Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance)

by Smith, Angela

  It looked like the entire forest was on fire. She sniffed, but instead of smelling smoke she smelled the freshness of snow, pines, mountains. Even sun. She swore she tasted the sun on her lips. Not the muggy, salty, stagnancy she was used to but something much more powerful. Appetizing. Piquant.

  Fresh. Free from a city’s pollution. A city’s lights, a city’s commercialism. Natural.

  “The creek rolls through here, and you can see frozen waterfalls,” Garret said as he pointed in the distance.

  Reagan turned to him, feeling reckless and powerful and playful. She stepped into him, grabbed his coat, and kissed him.

  He let out a sharp gasp of breath before returning her kiss. Good, she had shocked him. He should feel safe knowing there was nothing they could do here. If they took off their clothes, they’d freeze to death. His mouth was warm but his lips were cold, creating a fire in her throat. She fought the urge to open herself and consume him. Right now, she only wanted a kiss and was taking control. To prove it, she ended the kiss and stepped back.

  She plopped on the ground and leaned against a rock, soaking in the grandeur. “You’re right, this is beautiful,” she said nonchalantly, as if they hadn’t just shared the most magnificent kiss of their life. Well, maybe he hadn’t, but she had. Still, the way he stood there, as if shell-shocked, made her pretty damn proud. “There’s something new to see every day,” she continued.

  He always wore those damn shades, so she couldn’t see his eyes. Were they hazy and full of desire for her? He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word.

  She’d wanted to surprise him. Tease him. Make him want her like she wanted him. It empowered her, but her whole body quaked as she strived to remain composed.

  Was it possible the chemistry she felt wasn’t reciprocated? On one hand she feared losing his friendship if they slept together, but on the other hand she feared losing his friendship if they didn’t sleep together. She didn’t want to be friends. She wanted to be lovers.

  As she adjusted herself to get comfortable, she turned and caught a glimpse behind the rock that made her take a second look. Everything — her desire for Garret, sensual sensations, and her quest to make him want her — fell away.

  Glassy eyes stared straight into hers. A pale arm encased in white icy powder stretched toward her, the palm held straight up. The rest of the body was covered in white. Except his face. His grotesquely frozen face.

  Clamping a hand over her mouth, she surged upward and screamed. She slipped and fell, rearing up as she darted her gaze across the icy mounds of snow, biting down panic, afraid she’d fall on another dead body.

  Garret reacted, his body stiffening as he bounded toward her. “What is it?”

  Glassy eyes, glassy eyes, glassy eyes. She’d never seen a dead body before. Well, not like this. Usually, they had their eyes closed. Made to at least appear peaceful.

  Hysteria bubbled in her throat. Losing her balance, she tumbled to the ground. Digging her heels in the snow, she crawled backward.

  Instead of straining to talk any sense into her, Garret veered to see what caused her hysterics.

  “Shit.” Even in panic mode, he remained controlled. He grabbed his phone. Opened it, punched in numbers. Closed it, opened it again. Punched more numbers. Reagan’s heart beat too loudly to hear the cadence of the digits, but it must be 9-1-1.

  “I can’t get a signal out here.” He approached the body — that dead body — and poked.

  “What … what are you doing?” Reagan asked, teeth chattering. She was cold, so cold, where earlier she was warm and secure in her winter garb.

  “Making sure he’s dead. Making sure I can’t revive him.”

  “Re … revive him?”

  Garret used his gloved hands to close the dead guy’s eyes. Reagan looked away. She didn’t want to see anymore.

  “We need to go back and report this.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Steam fogged the bathroom mirror as Reagan killed the water flow and stepped from the shower. She toweled off, then wiped the mirror, smearing the haze. As she stared into her eyes, she thought of the dead guy. His eyes, lifeless. His face, bloated.

  She shuddered.

  She’d been too panicked to notice anything other than the fear he’d miraculously rise and, like a mummy, give chase. As if the deceased could render harm.

