Film at Eleven

“My office. He placed his palm against the small of her back to guide her out of the studio and toward his office. The stiffening of her spine was infinitesimal beneath his palm, but she didn’t make a verbal protest. “You must know Dr. Templesman pretty well for him to suggest you fill in for him at the last minute.”

She slanted him a look. “Was that a question?”

Yeah. He wanted to know if the old guy was her lover. Chandler smiled. “Are you partners or something?” Mentally, he added, professional or otherwise?

She blandly replied, “I’ve known him for twelve years,” walking a little bit faster so that his hand fell away from her waist in a silent rebuke. Another point to the lady.

And a nice nonanswer, he thought. Her movement caused some of the silken strands of wheat-blond hair to slip from their neat bundle. His fingers itched to reach out and give a gentle tug, just enough so that her hair spilled over her shoulders. Instead, he shoved one hand into his pocket and dropped the other to his side. Best to keep his hands to himself…at least for now.

He paused at the entrance to his office and ushered her inside with a wave of his hand. “Make yourself comfortable,” he suggested, grabbing two three-quarter-inch tapes off the chair. He put the tapes and his script into the top drawer of his desk. “Seth should be here shortly. Just a formality. While I’m sure the guy wasn’t serious, the station will want to be sure to cover its ass. Just in case.” Everyone was sue happy these days.

The base of his chair squeaked as he dropped into the battered leather cushions that conformed perfectly to his body. His eyes scanned Dr. Molly’s very serious face. She was really pretty—wholesomely pretty, femininely pretty. And pretty much not interested in him, apparently.

This, of course, made Chandler that much more fascinated. Without vanity, he knew he was attractive and attractive to women. It had been a while since his advances, subtle as they were, had been coolly and politely rebuffed.

“You’re staring,” she commented. Her voice was soft, nonthreatening, almost observational. Despite the scrutiny, she neither shifted in her seat nor fidgeted under his perusal. More points to the lady. She was racking them up.

It irritated him a little that he couldn’t get a read on her. Observing people was his forte. He flashed her his best and most effective smile. “You’re a beautiful woman. It’s my job to stare at you. Part of the Man Code.”

No grin, no smile, not even a faint twinkle in her eyes. Flattery didn’t impress her. Okay, he’d try another tack.

“Your book really was quite good.”

Full-on, perfect-teeth smile. Okay, I get it. The way to this woman’s heart was through her intellect.

“Thanks.” A little of the frost left her eyes. “I’m surprised you read it. I’d expect someone like you to glance at the Table of Contents, maybe check out at a few chapter headings.”

Chandler leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs off to the side and crossing them at the ankles. She was really something. What, he wasn’t yet sure. But her quick assessment of him stung. He shot her a cool look. “Someone like me?”

Her cheeks held just a hint of color. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

That wasn’t an apology, he surmised easily. Not a real one. She wasn’t sorry she’d implied that he was too stupid to read, only that telling him as much wasn’t supposed to be offensive.

“I like to read,” he replied easily. “I’m especially fond of books with lots of colorful pictures.”

Her cheekbones flamed. “I…I.” She snapped her mouth shut as her brain scrambled for a way out. But there wasn’t one. Taking a deep breath, she met his dark eyes and admitted, “You’re right. That was an unkind way to put it. But the truth is, you’ve got a reputation as someone who, well, who…who…”

“Isn’t too bright?”

She felt herself cringe. “Well, people don’t usually mention your IQ, Mr. Landry. Any time you make the papers, there’s usually mention of the fact that you’re gorgeous and single. Montana’s Second Most Eligible Bachelor, as I recall?”

“Imagine how pissed off I was at not being named number one,” he countered. “And yes, I’m aware of the focus often placed on my appearance, but then, I work in a visual medium, so I can’t really complain.”

“I suppose not,” Molly agreed. “I shouldn’t have accepted the stereotype so easily. I do apologize.” And boy, did she hate doing it too. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she told herself. Making a thoughtless comment like that to a man like this, was tantamount to poking a sharp stick through the bars of a lion’s cage just to hear him roar. She knew better.

