And Able

by Lucy Monroe

  Hotwire ushered Claire and Queenie out of the funeral home into the warm Oregon sunshine. It was late afternoon, but the long days of summer meant the sun shone hot and bright on them.

  “Excuse me?” A man’s smooth Texas drawl came from behind them. “Aren’t you Queenie Gunther?”

  Queenie stopped and turned. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Your eulogy for my uncle was really moving.”

  Chapter 9

  H otwire and Claire had stopped when Queenie did.

  He now shifted so he could see the speaker. A sandy-haired man with green eyes, in his late twenties to early thirties, stood opposite Queenie. He was dressed in a gray suit, but his black t-shirt and cowboy boots said he was not the typical conservative businessman.

  “Your uncle?” Queenie asked with patent hope.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’re a little young to be Lester’s nephew,” Hotwire inserted, his instincts on instant alert.

  The man shrugged, the gesture confident and easy. “If you want to get technical, I’m his great-nephew. He never had kids, but his sister, my grandmother, had four.”

  “His sister? Is she still alive?” Queenie asked.

  The younger man shook his head. “She died years ago. So did my grandfather and my other great-uncle, Charles, and his wife. The rest of the family is still around, though.”

  “Lester had more family?” This time it was Claire sounding hopeful.

  Lester’s nephew grinned at her, his green eyes a little too interested for Hotwire’s comfort as they assessed Claire. “A passel of us, miss. He was the middle child in a family of five children.”

  Hotwire put his arm around Claire’s waist and felt like smiling when she made no move to pull away.

  “Yet, you’re the only one that came to the funeral?” she asked, her tone asking for an explanation.

  The nephew nodded and frowned. “He wrote the family off decades ago, not long after he returned from the war. No one else had heard a word from him in years.”

  “How did you know about his death?” Hotwire asked.

  “I’ve been keeping tabs on him.”

  “He never said anything about meeting you,” Claire said.

  “We only met a handful of times and just once since he moved into Belmont. Right after he went there to live. I wish now I’d made more effort. He was an interesting man.”

  “Yes, he was,” Queenie said.

  “I get the Senior Gazette y’all put out. After reading the article you did on him, Miz Gunther, I understood Uncle Lester a whole lot better. He had his reasons for staying away. If he was anything like the other men in our family, they had to do with keeping the rest of us safe.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they did,” Queenie affirmed with strong conviction. “This is just amazing. I had no idea Lester had any family left.”

  “I’d like to swap stories with you, ma’am. I could tell you about his family and you could tell me about him. Seems you knew him better than anyone else did.”

  Queenie smiled, her eyes going misty. “Oh, my, yes…except maybe for Claire. She was like a daughter to him.”

  “He was a dear friend,” Claire said.

  The nephew turned to her with an intent look. “I’d be obliged if you would let me take to you to dinner so we could talk about my uncle.”

  “I—”

  Hotwire squeezed her, cutting her off. “Maybe we can arrange something later.”

  The expression in the other man’s eyes said he understood that Hotwire had staked a claim, but the cajoling smile he gave Claire indicated he wasn’t intimidated by it. “I’m only in town for a couple of days. I would really appreciate it if you and Miz Gunther would join me for dinner tonight.”

  This time Hotwire didn’t give either woman a chance to answer. “That won’t be possible. Queenie has other plans and Claire needs to study for her finals.”

  “I can study tomorrow,” Claire disagreed.

  “Surely I could put off—” Queenie started to say, but Hotwire shook his head and let her know with a frown he didn’t want her mentioning her upcoming trip.

  Both women frowned at him, but they didn’t argue further.

  “You can get together with…” He let his voice trail off, waiting for the nephew to identify himself.

  “Oh, excuse me.” The sandy-haired man put his hand out to Queenie. “Ethan Crane.”

  “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Ethan. I feel as if a little part of my Lester has been given back to me.”

  “You do me an honor, ma’am.”

  “Please call me Queenie.”

  Ethan nodded.

  “You sound Texan,” Hotwire said.

  Ethan’s brows rose as if he knew exactly what Hotwire was doing…fishing for information. “My family hails from East Texas.”

  “You live there now?”

  “No. I’m a little like my uncle. I found the bosom of my family stifling. I’ve lived in D.C. for the last few years, but I still go home for holidays.”

  Claire stiffened as if the comment was a slight against Lester, who obviously hadn’t made such a concession. “The war changed your uncle. He never felt having a close family would be a good idea. That’s why he never married.”

  “Considering his career choice, that certainly made sense. He told me he was a salesman when I met him.”

  “Did you believe him?” Hotwire asked.

  “No,” Ethan replied without hesitation, “there was something in his eyes.”

  Something Ethan no doubt recognized from his own background.

  “What branch of the government do you work for?” Hotwire asked casually.

  He found himself on the other end of a meticulous sizing-up. Then Ethan spoke. “Officially? The state department.”

