by Cindi Myers
He was feeling more foolish by the minute. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She lowered the light so that it was no longer shining in his eyes. “You scared me half to death, but I’m not hurt. What about you?”
He rubbed his side. “My ribs are going to be sore for a few days, I think.”
“Serves you right. Who appointed you my personal protector, anyway?”
“I was on my way back to my cabin and I saw someone lurking on your porch. Someone I didn’t think should be there. And protecting people is what I do.”
“No, you pursue them.”
“I pursue bad guys as a way of protecting law-abiding citizens,” he countered.
“Well, you can stop pursuing me.”
He started to argue that he wasn’t pursuing her, but he was tired of standing out here in the freezing cold. “I’m going to bed,” he said, and limped past her.
“You are hurt!” She touched his shoulder, stopping him.
“I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Sure you have, tough guy.” She wrapped both hands around his biceps. “Come inside and let me have a look. You might have broken ribs.”
He let her lead him into her cabin. Inside, warmth wrapped around him like a cocoon. He sank into the single armchair while she went around turning on lights. She dropped the quilt back onto the bed and divested herself of hat and gloves, revealing herself dressed in knit leggings and a long sweater that clung to every curve. “Take off your jacket and pull up your shirt so I can check your ribs,” she said.
He took off the jacket, then took off the shirt, as well. When she turned toward him again he was standing beside the chair, naked from the waist up, and enjoying seeing her flustered. “I didn’t tell you to get undressed,” she said, avoiding his gaze.
“It’s easier this way.” He held his arms out to his sides, wincing only a little from the effort.
She moved closer and, after a brief hesitation, felt gently along his rib cage, where a faint bruise was already starting to show. Now it was his turn to be unsettled, the silken touch of her hand sending a jolt of desire straight to his groin. He shifted, trying to get comfortable in an impossibly uncomfortable situation.
She looked up, her eyes soft with concern. “I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
“No.” He took a step back. It was either that or pull her into his arms and kiss her until she was as hot and breathless as he felt. Or until she punched him in the mouth for presuming too much. He reached for his shirt. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “A little sore, but I guess that’s no more than I deserve.” He turned away, trying to hide his arousal. “I’ll just use your bathroom, then say good-night.”
In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face and practiced deep breathing until he had himself under control. Unfortunately, every breath pulled in the soft, feminine scent of Bette’s perfume, which did little to lessen his arousal. For whatever reason, Bette Fuller checked every box on his list. His head could tell him to play it cool and keep his distance, but his body was determined to go full-on caveman.
He looked around for a towel on which to dry his hands and wipe his face. Finding none, he opened the cabinet beneath the sink. He spotted a stack of hand towels, but as he reached for one, his hand knocked against something. Crouching and peering into the cabinet, he spotted a paintbrush—and a can of red paint.
The same crimson color that had been used to paint the warning message on her cabin door.
* * *
BETTE PACED WHILE Cody was in the bathroom, trying desperately to cool down and calm herself and act like a sensible woman instead of some sex-starved maniac. The sight of Cody Rankin, all six-pack abs and muscular chest, was one that would haunt her dreams—and her fantasies—for no doubt years to come. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she had seared her fingers touching him—he was that hot.
And she was in so much trouble if she even thought about fulfilling the fantasies he inspired. She had lost her head over a man like this before, and he had come close to ruining her life. She didn’t put Cody in the same category as Eddie, but he had the same potential to distract her from her goals and make her act recklessly.
The door to the bathroom opened and he emerged—fully dressed and looking grim. Obviously, she had injured him worse than she thought. She straightened. She wasn’t going to feel remorse over that. He deserved a little pain for tackling her like that.
She expected him to head for the door, but instead, he sat in the chair again. “Tell me a little more about yourself,” he said. “How, exactly, do you know Lacy?”
She frowned. She was tired, it was late and this was no time for a get-to-know-all-about-each-other conversation. Then again, she had been looking for a way to put some distance between herself and this sexy cop. The truth was sure to do that.
She sat on the end of the bed and pulled one end of the quilt across her lap. “We were cellmates in prison.” She kept her head up, defiant. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but she wasn’t going to deny it, either.
He blinked. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that one. She waited, then he asked the question she had known would come next. “What were you doing in prison?” he asked.
“Ten years for robbing the bank where I worked as a teller,” she said. “Though I was paroled early because I was such a model prisoner.”
His eyes narrowed. “So you admit you’re guilty.”
“Oh, yes. There were five of us—four of us were caught. I was the person on the inside. It was the stupidest thing I ever did and I don’t intend to so much as jaywalk from here on out.”
“You robbed a bank,” he repeated.
“The man I was living with at the time was the one who waved a gun around and demanded the money—I only silenced the alarm and let him out the back door. That made me just as guilty, of course.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Because I was stupid. Over a man.” She stood. “That’s a mistake I won’t make again, either.”
“Does Travis know about this?”
