Dangerous Waters

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Her attention jerked to what Vel was saying.

  "Sean doesn't believe it was an accident."

  Neither did Chris, but he couldn't say.

  "I'll find out what happened, Vel. I promise."

  She reached out and patted his hand. "I know you will." Then she came to her feet, cocking her hip and planting her hand there before leaning down. Victoria's gaze flickered to

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  their surroundings, then between the two as Vel whispered, "There ain't a thing that moves in this town that I don't now about or find out sooner or later, Marshal."

  She was offering her service and Chris shook his head. "Too dangerous."

  "I like livin' on the edge, honey." Her gaze slipped over his broad shoulders and wide chest and she sighed regretfully. "My offer still holds."

  His eyes danced with amusement. "Go make some lonely cowboy happy."

  She grinned, turning her gaze to Jake. "When you're lonely, Jake honey," she said on wink, then slipped away, and Victoria watched as she paused at a table full of miners and saying something that made them burst with laughter.

  Chris rested his forearms on the green table cloth. "It's good you can't see a blush beneath all that stuff," he said softly, fighting a smile.

  "You knew she was playing with me under the table?"

  He laughed shortly, and she liked the sound of it. "You're lucky she didn't grab your—" he stopped himself but she finished.

  "—crotch?"

  His lips twitched maddeningly.

  "Got socks in there."

  "Jesus."

  Victoria shrugged. "She's not the first woman to try to cop a feel when I've been like this."

  So she does it often, he thought. "How did you get your hands to look like that?'' She'd been eating through his conver­sation with Vel, and if anyone watched close enough they could tell her movements were feminine. But her hands were bony, heavy knuckled and bigger.' 'They're like gloves,'' he realized.

  Victoria took a last bite, wiped her mouth, careful not to tug the latex into ripping and sat back. "Yes." He'd quizzed her for an hour before Velvet showed, and Victoria was fast running out of evasions. She didn't think he believed a single one, anyway.

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  "You get them hot, real hot, and slide them on. They cool, they shrink." He gazed at her hands and she tucked them under the table. His eyes shot to hers, narrowing and she felt suddenly on edge.

  "What happened to Kelly Galloway?"

  His look was closed and it rankled her.

  "You accused me of killing her—"

  "I accused Vic Mason, a very suspicious man who answered the description," he justified.

  "I'm not going to get into false arrest discussion with you, but what's so odd about this murder that you won't let the townspeople in on it?"

  He took up his utensils and attacked his steak. "You ask a lot of questions for someone who won't answer any."

  "Think of me as an uninvolved point of view. I don't know anyone or the situation."

  "Why should I confide in you?" he said, then took a bite of meat.

  Her smile was benign. "No reason whatsoever."

  His gaze lifted, searching the ice-blue eyes for the incredible gold hidden beneath as he chewed and swallowed. "Why are you interested?"

  "I'm not."

  "Liar."

  "Killjoy."

  He leaned across the table. "Woman."

  He gave her a look that spoke volumes, tons, that he knew what was beneath the mask and he wasn't having trouble remembering.

  Under the table, she kicked him. f

  He grunted, yet his expression remained unchanged but for

  a painful flicker in his eyes and the tightening of his grip on

  the fork and knife.

  "A man doesn't look at another man that way, Marshal. You get my drift?"

  "Shit." His features stretched tight and he focused on his meal, covertly glancing around. No one had noticed and Victo-

  ria was amazed and a little flattered that he chose to see the woman and not the young man everyone else did.

  "Okay, how 'bout a trade? Vital statistics, for the scene of the crime info."

  Damn. She was back to the Galloway killing. "How vital?"

  "If you get too personal, I'll tell you."

  He eyed her for a moment then said, "Are you married?"

  "No." Her gaze wavered unexpectedly.

  "Were you ever?"

  Briefly she toyed with the handle of her coffee cup before answering. "Yes. He was killed before he could divorce me."

  His brow flicked upward and he stared intently. She blames herself, he thought sadly.

  She didn't care for his pitying look and suddenly straightened in her chair, pushing the plate aside and leaning forward, hands folded. "Let me save you the trouble. I'm twenty-eight, five foot nine, one hundred forty-five pounds on a good day. When I can, I run two miles just for the hell of it. My best friend was a man, now dead. I had a daughter, also dead. I consider cooking torture, sewing something someone else does so I can buy it, and right now I'd kill for a cigarette."

  Chris gazed across the table. Even within the gravelly voice of Jake he heard bitterness—and anger. For the deaths of every­one she loved or her vulnerability because of it, he didn't know. But he wanted to find out, wanted to seek what made such a sharp, intelligent and undeniably beautiful woman so rough and secretive. Slowly, he set his fork down before reaching into his shirt pocket to bring out papers and a small half empty sack. Swiftly, he rolled her a cigarette and handed it across the table. She stared at the crimped white cylinder and he could see the moisture collecting in her eyes. She sighed, looking fragile even beneath the padding as she took the smoke, lighting it off-(he small lamp resting between them.

  She drew lightly on the filterless cigarette, avoiding his prob­ing gaze.

