She sat back and blew out a long breath. “Tanner, you’re a living, breathing temptation to anything female with a pulse.”
He gave a crack of laughter. “You’re the first woman who’s noticed.”
She doubted that, but she knew better than to argue it. She had a suspicion that verbal fencing with him would lead to more temptation than she wanted to handle. A quick mind appealed to her more than a hard male body.
Tanner had both.
“Did you really think Lorne would change his mind if you talked to him?” Tanner asked.
“You’re giving me conversational whiplash. Wait—” She blew out a breath. “You’re right, time to change the subject. When I returned from a fund-raising retreat, there were two messages on my phone. The first was from Kimberli, who said she’d made a mistake with the contract she took out to Lorne, along with the letter of intent he was supposed to sign to firm things up before the party.”
“Must have been a bad mistake.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “The boilerplate contract allows the Conservancy to modify land usage according to the overall conservation plans for the entire Intermountain West. Lorne wanted a guarantee that the land wouldn’t be traded for any reason under any circumstances. It’s hardly an unusual response. We agreed to make the change. He agreed to sign.”
Tanner waited. The weariness in her made him want to pull her into his arms, but that wouldn’t answer any questions except the hot, male-female kind. Death was a cold business.
“Kimberli was late, as usual, for the appointment. She grabbed the wrong contract from Legal and didn’t have time to check it.”
“So Lorne found a mistake.”
“He accused the Conservancy of everything but stealing children for the sex trade and kicked Kimberli off the ranch. She left a message on my phone that I was supposed to go to Lorne and talk reason into his thick head.”
Tanner raised black eyebrows. “She has a lot of faith in you.”
“She knew Lorne was more than a job to me.”
“You said there were two messages.”
“The second one was from Lorne. He was . . . very angry. Wanted me never to set foot on his land again. He wouldn’t answer my return calls. I tried to sleep. Finally I gave up and headed for his ranch. I knew he got up before dawn.”
Tanner listened to Shaye’s words with the skill and intensity of a man who made his living sifting lies from truth. Nothing in her body language or tone rang any alarm bells.
“Did he ever complain about pain or shortness of breath or being stiff in his left side?” Tanner asked.
“No. Other than a knee that bothered him on cold, damp mornings, I never heard him say a word about pain. I never saw him hesitate to pick up a bale of hay or a bucket of water, either.”
“He got the sore knee when he was bucked off a horse that was meaner than he was,” Tanner said, remembering his uncle’s blistering language as he was slammed into the corral fence. “He got back on, rode the horse into the ground, and sold him the next day.”
“Sounds like Lorne.” She hesitated. “He died quickly. He didn’t thrash around or try to crawl back to the house. Just lay faceup to the sky.”
“You found him on his back?”
Shaye nodded.
Tanner’s fingers tapped once on his thigh. “Odd.”
“Why?”
“Unless the person is already lying on his back, most quick, natural deaths fall facedown.” He rolled up the paper trash and stuffed it into the fast-food bag. “Had he argued with anyone else lately?”
“Other than Kimberli, not that I know of. I warned her not to be late with the contract because it was poker night and—”
“Wait. If he was signing a contract, why the letter of intent?”
“Lorne doesn’t—didn’t—trust anyone. Before he signed the letter of intent, he wanted to review and initial every clause of the contract. He was going to officially sign the contract tonight, at the gala, and wanted to be certain he was signing the same contract that he had approved.”
Tanner nodded. “Sounds like him.”
“Anyway,” she said, “Tuesday night was his poker game and he hated being late. With Kimberli, late is a religion. I wanted her to wait until I got back from the retreat so I could handle the whole thing, but she wanted to nail down every detail as soon as possible.”
“Go on.”
She looked at Tanner and saw nothing but the moonlight drawing dark planes and angles from his face. “My guess is Kimberli was late as usual, and just grabbed the contract from Legal without reading it over herself.”
“Is that what she said?”
Shaye shrugged. “It’s what she does—rush from one thing to another, leaving a scatter of papers. She’s goal-oriented rather than detail-oriented. The details are left to the rest of the staff.”
Tanner’s long fingers did a single, rippling tattoo against his thigh. “When you usually saw Lorne, was he wearing work boots and an old Stetson?”
“Unless he was in town. Then he wore the boots I found him in. And he was in town clothes, too.” She frowned, remembering. At the time all she had cared about was the scavengers. “All these questions aren’t giving me a good feeling.”
“Hey, I’m a cop,” he said absently, watching moonlight glide over Shaye’s smooth skin. “We do a lot of questions. Second nature.”
“Try the sheriff. He knows more than I do.”
“I will, and I doubt it.”
Moonlight and silence and a slight breeze ruffling the water.
“One more question,” he said finally. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Shaye blinked. “What?”
“Serious dating, live-in lover, that sort of thing. Seeing someone.”
“If I was, I wouldn’t be here. Are you stepping out on someone?”
“No.” He tossed the bag of trash into the backseat. “I’ll take you back to your car and follow you home to make sure you get there.”
