by Marie Jermy
Once Jez had parked outside the practice, Nick begrudgingly left the warmth of the SUV and made a quick dash to the entrance. He was met by a blast of warm air that almost thawed his toes on impact. He actually had to unzip his jacket, it was that hot. Seated on the reception desk, her head bent as she wrote something in a diary of some sort, was an extremely pregnant woman. To Nick, she could pop at any moment. She looked up, smiled, and he knew who she was straight away. There was no mistaking those vivid green eyes.
Jez introduced him. “Ramona, this is temporary chief Nick North. Sir, Dr. Ramona Latimer.”
Ramona rose to her feet and waddled around the desk. She was almost as tall as she was round. “I was gonna come ’round last night and say hi, but these”—she placed her hands over her swollen bump—“decided to join the WWE. They were wrestling so much so I couldn’t move.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Nick said, shaking her hand. “You say ‘these.’ Are you having twins?”
“No, quads. That’s why I look fit to drop. But don’t worry, you won’t need hot water and towels just yet. I have another ten or so weeks.”
“Bet you can’t wait,” Jez said.
“You can say that again. I resemble Moby friggin’ Dick!”
He found himself grinning despite the two women shooting him looks as if men were to blame for everything. He decided against voicing the words “it takes two to tango.” Ramona took them through to the rear of the practice. “Rex is doing an inventory check to see what was stolen.”
“Did you hear anything last night?” Nick asked.
“No. Which is surprising because we’re both light sleepers. Rex reckons they used a towel or something to break the glass in the office window, you know, to dull the sound. We know it happened between 3:30 and 5:30 this morning.”
Nick quickly pulled a pen and notebook from his shirt pocket. “You’re sure about the time?”
“Yes. Rex was up at the Watson ranch tending to one of Bud Watson’s horses until half three, and everything was okay then. We discovered the break-in when we woke at 5:30.”
“Why didn’t you report it straightaway?”
“We did call the station, but nobody answered. We gathered that whoever was on duty must have been elsewhere on another call or something. We haven’t touched anything. The scene is exactly as we found it.”
Sanders had been on duty last night. There was practically no crime to investigate. So where was Sanders at the time? What had he been doing? Jez had said earlier it was standard practice to take the station’s phone with them when not at the station. Nick stored that little bit of information for now.
Ramona first took them into an office-cum-treatment room. The carpet beneath the window was littered with glass and soil from three plant pots, which had been knocked off the sill. Nick judged that the window was large enough for someone to climb through. Apart from what looked like a boot print—size thirteen at a guess—in the spilt soil, he couldn’t see any other evidence left behind by the perp, like fibers or blood smears, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. CSI would find them, as well as fingerprints if they were present.
They then followed Ramona into a windowless room containing several locked cabinets. Inside, standing at a stainless steel bench was a very tall and broad-shouldered man. He was checking various medicine bottles and boxes from one of the cabinets against pages on a clipboard, obviously some sort of list. “Rex, cops are here.”
Dr. Rex Latimer was at least six five and had an air of smugness that Nick actually thought suited him. He introduced himself and asked what was missing.
“The only drugs that I can see missing are one box of vials of ketamine.”
The southern drawl Nick placed to New Orleans. Latimer handed the clipboard to Nick, who frowned when the drug name registered. “Ketamine? The date-rape drug? Why would you stock that?”
“This is a vets’,” Latimer drawled, enunciating every word. “Ketamine is used as an anesthetic for small domesticated animals like cats and dogs. It is also used as an anesthetic in equine operations. Equine means—”
“Horses,” Nick interrupted sharply. “Yes, I know. How many vials?”
“There’s one hundred to each box.”
“Have you any other staff?”
“Our receptionist, Mimi Parish. And we have just employed another vet, Jace Maxwell. He won’t be here for another two weeks. He’s still in Idaho. He has to work out his notice. Would you like their details to rule them out?”
