Melba opened the door immediately. Her face was pinched and tight, and beneath her usual frown he saw real fear.
"Are you all right, Melba?" he asked.
She nodded once, her lips a tight line. "She's in the parlor." She jerked her head toward the left. "She didn't want to call you. Said it wasn't any big deal." Her lips thinned even more. "Someone comes into my house, leaves ugly messages on my boarders' mirrors, it's a big deal."
"Why don't you make yourself and Carly a cup of tea?" he said, steering the older woman toward the parlor. "It sounds like you could both use something hot and sweet."
Melba considered for a moment, then nodded. "I think I will." Devlin watched her disappear into the kitchen, then he walked into the parlor. Carly sat huddled in a high-backed wing chair, her green eyes huge and dark in her pale face. When she saw him, she sat up straight and tried to smile.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. He heard the false note of brightness in her voice.
"What do you think I'm doing here?" He couldn't keep the roughness out of his voice. "Ben called me and told me about your 'incident.' Why the hell didn't you call me yourself?"
Her chin tilted. "I didn't think it was necessary to call anyone. Mrs. Corboy is the one who called Ben. And I think it would have been a bit presumptuous to call you at your home. Isn't Ben capable of handling a bit of graffiti?"
"It's more than a bit of graffiti, and you know it. Someone threatened you."
"There was no threat." A flash of contrariness reappeared in her eyes, and he relaxed just a bit. "Someone merely wanted to tell me what to do."
"I guess they don't know you very well if they thought you would listen," he muttered. He was delighted to see the ghost of a grin flash across her face.
She watched him steadily, and he saw more color come into her face. "This isn't the first time someone has tried to stop me when I've been working on a story, and I'm sure it won't be the last." She looked out the darkened window, and some of the animation disappeared from her face. "It's just the first time it's happened in a small town like this." She looked back at him, and he thought he saw sadness in her eyes.
"When I got here, Mrs. Corboy was gone, but the door was unlocked. Right before I walked into my room and found the message, I'd been thinking about how nice it was that Mrs. Corboy didn't have to worry about leaving her house and not locking the door." She gave a short, humorless laugh. "On the way home from dinner, I was comparing Cameron with New York. I never would have considered walking home alone on a deserted street in New York. I guess I'll have to think twice about it here in Cameron, now, too."
"Cameron is a safe town," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. It was either do that or give into the need to wrap his arms around her, to hold her and comfort her until that lost look disappeared from her eyes. "You don't have to worry about walking down the street alone. I'll find out who left this message, believe me."
"It doesn't matter who left the message." She stood up, and her movements were jerky. What's significant is that someone thought it needed to be given at all. I've only been here three days, and the only person who's objected to my presence is you. Are you sure someone in the sheriff's department didn't get a little overzealous?"
He was astounded. "You think that me or one of my deputies broke into your room and left you that message?"
"Who else could it be?" She turned to face him, meeting his eyes steadily. "I don't think it was you, personally, but who else has said they wanted me gone? No one. Not one other person has objected to what I'm doing in Cameron."
"You can't be serious." He wasn't sure whether to laugh or get angry.
She shrugged. "What would you think?"
"I'd think there was someone in town who had a problem with the questions you've been asking."
This time she moved closer as her eyes flashed green sparks. "The only questions I've been asking in town are about an incident that involved your family."
A sick feeling began to gather in his stomach. A guilt that he thought he'd dealt with years ago swept over him again. "Carly, that was twenty years ago. I was twelve years old at the time. You can't believe that I had anything to do with the murder of that boy."
"No, I don't think that." Her voice was suddenly exhausted as she stared out the window again. "But his body was found on your ranch. Your family is involved." She turned to face him again. "And I know how you feel about your family. You were very clear on that yesterday."
"I'm a law enforcement officer," he said, and his voice was clipped. "I've sworn to uphold the law, and I take my oaths seriously. You're mistaken."
"I hope so."
He took off his hat and tossed it onto a chair. "Hell, Carly, can you look me in the eye and say that you think I was responsible for leaving you an anonymous message?"
She didn't want to meet his eyes. It was written in the tense line of her body, in the tilt of her chin that was just a little too defiant. When she did, the green fire of her eyes blazed for a moment, then dimmed. Finally she sighed. "No, Devlin, I don't think it was you. But I don't think it's altogether absurd that one of your deputies thought he was helping you out."
"My men aren't stupid. Why would any of them do such a damn fool thing?"
She actually smiled. "Even a blind person could see how much they think of you. They all worship the ground you walk on. Maybe they thought they were doing you a favor."
"My men know better than that," he said grimly. "But I'll question them. And if one of them is responsible, I'll kick his butt from here to the Arizona border and back. Before I pull his badge and gun."
Her eyes softened as she studied him. "Thank you," she said softly.
"There's nothing to thank me for."
"I think there is. Most people would have defended their employees."
"You notice that I said I would question them, not that I believed you. I have no doubt none of them were involved, but since you asked the question, you deserve an answer."
She nodded once. "That's fair."
