Blue Jeans and a Badge (13 page)

 

Philip listened to the resolute smack of the bathroom door behind Luce and let out a sigh, followed by a long string of inward curses.

So much for option three, pretending he didn't care. That had worked like a charm…not. If anything, his indifferent act had chased her off even faster. And if he'd thought seeing his naked need for her would move her, he was obviously wrong.

He leaned his arm against the warm, wet tile and put his forehead to his fist, letting the hot water spray over his back.

Not that he wanted her sympathy. Anything but that. What he wanted was her passion. He wanted Luce to be as helpless to fight this thing between them as he was. He'd wanted her to see the error of her ways and give herself over to him, heart and soul.

He'd wanted her to love him.

Yeah.

May as well wish for Clyde Tafota to knock on the door and give himself up.

With another curse, he reached down. Might as well get this over with.

Suddenly the door opened. Luce stood there, looking confused, and a little desperate around the edges.

And all rosy and dry and still naked.

“Don't come in here, bounty hunter,” he growled, possibly more harshly than he intended. “Not unless you're coming to have your wicked way with me.”

Her eyes widened and she halted on the threshold of the shower stall. His eyes feasted on her temptingly bare body.

“Because my nice is all gone,” he said, “and my willpower is totally shot to hell. Enter at your own risk.”

She shocked him by taking one hesitant step into the cubicle. She darted a glance between his legs and up again—
yeah, it's still there
—then closed the door, shutting herself in with him. He felt his body ripen, almost to the point of pain, he wanted her so much.

“I think I can handle it,” she said, and he almost laughed. Did she really? He doubted it. Some old saying about lambs to slaughter came to mind.

He pushed off the tiles and turned, crowding her away from the door and into a corner. “What exactly is it you think you can handle?”

Her cheeks colored. “You. Whatever you dish out.”

His lip curled up. “Is that so?”

Her gaze didn't waver from his, but he felt a small square packet press into his palm. “Yeah.”

He pressed it back into hers. Then he crossed his arms over his chest. And waited.

Her tongue peeked out and swiped over her lips. The same tongue and lips that had explored his body so thoroughly last night. He wanted to shout and stomp his feet and yell at her to get on with it—whatever it was she was here for. But instead he stood absolutely, perfectly still. And waited.

First she turned off the water. The sudden silence was deafening. He was certain she could hear his nether regions
creaking and groaning as they expanded to just short of bursting.

With a slanted look, she started to lower herself to her knees. Lightning fast, he caught her by the upper arms and lifted her back to her feet, shaking his head.

“Ah, no. I don't want to be serviced. If this is going to happen, I want it to be mutual.” He held her until she nodded, then dragged her to his chest and whispered in her ear. “I want to be inside you when you call my name, inside you when you surrender to me and we come apart together. Inside you when you realize we were meant to be together.”

She made a little noise, and he looked into her eyes, seeing all the misery and anguish he himself was feeling. When she put her arms around his middle and buried her face in his neck he couldn't stand it. He wanted to keep his delusions, didn't need to know she was feeling the same pain he was.
She
was the one doing all this, putting up roadblocks, insisting on casual. Not him. Why should
she
hurt?

He slid one hand down her arm and extracted the packet from her tight fist, ripped it open with his teeth and sheathed himself one-handed.

“You scared?” he asked, dropping her arm to snake his around her waist. She should be. He sure was.

“No.”

“You want this?” He skimmed the back of his hand over her breasts.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He spun her in his arms, pinning her hands on the shower wall arrest-style. He edged her feet apart, bent his knees and thrust up into her from behind.

They both gasped. The pleasure was so excruciating it was like having the breath knocked out of him. He grabbed for control. She started to move her hips, her inner muscles undulating around him, pulling him in deeper. He wrapped his arms around her pelvis and forced her to be still. Just for a minute. While he caught his breath.

She mewled. “Don't stop. Please, Philip.”

“I said mutual,” he gritted out, and sought her pleasure center with his fingers. “But you first.”

Her knuckles turned white against the forest-green tile as he found his mark. Her bottom ground into him, making him groan with need. She was hot and slick and already starting to tremble.

So good.
They were so good together, even like this, with tempers flaring, unwilling passion igniting in an instant. How could she want to leave him?

She moaned, and cried out, responding to his touch. Toppling over the brink.

