by Lisa Jackson
“What? Were you going to handcuff me? Pull out your .38? Use a billy club and knock some sense into me?”
“That’s not what I was talking about,” she said soberly, then, unexpectedly, chuckled. When she glanced up at him, snowflakes caught on her eyelashes. “But it’s not a bad idea. Watch out. I graduated from the police academy with honors in billy-clubbing.”
So she did have a sense of humor. Beneath Ms. All-business-I’m-a-member-of-Grand-Hope’s-finest-team, the lady appreciated a joke. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Of course you did,” she said, reaching her car.
“I just kissed you.”
“No way. That wasn’t a kiss. That was a slap in the face. You were trying to let me know who was boss. Period. Neanderthal tactics, McCafferty. In case you didn’t get the word, they went out with the Stone Age.” She yanked a key ring from her pocket and started opening the door.
“No one’s ever complained before.”
“Have you ever done a poll?”
“Ouch.” He winced.
“Just telling it like it is.”
The door unlocked, and Matt, his pride stung, wanted to haul her into his arms again but didn’t dare. “What is it with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re…different.”
“From the women in your life? Let’s hope.” She started to slide into her vehicle when he grabbed the crook of her arm.
“Wait a minute.”
She glanced down at his hand and disdainfully peeled his fingers from their grip on her elbow. “I don’t go for the macho-man tactics.”
“No? Then what?”
She hesitated, bit her lip and studied him through night-darkened eyes. “Since you asked…” Stepping around the door of her four-wheel drive, she held his gaze. “I know I’m going to regret this, but you did bring it up....” She reached upward and placed her chilled hands on either side of his face. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his, softly at first, just brushing her skin over his, and then, as her fingers warmed against his cheeks, she deepened the kiss, ever so slowly slipping her arms around his neck and molding her lips to his. Deep inside, the fire that had been banked for so many years ignited, warm ashes sparking to life. With a groan, he closed his eyes and slid his hands to her waist. Desire licked through his blood and the combination of the frigid night air and the warm woman in his arms was so damnably erotic. He wanted so much from her. Body and soul and— She pushed him away quickly, and though she tried to cover it up, he saw the quickness in her breath, noticed that her eyes were nearly black, her skin flushed.
“That…that was just a demonstration,” she said, her voice husky. She cleared her throat. “So the next time you think about using caveman tactics you might want to think twice.”
Chapter 7
Matt wasn’t going to let some woman…some lady cop…best him. Grinning crookedly in the night, he drew her to him again. The ethereal lamplight glistened in the snow covering the parking lot and caught in her eyes. “You’re not so tough, are you, Detective?” he asked, knowing he was stepping into dangerous territory. He should just leave well enough alone, but the challenge in her eyes, the defiant lift of her chin, the passionate woman hidden beneath that cop’s uniform zeroed in on his male pride. “Don’t lecture me about caveman tactics,” he warned, “or I might just accuse you of being a tease.”
“That wouldn’t destroy me.”
“No?” His fingers tightened over her arms. “And I’ll bet it’s not true.”
“Wait a minute. I was just—”
“You were just curious and it backfired. You’re not as immune as you thought you were. You’re not an ice woman after all.”
“And you’re not a gentleman.”
“Never said I was.” He let her go then, dropped his hands and turned toward his pickup parked two rows over.
Kelly climbed into her rig and bit her lip. He was right, dammit. She had reacted to him. She slammed the door shut and jabbed her key into the ignition with trembling fingers. How long had it been since she’d felt any response to a man? Two years? Three? Five? She couldn’t remember, not that there were all that many to consider. She’d only fallen in love twice, and both times when the man started talking marriage, she’d bowed out.
Maybe she hadn’t really been in love.
Or maybe love didn’t exist.
She kicked herself as she flipped on the wipers. She knew better. Her parents’ marriage was proof enough of the commitment and bond that can exist between a man and woman.
Good Lord, what was happening to her? What was she doing thinking about love? Just because Matt McCafferty had kissed her, she shouldn’t go off the deep end. Besides, any McCafferty brother, Matt included, was off-limits. Definitely off-limits. Not only was he the brother of a victim, but he was the son of John Randall McCafferty, the man who had single-handedly ruined her mother’s life.
“This is nuts,” she told herself as she watched him through the windshield. With the athletic prowess that had tamed more than one bucking bronco, Matt climbed into his truck and started the rig. She threw her own car into gear and followed the glow of his taillights as he drove through town toward the main highway leading north to the Flying M. “Stupid, stupid woman,” she chastised herself. What had she been thinking? Why had she kissed him? Oh, yeah, feminine and professional pride, that had been her reasoning, she thought as she braked for a red light, then caught up with Matt’s truck at the outskirts of town. She didn’t like any man coming on to her and McCafferty had been trying to teach her a lesson, so she’d thrown it back at him, only to have it blow up in her face, as he’d so ineloquently pointed out.
