by Delta James
Nancy led them up one floor and to a much nicer single bedroom suite with a panoramic view of the city’s sparkling waterfront and the river below.
“I think you’ll be comfortable here. We had some coffee, muffins, and fruit sent up. My people are packing your things; they should be up here pretty quick.”
Remi spotted the tray with the light breakfast and smiled... someone on staff had remembered that she drank Diet Coke.
“Detective Mitchell...”
“Adam, please.”
“Then, Adam, can I get you some coffee? Maybe a muffin or bagel? Vera?”
“A cup of coffee and one of those blueberry muffins would be great,” answered the detective.
“Hon, why don’t you just let me get that for Detective Mitchell. Do you want your Diet Coke in a glass or straight out of the can?” offered Vera.
“Can is fine,” answered Remi, sitting down on the sofa, drawing her legs up.
Remi spent the next several hours going over the events of the night before up until she had found Becca. Vera sat close and held her hand; Nancy had retreated to whatever place it was that hotel managers went when not needed in a crisis. Vera was eventually persuaded to head back to the show, once she was assured that Remi would be available for the taping.
The other detective joined them, carrying her southwestern tapestry bag.
“Adam, can I see you a minute?” he asked as one of the bellboys entered with her hanging clothes.
The two detectives stepped out into the hall and were only gone a few minutes before Detective Mitchell stepped back in. In his hand was a roll of duct tape.
“Chef Caulder, would you like to explain how this got in your bag?”
Remi smiled. “I’m originally from Texas. My father taught me there was nothing that can’t be fixed with duct tape and baling twine. If you look in the pocket, you’ll find a small twist of baling twine. It was my father’s way of reminding me to never forget where I came from.”
The two detectives did not seem to share her amusement. Remi realized that perhaps her father’s small gesture to acknowledge her roots was not as easily understood if you weren’t from Texas.
“We can’t be sure, but it appears that this is the tape that was used to secure the bag around the victim’s neck and seal her mouth shut,” said the other detective.
“That’s horrible... wait, you can’t possibly think I had anything to do with it, can you?”
“You were alone with the victim and were competing for an extraordinary prize...”
“And I’m so stupid I just left the evidence in my bag?” she asked incredulously.
“No one is accusing you of doing anything...” said Detective Mitchell, trying to intervene.
“Maybe not you, but your buddy sure as hell is,” Remi said hotly.
“You must admit,” said the second detective, circling around his partner and advancing on her, “that it does remove one of the people that was favored to win. And you were the only one in the room, which was locked from the inside with the night lock.” He turned back to Detective Mitchell. “The hotel manager confirmed that Chef Caulder had to unlatch it.”
Remi shook her head and backed away.
“I have to agree, Remi, it doesn’t look good. Do you have any explanation? We could check for fingerprints...”
“I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you they aren’t on there or did you miss the part where I already told you, it was my tape. Am I the only one who’s more than a bit freaked out that whoever did this was in my room while I was asleep? While, as you pointed out, the night latch was engaged.”
“We don’t know that...”
“We,” she said, stressing the pronoun, “may not but I sure as hell do.”
“Look, Remi,” said Detective Mitchell, “we’ll figure it out. Meanwhile, you focus on your competition, and if anything else occurs to you or you see someone acting suspiciously, you let us know.”
“Meanwhile,” said Detective Mitchell’s partner, “make sure you don’t leave the city limits without clearing it with us.”
“Fuck you,” she said quietly and with determination. “Get out.”
She turned her back and walked into the bedroom and began rearranging her things. She was getting her makeup and other sundries set up in the bathroom when she heard someone behind her. She looked up into the mirror to see Detective Mitchell. As she pulled her makeup brushes out of the case, a small piece of paper fluttered to the vanity counter.
Quit the competition, or you’ll be next!
Remi gasped and backed away as if it were a rattlesnake coiled to strike. The detective stepped forward, quickly donning a pair of evidence gloves, and lifted it up to read it. Putting it in a bag, he sealed the bag and marked it as evidence before marking it for identification. He called to his partner, who joined them.
She took a deep breath. “I guess that clears me as a suspect...”
“Not necessarily. We don’t think you’re stupid, so leaving the evidence in your possession and setting yourself up as the next victim would be pretty smart,” the other detective said smoothly.
“I thought I told you both to get out. Do it now or I’ll have a field day with the press casting myself as a second intended victim and you guys as the officious idiots who care more about their closure rate and their next donut than in finding Becca’s killer,” she seethed.
“Look, Remi,” started Detective Mitchell.
“That’s Chef Caulder to you, Detective. I believe I have asked you twice to leave my hotel suite. Get out. Someone murdered a very nice person who had her whole life ahead of her and has now threatened me. Take your partner, some coffee and a donut and hit the road. Now.”
“I’ll be in touch tomorrow. We may have more questions.”
* * *
Hoss sat at the top of the hill wondering why it was that he felt more comfortable in a saddle than in a recliner. His cell phone rang.
“Bishop.”