  Queasy, she turned from the mirror. When she considered her absurd behavior, she remembered most women, including her, behaved ridiculously over a spider. Terrified that a small creature could suddenly turn into a huge monster. She’d found a dead guy. She had every right to be frightened and no reason to be embarrassed by her reaction.

  She flipped her head upside down and swathed her hair with a towel. When she came up, her head spun. The bathroom was hot and moist. Muggy from the steamy shower and the heater that ran full blast. She unplugged the heater. All was quiet. Too quiet.

  Cracking open the door to let in some air, she purred a soft tune as she glossed lotion on her body. She couldn’t bear the silence. Not now. Not with that stiff body etched in her memory.

  He looked like part of the rock at first. If it’d hadn’t been for the eyes, she would have assumed he was part of the rock.

  She finished applying lotion to her feet and straightened.

  Squeak. Thump. Squeak.

  Jolting, she stood still, straining to hear the noise coming from the bedroom. Not a loud noise. Footsteps, maybe, but something that led her to believe she wasn’t alone.

  “Naomi?”

  The floor in the bedroom squeaked again. Did Garret have access to the condo? She’d never asked.

  Bundling her body with a towel, she cautiously peered out the bathroom and into the bedroom. Listening. She stopped humming. The bustle in her chest made it impossible to breathe.

  Was that a shadow on the wall?

  She was imagining things. Seeing that body today … she shuddered, straining to block the image from her mind. She closed her eyes. Forced herself to see the bright blue sky, the majestic mountains. Not the tragedy. Not the dead body.

  But every time she closed her eyes, she saw the man and his eyes. Vacant and icy.

  Abruptly, she opened hers. A shadow passed across the door. This time she was sure it was a shadow. Her heart cracked against her chest. Was that her heart, or did the floor just squeak again?

  A loud crash rendered her motionless. The music box tolled a resonance that wheedled her into action. She kicked her feet into gear. Gripping her towel, she ran out of the bathroom. Out of the bedroom. Imagined someone behind her, reaching for her, grabbing her.

  She tried to scream, but the terror lodged in the middle of her throat. Her thighs shook, her limbs grew weak.

  Reaching for the door, she struggled with the lock. Wait, it wasn’t locked. Hadn’t she locked it before? Naomi had a key.

  Naomi would have said hello. She wouldn’t have been sneaking.

  Managing to yank open the door, she whammed it behind her and banged on Garret’s.

  Please be home. Please be home.

  The towel on her head had fallen and her hair hung down her back like a limp rag, but she didn’t care what she looked like.

  Garret opened the door. Thank God. His eyes widened and a grin spread across his face. “You run out of water?”

  She nudged him aside and slammed the door behind her, nearly losing her other towel — the only thing between her and her nakedness — in the process.

  She didn’t care. Not after seeing that dead body, not after hearing those footsteps. She hadn’t imagined the footsteps, now a boom in her chest. Make believe noises didn’t generate loud crashes. And make believe shadows wouldn’t crash her music box to the floor.

  She slumped against the door, her knees wobbling, her breath heavy.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s in my condo,” she blurted through wheezing breaths. It wasn’t the running that had her gasping. Fear and memories of dead bodies, empty eyes, an
d white mummies … “I heard a noise.” Her head felt heavy against the wall. She leaned one hand on her knees while trying to keep her towel intact.

  Garret reached for his waist and pulled out a gun. He lunged for the door.

  “Oh God,” she said, sliding further down the wall. Where did that come from? Since when did he start carrying a gun?

  “What did you hear?”

  Her teeth shivered together. Weakness assailed her where she thought she might collapse even with the wall’s support. “I … I heard a crash. I looked out and swear I saw a shadow. Then I heard the music box crash to the floor. It couldn’t have fallen by itself.”

  It had rang, rang, rang a discordant tune as it shattered.

  She nailed one hand over her right ear. The other hand kept the towel attached to her body.

  “Stay here while I check it out,” Garret said.

