Close To The Edge (Westen #2) (17 page)

Whoa. The man really didn’t like lawyers. Maybe he’d had a DA lose a drug case he worked hard on. That was a tried-and-true plot on all the crime shows she watched. She shook her head and focused her attention on writing down the events leading up to her trip to Westen.

***

An hour later, after a bottle of wine, melt-in-your-mouth steak and crispy fries Gage sat back and studied the woman across from him. “You were very good over at Harley’s today.”

“Yeah, right. I nearly keeled over when I saw him…like that.” She took a deep drink of her wine as if the image of Harley’s body still shook her nerves.

“But you didn’t. And I have to tell you, you’re one hell of a detective. You’ve got instincts people trained for years haven’t acquired.”

“Really? How?”

Her eyes sparkled from his compliment. Or maybe it was the wine. Either way, he meant what he’d said. He might’ve doubted her abilities the first day he met her, but today she’d proved her mettle.

“Figuring out the murder weapon, for one. Both Frank and I missed that.”

“Thank you.” She blushed.

He liked how she’d do that whenever he teased her or complimented her. He didn’t know women her age could still blush.

“So how did your sister come to ask you to take on this case?”

Bobby sipped her wine. She slid her tongue out to catch the drop on her lip and shrugged. “I begged.”

He chuckled. “You begged?”

“Yes, sir.” She grinned at him over the rim of her wineglass. “I told her this would be a simple case for me to get my feet wet on. I’d had my license about six months, but hadn’t gotten any field experience. This would be a relatively safe job and I could put on my resume that I’d worked for a prestigious law firm in Cincinnati. I can advertise it on a website and any publicity in the papers will help to get me more clients.”

She wanted to solve the case to get her name in the papers. It was a logical business move, but it reminded him of Moira’s craving for media attention. The acid in his gut churned a bit harder.

Was she the same kind of woman—a manipulator who didn’t care who she hurt on the way up the ladder? He remembered how kind and patient she was to Cleetus and Jason’s grandparents. Moira never would’ve treated them as Bobby had. He prayed he wasn’t wrong about Bobby.

He finished his wine in one long drink. “And your sister bought this?”

“Well, I did have to turn on the guilt, just a little bit.” She drained the last of the wine in her glass, too. “But I really can handle this case.”

“It’s no longer a simple bank error, Bobby.” The suspicion that had nibbled at the back of his mind when they’d found Harley hadn’t gone away. “You know what that envelope in the trash means, don’t you?”

She nodded. “That Harley Evans had the letter my sister sent about the lien at his house.”

“Which could mean?”

“That Harley, the friendly neighbor, staunch deacon, dependable employee had bank property at his house that he might’ve been hiding from someone—possible proof that something illegal is going on. And someone else killed him for it.”

Damn, he loved the way the woman’s mind worked. It was a sexy thing. Combined with the things her ass made him want to do, she was one tempting package. A temptation he intended to enjoy, again.

“So what do we do next?”

No way could she read his mind. She had to be talking about the case. Trouble was, at the moment both his heads had no interest in Harley, the bank or Bobby’s career as a PI.

“Frank said he’d have the autopsy report and fingerprint analysis for me tomorrow.”

“What about DNA results?”

“You watch too many TV shows. That can take six weeks if the state puts a rush on it. I hope to figure out what’s going on long before then.”

She nodded. “So what else do we do?”

“Tomorrow, I have a little talk with Harley’s boss and fellow employees down at the bank.”

“Just you.”

The hurt in her eyes kicked him right in the chest. For some reason this lady had gotten under his skin. Too bad he wasn’t interested in something more than good hot sex. And he’d learned his lesson long ago not to let civilians get messed up in an investigation. Bad shit was bound to happen. Might as well let her learn up front how things were going to be, no matter how much those dark eyes pleaded with him.

“Just me. You’ve already gone in the bank today.”

“But they think I was just there to open a bank account. A legitimate account, I might add.”

