by Keri Arthur
"It'd only delay the inevitable confrontation. These people are after me and Agent Cade, and we're better off trying to end it here, where at least we have the advantage of home field."
"Seems to me that the killers have the very same advantage. They know you, boss. They know what you do and who you associate with. That indicates they've been watching you for a while."
It did, but she mixed with so many people in the course of her job that it could be anyone. She rubbed her forehead again. “I'm going home to change, and then I'm heading over to Ari's to talk to her. I want everyone to report in to Kel every half hour."
"You know Alf Reeson's parked himself at the station, don't you? He says Agent Jones promised him an exclusive."
She had no idea if he had or hadn't, and right now, Reeson was the last of her worries. “As long as he's not causing problems, ignore him."
Steve nodded as he squinted towards the diner. “I'd start looking closer to home for suspects."
"I intend to. Just be careful.” She squeezed his arm and headed for her truck.
As she climbed into the driver's seat, Cade glanced up from a folder he was reading. “You okay?"
"I feel like shit, and I'm going home for a nice, hot shower. Then I'm going to talk to Ari, one of the waitresses who works in the diner and who has apparently befriended Candy. What's that?” she pointed to the folder as she started the engine.
"Information on Lonny's mother, Frankie Jackson.” He reached into the folder and pulled out a photo. “Have you seen her?"
The woman in the black and white photo looked about forty, with pale wavy hair and dark eyes. Her mouth was as thin as her face, and had a downward tilt that gave her a sour look. “This a license photo?"
He smiled. “Yeah. They're always bad."
"They are.” Her gaze went to the woman's eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about them—a certain warmth that was also oddly calculating. “I haven't seen her around, but there's something about her that seems familiar.” She paused, and then it hit. “Anni Jenkins, the woman who runs the flower shop below my apartment. Frankie has the same sort of eyes as her."
"Eyes? Not facial features?"
"No. Anni's plumper, with thick gray curls, and she's a lot older than this woman appears to be."
"This photo was taken over ten years ago."
"Even so, this woman is still younger than Anni.” She shrugged and handed back the photo. “You know, Anni is apparently friendly with Candy, which gives us a reason to talk to her. Might be worth showing her this photo to see what sort of reaction we get."
"You think we'll get a reaction?"
"Anni's the town gossip. If anyone's seen this woman, it would be her.” She did a U-turn and headed towards the other end of town. “It's odd that she was personally delivering flowers to Candy, though. She hires a teenager to do most of the flower runs."
Cade shifted in the seat, until he was almost facing her. “What do you know about this Anni?"
"She's a busybody who took over the florist shop about six months ago. The previous manager had a car accident and had to quit work."
"So neither woman owns the shop?"
"No. It was owned by Lana Lee.” She briefly met Cade's gaze. “She died in that burned out house we saw on Candy's street."
"An accidental death?"
"We don't think so."
"Connected to our case?"
"There's no evidence so far to suggest that."
"And yet you believe they are?"
"Yes, I do."
His sudden smile was warm. “You would have made a good cop."
"I am a good cop."
"I meant a real cop, not a play one."
Irritation swept through her. “My dreams may not be as lofty as yours, but that doesn't give you the right to mock them. Rangers are cops, reservation cops, regardless of what you think of us. We go through training, and we have to obey the same rules."
He shifted again, and touched his leg absently. It was obviously aching, and he was just as obviously not going to do anything about it. Men.
Still, was she any better? She hadn't done much about the cut on her cheek, either.
"And here I thought you were against rules,” he said. “Wasn't that what Rosehall was all about?"
"Yeah, but it was my father's rules I was trying to escape, not society's."
"And ten years later, you're still trying to escape them."
She shot him a glance. “You try being the daughter of a man who doesn't believe in sex before marriage and see how well you cope."
"I intend to achieve lots of things in my life, but being a daughter is never going to be one of them.” Humor touched his rich voice. “So why come back here at all? Why not go to one of the other reservations and train there?"
"Because Neva was here."
"And Neva was the only reason you returned?"
She glanced at him, knowing what he was asking, what he was thinking. The bitchy part of her wanted to keep him on the hook and wriggling, because he certainly deserved it after coming into her town and giving her nothing but attitude. But that wasn't fair, especially since she hadn't exactly been angelic in the attitude department herself. Besides, if she wanted to know if the love she felt was returned, and whether it had the possibility of long-term strength, then she had better start being honest. Even if he wasn't.
"Ronan had nothing to do with it. He and I were casual lovers and very good friends. Nothing more, nothing less.” She glanced at him. “He's not a threat."
"It wouldn't matter if he was.” His dark gaze seemed to lock hers, and for an instant it seemed like she was drowning in that sea of deep blue. And it felt glorious. “He wouldn't have a snowflake's chance in hell if I decided to pursue you for real."
"But you haven't decided,” she said, somehow managing to pull her gaze away and concentrate on the road.
"Because I don't need to. You're mine until I decide otherwise."
