Too Sexy for his Stetson (19 page)

“So how come they’re letting you, who looks like you just went ten rounds with the heavy–weight champion of the world, wander around, and they’re holding me here for the night?” she asked.

“I’m sure they’ll want to do a CT scan and x–rays.” He moved next to the bed.

“This isn’t like some sappy movie where the heroine is dying and no one’s telling her—”

“You’re fine. You know how MDs are. They’re playing it safe and keeping an eye on your vitals overnight.”

“I think a couple of bruised ribs are my worst problem.”

“You’re lucky, Brandy. We both are.”

“You’ve got to be hurting, too, Blade?” She made a question of it. He edged closer, and she reached out for him.

“At the moment, I’m feeling pretty damn good, like I should go buy some lottery tickets.” He took her small, strong hand and gripped it as though she might disappear if he let loose.

On an exhale, she visibly relaxed and asked, “Any word on the logging truck?”

“Not yet, but it sure as hell looked like one of the rigs I spotted up at McKee’s compound.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“The FBI is stepping in. They’re orchestrating an investigation aimed at the NNFF. We’ll find out more as soon as they decide to fill us in.”

That didn’t mean Blade wasn’t going to pressure Reverend McKee for some answers. And then he’d meet with Skip and find out what the deal was and why the Fort Shoshone Police Department wasn’t sharing info about their undercover op. If there was an undercover operation. His gut knotted.

“They’ll release you in the morning.” He shifted his weight. “I want you to move your things into my place.”

“Oh?”

He was quick to add, “Because it’s not safe for you to be alone. Obviously the threats on your life are escalating.”

“You think that’s what this is about? The rig was trying to do me in?”

“You were the recipient of the most recent threat.”

“To my recollection, you infiltrated a Neo Nazi encampment along with me yesterday.”

“True.” But he wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

“Maybe it’s not safe for you to be around me.”

He tried for a grin. “There’s safety in numbers.” Although he could think of plenty of reasons why it wasn’t safe for them to be together, and none of them had a thing to do with death threats or the NNFFs.

As though she were reading his mind, she said, “I promise I won’t overpower you and force myself on you. Unless I’m delirious or something.”

“I’m not worried.” This time a smile nudged out. “Rambo will protect me.”

And then everything crashed down on him. The chase, the accident scene. Brandy lying in a hospital bed. His chest tightened. They’d both survived a zip ride halfway into Deadman’s Gulch while the logging truck had made junkyard trash out of the Tahoe, and its driver had intended to make graveyard bones out of Brandy and him.

Like an avalanche, the crumbling emotional debris piled up and pressed against his sternum, smothering him. He cared too much about Brandy for too many reasons. That kind of heart–wrenching concern meant he had no control over his emotions. For the first time in his life, the king of no–strings–attached found himself in uncharted territory.

God help him, he could envision being firmly attached to Brandy.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I
’m not leaving in a wheelchair,” Brandy announced when Blade arrived to check her out of the hospital.

“The doc says you’re supposed to take it easy for a couple of days.”

“I’m not a cripple, and I refuse to ride in that thing.” A couple of bruised ribs, a slightly strained ankle, and a wrenched shoulder were not putting her out of commission.

She resolutely placed the bouquet of flowers Blade had brought on the seat of the wheelchair and took charge, pushing it out of the room and to the main entrance. “Don’t tell me you escaped unscathed, and I don’t see you wimping out of here in a wheelchair.”

Blade kept quiet, as though he knew better than to argue, while the nurse mumbled something about hospital rules and chased after her.

“Sorry, I’m grumpy.” Her shoulder ached and her ribs were sore, but she refused to take pain meds. She had to keep her mind clear. “I feel totally out of control after being locked up in this place.”

They reached the car, a Jeep Cherokee. “Temporary replacement for the Tahoe,” Blade said and grabbed the flowers. “Get used to not being totally in charge. We’re stopping at your apartment so you can grab some things, and then you’re driving out to my place, remember?”

As though she could forget.

“And now I’ve got big brother watching over me.” She curved a small smile. She wasn’t opposed to the idea of staying with Blade, but she didn’t intend to let him rule her life.

By the time they stopped at her apartment, and she gathered some clothes and personal items, her common sense took over, and she realized she was looking forward to a little down time at Blade’s spacious log home.