He stood and started cleaning the dishes from the table. The idea of her walking around town alone with a killer loose twisted something deep inside him. “If you go in with me tomorrow, and if someone at the bank is responsible for the events that led to Harley’s death, your official presence as a PI in town will put everyone’s antennae on alert.”

“But I’m not just a PI now. You made me a deputy today, remember?”

Damn. She had him.

“Right. And as your boss, I’m making an executive decision that you’re not going to the bank with me in the morning.”

“So you want me to continue to just be office help?” She’d followed him around the counter to the sink, her eyebrows knit in puzzlement.

“For now it might be best to keep your real reason for being in town between the few people who know—me, you and Cleetus.” He squirted soap over the dishes and turned on the hot water.

“I’d sort of be undercover.”

“Yes, you’d be undercover.”

“When you worked narcotics, did you work undercover?” she asked, picking up a towel and taking the clean wet plate he handed her.

“Yes. For the last three years before I quit.”

“Did you like it?”

The woman was far too smart and curious for her own good, and his. For a moment he considered her question. “I wanted to get the big dealers off the streets. Catching them in their own business. I liked that. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t. That was hard.”

“Why did you quit?”

“A case blew up in my face, literally. Someone close to me blew my cover. I was shot and left for dead.” He scrubbed the last plate, not wanting to see the look of pity on her face. He’d sworn he wouldn’t let another woman get close enough to hurt him.

“That’s a pretty good reason to quit. I’m glad you’re here to teach me how to be undercover.”

The cupboard behind him opened. The ceramic plates clanked as she put them back where they belonged. She’d given him space, accepted his shortened version without question. Just when he was sure he had her figured out, she did something else to impress him.

He turned and trapped her against the counter between his hands. Leaning in close, he sniffed her. Flowers. Lemons. Clean. Woman. He rubbed his face against the soft skin of her neck and trailed his lips lightly up to her ear.

“And would you like to get undercover with me?” he asked, letting his hands slide down and fill with the fullness of her round ass cheeks naked beneath the tails of his shirt. Damn, she’d left her panties in his bedroom.

Need slammed into him.

“Mmm, I think I’d like that,” she murmured, her voice breathless.

He squeezed her close until her breasts were pressed tight against his chest and her body so molded to his she couldn’t mistake his intent.

Her hands came up to clutch his hips, keeping her secure against him. “I’m looking for adventure, officer. What do you think?”

Just when he thought he couldn’t get harder, her words sent desire racing to his groin. For a moment he considered throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her to the bedroom, but despite her whispered show of bravado, that would probably send her flying out the back door.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

He turned his head and crushed her lips in a searing kiss, one meant to tell her the urgency of his need. She met him with equal passion, her tongue parrying each thrust of his.

He needed her. Now.

In the kitchen? On the counter?

He grasped her by the butt with both hands and lifted her until she sat on the edge of the counter. Her legs parted and he pressed in between them, amazed how easily this woman aroused him.

When her hands cupped his face, he pulled her tight against him, arching her back to claim her lips in a deeper kiss. Her body quivered against him, her heart beat pounded against his chest in a chaotic beat that thrilled him to the core. In response, he ground tight against her.

“More,” she whispered against his lips, breaking the kiss a moment and running her hands down his back to grip his shirt in her fists and pull it up and over his head.

“Yes,” he murmured, his hands opening the buttons of his shirt she wore and slipping inside to cup her breasts. He lowered his lips to take one taut peak in his mouth. Another soft moan filled the room, and he sucked harder.

Her fingers fumbled at his pants.

Suddenly the sound of his phone filled the kitchen.

“Damn,” he muttered against her breast, which quivered with her panting breaths.

“Do you
have
to answer it?” she whispered as it rang a second time.

Her need so apparent in her voice he couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, sweetheart. I am the town sheriff, remember?”

She growled softly in frustration, her hands loosening their hold on his back. With a chuckle, he nipped at her lips before stepping away from her spread thighs to answer the old wall phone. His gaze stroked her from head to toe as he let his hand rest on the receiver for a third ring.