  Chris picked up his fork and focused on his dinner, then set it .aside, deciding his appetite was gone. Signaling a waitress,

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  the service was cleared, her coffee refilled, and a beer set before Chris.

  He made designs in the mug's perspiration.

  ' 'Kelly Galloway is—was—a rancher's wife, young, pretty, very kind and generous. Sean owns a small spread about ten miles east. He came from a good family, ranchers, but he wanted to mine silver. He struck a vein, bought the ranch and sent for Kelly. They had it good, but Sean didn't want to mine the Dublin's Heart anymore, said it made him crazy to live in the dark. He took what the mine gave him and didn't go any deeper." She frowned, confused. "With miners, they play out a strike until it's gone. All gone. Sean just sealed his up, but he wouldn't sell it either."

  She paused in bringing the smoke to her lips. "Who'd he piss off?"

  It was his turn to look confused for an instant. "Miners, the Flat Pick Mining Company. They want the Dublin, but to work it they needed the land surrounding it, too."

  "And Sean wasn't going to sell his what? Prime grazing land?"

  Chris nodded, taking a sip of his beer. "He built the ranch around the mine, or rather, below it.''

  "And they'd have to level the ranch to do anything." He nodded, agreeing. "You think someone from the Flat Pick killed her?"

  "Too obvious." He shook his head, the lamp light shim­mering over his coal black hair, and she wanted to touch it.

  "How did she die?" Victoria took a drag, afraid to hear it.

  "Trampled by half their cattle, a hundred yards from her house."

  She blew out a straight stream, relieved. It wasn't Ivy League, unless he suddenly changed his M.O. "Were there any other wounds? Any signs of rape? Did you take bl—" She clamped her lips shut. He couldn't take blood samples or anything else that needed a lab to define.

  "There wasn't much of her left, Jake."


  She didn't miss a beat. "What was she doing outside?" .

  "Sean thinks she heard something."

  "Where was he?"

  "Asleep."

  "And he didn't hear what she might have heard? She didn't wake him?"

  "No. He said he heard her get up and leave the house and thought it was to relieve herself."

  "Isn't that what chamber pots are for?" Just the thought of those things disgusted her. Yet she could see she had him thinking, she decided, tossing the cigarette over the veranda into the street. "Let's say she was using the facilities, how far is it from the house in respect to the barn?"

  "About twenty yards both ways—what are you getting at?"

  "Noise. Tramping cattle make noise, a dying woman makes

  noise."

  "Yes, and the bray of cattle is nothing new to men like

  Sean."

  "Humor me a sec," she said, briefly putting up her hand. "What good would it do to kill her? Who'd profit? She didn't own the land. He did. Killing her wasn't going to get Sean to sell. If anything, he'd hold tighter. So, unless the mining com­pany is run by incredibly stupid men, rule them out for now. Was she faithful to her husband?"

  "As far as I know."

  "Did you ask if they were having problems?"

  He scowled. "That's personal."

  "So is murder," she hissed sharply, hating to think how many murders went unsolved because police didn't want to delve beyond some Victorian code of propriety. "Perhaps they'd had a fight and she went out to cool off and he saw an opportunity to end it all?"

  "She loved him, Jake," he gritted through clenched teeth. "I've seen them together."

  She scoffed. "Anybody can fake affection." Victoria thought of her husband and the look on his face every time she came home from a hunt.

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  "You heard Velvet. He was at the Pearl looking for a fight. Does that sound like the man you're painting?"

  "Maybe he regrets it now?" She shrugged. "I don't know. But a happy woman doesn't go out in the middle of the night, in the middle of a ranch and get trampled by steers who are supposed to be peacefully grazing."

  "Wolves spooked them." His voice was clipped. "Sean said he heard the howl."

  She wasn't buying that. "If he heard, why didn't he get up to protect his beloved and his precious ranch. Perhaps she was meeting someone? Perhaps she was trying to save her livelihood without bloodshed? Had there been any threats to the Gallo­ways?"

  "No, just insistent pressure to sell."

  Her brow arched at that.

  "More money than the place was worth." Perhaps someone knew something about the mine that he didn't, Chris reasoned, admitting she had several valid points. She was far too insightful about all this, for a bystander and a woman, and it chiseled at his pride.

  "But those are the only threats you knew about." "Yes, dammit."

  Her forehead knitted. "Don't you want to find the truth?" "Of course I do!" he hissed, his eyes, black and hard as wet pebbles, pinned her to the seat.

  "You just don't want me approaching your territory, huh?" "You don't have the authority. And I'll tell you, Sean and Kelly were happy, about to have their first child." Beneath the mask Victoria felt the color drain from her face. "Sean is rich enough, probably better than most around here. Maybe someone thinks he can get rich off the GalloVay mine,'' he said, his temper rising, his voice harsh. "1 don't know, it isn't a closed case, but I'll be—"

  "Be damned if you'll let a woman help you?" He opened

  his mouth and she snapped, "Don't bother. I get the message."

  She showed no outward signs of anger, slumping in the chair

  and drinking coffee as if waiting for the sun to rise. But Chris

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  could feel it, a tight coil of every muscle in her body as if she were naked and not padded down like a mattress.