Chandler simply shrugged. Well, it wasn’t all that simple. Not when the fabric of his jacket pulled taut against broad, hard muscle. Molly swallowed and willed her brain not to dwell on his physical attributes.

“Most of the time my, er, celebrity is a bonus. I can get into most of the decent restaurants without a prior reservation and I can usually find a date on short notice.”

Molly mentally rolled her eyes but kept her gaze steady and her hands neatly in her lap. “Two important life skills,” she told him dryly.

“That was pretty snippy,” he said without even a hint of annoyance. “How about I get us some coffee?”

“That would be great,” she agreed readily. Maybe a shot of caffeine would improve her mood.

Chandler rose from behind his desk, a large, powerful, charming male in his prime. Her mouth went dry. She inspected a slight hangnail on her thumb as he walked past her chair and disappeared. Leaving her free to explore his small, tidy office. She took a couple of quick, necessary breaths to control her heart rate. The man was potent.

She glanced around his office. The first thing that struck her was the organization. It wasn’t just orderly; it was Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder neat. His functional desk was gray laminate and formed an “L” shape out from the wall. He’d divided it into two separate and distinct areas. The portion facing the door was devoid of anything but the telephone. Not a pencil, not a scrap of paper, nothing. Just the telephone. With a perfectly coiled cord. Very precise.

On the short portion of the “L” sat a state-of-the-art laptop. It was one of the sleek, chrome models that supposedly traveled well. Next to the computer was a small tower of disks, color-separated and labeled in bold, block letters that were so perfectly matched in shape and size that she had to look twice to confirm they were handwritten.

Dropping her purse next to the chair, Molly rose and went to the first of three bookcases that lined the opposite wall. Black plastic videotape cases were lined like soldiers on the first three shelves. A closer inspection revealed that they were in alphabetical order. Seriously anal.

The second case was a collection of reference books, alphabetized and separated by size, color and topic. He had everything ranging from the Annotated Laws of the State of Montana to a Zoologists Guide to Bears. Pathologically anal.

Had it not been for the contents of the third bookcase, she would have started wondering about his mental health. On these shelves she found glimpses of him as a man. There were several framed photographs. Many, she guessed, were family pictures. They seemed to cover decades. One in particular caught her eye. Carefully, she lifted it off the shelf. Nine sets of smiling eyes looked back at her.

She shivered at the mere thought of such a huge family. The parents made a handsome couple. Chandler obviously came by his good looks honestly. His father was a very handsome man and his mother was stunning. She looked quite out of place among all that testosterone.

She also looked sad, Molly thought. There was something in her clear-blue eyes that seemed distant, unconnected. Molly felt herself smile, the poor woman was probably sleep deprived. She probably hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the birth of her first of seven sons.

“I’m the cute one—second from the left,” a slightly familiar male voice said from the doorway.

Molly turned to find Seth Landry smiling a greeting. He looked quite official in his sheriff’s uniform. And her brain made the predictable comparisons. Seth, like Chandler, was tall, dark and incredibly fit. His smile was warm and charming. Charm seemed to be an inherited trait among the Landrys.

Molly replaced the picture in its spot and extended her hand as she stepped forward. “Nice to see you again, Sheriff.”

“That’s right,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. “You worked with my nephew a few years back.”

“How is Kevin?”

“Great. Spoiled. Adjusting to being a big brother.”

“I ran into Callie at the grocery store,” Molly recalled. “She had little Sheldon with her. He’s adorable.”

“I think so, but then, I’m the favorite uncle, so I’m prejudiced.”

“I’m the favorite uncle,” Chandler insisted. He moved past Seth to place two mugs of coffee onto the desk, then hugged Seth and gave him a loud slap on the back.

Molly looked on with a twinge of envy. It must be nice to have a sibling. She hadn’t had that kind of physical contact with anyone since her father’s death. While she adored Gavin, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t this.

“Sorry to drag you out here,” Chandler said. “I’m sure it’s a waste of your time.”

“I disagree,” Molly insisted. “I think that once you review the call, Sheriff, you’ll believe, like I do, that there is cause to investigate.”

“I’ll defer to you, Doctor,” Seth replied easily. “Chandler rarely takes anything seriously enough. It’s been a problem his entire life.”

