Apache Nights (9 page)

Kyle arrived at Joyce's apartment wearing a pair of jeans, an old sweatshirt and the moccasins he'd made. His hair was loose and getting in his eyes. He noticed the skeleton on the door was no longer blindfolded. The fabric was tied around its head instead.

Joyce opened the door before Kyle could knock or ring the bell.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” He entered her living room. She was wearing her ugly robe and a nightgown beneath it. He'd assumed that she slept naked when she was alone, but apparently he was wrong. It didn't matter, he sup
posed. He liked the satiny nightgown, even if he couldn't see all of it.

They gazed at each other, and he hated how awkward this was.

“Where do you want to talk?” she asked.

“In bed. But we can keep our clothes on,” he added, reminding her that this wasn't about sex.

She agreed, and he followed her to her room.

It looked as inviting as he remembered. The lights burned low, and the perfume bottles on her vanity table glinted with cut-glass allure, the shapes and see-through colors catching his eye. Her gun was there, too. Just like last time.

He turned to look at her, and she tucked her hair behind her ears. She seemed nervous, but he knew this was more intimate than sex. More revealing. They'd just agreed to confide in each other, to unearth their secrets.

Kyle waited for her to shed her robe and climb into bed. Once she did, he removed his moccasins and took the spot next to her.

By now, it was nearly four in the morning.

“I'm glad you don't have to work tomorrow,” he said, wondering if the nature of her job ever chilled her in the middle of the night, if she saw murder victims in her sleep. “It's good that you have time off.”

Her eyes locked onto his. “It's turning into a strange vacation.”

“Because of me?”

She nodded. “You're deeper than I thought you were. More complex.”

“So are you.” He was itching to touch her, but he kept his hands to himself.

“You have to go first, Kyle.”

“I know.” He felt as though they were playing a soul-searching game of Truth or Dare, and they'd both picked Truth. “Maybe you should ask me some questions. Get the ball rolling that way.”

“Fine.” She took an audible breath. “Do you know what the FBI is speculating about you? About your Warrior Society?”

He turned to face her. “They probably think we steal.”

She frowned at him. “And do you?”

“That depends on a person's perceptive.” He watched her adjust the quilt. They were both leaning against the headboard. “We've been known to retrieve sacred objects and return them to their rightful owners.”

“Why don't the rightful owners have legal possession of these objects? There are laws to protect them. Federal and state enactments.”

“Yes, but it's not as simple as it sounds. I know of a tribe, here in California, who spent five years, back and forth with the federal government, trying to reobtain something from a university that's sacred to
their Nation. Something the university considered research material.”

“So what are you saying? That in these types of situations the Warrior Society offers to help? To steal back what belongs to them?”

“Yes, but most Nations don't take us up on our offer. Not when a tribal council is involved.”

“Because they're smart,” she said. “They know better than to get involved in illegal activity.”

He shrugged. “It doesn't matter. We've got enough missions to keep us busy. Mostly we focus on private collectors who claim that they don't have items that are supposed to be returned. Collectors who manage to elude the law altogether, who are keeping things that were robbed from graves.”

“That's a noble cause, Kyle. But you can't just go around breaking into people's homes, looking for funerary objects.”

“Why not? Someone stole them to begin with.”

“Then do whatever you can to prove your case,” she argued. “To expose these collectors and reobtain the objects legally.” She paused, frowned a little. “Even if it takes years.”

“We've tried that in the past, and the investigations have gone nowhere.”

“So instead, you put yourself in the position of getting arrested for breaking and entering? Or getting shot and killed during a robbery attempt?”

“Yes,” he responded honestly.

She sighed, and he could see that she didn't understand. That she didn't think the crime was worth the consequence.

He snared her gaze. “Do you think it's right that someone should disrespect a little girl's bones, that her skeleton should be hidden somewhere?”

“No. Of course not.”

“We'll that's my current mission,” he told her. “There's a private collector, an older man with tons of money, who we believe has the skeleton of an Indian child.”

Joyce fussed with the quilt, and he could see that he'd unnerved her.

“I know the child's name,” he said. “I know what century she was born in and when she died. And now I want to return her to her descendents, so she can be buried. So she can find peace.”

“Then let me help you. We can discuss it with Agent West. We can—”

“No.” He stopped her before she could continue. “I'm doing this my way. No paperwork. No red tape. No federal raids that turn up nothing.”

She shook her head. “You don't have any faith in law enforcement.”

He squinted at her. “Does that offend you?”

