by Lynn, Sheryl
“So you admit you care about me?”
“Don’t start, Red.” Tate’s smile faded. “Of course I care.” He cupped his large hand against Diana’s cheek, a gesture so tender it made her throat tighten. “All the years I’ve been a cop, and I never got personal with a case. Cops who get personal, they burn out. I never did that.” One finger gently caressed her cheek. “But this is personal. You know I don’t want to care much about you.”
“It’s a human tendency to resist that which we need the most.” She could stand here and stare into his beautiful eyes all day long.
“No games, okay? We’re friends. Good friends, but just friends….”
Diana guessed where he was leading, and tamped the urge to argue. He needed to say what he needed to say.
“You’re right. I do think you’re sexy. I’ve thought about asking you out. I even dream about you. But I don’t want to wreck our friendship. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Or himself.
“But you still want to kiss me.”
His chest rose and fell in a heavy breath. “Yeah.”
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
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Passion ignites in Debra Webb’s next COLBY AGENCY case. Ian Michaels and Nicole Reed go head-to-head in Protective Custody—the result is nothing short of explosive. Charlotte Douglas follows up her cross-over Harlequin American Romance-Harlequin Intrigue series, IDENTITY SWAP. Sexy lawman Dylan Blackburn had loved Jennifer Reid from afar, but when he had the chance to love her up close, he’d learned there was a Stranger in His Arms.
Finally, Sheryl Lynn winds up her two-book MCCLINTOCK COUNTRY miniseries with Colorado’s Finest. Tate Raleigh combines urban street smarts with a rugged physique and stalwart principles that stand the test of time. He’s a devastating opponent to any criminal—and totally irresistible to every woman.
So we hope each one of these fantastic stories jump-starts the season for you. Enjoy!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
COLORADO’S
FINEST
SHERYL LYNN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sheryl Lynn lives in a pine forest atop a hill in Colorado. When not writing, she amuses herself by embarrassing her two teenagers, walking her dogs in a nearby park and feeding peanuts to the dozens of Steller’s jays, scrub jays, blue jays and squirrels who live in her backyard. Her best ideas come from the newspapers, although she admits that a lot of what she reads is way too weird for fiction.
Books by Sheryl Lynn
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
190—DOUBLE VISION
223—DEADLY DEVOTION
258—SIMON SAYS
306—LADYKILLER
331—DARK KNIGHT*
336—DARK STAR*
367—THE OTHER LAURA
385—BULLETPROOF HEART
424—THE CASE OF THE VANISHED GROOM†
425—THE CASE OF THE BAD LUCK FIANCɆ
467—EASY LOVING
514—THE BODYGUARD†
518—UNDERCOVER FIANCɆ
608—TO PROTECT THEIR CHILD**
612—COLORADO’S FINEST**
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Deputy Tate Raleigh—Formerly one of New York’s finest, this tough cop owns the historic Track Shack Bar and Grill and is desperately trying to escape his past.
Diana Dover—She’s been reborn, and found peace and balance in McClintock, Colorado. Lessons from the past must be dealt with, even if it puts her in danger or causes her to lose the love of her life.
Bernadette O’Malley—Unrepentant thief and liar who has finally gone too far, and only her twin sister can possibly save her.
Sheriff Gil Vance—He takes care of his town, even if it means going head-to-head with the FBI.
Farrah Montgomery—Deadly avenger or murder victim?
Special Agent Andrew Albright—An FBI agent with an agenda. He’ll get what he wants no matter who gets hurt.
Thank you, my little chicks, Becky, Khrys, Kitty and Sara. We have entirely too much fun.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
Trouble, Tim had told her. Like one of them jinxes, turning gold into lead.
Bernie was beginning to believe it. Or maybe she’d known it all along and only now had a name for the bad luck that had dogged her all her life. She was a jinx.
She stared up at the security guard. Most gated communities in the Phoenix area hired geezers to check traffic moving in and out. Forty Palm’s residents employed a tough looking man who wore a sidearm and looked capable, and willing to use it.
Bernie tried to turn on the charm. Her hands ached from how tightly she clutched the steering wheel. Her wounded arm throbbed. A bullet seemed too small to cause such a huge misery, but the pain radiated the length of her arm and across her shoulder blades. Heat outside the open window clashed with the car’s air-conditioning and made her woozy. Charm eluded her. “Can’t you just double-check? Please? Ruth O’Malley, 1421 Paloma Way. She’s lived there over twenty years. I’m her daughter. Call her, she’ll tell you.”
The guard held a clipboard. After giving it a cursory scan, he shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am, no O’Malley at that address. No O’Malley on the list at all.”
“Call the house.”
“I’ll call the police.” His tone was mild, but his expression wasn’t.
Bernie couldn’t afford official intervention right now. She shoved the transmission into reverse and backed into the street. She kept backing up until she was out of the guard’s line of sight, then put the Buick into park.
She rested her forearms on the steering wheel and her head on her arms. She hurt all over. Her eyeballs felt like sandblasted marbles. Her stomach was as hollow as a deflated balloon, but the mere idea of shoving snack food into her mouth made her ill.
