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“I did that. Look at the size. Average brand is about three inches. This is smaller than a cattle brand, and there’s no listing in the registries for a thirteen in a circle.”
Chandler took a slug of beer. Unlucky thirteen. Could be anything. But somehow he knew there was a correlation…somewhere. “My station is carried on channel thirteen. Maybe Caller John just doesn’t like WOM-TV 13.” A chill of foreboding made the back of his neck itch. He wondered if Molly was asleep. She might have some insights on the whole thirteen thing. And he wouldn’t exactly mind hearing the sound of her voice. To know she was okay, he reasoned. It had nothing to do with the fact that he found her incredibly attractive and interesting. He glanced at his watch. Twelve-fifteen. Too late to call—
Seth frowned as he pulled the photograph over to take another look. He glanced up, and Chandler could read the concern he saw in his brother’s eyes. “Dislike for the station. Maybe. Or this guy was specifically sending a message to you.”
“Unless that message is to convey he likes to dismember women, I’m not real clear on his meaning. Besides, why me? I’m not exactly a hated figure.”
“Yeah, I know, you’re adored by millions,” Seth teased. “The M.E. enhanced the mark enough to discover an interesting detail.”
“What?”
Seth turned the photo so Chandler could look at it again. “Look at this,” he pointed to the inner edge of the circle. “See the tiny dots around the thirteen? Looks like this was a homemade branding iron. Copper most likely. Something someone soldered in their garage. And look at the edges of the brand. Iron was too hot according to the ME. And left on the skin for longer than the couple of seconds required to mark cattle. No rancher did this. At least not a competent one.”
“Great,” Chandler snorted, disgusted. “So we’re looking for a guy who’s good with tools. That narrows the field to pretty much anyone who lives in Montana.”
“I need you to go back through your tapes. Maybe this guy has called you thirteen times before. Maybe you’ve mentioned a story thirteen times. Maybe—”
“Maybe,” Chandler interrupted. “This has nothing to do with me. Have you thought of that?”
“Maybe it doesn’t,” Seth said flatly. “Maybe this sick jerk just branded thirteen on his mother—or whoever this woman actually is—for kicks. Then again, maybe it does have something to do with you.” He got up to grab the coffeepot and brought it back to the table.
“He could just be a sicko who wanted to capture the moment in living color for posterity. Believe me, Seth, we gets lots of calls from people who are attention junkies. It’s probably about him, I was probably just a randomly selected schmuck who happened to have open calls at the time he decided to kill. And there’s still the big, as-yet-to-be-determined ‘if.’ We still don’t know who Floater Jane is, so—”
“I’m willing to lay odds it’s your caller’s mother. But erring on the side of caution, remember that he called your station, your show. So directly or indirectly there must be some sort of correlation. Find out what you can back at the studio, okay? Coffee?”
Chandler shook his head, preferring to stick with his beer. Seth refilled his mug and set the pot on the table before sitting down again. “Nothing would please me more than knowing there’s no connection to you. But I’m sure as hell not leaving any stones unturned until I know that answer for certain.”
He and his brother shared one of those silent, meaningful moments that were as natural among the Landry brothers as breathing. Sure, they’d battled their way through childhood, fighting over little things as most siblings do. But he knew in his heart—as they all did—that Seth would have his back. “I’ll get the info to you ASAP.”
“Thanks. And I think we should ask—” Seth’s words were cut off by the urgent beeping of his pager. “Speak of the devil.”
“What devil?” Chandler demanded as the hair on the back of his neck rose.
He was halfway out of his chair when his brother said, “Molly. A patrol unit was just dispatched to her house. John made contact.”
Chapter Four
“You’ll be punished for not listening to me. Sleep well, Doc.” It was the unmistakable voice of John, echoing through the house.
Rage surged through Chandler as he listened to the message for the third time. Silently he fought to keep from punching the girlie peach-colored wall above the foyer table. Judging by Molly’s frazzled expression and trembling fingers, Chandler was pretty sure the very last thing she needed was a moment of purely macho idiocy from him.
But it sure would have felt good.
“Mind if we sit for a minute?” Seth asked, giving his brother a calm-down-right-now look.
Nice work if he could do it, Chandler thought.
Molly seemed momentarily confused, then smiled weakly as she raised her hand and ushered them further inside the modest town house.
If he thought the paint was girlie, it couldn’t hold a candle to the combination living and dining rooms. It didn’t take any crack investigative skills to see that a woman was the only occupant. The place was a swirl of peach and pink flowers. He felt like a fool when he took a seat on the sofa—if that’s what it was. He was forced to share the diminutive, floral two-seater with his brother. It was a tight fit, and he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly right now. He and Seth fit snuggly side by side, knees brushing the edge of the brass-and-glass oval coffee table that was just big enough for the china bowl filled with dried flowers. Next to the flowers—which he quickly realized were the cause of the subtle fragrance in the room—a stack of silver coasters stood in a precise tower.
