Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "Only with hardheads like you."

  Judd had his hand on the doorknob when he paused and glanced back at the other man. "Don't tell her I know about the pregnancy."

  "Don't worry. People still don't know what I really did in Iraq."

  Judd frowned. "I didn't know you were ever in Iraq!"

  Grier grinned. "See?"

  Judd opened the door.

  "One more thing," Grier called.

  "What?"

  "Next time you do that reverse roundhouse kick, keep your axis stable. You'll lose your balance every time if you tilt your upper body when you swing."

  Judd looked at the ceiling and shook his head as he walked out. He noticed that the men on the desk were suddenly very in­dustrious as he went toward the front door.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cristabel was doing the laundry when a vehicle drove up out­side. She was still too shaken by her near-accident to be very aware of her surroundings. Besides, the loud hum of the old washing machine drowned out anything more than a room away.

  But Maude was in the kitchen, finishing her bread, when Judd walked in. She stopped with her hands full of dough and just stared at him. His handsome face was covered with cuts and bruises, and blood was pooled at the corner of his mouth. His once-spotless white shirt was dotted with blood.

  "Grier looks worse," he told her with a shrug. "Where's Christabel?"

  "Doing laundry," she managed to say. He was shocking to look at. She hadn't seen him in a fight since the day Crissy's fa­ther had beaten her. That was a long time ago.

  He turned and went to find Christabel. She had her back to him. He paused in the doorway of the laundry room to study her, his eyes shuttered, his mind working like crazy.

  She sensed eyes on her. Abruptly her head jerked around. She stood up slowly, facing him, and her jaw dropped.

  "What in the world happened to you?" she exclaimed.

  "Grier doesn't volunteer information without a little coaxing," he said grimly. He moved closer, his face unreadable. He looked at her with an expression that she couldn't understand.

  "What kind of information were you after?" she asked blankly. She knew it couldn't be about the baby. Cash didn't know she was pregnant.

  "Never mind," he muttered. "It took a lot of bruises not to find out anything," he assured her. His black eyes narrowed. "I don't like him hanging around here, and I told him so. Now I'm telling you, too. You're married."

  She glared at him over a towel that she'd dragged out of the aging dryer. Absently, she wondered if they'd ever be able to re­place the machine. Not that it didn't work, but it was fifteen years old. She folded the towel. "You kissed Tippy Moore!"

  "Yes, I kissed her," he bit off. "The assistant director's doing his damned best to seduce her and she's afraid of him! It was a stage kiss."

  "Oh, pull the other one," she shot back. "Tippy Moore, inter­national model, afraid of a piss-ant little assistant director! I'd like to see the man she's afraid of!"

  He moved closer, taking the towel away from her. He tossed it onto the dryer. "She has a history I can't tell you about," he said bluntly. "It's enough to tell you that she's genuinely afraid of men. That's why she's been hanging on me. I've never touched her, and that's the draw. She feels safe with cops—with any law enforcement people in uniform."

  Christabel was gaping at him. She'd been envious of Tippy, hated her for that exquisite beauty that made Judd and other men so covetous. Now she felt both sad and sorry for the other woman. Pieces of a puzzle fell into place. It must have been something terrible, she guessed, to have made the lovely woman like that.

  "I can't come here without tripping over damned Grier," he persisted, black eyes blazing down at her. "If you want the truth, I was getting even!"

  Her lips fell apart. Whatever she'd expected him to tell her, that wasn't it. He was jealous...of her? She could feel her heart beating like a wild thing in her chest.

  He calmed a little when he saw her expression. She looked fascinated. Apparently, she wasn't eager to rub it in, either. He relaxed even more.

  "I...only went around with Cash because it hurt me to see you with Tippy all the time," she confessed without raising her eyes.

  His heart jumped up into his throat. So many misunder­standings, all for want of a little honesty. It wasn't Cash after all. He started smiling and couldn't stop.

  She lifted her face to his and was trapped by the look on it. He laughed, deep in his throat.

  "Tippy's got a case on Cash, but you can't tell him," he mur­mured. His fingers went to brush back her long, soft blond hair.

