“Ross, Jessica.” Harry greeted them in the living room and handed them mugs of spicy hot wine. “You’re just in time. Josh and Don have finished their investigations.”
Josh Greenlea and Don Parker, the crime tech, were already seated near the fire where Julie served them sandwiches from a heaping platter.
Jessica perched on an arm of the sofa, and Ross stood with his back to the fire, confronting his men.
“What have you got?” he asked.
Don, his mouth full of ham and cheese, nodded for Josh to go first.
“Traxler’s clean,” the deputy said.
Ross felt his mouth drop in surprise. “You’re sure?”
Josh nodded. “We didn’t get a warrant—”
Ross whipped around to Harry. “Why not?”
The judge, relaxing in his favorite chair, smiled indulgently. “Didn’t need one. I asked Dixon to cooperate. He did.”
Ross looked back to Josh. “You did a thorough search?”
Greenlea nodded. “Car and hotel room. No sign of the judge’s rifle.”
Parker swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Nothing here at the house that’s helpful, either. The gun cabinet was wiped clean. Not a print anywhere.”
“Hairs? Fibers?” Ross demanded.
“So many it’ll take weeks to process them,” Parker said. “There was a party here last night. Must have been a hundred different people in and out of the house before the festivities ended.”
“So the gun could have been taken then?” Ross asked the judge.
“It’s possible,” Harry said. “I didn’t check the cabinet until Josh came by for the gun this afternoon.”
“And the one rifle is all that’s missing?” Jessica asked, the strain evident on her face.
The judge nodded.
“And that was the only .223-caliber rifle in the house,” Greenlea said. “The same one he’d loaned Traxler. The thief left other more expensive guns behind, so profit wasn’t a motive.”
“Has Traxler been interrogated?” Ross asked.
“The detectives are having a go at him now,” Greenlea said. “But I’m afraid they’ll have to release him.”
“There’s more bad news?” Ross asked.
Greenlea looked glum. “He has an alibi for Saturday morning when the shooting occurred.”
“Airtight?” Ross demanded.
“Seems to be,” Josh said with obvious regret. “The owner of the hotel delivered room service to Traxler within minutes of the time the shot was fired at the ranch.”
Ross nodded. Greg Stickland, the hotel’s owner, was a straight shooter, as unlikely a candidate to have been coerced or bought off by Traxler as anyone Ross knew. “The alibi only means Traxler didn’t fire the shot himself. It doesn’t mean he didn’t hire someone else to do it.”
“See here, Ross,” Harry interjected. “I keep telling you Dixon’s a changed man. He regrets his previous crimes and he isn’t about to commit others.”
Ross turned to Julie. “That your opinion, too?”
Julie cast her husband an apologetic glance. “I don’t know Dixon as well as Harry does. Their friendship began before I ever met my husband.”
Josh pushed to his feet. “Anything else you need from me tonight, Sheriff?”
Parker stood also. “I’m through here, too.”
“Thanks for your help,” Ross said. “I’ll see you both in my office tomorrow.”
The deputy and technician left, and the judge waved Ross toward a chair. “Take a load off, Ross. It’s been a rough few days.”
“It’s been a rough year.” Ross sat down, but he declined the sandwich Julie offered. His appetite was gone, killed by frustration. He gazed across the room at his friend. “I don’t know what’s happening in this county, Harry, but I sure as hell intend to find out.”
“Looks like you’ve reached a dead end,” Jessica said with clear sympathy.
Ross turned to her, and the sight warmed his heart. He’d continue his investigation, no matter how many roadblocks he hit. Someone had killed his wife, terrorized his friends and neighbors, and was now threatening a woman who’d finagled her way into his heart. He wasn’t about to quit searching for the culprits.
“We’re still investigating,” he said. “Something will turn up. Whoever’s responsible for all this isn’t perfect. He—”
“Or she,” Julie added.
“—will make a mistake,” Ross said. “And that mistake will lead us to him. Or her.”