  “And unofficially?”

  “That would be telling.”

  Hotwire nodded. The man might be lying through his teeth about who he worked for, but Ethan Crane was undoubtedly a professional.

  “You’re in town through tomorrow night?” Hotwire asked.

  “Until Friday, actually.”

  “Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll call later to make arrangements for Claire and me to meet with you.”

  “Not Queenie?”

  “She’s got other plans.”

  “That’s no surprise with such a charming lady.”

  Queenie preened under the compliment, but she also looked ready to argue for putting off her trip to Nevada.

  Hotwire frowned. “Your plans are set, Queenie.”

  “But surely with Ethan’s arrival…”

  Claire turned to face Hotwire, her expression set in familiar stubborn lines. “After everything she’s been through, it wouldn’t be right to prevent Queenie from spending time with Lester’s nephew.”

  If the man was the former assassin’s nephew. Hotwire wouldn’t be able to confirm that until he got back to his hotel room and could use both the phone and his computer in privacy.

  “We can discuss this later.” He took both women by the arm again and started tugging them toward the car. “Where are you staying?” he asked Ethan as the other man followed them.

  “At the Phoenix Inn on Highway 26.”

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  When they got back to the hotel room, Hotwire short-circuited any argument by telling the women he would arrange for Queenie to leave Friday instead of that evening.

  The elderly woman seemed to wilt after thanking him, and Claire insisted she lie down for a nap.

  She disappeared into the bedroom with Queenie, but came out, shutting the door behind her, fifteen minutes later. “Thank you for rearranging your plans so Queenie could spend some time with Lester’s nephew. It’s important to her.”

  “I had that figured out,” he said with a smile that faded before his next words came out, “but we need to confirm he is the old man’s nephew before either of you spends any time in his company.”

  “Confirm i
t?” Claire’s doe-brown eyes widened in shock. “But you heard him…his whole family is from Texas.”

  “For all we know, his family is from Texas, but that doesn’t make it Lester’s family, too. Or Lester’s family may very well live there, but Ethan isn’t necessarily the long-lost nephew he claims to be. He gave us enough information that verifying his story shouldn’t be too hard, and having met him, we should be able to make a visual I.D. on Lester’s nephew, if he exists. If he works for the suits in Washington, my contacts with the FBI should be able to confirm that, too.”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Oh. I almost forgot about the investigation. It didn’t occur to me that Ethan could be one of the bad guys.”

  “Maybe he’s not. He’s certainly better at hiding his status than the other MIBs at the memorial service.”

  “MIBs?”

  “The men in black…government agents who like to keep a low profile and do a good job of cleaning up messes other agents or agencies make.”

  “I didn’t see anyone like that.” She sounded affronted—whether it was with herself or the government agents, he couldn’t tell.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to recognize them, but I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t after the years I spent freelancing for the FBI.”

  Claire dropped into the armchair and then pulled her legs up so she could wrap her arms around her knees. She’d changed from the dark clothes she’d worn to the funeral and now wore a brightly colored tank top and shorts.

  The view of her bare legs was damned disturbing. He tried focusing on her face, but her lips looked way too kissable.

  Figuring it didn’t matter which part of her he looked at—he was going to end up horny, anyway—he sat down on the edge of the coffee table facing her. “We didn’t get a chance to talk last night, but we need to.”

  She turned her head sideways and rested her cheek on her knee. “What about?”

  He picked up the remote and turned on the television to mask their voices in case Queenie hadn’t fallen asleep yet. “Josie’s house was searched.”

  “I know that.”

  “Again.”

  “Again? You’ve got to be kidding!” Claire sat straight up, the shock coming off of her in palpable waves. “How could you possibly tell? It was a mess when we left yesterday.”

  “I set some security measures in place when we took off for Belmont Manor yesterday. They got tripped.”

  She leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, but other than those measures, nothing was out of place and I would have noticed, no matter how messy the place was.”

  “You spent a long time in each room. You weren’t just trying to find clues about what he was looking for, were you?”

  “No.”

  “You expected another search.”

  “I thought it was a distinct possibility, yes. The searchers were professional this time.”

  “The men in black?”

  “Probably. Queenie mentioned the kill book in the article and on television. It wouldn’t take much investigation to find out you were the other person who spent the most time with Lester.”

  Claire paled. “This is getting scary.”

  Hotwire shook his head, a smile creasing his mouth. “Scary was finding out some maniac tried to smother you. This is interesting.”

  Claire shut her book and rubbed her eyes. She’d been studying for over two hours while Queenie slept in the other room and Brett had been busy at his computer. He’d brought her books and notes from the house and she actually felt like she might be ready for her first final.

  She stood up and stretched, bones popping and cramped muscles aching with relief. “I really need a run.”

  Brett looked up from his computer screen. “Are you done studying?”

  “For now.”

  “Ethan’s story pans out. I managed to obtain a picture of the nephew and he’s who he says he is.”