“Of course he does. And his parents. I wouldn’t ask them to invite me into their home without being honest about my past. I appreciate the chance they’re giving me to start over. Their trust really means a lot.”
He rose also and stood looming over her—still sexy, but also menacing. She had to force herself to stand firm and not shrink under his cold gaze. “I hope their trust isn’t misplaced,” he said.
“It isn’t,” she said, licking her suddenly dry lips.
The lines around his eyes tightened. “Just know, I’m going to be keeping an eye on you,” he said.
Delivered in another tone of voice, the words might have been a sexy come-on. But Bette heard only warning behind the words—the words of a cop to a suspect. Though she had achieved her goal of putting emotional distance between herself and Cody, her success left a heaviness in her heart. She supposed part of her had hoped Cody Rankin would be different—able to forgive, even if he couldn’t forget.
* * *
CODY LAY AWAKE for several hours that night, trying to make sense of that paint can and brush under the sink in the bathroom of Bette’s cabin. Surely she would have mentioned finding them there when she pulled out the cleaner and towels to clean the paint off the door.
But she wouldn’t have mentioned them if she had known all along the paint was there—known because she had put it there herself, and used it to paint that message. But why? So that he would see it and feel protective?
No—that wasn’t her game. She definitely didn’t like him hovering too close. And she hadn’t put the message there in order to make a fuss with the Walkers—she had refused to mention the incident, and had made him promise not to, either.
But he couldn’t assume her motives were those of most law-abiding people, he reminded himself. She had a record.
She had admitted to the bank robbery with scarcely a trace of shame. Oh, she had made all the right noises about having learned her lesson and intending to go straight, but how many times had he heard that kind of talk before? Just because she had big blue eyes and a sweet, sincere manner—and a body that made it difficult for him to think straight—didn’t mean they shouldn’t all be on their guard around her. If she was concocting some scam to cheat his friend or his friend’s family, she was going to have Cody to deal with—and he’d make sure her punishment was swift and sure.
On this disturbing thought, he fell asleep, and woke at dawn, stiff and sore. After a hot shower, he walked up to the ranch house, thankful that he didn’t run into Bette. He found Travis alone in the dining room, eating breakfast. “Where is everyone?” Cody asked, helping himself to coffee from a pot on the sideboard.
“We’re the early birds,” Travis said.
Cody sat, moving gingerly still.
“What’s up with you?” Travis asked. “You take a fall or something yesterday?”
“Something like that.” Cody changed the subject. “What do you know about your caterer, Bette Fuller?” he asked.
Travis frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“She told me she and Lacy were cellmates—that she served time for bank robbery. She admitted it outright.”
“Lacy says she was led astray by her boyfriend, a longtime felon named Edward Rialto.”
“Do you believe that?”
“It happens.” Travis spread jam on a slice of toast. “And I did check on her—she didn’t have so much as a traffic ticket before the robbery.”
“She said they caught all but one of the people involved in the robbery,” Cody said.
“That’s right. The getaway driver evaded capture,” Travis said. “Apparently, the car he was driving struck and killed a pedestrian while the gang was fleeing from the bank. He’s wanted for vehicular manslaughter as well as bank robbery. The others refused to identify him.”
“Including Bette?” Continued loyalty to her “gang” didn’t sound good to him.
“She said she had only seen him once, for a few minutes, that they hadn’t been introduced and she couldn’t identify him.”
“Convenient.” Cody scooped up a forkful of eggs. “I know I don’t have to tell you to be careful, but I’m going to play the role of concerned friend and tell you anyway.”
Travis set down his coffee cup and studied Cody. “What’s wrong? Has Bette done something, or said something, that’s disturbed you?”
Cody thought about mentioning the can of paint and the message on Bette’s door, then thought better of it. He had no real proof Bette had put the message there herself, and no motive for her to have done so. Right now, Travis and his parents had accepted having a convicted felon catering the wedding. Cody had no grounds for upsetting them. “No, I just wanted to know more about her. What are you up to this morning?” he asked.
“I’m going to stay here this morning, catching up on paperwork. Gage texted me late last night—he and Dwight made it back to town about two in the morning. I’ve got two other deputies on duty, and I’ll go into the office about noon.”
“Do you have other suspects for the murders?”
“Not really.” Travis pushed back his empty plate and held his coffee mug in both hands. “There are a few possibilities, but no one who lines up for everyone. The only connection the women have is that they were all in their twenties or thirties, and they all lived here in Eagle Mountain.” He pushed back his chair. “There’s still a lot to sift through. We’ll find him.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Sure. What are your plans for the day?”
“I thought I’d go ice fishing, over on Lake Spooner.”
“Sounds good. If you catch enough, maybe we can have a fish fry. There’s a bunch of fishing gear in the tack room, if you want to borrow any. I think there’s even an ice auger in there.” He pushed back his chair. “I’d better get to work. Talk to you later.”