The judge raised his mug in a grim toast. “Let’s just pray no one else is harmed in the meantime.”
TWO DAYS LATER, Jessica sat in Ross’s office and contemplated the surrounding space with satisfaction. Gone were the stacks of file folders and papers that had covered the floor and were strewn across every flat surface the first night she had seen the room. While Ross had been busy with his investigation, she’d organized the chaos in his office. She’d been thankful for the grueling job because it had kept her too busy to think.
About Ross.
Or whoever was trying to kill her.
Not that she hadn’t felt safe. With several ranch hands patrolling outside the house and a special deputy assigned to a security detail inside, she’d had nothing to fear. A would-be assassin would need a strong death wish to attempt any harm at the ranch under such conditions.
With the exceptional security, Jessica had no valid reason not to stay and complete her assignment for Max.
Except Ross.
Maybe what she felt for him was just sexual attraction, but whatever it was, the pull was too dangerous, too strong. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself opening not only her body but her heart and soul to him, too. She hadn’t avoided emotional entanglements most of her life only to capitulate to the first handsome cowboy she’d ever met. She didn’t want to fall in love only to have her heart broken. She’d watched that scenario play out with her parents too many times.
Sure, she’d miss the heights of passion, but she’d also miss the pits of despair. Her simple, uncomplicated life suited her fine. She wasn’t about to let the charismatic lawman—or anybody else—change that.
“Hi, Jess’ca.”
Breaking free of her contemplation, Jessica glanced up from the clutter-free desktop to find Courtney in the doorway, a small book clasped tight in her chubby hands. For the past three nights, the little girl had insisted that Jessica, and no one else, read her a story before bedtime. Jessica was surprised to find herself looking forward to the ritual, the warmth of Courtney’s tiny body scrunched against her side, the sloppy good-night kisses the child pressed on her, the unconditional affection so clearly demonstrated by the little girl’s smiles and hugs.
Amazingly, Courtney seemed to fill that deep, barren emotional hole Jessica had experienced all her life, the wasteland where her parents’ love should have been, and she couldn’t deny the burgeoning affection she felt for Ross’s tiny daughter.
“Have you picked a book?” Jessica asked.
“Uh-huh.” Courtney scurried into the room, climbed onto the sofa and tucked her nightgown around her feet.
Jessica pushed away from the desk and joined the girl, experiencing a jolt of tenderness when Courtney handed her the book and cuddled against her side. The child was so affectionate, so trusting, so vulnerable that Jessica’s heart ached for her. To be so young without a mother—
Jessica swallowed the lump in her throat and opened the book. “Pat the Bunny. Is this a new book?”
Courtney shook her head, her golden curls whipping her face. “It’s old.”
“Well, it’s new to me.” All children’s literature was new to her, Jessica realized with a start. She couldn’t remember her parents ever reading to her, and she’d never had a child to read to before. “Let’s start.”
“You gots a bunny?” Courtney asked.
Jessica shook her head.
“A kitty-cat?”
“No,” Jessica answered. “And no
doggie, either.”
Courtney’s expression was mournful. “And no toys?”
“I’m a big girl. I don’t need toys.”
But Courtney’s question jarred loose a memory of a stuffed toy, a well-worn Scottie with a frayed tartan bow, that Jessica had carried to boarding school that first year and hidden under her pillow so the other girls wouldn’t tease her about it. She’d named the dog Mac, and his soft plush covering had absorbed many of Jessica’s late-night tears.
“I gots a teddy bear,” Courtney said, “named Sammy.”
“I’d like to meet Sammy sometime,” Jessica said, wondering if Courtney held her teddy at night while crying for her dead mother. Giving the girl an extra hug, she began to read.
A while later, after Jessica’s reading through the book and Courtney’s patting the bunny and following the other assorted directions many times, the girl stood on the sofa beside Jessica and twined her arms around her neck.
“Wuv you, Jess’ca,” the child whispered in her ear.