“It makes me worry. I don't want you to do something that will get you in trouble.” She searched his gaze. “Will you promise me something?”

He didn't respond. Instead he waited for her to continue.

She did, only a second later. “Promise that you won't steal anything while we're still dating. No breaking and entering. No crimes.”

Damn, he thought. Talk about getting screwed. “That's asking a lot, Detective.”

“I can't condone what you do. I can't be with a man who's breaking the law.”

“I just want to bring a little girl's remains home.”

“I know. And I understand how you feel. But it's not the moral issue that concerns me. It's you getting busted. Or hurt. Or hurting someone else.”

“I'd never participate in an armed robbery.”

“You don't need a weapon,” she countered. “You're an expert at unarmed combat.”

“I would never hurt anyone. That's not what my missions are about.”

She glared at him. “Either make the promise or say no.”

Kyle knew this was his fault for admitting the truth, for telling a cop his secrets. But he was willing to accept responsibility, at least for while. “Fine. No crimes, not while I'm with you.” He wasn't ready for their relationship to end. Not yet. “But later, when this thing between us is over, I'm doing whatever I want.”

“Go ahead. But if you get busted, don't come crying to me.”

He relaxed a little. Apparently she wasn't going to turn him in, run to the feds with the information he'd given her. “Now you can tell me about your personal problems. You can come clean.”

Suddenly her expression changed. She made a face, then fussed with the quilt again. “Can it wait?”

He gauged the anxiety in her gestures. She was on overload, he thought. They both were. “Until when?”

“Until we get some sleep.” She glanced at the clock. “We've been up all night.”

Like an idiot, he caved in. “I suppose a few more hours won't make a difference.” He wanted to know what was going on in her life, but he wanted to hold her, too. To let the moment settle, to let their emotions slip into slumber.

She fluffed her pillow, getting ready to lie down. “Thank you, Kyle.”

“For what?” He removed his sweatshirt, but decided to leave his jeans on.

“Everything,” she responded.

He accepted her answer. In his heart, he knew how important his honesty had been to her.

Together, they adjusted the covers. And when she closed her eyes, he reached for her, and she snuggled against him. They were a strange couple,
he thought. But for now, he liked being with her, even if they were as mismatched as two people could get.

J
oyce woke up beside Kyle. She turned on her side to look at him. He was still asleep, with his hair partially covering his face and the sheet draped around his waist.

She wanted to run her hand along his chest and down his stomach, but this wasn't the time to get sexual. She'd promised to talk about her problems.

She sat up, her nerves jangling. It was foolish to be worried. Her secret wasn't as damaging as his. He'd admitted that he was involved in illegal activity. All she was going to do was admit that she was longing to get married and have a baby. That was a far cry from telling a detective that you steal.

Kyle never ceased to amaze her. He'd offered information about himself that very few people would entrust to a cop. Which meant what? That the bond between them was growing stronger? That he wanted her to know what he was willing to risk his freedom for?

A little girl's bones, she thought. A child's remains.

Joyce tried not to get attached to the dead, to the victims associated with her job. But sometimes she did. Sometimes her emotions got in the way. Apparently Kyle had become attached to “his” little girl, a child that had probably been born over a hundred years ago.

She gave in and touched him, placing her hand against his chest, against the warm, steady beats of his heart. Then she slipped lower, brushing the waistband of his jeans.

He opened his eyes, squinting at her, and she flinched. Guilty pleasure, she thought. She'd gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Well, not
in
the cookie jar. But darn close.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She took her hand away.

His lips quirked. “It felt like something to me.”

She changed the subject. “Do you want some coffee? I'm going to make a pot.”

“Sure.” He sat up and smoothed his hair. “Did you know that I left some condoms in your bathroom from last time?”

“You did? Where?”

“Under the sink, behind your tampons.”

Good grief. “We don't need them right now.”

He grinned. “The tampons?”

She couldn't find the will to laugh. “The condoms.” She got out of bed, her nerves jumping like frogs in a pond. “You didn't come over to have sex, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” His grin faded. “Are you okay, Joyce?”

“I'm fine.” Just fretful about telling him her secret. In her own anxiety-ridden way, she wanted to make love with him before she spilled the beans, before she started talking about babies. But she knew that would be cheating. The true test of their affair would come after she told him. After he knew her biological clock was ticking.

Not that he was going to offer to give her a baby. No, she thought. He would never do that. If anything, he would panic and consider running for the door.

Of course she had no business imagining him as the father of her unborn children.

None whatsoever.

Joyce left to make the coffee, and he waited for her. When she returned with two steaming cups, she handed Kyle his, knowing he liked it black.