Smiling politely, Nick made no comment to Latimer’s somewhat inane question. Jace Maxwell was in another state and he didn’t know nor had met Mimi Parish, but didn’t believe she had size-thirteen feet. He turned to Jez. “CSIs?”
“Stationed at Butte, Sir.”
Her address again stirred his cock. He’d have to have a word with her about that. It wasn’t professional to have a boner while in the presence of victims of crime. “Get them over here. The results I want addressed personally to myself and marked private and confidential.” He didn’t know why he said that, but the name Officer George Sanders was more than enough reason. Nick had the suspicion that Sanders was going to be a problem. “Also, are there any known perps in the area with a history of sexual assaults?”
Jez opened her mouth but Ramona cut in. “Only one bastard comes to mind. Mark Raven. He attacked Sammy, my sister, just over a year and a half ago. But really I can’t see him doing this.”
“Me, neither,” Latimer murmured, wrapping his arms around his wife’s swollen belly. “Personally, I think it’s addicts looking for drugs.”
Nick took the inventory from the clipboard, folded it up, and placed it and his notepad and pen into his shirt pocket. “Mmm, possibly. Okay. We’ll check Raven out anyway. Don’t touch the scene until CSIs have gone over it.” He ignored the “do you think we’re that stupid?” look that Latimer shot him. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
“So, Sir, what do you think?” Jez asked once they back in the SUV and she had made the call to Butte requesting crime scene investigators’ presence, along with his instructions for the report. “Was it druggies?”
Nick reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the chocolate bar. It felt marginally softer, so he decided now would be a good time to eat it before it froze again. He tore open the wrapper and looked Jez straight in the eye. If he did that, then she wouldn’t look down and see exactly the effect she had on him by calling him “Sir.” His cock was hard enough to crack ice. “More than likely. Any known?”
She frowned. “Certainly not in Silver Creek. Butte might be a better proposition, Sir.”
He took a large bite of chocolate, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “Look, you don’t have to call me sir. Nick will be fine.”
“Nick. Okay.” Amusement shone in her eyes at the way he tackled the candy bar as though it would be his last, which it wouldn’t.
Shit, his name on her lips tripped his heart now. He wished Steve was with him. He might take the heat out of the situation because, really, all Nick wanted to do was kiss this angel senseless. Did she have an inkling of his thoughts? She must have because she shyly looked down at her lap and bit on her bottom lip. “This Mark Raven,” he began, croaking. He cleared his throat. “Mark Raven. What’s his story?”
She looked up. “Just over eighteen months ago, he was charged with the attempted rape of Samantha Anderson. The file is on the computer, should you wish to read it. He pleaded guilty. He got a sentence of community service.”
“Community service? That seems lenient.” He took another bite then another, finishing the chocolate in record time.
“Yeah, well because of a later incident involving Matt Anderson—Raven stood in front of a gun-toting madman and saved Matt’s life—both Matt and Samantha decided to approach the judge and ask for leniency. Since Raven was remorseful for his actions, the judge conceded. As you probably heard in there, though, that didn’t go down too well with Ramona or the rest of the fami
ly, but in the end it was Samantha and Matt’s decision, and they accepted it. The file is also on the computer, but it comes under the FBI’s jurisdiction.”
“A ‘gun-toting madman.’ ‘FBI’s jurisdiction.’” Nick cocked an amused brow as he placed the empty wrapper into the small trash receptacle in the central console. “And you said you don’t get much crime here in town.”
She laughed as she put her belt on. “We don’t, but when it does happen, it really does happen.” She straightened her tie, though it wasn’t askew. “I do agree with the Latimers. I don’t think Mark Raven did this.”
“We’ll still check him out.” He clicked his seat belt into place and Jez turned the ignition. “Where do you think Sanders was when the Latimers called to report the break-in?” he asked above the throaty roar of the SUV’s engine.
“The john?”
Nick supposed that was a reasonable excuse if he believed it, which he didn’t. He couldn’t say why, it was just there was something here that didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t explain that, either. He’d yet to meet Sanders. “Where to now?”