At the sound of those words, something warm and wonderful clutched at Jessica’s heart. “I love you, too, Courtney.”
“Cupcake,” Ross corrected. He stood on the threshold, his tall body filling the doorway, and observed them with a strange expression.
Courtney looked to her father and giggled. “Cour’ney, not Cupcake.”
“Whatever your name is—” Fiona entered, slipping into the room behind Ross “—it’s bedtime. Come, I’ll tuck you in.”
“Want Jess’ca.” Courtney tightened her hold on Jessica’s neck.
Before Jessica could offer to fulfill the child’s request, Ross said, “I need to talk with Jessica. Let Granny tuck you in tonight.”
Courtney’s lower lip protruded, a prelude to a pout.
“I’ll tuck you in tomorrow night,” Jessica promised. “Okay?”
“’Kay.” Courtney kissed her cheek, hugged her tighter with an audible grunt, then released her and scampered down to join her great-grandmother.
When the two had left, Ross turned to her. “Does that mean you’re staying?”
“What?”
“Tomorrow’s Wednesday. How can you tuck in Courtney if you’re on a plane to Miami?”
“Oh, my gosh. I forgot.”
“Memory lapse?”
“Brain fatigue.”
“Maybe you want to stay and won’t admit it.” The look he threw her was challenging.
He had her pegged, all right. More than anything, she wanted to stay. With him and with Courtney. Which was exactly the reason why she wouldn’t.
She opened her mouth to reiterate that she would leave as planned. “I—”
“Don’t say anything yet.”
Ross crossed the room in three long strides and sat beside her on the sofa. They didn’t touch, but she could feel his body heat and resisted the urge to scoot closer.
“I have a favor to ask first,” Ross said.
She raised an eyebrow and considered him. Ross wasn’t the kind of man who liked to place himself in anyone’s debt.
As if reading her thoughts, he said with a pleading expression, “I’m not used to asking favors, but this is important.”
“I can’t make any promises if I don’t know what the favor is.”
“Are you comfortable here?” he asked.
“Who wouldn’t be? The house is lovely, and Fiona is a perfect hostess.”
He shook his head, his lips curving in a slight smile that was entirely too appealing. “By comfortable, I meant secure, protected. Have you felt concern for your safety the last few days?”
“None whatsoever,” Jessica answered honestly. “Fort Knox couldn’t be better guarded than the Shooting Star.”
“Good,” Ross said with a nod of satisfaction. “That makes my request easier.”
Having a good guess at what he was about to say, Jessica waited, intending to say no.
“As you’ve probably noticed,” Ross continued, “I’ve been busy lately.”
Jessica nodded again. The man had been skillfully coordinating a huge investigation involving law enforcement agencies from Florida to Montana and Chicago to New York and California.
“If you return to Miami and Max has to send someone else in your place,” Ross said, “I won’t have time to bring a newcomer up to speed on the ranch.”
“Can’t Fiona do that?”
“Until I find the people responsible for Kathy’s death, your car accident, and Saturday’s shooting, I’d rather Fiona stick close to home—and stay inside as much as possible.”
“So you’re asking me to remain long enough to complete the evaluation of the ranch’s financial status?” She felt her face flush. By having her admit up front that she felt secure, he’d already undercut her major excuse for leaving.
“That will give me more time to devote to my duties and help keep Fiona safe,” he said somberly.
She felt suddenly trapped, and like a cornered animal, her temper flared. “You really know how to lay on a guilt trip.”
“No one’s forcing you to stay,” he said, so reasonably it made her even angrier. “I’ve already said I’ll take you to Billings for your flight tomorrow, if that’s what you want. And you don’t owe me anything, so you’re under no coercion to grant my request.”
Jessica squirmed. Not owe him anything? She owed him her life, which he’d saved twice in one day. How small-minded and mean-spirited would she appear if she said no?
And do you care? an inner voice argued. What’s Ross to you that his opinion matters?