Once again with the moon promise. Why couldn't he see he was using it as an excuse—a crutch to emotionally hide behind? “I will never be wholly yours until you can trust me enough to make my own decision about who I want to be with."
He didn't say anything, just looked away. Frustration ran through her, but she resisted the urge to thump the wheel—or better yet, him. Because as much as it would be satisfying to smack some sense into his thick skull—to make him see that what was happening between them was more than moon magic—she also had to accept the possibility that maybe he never would.
The simple fact was, maybe he didn't want anything more that sex from her. He'd placed his work before her at Rosehall, despite admitting that he'd cared for her. Maybe that would happen again here in Ripple Creek. Maybe she was destined to love a man who was never going to commit to anything more than his work.
Maybe.
But until that happened, she was going to keep on pushing and hoping. Because she had to believe that what lay between them was meant to be, and that sooner or later, he would realize it. As the song went, no man was an island. Not even one as stubbornly determined to ignore the obvious as Cade.
* * * *
Cade climbed out of the truck and studied the old, two story brick building. He hadn't really taken much note of her home the last time he'd been here, being more interested in making sure she was okay. The building was smaller than he'd expected, and from the outside it looked barely wide enough to swing a cat. The two bottom-floor windows were barred, and the building itself looked to have a decent security system installed.
He glanced up. No bars on the top two windows and the fire escape looked in good order. But since they wouldn't actually be staying here, it didn't really matter how easy the fire escape or her windows were to get to.
He followed her to the security door, trying not to let his gaze settle on the enticing sway of her hips but not entirely succeeding.
"Small place,” he said, more to quell the urge to take her into his arms and
kiss her senseless than any actual need to break the silence that had stretched between them since her comment about his lack of trust.
Which, he supposed, was a true enough statement. But given their past history, how could she really expect otherwise? Damn it, he didn't want to share her, pure and simple, and at least the moon magic gave him that security.
But did he want more than security? More than something short-term?
Maybe. But he was here to find a killer, not contemplate the direction of his life. Until that killer was found, he couldn't let himself truly concentrate on anything else. Just being with Vannah was distraction enough. He didn't need to be thinking about the future when the present might destroy any future hopes.
So why did he feel guilty? Why did he have this insane urge to say the words that would break the moon bond and leave her free to do as she pleased?
He didn't want a repeat of Rosehall. The attraction between them might still be insanely strong, but he was pretty much an old fashioned guy, and she still seemed to be the free spirit who refused to be pinned down to one man. As much as he might want to give her the freedom to choose, he just couldn't share her again. Nor did he wish a repeat of the emotional turmoil that had happened after she'd disappeared from Rosehall. She might have thought he was joking when he'd made the comment about getting drunk and smashing up his place, but he hadn't been.
She was the only woman who'd ever pushed him that far. The only woman he'd cared that much about.
He had no desire to go through it all a second time, but the more time he spent with her, the better the chance that would happen. They might know each other well sexually, but they knew squat outside the bedroom. At least the moon magic gave them a chance to be together, a chance to get to know each other better. A chance to discover whether or not there was the possibility of a long-term relationship without interference from other challengers.
He needed that time. They needed that time.
She opened the keypad's cover and pressed in her code, her fingers too quick for him to catch all the numbers. He swept his gaze over the door, looking for wires or any sign of tampering. “Why buy the old lodge if you're happy living here?"
"That's an investment in the future. I can't be a ranger forever."
"Why not?” He caught her fingers as she went to push the door open, and added, “Let me check first."
She raised an eyebrow. “Both this door and mine are security coded. No one can get into the building."
"You sure of that?"
"Yes. Anni has the code for this floor, but not mine. Not even Lana had both."
"Who has the code for your apartment, then?"
"No one besides Neva."
He kissed her warm fingers, and then released them. “Not even Ronan?"
"Not even."
"Good."
She rolled her eyes. “Just check the door so I can get upstairs and take my shower."
Enticing images of her warm, wet body rose in his mind, making his pulse race and his cock hard. Even though they'd made love less than hour ago, he was more than ready to go again. And it wasn't the moon magic. It was her—the way she moved, the way she sometimes looked at him, her exotic scent, and, oddly, her tender touches. He took a deep breath in an effort to quell the need surging through his veins, and said, “Yes, ma'am."
She stepped to one side. He carefully cracked the door open and ran his fingers around the frame. Nothing beyond years of dust and the occasional dead bug. He opened the door a little further, checking the immediate hall area as well as behind the door. Nothing seemed out of place.
"The florist shop is closed,” he said, noting the sign on the glass door to his right. “That usual for this time of day?"
"No, it isn't.” She crowded close, the heat of her breasts and body seeping into his spine as she peered past him. “Most of Anni's clientele comes from the afterwork crowd, but she likes to open early to catch what she terms ‘the later-than-they-should-be-and-in-the-doghouse’ husbands and boyfriends."
"Have you got a key to the shop?"
"Why would the killers bother snatching her?"
"Who knows?” he answered. “But at this stage, I wouldn't be surprised at anything."
