Revenge (63 page)

Max was trying to right some wrongs from the past, including working a deal with Fred to give him back what was rightfully his. But Fred wasn't interested, had nearly spit on Max when he'd made the offer. Yep, there were a lot of people who hated the McKees. None of them rich men, yet someone was able to finance Reggie Camp.

Not for the first time, Sloan wondered about a conspiracy. Maybe all the citizens of the town who'd been ripped off by Jonah McKee had banded together and formed an evil coalition determined to ruin everyone and everything associated with the McKee name.

So who the hell was it?

He rounded the corner and trod silently down the hallway, his mind working.

Max was a lawyer. Maybe he could make a few inquiries, find out about Reggie Camp—who his clients were, if he could be bought, just how far he'd bend the law. Or did Camp, too, have a personal ax to grind against the McKees?

He opened the door to Jenner's room and slipped inside.

“Sloan?” Casey's voice caught him unawares and he nearly dropped his cup.

“What're you doing here?” he demanded, spying her on the window ledge, one leg tucked up beneath her as she leaned against the casing.

“Couldn't sleep.”

“You shouldn't be here.”

She didn't argue, just stared up at him with those round hazel eyes. Even with only the pale light from the white snow filtering into the room, he could see her clearly. A soft white robe had been cinched around her waist and her hair was dark against the thick terry-cloth fabric.

Sloan closed the door quietly behind him. “Is there something you want?”

“Just to know where I stand.” When he didn't answer, she added, “With you.”

“I thought I made that clear.” His heart was pounding and he kept his distance, certain that if he walked any closer to her, he wouldn't be able to resist the fragrance of her hair, the feel of her skin, the throaty sound of her voice as she whispered. “You knew I was staying here long enough to put whoever is behind Jonah's murder and your kidnapping behind bars.”

“What if you don't find him?”

“I will.”

“You've never failed?”

“I said I'll find the bastard.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall and sipped from his cup. The coffee was beginning to cool and tasted flat. He didn't care. “You want coffee? I made a cup—”

“I want to know what your plans are.”

Fair enough. He'd give it to her with both barrels. No matter what else, he had to scare her off. Though his body screamed to touch her, to hold her, to tell her no woman fired his blood the way she did, he couldn't let his emotions and his damned lust interfere with their lives—hers or his. He hadn't kissed her since that day they'd strung the Christmas lights and he'd managed to keep his distance by sheer force of will. But she was tempting, damned tempting. He couldn't afford to give her any false signals. It wouldn't be fair—to either of them. “Okay. I plan to find the son of a bitch, just like I told you. I don't know how, when or where, but somehow I'll flush him out, and after I do, I'll collect my money, take off and buy a ranch northwest of here.”

“In Warm Springs.”

She remembered that? Hell, she was beginning to know a little too much about him.
“Maybe.”

“Your grandfather's ranch.”

He stiffened. “Don't know if it's for sale.”

“But you'll find out,” she countered, turning her gaze from his face to stare out the window again. There was a sadness about her that he'd never seen before, a loneliness he'd rather not witness. It was easier to think of Casey as a hothead—a passionate woman who was always on the verge of losing her temper. He knew differently, of course, had seen her frightened and courageous, worried and relaxed. He'd laughed with her and held her when she'd been scared out of her mind. Hell, he'd made love to her and, at least for a few hours, forgotten all his own pain and suffering, had seen a sunnier side of life that he'd thought had disappeared, just because she was near.

“Tell me about Jane,” she said, turning again to face him, her hair tumbling to rest on her collarbone. The front of her robe gaped a bit and he caught a glimpse of her skin and some kind of lace from a nightgown.

“I don't talk about her.”

“Why not?”

“No point.”

Tucking her feet closer to her body, she clasped her arms around her legs. “You loved her very much.”

“Too much.” He cleared his throat and stared at her, hoping that in so doing she would get the message and leave—not that he really wanted her to go. It would just be better. Safer. For both of them.

“How did you meet her?”

“I really don't think you should be here—”

“Do you have any children? I don't recall Jenner mentioning it.”

The question seemed to bounce off the walls and ricochet through his heart.
Oh, my son. My little Tony.
“Tony. I don't think I told you about him,” he admitted, his voice wooden because he couldn't allow any emotion to color his words. “He died.”

“With Jane?”

“Yes.” His throat worked and he took another long swallow from his cup. His hands were unsteady as the painful memories began to spin through his mind.

“Tell me about her.”

“If I do, will you leave?”

She hitched her chin up a notch and waited. Why she'd decided that she had to know about the wife he adored, she didn't really understand. She'd come to this room, not to discuss Jane, but because she couldn't sleep, and knowing Sloan was so close had made it impossible not to want to be with him. She wasn't planning to try to seduce him, of course, but...if he'd just hold her again....

He set his cup on the top of the television and closed his eyes for a minute, as if gathering thoughts that ran in a painful jumble through his brain. “Jane was a student at UCLA when I met her. I was new on the police force and we met through a common friend. Jane was... different from anyone I'd ever met before—she seemed more vital somehow. Anyway, we hit it off right away, began seeing each other and one thing led to another and we got married. A simple ceremony.” His voice lowered. “At a justice of the peace. Her parents didn't approve. Thought she should finish school and find someone... different.” An edge of anger flavored his words.

“Different?”

“Different from a half-breed Indian boy who'd managed to get himself through school and become a cop.”

“Oh,” she said as if she understood. She didn't. Any parents should have been pleased to have Sloan for a son-in-law, but then parents rarely were satisfied with their children's choices—she only had to look at her two brothers and her father to prove that point.