“Thanks.” He scooted over so she could rejoin him in bed.

She took her designated spot and sipped the hot brew. The quiet laziness appealed to her. And so did having a big, rugged, rumpled male next to her.

“You're going to think I'm crazy,” she said, getting ready to tell him her story.

He shrugged, then smiled. “All cops are crazy.”

“Not like me.” She blew out the breath she'd been holding, expanding her lungs. “I keep freaking out about wanting a baby.”

His smile disappeared. Just like that. It was gone. “Is this a joke?”

“No.”

“That's why you wanted to train with me? To stop yourself from hungering after a kid?”

She winced. Then abandoned her coffee. Her stomach had begun to burn. “And a husband. I want to get married, as well.”

He winced, too. But kept his coffee. “You are crazy.”

“I told you.”

“We sparred over your domestic urges?” He gulped the caffeine-laced beverage, swallowing a bit too loudly. “That makes me feel weird.”

She could see the panic setting in. He even glanced at the door, as if he wanted to bolt. “I'm pushing forty, Kyle. These things happen to women.”

“These things?”

“Biological-clock issues. Besides, remember what
you said the other morning? That given my family history, you expected me to be more marriage-minded?”

“Maybe so. But I didn't think that was the trauma in your life.” His eyebrows furrowed, working into a frown. “I made a promise to you last night, and now you have to make one to me.”

She angled her head. “What?”

“That you don't start caring about me too much.”

Pride kicked her square in the gut, a swift blow, a wallop she couldn't deny. And on top of that, a strap on her nightgown had begun to slip. She pushed it back into place, wishing she wasn't wearing such a girly garment. “What's that supposed to mean? That you think I'm dumb enough to fall in love with you?”

“I'm not that bad. That unlovable.” He seemed irritated, too. “I have my moments.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“Yeah, listen to you. You're hot for me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No hotter than you are for me.”

“Okay. Whatever.” He accepted their attraction on equal ground. “How about if we both agree not to fall in love? Not to make more of this than it is?”

She wasn't about to argue. She didn't want to fall for Kyle any more than he wanted to fall for her. “That's fine with me.”

“Do you want to shake on it?” he asked.

She gave him a stupefied look. “This isn't a business arrangement.”

“You're right. There's no point in going overboard.” He set his cup on the nightstand. “Shaking hands would be kind of goofy. Maybe we could mess around to seal the deal.”

Suddenly she forgot about being annoyed with him. She laughed instead, enjoying his offbeat charm. “Is that all you think about?”

He laughed, too. “It seems like it, huh? It must be your effect on me.”

And his effect on her, she thought. She feared that getting him out of her system wouldn't be as easy as it sounded.

He flopped onto his pillow and took her hand. She put her head on her pillow, too. And for a while, they didn't speak.

Nothing. No words. No jokes. No sexual innuendos. Just a closeness they weren't supposed to share.

Finally he turned to face her. He was still holding her hand. “You're going to find the right guy someday.”

Something inside her ached. Horribly. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. You'll be married with a baby before you turn forty.”

“I don't know. At this point, I'd rather fight off those feelings.”

“And tie yourself up in knots. That's not worth it, Joyce. Just let it happen when it's meant to.”

It was good advice, she thought. Sound. Kind. Everything she needed to hear. He was a levelheaded man. Or he could be, when the mood struck him. “I can't imagine why Olivia's sister thinks you're dumb.”

“What?” The change of topic threw him.

“Olivia's sister, Allie. She thinks you're dumb.”

“No, she doesn't. Not anymore. I've been training her for nearly a year. She knows now how brilliant I am.” He chuckled. “She's the airhead. Addle-brain Allie.”

Joyce took her hand away and pinched him. “You're not supposed to call her that.”

“Even if it's true?”

She rolled her eyes. The first disagreement they'd ever had was about his nickname for Allie. And that was on the day they'd met. Eight months ago, she thought. And now here she was, in bed with him.

Better her than Olivia. Or Allie. Or any other woman he was associated with.

She moved closer, snuggling against him, against the warmth of his flesh, the roughness of his jeans. “I think we're going to need those condoms you left in the bathroom.”

He guided her hand to his pocket. “I already snagged one when you were in the kitchen. Just in case.”

“What a cheater.” She dug into the denim, bump
ing his fly in the process. “A sexy cheater.” She secured the packet and glanced at the ridge beneath his zipper. “Did I do that?”

“You know damn well you did.” He toyed with her nightgown, fingering the silky trim. Then he removed it, slowly, sensually, baring her breasts and exposing her panties.

