He was so different from the men she dated, men who never ran out of smooth chatter, who drove expensive cars and probably wouldn't be caught dead in a pair of jeans.
When Morgan asked if he could drive her back to the city, the thought of being alone with him had made her pulse stutter just a little and her nerve endings tingle. So what had she expected? That he'd pull over to the side of the road and ravish her?
He's not even your type, you idiot. Leave the nice man alone and be done with it.
Conversation seemed to die after that, and neither of them said a word until they hit the outskirts of San Antonio. Then Allison gave him directions to her condo, watching as he skillfully negotiated rush hour traffic.
"Can I offer you a drink, cowboy? Oops,” she chuckled, “I mean Chief? Or a cup of coffee? Or anything else?"
Go ahead, Allison. Act like a tart. But flirting was second nature to her.
"No, thanks. I don't think that would be a good idea."
Well, that put me in my place. What exactly would be a good idea, cowboy? Damn! I should just thank him for the ride, shake his hand and brush him out of my mind.
Although how that would be possible with all the contact sure to come up around Paige and Ryan's wedding she had no idea.
When he pulled to a stop at her building, she unsnapped her seat belt and got out of the SUV. Morgan was out of the driver's side and standing on the sidewalk with her in seconds.
"Thank you very much for the ride.” She kept the tone of her voice formal and uninflected. “I know you must have other things to do and I appreciate it."
"No problem."
She reached out to shake his hand, but the minute their skin touched, a current of electricity shot through her, leading straight to her nipples and the heat between her thighs. Now she understood the meaning of the words, ‘weak at the knees'. Her eyes locked with his, and she saw the same startling awareness in those darkening blue irises.
She had no idea how long they would have stood there in a frozen tableau if Morgan hadn't muttered an oath and dropped her hand as if it was on fire.
He reached for his belt and grabbed the cell phone vibrating against him. Tight-lipped, he punched the Talk button and clapped the phone to his ear. “This better be damn good.” He was silent while he listened. “Fine. I'm starting back now. I'll get there as soon as I can. Tape off the area and keep the gawkers away. Call everyone in to help if you need to.” He clicked off.
"Trouble?” Allison cocked an eyebrow.
Morgan clenched his jaw. “Nothing happens in that town from sun-up to sun-up except maybe for a few kids with a misplaced sense of humor. Today a dead body has to show up sporting two bullet holes."
Allison's jaw dropped. “A murder? In White Tail?"
"Yeah, hardly seems possible right?” He shook his head. “It's probably just someone dumping their garbage.” He touched the brim of his Stetson with two fingers. “Nice meeting you. Sorry to run like this."
Nice meeting you?
Alison watched, open-mouthed, as the big Expedition pulled away and merged into the flow of traffic.
Well, that went well. Way to go, kid.
She sighed and trudged into the building, sure that the next time he saw her, Morgan Cutter would give her a wide berth.
Chapter Two
"I can't believe Morgan actually offered to drive Allison home.” Paige swallowed the last of her wine and grinned at Ryan.
They were sitting at the kitchen table, Paige wearing one of Ryan's shirts while he was clad only in his boxers. If anyone had measured the heat index of their reconciliation, they were sure it would have zoomed off the top of the chart. Now, relaxed and sated in the afterglow of passion and desire, they were turning to a topic other than themselves.
"I've given up predicting what my brother will do, but I have to say, this surprised me, too. I thought after Amber he was allergic to anything from what he still calls the big city."
"I didn't think he ever left White Tail,” Paige commented. In the course of her rocky romance with Ryan, she'd learned about the catastrophe of Morgan's brief marriage, the bitterness and pain Amber had created in just a few short months, and how it colored his entire outlook. So she was shocked that he'd made this overture to her best friend, a city girl if there ever was one.
"Oh, don't let his act fool you. Morgan's been out in the world. He graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in criminal justice. After commencement, he worked for four years for the Bexar County Sheriff's Department."
"Morgan? I never would have believed it."