Matt drove a good five miles over the speed limit and she wondered if he was taunting her. She thought of pulling him over just to prove that she could, that he couldn’t get away with breaking any law, but she tamped down the urge. It wouldn’t get her anywhere and she’d already experienced one emotional dressing-down for the night. But…but, if he got reckless or pushed the speed up another five miles an hour, she’d nail him. She’d have to.
* * *
Kurt Striker was already at the house, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands as he sat on the edge of a worn-looking chair. Nicole was seated on the piano bench near Thorne, who leaned back in the recliner. The twins and the baby were already in bed, the house quiet aside from the group clustered in the living room around a coffee table, where an enamel coffeepot, several empty cups and a plate of crackers and cheese were situated. A fire crackled and the odors of coffee and smoke wafted in the air. Kelly stood at the fireplace, warming the back of her legs, and accepted a cup from Matt, who handed it to her and stood next to her, his shoulders braced against the mantel.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” Thorne asked, his eyes moving from Kelly to Kurt. Kelly understood what he meant. Kurt was working for the McCaffertys privately; he reported to them rather than the police. Kelly was the law.
“It’s fine, as long as the sheriff’s department agrees to share information.” Kurt leaned back in his chair and eyed Kelly. He could have been Hollywood’s version of a cop. Rugged good looks, straight brown hair, hard-edged features and intense green eyes, he seemed like a man who would bend the law if need be, just to get what he wanted. There was a secretive shadow in his eyes, the kind that Kelly often thought better belonged to criminals. Kurt was lanky and lean, dressed in denim and cowboy boots—as if he were ready for the next take on a weekly detective series.
“We just want to get to the bottom of the attacks on Randi and possibly Thorne as quickly as possible,” she said, “and, of course, arrest the assailant and bring him to trial.”
“Then we’re all on the same page.” Thorne flipped the recliner to a more upright position.
“I assume you’ve alr
eady checked my credentials.” Kurt was still staring straight at Kelly, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Matt inch a little closer to her.
“Of course we have.” Kelly nodded. “We’ve scrutinized everyone involved.”
“Good. Then let’s get down to business.” He set his cup on the table. “I just flew in from Seattle where Randi worked. I dealt with the Seattle PD while I was there.”
He said it, Kelly guessed, to put her at ease, to let her know that he was working on the right side of the law, but his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to size her up. “Everything I discuss with you here tonight will be squeaky clean. All according to police procedure. You don’t have to worry that your professionalism will be compromised.”
“Just so we lay out the ground rules.” She didn’t believe him for a second, but he seemed savvy enough to know where she was coming from. “If you broke any laws, you won’t tell me about them and I’m supposed to ignore, not question them, is that it?”
“For the record, I didn’t.”
“Duly noted,” she replied, though she suspected he was lying. She whipped out a pen and notepad just in case he said anything she might want to check into later. “So what did you find when you were in Seattle?”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket. “To start with, this…” He withdrew a computer disk. “It’s a copy. The Seattle PD have the original.”
“That you found where?”
“Surprisingly the door to Randi McCafferty’s apartment was unlocked. I knocked, no one answered and I walked inside.”
“And found a computer disk that the police had overlooked?” she asked skeptically. She wanted to accuse him of being a bald-faced liar, tell him she damned well knew that he broke into the apartment, but saw no reason for it. Hadn’t she used the same tactics herself? But then she’d bent the law while wearing a badge. This guy was a civilian. She was a cop. Which was worse?
“Not exactly. Let’s just say I found a key to a locker.”
“What locker?” Kelly asked.
“One at the train station.”
“And the disk was in the locker?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“Not so far.”
“What’s on it?” Nicole asked, eyeing the computer disk as if it were evil.
“The start of a book. An outline and about three chapters.”
Thorne shoved himself upright. “The book Juanita kept mentioning. I thought it was all just talk.” He struggled onto his crutches and balanced near the bookcase. “Ever since she was a little kid, Randi had a dream of writing a novel of some kind. When she was in grade school, she kept a diary and was always making up little stories, but I thought she gave all that up when she was in junior high and started showing interest in boys and the rodeo. I figured getting a degree in journalism and writing a column for the newspaper was good enough.”
“But she wrote magazine articles as well,” Nicole added, pushing up from the piano bench and standing near Thorne. She ran a finger over a dusty volume of an outdated set of encyclopedias. “I’m sure I read one that was so much like her style, written under the name of R. J. McKay.”
“I checked it out,” Kurt said with a quick nod. “It looks like she did a little moonlighting. Every once in a while she wrote articles under a pseudonym—probably because she didn’t want her publisher to find out and give her some grief about it.”
“What’s the book about?” Kelly asked.
“It’s the start of a novel.”
“Not a collection of anecdotes and advice from her column with the Clarion?” Thorne asked.
“Doesn’t seem like it. There’s a story, and if I were a gambling man, I’d think it was a blend of fiction and fact.”
“Autobiographical?” Matt asked.
“I don’t think so. It’s certainly not about her life, but it could have been inspired by someone who wrote in and asked advice, or someone she knew personally, or someone she read about. I don’t know. At this point everything is conjecture. As I said, the Seattle PD has the original disk and the laptop.”
