"I want you to go back to the ranch and wait for me," he said when he took his mouth from hers.
"What?"
"You heard me," he said in a lowered voice. "I want you to go there and wait until I find this guy you're looking for."
She shook her head. "No. Clint, this is my job." More than a job, but she couldn't risk telling anyone how personal this quest was. Not even Clint.
"I don't care. I won't have you putting yourself out there as bait for a murderer."
She didn't bother to tell him that she wouldn't do any such thing. They'd had this discussion before; she had never been completely honest with him.
"I'll be fine."
"What if you're not?" He traced her jawline with one finger. "What if you're not?" he asked again. "How am I supposed to live with that?"
She had never thought she'd be so comfortable with a man that she could stand in the shower, completely naked, and carry on a conversation. But Clint was different. He was close to her in a way she could not explain, in a way she had never expected.
"I should be insulted that you're trying to take care of me as if it's the 1950s and I'm some helpless housewife."
"But you're not."
"No, I'm not." This was more than the sex, more than companionship or friendship or affection. "It's very sweet that you want to protect me."
He looked a little surprised by her comment. "I want you safe."
She rose up on her toes to kiss him again. "And I want you safe," she said as she took her mouth from his. "But sometimes life isn't that way. It's hard and dangerous and cold." And it was so nice to know there was a place to go at the end of the day that was gentle and safe and warm.
"Come on," she said when Clint didn't respond. "Let me wash your back." She took a soapy washcloth to his back. He had such a fine, muscled, lean body. She spent much more time washing than was necessary, her fingers tracing the muscles, caressing the scars. When that was done, he washed her back, his hand dipping low on her backside, his mouth occasionally resting on her shoulder.
When that was done she washed his chest, and he washed hers. He spent much longer than was necessary getting her soapy and slick and clean. They forgot about everything, laughing and touching in the shower.
Mary quit laughing when Clint bent his head and took one nipple deep into his mouth. She was already aroused, and so was he, but his warm mouth and flickering tongue almost sent her over the edge. How could she want him so much already, after last night and this morning?
Her body throbbed. She wanted him … she needed him. And she loved him. She couldn't tell him, not now. He already wanted to send her away, to keep her safe. If he knew she cared for him so much, he'd surely insist…
The last thing she wanted was to go to war with Clint. He was the only person in the world who had a chance at winning her over.
He knelt down before her, and with his hands on her wet thighs he gently urged her legs apart. His thumbs rocked against her inner thighs, rising higher. His tongue flicked against her intimately, and she grabbed onto the shower rod to keep her knees from buckling, the sensation was so intense. A quiver shot through her body.
Clint made love to her with his mouth, the touch gentle and yet so powerful. The shower rained down on them both, while he fluttered his tongue against her most sensitive flesh. Mary closed her eyes, lifted her head to the warm droplets of water, and climaxed so intensely that if Clint hadn't put his arms around her she would have fallen to the shower floor.
He kept his arms around her as he stood, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest.
How was she supposed to look at him all day and not glow and smile in a way that would tell everyone that they were lovers? She'd have to keep her distance, she imagined. She wouldn't be able to talk to him, spend time with him, stare at him. People would see, if she were so foolish, and her chance to draw out the serial killer she hunted would be gone.
"Clint," she said as they stepped out of the shower. She needed to tell him to be careful, to keep what was happening between them a secret.
He picked her up and carried her from the bathroom, through the connecting door, and into his room. "What?" he asked with a half smile.
But not now. She didn't want to ruin this moment. "How long before we have to leave for the arena?"
"An hour and a half."
"Good."
* * *
Clint grumbled as he climbed into his truck. He should be wearing a big grin on his face, he should be the happiest man in Birmingham. But no. Mary had hitched a ride with the Kirkland twins, instead of going with him to the arena. She hadn't even looked back, as the three of them had headed out of the parking lot.