“Say my name,” he ordered between clenched teeth. “I want to hear you say it, over and over.”

She did. And it was like music. He stroked her and listened to the primitive love song she sang for him. Drinking it all in and absorbing it like the potent drug passed around at a Paiute ceremony he'd once been invited to. It made him feel powerful and invincible. It made him feel breathtaking, exquisite pleasure.

But he knew he'd better enjoy it now, because tomorrow he'd pay the price.

When the music slowly faded and he felt her body go limp in his arms, he started to move. In and out, in and out. The primal rhythm caught him, filling him with its power as he thrust into her again and again. Until finally he made her sing once more. But this time he sang with her.

Afterward he swung them around and leaned his back against the wall, holding her in his arms while they both recovered, his legs like jelly, her breath ragged and punctuated by little hitches. He felt a drop of water trickle down his shoulder and glanced up at the showerhead. It wasn't dripping.

He looked back down at the woman in his embrace.

“Luce?” he whispered, and tilted her head up with a hand to her chin. Her cheeks and eyelashes were wet. “Luce. Oh, God. Did I hurt you?”

L
uce did her best to stifle her embarrassment over being caught weeping. What the heck was going on? Luce Montgomery didn't cry. Luce Montgomery
never
cried. She hadn't cried since Davey Ganick kicked her in the shins on the schoolyard when she was nine. Of course, he'd ended up crying a lot more than she had, so she'd felt redeemed.

This time, though, she had no desire for payback.

“No,” she said, looking down at the floor and dashing the traitorous moisture from her cheeks. “Of course you didn't hurt me.”

Philip tipped her chin up again. “What is it, then?”

She considered evading the question, but under the microscope of his penetrating gaze she couldn't figure out how.

Besides, he deserved the truth, and she was woman enough to admit her failings.

“I'm just confused,” she murmured, averting her eyes when she couldn't budge the rest of her face from his grip. “I like you so much, but all I seem to do is hurt you. And
when I try to distance myself so I can't hurt you any more, you get even more hurt. And then you get all snarly so I know I really
have
hurt you, so then I give in and make love to you because I don't want you to be hurt, but that just make things worse, because now you're going to get really, really hurt when I have to leave for real. Which I do. Very soon.”

She stopped for a breath and risked meeting his gaze. His expression hadn't changed, except his eyebrows had risen.

After a pause, he said, “Snarly?”

“Well,” she hedged, fiddling with his chest hair. “Kinda. Not that—Oh!”

He lifted her into his arms and kicked open the shower door. “I am
not
snarly.” Striding out to the bed, he laid her down under the covers and climbed in beside her.

“I only meant—”

“I like you, too, Luce,” he interrupted, and gathered her in his arms. “But I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree on the snarly thing. Now, I'm whacked, so I'm going to sleep. Good night.”

It took about five seconds for his breathing to slow and deepen, letting her know that he had, indeed, gone to sleep.

Leaving her staring at the ceiling, wondering what had just happened.

Had anything been resolved between them? Not really. Had anything gotten better? Definitely not. So how had she ended up in his bed, with him slumbering peacefully beside her as though nothing more were wrong than them having a lovers' tiff, and everything would be fine in the morning?

But everything
wouldn't
be fine in the morning. He
was
being snarly. And she had to leave as soon as she got the chance, fetch her car from the motel and go stake out the box canyon, nab Clyde Tafota, then drive nonstop so she'd have Clyde back to St. Louis in time to save Arthur and her own paycheck, and with it start her new business and get her old life back.

And in the process betray everything she and Philip had together.

Damn. She wanted to cry again.

How did she get herself
into
these things? Just one short week ago everything had been so easy!

With a depressed sigh, she snugged up against his warm body, surrounding herself with his comforting scent. At least she could enjoy these last stolen hours with him.

Before she broke his heart.

And her own.

 

Luce had planned on getting up a few hours later and sneaking out to take the Jeep well before Philip woke. She hadn't counted on falling into a deep sleep, then having the phone ring at 6:00 a.m., blasting them both out of their dreams.

Disoriented, she jolted up in bed and grabbed for her gun, which was always on the nightstand. At home, anyway. What she got was a handful of morning stubble and an amused look from a sleep-rumpled man. Who looked amazingly sexy even this early. With a groan, she flopped back under the covers. She must look like a wreck, besides a fool.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone. “Oh, hello, Dodge. Can't this wait?” He squinted at the alarm clock. “Okay, Dodge. I'll be right over.”