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "He thinks she's the happy hooker. She said a man like that knew more about most women than they knew themselves."

  Her eyes searched his. "You really haven't slept with her?" she asked doggedly.

  He sighed. "I'm married, Christabel," he mused, linking his hands behind her waist.

  "So?" she asked, flushing.

  He bent his head. "I don't sleep with other women, baby. Only with you. And just lately," he groaned against her soft mouth, "my bed has been very empty."

  She let him kiss her. A few seconds into it, she forgot what she was doing altogether and lifted herself against his powerful body with a sob.

  "Wait. Wait a minute," he said urgently. He moved away from her long enough to close and throw the bolt on the door. Thank God it had one, he was thinking, while he could still think.

  He backed her up into the dryer and kissed her again, hun­grily. She was probably wearing a dress, he mused, because none of her jeans would button and he'd notice. He smiled against her mouth as he reached under her dress and slipped off her under­wear.

  "Judd, no, we can't!" she whispered.

  He nibbled her upper lip while he peeled off his gunbelt and put it aside and reached for his belt buckle. "It's okay, baby. We can do it without the red negligee," he teased huskily. "Besides, we're married. I'll show you the license again." He lifted her up to him and his mouth covered hers as his lean hands brought her over him. "We'll go look for it...later," he groaned as he went into her.

  She stopped protesting, thinking, breathing. She clung to him, moaning into his devouring mouth as he drove into her with the noisy washing machine concealing the noises they were mak­ing. She hoped it wasn't near the end of its cycle. She was so hungry for him that she sobbed with every quick, hard motion of his hips. She wanted to drag his clothes off, push him down on the floor, ravish him...

  She didn't realize she was saying it until they wound up in a tangle of limbs on the linoleum, with his body heavy on hers as they clung to each other in a raging fever of desire.

  She'd never experienced such instant passion. In the last lucid instant, he lifted his head and watched her face as he drove her right over the edge into ecstasy. She shuddered and shuddered, her cries almost inhuman as her nails bit into his hips. Seconds later, his body corded and arched. He made a hoarse, harsh cry and his face contorted. She watched him, so excited that her whole body felt on fire with the overwhelming heat of fulfill­ment. Even in Japan, it hadn't been so intense. She couldn't stop shivering. Tears ran down her cheeks while he moved helplessly against her in the pulsing aftermath.

  Just as he collapsed on her, the washing machine stopped abruptly between cycles. She felt his body shake. It wasn't until he lifted his head and she saw his dancing black eyes that she realized why. He was laughing.

  "What a relief! That damned soundman can hear an ant walk across a sponge at fifteen feet, and he likes to record people when they don't know he's listening," he murmured breath­lessly. "If that washer had stopped a few seconds sooner..."

  She laughed, too, trying to imagine the embarrassment. The washer started up again, noisily, and he moved against her, his mouth tracing her lips, her cheeks, her ear. He nibbled her ear-lobe. She kissed his cheek and he groaned.

  "Sorry," she murmured, noting that she'd kissed a cut. She touched his bruised face gingerly. "D
oes your jaw hurt?"

  He nodded. "Grier hits hard."

  "What did you want him to tell you?" she persisted.

  "That he'd keep his distance from you," he invented. He pursed his lips and moved deliberately, so that she could feel the slow, delicious burgeoning of his body. "But I don't think that's going to be a problem now. Do you?" He moved again.

  She gasped. She was still sensitive, and those tiny motions were so sweet that she started moving with him. "Maude..."

  "The cycle lasts fifteen more minutes," he reminded her, bend­ing. "But I doubt if I will..."

  "Let's see," she whispered rakishly, and pulled him down to her.

  They were standing again, when the washer wound down for the second time. She'd just pulled her underwear back up and he'd refastened his jeans. But he glanced down at his shirt and sighed. "Grier took off his shirt first. I should have done the same. Have I got a clean one? I can't go back to work like this."

  She smiled radiantly and nodded, going to the clothes rack. She pulled out a clean, ironed white shirt and handed it to him.

  He took off the one he was wearing, baring an undershirt also liberally splattered with specks of blood. "Damn," he muttered.

