by B. J Daniels
Hank pulled her to him, rubbing her arms as if to take away the chill. She hadn’t realized how hard she was trembling until his strong body wrapped around her. She leaned into him, taking comfort in his warmth as what had just happened finally hit her. Someone had tried to kill them—and she’d lost her purse as well as her gun.
On the highway, vehicles had stopped. People were calling to them. Someone said they’d phoned for help and that the marshal was on his way.
* * *
DRENCHED TO THE skin and still shivering from the cold water and the close call, Hank climbed into the back of his father’s patrol SUV with Frankie. His father had given them blankets, which they’d wrapped up in. Still he put his arm around her, holding her close to share his body heat. He still couldn’t believe what had happened and was just thankful they were both alive.
He’d gotten her into this. So of course he felt responsible for her. But he knew it was more than that as he pulled her closer. He wasn’t sure when it had happened but they felt like friends. Almost dying did that to a person, he thought.
He became aware of how her wet clothes clung to her, revealing curves he’d always known were there but hadn’t seen before. The fact that he could think about that now told him that he was definitely alive—and typically male.
“Why would someone want to force you off the road?” his father asked after he’d told him what had happened.
He heard the disbelief in his father’s tone. He’d been here before. Hud hadn’t believed that Naomi was murdered. He didn’t believe that someone had just tried to kill them. “Believe whatever you like,” he snapped. “But this was no accident. The truck crashed into us twice before it forced me off the road. It wasn’t a case of road rage. Frankie had seen it behind us on the way to the Corral. The driver must have followed us and waited until we came out.”
“Okay, son. I’ve called for a wrecker. I’ll have your truck taken to the lab. Hopefully there will be some paint from the other truck on it that will help us track down the make and model, along with the description you’ve already given me of the driver. Even if the driver wasn’t trying to kill the two of you, he left the scene of an accident. I’ve put a BOLO out. Later, after the two of you get a shower and warm clothes on, I’ll take your statements.”
Hank rested his head on the top of Frankie’s as she leaned into his chest and tried not to let his father get to him. The man always had to be Marshal Hudson Savage, all business. The show-me-the-evidence lawman. Just for once, Hank would have liked him to believe his own son.
He drew Frankie closer and closed his eyes, just thankful to be alive. Thankful he hadn’t gotten her killed. And more aware than ever of the woman in his arms.
* * *
FRANKIE FELT AS if she was in shock. After they were dropped off at their cabin, Hank led her into the bathroom and turned on the shower. It’s probably hypothermia, she thought, since she’d felt fine in Hank’s arms, but the moment he’d let her go, she’d begun to shake again.
The mirror in the bathroom quickly steamed over. “Get in with your clothes on.” She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Seriously,” he said and, opening the glass shower door, pushed her toward the warm water streaming down from the showerhead. “Just toss your wet clothes on the floor of the shower. I’ll take care of them later. I’ll use the other shower. You need to get warm and dry as quickly as possible. Trust me.”
Trust him? She looked into his handsome face and had to smile. Surprising herself, she did as he suggested and stepped into the walk-in shower, clothes and all. She did trust him. More than he knew. The warm water felt so good as it soaked her clothing and took away the cold. With trembling fingers, she began to peel off the wet garments to let the warm water get to her bare skin.
She felt something heavy in her jeans pocket. Her cell phone. She pulled it out and reached out to lay it next to the sink. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about getting any more calls she didn’t want to take since she could see that the screen was fogged over, the phone no doubt dead.
Worse, earlier, she’d put her gun into her purse. She could only hope that her purse had stayed in the pickup. Otherwise, it had washed downriver.
A shiver moved through her and she stepped back into the shower. But she knew that it would take more than warm water to stop her from shaking. Someone had tried to kill them. She thought about the truck that had forced them off the highway and into the river. She’d only glimpsed the driver. A man. A large angry man.
It wasn’t him, she told herself. It couldn’t have been. Where would he have gotten a truck like that and how would he—
Unless he had somehow tracked her to Big Sky. She glanced at her phone and felt her heart drop. Tracking her phone would have been child’s play for anyone who knew how. Especially for a cop.
She leaned against the shower wall, suddenly weak with fear. The last thing she wanted was her past catching up with her here. She told herself that she was only running scared. He hadn’t found her. The man in the truck hadn’t been him. All of this was about Naomi—not about her.
Refusing to give in to her fears that she might have been responsible for almost getting Hank killed, she concentrated on the feel of the warm water cascading down her body. As she turned her face up to the spray, she assured herself that she was fine. Hank was fine. Better than fine. She thought of how he’d held on to her until they were both safe on shore and then hugged her in his arms, sharing his warmth, protecting her, taking care of her even when he had to be as cold as she was.
She felt her nipples pucker to aching tips at the memory of his hard body against hers. It had been so long since she’d felt desire for a man. It spiked through her, turning her molten at her center at just the thought of Hank in the other shower, warm water running down his naked body.