“But you have copies of everything,” Kelly guessed. “This isn’t the only one.”
Kurt’s slow grin confirmed her theory. “I said I’d work with you, not give up all my secrets.”
Kelly didn’t press the issue.
“I’ll print it out,” Thorne said.
“Already done.” Kurt reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers just as Slade burst through the front door. Rubbing his hands together, the youngest McCafferty brother walked into the living room, clapped Kurt on the back and was brought up to date. Within minutes he’d poured himself a cup of coffee and, along with the brothers, Kelly and Nicole, scanned the pages of Randi’s book.
“Who’s this about?” Slade asked.
“Beats me,” Matt muttered under his breath.
Kurt lifted a shoulder. “I’d say the names have been changed to protect the guilty.”
Kelly agreed. The first three chapters were rough, and the remainder of the story compressed into a stripped-down idea surrounding a shady rodeo rider who was being blackmailed into throwing competitions. The main character was a poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks, who had all his life scraped to get by. Eventually he’d been forced by circumstances to step outside of the law and was sucked into a world of drugs and crime. The upshot was that no matter how hard he tried to free himself of the vicious cycle of crime and dependence, he failed.
“What an upper,” Slade muttered sarcastically as he scanned the last page.
“Overblown melodrama,” Matt snorted as he finished reading and tossed his share of the manuscript to Thorne.
Kelly glanced at Matt. “Or a real story that someone doesn’t want published.”
“Who would know about it?” Kurt asked.
“I suppose her agent. Maybe he’s already shopped it around to publishers.” Thorne slung his arm around his fiancée’s shoulders.
“Maybe,” Matt agreed. “Or maybe not. The trouble is, none of us knows what was going on in Randi’s life. But these—” he motioned to the pages that were being passed from brother to brother “—are pretty much nothing. So she was writing a book. Big deal. So it might have had some basis in fact?” He lifted his eyebrows. “So what?”
“You didn’t find any notes?” Kelly asked Kurt.
“Other than what’s on the disk?” He shook his head.
“Or reference books? Research materials?”
“There were books all over her den. Hundreds of ’em. And a stack of magazines in one bookcase. I didn’t see anything that I thought significant.”
Kelly didn’t belabor the point. The Seattle police had already been in the apartment and they’d either missed or dismissed the fact that Randi was writing a book. It was something to check when she got to the city on Puget Sound.
They discussed the case until there was nothing left to say, then Kelly decided to call it a night. “I’ll keep you posted if I find anything,” she said to the group in general, then, to Kurt, “and I’ll expect the same consideration.”
“You got it,” he assured her, though Kelly wasn’t confident she could trust him.
“Good night.” She headed for the door, then thought twice about it. Turning to Matt she said, “Could I see her room?”
With a shrug of his shoulder, Matt showed her upstairs and quietly opened the door to a small room that had been transformed into the nursery. The baby was sleeping soundly, his breathing audible, and Kelly smiled as she looked down at him. Matt glanced at his nephew and the hard lines of his face softened. “Such a little guy and such a big fuss,” he whispered, tucking a blanket closer to the baby’s chin.
Kelly’s heartstrings
pulled so tight she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Matt’s big hands seemed out of place fingering the dainty satin-hemmed blanket. His tanned, work-roughened fingers should have been awkward but weren’t, and the tenderness with which he adjusted the bedding was surprising. Someday, whether he knew it or not, Matt McCafferty would make one helluva father.
She darted a look to his face, caught him watching her reaction and, clearing her throat, stepped away from the crib. In the dim glow from the night-light, she searched the walls of the room. A bulletin board that hung near the closet still displayed some of Randi’s childhood treasures: a dried, faded corsage, yellowed pictures of friends splashing in a creek and seated around the remains of a campfire, a couple of shots of Randi astride a black quarter horse, tassels from a graduation cap, a lacy garter and several blue-and-red ribbons tacked haphazardly over the corkboard surface.
A desk had been shoved into the corner, and in the bookcase resting above the walnut surface were trophies of various sizes all dedicated to horsemanship.
There was also a dusty cowgirl hat with a rhinestone tiara as the hatband. She fingered the dusty jewels.
“Randi was a rodeo princess in high school,” Matt explained.
“So your sister had rodeo fever, too.”
“It’s in our blood,” Matt admitted. “Every one of us but Thorne. He didn’t have much use for anything to do with ranching or horses or that whole part of Western culture.” He slid a glance in her direction. “He was more interested in making money—in fact, it was his only interest until he met Nicole.”
“She changed his life.”
“In a big way.”
Kelly studied the books on the desk, mostly about horse care and grooming, then with one last sweeping glance, decided she’d learned all she could about Matt’s half sister. If only she would wake up—there were so many questions only Randi could answer. “I guess that’s about it,” Kelly said, with one last smile for the baby as he sighed in his sleep.
“I’ll walk you.” Matt followed her down the stairs and zipped up his jacket as he walked her through the snow to her rig.