When the air hit her skin, her nipples turned hard. He kissed her, then cupped her breasts, making them ache. She closed her eyes and let him put his hands all over her.

He was gentler than she expected, gentler than any man who'd ever touched her. She wanted to tell him to stop being so loving, so caring, but she didn't think he realized what he was doing.

She opened her eyes, and he discarded her panties. They were pink, like cotton candy, and she could have sworn they'd melted into thin air.

He undressed himself and pressed his nakedness against hers. The sensation made her shiver. All she wanted to do was hold him, keep him close.

They rolled over the bed, the covers bunching beneath them. Colors swirled in her mind, as pale and pastel as the sheets.

“Will you give me a key to your apartment?” he asked.

She blinked. “Why?”

“For when you go back to work. So I can come
over when you're not home and wait for you.” He straddled her, nudging her thighs apart. “I'll give it back when we're not together anymore.”

She agreed to give him a key. At this point, she would deny him nothing.

He used the protection, and they made warm, syrupy love. She gripped his shoulders and felt the moisture between her legs, the stimulation of each and every stroke. He penetrated her even deeper, and she lost her breath.

He filled her so fully, so completely, the lines between them blurred.

And when they climaxed at the same moment, at the very same instant, the rest of the world seemed to disappear, fading into nothingness.

Like the edges of a dream.

 

Kyle and Joyce spent the rest of the afternoon together. They took a shower, soaping each other down, then got dressed and headed to Santa Monica. Kyle loved the sand and the surf. The weather was overcast, bordering on drizzly, but that made it even better. To him, the beach was prettier in the fall and winter months of the year.

They stood on the pier and looked out at Pacific Park, with its oceanview Ferris wheel and other family-entertainment rides. The park was closed, but this was a weekday during an off-season.

He glanced down. The boardwalk itself was separated into two distinct sections. Part of it was made of wood, and the other part offered a long, asphalt surface, where a few locals were fishing. Overall, there weren't a lot of people around.

As Kyle and Joyce walked past the police pier substation, he slanted her an amused look. “I can't seem to get away from cops.”

“No, you can't, can't you?” She took his hand, and they continued their stroll.

Suddenly he realized the magnitude of their relationship. He'd agreed to halt his upcoming mission—albeit temporarily—for her.

He frowned, and she turned to look at him. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He stopped to watch the wind blow her hair around her face. She looked pretty in the cloudy light. “Nothing I can't deal with later.” He paused, inhaling the moisture in the air. “Do you want go down to the beach? Maybe walk on the sand?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

They took a set of cement stairs and reached the bottom, where Mother Earth presented a close-up view of the Pacific Ocean. The sand felt right beneath Kyle's moccasins. He wore the same clothes he'd worn to Joyce's apartment last night. She was dressed in a similar way, with jeans and a sweatshirt. Her shoes were lace-up boots.

“I used to come here when I was a teenager,” he said. “When I got stuck living with my dad. But I always came here on cold days or at night. I didn't like it as much when it was sunny and crowded.”

“What about now?”

“I still prefer it when there's less people around.”

“I like the beach either way,” she said. “Summer days can be fun, too. The street performers, the hot dogs, the lemonade, music blaring from boom boxes.”

He led her along an endless stretch of land, close to the shore, but far enough away not to get their feet wet. “I'd probably come here in the summer if I had a family. It'd be fun to haul my kids to the beach. To teach them to build sand castles or something.”

She stopped walking. “I thought you didn't want to get married and have children.”

“I don't.” He noticed how blue her eyes were, how they reflected the ocean. “I was just saying it hypothetically.”

She seemed to be focused on his eyes, too. “I wish you wanted kids.”

He tried not to react, but his pulse made a disconcerting leap. “Why?”

“So you would understand how I feel.”

“I do understand. I said you were going to find the right guy someday. Someday in the near future,” he added.

“Before I'm forty.” She laughed a little. “Everyone seems to worry about the big four-oh. Especially single women.” She considered him. “How do you know that I'm going to find the right guy? You're not psychic.”

“No, but I have common sense. You're beautiful and tough and sexy. A lot of men would want to settle down with a lady like you.”

She shrugged and turned away to look at the ocean. He wasn't sure if she believed him.

“Maybe I should ask Olivia,” he said.

She spun back around. “Ask her what?”

“When you're going to find the guy of your dreams.”

“Don't you dare,” she warned. “Don't you dare ask her.”

“Why not? She's a damn good psychic. If anyone would know—”