“Tell me about the call,” Seth prompted.
“I was in the tub,” she began.
Chandler swallowed. Up to that point he’d been trying to ignore the fact that she was clad in a pale-pink, very clingy robe. Though it was knotted tightly at her waist and fell modestly to just above her knees, it was, in fact, covering her very naked body.
He was going to burn in hell. No ifs, ands or buts. This poor woman had done nothing but fill in on his show and all of a sudden she was caught in the cross-hairs of some sicko. And what am I doing? his own voice sneered inside his head. Lusting. Big-time.
Molly sucked in a slow breath. It didn’t help his lust quotient. Nope. Not when the fabric pulled taut across her chest, leaving virtually nothing to his overactive imagination.
“I let the machine pick up,” she continued.
He tried not to focus on the low, sensual cadence of her voice as it caressed his ears.
“I was reading, so I didn’t get the message right away.”
“That explains the delay,” Seth remarked. “Is the time stamp accurate on the machine?”
She nodded. “But I already checked the caller ID, it was from a blocked number.”
“If you give him permission, Seth can dump the LUDs.”
She blinked, then directed those wide, gray-green eyes in his direction. He wanted to go to her and gather her in his arms. The old, me man, you woman, B.S. Ridiculous. As if she wasn’t freaked out enough after the day she’d had.
Down boy, he cautioned his libido.
“LUDs?” she asked.
“Local usage details,” Chandler supplied, relaxing a little. “Knowing the date and time of the call, the phone company can pinpoint where the call originated even from a blocked line.”
His remark caused the concern to drain from her face. In its place, color returned, leaving her with a freshly washed glow that only seemed to heighten her attractiveness. Chandler made the fatal mistake of stealing a glance in his brother’s direction. Maybe she wasn’t picking up on his secret fantasies, but one look at Seth told him his brother knew full well what direction his thought processes had taken.
Chandler decided to ignore his brother for the moment and silently commanded his mind and body to re-focus. “Is your home number listed?”
She shook her head, allowing a few strands of dark-blond hair to fall forward. She shoved them back off her face, then said, “No.”
“But there was a message from one of your patients?” Seth prompted. “Do you give your home number to your patients.”
“I have remote access to my office voice mail. That call from Mr. Boyle actually went to my office.”
“How do you know the difference?”
She explained the system, then added, “I do give some patients my home number. It depends on the circumstances.”
“So, your number is out there,” Chandler concluded, rubbing the stubble on his chin.
“Selectively,” she replied, a twinge of annoyance in her tone. “I treat a variety of patients. Some for years. I only give out my home number to those select few people I know don’t pose a threat to me.”
“Ever been wrong?” Chandler countered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly before she answered. “No. Not once.”
He knew he couldn’t make the same claim, so he wondered about the veracity of her statement but decided this wasn’t the right time to challenge her.
“Mind if I look around?” Seth asked.
“For what?” she asked.
“I just want to check out the windows and locks, I’ll have the officer who responded to your call do the exterior.”
Seth’s question seemed to drain some of the color from her face. “That’s sweet of you. And yes, I’m careful never to leave anything unlocked, but a second pair of eyes never hurts. Especially not when I consider that John has already managed to get his hands on my unlisted, private number.”
She rose, Seth stood, so Chandler did the same. He went along for the walk, not so much because he didn’t think his brother was capable of securing her home, but just out of sheer curiosity. Besides, he knew that eventually, he’d get a grand tour of her bedroom, and he pretty much planned to savor that moment.
“…is all there is to it,” she finished, leading the parade of very large Landry men into the private sanctuary of her bedroom.
Seth went directly to the window, whereas Chandler made a beeline directly to her bookcase. When he reached for her copy of In Too Deep, maybe her all-time favorite L. S. Connor novel, she had to swallow the urge to yell, “Don’t touch that!” at his very impressive back.
Impressive wasn’t a good enough word. Nope, not for Chandler Landry. A decent sale at her favorite boutique could be called impressive. This man needed something more, an adjective that captured his absolute, unfettered perfection. No wonder he had garnered fame in the Jasper dating world. Heck, in this world he was a god among mortals. At least when compared to her pretty average dating options. Molly wasn’t a nun, but she truly couldn’t remember ever having such an extreme emotional and physical reaction to a man. It was as though every fiber of her being had Chandler radar as she watched him flip through her most-prized possession.