"Believe it. Then one day he chucked it, came home and joined the White Tail police force."
"You're serious?” Paige's eyebrows rose. “It seems to strange that he'd just come back here and settle down. I mean he could have gone anywhere. Not that there's anything wrong with White Tail,” she added hastily.
"There better not be,” he grinned. “You'll be living here a long time."
"You know I love this town,” she told him. “Especially with you in it.” She moved into his lap and kissed him to prove her point, a kiss that left them both breathless.
"I think maybe we should get out of the kitchen,” Ryan breathed in her ear.
"Lead the way."
"One more thing,” Paige murmured sleepily, after they'd exhausted themselves again.
"What's that?” Ryan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against his body, drinking in her scent and reveling in the feel of her.
"The wedding."
"Mmm?” He nuzzled her ear. “What about it? We're having one. What else is there?"
"Well, Morgan's going to be your best man, right? And Allie will be my maid of honor. Soooo..."
"Let's invite them both to dinner. That ought to liven up the evening."
And then they were asleep.
* * * *
"All right, let's have it.” Morgan made his way from where he'd parked the Expedition, through the crowd gathered in a circle, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape to get to where his two officers were standing. He already knew the amount of information they'd have for him would be of little or no use. His officers were dedicated and hard-working, but it was a small force in a small town, and the last time they'd had a murder was more than a hundred years ago.
He tapped the officer on the shoulder who'd taken control. “Is it possible we know anything at all yet?"
Jace Murdock shook his head. “Nada, Chief. And look at this.” He pointed to the body. “No hands."
"Shit.” Sure enough, the vic's hands had been neatly severed at the wrists. “It isn't bad enough we have a dead body, it has to be mutilated too."
"They'll be talking about this for the next two years,” Jace commented.
"Tell me about it.” Morgan shoved his Stetson back on his head. “Well, for sure he wasn't killed here. There's no blood anywhere. He was well and truly dead by the time they dumped him."
"Identifying him will be a bitch,” Jace pointed out.
"No kidding."
Morgan looked down at the body. The six foot plus male was dressed in sharply-creased dress slacks, a linen sport shirt and Gucci loafers. He might have been a good-looking man in life, but death had contorted his features into a grotesque mask. Now the only thing appealing about his head was the thick shock of slightly-long blond hair. He was lying with his legs bent under a tree in a piece of empty pastureland at the edge of town.
"If Petey Riggins and his girl friend hadn't decided to come out here after to school to make a lot of mischief,” Jace commented, “this guy could have lain here until the buzzards got him."
Morgan grunted. “That's the truth. This is the far end of King Donovan's spread. If he doesn't have cattle pastured here, it's as empty as the tip jar on a Sunday at The Pig's Eye.” He prodded the body with the toe of a boot.
"How the hell do you suppose he got here?” Jace asked.
"No mystery there. Someone drove up, dumped him, and beat it. The b
igger question is, why here? White Tail doesn't hardly show up on anyone's radar. If they drove through here, they'd have to go through town and for damn sure someone would have spotted them."
"No kidding.” Jace laughed. “Old Emory Grant knows every vehicle everyone owns for ten miles around. Hell, only a deaf person didn't know when your brother's girlfriend came back in some fancy SUV.” At the look on Morgan's face he cleared his throat and backed up. “I'll just ask everyone if they happened to see something."
"Good idea. And while you're at it, you might keep in mind that gossip about the Cutter family isn't good for your health."
Jace stumbled backwards. “Gotcha, chief. No problem. Sorry."
Of course, they might as well have been talking to the three deaf, dumb and blind monkeys. The only reason the crowd had gathered at the spot was because after he called the police department Petey had broadcast the news to everyone he could think of. Morgan spotted him now, standing to the side with another officer, his arm around a tiny redhead whose face bore equal parts of fright and fascination.
"Hey, Petey.” He shook hands with the teenager. “How about you and...” He raised an eyebrow, looking at the girl.
"M-Missy F-Franklin,” she stammered.