Chandler tossed his brother a “kiss-off” look, then turned his attention back to Molly.

Her pretty eyes were little more than angry gray-green slits. Her pale skin was flushed but otherwise perfect. She was beautiful. And she was wrong.

“I’m sure it was just a crank call,” he reiterated.

“I disagree,” she countered. “I think if you listen to the tape—I assume one was recorded?”

“Yes,” Chandler supplied.

“It’s being cued in the control room as we speak,” Seth added. “I’d like the two of you to walk me through it.”

“My pleasure,” Molly said, spinning on her heel and walking ahead of them.

Chandler shook his head at the sight of her rigid back. His expression softened as his eyes dropped lower. Down to the gentle slope of her hips, lower still, to her shapely, toned legs. The woman had a great body.

Chandler’s brother grabbed his upper arm, holding him back and leaning closer before whispering, “Killer body.”

“You’re an old married guy, you shouldn’t be noticing bodies anymore. Killer or otherwise.”

“Just doing my job,” Seth retorted.

“How is admiring the good doctor’s tush part of your job description?”

“Investigation.” Seth shoved his Stetson back against his forehead and tilted his head slightly to the right as they slowly followed Molly down the hallway.

“Knock it off,” Chandler groused. “You have a beautiful wife. Go look at her.”

“I do,” Seth said on a contented sigh. “Every chance I get.”

“Then leave this one for me.” He saw Seth’s reproachful look out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“She knows Callie. And Sam. And Kevin. And Taylor.”

Chandler’s brain flashed the images of his sister-in-law, his brother Sam, their son, and the Landrys’ housekeeper, Taylor Reese. None of the pictures in his mind deterred him from admiring the enticing view of Molly in her fitted navy suit. “So?”

Seth made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan. “Don’t be stupid, Chandler. You know better than to fool around with a friend of the family. When it ends—and we both know it always does—there’ll be divided loyalties and hell to pay.”

Chandler shrugged, knowing there was some merit to Seth’s argument. Very few things in life were as scary as the wrath of a woman. One surefire way to incur said wrath was to date and dump a friend. Women were amazing. Their friendships created a universal agreement that made the Musketeers look like pikers. Dump one and the others made you pay. Big-time.

“I’m just window-shopping,” Chandler said. “No harm in that, is there?”

“With you?” Seth asked. “Hell yes. You’re never satisfied by looking. Never were, never will be.”

Chandler jabbed his brother in the ribs with his elbow. “I’ll have you know I’m the picture of self-control.”

Rolling his eyes, Seth snickered. “You’re like a two-year-old, little brother. You need instant gratification. You see something you like, you want it five minutes ago. And you bore easily.”

Chandler watched as Molly shifted her purse from one dainty hand to the other. “How could anyone get bored with such a stunning creature?”

“You’d find a way,” Seth insisted. “Try some restraint. It builds character.”

“Screw character,” Chandler whispered as he donned his best poker face.

They reached the end of the corridor and Molly appeared to be at a loss. Placing his hand at the back of her waist, Chandler nudged her gently in the direction of the control booth. Inwardly he smiled as he felt her body shudder beneath his touch. To a lesser man, that might have been a deterrent. But he knew better. That small flinch was an acknowledgment, tangible proof that she was aware of his fingers splayed against her spine.

“In here,” he said, stepping to the side of the door and gallantly making a production out of allowing her to enter first.

Seth stepped forward and mumbled, “Suck up.”

“Jealous.”

“Hardly. I’ve got a wife, remember?”

“Who wants a wife when you can have her?”

“Who says you can have her?” Seth countered. “She seems pretty uninterested to me.”

“She won’t be for long.”

“Don’t go there, Chandler. She’s a nice lady. Been good to our family.”

“And those are two very good reasons for me to invite her to dinner.”

“Suit yourself,” Seth sighed. “But when you mess this up, I won’t save you from Callie or Taylor.”

“Who says I’m going to screw up?”

“Your entire life history.”

