“He didn’t say you were humble, but that’s a nice quality.” Or was it bittersweetness that made his grin fade? Maybe he didn’t like the reminder of his work in Alaska.
A plane rolled up to the terminal, the engines wining, and another ground crew worked quickly to service the private flight.
“Kadin’s been more communicative with you than me.” He nodded toward her plane. “He didn’t mention you were a pilot.”
“I’m a pilot,” she said happily. Glancing back at her high-wing, blue-and-white De Havilland with conventional landing gear, she felt a familiar pride come over her. She’d loved flying ever since she was a kid. “I wasn’t one of those people who had a hard time deciding what to do for a living.”
He admired her plane with those light gray eyes, glimmering and intelligent. They shifted to her, lasers penetrating. A pleasurable zing stunned her for a second.
“Why Alaska?” he asked.
“Um...” She cleared her throat in discomfort. What was the zing all about? “I’m... I’m from here.” She tugged the ends of her thick, wavy black hair, needing humor to get her past this awkward moment. Next, she pointed to her blue eyes. “Native American even with these. My mother is from New York. I inherited her attitude, too.”
He laughed low and breathy. “Where did you learn to fly?”
“I joined the air force and would have been a fighter pilot, but I was too petite for the g-force.” Yes, focus on that and not her reaction to him. Bush piloting had saved her after Noah’s murder. She’d gotten much more daring since then.
She saw how his gaze lost professionalism as it roamed down her body and back up again. “You still are.”
The zing heated into unmistakable attraction. Any single woman would notice this man’s good looks. Add strong, manly confidence and hotness oozing from every one of his pores.
Flashes of Noah, glimpses of times passed—anchors of grief that had been her constant companion in the days and months following his murder—swallowed her. Noah, laughing with her the morning of his death over a cute kid in a commercial. They’d talked about having another child, maybe trying for a girl. Noah, holding her during a dance at a local festival, looking at her with all his love in his eyes. She had often marveled over her luck in finding him, wondering why her. And then he’d been ripped from her in the most horrific way. Something so beautiful and pure, slaughtered.
It had been a year, long enough to be on her way healing, but not long enough. She needed more time. She couldn’t let go. Not yet.
“So...” she said, “about the file...”
Wearing his professional face again, Brycen said, “The police did a standard job collecting evidence and questioning witnesses and anyone your husband came into contact with prior to the shooting.” Was he being a detective or did he wonder how deep her feelings ran for a dead man? Deep. She didn’t have to tell him.
Relieved he’d recognized their unexpected chemistry and how that might crowd her while she searched for her husband’s killer, she said, “Standard?”
“They asked all the expected questions. Did they ask you if he had any enemies?”
She nodded. “They did, and he didn’t. Not that I was aware. He was a good man. Well respected by everyone who knew him.”
“What I found missing was a closer look into those who came in contact with him prior to his murder. They were all questioned and leads checked, but I saw no further investigation.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant. How much further could those who’d come in contact with Noah be investigated? If they had no involvement, they couldn’t be charged with murder.
“Tell me about the attempted rape,” he said. “Your version.”
The attacker had gotten away, but he must know that. He must be looking for inconsistencies, something that might change the investigation. “Noah didn’t mention anything to me, but his partner said she tried to keep them from getting out of control and they kept coming on to her. Eventually they were asked to leave. A few nights later, she was attacked leaving work. She fought and got away.”
“Did your husband’s partner make any observations about the people he questioned?”
“You mean, like habits or appearances?” She shook her head. “No. He stuck to the case.”
“And the domestic violence call?” he asked. “What turned up there? Your version.”
“Carter.” In case he didn’t recall or know yet, she added, “Carter Nichols was Noah’s partner.”
Brycen nodded once.
“He didn’t mention anything significant. The wife refused to press charges and there was no evidence of abuse—no visible evidence. Not only that, but the Cummingses live on a remote island, and there doesn’t seem to be any motive for Melvin Cummings to travel all the way to Anchorage to shoot Noah outside the coffee shop.”
“I agree,” Brycen said. “Why kill a trooper who didn’t arrest you?” He looked past her where passengers had deboarded the private plane and the crew worked to finish up. The crew working on Drury’s plane had finished and now the plane rolled toward the airport apron, where it would be parked until its next flight.
“Do you think things are missing from the files?” she asked, much more interested in this than the status of her plane.
He tucked his sunglasses into an inner pocket of his jacket, revealing a gun holster. “Nothing other than what I suggested, no notes on impressions. No observations on reactions or relationships. Just evidence gathering. Information gathering. Data.”
Unless the observations were on the killer, Drury didn’t see how those would make a difference. But he was the hotshot detective, not she.
When she’d first heard about Dark Alley Investigations, she had been skeptical, but after reading about a few of the cases the agency had solved, she changed her mind. Kadin led an aggressive agency, all geared toward justice for cold cases and a reputation for never quitting. But she was curious of one thing.
“So, what makes you so different than other detectives?” She wasn’t afraid to ask direct questions.
He laughed shortly, eyes crinkling at the corners and disarming her once again. “I’m not sure.”
Another plane took off down a runway and she waited for the sound to die a bit. “Kadin said you had a zero unsolved case rate. How do you do it?”
He didn’t seem uncomfortable, stood relaxed and answered straightforward. “Experience. A talent for looking at the crime from multiple angles. And the evidence. A person’s outlook and circumstances in life are important, too. Circumstances can drive people to do things they ordinarily wouldn’t. On the other hand, people who seem normal can be the most dangerous criminals of all.”
He must have a keen eye for evidence and how it tied in with a person or a suspect, how all the information told a story. She hoped he could see one for Noah.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Decoteau.”
She turned to see the driver of the touring company she worked for, standing in the doorway of the terminal building, holding the door open. He picked her up on the tarmac and drove her home after her days of flying, a perk the company offered its pilots. That saved her parking fees and the company from having to reimburse her. But she just now noticed the van was not on the tarmac and he’d come through the terminal building.
“My van broke down,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take a cab.”
That would take a while this far outside Anchorage. “Oh.” She had to go pick up her son. She checked her watch. By the time