“Pink’s your color,” she teased as he toted her girly, hot pink zipper bag in one hand and an old hardshell suitcase, a Goodwill–special, in the other.

Blade rolled his eyes and threw one bag next to the flowers on the front seat of her truck and the other on the floor. “Here’s a set of keys for the house. There’s a guest room upstairs, but don’t carry your bags up. I’ll take care of them later. Just get yourself some rest, and I’ll be home after five. Okay?”

It had been a long time since anyone had taken care of her, and Brandy felt an awkward swelling sensation in her chest. “Thanks, Blade, for everything.”

He smiled and jumped into the Cherokee.

Okay, she’d take one day off work. That was it.

Before she drove out to Blade’s, she’d hit the grocery store. She wasn’t exactly the Rachael Ray of northern Idaho, but she’d been watching a cooking show on TV that morning and decided to attempt a gourmet recipe “made easy” and surprise Blade with a meal, hot and ready, when he came home after work.

And she needed to stop in and touch base with Tonya. It had been a couple of days since she’d seen her friend/landlady. The mental picture that the word “landlady” conjured up, a dowdy woman in a 1940s–style housedress, made her laugh. At twenty–two, Tonya Crawford was a ball of energy. Her business venture, Tour d’Alene, was a smashing success, and she dressed in contemporary fashion apropos to a white–water tour guide. Slim–cut jeans, or sometimes hip–hugging shorts, always combined with an interesting array of feminine tops.

Like Brandy, her friend devoted long hours to her job and poured her heart and soul into her dreams. Tonya was on track to expand her rafting business in several other states. Proof that hard work and effort paid off.

When Brandy walked into Tour d’Alene, she made a quick visual sweep of the interior, thinking about the guard she’d seen at the compound the other night. Her nerves stretched tight as she lowered her sunglasses. Today’s visit wasn’t entirely social.

“Wow,” Tonya glanced up, scrutinizing her before setting down a huge box and placing her hands on her hips. “How’s the other guy look?”

“It’s that obvious, huh?” She knew she wasn’t perking along with her usual gusto. Limping slightly, she tried to square her shoulders and conceal her somewhat limited range of arm motion. At least her almost–shiners had started to fade.

Or so she’d thought, until Tonya’s assessment when she gave her a critical once–over, and her brown eyes turned warm with concern. “What happened?”

“I had a little confrontation with an airbag. The airbag won.” She shrugged, not wanting to discuss the fact that she and Blade had been deliberately run off the road last night, or that by all odds, they shouldn’t have been around today.

“What? Injured in the line of duty? Doing cop stuff? Wow, fill me in.”

“I ended up spending the night in the hospital.”

“The hospital?”

Sloughing off Tonya’s concern, she nodded toward the counter. “Have you got any of your morning tea brewed up?”

“Brandy? What happened?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“So that’s why you didn’t show up for our morning jog.” Tonya fetched a mug from a shelf behind the counter and handed it over. “Help yourself.”

Brandy poured a cup of Tonya’s specialty, an herbal tea she made by the huge pot–full every morning for her customers. After savoring the spicy liquid, she smiled. “Best medicine in town.”

“Guaranteed to balance your acidity—you know bad toxins and all that jazz.” Tonya scrutinized. “Better not let that hot FTO see you looking like this. You could use a little camouflage makeup to reduce the rainbow effect.”

“I thought the shadows lent a gothic appeal.”

“For a vampire, maybe. But for a man who wears a Stetson, not so much.”

Smiling, Brandy swigged her tea and changed the subject. “Listen, Tonya, I wanted to ask you about one of the guys who works here. The short, stocky kid with the shaved head? The one who wears the Crocodile Dundee hat?”

“Daniel Morrisey? I had to let him go. He suddenly decided he didn’t like taking orders, especially from me.”

Making note of the “especially from me,” Brandy figured Tonya probably had three strikes against her in the jerk’s eyes. She was young, a woman, and a native American. That was, assuming Morrisey was the guy she’d seen at the encampment, and he was affiliated with the Neo Nazi Christian Identity contingency.

“At first he seemed like a nice kid, and I wanted to help him out. His father was abusive and got sent to jail for beating the crap out of him. But as of late, he wasn’t inclined to follow protocol. And he took pleasure in pushing my buttons,” Tonya volunteered.