He shrugged and muttered, “I wish I’d been an only child.” Still, Seth’s words struck an unpleasant chord. Though he’d bite off his tongue before admitting it to his brother, Chandler knew his dating credentials fell far short of stellar. He did tend to rush into relationships, only to discover after the fact that he’d chosen poorly. But that didn’t make him incapable of having a real relationship. Did it? He sighed. Okay, so he’d done some borderline wrong things. But never once, not even for a split second, had he ever intended to hurt anyone.

Molly was fascinated by the vastly complicated electronic equipment crammed into a small, two-tiered room. One entire wall was monitors. Some were tuned to network programming, others were blank, still others were live feeds from the cameras located in the studios.

There were two long consoles in the room, with too many switches, dials and colored buttons to count. Several casually attired people with headsets manned the control boards. Yanking off his headset, a rotund man in a rumpled golf shirt stepped forward to welcome them.

She recognized the voice immediately. He was the producer who had called her with arrangements to do Good Morning Montana. He was also the disembodied voice she’d heard over the studio’s speakers.

“I’m Mike Murray,” he said, offering a beefy hand, and looking at Seth over her shoulder. “We’ve got the tape all set-up, sheriff.”

“Thank you,” Seth said. “Mind if we do this in private?”

The producer looked perplexed. “Yeah, I do. This is a newsroom. If it turns out there’s something to this call, then we have a responsibility to our viewers to stay on top of it.”

Seth did not appear pleased. “You also have a responsibility not to hinder my investigation.”

The burly producer seemed to be mulling it over.

Chandler stepped up and said, “Don’t sweat it, Mike, I’ll run the tape machine and if anything of interest comes of this, I’m on it.”

As soon as the other employees were dismissed, Molly and Seth were given seats at the console. Chandler opted to lean against the edge of the second row, his fingers within easy reach of the machine’s controls.

They watched the tape twice in silence, then Seth began asking for their impressions at various parts. After almost three hours, Molly had memorized every syllable of John’s call.

“He’s young,” she said when the tape ended. “Early twenties.”

“Why do you say that?” Seth asked.

“He mentions the government screwing him. Teenagers don’t really have much interaction with the government.”

“But he could be older than twenties, right?” Seth asked.

“Assuming he isn’t a crackpot,” Chandler spoke up, “his vocabulary is more in keeping with a young adult.”

Molly turned and gave him a smile. “Very good. And I agree. He used ‘lousy’ and ‘crappy’ which would be more appropriate for a twenty-year-old than a thirty-five year old. He also said his mother needed him. It indicates an inflated sense of self-importance.”

“Aren’t all men self-important?”

Molly again had to smile at Chandler’s question. “Pretty much,” she agreed, amused. “But in this case, he lumps his mother in with all his other problems. It shows minimal separation. I would guess this guy hasn’t had a great deal of life experience apart from his nuclear family.”

“This is good, I think—” Seth’s thought was interrupted by the sound of his cell phone. Grabbing it from the clip on his belt, Seth flipped it open and placed it against his ear. “Yes?” There was a lengthy pause, then “Say that again. Got it. I’ll be right there.”

“Problem?”

Seth’s brow wrinkled into a deep frown that reached the corners of his eyes. “Maybe. Just got a 911 call for a floater in Spawn Creek.”

“A woman?” Molly asked, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Could it be John’s mother?”

“Won’t know for a while.” Seth stood and put his notepad into the breast pocket of his uniform shirt. “I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Chandler offered.

Seth shook his head. “No way. I don’t want any press on this just yet.”

“It’s a crime scene, Seth,” Chandler argued. “I’ve got every right to be there with a camera crew.”

Molly saw a flash of anger pass between the two men. It was so intense that she actually flinched.

“No camera, Chandler. Not on this one.”

“Why? What’s so special about this one?”

“It’s bad,” Seth answered slowly. “Really bad.”

Chapter Three

“Is she still hurling?” Seth asked without turning. He was crouched close to the remains, overseeing the horrific but necessary task of pulling the torso from the brackish shallows of Spawn Creek.

Chandler glanced over his shoulder to where he’d hurriedly parked the car. Molly was doubled over behind a shrub, about fifty discreet yards away. He didn’t blame her one bit. It was everything he could do to keep his own revulsion in check. “Yep. We’ve all been there.” He felt genuine sympathy for the woman but was a little perplexed by her reaction. “She has an M.D., you’d think she’d be better equipped for something like this.”

