Bob Culpepper slumped against the tall back of a tan leather chair. “When it comes to real estate owned by the Fed, anything they want to do is possible. They make all kinds of trades as long as they’re on the winning end. It’s an even hundred-twenty-acre swap. I’m under the impression it hasn’t been made public. How did you find out?”
“One of Miller’s employees. So what happens now?”
“Alex is screwed.”
Just what Doug suspected.
“It’s a disappointment,” the lawyer went on, “but we’re dealing with it. Say, I just learned we have another friend in common.”
“We do?”
“Ralph Cumley. He tells me he knows you from years back.”
“I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen Ralph in years. Since I worked narcotics and he headed up an anti-drug committee.”
“My wife and I are having a little benefit on his behalf later this afternoon. Re-election time. You might like to drop in and say hello—”
“May I interrupt?” A female face poked through the doorway. A slender, blonde entered the office. “Edith told me I’d find an attractive single man in here.”
Chuckling, Culpepper drew her to his side. “Doug, this is my wife, Angela. Something tells me you’re about to be tagged for cocktails with the Senator.”
“Jacket and tie,” Angela said, giving him a head-to-toe.
Looking down at his khakis and knit polo and slip-on shoes, Doug laughed. “Afraid I’m out of luck.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders and turned him. “Hmm, I think one of Bob’s jackets would be too small.” She started for the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Culpepper smiled and watched her disappear through the doorway. “Once my wife’s mind is made up, it’s hard to stop her.”
Mrs. Culpepper hustled back into the room waving a business card, which she thrust into Doug’s hand. “Here’s an address. Bob’s assistant is arranging for you to pick up a jacket and tie. Oh, and a shirt if you need one.”
“Hey, really, I appreciate it, but even if I get dressed up, I still can’t make it. As much as I'd like to see Ralph, I don’t have wheels. I rode down here with a friend from Callister who’s going back right away.”
“Oh, that’s no problem. We have another guest from Callister who’s going back tomorrow. I’m sure you can get a ride. I’ll arrange it and introduce you at cocktails. We’re gathering in a banquet room at the Evergreen Inn. Just get a room upstairs and sleep over.” She placed a slender hand on Bob’s forearm. “Honey, let Doug borrow your car to go pick up a jacket.”
Culpepper dug into his pants pocket and pulled out keys.
Before Doug could protest, the keys were in his hand. Angela urged him out the door, telling him where he would find Culpepper’s Mercedes. He left the law firm suspecting—no, knowing—Alex was the Callister resident who would be present at the political event and the person who would be driving him home. Maybe.
The opportunity for spending time with her in the close quarters of an automobile pleased him even more than renewing acquaintances with Senator Cumley. When he met Ted in front of the building, he told him he was going to hang out overnight for a fundraiser for an old friend and that he had a ride home.
He found Culpepper's car parked in a covered garage below street level. Once he had picked up the clothing, he rented a room at the Evergreen Inn. He scarcely had time to shower, shave and dress before he was due to put in an appearance at the party upstairs.
****
Alex hated cocktail parties. She was bored half an hour after she arrived. She hated the dress she had on. She had bought it to wear to something in L.A. There, it was typical attire. In Boise, it was a costume. Even the music irritated—bad pop plinking from a grand piano in the far corner of the meeting room, made worse by the hollow echo of poor acoustics.
She failed to spot the reason for her attendance at this shindig. She hadn’t met Hayes Winfield, but had seen his pictures many times. She scanned the crowd of a hundred or so for a mane of white hair and there, across the room, she saw...My God, Doug Hawkins.
She felt a dull thud in her stomach and swore under her breath.
When Angela had told her someone needed a ride back to Callister, she had assumed her passenger would be someone from the Forest Service. Now she knew. Doug Hawkins was the passenger whom she had agreed to shuttle. They had parted on good terms a few days earlier. She didn’t relish having him learn what she was up to tonight.