Nerves still frazzled, adrenaline still pumping, she needed a distraction right now. And what better distraction than Chandler? She noted every detail—from his clothing to his expressively handsome face.
His jeans fit like a second denim skin, particularly around the thighs, where the fabric was worn and tight, encasing powerful legs that her brain instantly stripped naked.
Mentally scolding herself didn’t seem to help. Nope, libido had saturated her intellect. She’d wanted a distraction from fear, and what better way than to replace it with lusty thoughts. Just because she was thinking about him naked didn’t mean she had to act on that impulse. She just went with it. His hips and waist were narrow, but, given his height and the breadth of his massive shoulders, she was hard-pressed to classify him as anything other than huge.
Normally she would have considered that a definite deterrent. She wasn’t usually attracted to large men, maybe because she didn’t like feeling physically inferior to anyone. But tonight, as the clock on her bedside table rolled close to 2:00 a.m., had he crooked his finger in her direction, she would have taken a running jump.
She took an involuntary and protective step backward, almost touching the wall in her desire to put some distance between herself and the handsome image of Chandler running his fingertips over her coveted books.
She swallowed the lump of primal desire that was trying desperately to lodge in her dry throat. So what if he was more than six feet of chiseled perfection. It didn’t matter that his eyes were a rich brown, flecked with just enough gold to elevate them out of the “ordinary” category. And the man had a great body, so great, in fact, that she was sure the mere memory would haunt her dreams.
“That does it,” Seth said.
You have no idea, she thought, plastering as benign a smile on her face as possible.
“We’ll be going, now,” Seth continued, walking toward the second floor hallway.
“Unless you’d like me—uh, us to stay.” Chandler offered.
Us? No. You? Bigger no. “I’m fine now,” she insisted, flattening herself against the wall so that no part of his massive and appealing frame made contact with her.
He paused, looming large above her. He was close, close enough for her to feel the warm wash of his breath against her upturned face.
Speaking of breath, Molly was holding hers. A fact she was fairly sure wasn’t lost on him. She based that on the slightly self-satisfied smile curling the right side of his mouth. She was embarrassed, more so when she felt the heat begin to warm her cheeks.
“I would be happy to stay with you tonight,” Chandler offered in a smooth, inviting voice that had her knees threatening to buckle beneath her.
With some effort, she was able to level her gaze and keep her pleasant smile from slipping. Every cell in her body was screaming, “Yes! Stay! Me first!” but luckily her intellect had returned from its stroll down Chandler Lane. “Tonight is almost over and I have to be at my office by eight. But, thanks, anyway.”
“SHE SHOT YOU DOWN, deal with it.”
Chandler slammed the door of his brother’s cruiser and glared at him by the dim light of the dashboard console. “My offer was sincere.”
Seth snorted loudly. “Sincerely meant to separate her from her panties.”
“I was being nice.”
“Please, bro,” Seth said as he steered out of the small community and turned west, back toward the Lucky 7 Ranch. “I knew letting you come with me was a bad idea. You were practically drooling over the poor woman.”
“She is seriously droolworthy,” Chandler insisted, his mind filling with images of Molly in her silky pink robe. “Did you see the legs? Incredible legs.”
“Leading, eventually, to an incredible mind. Face it, Chandler, the woman is too smart to get involved with a guy like you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”
“It means you’re out of your league. Molly impresses me as a kind, compassionate woman who doesn’t need you messing with her.”
“When did I become a serial killer?” Chandler muttered. “I’m a decent guy. I’ve got—“
“An aversion to meaningful, interpersonal relationships. Face it, dear brother, you don’t want any part of her. She’s happily ever after, and you’re happily even after.”
“You’re making me sound like a real jerk.”
“I love you, Chandler. I’m your older brother and it’s my job to tell you when you’re about to make a huge mistake. Consider it said.”
“And the mistake would be?”
“Setting your sights on a nice lady who has a serious problem just now. John—or whatever his real name turns out to be—has obviously fixated on her. Don’t you think one stalker at a time is enough?”
“Stalker? Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”
“Okay, but you get the point. You’re probably only interested in her because she’s pretending not to be interested in you. You’re predictable, Chandler. You always want the things you can’t have. And once you get them, you get bored and move on.”
“That’s not true.”
“Allison Janeway?”
He hadn’t heard that name in years but still remembered the months of pleading phone calls and tearful scenes after he’d broken off with her. “She was an exception.”
“Bethany Carter?”
Chandler winced. “She didn’t take our parting well. But you can hardly blame me for the overreaction of those two women.”
“Cynthia Felder.”
Chandler felt annoyance knot in his gut. “Are you spewing these from memory, or did you keep a list?”