Frankie shut off the water and, stepping over her wet clothes, reached for a towel. Hank was her employer. Nothing more. She was reacting to him like this only because they’d just shared a near-death experience.
But even as she thought it, Frankie knew it was much more than that. She’d never met anyone like Hank. His capacity to love astounded her. Look how he’d mourned Naomi’s death for three long years and still refused to give up on finding out the truth. Frankie couldn’t imagine a man loving her like that.
She toweled herself dry and pulled on the robe she saw that Hank had left for her. After drawing it around her, she pulled up the collar and smelled the freshly washed scent. Hugging herself, she realized she was crying softly. She’d never been so happy to be alive.
Frankie quickly wiped her tears and busied herself wringing out her clothes and hanging them in the shower to dry. Then, bracing herself, she tied the robe tightly around her and stepped out of the bathroom.
* * *
HUD RETURNED TO his office. He quickly checked to make sure that a deputy and a highway patrol officer were taking care of traffic while the wrecker retrieved Hank’s pickup from the river.
He realized he was still shaken. He didn’t want to believe that the driver of the truck who’d run them off the road had been trying to kill them. But the driver had forced them off the road where the guardrail was missing—as if he knew exactly where to dump them into the river. That made the driver a local and that was what worried Hud.
Hank believed this had something to do with Naomi’s death. But Hud had seen Frankie’s face in the rearview mirror. She’d just been through a terrifying experience, no doubt about it. Yet he’d seen a fear in her eyes long after she’d been safe and warm in the back of his patrol SUV.
Swearing under his breath, he turned on his computer, his fingers hovering over the keys for a moment as he considered what he was about to do. He ticked off the reasons he had to do this. Hank’s unexpected return. His son bringing a woman home after three years. Francesca “Frankie” Brewster, someone they’d never heard about before. The tw
o were allegedly a couple, but their behavior was in question by Dana, who was good at these things. Add to that, Frankie had been asking around about Naomi’s death. Throw in the “accident” that ended up with them in the river and what did it give you?
With a curse, he put his fingertips on the computer keys and typed Francesca “Frankie” Brewster, Lost Creek, Idaho.
What popped up on the screen made him release the breath he’d been holding. He sat back, staring at the screen. What the hell? Frankie Brewster Investigations?
It took him only another minute to find out that she was a licensed private investigator in the state of Idaho and had been in business for four years. Her name came up in articles in the local paper. She’d actually solved a few cases that had made the news.
He sat back again, berating himself for looking and, at the same time, wondering what he was going to do now with the information. Just because she was a PI didn’t mean that she and Hank weren’t really a couple. In fact, Hud thought that might be what attracted his son to her to begin with. So why make waves?
If he said anything to Hank, his son would be furious. He would know that his father did it again, checked up on Frankie—just as he had with Naomi. Only with Frankie there was no sign that she’d ever been arrested or put under mental evaluation, at least.
“That’s a plus,” he said to himself and turned off the computer to rub the back of his neck and mentally kick himself. “Frankie’s investigating Naomi’s death,” he said to himself, realizing that was what was going on. His son thought he could pull a fast one, bring Frankie home, pretend to be an item, and all the time the two were digging into Naomi’s death.
He swore under his breath. Was it possible that someone was getting nervous? Was that why that truck had forced them off the road? To warn them to stop? But if that was the case...
Hud picked up the phone and called the lab. “I want information on the vehicle that forced that pickup off the road ASAP. Call me at home when you get it.”
In all his years in law enforcement, he’d never felt this unsettled. What if Hank had been right all along and Naomi had been murdered? Enter Frankie, and the next thing he knew, his son and the PI were run off the highway and into the river. A little too coincidental to suit him.
With a sigh, he knew what he had to do. He had to stop them from investigating even if it meant making his son mad at him again. Hank had to let him look into it. Even as he thought it, Hud knew hell would freeze over before his son would trust him to do that. There would be no stopping Frankie and Hank if they were doing what he suspected they were.
He thought of all the mistakes he’d made with his oldest son. As he got to his feet, he just prayed that he wasn’t about to make an even bigger one. But he had to stop the two of them before they ended up dead.
* * *
HANK CAME OUT of the bathroom only moments after Frankie. He’d stood under the warm spray for a long time. His emotions were all over the place. The trucker running them off the road proved what he’d been saying all along, didn’t it?
So why didn’t he feel more satisfaction? He’d been right. But as he stood letting the water cascade over his body, all he’d been able to think about was Frankie. He kept picturing her soaking wet, her clothes clinging to every curve. The memory had him aching.
He had turned the shower to cold and tried to get a handle on his feelings. Shivering again, he’d turned off the shower and had stood for a moment, still flooded with a desire like none he’d ever felt. He’d loved Naomi but she hadn’t stirred this kind of passion in him. Was that another reason he hadn’t wanted to rush into marriage?
Shaking his head, he’d stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel to roughly dry himself off. He didn’t want to be feeling these yearnings toward Frankie, not when he’d come home to set things right with Naomi. He told himself that he would keep her at a distance. But try as he might, he still felt an aching need at even the memory of her in his arms in the back of the patrol SUV.