“Jane's folks were from San Francisco. Old money. Had big plans for their only daughter. Thought she should marry a doctor or a lawyer or at least someone with money and background. But Jane was a stubborn thing, told her parents she was going to live her own life. Once she married me, they cut her off, never called or wrote, not even when our son was born.” His voice had lowered to a grim whisper. “I only saw them at the funeral. Even then they didn't speak to me—stood apart with their own circle of friends.” His gaze became dull and he couldn't manage to hide the pain in his voice.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“You don't even know what happened.”

“I know you lost a family you loved.” She ached to hold him, to say she understood, but she didn't dare.

Shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he scowled. His face turned suddenly savage and a quiet fury burned in his eyes. “Lost them,” he repeated with a snort. “That's a nice way of putting it.” He crossed the room and stopped bare inches from her, close enough that she could feel the angry jets of his breath. “Don't you want to know what happened?”

“Only if you want to tell me,” she said, suddenly feeling as if she was prying into a very private part of his soul, a part he wanted to keep hidden away from her and the rest of the world. A part no one should dare question.

“Well, it turns out her folks were right—being married to me was a big mistake. One of the punks I'd put in jail got himself paroled and he came lookin' for me, planned on killing me with an explosion in my truck.”

Her stomach turned over and she could scarcely breathe. “Sloan, if you don't want to—”

“You asked, damn it.”

“But—”

His nostrils quivered slightly. “Jane's car was acting up—sometimes it wouldn't start, so she decided to use the pickup. Just strapped Tony into his car seat, climbed in herself, started the engine and BAM!” He rubbed his eyes with his hands as if to wipe out the memory.

“Oh, God,” Casey whispered.

“So, in a way, they're dead because of me.” His voice was so low she could hardly hear it, the ravages of sorrow carving deep grooves in his face.

“You couldn't have known.”

His eyes slitted. “But I should have suspected, been more careful.” His hand clenched and the veins stood out on his arm. She saw him relive his anguish.

“You can't blame yourself.” She reached forward, touching the side of his face.

“Who, then?” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Who, Casey?”

“The guy who did it! You said they knew who it was. He was caught, wasn't he?”

“Yep.”

A chill swept down her spine.

“You—”

“I didn't kill him. But only because my partner broke it up. I had my hands around that punk's neck and I wanted to squeeze until he stopped kicking, but my partner convinced me to back off, that if I did the bastard bodily harm, my hide would have been nailed to the wall and the guy might walk. After killing my wife and son. So we hauled the creep off to jail and I turned in my badge.”

“Just like that?”

He dropped her hand. “I only went back to testify, then I split. Took up riding rodeo. Wasn't much good at first, but it all came back and pretty soon I was scratching out a living and keeping mobile. Didn't want the grass to grow under my feet.”

Or get involved with another woman.
He didn't have to say it, but Casey could read between the lines. He was still blaming himself for something that happened years before. Time hadn't healed his wounds; the scars were still fresh and bleeding.

Unable to help herself, she slowly stood, reached up and touched his face again, her palms pressed gently to his beard-rough cheeks. He stiffened, but didn't move, and she let her hands slide down his strong, inflexible shoulder muscles as she leaned her head into the crook of his neck. “I'm so sorry,” she murmured.

“It's over.”

“Is it?” She tilted her head up to his and brushed her lips against his.

Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her. “Casey, please...”

“Please what?” She kissed him again and this time he didn't protest. His lips crashed against hers in repressed fury and he dragged her close, one hand on the lower curve of her back, the other twining in her hair.

“Don't tease me,” he growled.

“I'm not.”

Swearing under his breath, he tried visibly to get control of himself. “We can't. Not here. Not now.”

“When?” she demanded, refusing to let go.

“Maybe never.”

“I won't believe that.”

“Casey, it won't work.”

“Why not?”

He closed his eyes as if waging a silent battle with himself. His muscles grew taut; his jaw tight. “You and I... we want different things in life.” His rejection stung. “You want to settle down, have a family, drive a station wagon, join the PTA. You're used to a life-style that I can't provide—”

“I didn't ask you to marry me,” she said, hurting inside. “Did you think I came in here, planned to seduce you and then what... expect to walk down the aisle?” He didn't say a word, just looked at her with hot black eyes. “I just wanted to talk to you, Sloan.”

Silently he called her a liar, but took a step backward, leaned against the wall, crossed his muscular arms over his chest and waited. “So talk.”

“I thought we should get to know each other.”

“Why?”

Her insides began to shred. “Because... because...”

“Because we made love,” he said, finishing for her.

“Yes!”

“Casey—” his voice was suddenly soft “—don't do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make something more of it than it was.”

“Damn it, Sloan,” she said, her temper exploding. “You want me! Right now you want me!”

“Yes.” His honesty shocked her. “I've wanted you from the first time I saw you in that damned cabin in Montana,” he admitted. “All cut and scraped and scared to death—and I wanted you! Hell, that doesn't make it right.”

“We're two adults.”

“And you were a victim. I was supposed to save you, Casey, not sleep with you.”

“I wanted—”

“You were grateful. You saw me as some kind of hero on his white horse, but that's not the way it is. Don't try to make me into something I'm not, Case, because it won't work. What I am is a broken-down, out-of-work cowboy who snoops into other people's business just to pay the rent and keep enough beer in the fridge so that it's there when I need it. I don't like to be tied down and I don't want a woman in my life.” He shifted. “I think you'd better leave, Case.”

“I don't believe you.”