Morgan dredged up a smile. “All right. Missy, you and Petey come over here and we'll have a little chat, okay?"
"Are we in trouble?” Pete asked, tightening his arm around the girl.
"No, not at all. I'd just like you to go over the details one more time. That all right?"
"Sure, Chief. Whatever you need."
Morgan kept his tone as even as possible, trying to put the two kids as much at ease as he could. But even though he led them through what happened, there was very little they could tell him.
They had just decided to drive out here after school and—talk—for a while.
Talk? Morgan swallowed a smile. Was that what they were calling it these days?
The fence at that corner of the meadow was down so they'd driven in under the tree for a little privacy. When they'd seen the body, at first they'd thought it was a dead animal. It wasn't until Petey had gotten out to take a look at it that they'd realized what kind of a body it was.
"We didn't touch a thing, Chief,” Petey told him, eyes still wide with the knowledge of discovery.
"I'm sure you didn't. All right, kids.” Morgan smiled at them. “Have your folks call the station and set up a time for you to come in with them. Tonight or tomorrow. I'll need to take your official statements."
"Yes, sir,” Petey said. “We'll sure take care of it. Come on, Missy. Let's get you away from here."
"All right, everyone, show's over.” Morgan moved up close to the crowd. “Time to go home."
"Aw, Morgan, you spoil all our fun,” someone called out good-naturedly.
"Yeah, well, if you stay any longer I'll have to charge an entertainment fee."
Much as he expected, people grumbled but began moving away from the taped area. As they moved toward their vehicles, a big crew cab pickup with the Yellow Rose Ranch logo on the door pulled up and a man about Morgan's age jumped out.
"Hear people are planting dead bodies in our fields instead of hay,” he said, a wry grin splitting his face.
Tate Donovan had been running the Rose since his graduation from Texas A&M ten years earlier. His father, King, hadn't been seen much lately either at town functions or cattlemen's meetings, and word had it his health was failing. These days, when people wanted answers, hands and buyers both, it was Tate they went to, not King.
"Somebody must have decided to leave you a present,” Morgan told him. He gave Tate what sparse information they had, then gestured toward the body. “Anyone you know?"
Tate gave the face careful scrutiny, then shook his head. “No, nobody I've ever seen.” Then his eyes narrowed slightly. “They cut off his hands."
Morgan nodded. “They don't want us to identify him any too soon."
Tate tipped his Stetson back and rubbed his jaw. “If you get me a picture I'll show it around the ranch, but I feel pretty comfortable he has nothing to do with anyone on the Rose."
"That's what I figured.” Morgan sighed. “Something else to pickle my brain."
They both turned as Dr. Miles Reiger's van pulled in. “The medical examiner is here. We'll be carting the body off in a minute. One of my officers took a full roll of photos. I'll have someone get a head shot out to you and you can show it around."
"Okay. But don't hold out any hope for that. If he had anything to do with the Rose, I'm sure I'd know about it."
The two men shook hands and Tate jumped back into his truck.
Miles Reiger was kneeling beside the body, his kit open beside him. The county was so sparsely populated and violent crime so rare that it didn't need a full-time medical examiner. The job usually went to a practicing physician who agreed to take on the extra duties in return for a small stipend. Miles was in the middle of a three-year contract.
"Chief.” Miles looked up as Morgan approached and grinned. “We have to stop meeting like this."
"Anything yet on the time of death?"
"Liver temp says about four hours ago, so about two o'clock this afternoon, give or take."
About the time they were all celebrating at the D&D.
"Cutting off his hands that way was a smart move on the part of whoever did this. I'll have Hell's own merriment trying to get an identification."
"Worse than that.” Miles pried open the man's lips and pointed into the mouth. “See that? These teeth were pulled out recently, and probably without the nicety of anesthesia. Even a dental chart won't be much help here."
Morgan made a face. “Nice people this guy ran around with."
"Oh, that's not the half of it.” He spread open the jacket and shirt and pointed to slashes and burns on the exposed chest. “See these marks? This guy was tortured by experts before he died. No wonder he's got that expression on his face."