* * *
AT BREAKFAST HER first morning at the ranch, Bette waited anxiously for Cody to appear. Not that she was looking forward to seeing him again after their tense parting the night before, but since he was the only person who knew about the message that had been painted on the door of her cabin, he was the only one she could confide in now.
This morning, while getting ready for a shower, she had retrieved a towel and washcloth from beneath the bathroom sink and been startled to discover a paintbrush and a can of red paint. She had even cried out, as if she had encountered a snake under there. She was positive the paint hadn’t been there earlier, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it now. She hated the idea that someone had come into her cabin while she wasn’t there, but she didn’t know if she should say anything to the Walkers. Cody might not be her friend, but he might have some idea about what she should do.
“Good morning!” Lacy greeted Bette with a hug and walked with her to the breakfast table, where Mr. and Mrs. Walker and Emily were eating.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Walker said. “I hope you slept well.”
“I was fine,” Bette said. No sense revealing she had lain awake for hours, fretting and furious about Cody Rankin. In the cold light of day, it seemed foolish to waste any time thinking about a man like that.
“Glad to hear it.” Mrs. Walker smiled. “I know you and Lacy are working on plans for the tea this morning. You’re welcome to anything in the house you need in the way of furniture or decorations or ingredients. Just help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Bette said. “That’s very generous.”
Mr. Walker checked his watch, then pushed back his chair. “We’d better be going,” he said to his wife.
She laid her napkin beside her chair and stood. “We’ll see you girls later.”
“I have to go, too,” Emily said. “I have a conference call.”
“I thought you were off school for winter break,” Lacy said.
“I am. But research projects don’t stop just because school isn’t in session. I need to meet by phone with my colleagues about a research grant.”
“Emily is an economics graduate student at Colorado State University,” Lacy said when she and Bette were alone.
“How is school going for you?” Bette asked as she added cream to her coffee. She recalled her friend had used part of the wrongful conviction settlement money she had received from the state to finance her education.
“I’m only just starting out, but I’m loving it so far,” Lacy said. “I’m really looking forward to being a teacher.”
Travis joined Bette and Lacy as the women were finishing up their breakfast. Bette had seen pictures of the sheriff before—his efforts to clear Lacy’s name, and their subsequent engagement, had made the pages of the Denver paper. But in person he was both more handsome, and more forbidding, than she had imagined. Certainly he welcomed her warmly enough, but it was clear he was tired, and probably distracted by his case.
“You’re up early,” Lacy said, after the introductions had been exchanged and Travis informed them that he had already had breakfast. “You’ve been working some long hours lately.”
“I’m going to stay around here this morning and catch up on some paperwork,” he said. “There are too many interruptions at the office.”
“Good idea,” Lacy said. “Have you seen Cody this morning? He wasn’t at breakfast with everyone else.”
“He said something about going ice fishing,” Travis said.
Or maybe he’s avoiding me, Bette thought. But the marshal didn’t strike her as a man who avoided much of anything.
* * *
CODY FINISHED HIS breakfast, then collected his coat and his car keys and headed to the tack room. No sign of Doug Whittington stealing a cigarette this morning. He found the fishing gear
and selected what he’d need and loaded it into the RAV4 he used as his personal vehicle.
The day was sunny, though bitingly cold, the sky free of clouds and a blindingly bright blue. The road to the lake had been plowed, only a thin layer of snow left in place. Dark evergreens crowded close to the side of the narrow track in a wall that looked almost impenetrable. He passed a pair of cross-country skiers and waved, then turned onto the narrower Forest Service track that led to the lake. This road hadn’t seen a plow, but enough traffic to the lake and backcountry ski trails had packed it down so that Cody’s RAV4 had little trouble navigating.
Just before he reached the lake, he spotted a silver Hyundai pulled to the side of the road ahead. He passed it slowly. It appeared to be empty, but this was a funny place to park. The snow around the vehicle was churned up, as if several people had been walking around it. He drove on, but something about the vehicle nagged at him, so he decided to go back.
He parked across the road and about fifty yards away from the Hyundai and walked slowly toward it, keeping to the center of the road until he was even with the driver’s side door. Then he approached cautiously and peered inside.
A woman stared up at him from the passenger seat, as dead and lifeless as a store mannequin.
Chapter Five
After breakfast, Lacy and Bette moved to the sunroom, just off the main room, to plan the bridesmaids’ tea to be held that Saturday. Windows on three sides sent sunlight streaming over plank-wood floors and an overstuffed sofa and two chairs in a faded floral print. Despite the bitter cold outside, the room felt warm and inviting. Bette brought along her planner, menu suggestions, pictures of possible table settings and a notebook for jotting down ideas, and spread these over the massive coffee table.
“You’re so organized,” Lacy said as she flipped through the pictures of place settings and centerpieces. “I’m very impressed.”
“I want to do as professional a job for you as I’d do for anyone,” Bette said. “It’s very hard to start a new business when you don’t have a lot of experience to show. That’s why I really appreciate you and Travis giving me this chance.”