"But it makes no sense. I mean, Anni and I aren't anything more than neighbors."
"We are not dealing with sane-thinking people here."
"True.” She paused. “And yeah, I have a key upstairs. Lana gave it to me a few years ago, just in case I needed to get in."
"So no one knows you have it?"
"The fire chief suggested it, but otherwise no.” Her gaze met his, her green eyes bright in the semidarkness of the hall. “Why?"
He shrugged as he led the way to the stairs. “The fire chief didn't suggest she hold your key?"
"As I said before, I haven't got a key, and no one but my sister knows my code. So if they've snatched Anni thinking they'll get an easy way into my home, they're out of luck."
He climbed the stairs, and after she'd keyed open the door, repeated the checking process. Again, nothing. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him as he looked around.
Her apartment wasn't what he'd expected. Basically, it was one big room that encompassed the kitchen, dining and living room. The color scheme was warm, with sandstone ceilings and walls, floorboards that were stained a rich claret, and a mishmash of autumn-toned furniture and rugs. The room had been divided near the front of the building with doors leading off into what he presumed would be the bathroom and a small laundry room. Her big wrought-iron bed sat between the two back windows and was covered by a patchwork quilt that looked both luxurious and handmade.
Her room at Rosehall had been all airy and New Age, but this was comfortable. Relaxing.
"Nice."
She flashed him a smile over her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen area. “Thanks.” She pulled a pink-tagged key from a hook. “Here's the key, if you want to check downstairs."
He caught it one-handed. “Your security code?"
She didn't hesitate, just gave it to him, which was a little surprising given her earlier vehemence that he'd never get into her home.
"I'll be back in ten. Enjoy your shower."
"If you make it back in five, you can share it with me."
Her voice was low, seductive, and had his blood boiling in an instant. But if he started making love to her now, he had a feeling he wouldn't want to stop. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. And while it was a delicious thought, it wasn't particularly a safe one. Not that making love to her tonight would be any safer, but at least they'd be a little harder for their murderous friends to find.
"As much as I'd love to, I don't think that's a wise course right now."
Her smile tore at his resolve. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
"See you in ten."
He left the room before desire overrode common sense. Soft laughter followed him out.
Tease, he thought.
Coward, she replied.
He grinned and headed down the stairs. The florist shop was still wrapped in darkness and as silent as a grave. He unlocked the door and felt around the frame, looking for wire before he opened it fully. While he doubted there would be anything more than cobwebs and dust, he didn't intend to take a chance. Not with this case.
The scents of lavender, roses, freesias and God knows what else, assaulted him the minute he fully opened the door. The rich aromas tickled his nose and made him sneeze. He'd never enjoyed flowery scents—not until Vannah had come along, anyway. But then, her scent was far more exotic than the cloying smells that hung in the air here.
He scanned the dark room, looking for anything that appeared out of place. Nothing did, and there were no security cameras, either. A small counter stood near the back end of the room, and behind that, a closed door. He wove his way through the bucketed masses of color, wrinkling his nose to stave off another sneeze and half wondering how any wolf could stand to be in t
his place for too long. But maybe the old bird didn't have much of a nose—though it was usually sight that went first in a wolf, not the sense of smell.
There was nothing behind the counter beyond curled, brown rose petals and torn bits of ribbons. He tried opening the door, but it was locked. The main door key didn't fit it, either, which was a little odd. What could be so important to a florist that she kept it behind a separately locked door? Especially when most of the stock was sitting in the main room?
He didn't know, and he couldn't find out without breaking in. And he wouldn't do that until he had a reason to—otherwise, he might only succeed in warning a potential suspect that she was under suspicion.
He turned back to the desk and began opening drawers. In the third one, he found a book containing delivery orders. He scanned through the pages, looking for Candy or Lonny. Neither of them were there. So why was Anni delivering flowers to Candy, and why weren't they being recorded? He closed the book and returned it. Then he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Trista.
"Hey, boss,” she said. “I just finished talking to Bryton, the ranger over in Merron."
He opened the last drawer and began looking through it. “And?"
"He was very helpful."
Undoubtedly hoping for a repeat of last summer, Cade thought wryly. “So he knew Lonny Jackson?"
"Oh yeah. Apparently, the mother was off with the fairies most of the time, and her daughters both ran wild."
He pulled out some notebooks and quickly flicked through them. Nothing more than old delivery addresses. The rest of the drawer was full of loose papers. He grabbed a handful, and started looking through them. “The other sister wouldn't happen to be called Candy, would she?"
"She certainly would. Apparently Candy was the result of a drunken one-night stand with a human, and Frankie never bothered registering her birth."
"Nice of her."
"Yeah. But the really interesting bit of gossip as far as we're concerned is the one about Lonny's father."
A letter in spidery writing caught his eye. It was from Lana Lee and addressed to Anni Hawkins rather than Anni Jenkins. Instinct prickled. Was Anni connected to Frankie's mother in some way and, therefore, Jontee?