“What's up?” she asked.

“Dodge Bloomfield. Couldn't make out exactly what he was saying, he was talking so fast. Which is unusual for Dodge. Something about a theft.”

The man's name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. Whoever it was, she was sorry for his trouble but glad about the timing. This would give her a chance for escape. “Guess you better get down there,” she said.

“Yeah. Two robberies in a month. Jeez.”

“A veritable crime wave,” she remarked ruefully. “Next thing you know, they'll be asking for your badge back.”

“Ha-ha. Listen, I called Ted last night with the info on the military stuff we found at the ruins. If he or anyone else calls
about it, have them get me on my cell. I'll leave the number on the kitchen table.”

She threw off the covers. “I'm coming with you. You can drop me at the motel.”

He pushed her firmly back onto the mattress and replaced the covers. “No you don't. Get some more sleep. I shouldn't be very long. But I'll leave the keys to the Jeep just in case.”

She couldn't believe her luck about the Jeep. “But how will you get to town?”

“The Harley. Remember?”

“Ah, yes. How could I forget?”

He kissed her forehead. Her cheeks warmed at the husky way he then said, “You be a good girl and I might give you a ride later.”

“I'd like that,” she answered, but suddenly realized there would
be
no later. She squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, God.
This was it.

“I'll expect a hot breakfast waiting for me,” he murmured.

She forced a brave smile. “I'll have the corn flakes and matches ready, then.”

He chuckled. “I don't know why I put up with you.”

She caught him by the hand and pulled him back when he started to rise, and put her arms around him. She didn't want to let him go.

“What?” he asked softly.

“N-nothing,” she stammered. “Just wanted a hug. Before you leave.”

He held her for an all-too-short moment, then kissed her forehead again. “I'll be back before you know it,” he whispered, and her heart broke in two.

Because she wouldn't be there when he did.

 

Five minutes later Philip was gone.

She had to be strong.

She
was
strong. She could get through this.

She had to.

Determinedly, she switched herself into tough-bounty-hunter mode. That had always helped before, when she'd been tempted to get closer to a man she was attracted to. Before, she'd always been able to empty her mind of everything except the jumper she'd been hired to find.

But she hadn't met Philip before. This time it took her several minutes of sitting in the running Jeep just to remember where the heck she was going.

First the motel to get her suitcase and car. Then to find Clyde.

Right.

She took one last look back at Philip's beautiful home, slammed the Jeep in gear and drove off.

Down at the Lakeview Motel, she was surprised to see a Taos County Sheriff cruiser sitting in the parking lot outside the office. Ted? Her mouth curled into a smile. Maybe he'd finally scored with the lissome and culinarily talented Betsy.

Then she saw the Harley parked next to it. She shot a glance down to her room. The door stood wide open.

“What the—”

Screeching into the spot next to her own Volvo, she jumped out and ran into her room. Three men looked up: Ted, the manager and Philip. The manager—Dodge Bloomfield, she remembered suddenly.

“Hey, what's everyone—” She halted midsentence.

The room was torn apart. The contents of her suitcase were strewn everywhere, all the dresser drawers had been pulled out, and the closet gaped open. The bedclothes had been shredded.

“Holy—”

“Luce!” Philip strode over and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her away from the bed. But not before she'd seen—

“Oh, my God!”

A knife was sticking out of the middle of the mattress.

Philip herded her out of the room, followed by the others.

“Who did this?” she demanded, peering over his shoulder, trying to get a better look. “And why?”

“We don't know,” Philip said, sliding an arm around her. “But don't worry, we're going to get to the bottom of it.”

“It could be a case of mistaken identity,” Ted suggested. “Your room number is 953, but the nine had flipped down to a six.”

Philip nodded, but she wasn't buying it. She'd seen the crazy numbering system at the Lakeview and she doubted there even was a room 653.

“Who's going to pay for the damage?” the manager demanded. Shaking his head, he stalked back toward the office. “You find whoever did this. I'll sue him!”

Her mind was in a whirl. “It's not mistaken identity. The knife…that was personal.” This wasn't the first time her life had been threatened doing her job. She just hadn't expected it from Clyde Tafota. What on earth had gotten into him?