  “No.” She couldn’t stay here. Not alone. Not right now. And she didn’t want him to go alone. After lounging so near that dead body, thinking at first it was just a rock, maybe she really was losing her mind.

  “Okay, okay, calm down.” He seized her shoulders. Warmth and security. She moved into him, longing to be safe in his arms. Longing for his reassurance that everything would be okay. As if his simple embrace could protect her.

  He could rip off her towel and it’d only be her bare-naked skin. Skin that was so cold and frightened on the outside but warm and willing on the inside.

  Her nipples pebbled. Now was not the time to be thinking these things.

  He stepped away from her and dropped his grip on her shoulders. “I’m going to go check on things. Sit by the fire. Get warm. I’ll be right back.”

  He left. She let him go. She had to let him go, check on things, assure her she wasn’t losing her mind. But then? If she wasn’t losing her mind, it meant someone had been in her condo. Why would someone break into her condo?

  Did it have anything to do with that letter, warning her of death? Did it have anything to do with her mother, who had warned her Uncle Ray was a fraud?

  She swore Garret was gone an hour, but only a couple of minutes passed before he came back in, carrying Aikido.

  “I saw a broken music box and found Aikido in there. Don’t know how that happened.”

  “It couldn’t have been the cat.” Reagan had seen a shadow, hadn’t she?

  She sat on the hearth and let the warmth lap at her body like the aforementioned cat’s tongue. The towel rode up too high for vanity’s sake. Garret dropped the cat and sat beside her, his eyes going everywhere but on her face.

  Heat spread through her limbs and for one crazy moment, she thought about opening her legs and revealing all. But sanity returned and she kept them closed.

  “You … you had a gun.”

  Garret shrugged.

  “Do you carry a gun with you everywhere you go?”

  “Not usually.”

  Reagan shuddered. She couldn’t dwell on this now. “I need to dress. Will you go over with me?”

  She accepted his proffered hand, using his strength as an aid to help her stand. Unsteady legs weighed her down. Her clammy palms weakened his hold until she finally dropped her hand from his. She inched one step forward, but heavy weights kept her sluggish and slow. It was like a rope had been tied to her feet, not only anchoring her but stretching and sinking her to a dark, dank place she didn’t want to go.

  “Did you check the closet?”

  “Yes, I checked everywhere.”

  They entered her condo. Reagan bundled the front of the towel together in her hands, keeping it cinched around her, and stopped to listen for footsteps. Entering the bedroom, she saw the broken music box. She knelt to study it, fondling the pieces in one hand while the other still held the towel. She really liked this box, felt a kinship with it somehow, as if it was meant for her, as if a part of the memory of her uncle died along with the music.

  She had no memories of her uncle. This music box was a memento, and now it was irreparable. She doubted the cat created this damage.

  She stood, catching the towel before it fell. Maybe she should let it fall and watch Garret’s reaction.

  “Watch your step.” Garret took her hand and guided her over the broken porcelain. Her body burned. She held onto the towel, wondering what he would do if she let it drop. Her skin prickled and tingled, begging to be touched. She imagined him rubbing his hands across her breasts, down her stomach, and onto her thighs.

  Instead of fulfilling her fantasy, she changed in the closet, keeping the door open. Oh well if he saw her, she was too scared to keep the door closed now.

  Someone had been in her condo. She was sure of it.

  When she came out, fully dressed, Garret had cleaned up the glass on the floor. “You want to check around, make sure nothing is missing?”

  “Why would something be missing if it was Aikido?”

  Garret shrugged, a casual movement of shoulders that belied the clenching in his jaw. Anxiety edged along her spine.

  “Just in case.”

  She wouldn’t know if anything was missing. She checked her clothes. They were there. The TV was there, but it’d be hard to steal. The DVD movies appeared to be in order, but she wouldn’t know what her uncle kept here. He could have a stash of money somewhere and she’d never know.

  The moose lay on the floor, partway under the bed. She picked it up, petted it, and set it on the bed. That could have fallen at any time, but she was sure it’d been on the bed this morning. She slept with it propped against the spare pillow, but it was possible she’d knocked it off and didn’t notice. Nothing else on the bed was disturbed.