The ruggedness synonymous with his jeans and knit shirts was just as evident in dress clothing. His shoulders seemed even broader in a structured jacket and his loose fitting khakis hid what tight fitting jeans didn’t. Scolding herself for her naughty thoughts, she found an inconspicuous corner and turned her back so he wouldn’t spot her.
Before long, Angela found her, dragging Doug with her. “Alex, this is the gentleman without transportation I spoke of earlier. Doug Hawkins.” Angela clung to Doug’s arm and looked up at him with fluttering lashes. “This is Alex McGregor. She’s being kind enough to let you ride back to Callister with her.”
Alex forced a smile. “We’ve, er, met.”
“Oh. Well, that’s wonderful.” Angela gushed and fluttered more. “You won’t have to waste time getting acquainted.”
Alex shot her a flat look, then swerved her attention to Doug. “Uh, where are you staying, er...Mr. Hawkins?”
Doug’s eyes drilled her. “I’m in this hotel.”
“Good. That’s good. I’ll be leaving at eight—promptly at eight. I’ll meet you in front of the elevators. I have an appointment and I do not want to be late.”
He grinned, his even white teeth contrasting against his tanned face. “Ma’am, I’m at your mercy. All I ask is that you don't hurt me.”
He was smirking. He was laughing at her, laughing at her discomfort while his eyes undressed her.
A young woman wearing a tiny dress—maybe she was fourteen—appeared and placed a dainty hand with multi-ringed fingers on Doug’s forearm. “There you are. I’ve been wondering where you disappeared to.”
Doug’s silvery gaze focused on Alex as he covered the young woman’s hand with his. Well, on closer examination, she might be fifteen. Alex gave him a wry smile. He winked, then traipsed off with the sixteen-year-old.
Angela made a little gasp of delight. “What was that all about? Was he flirting with you?”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Where is Hayes Winfield, Angela?”
“I saw him come in a few minutes ago. His wife wasn’t with him, which is a little upsetting. Without her here to ride herd on him, nothing in skirts is safe from the old lecher.”
“I want to make an appointment with him for tomorrow morning. Let’s go find him.”
“You mean you don’t have an appointment already? But you just told Doug—”
“Just because I don’t have one now doesn’t mean I won’t by the time this soiree is over.”
Angela’s expression contorted into one of worry.
“Don’t worry, Angela,” Alex assured her. “Mr. Hawkins will get home.”
Angela’s brow arched. “I envy you. I’d like to take him home myself.”
“He’s spoken for,” Alex shocked herself by saying.
Chapter 24
Doug watched as Alex and Angela Culpepper approached a knot of laughing guests across the room. He had seen Alex dressed mostly in casual clothes and a business suit once, but never like she was tonight. Except for her arms and shoulders and a hemline extending no more than a few inches below immodesty, black slinky knit fabric smoothed over her body like Saran Wrap. Nothing, yet everything, was left to his imagination. Even the throat-high neckline was a tease because when she turned her back, she was bare to the waist. The substantial amount of visible skin was luminous, the color of honey. He saw no sign of a tan line anywhere.
Ted’s words from yesterday zoomed into his mind as Doug drank in her utter femaleness. It was like a living thing, e
lemental and dangerous. It sent erotic thoughts slinking straight to his groin. He tried to avert his eyes, but they defied his will and moved to her long legs covered by black sheer stockings stretching down to black spiky heels.
In the group and giving her his undivided attention was a short, but solidly built middle-aged man with a florid complexion, its color intensified by over-styled white hair. He held a drink and a large cigar in the same hand.
When Alex moved, the old guy’s eyes shifted between her breasts and the hem of her dress. His right hand, in a way meant to seem casual, moved to rest on her hip. She made no attempt to move his hand, nor did she seem put off by where it was. The hand remained on her hip until someone else joined the group and required the man’s handshake.
Anger spiked within Doug. What was she doing here dressed like an expensive hooker, with an diamond-covered old fart rubbing her ass and drooling over her tits? She shouldn't be throwing herself at somebody like she was doing. He wanted to grab her by the arm, yank her out of the room and tell her to go home and put on some clothes. He had seen nightgowns less revealing.