Sitting so exposed on his kitchen counter—his shirt open to her waist, the swell of both breasts visible, her shapely legs open with only the shirt tails tucked between, lips swollen from his kisses and dark hair tousled in wild abandon—she shouted sexy and whispered vulnerable at the same time.

Their gazes locked as he grabbed the phone. “This better be good,” he growled into the receiver even as she began buttoning the shirt.

“Sheriff, this is Walt Sanders. Sorry to bother you so late.”

Gage glanced at the clock. Nine fifteen. Not that late, but Walt was near seventy, so probably felt late to him. “No problem, Walt. What’s up?”

“Well, you know that little lady I rented a room to yesterday?”

“Ms. Roberts?” The hairs on Gage’s neck stood on end again and he turned to look at her, now primly sitting on his counter with her hands folded in her lap, her head tilted to the side as she listened to his end of the conversation. This vision of her tore at his gut as much as the sexy vixen had moments before. “What about her?”

“Seems someone broke into that room and tore it all to pieces.”

Chapter Nine

T
hey hadn’t left one thing untouched. The closet doors hung by one hinge. Dresser drawers were strewn about the room. The knife-ripped mattresses of both beds lay helter-skelter with their tops gaping open and their internal stuffing scattered about like white nylon snowbanks.

Standing in the middle of the chaos, Bobby shuddered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Why would someone do this?” She lifted her favorite sweater off the floor. Hopefully the dry cleaners could get the wrinkles and dirt out.

“Obviously they were looking for something.” Gage said, standing just inside the doorway.

No kidding.
“What were they looking for? Who could do this?”

“That’s an answer I’d like to know.” He turned to Walt, who stood out in the dark night, peeking in from the side of the door. “Did you see anyone drive in or out today?”

Walt shook his head. “There were some truckers here last night, but they pulled out not long after you two left this morning. We had a couple stop by last night, but they’ve moved on, too. About two hours ago, the new set of truckers stopped for the night. You know we always get more business once the sun goes down.”

“You’ve been watching the parking lot all day and night?”

“Well, now you know me and the missus watch the news and then our shows at seven. But I can’t say as I’ve seen anyone snooping around this room. Least-wise no strangers actin’ suspicious. Gonna set us back a few pennies for new mattresses.” The old man’s shoulders drooped a little more as he took in the room’s devastation. “Good thing I didn’t let my insurance lapse this month.”

Bobby shook her head. It was so unfair that someone would cause this nice man such trouble. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

“Well, it ain’t your fault, miss. I’m thinkin’ it was just some hooligans tryin’ to cause trouble, is all.” He gave her a gentle smile. “I think I can get another room ready if you be wantin’ it.”

The possibility of spending another night in a motel with such obvious lack of security sent another shudder over Bobby. “Um, that’s very nice of you, Mr. Sanders, perhaps…”

“No need to go to the effort, Walt,” Gage interrupted her, his attention on the motel owner. “Ms. Roberts will be staying with me.”

“Well, if you’re sure, Sheriff. I best be calling Martin over at the insurance agency. Bad news always comes at night, don’t it?” The older man just nodded his head and headed toward his office.

Bobby waited until Mr. Sanders was out of hearing range before she shoved her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at Gage. “I am
not
staying with you.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and arched one brow. “You’re not?”

“If I stay with you in twenty minutes the entire town will know about it. And you have a reputation to maintain.” Her voice broke a little and she swallowed to keep from giving in to the tears that threatened to overtake her. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Gage. Better to be angry than watery and wimpy.

“I do?” He asked, taking a step closer.

“Of course you do. You’re an elected official…”

“Technically, my Dad was the one elected. I was more or less drafted to finish his term.” He drew closer. “And where exactly were you planning to stay, if not with me?”

She took a step back only to have her legs slam into the upturned mattress behind her. In an effort to keep from toppling back over it like a scene from a well-scripted
I Love Lucy
show, she grasped hold of the mattress’ edge with one hand, and Gage’s George Strait T-shirt with the other. Her balance restored, she let go of Gage. “I’ll stay at the Westen Inn.”