  She met his gaze and quirked her lips wryly and Chris experi­enced a wave of resentment he couldn' t charter away to reason. God, he was beginning to really loathe that disguise and wished she'd trust him. But before Vel showed, he hadn't been able to get a morsel out of her.

  And after the conversation they'd just had, he didn't like what he was thinking. That maybe she was right? a voice pestered. That maybe she's better at this than you. The emascu­lating thought had his mind shifting on a another path and he considered she might work for Pinkerton, or the government.

  Victoria glanced to the side, then returned her gaze to the horse walking down the street, leads dragging. Caesar. He paused, raised his head, obviously sensing Chris, then turned toward the veranda. For a moment Caesar stared, black eyes unblinking, then he snorted, nodding his head and nudging Chris's shoulder.

  "No. It's mine."

  Victoria looked to Chris. His expression benign, he ignored the horse.

  The stallion nudged him again, so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

  "Dammit, Caesar." Resolutely, Chris slid his beer across the table, within Caesar's reach and Victoria watched in amaze­ment as the animal opened his mouth wide around the mug, tipped his head back and drained the beer.

  "Don't toss it!" Chris snatched the glass, plunking it down on the table. "Had enough?"

  The horse burped loudly and Victoria laughed. Chris's gaze jerked to her, a flush creeping up his neck. But her laugh was a woman's laugh and dammit, he wanted to see that female.

  Suddenly he stood, and she looked up as he tossed a few coins on the table.

  "What's the matter now?"

  "Be ready at sunrise. I'll.take you to the Galloway place and we'll test your theory."

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  Chapter Nine

  It sounded like a threat, a challenge. "I'm not saying I'm right, Marshal, only that there are other possibilities."

  "Oh, I'm open to possibilities, Jake, just not all of yours." He strode away and she watched his long legs eat up the floor.

  "That was damn sexist," she said, stunned that he would say it. She looked at Caesar, his head hanging over the low porch wall and caught his bridle, bringing the smooth black face up to meet hers. "Didn't that sound like a sexist remark to you?"

  Caesar snorted. "Yeah, I thought so."

  Nothing, absolutely nothing, got her ire up than to be treated as if she didn't have a few brain cells to rub together.

  Christopher cut through the kitchen, not giving the startled employees a glance and headed straight for the back door. He stepped into the alley and drew a deep breath. The woman was going to drive him stark raving mad. He couldn't imagine trying to explain his feelings to her or himself. How could he gaze into those pale blue eyes knowing they were some fake glass over her own and still get aroused? She looked like a man, for Christ sake!

  But he could feel her, the woman beneath, the strength and confidence. And though he couldn't pinpoint it, it was all he could imagine when he was near her—the woman from the forest—the wild mountain cat with a strange gun and a fleeting moment of vulnerability. He wanted desperately to catch her alone, without the disguise.

  A sound drew his attention and he looked down the alley toward the street. Caesar stood in the entrance, his big body blocking the lamp light. The horse snorted, jerking his head.

  "Yeah, I'm coming," Chris mumbled and strode to his ani­mal. He didn't mount up, walking the two blocks back to his office to check in with Noble.

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  "Keep an eye on the Pearl. Sean's been there the past three nights, so it wouldn't surprise me if he is again."

  Noble frowned over the edge of his newspaper. ' 'Dinner that bad?"

  Chris stilled in thumbing through the mail, not looking up. "No, it was fine."

  "Jake seems like a nice kid." "He is."

  "Mebee we ought to take him on as a deputy?" Only Chris's eyes shifted up. "No."

  "Why not? It ain't like we couldn't use another—" "Not that one."
r />   "Somethin* about him bothering you?" Yes, he thought, Jake's a woman with warm skin he wanted to taste and a lower lips so full and lush he could nibble on it all night. "I'll figure it out," he said cryptically and Noble smirked, shaking out his paper and focusing on the print. "See you got a letter from Camille." "You're a nosy son of a bitch."

  "Yeah, and if I could spend ugly, I'd be a rich man, too." Chris blinked, then chuckled shortly, shaking his head as he crossed to the pot bellied stove and flicked open the tiny door. He turned the envelope over in his hands. "Ain't cha gonna read it?"

  He responded by tossing the perfumed letter into the embers, then propped his rear against the edge of the desk, watching it catch and flare. The frying paper reminded him he shouldn't try to understand women nor trust them. Camille was proof that they said one thing and meant another. Except Victoria— she'd warned him to stay away, flat out told him to lose interest and get lost or he could get her killed. The latter was an exaggeration, he decided. But he ought to listen to the voice of reason. God knows he'd been burned enough already.

  But she'd risked her life for a troubled boy she'd never met, had a husband and a child once, ticking off their deaths like a grocery list, but the quiver in her gruff voice made him believe she wasn't as tough as she claimed. Was she looking for their

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  killers? Was that what drove her to such extreme measures? Hell, half the time he didn't know whether he was talking to a man or woman. Her viewpoints were far too objective for anyone with an ounce of emotion under that strange skin—not that he could see any of it well enough to gage.