Profile Durango. Carla Cassidy

      Profile Durango

      Carla Cassidy

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Copyright

      Chapter One

      Blood spatter patterns were fascinating, indicating the force of a blow, the trajectory of a bullet and the truth or lies of witnesses of a crime.

      Callista MacBride, head of the Kenner County Crime Unit, liked studying blood spatter because it couldn’t lie, because it was a science that had definite answers, predictable results.

      It was rare for the Kenner County Crime Unit to be quiet, but on a cold Wednesday night in February, Callie found herself alone. Hunched over a magnifying glass to study the blood spatter left behind at a scene where a young Ute woman had died in what the locals thought was a bear attack, Callie was comforted by the familiar white noise around her—the whoosh of warm air from the furnace, the hum of the various refrigerator units and the sound of her own breathing.

      There were times she still couldn’t believe she was here in Kenner City, Colorado, running the lab that served the four corner areas of Colorado, Utah, Arizona and New Mexico.

      This small operation was a far cry from her previous job as a forensic expert for the FBI in Las Vegas. This lab lacked the high-tech equipment she had grown accustomed to in Las Vegas and it suffered budget issues that occasionally made her want to pull her hair out. Yet she loved the creativity and enthusiasm of her coworkers.

      She’d decided to work late because she hadn’t wanted to go home and have too many hours to think about Julie. She coughed as her throat tickled and she tried to shove away thoughts of Julie Grainger, the murdered FBI agent who had also been a friend.

      Her body had been found nearby on Ute territory and the murder had sparked a massive investigation between the Ute authorities and the Colorado police. The FBI, especially the Durango office, was also involved and the mood at the crime lab had been somber.

      She frowned and slid the photo of the blood spatter out from beneath the large magnifier and inserted a photo of the victim and her wounds. She squeezed her burning eyes closed for a minute, then opened them again and studied the wounds.

      At first glance they certainly appeared to have been made by giant sharp claws, but there had been no bear scat or tracks found nearby. It was February, certainly not the time of year for any bear to be out and about wandering the area.

      In this case it wasn’t so much what she was looking at that bothered her, but what was missing that made her leery about the supposed attack. There should have been more evidence of a marauding bear in the area.

      Sheriff Patrick Martinez had been troubled by the lack of tracks as well, which was why he had brought the photos and forensic evidence in to be studied before making a final ruling on the case.

      She coughed again, the tickle in her throat irritating her. Maybe it was time to call it a night. Her eyes burned and had begun to tear and she was exhausted. She raised her head from the magnifier and a panicked alarm went off in her head.

      Smoke!

      A faint layer filled the room. And where there was smoke, there was fire. She jumped up from her chair, a new spasm of coughing attacking her. She had to find the source of the smoke.

      The hallway just outside the lab, she thought. There was a fire extinguisher in the hallway, along with an alarm that would bring the fire department. With all the smoke, why weren’t the alarms ringing?

      She crouched low, where the air wasn’t quite so thick, and headed in the direction where she thought the smoke was originating. She crawled out of the main lab door and into the hallway where the smoke was thicker, more noxious. It seemed to be coming from beneath a supply closet door.

      Her head pounded as she gasped for air. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears. Slowly she crawled toward the door, wondering what might have started the fire.

      She finally made it to the supply closet and placed a hand on the door. Although it was warm, it wasn’t hot.

      She pulled it open and black, lethal smoke rolled out. She fell back, racked with uncontrollable coughing. Air. She needed clean air. She was dizzy. Someplace in the back of her mind she realized that she’d done everything wrong.

      She should have gotten out and sounded the alarm. She should have never tried to play the hero. The dizziness grew more intense and she fell to the floor, trying to find a breath of air to fill her lungs.

      Stupid, Callie, she thought. You’re smarter than this.

      It was her last conscious thought.

      

      SHE CAME TO with the wintry morning sun shining in her eyes from a nearby window. She winced against the brightness and reached up to touch her face, finding an oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose.

      The hospital. She was in the hospital. How had she gotten here? Who had found her? The last thing she remembered was collapsing on the floor in the hallway at the lab. She yanked off the mask as she thought of the lab. Oh, God, had it burned?

      “You’re supposed to be wearing that mask.” The deep, familiar voice came from one side of her and she turned her head to see Sheriff Patrick Martinez seated in a chair next to the bed.

      She half rose from the bed. “The lab,” she croaked and then coughed to clear her throat.

      “Is fine,” he assured her. “The hallway outside had a little smoke