  "You've got a clean undershirt, too," she said, turning to pull one out of the clothes basket where she'd been folding laundry. "Here."

  He stripped off the undershirt, aware that she was eating him with her eyes.

  He tossed the undershirt and the white shirt into the laundry hamper and moved closer, bringing her hands to his hair-rough­ened chest. "I didn't even have the presence of mind to undress first, I wanted you so badly," he mused with a smile. "I'm going to commute to Victoria from now on. I'll spend my nights here, where I belong, and we won't be sleeping in separate beds."

  "You're going to sleep with me?" she asked, fascinated.

  "Of course." He traced around her soft mouth. "Unless you'd rather I stayed in my old room? That might be interesting. You could put on the red negligee and come seduce me in the night."

  She hit him gently and laughed. "I'll sleep with you and do my seducing in comfort. You're my husband," she whispered, feeling every word.

  "You're my wife." He bent and kissed her gently, drawing her hands back and forth over his chest. "I'm sorry you wouldn't open your Christmas present."

  "Why?" she asked absently.

  "It was pearls. Pink pearls, your favorites. But there were two presents. Tippy gave me back the ring. She'd teased me into buy­ing it, which I did to save my pride. When I returned it," he added gently, "I bought a set of rings—one for you, one for me. Wed­ding bands. So you get two presents, not one."

  She just looked at him.

  He shrugged. "I never wanted a divorce," he confessed. "Not really. My mother was young, like you, and maybe she wasn't ready for marriage. I saw my father die inside after she left him. He never got over the divorce, and he mourned her until he died. I didn't want to end up like him. I was afraid of commit­ment. I knew you cared about me, but I was afraid it was just a crush," he confessed.

  "Some crush," she said with a smile. "It lasted five years."

  "I knew that when you took a bullet for me," he said quietly. "That was when I knew you felt something powerful for me. But Grier was always around and better men than me have felt in­ferior to him."

  "Cash is a sad and lonely sort of person," she replied. "I felt sorry for him. I know things about him that you don't, Judd. He was married just briefly, and there was going to be a child. I don't know what happened, but they divorced bitterly. He was just a friend."

  He grimaced. "I didn't know that. I was crazy with jealousy. I finally realized that you weren't going to wait forever while I sorted out what I felt for you. That was when I knew that I was going to fight to keep you."

  She gazed at him, encouraging him to continue.

  "You know, my parents were exact opposites. He was in love, but she married him without really loving him. She did fall in love, with another man, and she couldn't help what she did. I never understood that before, because I'd never been in love." His voice turned husky. "But I understand her actions better now, even if I still don't approve of them. Love takes away your choices. You and I think alike and I believe deep down I knew all along that we have enough in common to make a good mar­riage. But I just couldn't let go of the past—of the fact that you and Cash seemed so close. I couldn't be certain what you felt for him. He gave me some bad moments, especially after we came back form Japan."

  She smiled slowly. "Tippy gave me some. She's beautiful and sophisticated."

  "Sophisticated, like Grier." He traced her ear, pressing her soft hair behind it. "They can console each other," he said with a wicked grin. "But they're both out of the running."

  She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

  His dark eyebrows lifted. "Just how many women do you think I've ever ravished on the floor of a laundry room?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "It had better only be one," she returned with mock anger.

  He chuckled. "Now you sound more like yourself." He reached for the clean undershirt. Her hands fluttered against the thick hair on his chest as she reluctantly moved away. He smelled of aftershave and soap. She liked the masculine scents, far too much. "I've got to get back to work. I'm tying up loose ends in the Clark cases." He glanced at her. "I never told you. Guess who was doing the poisonings down here?"

  "Not Jack Clark," she guessed.

  "No. His brother John was poisoning the cattle, and he killed old Hob. He got a friend and co-worker—the same man who loaned him the pickup truck—to give him an alibi for the time of old Hob's death by making him think a jealous girlfriend was checking up on him. Jack Clark killed the young woman for tes­tifying against him and sending him to prison for six years. Jack was our prime suspect for the poisonings because he lived in Ja-cobsville, and he knew it."

