,” he said in a voice that reminded her of the little girl from Poltergeist.
    Jesse snickered, and both John and Roy shrugged. She couldn’t believe Dean could make a joke when he and Carl had been performing an autopsy all afternoon. Although she supposed even twisted humor helped ease the pressure of dealing with death on a daily basis.
    “What the hell are you waiting for?” Carl groused. “Bring ‘em in, goddammit.”
    “He’s in rare form today,” Dean whispered. “Dead bodies tend to get to him.”
    “Aren’t dead bodies his job?” Jesse whispered back.
    “I might be old, but I still have my hearing,” Carl griped as she trailed behind the others into his office. “To answer your question…” He squinted at Jesse’s name plate. “Deputy Peterson, I’m used to old people crappin’ out at the old age home, or in their own homes, or at the supermarket. Not young women bein’ strangled and ra—oh hey there, Celeste. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
    She stepped inside the small, cramped room, filled with too many filing cabinets, too many chairs, and not an element of order. But she knew Carl. He was a methodical man, and seemed to thrive on organized chaos, both at work and at home. “Hi, Carl. Don’t mind me.”
    Apparently he did. He glared at Roy, who raised his hands and said, “Carl, I asked Celeste to join us, not to look at any of the victims, but to maybe get a reading off that necklace Dean found in Ruby Styles’s hair.
    Carl shifted his gaze to her. His eyes softened. “Couldn’t hurt. She did help find my wife’s antique diamonds.”
    “And your prized Labrador Retriever, if I do recall,” Roy added.
    That Lab, which had cost Carl over a thousand dollars to purchase, then another five hundred to train as a hunting dog, had gone AWOL last summer. The dog might have been able to catch the scent of pheasant, but he couldn’t find his way home even if Carl had lined a trail with dog biscuits.
    “How is Lucky?” she asked.
    “Stupid is what he is, goddammit.”
    She held back a giggle. Carl really was a softy, once you got to know him.
    Carl jerked his silver head toward John. “Who’s this guy?”
    “John Kain. He’s part of the investigation.”
    “Looks like FBI. Smells