Free At Close Range by Jessica Andersen Page A

one the other cops still aren’t sure about,” Alissa finished for her. “Are you ready to think about easing up on them yet? You know…you’ll catch more flies—”
    “Oh, please!” Cassie snorted, amused despite the situation. “If I wanted a lecture on making friends in Bear Claw, I would’ve phoned Maya.” Which was one of the reasons she hadn’t called Maya. “Never mind. Pretend I never called, okay? I was just having a moment.”
    Tucker’s baritone rumble rose in the background and Alissa murmured something husky in response, setting off another low flare of envy in Cassie’s stomach.
    Alissa’s voice returned, “Why don’t you hit the chocolate I know you’ve got stashed behind the canned veggies? This sounds like something brownies might fix.”
    Except that her secret stash—a holdover from her days of living with her father and brothers—was blocked by crime-scene tape and she couldn’t even go out for ice cream because one, she had no clothes, and two, she’d become a target.

    Tears pressed alongside hysterical laughter. Cassie swallowed both and managed to say, “Yeah, that’s a perfect idea. Thanks, Lissa. I’ll let you and Tucker get back to…whatever you were doing. I’ll see you next week.”
    She cut off the call before she broke down and asked her friend to come home.
    Once the phone was back in its cradle, Cassie scrubbed both hands across her cheeks. “God, I’m a mess.”
    Her face felt oily and sticky, as though it were a stranger’s skin being touched by a stranger’s hands. Shivering, she checked the dead bolt on her door before heading into the bathroom. She laid Varitek’s drop piece—a nifty little SIG-Sauer that fit her perfectly and probably looked ridiculous in his hand—on the vanity before stripping off the hotel-issue robe.
    Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she nipped back out into the hotel room, stark naked, and crouched down in front of the minifridge.
    It was Saturday night, damn it. A drink wouldn’t kill her.
    She bypassed the hard stuff and grabbed two small cans of something that purported to be a premade mudslide. Figuring that was almost like eating a brownie, she opened one can and took a long swig.
    The stuff was thick and chocolaty, and though calling it a mudslide might be optimistic, she felt a little warmer when the alcohol hit her stomach.
    Part of her wondered whether she should be combining alcohol, natural gas and whatever sedative had been in that needle, but after the second sip, she decided she didn’t care. She drained the first can, carried the second mudslide into the bathroom, popped the top and toasted herself in the mirror. If she’d ever deserved a drink, tonight was the night.
    Besides, it wasn’t like she was driving anywhere, she thought, and watched her haggard-looking reflection smile sourly. Her truck was impounded as evidence, and even if she had wheels, she had a feeling Varitek wouldn’t let her go far. Knowing it, she drank the second mudslide and cranked on the shower full blast, set to parboil.
    Damn, she felt nasty. She could swear she could feel her attacker’s fingerprints all over her body. Her clothing had been properly tucked in when she came to, but still she hated that she’d been vulnerable to the bastard, hated that—
    She shivered involuntarily and avoided completing the thought. She was fine. She’d gotten out in time.
    Yeah, thanks to Varitek.
    “Shut up!” she said aloud, because she didn’t want to owe anyone anything, and certainly not him.
    A little tipsy, more than a little grossed out by the fingerprints she swore covered her breasts and thighs, she turned and climbed into the tub. Once she was under the blasting hot water of the shower, she sighed with pleasure.
    The imaginary fingerprints washed away, along with the greasy feel of violation. She scrubbed herself from head to toe twice, then stood directly under the spray so it beat down on the back of her neck. Slowly,