  "Don't leave anything out!" she demanded.

  "The councilwoman who was showing Jack the properties in Victoria had no idea that he was establishing an alibi, while his brother was down here poisoning bulls. They poisoned Brew-ster's bull because it was one of the progeny of Handley's Salers bull. They poisoned ours because they were both getting even with us for firing Jack. But if it hadn't been for you, I might never have solved the murder case in Victoria."

  "Me?"

  He pulled his shirt on, fastened it, and stuck the star back on the pocket. "You mentioned how the fence was cut," he said. "We had a cut fence at the scene of the last homicide. I checked it against the picture you had Nick take of our cut fence. It was a perfect match. Our fence—that you had sense enough to save—has become prime evidence. Not to mention that black pickup truck that belonged to John Clark's friend, Gould, in Vic­toria. Then, those colored fibers I mentioned that were found at the crime scene matched a swatch from a flannel shirt you re­membered Clark wearing when he confronted you on the ranch. It was with a box of his belongings that John Clark took to Victoria with him. There's one other crucial bit of evidence we latched on to, also."

  "Don't keep me in suspense," she said excitedly.

  "Besides a hair found on the shirt at the crime scene, the ev­idence technician noted teeth marks on the woman's breast. She hadn't been dead long, and her body was half-covered by the shirt when she was recovered. The technician said her body was still warm when they found it. He played a hunch—he put ster­ile water on a swab and went over the woman's breast. She got DNA evidence that links the murder directly to Jack Clark. And that hair on the shirt the woman was wearing matched one of Clark's exactly. That evidence is all admissible in court."

  "I didn't know you could do that!" she exclaimed.

  He chuckled. "I'll have to clue you in more about forensic ev­idence."

  "But why did he kill her, do you know?" she asked.

  "She was the young girl who testified against him for sexual assault and battery and vanished. He spent six years in prison on her testimony. After he was released he and John went t
o work for Handley, who had the purebred Salers bulls. Handley was her husband's best friend. Handley fired them about the time Jack recognized the young woman and decided to get even. John Clark poisoned his bulls, Jack raped and killed the woman."

  "Good Lord. And what about poor old Hob?" she continued.

  "When we told Jack Clark about the concrete forensic evi­dence against him, he gave in and confessed everything with the public defender sitting right beside him. He said his brother went to Hob just to threaten him, to keep him quiet. Hob refused to be threatened. He was going to call the police and tell them the Clark boys cut the fence. John hit him in the throat with a fire poker. He didn't mind bulls, but he couldn't live with killing a human. He told Jack he was going to rob a bank and if he got killed he didn't care."

  "Poor old Hob," she said sadly. "What a sad way to die."

  "So Jack's going away for a long time. It's a good thing, because the behavioral psychologist who evaluated him said he might have killed again. Clark still hates me, of course, for what happened to his brother and for helping put together the evidence that's going to convict him for murder." He grinned at her. "Like I care."

  She hugged him, hard, secure for the first time in her marriage.

  "And you didn't believe me about the cattle or the fence at first."

  He drew her close. "No, to my cost, I didn't. That could have had fatal consequences if Clark had been a little more confident. I'm sorry, too. But those days are over. You tell me black is white, baby, and I'll believe you now." Lifting his head, he searched her drowsy, happy eyes and smiled. "Kiss me. I have to go back to work."

  She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. "Take me with you," she whispered.

  "I'd never get a thing done," he teased. He put her away re­luctantly and buckled on his gunbelt. "I'll be home by six."

  She felt as if her whole life had changed in a space of hours. She couldn't stop smiling. "Okay. I'll lay out my red negligee."

  He chuckled delightedly. "That's a date."

  He unlocked the door and they walked hand in hand to the front door. He looked down at her and wished that he could tell her what he knew. She was carrying his child. He'd never felt closer to her. He'd never loved her so much. But he had to wait, to bide his time. If she found out that he knew, she might think he was staying with her for all the wrong reasons. He didn't dare let on. He kissed her goodbye and drove off, making a mental note to phone Grier and warn him again not to spill the beans. Maude didn't say a word, but she couldn't stop smiling, either.