“Why would you—”
“It’s a cop thing,” he said. “We’re the last of the real gentlemen.” He turned the car key and flipped on the headlights. The engine made a snarky sound, balked, then started. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at nine. Earlier, if you’re the dawn type.”
“I’ll meet you at nine, but I can get myself home just fine.”
Even though my gas gauge isn’t trustworthy.
“I’m sure you can. I’m also sure not going to leave a woman alone in a vehicle as old as the wreck you drive.”
She started to argue, then shrugged. “You’re not coming inside with me.”
He nodded.
“Why will you pick me up at nine?” she asked.
“We’re having breakfast and you’re working hard to talk me into giving the ranch to the Conservancy, remember?”
“Hey, a girl has to eat, right?” she said neutrally.
“We need to talk about your enthusiasm.”
She looked sideways at him, focusing on his mouth, imagining the smooth, resilient heat of his lips and the sensual textures of tongue and teeth.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
And she wondered where that low, sexy voice had come from. Obviously Tanner had a bad influence on her.
Or a good one.
Maybe.
She had all night to decide.
Eight
Shaye still hadn’t decided whether Tanner was good or bad for her when the doorbell to her condo chimed happily. She put down the brush she had been running through her hair and looked at her sturdy, all-weather watch. Twenty minutes before nine.
The peephole assured her that it was Tanner rather than a salesman. She opened the door to her second-floor condo.
“You’re early,” she said.
In the daylight, his eyes were a deep, deep blue. He was looking at her from head to toe and back again.
As far as Shaye was concerned, there was no reason for the utterly male appraisal. She was wear
ing faded jeans, a plain khaki-colored sweater, and shoes that could take sidewalks or trails. No makeup, hair pulled back. Nothing fancy. Certainly nothing worth a second look.
He met her eyes. “Dressing down today?”
“Cocktail dress for breakfast means the ‘Walk of Shame.’ It’s like wearing an I-did-it sign.”
He laughed and looked at her lips. “I’m hungry.”
Oh my God, she thought as her pulse kicked. “I’m feeling like Little Red meeting the wolf.”
“If you get me fed, I’ll be no more dangerous than a border collie pup.”
“In that case, I won’t take time for makeup.”
“You don’t need any.”
“And you need glasses. Come in while I get my jacket. The wind off Lake Tahoe can have a bite to it even in late summer.”
As Shaye disappeared into a bedroom, Tanner walked in and shut the door. A few glances around the condo told him that she was well organized without being militant about it, liked bold colors more than pastels, and preferred comfort over style. That was more personal information than the Google results he’d read about a white female, thirty-three, five foot eight inches tall, one thirty-two, blond and brown, divorced, reclaimed her family name, no tickets, no warrants, no arrests, no children, no unpaid bills.
Which was more than could be said for her ex, a handsome low-level Major League ballplayer named Marc Nugent who liked wild parties and wilder women. Good thing he had a Dodgers paycheck to cover that.
From the envelope Tanner could see on the entryway table, they were still actively corresponding.
Is that why she isn’t seeing anyone? Still too involved with the ex?
Or did she get burned but good?
The thing about growing up was that there were so many potholes in the road. Some of them were deep enough to swallow you whole.
“I thought you were hungry,” Shaye said, waving a hand in front of his face.
“I am. Who’s Marc Nugent?”
Shaye looked at the envelope. “You mean you haven’t heard of the famous deep bench player for the Dodgers? My ex. He has a high opinion of himself.”
“You could kill scorpions with that tone.”
“If only. What about you? Any ex-wives?”
He smiled slightly, liking her directness. He had never been drawn to coy women. “I stopped collecting at one. I got married too young, before I knew how hard a cop’s life is on a relationship. Way before I’d grown up enough to make it work anyway.”
“Still paying alimony and child support?” she asked sympathetically, picking up her purse. “I was. Alimony, not child support. The court finally decided that my ex could get along without an allowance from me. He wrote me a nasty gram about it.”
Okay. She’s not really corresponding with the ex.
“No kids or alimony for me,” Tanner said. “My ex remarried the day our divorce was final.”
“It’s better that way. No children to grind up between adult realities.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “Takes a while to stop feeling stupid, though.”
He put his fingers beneath her chin, tilted her head up. “It stops?”
She half smiled and half frowned as she gently stepped away. “Anything else from the deep past that we need to exorcise before breakfast?”
“Not on my side.”
“Then let’s eat.”
“I’ll drive, you navigate. Deal?”
Automatically she hesitated. Then she reminded herself that nothing in her Google-stalk of him before she went to sleep last night had raised any flags.
“Deal,” she said.
Tanner followed Shaye’s directions to a nearby breakfast place. On Sunday morning, the hungry clients should have been lined up out the door, but no one was waiting for a table.
“You sure this is a good place?” he asked before he turned off the car.
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t tell it by the parking lot.”
“Wait until it snows, or until high summer. Place is buried in people then. It’s only quiet in the shoulder seasons.”
The coffee shop was done in extreme skiing decor. The front-door handles were miniature skis. Signed posters of Olympic ski luminaries lined the walls. Brightly clad ski daredevils shot off cliffs to fly down to snow far below.