“Was he working here the day the homicide victim rented the raft?”

“Yes, a prime example of not following the rules. Morrisey signed the customer in but failed to have him fill out a waiver.”

“I know you already talked to one of our detectives, but just for my information, did you see the customer when Morrisey signed him in?”

“No, I wasn’t here. But I found out the rafter didn’t come into the store in person. One of my loyal employees told me Morrisey hauled the raft out to the river on his truck. He tried to cover it up by putting the guy’s sweatshirt in one of our lockers to make it look like he’d been here.”

The sweatshirt she and Blade had used for Rambo to pick up Secada’s scent during search and rescue. “Why would he do that? Wouldn’t it have been more work for him?”

She shrugged, “Who knows. The customer could have paid him a bonus. Wasn’t the first time I suspected Morrisey of turning some extra cash off my equipment.”

Or maybe Joey Secada had already been too dead to come in and rent the raft, and
someone
hired Daniel Morrisey to make it look like Secada had started his rafting trip alive—maybe the same
someone
had shown up at Reverend McKee’s compound the other night. Maybe to pay Morrisey off?

Slow down, Wilcox. You are a law enforcement officer. Don’t jump to conclusions.

“So why do you ask? Is Danny in some kind of trouble with the sheriff’s department?”

“I’m not sure, just gathering info.” Brandy drained her mug, wandered to the backroom, and brought it to the sink. Preparing to leave, she said, “Hope you have better luck with Morrisey’s replacement.”

“Thanks, and hey, Ms. Dancing With Airbags, take care of yourself.” Tonya placed her arms gently on Brandy’s shoulders. “Nothing new to report on Mr. Too Sexy for his Stetson?”

Brandy grinned. Maybe she’d have plenty to report. Soon. “Not yet.”

Tonya lifted an elegant eyebrow. “Aha, as in maybe something’s brewing?”

“Of course, your herbal tea.”

“Hey, don’t hold out on me.”

“You’ll be the first to know if something happens.”

“Whoa, you go girl.”

Brandy’s cheeks heated. Loner that she’d always been, it amazed her that she’d already shared more with Tonya, silly girl talk, than she’d ever shared with anyone before. That being said, she’d never had all that much juicy news to expound upon. Some casual dating. No casual sex—not after her encounters with Jeremy at the boarding school.

She shuddered to think how young she’d been—fourteen—way too young to experience the x–rated things Jeremy had introduced her to. And the only girl she might have considered sharing those sordid details with had run off with him.

Plenty of guys she’d dated would have been more than happy to have her tumble in the hay with them, even nice guys from her class at the academy. And Todd Christiansen had been making innuendos since the first week she started her job in Little Chute. Regardless of the no–fraternizing rule, she hadn’t been interested in sex with Christiansen, or anyone. Not until Blade.

Of course the fact that Todd and all of the others were about a five on the Hot–o–Meter and Blade was a hundred and five might have something to do with it. With a smile on her face, she exited through the back to the parking lot where her truck was parked.

Stop smiling, idiot.
What was she thinking? Her throat tightened as she limped across the blacktop. She had every reason in the world to not become involved with Blade. What if she uncovered the truth about Skip, and the truth was that he was a rotten cop? Would Blade ever forgive her? Her stomach jittered—that first day of school kind of nervousness.

The wind gusted, and she noticed a brochure clipped under her wiper blades, flapping in the breeze. Ripping it free, she skimmed the printed message. Her aching muscles tensed. Propaganda from the Christian Identity clan.

The moment she wadded it in her hand, an arm snaked around her from behind. Someone edged in close. The attacker’s grip tightened, clenching around her waist like a viper. Her ribs screamed. She reached for her pistol, but it wasn’t there. Today, she didn’t even have her Swiss Army Knife.

“What’s the matter, beautiful, you haven’t got an open mind to God’s true message? I’d be more than happy to take you under my wing and show you the light.”

She rammed her elbow into thick flesh protecting ribs she intended to seriously damage. When she tried to spin around, her shoulder zinged with pain. But she managed to twist her head and catch a glimpse of a disgruntled Danny Morrisey. A nasty gleam danced in his eyes, and sunlight reflected off a switchblade clamped in his right hand.