"And they dumped him in White Tail. I sure as hell can't figure out why. That kind of stuff never touches this place."
Miles nodded. “This is the first one we've had for as long as I can remember."
"Well, haul him down to Kernigan's Funeral Home and do your thing. Get me a report as soon as you can. We have to find a way to figure out who this guy is."
And that was another thing. There wasn't a real morgue closer than Austin. Rio Verde County was a quiet scrape of geography, populated by ranchers, farmers, and people who got drunk on Saturday night and went to church on Sunday. Without much crime, there wasn't a need to invest in facilities like that, so the nearest funeral home provided cold storage for bodies, but only on a short-term basis.
Jace came up behind him as he finished talking. “I'll get the crime scene photos printed and the head shots enlarged. Maybe someone will recognize him."
"Good. Get one out to Tate Donovan at The Yellow Rose, too.” He started back to his SUV. “I'll be in my office when you're through here."
* * * *
"So he just left you?” Paige asked.
"Standing on the sidewalk. Not even a ‘can I get your number’ or anything."
Allison was laying on her couch, legs stretched out in front if her, a cold drink on the table beside her. What she really wanted was a glass of wine, but she realized she'd been doing that alone much too often lately. She settled for an icy cold Diet Pepsi, trying to pretend the bubbles were actually from champagne.
It was evening, and she figured by this time Paige and Ryan would need a rest from whatever strenuous activities they'd engaged in, so she hadn't hesitated much before calling. She needed to get Paige's perspective on things before she drove herself nuts.
"Oh, Allie, Morgan's got baggage you don't even want to know about. Ryan and I were shocked when we found out he'd offered to drive you home."
"Why, does he hate women?"
Paige sighed. “As a matter of fact, you're not so far off base."
Allison sat
up. And poured the rest of the contents of the Pepsi can into her glass. “You'd better explain that, kiddo."
"I'm afraid that's Morgan's story to tell, not mine. I can tell you, though, that he shies away from anything that looks like it might turn into more than one date, and if the unlucky female happens to be from the quote unquote big city, he gives her a wide berth."
"Gee, thanks for telling me now.” Allison got up and began to pace restlessly. She'd had an edgy feeling ever since Morgan had dropped her off. Her head was filled with all the things she wished she'd said and hadn't.
"Listen, how was I to know he'd drag you off in his big Expedition? I figured we'd be lucky if he said hello in a civil manner. Morgan's a great guy, believe it or not, but he's forgotten how to play nice in the sandbox. Hey, what..."
Allison heard sounds of a scuffle, then giggling.
"Hi, Allison.” Ryan's voice was tinged with laughter but firm. “Paige has to go now. Talk to you soon."
The call was disconnected and Allison stared at the phone in her hand. She was glad in the deepest part of her heart that Paige and Ryan were finally back together, but she couldn't repress the tiny teeth of envy and longing that gnawed at her. She couldn't forget the intense love and passion that had been so obvious in the couple's eyes when she'd seen them in Ryan's office.
Would she ever, ever find that? Up until now she hadn't given much thought to settling down. She loved playing the field, and her job didn't really leave her the kind of time to devote to a lasting relationship. But at thirty she certainly wasn't getting any younger. And the excitement of her job, the constant merry-go-round, was beginning to wear a little thin. Every man she met, both for business and pleasure, always seemed to be ‘on', always playing to the audience. The very few times she had actually gone to bed with someone, she expected them to hand her a scorecard and ask her to sign it. But it was not the tiny number of lovers she'd had that left her feeling unsatisfied. It was more the feeling she was missing something, a more intangible something, that her life was full on the surface but beneath it was a glaring empty space.
She'd always been able to toss things around with Paige. They understood each other. But Paige had been gone for weeks when she ran out on her disaster of a wedding, hiding out in White Tail, and now her life was wrapped around Ryan. Allison wasn't even sure how much they would see of each other, and that saddened her.
Cutter's Law Page 2
