Afraid to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

And not, she expected, now, in her town house.

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “I ... I don’t think this is a good idea.” Her voice was a whisper and she extracted herself from his embrace.

“You’re right.” Shoving a hand through his hair, he stepped away from her. “I was out of line.”

“No more than I was.” She let out her breath slowly. “Look, we just have a lot of work to do and anything else might blur the lines, change the focus. Right now, we have to find Gabe.”

The brackets around his mouth tightened and she felt her muscles tense as if she might have to battle him. His stare was intense, but she saw something shift in his gaze. “Agreed,” he finally said. “But let’s grab something to eat first and then get to it.” She opened her mouth to protest and he held up a hand. “For the record, this is not a date. Okay?” He hesitated and added, “But I’m starved and I think we need a break, now that we’ve established the ground rules.”

“Not a date.”

“Definitely not,” he said.

“Then how about we just order a pizza?”

“Again?”

“Chinese doesn’t deliver in this neighborhood,” she said. “Besides we both like it. And we can have it here. Then we can get to work. Dino’s delivers. In any kind of weather.”

“Like the U.S. post office?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Except the drivers are kids. Teenagers. Don’t look old enough to have a license. And the cars they drive? More dents than you can find in a demolition derby.”

“But the pizza is good? Hot?”

“Best in town. And certainly as good as what you brought over the other night. So ... You still like an all-meat combo?” She was already sliding her cell phone from a pocket in her purse and saw him nod. “Then we’ll split a medium. I’ll get the veggie special on my half.”

“Broccoli should never be anywhere near a pizza pie.”

“Glad you feel that way. Then I don’t have to worry about you stealing any of mine, do I?” Grateful that the atmosphere had lightened a bit, she offered him a smile as she hit a number on the keypad and Dino’s number flashed on the screen as it connected.

“You have the pizza parlor on speed dial?” he asked, apparently surprised.

“Of course, O’Keefe!” She actually laughed. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Chapter 16

“I wondered if you’d show,” Santana said as he closed the door to his cabin behind Pescoli. Inside, the smell of wood smoke mingled with the tangy scent of roasting pork.

“Been a little busy. New Christmas whacko on the loose. Just in case you hadn’t heard.”

“I did. It’s all anyone in town is talking about. The ice mummy.”

“She’s a little more than that to me,” Pescoli admitted, and couldn’t help wondering about the other missing women, Lissa Parsons and Brenda Sutherland. She felt the clock ticking, each second a reminder that those women, too, could be in the hands of the nut job with the affinity for ice chisels and saws. She’d already run down the rap sheets on the two violent ice sculptors for the winter festival in Missoula and discovered they had each already arrived and had picked up their entrance information from the registrar.

The first, Hank Yardley, had brought his latest wife and kids along and checked into a Missoula motel not far from the event. Hank had, according to records and his parole officer, kept his nose clean since the domestic abuse charge stemming from a bitter divorce. He’d been in no trouble in the past six years.

However, the second guy, George Flanders, lived around here, just outside of town on a farm. His first offense had been getting into a squabble with his neighbors that had escalated over the years and had turned violent, the neighbor ending up in ICU for three weeks, compliments of George and his ice pick. George pled to a lesser charge and spent a few years in the slammer. Now he was married, attended church irregularly, and was a member of a local lodge. He seemed to now be able to keep his legendary temper in check. Since he’d been out of prison, his only offense was rear-ending a woman with his pickup at a stoplight. The woman had claimed it was intentional, the result of road rage as George had thought she’d cut him off while merging into traffic. She’d said he turned “nasty” and looked as if he might “kill her” when he’d gotten out of his car and approached her at the stop sign. It had “freaked her out.” As he’d stepped closer to her open window, she’d thought better of talking to him and punched it, “afraid for her life.” Later, she’d filed a

complaint and an insurance claim, insisting she was suffering from neck injuries and psychological trauma. The case had been settled out of court.

“Hey?” Santana said, bringing Pescoli to the present. “Need a drink?”

“At least one. Maybe six.”

He chuckled and Pescoli felt her tense muscles begin to relax a bit. At least she had a few hours to unwind. Both kids were out with friends for the entire night, and though that still made her a little nervous, she let it go. She’d keep her cell phone on ... just in case they needed her.

Oh, yeah, if they’re in trouble, you’re the first one they’d call, their mother, the cop.