She didn’t know where to go, what to do. She’d already been to her sister’s condo. A stranger lived there now. She’d found her sister’s husband living at another address. Good old Dr. Jeff had coldly informed her that he and Diana were divorced and he hadn’t seen her in years. He’d hung up on her. Hard. Big priss must still be mad about the Porsche, she thought.
Diana’s divorce didn’t surprise Bernie, but it did worry her. If she’d remarried, she could have changed her name, or moved out of state. Bernie could understand Mom turning her away—it had been five or six years since Bernie had talked to her, and the old lady liked to pout and punish—but Diana would help her. No matter how angry she got, Diana always helped. Dear sister never held a grudge.
She turned her baleful gaze on Tim. Wrapped up in a blanket despite the heat, he slept. Worthless. This was all his fault.
A car drove past and turned into the community entrance. Bernie glimpsed the passenger’s profile. There was an ugl
y mug she’d never forget—a bullet from his pistol had torn a chunk out of her arm. Her heart thudded.
“What are these guys?” she wailed. “Psychic?”
She whipped the car in a U-turn. The front wheels thumped hard on the median curb. Tim’s head lolled and smacked against the glass. The bumper plowed through blooming bird-of-paradise, then thumped again when it hit the street.
A minivan swerved and honked. Bernie punched the accelerator.
Half a mile down the road she remembered the wires hanging from the steering column. All a cop had to do was look in the window and he’d know the car was stolen. She searched the rearview mirror; the road was empty behind her. She slowed the car to the speed limit.
“This is all your fault, you jerk,” she snarled. Tim slumped on the seat. Only a seat belt kept him from crumpling onto the floor. His face was gray. “You didn’t have to kill her. We got the money. Everybody cooperated. Damn you, she was my friend!”
He muttered and struggled weakly against the blanket. A fresh, red stain spread on the wool. He was bleeding all over the car.
“You hurting?” she asked. “Good, because I am, too. And you know what? Phoenix isn’t big enough. They’re here! I don’t know how they know, but they know and they’re right behind us!” She slammed a fist against the steering wheel.
She couldn’t find her family. Friends had given up on her long ago. Those murderous bloodhounds seemed to be anticipating her every move.
Tim groaned. She should dump him in an emergency room. Then he’d be arrested, and he’d talk like he was being paid by the word. He’d put the blame for the whole screwed-up mess on her.
She turned east. If her family couldn’t—wouldn’t—help her, she’d have to help herself. “We’re going to Colorado.”
Tim groaned again.
“McClintock, Colorado.” Memories of wide open spaces, towering mountains and ranch country populated by goat-ropin’ hicks lifted her mood. “The land that time forgot. They’ll never find us there. Not in a million years. Do you hear me? Once we get across the state line, all our problems are solved.”
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR real problem is?”
Don’t smile, Tate Raleigh warned himself. Smiling only encouraged Diana. He tapped a pencil against the messy sprawl of paperwork on the bar.
“Well?” she asked. “Do you?”
It occurred to him that the Track Shack had grown quiet. He swiveled on the bar stool, and was surprised to see the dining room was empty. He’d been so engrossed in trying to figure out how to stay out of bankruptcy, he hadn’t noticed that the lunch crowd had cleared. The only noise came from the kitchen where Consuela banged pots, pans and dishes.
With a questioning look, Diana raised a coffee carafe. He pushed his cup toward her. He rested his chin on a fist. The Track Shack Bar and Grill was a money pit, and he was drowning.
Diana filled his cup. The aroma curled around his nose, soothing him. For someone who never touched the stuff, she made fantastic coffee.
She grinned at him. A yellow pencil stuck out of too-wild hair. Her blue eyes sparkled with good humor. That’s what he liked most about her. She was her own little patch of sunshine. Despite himself, his mood lifted.
“How many times have I told you to not give me advice, lectures or analysis?”
Her face scrunched in concentration. “Let’s see. I’ve worked here about six months, five days a week. That’s, um…approximately ninety-six times.”
“Okay, for the ninety-seventh time, mind your own business.”
“You’re mistaking quantity for quality. You work too hard.”
Once Diana had it in her head to counsel him about improving his life, a machine-gun nest and barbed wire couldn’t keep her at bay. “Is that so?”
“Workaholics don’t put in the hours to get more done.” She shook her head, setting her curly hair bobbing. “It’s a way to escape yourself. An impossible goal. Still, that’s not your real problem. Negative energy. That’s the real problem.”
Giving her a dry look, he sipped coffee. “Don’t you have tables to bus?”
“Everything in its time. I’m worried about you.” She stretched a hand across the bar and used a fingertip to lightly rub the worry lines between his eyebrows.
“Not now, Red.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Get this place cleaned up.”
“Negative energy attracts negative energy. Whatever you put out, that’s what comes back. You don’t want to sell the Shack. That’s why you’ve got headaches and heartburn. Even this building can feel it. All the vibes are off-kilter, energy flows are disrupted. That’s why things keep breaking.”