“I thought you might like a tour of the area.”
He nodded. “Sure. Sounds good. Then I won’t get lost when I’m by myself.”
Leaving the vets’, Jez turned onto a dirt track running alongside a narrow stream and told him about the area. She added several funny stories about people and wildlife not really mixing, which made him laugh. She had a great sense of humor. She also had a lovely soothing voice, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. In doing so, he missed the vast grassy plains, which like the clear, blue sky reached out in every direction.
She flicked a quick glance at him. A knowing smile touched her lips. “Enjoying the view, Nick?”
He returned the smile. “More than you know,” he admitted, knowing that it was the truth.
“I remember when I first came here, it felt like home straightaway.”
“You weren’t born here?”
“No. Richfield, Utah. Do you think it feels like home?”
Nick wanted to say no, but found that he couldn’t. Richards’s comment came back to him. LA was his home, yet, thinking about it, and if he were honest, he didn’t want to go back. The constant breakneck pace of living, the crime-ridden streets, and the smog suddenly held no appeal to him. Los Angeles was the City of Angels, but in the twenty-four hours or so he’d been in Silver Creek, he’d found a real angel, a woman he believed both he and Steve could build a life with. He’d called the town “hick.” He’d been wrong. There was a vast, peaceful beauty about the place and he suspected it was weaving its spell around him. He looked out of the window, enjoying the view and allowing the spell to sink and settle into his being.
Suddenly, he spotted something on the track just ahead of them, something that Jez seemed oblivious to. He braced both hands on the dashboard and shouted, “Jez! Watch out!”
His warning snapped Jez into action. She slammed on the brakes, stalling the engine and pitching them both forward. The animal in front of the SUV, a deer, looked at them with a doe-eyed expression then ambled off into the grass, unaware its life had nearly ended as a hood ornament.
“Sorry about that.”
Nick dug the belt strap out from his shoulder. “No damage done. You okay?”
She nodded. “Thank goodness Bambi is okay. I would never intentionally hurt any animal, but sometimes it can’t be helped. It’s their land, too, and they’ll go wherever they want.” She restarted the engine and they continued their tour. “We’ll stop by Denham’s Outfitters before we go hiking around Silver Creek Lake.”
“Hiking?”
Jez shot him a sly look. “You’ve seen my ‘in’ tray. Apart from the Latimer break-in, we’ve got zip to investigate. I thought it would be nice to show you the lake. It’s beautiful, even more so in winter.”
He liked the way Jez thought. Anderson had told him about the lake last night and though he wanted to explore it with Steve by his side, Jez was more than a welcome substitute. In fact, she was perfect.
* * * *
Will Denham was behind the counter pricing up compasses when the bell above his shop door tinkled, announcing their arrival. He gave them both a broad grin. “Help you?”
For reasons unknown—he had nothing to feel embarrassed about—Nick felt his cheeks warm when he said, “Thermal underwear?” His body hardened when he glanced at Jez and noticed she was looking everywhere but at him. Her cheeks had turned a lovely pink. He wondered if kinky thoughts and images were going through her pretty head. They were in his. “Boots, too.”
“Sure,” Denham said, putting down his pricing gun and coming around the counter. “Size?”
Nick told him and followed Denham to the rear of the store, passing a rail of coats. One in particular caught his eye—a trendy, tan suede hip-length, hooded jacket with a fleece lining. He grabbed it from the rail.
Denham saw him and nodded. “Nice choice. The suede has been treated so that it’s weather-proof. Very warm for our winters.” He halted at a shelf and selected two packets, one containing a thermal long-sleeved undershirt, the other, a pair of long johns. “Here we are. You can try them on through there,” he said, gesturing to a cubicle shielded by a curtain.