  “I’m glad for Queenie’s sake.”

  “I couldn’t get any information on him from my contacts with the FBI, but they could confirm he is employed by the State Department.”

  “Isn’t that odd?”

  “Not if he’s one of the MIB.”

  Shock coursed through her. “Lester’s nephew?”

  “Why not? By his own admission, he hadn’t seen much of his great-uncle. What better cover to come into a situation than as legitimate family?”

  She shivered. “That’s positively Machiavellian.”

  “Not to mention smart.” Brett sounded like he was genuinely impressed.

  “That, too, I guess.”

  “I hit another dead end with the government. My contacts have no idea who wants Lester’s kill book, but they’re keeping their ears to the ground for me.”

  Disappointment settled like a lead weight in her stomach. “I was really hoping we could find something out that way.”

  “I think Ethan is a better bet for that.”

  “You think he’ll tell us what he knows?”

  “Why not? The guy who tried to smother you has an agenda and we don’t know what it is, but from past experience we can guess what the government’s is.”

  “To hush the whole thing up.”

  “In a word, yes. It’s in Ethan’s best interest to solve the mystery of Lester’s death and get the kill book back.”

  “But who took it? Do you think there’s a third party involved?”

  “We can’t rule out the possibility.” He stood and stretched. “I could do with a workout, too. There’s a facility on the first floor, along with a pool and sauna.”

  It sounded like heaven, but she had to clear her suddenly parched throat to talk. Watching Brett’s muscles undulate had to be right up there with seeing the Sistine Chapel in nirvana-like experiences.

  “What about Queenie?”

  “I’ll call my operative in to keep an eye on her.”

  “He’s staying here in the hotel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you introduce us?”

  Brett looked confused. “You wanted to meet the operative?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why would you?”

  “To be friendly?”

  “I don’t want you friendly with my operatives.” He sounded so fierce, she was taken aback. “Collins is here to do a job, not make new friends.”

  “Queenie isn’t going to like that. She lives by the Will Rogers motto…you know, she’s never met a stranger. She’ll be hurt if he’s cold with her.”

  Brett let out what sounded like an exasperated breath. “He won’t be cold.”

  “So, it’s okay for Queenie to be his friend, but not me?” This conversation was getting very strange.

  “Yes.”

  “Why not me?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because you are my friend.”

  “So is Josette, but you don’t seem to have a problem with her having other friends.”

  “That’s different.” In all the time she’d known Brett, she’d never seen him look uncomfortable with a conversation or situation, but he looked it now.

  In fact, his expression had a lot in common with how she pictured a man being tortured with thumb screws would look.

  “How is it different?”

  “I don’t want Josie, but I want you.”

  “What’s that got to do with me being friends with this Collins person?”

  “He’s a man.”

  “So was Lester.”

  “Collins is young. His face doesn’t break mirrors and he’s got a reputation with women.” He said the last like it was the coup de grace in his argument.

  “So do you,” she reminded him, humor filling her as she got the picture.

  He was feeling territorial. It was the male instinct at work and didn’t mean that Brett felt anything special for her, but like he said…he wanted her. The male of the species thought that gave them some level of possession; no doubt
his was abetted by the fact that she wanted him, too, and that he’d brought her the ultimate pleasure.

  Never mind the fact that he was anti-commitment and she didn’t want to want him.

  One second he was talking to her from the other side of the room and the next he was inches from her, his powerful body vibrating with primal tension. “You’re mine, Claire.”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  His hands cupped her face and his gaze trapped hers, his so intense, she could barely breathe. “Yes. You are.”

  “Wanting me doesn’t mean you own me,” she said very carefully as she stepped away from that warm and insidiously seductive touch.

  Brett sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I don’t want to own you.”

  “Then I can’t be yours.”

  “Yes, you can. Oh, hell…pardon me for cursing…I don’t really want to stop you making friends with other men, but the way I feel around you is primitive.”

  “That bothers you?”

  “Yes. It shouldn’t matter to me if you meet Collins.”

  “But it does.”

  “Yes. This thing between us doesn’t have room for other people to get in the way.”

  “There is no thing between us.”

  He shook his head. “You’re lying to yourself if you believe that. We started something the night before last and it won’t go away or give either of us rest until we finish it.”

  “Sex is not that consuming.”

  His mouth quirked below his knowing blue gaze. “Tell me that after we make love the first time.”

  “We’re veering from the subject.”

  “Which is?”

  “Me being friends with anyone I want to.”

  “If you want to meet Collins, I’ll introduce you, okay?”

  “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “I’m fine.” But his glare belied his words. “I’m not a possessive man.”

  “Um…define possessive.”

  He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “This is crazy. Why are we arguing? You aren’t going to want Collins. You want me and you’re not the kind of woman to play with two men at once.”

  “I don’t want to play with anyone.”

  “Not true. You want to play with me.”