“Huh. And here I thought it was because this building is almost a hundred years old. Dry rot, a leaky roof and ancient plumbing is the problem. Not to mention, my suppliers upping costs every time I turn around.” He lost his grip on the good mood and snarled at the paperwork. “The Feed Bag turned into a sports bar with not one, but two big-screen televisions. How am I supposed to compete with that? McClintock isn’t big enough to support all the restaurants we’ve got. It’s survival of the fittest, Red, and quite frankly, the old Shack is on her last legs.”
He looked around at the grease-darkened, pine-panelled walls, the garish neon signs advertising brands of beer and the 1950s era tubular steel dining tables. A fixture in McClintock, Colorado, the Shack had history and Wild West charm. It hurt his heart knowing he had to let it go.
“I messed up buying out Junior’s share of the business. I’m in hock up to my eyeballs.” He turned a critical eye on the floor. The linoleum had to be fifty years old, and was worn through in places. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d renovate the place, but then I’ll chase away my regulars.”
“Have you tried prayer?”
“Me and religion parted ways a long time ago.”
“You don’t need religion to pray.” She touched his hand. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Right.” He studied her hand. Her fingers were long, slender, work-roughened, but graceful. He liked it a tad more than was wise when she touched him. He lifted his gaze to her face. Her skin was milky-white, emphasizing the angularity of a very Irish heritage. Taken individually her features were ordinary. All together they somehow added up to a peculiar beauty.
Not for the first time, he debated asking her to dinner. Not for the first time, a warning voice told him not to go there. He and Diana had a great relationship just the way it was.
A woman strode into the bar and called out a cheerful hello. “Marlee!” Diana called in return.
Within seconds Diana and Marlee Crowder had their heads together, giggling like girls. Their friendship baffled Tate. Marlee, a veterinarian and daughter of the richest woman in the Maya Valley, was almost twenty years younger than Diana, a forty-something retro-hippie. Yet, whenever they got together, it turned into a laugh fest.
A grown man didn’t need a buddy who was privy to every little aspect of his life. Still, a pang of envy tightened his diaphragm. Stupid.
Diana went to the kitchen to fetch Marlee’s take-out order. Marlee slid onto a stool next to Tate.
“How’s the animal doctor business?” he asked.
“Couldn’t be better. How’s the barkeep slash deputy sheriff business?” Her grin sparkled in the gloomy light. “Have you ever considered the irony of what you do?”
Marlee loved to tease him. She reminded him of his younger sisters. Sassy, uncowed by his superior size and strength, and secure in the knowledge that he’d never strike back no matter what the provocation.
“The bulk of law enforcement around here deals with the effects of alcohol,” she said. “Drunk drivers, domestic brawls, underage drinkers. Yet, you own a bar.”
“It isn’t ironic,” he said, straight-faced. “It’s symbiotic.”
She frowned for a few seconds, then comprehension dawned and she laughed. She quickly sobered and looked around the place as if it were a sick animal she needed to figure
out how to tend. “I heard a rumor that you’re going to sell the Shack.”
He covered the paperwork with his forearms. It was impossible to keep anything secret in this town, but he had his pride. “No rumor. It’s a fact. I’m getting everything in order so I can list it on the market.”
“Be a real shame if the Shack shut down. Do you know this is the oldest original building in McClintock?”
As fast as it was falling apart, he could believe it. “I did not know that.”
“It used to be a railroad station.”
That much he knew. He also knew the Shack would go the way of the dinosaur if he didn’t find a buyer. The land it sat on was worth more than the business, so if he lost it through bankruptcy, it would in all likelihood be bulldozed. That hurt too much to think about.
Diana returned with a paper bag. Marlee paid and tossed a breezy goodbye to Tate. He returned to figuring out how to tweak the budget in his favor.
Diana cleared tables, washed them down, wiped off chairs and refilled condiment and napkin dispensers. She served lunch to some stragglers, and coffee to a pair of old farmers who were arguing about drought conditions. Tate almost yelled at them to shut up so he could concentrate. With all the rain they’d had this spring, drought was the last thing anyone should worry about. The place emptied again, and Tate had tweaked as much as humanly possible. He couldn’t make payroll unless he came up with five hundred bucks in the next week.
He rubbed his aching temples with the pads of his fingers.
“I know why you’re really so grouchy,” Diana said. She refilled his coffee cup.
“Because you’re a pain in the butt?”
She winked. “Close. It’s because you have the hots for me.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Sexual tension.” She wiggled her hands. “It makes the air shivery. Crazy vibes.”
It took him several seconds to catch up to the fact that she was teasing him. Seconds where he flashed onto the wide, graceful fullness of her hips and those long legs that he’d love to see in a skirt. Where he considered plunging his hands into her corona of coppery hair to see if it was as lush and soft as it looked. Where he’d really like to kiss that wide mouth, in the hopes of finding out if her kisses were as fiery as her hair. He brutally shoved away that nonsense.