Thank the Gods that the store was warm, otherwise there was no way on earth Nick would take his clothes off. Though Jez could always warm him up in a variety of ways that were sure to have his temperature soaring. He felt his cock stirring again at that as he pulled his uniform off and put the set of thermal underwear on. He stared at himself in the mirror. Okay, so they weren’t the sexiest garments in the world, but they sure were the coziest. He already felt as warm as toast. He checked for labels, but not finding any, he put his uniform back on over the top.
The jacket did have a label, but it was easily detachable. Leaving his boots off, he left the cubicle, grabbing another six packets of long-sleeved undershirts and long johns from the shelf, almost clearing it. He returned to the counter where Jez still stood. Her smile was appreciative as he placed the armful of items down and gave Denham the two empty packets and the price label for the jacket.
“Warmer?” she asked.
“Much. Boots?” he said to Denham.
“Already sorted. Jez chose them.”
He handed Nick a pair of black thick leather, all-weather, all-terrain boots with small studs on the sole. They, like the jacket, were fleece-lined on the inside. He set his own boots down and took a seat on a nearby bench. The new boots were really comfortable and again as warm as toast. They were also the perfect fit. He laced them up and looked at Jez, sending her a hot grin and a wink.
She blushed. “I’ll, er, um, wait outside.”
“She likes you,” Denham remarked once Jez had left.
Nick stood and approached the counter while Denham rung up the purchases and placed them into bags. He removed his wallet from his pants pocket and handed Denham his credit card. “And what makes you think I like her?”
Denham shrugged. “Put it this way. I thought I was going to have to put the air conditioning on to cool the store down. If you want my advice, sonny, you’ll date her before someone else does.”
The term “sonny” pissed him off. “Like yourself?”
Denham ignored him. “Pretty lass like that, she’ll soon be settled down.”
Nick quickly studied him under lowered lashes as he signed the receipt. A ringer for the late actor John Wayne, Denham had the look of man used to the outdoors, his fifty-something-year-old skin resembling the well-worn leather of a horse’s saddle. There was a clipboard on the counter next to him. He picked it up and read a printed itinerary for the next five days. “You’re gonna be taking a group of tourists hiking in the Pioneer Mountains?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Don’t slip,” Nick advised. Then with a lukewarm smile, he picked up his purchases, his old boots, and jacket and left the store, returning to Jez and a hiking expedition he was so lo
oking forward to. The weather may be freezing but inside he was roasting at the thought of spending time with her.
He didn’t need to take advice from Denham or anybody else for that matter. When the time was right, and when Steve was by his side, they would together ask Jez for a date, which hopefully would then lead to a loving and lifetime-long ménage relationship, possibly with marriage and kids.
Nick inwardly grinned at that, not even bothered when his teeth chattered as a blast of icy Montanan air enveloped his much warmer clothed body in its wintry grip.
Chapter 8
The following week…
Officer George Sanders had definitely been a problem. A bulky, button-busting uniformed man, his ginger hair brushed forward, probably to conceal receding temples, his hazel eyes set deep in a pock-marked face, Sanders was a cantankerous son of a bitch who thought he knew everything and had to be right all the time. Even the gruff voice of the ex-Vegas Metro cop got on Nick’s nerves.
From the very first moment they had met, there had been no love lost between them. They disliked each other and that was that. To stop them causing grievous bodily harm to each other was probably the reason why Chief Connors had returned early. There was something else about Sanders, something Nick couldn’t define, but he knew he didn’t trust the man. In fact, Nick preferred the covering officers from Butte, who, quite frankly, were a lot friendlier and more trustworthy.
Nick had waited until the next night to meet Sanders because Jez’s idea of a hike had vastly differed from his. She had made the hike last the remainder of their shift, and he had never been so glad that she had left him on the doorstep of the Anderson house. He ached in places he never knew existed. Despite his warm clothing, he’d been cold. And he’d been tired. So tired, in fact, that he had missed Steve’s call that evening because after a quick sandwich and a bath to ease his aching muscles, he had literally dropped into bed, asleep before his head had hit the pillow.