After a while, she left the white-haired man’s group, wandered through the room as if she were lost and stopped at the windows that looked out over Boise. The close environment made their crossing paths again inevitable. He picked up two glasses of champagne from the bar and moved to where she stood with her back to him. He touched her bare back with his forefinger. “Do you dare?”
She quickly turned and caught her breath, her hand splayed over her chest as if she was startled. In high heel, she almost looked him eye-to-eye. The diamond earrings he had seen her wear before glinted from her ear lobes. Her make-up didn’t quite hide the fading tan and yellow bruise beneath her eye, but guests probably wouldn’t notice, much less wonder about it. But then, who would look at her eye when so much of the rest of her could be seen?
Trying to hold her gaze, he offered her one of the flutes of champagne. She lowered her eyes, hesitated a few seconds, then lifted her chin and took the champagne.
He looked up and down her willowy form. “That’s quite a number you’re wearing.”
A wary look cut from the corner of her eye.
He leered down at her hem. “Gives a whole new meaning to the, uh, little...black dress.” Even to his own ears, his voice had an edge he couldn’t seem to control. “I’d ask you if you’re packing heat, but I can see there’s no place to hide something as bulky as a .357.”
She gave him a level look. “What are you doing here anyway?”
He stuffed a hand into his pocket. “The Senator and I go way back. And I'm the token charming single guy. No cocktail party is successful without at least one.”
She laughed and pushed back a sheaf of shimmering, golden hair. Her arm crossed her midriff, making a rest for her elbow as she held her champagne glass. A flirty gesture if he had ever seen one.
“Then why are you wasting your time on me?” she asked. “You should be charming someone who appreciates it.”
He arched a brow. “I believe I am, dumplin’.”
She, too, arched a brow. “Dumpling?”
“And what are you doing here? Besides turning on horny old rich guys?”
A smile almost broke across her face, but she caught herself before it happened. “This is business.”
“Now there’s an interesting proposition. No pun intended. The last time I saw somebody doing business in a dress like yours, it was on a street corner in Hollywood.”
“Humph. I assure you no Hollywood streetwalker could afford this dress. Just leave me alone. I’m working. Something important is at stake.”
“Other than taxpayers’ pocketbooks, what could possibly be at stake at a function like this?”
“A nice commission.” Then she added a serious afterthought. “And a beautiful old apple orchard on a hillside. It’ll soon be replaced by a sub-division of second-rate houses marketed as affordable homes. The American Dream.”
“You’re confusing me, which is nothing new. Are you fer it or agin it?”
“In principle, I’m against turning agricultural lands into sub-divisions, but that’s beside the point. Principle has never paid a single bill for me. I intend to sell it to Hayes Winfield and be paid well for doing it.”
He couldn’t keep from chuckling. “Miss Pragmatic. By all means, don’t let lofty ideals get in the way of fast money.”
“One thing I never do is let reality get cluttered by immaterial idealism. If my refusing to sell it would change anything, I’d refuse. But if I don’t sell it, someone else will.”
She looked at him with her usual penetrating gaze that had already frozen him several times. “I don’t know how much you know about being a real estate broker, but it probably has something in common with being a cop.”
Intrigued by the riddle in the remark, he withheld a caustic comeback. “In what way?”
“After you do it for while, there are no more lofty ideals. And there isn’t much faith left in human nature either. The difference is I deal in greed instead of crime.”
“Well dumplin’, I’ve got news. Most of the time, it’s not easy to separate the two.”
“Probably true.” She turned her attention back to the room and looked out over the guests.
“At least your black eye’s almost unnoticeable now,” he said. “I suspect you can get by without explaining it to these politicians’ wives. I doubt if they’d understand how a sweet thing like you got involved in a gunfight in a saloon.”
“Oh, please. I don’t waste my time trying to explain anything to politicians’ wives. Or politicians either.”