He had a great speech planned, for this trip he'd be making alone. After last night and this morning, surely Mary would let him talk a little common sense into her. There were other, better ways to catch the man she was looking for. He could call in Boone and Dean and some of their cohorts, and Mary could wait safely at the ranch.
Who was he kidding? Mary wasn't the kind of woman who would ever be satisfied to wait safely anywhere. She wasn't going to go home and twiddle her thumbs while he did her job for her; that's not who she was.
He could still bring in Boone and Dean, if he could drag Boone away from his pregnant wife for a few days or weeks. There had to be an easier way to catch this guy than to put Mary in harm's way.
Things at the arena were no better than they'd been as he left the hotel. Mary ignored him. She'd told him before they left their hotel rooms that no one could know they were involved, that once they left their adjoining hotel rooms they would have to act as if nothing had happened last night. She had even made him leave by way of his own door, in case anyone was lurking in the hallway. Heaven forbid that anyone should know they were sleeping together.
How was he supposed to act as if nothing had happened? She was undercover, she was accustomed to pretending. He wasn't. Dean and Boone lived that way, and so did Shea, on occasion. Not him. He liked to lay all his cards on the table. No secrets. No faking it. Life was too short to waste it playing make-believe.
But if he blew Mary's cover, she'd never forgive him.
"Friday night," Brisco said as he came up behind Clint. "I love Friday night. We're going to have a full house tonight. The place is already almost sold out."
"Good." Clint looked long and hard at Oliver Brisco. Oliver had taken over for his old man, what, six years ago? For the first time Clint had to ask himself: how well did he really know the man who owned and operated the Brisco Rodeo? "Good crowd last night, too. If we keep this up you'll make a nice profit this summer."
Brisco shrugged. "I'm not in this for the money, but it would be nice to make a healthy profit one of these days." He looked past Clint to lay his dark eyes on Mary. She was busy blowing up those long, narrow balloons. "The girl," he said, nodding in her direction. "She's not bad."
"I guess not," Clint said casually.
"Attractive."
"Yep."
"I find it hard to believe that someone who looks like that doesn't have a husband or a serious boyfriend."
Clint's stomach knotted. He was so tempted to grab Oliver by the collar and warn him off. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that. "I know what you mean."
Brisco continued to stare at Mary. "I guess I might let her hang around for the summer. The kids seemed to like her last night, and the price is right."
"She'll be glad to hear that."
Oliver's assistant and cousin, Brett Brisco, joined them. Even in jeans and a western-style shirt, Brett looked more like an accountant than a cowboy. Clint suspected that Oliver kept his cousin on because he was family.
The younger Brisco was great at keeping things organized. He took the entry fees from cowboys, paid off the winners, handled a hundred details Oliver didn't want to be bothered with.
"We've had two bull riders cancel for tomorrow night," Brett said, making notations on a sheet o
f paper as he informed his cousin of the change.
"Round up a couple more," Oliver said, irritated.
"I'm trying, but there's a rodeo in Atlanta this weekend, and a lot of our usual boys are already riding there."
Oliver grinned at Clint. "What about you?"
"Ride?" Clint took his eyes off Mary.
"It's been a long time, but I have a feeling you could handle it."
"No, thanks."
"I could get Frank to take your place with Sam, for the last section of the bull riding. He's worked as a bullfighter in a few smaller rodeos."
Clint shook his head. He loved being a bullfighter, he truly did, but last time he'd been on a bull's back he'd almost died. He liked the adrenaline rush that came with his job, but he couldn't imagine himself ever riding again. "It's been too long."
"Think about it," Oliver said. "We can run short if we have to, but I'd rather not. Hell, I'll even pay your entry fees if you decide to take me up on the offer."
First Mary and now this. His life had been so simple for so long … and all of a sudden everything had been turned upside down.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
The Kirkland twins, who had been with the rodeo since they were twelve, when Oliver Brisco's father had been running the show, were a wealth of information. All Mary had to do was ask a simple question about one of her suspects, and within minutes she knew all the gossip.