Seth shot him a quick glance. “I don’t think anyone can be prepared for something like this. Hell, I’m not prepared. What kind of animal could do this?”

Chandler shrugged, knowing his brother’s question was rhetorical. There wasn’t an explanation for this kind of savagery. At least, none that any sane person could conjure. This was brutal, ugly and violent. As bad as anything he’d seen during his tour in the first Gulf War.

“It’s going to be tough to get an ID,” Seth remarked to the crime-scene tech preparing to transport the remains. “Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to make it virtually impossible for us to identify her.”

“Unless you can find the rest of her,” Chandler suggested. That thought made his stomach clench with renewed repugnance.

Seth stood and expelled an audible breath. Chandler knew his brother well. Seth would do whatever it took to find justice for this poor woman.

As the tech was lifting the remains onto the body bag, Chandler spotted something. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing in the general direction of a dark impression on the torso’s left shoulder.

Both men peered closer, examining the bizarre marking. “Maybe that’ll help you with the identification.” Chandler suggested.

“Looks postmortem,” the crime tech offered as he stopped to photograph the marking from various angles. “A burn of some kind.”

“It’s something,” Seth remarked, though his tone didn’t indicate much hope that this bit of information would actually bear fruit. “I want the M.E. on this now,” he instructed. “Don’t want to wait for the full report. Have someone send over the photographs as soon as they’re printed. And get me the estimate on time of death.”

“That’s going to be hard,” the tech replied. “The water temperature is fifty-two degrees, hard to get exacts on floaters.”

“I’ll take approximates for now,” Seth fairly barked, frustration evident in his tone. He turned to Chandler. “Why don’t you take the doctor back to her car. I’ve got my guys coming out here for a full search of the banks and divers on their way to see if the rest of our Jane Doe might be somewhere upstream.”

“Three different rivers and two lakes feed into this creek, bro. That’s going to be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.”

Seth shrugged. “True, so after you drop off Dr. Jameson, give Savannah a call and let her know I probably won’t be home for a while.”

“Will do,” Chandler agreed, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder to give a comforting squeeze. “God. Do you think—”

“This was the work of your morning caller?”

Seth met his gaze. “My gut tells me yes. Guy calls in, says he offed his mother? If it wasn’t, this would stretch coincidence.” Seth shot a sympathetic glance across the clearing. “I think that also means you owe the good doctor an apology.”

“One of the first things on my list,” Chandler agreed easily. Molly looked rather pathetic, and his protective instincts came rushing to the fore. It surprised him that he should feel such a strong desire to walk over and pull her into his arms. She was, after all, an acquaintance. For now, his brain suggested. So he lusted for her and he didn’t like seeing her so upset. That didn’t make him a creep. Actually, he thought, his posture straightening, it made him one hell of a nice guy. Hopefully she would notice. He gave Seth’s shoulder a final squeeze. “Keep me in the loop on this one, okay?”

“You were the first point of contact for him. You’re already in the loop.” He jerked his chin across the field to Molly. “So’s she.”

“My thought exactly,” Chandler said grimly. “Keep me posted?”

“Will do.” Seth was back in sheriff mode as he strode to talk to his people. Chandler went the other way. Walking through the long grass, he was mindful of each step, knowing the police would be combing every inch of the area for evidence over the next several hours. So what was the deal? he wondered. What kind of sicko could hack a woman up like that, and, most disturbing, was it John? Was this the mother he had claimed to have killed? If so, something told him this was the beginning rather than the end.

He found Molly sitting in the grass. Her slender shoulders lifted and fell as she sucked in deep, calming breaths. She seemed to have regained most of her composure, even though her skin was still a pasty shade of gray.

He reached his hand out to pull her up. She wobbled unsteadily. He shot out his other hand to support her elbow, and at the same time she put a shaky hand on his chest to brace herself. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“About half an hour ago would’ve been fine. Thanks, I’m okay now.” She took a small step back, and reluctantly he let go, allowing her to brush the grass and debris from the back of her skirt in what he recognized as a “hands off” sign. Interesting.