“Hoss, it’s Adam. Didn’t you use to know a gal named Remi Caulder?”
Hoss felt every nerve and brain synapse come alive. “Vaguely, why?”
“I know it was at my bachelor party and I know I was drunk, but as I recall she was the one who got away and caused you to join the rangers.”
“Why are you asking?
“She’s in trouble, Hoss.”
“Define trouble.”
“She’s on that cooking competition with the big prize. A couple of days ago, someone murdered one of the other contestants and did a half-ass job trying to frame and then scare her.”
“What happened and why call me?”
“Gal was murdered using duct tape found in your girl’s...”
“Not my girl,” interrupted Hoss.
“This will go a lot easier and faster if you don’t dispute what we both already know. She may not currently be your girl, but I think you would have far preferred it if she still was. In any event, she’s been threatened. The department doesn’t consider it to be a credible threat and is pretty well convinced she killed the other gal.”
“You don’t think that?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve got good instincts and it just doesn’t work for me. Also, I saw her face when she realized the killer had been in her room and when she found the note. She’s a chef, not an actress. They’ve put the show on hiatus. We don’t have enough to charge her, so she’s on her own.”
“In other words, you’ve thrown her to the wolves. But again, why tell me?”
Adam laughed. “Because for all your John Wayne, cowboy stoicism, you care about people and you’ve never forgotten Remi. Hoss, I don’t think she’s safe and I can’t do anything about it. I told my wife last night I’d rather piss you off by involving you now than have to call you to tell you she’s dead. She needs you; more than that, I think you need her.”
Chapter Four
Hoss ended the call. He couldn’t help it; there was just something about Remi Caulder that
called to him to protect her. Hoss took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to clear his mind of the unwelcome erotic images. Adam was wrong. It wasn’t a question of whether or not Remi could take care of herself; it was whether or not she would.
Hoss returned to his ranch and made a couple of phone calls. Maybe it was time to reconcile things with Remi—either make her pay for the hurt and angst she had caused him or to take her to his bed and make her his. He smiled as he realized the two weren’t mutually exclusive.
* * *
Remi had returned from yet another meeting with the police. They no longer afforded her the consideration of meeting at her hotel, so now, she met them, lawyer in tow, at the station. She’d just returned and, after engaging all of the locks, she’d allowed herself the luxury of a nap. She woke with a start when the window next to the bed rattled with the force of the windstorm blowing outside. Remi placed her hand over her heart and tried to calm her breathing. She’d slept longer than she thought. It was dark outside; granted, the days were shorter at this time of year, but still there was something ominous about the dark this night.
She called down and ordered room service. The black and blue steak salad was delivered promptly and was delicious. She could feel herself starting to relax until she picked up the leather envelope that held the receipt for the meal. She opened it to get the receipt but flinched as though it had contained a rattler. There, beneath the receipt, was a second piece of paper. In a clear, neat script was written:
Quit the competition, or you’ll be next!
Remi grabbed the receipt and the threatening note. She shoved the latter in the back pocket of her jeans as she left the hotel. She found a parking attendant and had her car, a vintage MG roadster, brought around. She jumped into her roadster and flew out of the parking lot. How had they gotten past security? Detective Mitchell had assured her that security measures had been put in place despite the police’s growing suspicion that she had murdered Becca. Who had the ability to get past those safeguards, and why try to frame her?
Remi headed out of the city and for the only place... the only man... with whom she’d ever felt truly safe. Hadn’t she heard that when he left the rangers that he’d joined some high-tech private security firm that specialized in war zones and helping people with money out of desperate situations? She certainly qualified for the latter. Remi drove straight through for more than twenty-four hours, stopping only to hide amongst the large vehicles at truck stops to take brief naps.
The naps were all too short and not overly restorative. She often found herself listening to the sounds of some trucker engaged in relieving his boredom and lust with one of the girls who wandered through the big rigs cruising for business. Keyed up as she was, having to hear it made what little sleep she did get broken and haunted by the dreams and fantasies she still had of Morgan Bishop. Remi was finally able to take a deep breath and steady her nerves as she turned through the brick pillars with the heavy iron gates onto the driveway of the Rocking B.
* * *
Hoss had experienced a lousy day. First, he’d had that phone call from Adam and after that, he’d had to stop and change a flat. Arriving home, one of the men who worked for him had left him a note that one of his prize heifers had been butchered and left to rot. No meat or internal organs had been taken; it made no sense. He grilled a steak and battered some onion rings to go with it. After eating and doing the dishes, Hoss stripped down to take a shower before bed.
Standing with the water pelting down, he’d tried to jerk off the enormous erection he’d had on and off all day. There was no doubt in his mind that the cause of his discomfort was the girl who, as Adam had said, was the one who’d gotten away. His cock was long and heavy and seemed intent on denying gravity as it stood straight out from his body. He began to fist himself but found absolutely no pleasure in the act. What he needed was the use of one of the submissive girls at Steve’s. Not all of them were professionals, but Steve’s club was known as a place where a submissive could find a dominant cowboy, or at least someone playing that role, to make her fantasies come true. The problem was that the only thing he could picture when he closed his eyes was Remi’s naked ass as he spanked or fucked her. Giving up the idea that he would find any satisfaction, he turned the water to cold and let the shock provide some relief.