Gossip wasn't foolproof, but Mary was a firm believer that where there was smoke, there was fire. The twins' observations might offer her an investigative direction she hadn't thought of.
She'd managed to eliminate a couple of her initial suspects. The lighting "guy," Mel Lawrence, was actually a forty-two-year-old woman. Mary's info on most of the suspects was sketchy, since she didn't have the full resources of the bureau at her fingertips. Still, she felt a little foolish as she mentally marked Mel off the list. Brisco's secretary Dennis Walker, who assisted Brett Brisco with the administrative details, only had full use of one arm. The left. The man who had killed Elaine and the others had struck often and forcefully with his right arm. So she marked Walker off her list, as well.
Even though she had eliminated a few potentials, she had an abundance of suspects.
Her money was still on the man who owned the rodeo. Oliver Brisco didn't have his father's easy charm, and was not a particular favorite with his employees or the athletes. He was too gruff and demanding to be popular. Physically, he had the strength to overpower his victims, and his divorce had left him pretty bitter where women were concerned. It was his ex-wife that nailed it for Mary. The former Mrs. Brisco looked very much like the eight victims. Mary couldn't dismiss that similarity as coincidence. Still, she had to admit there were a lot of pretty blondes in the world, and as for the earrings Mrs. Brisco liked to wear … it certainly wasn't concrete evidence.
Because all Mary had was gut instinct and coincidence, she had to continue to consider others as suspects. Brett Brisco didn't fit in at the rodeo, but he tried very hard to do just that. He dressed the part, he knew the slang, he knew every cowboy by name. But according to the twins, he just didn't have rodeo in his blood. Amber thought Brett was kinda cute, but Tiffany did not.
Eugene Hitt was a complicated man. A clown. The barrel man. He liked to drink and tell jokes, and while the jokes he told to the crowds were good family fun, the ones he told away from the microphone were almost always off color. He had a wife at home, Amber said, but they'd never seen her. According to Eugene his wife didn't care for the rodeo at all, and she hated telling her friends, when they asked, that her husband made his living as a clown.
Tony Colbert, the exuberant announcer, was an outrageous flirt. He smiled constantly, and he had a lame joke for every occasion. Tiffany was almost positive that even though he was in his early thirties, that thing on his head was a toupee. Something about him gave Amber the willies, even though she'd known him for years. She steered well clear of him.
If Sam was her man, he'd started killing very young. At twenty-one, by her calculations. That in itself would be unusual, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible. Was she subconsciously moving him to the bottom of her list because he was Clint's friend?
She couldn't allow that kind of influence to sway her. Allowing Clint's friendships to color her own opinion and slant the investigation was absolutely unthinkable.
Both twins openly adored Clint and Sam, with an innocently girlish infatuation. And what wasn't to like? Both of the rodeo clowns were in top physical condition, and they put on a display of that strength and agility every night the rodeo was in town. Not only that, they both had more than their share of charisma, and they were both handsome. Handsome and strong and charming. What impressionable girl wouldn't be besotted?
There was something about Clint that would drive any woman wild, Mary imagined. Had she let herself fall for a pretty face and a come-hither smile without knowing what was inside the man? The very thought made her shudder. Work was so much simpler than love!
Even after they arrived at the arena, the twins continued to talk and Mary listened. Listening was an art, one the twins had not yet discovered. That fact worked well to Mary's advantage.
Things were already bustling as the workers prepared for the night to come. Mary blew up a number of long, thin balloons she'd hang from her belt once she got into costume. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clint standing to the side, talking to the two Briscos. She was tempted to watch him more closely, to lay her eyes on his face and look her fill. He was natural and at home, in his jeans and cowboy boots, with that black hat that shaded his eyes so she couldn't be sure that he was actually looking at her. She suspected he was watching her like a hawk.