  Ray’s cologne and shave cream still occupied the bathroom vanity. She didn’t have the heart to throw it away and besides, having men’s belongings in her bathroom comforted her. Her art supplies were all intact and the door to the spare bedroom was closed.

  The necklace. She should check the dresser, but she’d have to show it to Garret. Besides, her drawers were all closed like they had been before she left. Nobody had disturbed them. The sparkly socks were still in the box in her closet. Only the music box had been disturbed. If the necklace was gone, she’d have to face reality. She’d rather forget reality, that someone might want her gone. Dead.

  And why would she even think that? Her mother had sent that letter to scare her. She was sure of it. This break-in was unrelated.

  “Everything is here as far as I can tell.” She stood by the door in her bedroom and stared outside, letting the beauty surround and relax her. She wanted to feel safe again.

  “That man,” she said, glancing at Garret as he walked toward her and stood beside her. “Who was he?”

  “A friend who disappeared several weeks ago. He was out skiing with some friends.”

  “Chris? Your friend Chris?” She heard her voice rising and crashing like the screeching tires of a vehicle colliding with another. She remembered talking about Chris at their awkward dinner date.

  Garret nodded an affirmation, and the fear inside her intensified. Everything was falling apart. “What happened?”

  “An avalanche happened,” Garret said. “He was out skiing with his buddies, and they didn’t take precautions. He didn’t have on his transceiver. They searched for days, but … ”

  Garret fluttered his fingertips on her palm, a feather light brush of skin on skin.

  “A transceiver?”

  “It’s a radio device, like a beacon, that is essential for that kind of skiing. Even if he was wearing it, they’d have to know where to search to find him.”

  His hands enveloped hers and she thought, she hoped, he was going to kiss her. Comfort her, stay with her. She didn’t want to be alone.

  She leaned into him. His breath caressed her ear as they stood side by side facing the window. He draped his arm behind her, resting it on the other side of her hip. Turning her face to his, she caught a gasp in her throat as his head came down. He covered her lips with his, a feather light
touch of mouth against mouth.

  The room spun. Her eyes burned. She tempered her passion, afraid to appear desperate. She opened her mouth and he deepened the kiss as he turned into her arms. His strong arms held her, preventing her from melting into the floor. For one sweet moment, she thought she would finally be able to release everything she’d been holding back for him.

  His phone rang. Startled, she flinched. He pulled away to answer it.

  His brow furrowed. He turned his back to her, but she walked around to face him. She wanted to know if something was wrong, even if she didn’t know the dead guy. She’d discovered the body and deserved to know what else they found.

  He ended his call and studied the floor. Seconds passed between them, and she knew it must be bad. But she didn’t want to be treated as if she couldn’t handle the truth.

  “What’s going on?”

  He raised his gaze to hers and those magnificent eyes slammed into hers.

  “Naomi and Chayton are in jail.”

  • • •

  Naomi was the last one to walk through the door, and the way she slammed it could have created an avalanche twenty miles away.

  Reagan glanced at Garret, who was brave enough to stay through the storm. She was thankful for him. They’d ridden together to pick up Naomi and bail Chayton out of jail. Chayton stayed for his Jeep, pissed that the police had impounded his vehicle and determined to wait until he got it back. Naomi would have walked home if Chayton rode with them.

  She was that upset.

  Garret muttered something Reagan couldn’t quite hear to Naomi, and Naomi wheeled on him, nose flaring.

  “Your brother almost got me arrested. He did get arrested.” She threaded her fingers through her hair. “They searched the vehicle as if we were criminals.”

  “He drives like a maniac sometimes,” Garret said. “That doesn’t mean he’s a criminal.”

  “They said this was his second offense in a year. He had a warrant out for his arrest for unpaid tickets.”

  “Speeding tickets,” Garret said. “He probably forgot. He stays busy.”