With a hawk’s eye, she watched a group across the room and the same white-haired guest Doug had seen her with earlier. He could almost see a calculator working behind her eyes. “The red-faced old bastard who had his hand on your ass, is that Hayes Winfield?”
“Where he had his hand is none of your business.”
“Does he know he’s in your crosshairs? And why him?”
“He’s a developer with cash. And lots of it.”
The green-eyed monster’s sizz elevated to a roar in Doug’s ear. He riveted his eyes to hers. “That dress ought to distract him enough to sell him the Brooklyn Bridge.”
She gasped. “Why do you do this to me? Do I treat you with disrespect? What am I going to have to do to get this nonsense to stop?”
“I’ve told you what’ll take for me to be a good boy. What was it you called it that day in your driveway? ‘An indiscriminate roll in the hay?’ I’m guessing one session in bed with you would turn me into a regular lap dog.”
Her jaw clenched tight. “If I thought it would make you leave me alone, I just might do it.”
She started to step away, but he grasped her arm, bringing her up short and turning her back to face him. He pulled her close, close enough to feel her heat, drink in her scent, see the tiny twitch of her rigid jaw. He leaned forward and brushed her ear with his lips. “Don’t tell me you haven't been thinking about it.”
Her head jerked up. Daggers flew from her eyes. “If this is your idea of seduction, I can tell you it has failed miserably.”
He held her gaze, determined to show her he was the stronger one. Finally, he felt rather than saw her relent and relaxed his hold on her arm. On a soft laugh, he said, “I wonder if Winfield can tell what he’s in for. You’d better be careful. You’ll give that old man a heart attack.”
“It’s called salesmanship. Bear in mind, there are all kinds of marketing. And I’m a pro.”
She turned and sashayed across the room in her loose-hipped gait. And all he could do was wonder just what was she wearing, or not wearing, under that dress.
****
Well before midnight, the party began to wind down. The guests straggled away. Some, including Alex’s only reason for being present, were a little drunk. A few, more than a little. Alex found an out-of-the-way spot near the entryway, poised for the opportunity to say goodnight and
escape. She had been eager to leave from the moment she made contact with her target and secured the appointment with him.
As she leaned against the wall, watching the shrinking crowd, she spotted Doug across the room talking to the guest of honor, Senator Cumley. His hair appeared to be darker in the room’s dim light. It looked messy and sexy, as it always did. Why couldn’t he be ugly?
She hadn’t been able to keep from watching the good-looking fool. Young women had hung around him all evening, appearing to be enchanted by his every word. More mature women had fawned over him, too. She had seen at least two business cards transfer from manicured female fingers to his jacket pocket.
Well, why did she care? She had already determined she had made a mistake letting down her guard last Thursday.
He turned away from the senator and headed her way. He walked with a swagger, his hands shoved into his pants pockets, pushing back his coattails, glaringly comfortable with who he was. She could feel his eyes touching her everywhere, making her uneasy, and she crossed her arms over her breasts.
He joined her against the wall, placing his shoulder against hers. She knew she should move away, but she couldn’t make herself.
“You look ready to call it a night and escape.”
“Understatement.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to kiss and make up.”
Hah! She smiled. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“I was afraid of that. I suppose that means I’ll have to catch another ride back to Callister.”
“That’s close to impossible since there’s no public transportation from here to there. It isn’t necessary anyway. I’m one of the good guys. I wouldn’t leave a flea-bitten dog stranded.”
He nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“We don’t have to talk to ride down the road together.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t make any difference if I said I was out of line earlier. With my smart-aleck remarks, I mean.”
“Yes, you were. Why would you be so obnoxious?”
His head turned her way and he looked into her face. “Aw, hell, Alex.” He blew out a breath, pushed away from the wall and braced his hand beside her head. “I might as well just say it. I think I’m in pretty deep here. I’m not handling it very well. Go somewhere with me. Supper. A drink. Away from here. I’ll be a gentleman. I do know how.”
The Love of a Stranger Page 26