Since she'd arrived at the arena, she'd spotted him close by several times. If he wasn't careful, he was going to blow her cover!
No. She relaxed a little. His attention wouldn't reveal in any way that she was here undercover. But it would ruin any chances of the killer coming after her, if it came to that.
Somewhere deep inside, in a place she tried to deny, she wanted the pervert to come after her. Admitting as much to Josh or Lewis or Clint would send them into a tizzy, so she'd kept it to herself. She didn't want to find incriminating evidence, call in the squad and watch someone else take their murderer down. She wanted him to attack her so she could kill him. She wanted to teach him that not every woman was a victim, that not every woman was weak. And she wanted him to know that she'd come after him because he'd made the mistake of killing her friend.
Unlike the killer's victims, she was prepared. She was ready, and she could take the man who had raped and murdered Elaine down in a matter of seconds. He wouldn't know what hit him.
Like it or not, Clint saw that desire in her. He always had. From the beginning, he'd been able to look at her and know what she was thinking, what she wanted. All along, he had accused her of setting herself up as bait, of putting herself in danger.
She'd denied Clint's accusations more times than she could remember, even to herself. But now that she was here and the serial killer was hers for the catching, she couldn't deny it any longer.
The man who'd killed Elaine was here. She felt it, sensed it in her bones. Before it was all over, she was going to bring him down.
* * *
This would never do. Mary kept drawing his attention away from his work and his well-laid plans. He could stare at her all day and all night, imagining so many exciting possibilities. Once she got into that ridiculous costume of hers, he'd be able to direct his attention to the crowd, where it belonged.
Why had Sinclair brought her here! He clenched and unclenched his fists. To vex him. To taunt him.
No. Sinclair knew nothing. No one knew anything about his activities. He was smarter than they were, so they would never discover who he was and what he had done. Not until he was ready to take due credit, and that time wouldn't come for years.
Mary shook
her head and brushed back a pale, golden strand that had fallen across her face. His fingers ached to touch that hair, to grab the strands and pull her to him. He closed his eyes tight and then turned away.
* * *
By the time the show was over, Clint was more than ready to return to the hotel. Watching Mary was every bit as exhausting as chasing bulls! Doing both in one evening had drained him.
Again, Mary refused to go with him, preferring to hitch a ride with the Kirkland twins. On the drive back to the hotel his hands clenched the steering wheel, and his jaw was every bit as tight as his fists. He followed the twins' car, trying not to tailgate even though he really wanted to see inside the vehicle.
What was he going to do with Mary? This was her job, he knew that, and it was important to her. But to watch her put herself in harm's way … it was painful. Now she had him wondering if one of the men he'd worked with for the past three years could be a cold-blooded killer.
Clint parked several spaces down from the girls and watched them head into the hotel—the twins in their body-hugging tights, Mary in her clown costume. He sat in the truck until they disappeared into the hotel. If Mary saw him following her, she'd have his hide. In spite of his dilemma, a smile broke out on his face. She could have his hide anytime.
When he'd given them time to get to the elevator, he left his truck and followed their steps, his cleats making strange clacking noises on the pavement with each step. Once he was alone with Mary, he had to find a way to make her see that he just couldn't allow this. She wasn't going to like it.
Luckily he didn't run into anyone he knew on the way to the fourth floor, though he did get plenty of stares on the way. Yes, there was a trailer at the arena where they changed into their clothes before the show, and they could change there afterward. But the shower in that trailer was weak and sputtering, and the water was almost always cold. After an evening in the arena what he wanted and needed most was a strong blast of warm water.
He let himself into his room and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the connecting door still stood wide open. He listened for the sound of the shower from Mary's room, but heard only water running into the sink. He stepped through the doors and peeked beyond the open bathroom door to see her standing over the sink rubbing cold cream onto her painted face. She still wore the clown costume, minus the red wig.
CLINT'S WILD RIDE Page 13