Tanner spotted a booth in the back and persuaded the hostess that she wanted to seat them there, rather than at a table with a view of the parking lot.
“She saves this booth for regulars,” Shaye said, sliding in on one side.
“You aren’t?” he asked.
He took the same side of the booth, following her in. He sat down too close to her at first, smelling her shower soap. He made himself ease away, give her room.
“I usually eat at home,” she said, “but I haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping since I went to the retreat.” Her husky voice said she was feeling the heat of his body close to hers.
“You like to cook?” he asked.
“When I have time.”
“Me, too. Maybe breakfast tomorrow. We can shop for stuff later.”
She didn’t know which assumption to deal with first—her place, breakfast, his presence, shopping together—so she said, “Kimberli will be expecting me at the Monday staff meeting.”
“Not after I tell her that the Conservancy’s best chance of ever seeing Lorne’s property again is letting you soften me up. That will take time. She’ll understand. For her, sex is a sales tool.”
“Do you think she’ll buy it?”
“I’m not selling,” he said with a hard flash of teeth, “I’m telling.”
She blinked. “And the evil twin returns.”
His smile changed, softer now, hotter. Tempting.
Without realizing it, she licked her lips.
He openly watched her response. He didn’t try to tell himself that he wanted to stay close to Shaye only as a way to find out more about Lorne’s last months, the Conservancy, and Lorne’s death. Tanner had given up that kind of self-deception about the time he came off shift early and found his wife energetically shagging her yoga instructor. He’d known something had been off-key with his wife lately, but he had told himself that he was being too much of a cop.
Too suspicious.
That was the last time he ignored his inner voice—the one that had sat up and howled when he first saw Shaye in that little black dress. One look at her and he had decided to work his way into her life using whatever means was at hand.
At least part of him had decided. The other part of him was laughing its ass off. L.A. meets Refuge? Really? You’ll be lucky to stay here long enough to tie up all Lorne’s loose ends without going stir-crazy.
A waitress came with coffee and menus.
Gratefully Tanner took the coffee and gave her his order without looking at the colorful print and cute ski-slope names for eggs, omelets, breakfast meats, potatoes, and granola with a side of yogurt.
“Scrambled eggs and hamburger,” he said. Eggs Benedict cop-style.
Shaye’s order followed on the heels of his.
“No waffles and whipped cream?” he asked when the waitress left.
“Sugar and fluff don’t last until lunch. Eggs do.”
He grinned. “Good. Waffles are a pain in the butt to make.”
“All you do is open the box and pop them in the toaster,” she said with a sideways look.
“Not if I’m cooking. I start from scratch. I don’t pour eggs from a carton or thaw cut-up fruit from the freezer, either. I get enough of that eating out.”
She smiled. “All right. You can make breakfast for me tomorrow. I hope your hotel isn’t too much of a drive.”
“It isn’t.”
Breakfast came quickly. It was hot, fresh, and plentiful. He didn’t bother to make small talk while he neatly demolished his platter of protein.
She concentrated on her food, too. She hadn’t been particularly hungry since she had found Lorne, but this morning her normal
appetite wanted to make up for lost time. When she was down to chasing a few stray hash browns across her empty plate, she looked toward him. He was watching her with an intensity that took her breath away.
And he was smiling a hungry kind of smile.
“What?” she asked. “Is there egg on my chin?”
“No. I’m just glad you aren’t a carrot-shavings-and-lettuce kind of eater. After last night, I wondered.”
“I’ve been off my game since I found Lorne.”
“You good now?”
“Better. But still . . .” She shrugged. “Like roots on a trail. Memories keep tripping me.”
“Yeah.” He took her hand and pulled it onto his thigh. “Do you mind talking about it?”
“I thought you were going to the sheriff.”
“Reports can only tell you so much, especially when everyone is taking what they see at face value.”
“What do you mean?”
He watched the hostess walking toward them. Trailing behind her were four people he vaguely remembered from the gala. She seated the group in the booth just in front of Tanner and Shaye.
“You feel like doing the meet-and-greet with anyone from the party last night?” he asked quietly.
“Not particularly. It’s my day off. I haven’t had many of those lately.”
He caught the server’s eye, got the bill, and gave the woman enough cash to cover everything before Shaye could unzip her wallet.
“I’ll be back with your change, sir.”
“It’s yours.”
The waitress brightened. “Thank you.”
She turned around and hurried back down the aisle as if afraid he would change his mind.
“I go Dutch,” Shaye said.
“I’ll keep a tab for you.”
He pulled Shaye out of the booth and headed for the back door. After he tucked her into the passenger side of his car, he got in behind the wheel and turned the key. The engine wasn’t happy about it, but finally coughed to rough life.
Needs more than a tune-up, he thought.
Working overnight made normal chores a pain.
Maybe that’s why our shiny new captain smiled when he changed my hours.
“Would it bother you too much to go to Lorne’s ranch?” he asked.
“It won’t bother me. I was going to check on the animals before I saw your car. I didn’t want to leave Lorne’s body, and then the cops . . .”
Dangerous Refuge Page 6