Opting not to wear anything to sleep in, Morgan climbed into the king-sized bed and willed himself to go to sleep. He had just managed to do so when the thunder from a sudden squall was drowned out by the pounding on his front door. Grabbing his semi-automatic Glock, he pulled on a pair of jeans and headed downstairs to answer it, flipping off the gun’s safety as he went.
“Morgan! Morgan!”
He could hear what he thought was Remi’s almost panicked voice calling from the other side of the massive oak front door. Where had she come from? How had this ghost from his past suddenly appeared on his doorstep as if he’d conjured her up? Hoss cracked open the door and confirming that it wasn’t an apparition, snaked out his hand and propelled her inside, locking it behind her. He engaged the safety, placing the gun on the antique Victrola that sat to the right of the entrance. He buttoned up his jeans but didn’t bother with the belt with its trophy buckle hanging loose.
“What the hell, Remi? What are you doing out here?”
“I’m not sure. Something’s happened. I wasn’t sure where to come. I think I may be in some kind of trouble. I was hoping I could hire you or your firm to offer me a bit of protection.”
“What kind of trouble?” he said, pushing her into the great room and leaning against the back of the chesterfield sofa.
“I can see I made a mistake.” she said vaguely, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “I guess the thunder and lightning spooked me.”
“Spooked you?” he repeated. “As I recall, Remi, you loved thunderstorms. I remember watching you dance in the rain in a paisley dress. Incredibly sexy the way it clung to your body. Let’s try again, why are you pounding on my door after midnight and hollering my name? It’s not that I mind hearing you call my name; I’d just rather it be because I’m fucking you hard enough to provoke that kind of response.”
“I definitely made a mistake,” she said, turning toward the entry.
She’d almost made it when he spotted the piece of paper that had come fluttering out of her pocket. He went to hand it to her, but then couldn’t help but read it.
“What the hell, Remi? First you indicate you’ve gotten mixed up in something, then you got scared by the weather, and now I find you’re carrying around a slip of paper with a threatening note. What’s going on?”
Remi snatched the piece of paper from him and turned to leave. He took it back.
“Not so fast, Remi. Tell me what’s happened?”
“I don’t know. I was on this television show, Bistro Wars, and one of the other contestants, who was my roommate, was murdered. The police seem to think that somehow I’m responsible for her murder...”
“But that’s not what happened...”
“Of course not. I didn’t kill her. I just got the note with my room service the other night...”
“You got this... when?”
“Yesterday or the day before. I’m not sure anymore. I’d ordered a salad about ten and didn’t see it until I’d finished. I guess I kind of panicked. I left my room, got my car and then voila... here I am. I’m not sure why I came here. Obviously, this was a mistake.”
“Maybe but here you are anyway.” Hoss reached out and caught her by the arm. “I need you to level with me—do you know anything about the murder in your hotel room?”
“What do you mean? Of course I don’t know anything about the murder. Doesn’t matter; I made a mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said, turning to try to leave.
He didn’t release his hold. “Last chance, Remi. You’re either going to come sit with me on the couch and tell me the whole story,” Hoss said, shaking his head, “or I’m going to sit down on that
couch, bare your pretty backside, and give you a spanking you won’t forget any time soon... and then you’ll tell me everything you know.”
Remi jerked her arm away. “You arrogant jackass. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m pretty damn sure I’m the arrogant jackass that’s going to count to three, and if you aren’t talking, is going to tan your hide.” He hesitated. “One...”
“Asshole!”
“Two...”
“Bastard!”
“Three. Last chance, Remi. Now or after I paddle you good?”
“You wouldn’t dare...”
Hoss grinned. “Never dare me, Remi; not where getting my hands on your ass or your safety is concerned.”
* * *
He increased the strength of his hold as he dragged her around to the front of the couch. He sat down, unzipping her jeans and making short work of pulling them down around her knees. His grin grew exponentially when he realized she was wearing red lace panties. He grasped the thin material and snatched it away while allowing his knuckle to graze her clit. Remi made the mistake of looking down and saw the massive erection threatening to burst the buttons on his fly.
He caught her eye and chuckled. “Yep, Remi, I’m happy to see you. Last chance.”
“Sonofabitch!”
Hoss pulled her over his hard thigh, using his legs like a vise grip to keep her from kicking or getting away. He placed one hand between her shoulder blades to hold her down. She glanced back to see him raise the other above his head before it came hurtling down on her exposed buttocks.
She yowled, swore, and began to really try to get away from him. He landed another blow across her backside, causing her toes to curl and her hips to bounce on his muscled leg.
“Shit! You bastard, that hurts!”
“Glad to hear it. I’d hate to think I’m not getting the job done.”