He sketched a salute to her. "I try. I know in your mind I'm just a good-old-boy, back-country, hick sheriff. But we manage to do pretty well here in Cameron. For a backward town, anyway."
"I didn't mean to offend you."
He didn't bother to hide his anger. It was one way of getting his mind off how vulnerable she looked, and how much he wanted to protect her. "I'm sure you didn't. Just like I'm sure that a person from New York would never be able to understand our values here, or what's important to us."
Her lips tightened. "I don't think that's fair. People who live in small towns don't have a monopoly on honor."
He smiled thinly. "That's funny. I don't think I ever mentioned honor. Why would you assume that's what I meant?"
She turned away, but not before he'd seen the sudden pain in her eyes. And suddenly all his anger was gone, destroyed by a pair of wounded green eyes. He wanted to snatch back the angry words, but it was too late. He'd allowed Carly to slip past the barriers he maintained around himself, and she'd goaded him into revealing his true feelings. Now, appalled, he could only try to repair the damage. And then reinforce the barriers.
"Maybe you should take a look at the crime scene, Sheriff," she said quietly.
"I'll do that." It was as good a way as any to escape. "I'll be back in a while."
"There's no hurry."
No, he was in no hurry to get back to Carly Fitzpatrick, he told himself grimly as he started up the stairs. She had managed to make him lose control, something that rarely, if ever, happened. And it was all because of the pain he'd seen in her eyes. Pain that he didn't even understand.
Ruthlessly he closed off that part of his mind and walked into Carly's bedroom. "What do you have, Ben?"
The deputy turned and straightened, holding a canister of fingerprint dust. "A lot of fingerprints, but ten to one they'll turn out to belong to Melba or Ms. Fitzpatrick." He nodded at the scrawled message on the mirror. "That was done with
one of Ms. Fitzpatrick's tubes of lipstick."
Devlin saw the gold lipstick case, carefully enclosed in a plastic bag. "Any fingerprints on that?"
"I didn't dust it yet, but it's going to be tough to find anything. It's got a textured surface."
Dev swore beneath his breath. "Anything else?"
Ben shook his head. "According to Ms. Fitzpatrick, nothing else seemed to be disturbed. The only thing she noticed out of place was the rug on the floor. It was bunched up, like someone might have slipped on it."
Devlin stood in the middle of the room and let his gaze travel slowly over everything it contained. Carly was apparently a neat person. There were no piles of clothes on the floor, and her toiletries were arranged neatly on one end of the dresser. When he felt his gaze lingering on the feminine bottles with the intriguing shapes, wondering if they would have the same scent that seemed to surround Carly, he jerked his eyes away. There was a pile of books on the table next to the bed, and the bed itself was neatly made.
He stepped out of the room and ran downstairs. "Carly, could you come up to your room, please?"
Carly looked up from the mug of tea she was sipping. "Have you found something?" There was a mixture of hope and fear in her eyes.
"No. I just want you to check once more to make sure nothing is missing."
She set the mug down on a marble-topped table, then walked up the stairs with him. Her subtle scent, the one he'd just been fantasizing about, surrounded him once more, making him remember how she'd tasted the night before. Clenching his jaw, he slowed down so that she moved ahead of him. The scent retreated, but it didn't disappear completely.
Carly paused at the door to her room, and Dev could feel her reluctance to enter it. Finally she stepped over the threshold, but he noticed that she didn't step far into the room.
"You told Ben that nothing's been disturbed besides the message on the mirror?" he asked, watching her closely.
"The rug was bunched up, too. I knew Mrs. Corboy wouldn't have left it like that."
"Did you check through your things?"
"I made sure my computer was all right, and my envelope full of traveler's checks. They were all there."
"So burglary doesn't seem to be the motive."
She turned to him then. "I think the motive is quite clear."
"So do I." His voice was grim. "But in order to be thorough, humor me and check everything else."
It took only a few minutes for Carly to check through the drawers of the dresser and the small closet. It took a few more for her to check her briefcase and the small bag on the floor of the closet. Finally she stood up. "Everything else is fine. I'm almost positive that nothing else has been touched."
Dev turned to Ben. "Are you finished here?"
The deputy nodded. "I need to label the items I'm taking and make out a receipt for Ms. Fitzpatrick, then I'll be gone." He showed her what he was taking and filled out a piece of paper.
Carly signed the receipt, her glance resting on the lipstick case for a moment. Then she looked away. "You can keep that. There's no way I want it back."
After Ben left, Devlin sat down on the hard-backed chair that stood near the window. "Sit down, Carly. I have a few questions for you."
She sat down on the bed, facing him, and he thought she braced herself for his questions.
"Who did you talk to today about the Whitmore boy?"
"The Hansons, of course, since I looked at their newspapers. Gladys Jones, because I saw her right before I saw you." She looked directly at him, then glanced away. "You, too."
"I thought we'd agreed that I wasn't responsible." His voice was mild. "But if you're still not sure, you can talk to my mother and Shea. They can vouch for the fact that I haven't left the ranch since this afternoon."
A red stain crept up her neck and onto her cheeks. "I didn't mean I thought it was you. I was only trying to organize my thoughts, remember who I talked to after you."
