Special Assignment. Ann Voss Peterson

bad. He wasn’t going to let that happen. This could be serious, Cassie. And you’re unarmed. I might have had my badge suspended, but at least I have my personal weapon. You’re going to have to do what I say. Go back to the car, lock yourself in and call 9-1-1. If anything happens, get the hell out of here. He tossed her the keys.

      She caught them, hesitated, then nodded.

      Mike waited until he saw her climb into the car, slam the door and hit the electronic locks before he circled the house.

      The house’s doors were locked, windows secured. If he had a real reason to believe someone was in imminent danger inside, he’d break a window and let himself in. As it was, a hunch didn’t cut it with the law. He was already going out on a limb by calling the sheriff’s department out here all based on a brownish smudge and a bad feeling.

      He circled the side of the log cabin. Four windows cut into the logs on this side of the house. He peered inside each one. A formal living room. A study. Rich earth-toned furniture, plush carpet and rough-hewn stone fireplaces decorated each space. The rooms looked spotless and utterly vacant, as if the only one who ever set foot in the place was the cleaning lady.

      So why had she missed the smudge on the inside garage door?

      After he’d circled about half the house, the ground fell away into a steep slope. Decking loomed overhead, arranged in three layers. The entire back of the house was glass, gleaming in the sunlight.

      Mike stepped to the sliding glass door on the lowest level and peered inside. A shape loomed dark against white carpet. A prone body.

      Gripping either side of the door, Mike fought the sliding door free of its lock and lifted it off the track. An alarm screamed through the house. He scanned the room for movement as he raced to the body.

      Kardascian.

      Blood bloomed from the millionaire’s chest, soaking his thick cotton sweatshirt and seeping into the white berber. His labored breathing rasped raw in the silence.

      The bullet must have pierced a lung. The man was drowning in his own blood.

      Grabbing the sweatshirt, Mike shoved it up Kardascian’s thick torso, exposing a small gunshot wound oozing blood. He needed something airtight to seal the hole in the lung. And he needed it now.

      He sprang to his feet and scanned the room. Weight machines of every type imaginable dotted the space. A covered hot tub filled the adjacent room, visible through glass doors. A wet bar nestled in the corner.

      Mike raced for the wet bar. He rifled through cupboards until he found a box of garbage bags. Pulling one free, he headed back to Kardascian.

      Please, let him still be alive.

      The CEO’s breath rasped, bubbling through blood.

      Mike fitted the plastic bag tight to the wound. Centering his weight over the man, he pressed down on Kardascian’s chest. “Hold on, man. You’re going to pull through this.”

      The sucking sound stopped. So far, so good. But Mike had no way of knowing how much blood was already in Kardascian’s lungs. Judging from the gurgling sound, it wasn’t a small amount.

      The millionaire watched him through glassy eyes. He opened his mouth, straining for breath. Fighting. He thrashed his hands weakly, already slipping away.

      Mike adjusted his weight, trying to keep up the pressure. The carpet squished beneath him. How much blood had Kardascian lost?

      A gasp cut through the room.

      Mike looked up and into Cassie’s rounded eyes. “Did you call for help?”

      She nodded. She raced to his side, obviously eager to do something, anything to assist him. But there wasn’t anything she could do. There wasn’t anything either of them could do. Milo Kardascian was dead.

      Chapter Four

      Mike stood in front of Milo Kardascian’s garage and watched the Denver Police Department SUV wind around curves and down the slope on its way to the cabin. He’d already answered a slew of questions from the Jefferson County sheriff’s deputy who’d arrived on the scene first. He’d thought the worst thing that could happen at this point was to be asked to relive his failure to save Kardascian’s life one more time. He was wrong. Explaining why he was in this situation to the lieutenant promised to be even more miserable.

      Denver PD? Cassie’s fingers trembled slightly as she signed, but other than that, she seemed more pulled together than he felt. Why is the Denver PD here? Isn’t this outside their jurisdiction?

      It’s my lieutenant.

      Cassie searched his face. Is that bad?

      I wish I knew. And that was the part that was driving him nuts. He was used to being on the inside during a scene like this. Gathering evidence. Talking to the medical examiner. Having officers and experts report to him. Standing around waiting for the next bout of questions with no clue what was going on was killing him.

      Especially when they seemed to be treating him as more suspect than witness.

      He shifted his feet on the concrete apron in front of the garage. No point in venting all that to Cassie. She’d been through too much already this morning. She sure didn’t need more to worry about on top of it. How are you holding up?

      She gave him an unconvincing smile. Fine.

      Right.

      Okay, not so fine. I’ve never seen someone die before. Especially someone who was murdered. And all the blood. Her shoulders hitched with a small shudder. I’m still feeling a little shaken, I guess.

      Hell, who could blame her? Even though he’d seen more than his share of dead bodies, he was shuddering right along with her. Not enough to notice, but he could feel the tremor deep in his bones.

      Maybe a man dying under your fingertips did that to you.

      He resisted the urge to look down at his stained hands, Kardascian’s blood dark in the creases of his skin, or his jeans, the denim now as stiff as if it had been sprayed with starch. I’m sorry you had to go through all this.

      I’m just glad you were there with me so I didn’t have to face it alone. One side of her lips quirked upward in some semblance of a half smile. No matter what I said before.

      You’re welcome. I wish I could do more. Like get you out of here. He raked a hand through his hair. If I only knew what the hell was going on.

      Maybe the lieutenant will let you know what they’ve found. Cassie focused clear eyes on the SUV, as if she believed that by positive thinking and the force of will she could influence the mind of the man inside. Maybe he’ll convince the county to let us go home.

      Mike wasn’t going to hold his breath for that to happen. But he wasn’t about to dash Cassie’s hopes, either. Maybe so.

      The SUV came to a stop behind the boxy, tan sheriff’s cars and three doors swung open. The LT, Tim Grady and a veteran officer named Hawley climbed out and threaded their way to the sidewalk. Grady gave Mike a gap-toothed grin, the worried lines in his forehead canceling the comic value of his smile. The lieutenant and Officer Hawley passed without a glance.

      The contingent of Denver PD climbed the steps to the front entrance of the elaborate cabin and joined the huddle of sheriff’s men. The LT nodded his graying head as they filled him in.

      Mike felt like crawling out of his skin. What he wouldn’t give to be part of that huddle. What he wouldn’t give to know what they were saying right now.

      He eyed Cassie, then glanced back to the group of cops.

      Cassie touched his arm. What? she signed.

      He checked himself. It wasn’t a very nice idea. Definitely not an ethical one. And something he shouldn’t even be thinking in connection to Cassie, let alone be presenting to her. Nothing.

      You’re wondering if I can read