“We don't know it was personal. But I'm here,” Philip said, pulling her closer. “I'll protect you.”

She was about to say she could take care of herself, but stopped the reflex just in time. She looked up into the face of her hero, filled with worry and concern. A million thoughts and emotions flashed through her. All overshadowed by one. Love for this wonderful man.

“Still trying to take care of me, Chief O'Donnaugh?” she asked, smiling wistfully.

His eyes grew tender. “If you'll let me.”

How she wished she could.

But she was leaving. This changed nothing. Steeling herself, she pulled away, gesturing at the mess to give herself a reason. “Sheesh. Good thing I had most of my stuff with me at your place.”

“Except your clothes, it seems,” Ted remarked, hiding a smile.

She made a face. “Very funny.” She walked back to the doorway. “So why is our Clyde getting so testy?”

“You think it's Clyde Tafota?” Ted asked consideringly.

“Skips who don't want to be caught can get nasty. Sometimes they leave pointed messages.”

“This has happened to you before?” Philip asked, clearly horrified.

“Sure. All part of the territory. No biggie.”

Ted nodded. “Well, you two have been stirring things up for Clyde, interviewing his family, going to Hidalgo, trying to find his hideout. Makes sense he'd be ticked.” He looked at the room. “But
this
ticked?”

“Maybe it's not Clyde at all, but something to do with finding that cache,” Philip suggested with a frown.

Luce's pulse skittered. She hadn't thought of that. Should she tell them about hearing a person at the canyon? A person she suspected was Clyde? But maybe it wasn't….

“I suppose that would make sense,” she admitted. “Whoever's stealing that stuff has a lot to lose.”

“I don't like it,” Philip said with a scowl. “Not one bit.”

“Tell me about it.”

His expression went stubborn. “That's it. You're checking out of the motel right now. You'll stay with me. No arguments.”

She swiped a hand over her forehead. Damn. She should have seen that one coming.

“Good plan.” Ted headed for his cruiser. “I'm going to go call in the forensics guys. You can take your clothes, but leave anything that might hold prints. Don't touch anything else.”

“Fine,” she said, preoccupied.

She felt Philip's narrowed eyes on her. “Luce? What are you not telling me?”

She exhaled. Damn, damn, damn.

“Excuse me, are you Chief Philip O'Donnaugh?”

She and Philip both looked up at the loud, unfamiliar male voice.

“I'm O'Donnaugh. What can I do for you?”

The man was dressed as a civilian, but had a clearly military stance and haircut. He snapped open a wallet, showing Air Force Office of Special Investigations credentials. “Captain Charlie Segura. OSI. I'm conducting an investigation into the theft of weapons and technology from several local military installations. I understand you reported locating a cache of possible stolen military property?”

“That's right,” Philip said, extending his hand, obviously as surprised as she at the personal appearance of an investigator. “That was quick.”

“We're very anxious to stop these guys.”

They must be. It wasn't even 8:00 a.m. yet. Disappointment crashed through Luce. So much for going back to nab Clyde at the canyon.
Damn!
Still, maybe she could slip away….

“If you're done with me, Philip, I'll just grab my—”

His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. “No.” At Segura's hiked eyebrows, Philip clasped his hand around hers proprietarily and said, “There was a break-in. I need her statement. And you do, too. She's the one who saw the cache. I didn't.”

Segura pursed his lips and flipped open a small notebook. “I'll have to ask you to stay, Miss—”

“Luce Montgomery.” She gave him the rest of her particulars, which he wrote down in the notebook.

“What led you two to locate the cache?”

Philip explained everything while she eased her hand from his and fidgeted, trying to figure out how to extricate herself from the officious military officer's investigation.

“I'd like you to take me to the cache,” he said. “Do you have time now?”

“Now?”

“You have a problem with that?”

Stuck for another unknown quantity of time. She was simply not going to get a break in this case. Ever.

“No, of course not,” she said with a frustrated sigh.

Nor, did it seem, was she ever going to be able to make her much-needed break from Philip.

 

As it turned out, they had to wait a few hours while Captain Segura arranged for a helicopter to transport them to the plateau above the ruins, so a team could attempt to climb down from there since the men wouldn't fit through the passage.