"And who was that?" He strained to keep his voice even, his temper in check.
She shrugged helplessly. "Half the town, I think. I didn't even know the names of most of the people who talked to me."
"Is that what they teach in journalism school? Solicit opinions from every Joe Blow who walks by, but don't bother to get their names or verify what they're saying?" He didn't bother to hide the scorn in his voice. It was easier to be angry, far safer to concentrate on his outrage than to notice the bruised look in her eyes.
"I was only trying to get impressions of what people thought, to find out exactly what happened," she said, and her voice was weary. "I'm not quoting anyone. The articles in your town newspaper weren't exactly brimming over with details."
"Then give me the names you remember." He flipped open his notebook.
Fifteen minutes later he snapped the notebook closed. "I can start with these people. I'll talk to them tomorrow, see if they know anything."
Carly turned around and glanced at the red scrawl on the mirror, then faced him again. "Thank you, Sheriff, but I know the drill, and I'm sure you do, too. No one will know anything. You'll waste a couple of days, and you won't know any more than you do now. Don't bother."
"It's not a bother." His voice was even. "A crime was committed in Cameron, and it's my job to solve it."
A tiny smile flickered on her face, then was gone. "Thank you, Devlin. But don't lose any sleep about it. Believe me, I won't."
She was lying, and he knew it. His anger fell away, replaced by the need to comfort her. "I'll be right back."
In a few moments he walked back into her room, holding rags and window cleaner. After some vigorous scrubbing, the mirror was sparkling clean. Not a trace of the lipstick remained. Only when it was completely gone did he set down the rag and turn to her.
"Melba probably has another room you could take. Can I help you move your things?"
She shook her head. "I'll stay in this room. Melba told me she was going to keep the door locked from now on. I'm sure I'll be fine." She walked over to the window and stared down at the dark street in front of the house. "I hate that this had to happen at Melba's house. I hate that she has to change the way she lives because someone doesn't like what I'm doing."
Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear her. He moved to stand closer. "It's not your fault, Carly."
She glanced over her shoulder at him, then looked back toward the street. He saw the regret in her eyes. "Yes, it is. If I hadn't been asking questions, no one would have felt the need to tell me to leave. And that person wouldn't have violated Melba's house."
"So why don't you stop?"
"Would you stop doing your job if someone told you he didn't like the way you were doing it?"
"Of course not."
The smile she gave him was pointed. "Neither will I."
Carly crossed her arms over her chest and held onto her shoulders. He thought she trembled, although the room still held the warmth of the day. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out and cupped her shoulders, covering her hands with his. Her fingers were icy, and he felt a shiver ripple through her.
"You're a courageous woman," he murmured, drawing her closer. "I don't like what you're doing, but I have to hand it to you. You don't back down."
"I learned that lesson a long time ago. If you back down, you're going to get knocked down."
He pulled her against his chest, and after a moment the tension seeped out of her rigid shoulders and she allowed herself to relax. Slowly he stroked her arms, and gradually she stopped shivering. Her smooth, soft skin became warm and pliant under his fingers, and suddenly there was a different kind of tension swirling around them.
He slowed his hands, then stopped, but he didn't let her go. His fingers dipped into the bend of her elbow, and he felt her pulse leap under his touch. Her skin heated, and when his hand moved again, he felt her tremble. He didn't think it was from the cold.
"Carly," he whispered, as he bent to kiss the side of her neck. The skin beneath h
er ear was soft and fragrant, and he lingered there, tasting and caressing. Her breath broke once, then again as he curled his tongue around her earlobe.
He burned for her. Even as he kissed her neck again, every fiber of him throbbed to possess her, to claim her as his own. Need was an aching void at the core of his being, demanding to be filled.
Her scent curled inside of him, wrapping around a place he guarded fiercely. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her hair, drinking her in, letting her fill him.
When she turned her head to find his lips with her own, his control broke. Her name a low growl in his throat, he found her mouth and took it. His lips and tongue devoured her, and the essence of Carly filled his head.
She met his desire, kiss for kiss, passion for passion. When his tongue swept into her mouth, she moaned his name and shook in his arms. He wrapped his arms around her to pull her even closer, feeling every bump in her spine burn into his chest, letting his rock-hard erection nestle into the cleft in her buttocks.
Her breasts were inches away from his hands. Slowly he moved his hands upward, until the soft fullness of them filled his palms. Tremors racked through him, but he wasn't sure if it was he or Carly who was trembling more. When he touched her nipples through the rough material of her shirt, they were stiff and swollen. He heard her gasp, swallowed the sound with his mouth.
It could have been hours that they stood there. Every time he brushed his fingers over her nipples, she shook. When he lingered, she moaned into his mouth. His own body was one aching, throbbing mass of need. Every nerve screamed at him to bury himself inside her, to feel the hot, slick center of her welcoming him. She wanted him, he knew, with an intensity to match his own. He felt it in the shaking of her body, in the desperation of her kisses, in the tiny sounds she made in her throat.
Roughly he turned her to face him. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed with pleasure. "Look at me," he whispered.
COWBOY WITH A BADGE Page 7