He’d hung up his wet clothes and pulled on one of the guest robes that his mother supplied to the cabins. He promised himself that he would keep his mind on the investigation. If he was right, then they had rattled Naomi’s killer. They were getting close. Maybe too close, he’d thought as he’d stepped out of the bedroom.
At the sight of Frankie standing there, his bare feet faltered on the wood floor. Her long, dark hair was down, hanging below her shoulders to the tips of her breasts beneath the robe. Her face was flushed, as was her neck and throat. Water droplets still clung to her eyelashes, making her eyes appear even larger, the violet a darker purple.
She looked stunning. When their gazes met, he saw a need in her that matched his own and felt all his resolve to keep her at arm’s length evaporate before his eyes. He closed the distance between them without a word, without a thought. She didn’t move, her gaze locked with his, a vein in her slim neck throbbing as he approached.
He took a lock of her long hair in his fingers. It felt silken even wet. She still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t broken eye contact. His heart pounded as he brushed her hair back on one side before leaning in to kiss that spot on her neck where her blood pulsed. The throbbing beat quickened beneath his lips and it was as if he could feel his own heart drumming wildly to the same beat.
It had been so long since he’d felt like this. As his lips traveled down her neck into the hollow at her shoulder, she leaned back, giving him access. He heard her sharp intake of breath as he stroked her tender flesh with the tip of his tongue. From the hollow at her shoulder, it would have been too easy to dip down to the opening of her robe and swell of her breasts he could see rising and falling with each of her breaths.
He lifted his head again to look into her eyes before he cupped the back of her neck and drew her into a kiss, dragging her body against his. Desire raced along his veins to the riotous pounding of his heart. She looped her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss and pulled her even closer until their bodies were molded together, almost as one. He could feel her breasts straining against the robe. He wanted desperately to lay open her robe and press his skin to hers. He wanted her naked body beneath his more than he wanted his next breath.
Reaching down, he pulled the sash of her robe. It fell away. He untied his own. As their robes opened, he pushed the fabric aside. He heard a gasp escape her lips as their warm, naked bodies came together. He felt her hard nipples press against his chest. Desire shot through him.
The knock at the door startled them both. “Hank? Frankie? I need to talk to you.” Another knock and then the knob turned slowly.
They burst apart, both frantically retying their robes as the marshal stuck his head in the door. “Sorry. I...” He started to close the door.
“It’s all right,” Hank said. His voice sounded hoarse with emotion and need even to his ears. He shot a look at Frankie and saw that she was as shaken as he was. If only he had thought to lock the door. If only his father had picked any time but now to stop by.
And yet, now that he’d cooled down some, he knew it was for the best. He had enough problems without jumping into bed with Frankie—as much as he would have loved to do just that. But life was complicated enough as it was. A part of him was still in love with Naomi. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over her—and he had a feeling that Frankie knew that.
“Did you find out something about the truck that ran us off the road?” Frankie asked, her voice breaking.
They shared a look. Both of them struggling not to laugh at the irony of the situation. He wondered if she felt as disappointed as he did—and maybe just as relieved. Their relationship was complicated enough without this. And, he reminded himself, there was that man who kept calling her, the one Frankie didn’t want to talk to. The one he suspected was her lover, past or present. Whoever the man was, Frankie hadn’t dealt with him, he thought as his father stepped into the cabin, S
tetson in hand and a sheepish, amused and yet curious look on his face.
* * *
HUD LOOKED FROM his son to Frankie. Both were flushed and not just from their showers. He hadn’t known what he was going to say, but after walking in on what he’d just seen, he surprised himself.
“I’ve decided to reopen Naomi’s case,” he said as the two hurriedly moved away from each other like teenagers caught necking on the couch. Dana had thought they weren’t lovers. If he hadn’t come along when he did, they would have been. Maybe his wife was wrong about the two of them. Maybe he was too.
“Why would you reopen the case?” Hank asked as Frankie straightened her robe.
“I’m going to get dressed,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me.” She hurried off toward the bedroom.
“I’m sorry,” Hud said. “Clearly I interrupted something.”
His son waved a hand through the air. “I thought you didn’t believe that Naomi was murdered?”
“I’m still not sure I do. But after what happened today, I want to take another look.”
Hank shook his head, mumbling under his breath as he turned toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get dressed and have a beer. You want one?”
He glanced at his watch. He was off the clock. Normally he would pass because he wasn’t in the habit of drinking before dinner, but today he’d make an exception. “I would love one.” That apparently had taken Hank by surprise, because he felt his son studying him as Hank returned in jeans and a Western shirt with two bottles of beer.
As Hank handed him one and twisted off the top on his own, he said, “Thank Mom for stocking our refrigerator.”
“You know your mother. She wanted you and Frankie to be...comfortable up here.” Earlier, he’d come up to the cabin, planning to bust them, exposing Frankie as a PI and their relationship as a fraud. But seeing them together, he’d changed his mind and was glad of it. He could eat a little crow with his son.