Nothing, she wanted to respond, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that. She respected the man, as much as she respected Max, who was at the top of her list. She’d seen Ross’s selflessness in the bank when he dived in front of a shotgun blast to protect her. What would a couple more weeks in Montana matter? Especially if she stayed indoors, warm and safe.
If Ross remained as busy as he’d been the last two days, his presence shouldn’t be a problem. She could bury herself in reports and accounts and forget he existed. And she wouldn’t have to face Max and make flimsy excuses for running away from a man who stirred her senses too much for comfort.
“Well?” Ross asked gently.
“I’m still thinking,” she hedged.
With a tender smile that made her ache with sudden longing, he delivered the coup de grâce. “In addition to freeing up my time, your being here is really good for Courtney, especially since I have to be away so much.”
She really had lost her mind. Maybe it was because the air was thinner in Montana’s altitude, and her brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Ms. Can’t-stand-rug-rats had turned to jelly at the mere thought of Courtney’s unhappiness.
The little girl would survive, she assured herself, trying to harden her heart. Sure, the kid would be lonely for a while, but she’d get over it once Ross’s case was solved, his workload eased, and her daddy was able to spend more time with her.
“Still thinking?” Ross prodded.
She felt another surge of anger, this time at herself. She was walking, eyes wide open, into exactly the kind of emotional quagmire she’d made a point of avoiding all her life. What had happened to her resolve?
Apparently her determination to stay uninvolved had been the first casualty when she’d been ambushed by a real live Western hero and his two-foot sidekick, a doll-baby named Cupcake.
Don’t be a coward, her conscience scolded her. Prove to yourself you can stay. Either tough it out and remain aloof or enjoy a brief fling and leave at the end of your job with no regrets.
“You’re sure you won’t be around much?” she asked.
His face fell. “Is that a condition for your staying?”
“I’d need to concentrate on my work,” she said quickly. “I couldn’t be interrupted.”
“What about Courtney?” Concern for his daughter softened the strong angles of his face. “She’s awfully good at interrupting.”
She reached d
eep inside, searching for her lost resolve. “Maybe I should just catch that plane tomorrow.”
“Would it help to know that Traxler’s leaving town tomorrow, too?”
“We’ve said all along Traxler could have hired out his dirty work,” Jessica said. “So whether he’s here or not is immaterial. Where’s he going?”
“A twelve-city book tour.”
Jessica grimaced. “Autographing copies of A New Man, A New Life?”
Ross nodded. “He starts in San Francisco and ends up in New York.”
“Good. That’ll keep him away from me.”
“One of the twelve cities is Miami,” Ross added. “A week from today.”
Jessica cocked her head and confronted Ross. “You think he’s still a danger to me?”
“Someone’s a danger to you. You weren’t run off the road and shot at on a whim. That’s why I intend to keep you under guard as long as you’re in my county.”
He reached over and took her hand, twining his long, slender fingers with hers. “I meant what I said at the summer camp.”
She fought against the urge to keep holding his hand. And lost. “You said a lot of things.”
“You’re a remarkable person, Jessica.” His voice was low, seductive, and she wished he’d keep on talking so she could listen forever. “I want to know you better. I’m sorry things are in such turmoil that it’s not possible right now.”
“I have my work, too,” she assured him. “And after that, I’ll return to Miami. So there’s no point in us getting to know each other better.”
His gaze searched her face, and the flickering flames from the fireplace danced like golden flecks in his eyes.
“None at all?” he asked softly, leaning toward her.
She shook her head adamantly. “None…what…so…ev…”
He dipped his head, his lips closed over hers, and she suppressed a groan of pleasure. The heat from the fire had transferred to the core of her being. As if of their own volition, her arms circled his neck, and her mouth opened to his.
She was drowning in a sea of sensations. His distinctive masculine scent. The taste of coffee and fine whiskey on his tongue. The sound of his breathing, heavy and rapid. The touch of his hands skimming her body until every nerve ending tingled, hungry for more.
The Christmas Target Page 13
