by Cassie Miles
They were parked at the far edge of a motel lot, and she had no idea what Dash was discussing with his Fed buddies. Were they going to stay here for the night? Were they going somewhere more secure? Nobody told her anything.
She watched as Dash gestured emphatically. Even in springtime, the night air was chilly, and he was wearing his black leather jacket with the collar turned up. He looked a little dangerous, as if he’d finally been pushed too far.
She exhaled a frustrated sigh. As long as she was stuck here waiting, she might as well get something done. Swiveling around in her captain’s chair, she faced the rear of the camper. The small enclosed space had a kitchenette on one side and a narrow bench that could double as a bed on the other. She found her briefcase and returned to her chair.
A table folded out in front of her. After turning on the overhead light, she opened the briefcase and took out the last few term papers she had left to grade—freshmen papers on basic, boring topics. With a red pen, she slashed aggressively at minor errors. Then, to compensate for her bad mood, she gave higher grades than these students deserved.
Turning, she glanced through the windshield. Dash was still talking. Still ignoring her. It might be nice to know where she stood with him. That kiss they’d shared before going into the hospital told her that she was more than a protected witness. How much more? Would there be more intimacy? For a man of action, he was certainly taking his time when it came to her. She lowered her pen and ripped through a misspelled word. Couldn’t anyone get it right?
She flipped to the next paper, unfastened the clip and started to read about Anasazi pottery shards. No earth-shattering revelations here. Same old stuff.
The second page was different. Only a few printer-generated lines were centered on the white paper.
“Cara,” it said. “You left me in haste. Too soon to realize that we are meant to be together. No other mate is worthy. Come to me, Cara. At the place of long shadows, I will find you and put an end to my quest. The Judge.”
How had Russell slipped this message into her stack of term papers? When? He must have gone into her office at the university. He knew her too well, knew that she would demand to have her papers to grade. No matter where she went or what she did, he was always there. Inescapable.
This new threat sent her pulse racing. She wanted to run, to scream, to throw a tantrum. But she wasn’t a child. She needed to make an intelligent, measured decision.
His reference to the place of long shadows couldn’t have been more direct. At the archaeological dig site where Russell, Joanne and Dr. Sterling worked was a pictograph carved into stone—stick figures of dancers followed by their shadows. Long shadows.
Russell awaited her there.
The driver’s side door opened, and Dash climbed inside. He had a couple of plastic grocery bags, which he stowed behind his captain’s chair.
“About time,” she said.
“Nice to see you, too.”
Without another word, she shoved Russell’s message toward him. “I found this tucked inside the papers I was grading.”
He read aloud, “The place of long shadows?”
“A reference to the archaeology site where Russell was working.” Her decision was made. Firmly, she said, “We have to go there. Both of us. You and me. Together.”
“I agree.”
His ready acceptance shocked her. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see inside his mind. His objections to including her in the investigation had been unwavering. “Why are you being so agreeable?”
“Turn that chair around and buckle up,” he said. “We’re on our way.”
As they pulled out of the parking lot, she asked, “Are we going directly to the dig site?”
“We’ll spend the night at Pilar Canyon. According to those agents I was talking to, those campsites have good access and visibility.”
The fact that he had their route all mapped told her that he’d made this plan earlier. “When did you decide this?”
“When we were talking to Dr. Sterling.”
She frowned. “Surely you don’t suspect him of anything.”
“I suspect everybody,” Dash said.
“Sterling is a genius.”
“And a little warped. How many people have advanced degrees in the study of dead bodies?”
“Very few. And forensic anthropology is a whole lot more than bones. Some of Dr. Sterling’s findings have changed the way we understand ancient societies.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not seriously interested in him as a suspect.” His gaze flicked to the rearview mirrors, still keeping watch. “But I can’t say the same for the other students at the dig site. Russell’s buddies might have been in contact with him.”
“Especially Joanne Jones,” she said. “Do you think Russell is there?”
“It makes sense for him to return to a place where he knows the lay of the land. It’s a comfort zone.”
She still wasn’t satisfied with his explanation. “Why did you decide to take me along?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Cara. As soon as we’re done at the dig site, I’m taking you back to the safe house.”
That still wasn’t an answer. “Again, why?”
He turned toward her. In the light from the dashboard, she saw him smile. “Because I need your help.”
Exactly what she wanted to hear. He needed her. A giddy sense of adventure welled up inside her. They were going after a serial killer. Serious business. Still, she couldn’t keep from grinning.
“Man Eagle,” she said.
“The Hopi legend about the serial killer.” His expression turned skeptical. “Listen, Cara. I know Russell has been leaving behind his weird little clues. The bowl, the ceremonial pipe and eagle feather.”
“What about that bowl?” she asked. “Did it belong to Russell?”
He nodded. “We found his thumbprint. But don’t ask me why he left it there. It doesn’t make sense. This isn’t a neat little story that can be tied up in a folk table.”
“I can’t explain Russell,” she said, “but I have a pretty good idea about you and me. When you first heard the story of Man Eagle, you asked if it had a moral.”
“And you said no.”
“Actually, there is a lesson in the story. Son of Light never would have defeated Man Eagle without asking for help from others. You need me.”
“More than you know.”
She sat back in her seat and savored this lovely, warm feeling. More than just a witness, she was needed. Necessary. They were a team.
Though it was only a bit after nine o’clock, there were few other cars on this straight, two-lane road. She could see headlights approaching from miles away.
Dash fiddled with the various dials and screens on the dashboard, programming the air flow and the GPS mapping function. He turned up the sound, and the smooth voice of Harry Connick Jr. gently serenaded her.
She recalled Dash’s earlier discussion with Flynn about musical taste. “You’re not a country-western guy.”
“Not usually.”
“Is this your CD?”
“It’s an iPod mix. I take it on trips for when I jog. Mostly jazz.”
It wasn’t hard for her to imagine him in a dimly lit jazz club in San Francisco. His normal life was so far away from the Southwest. Far away from her. “Do you miss San Francisco?”
“Not really. San Francisco happens to be where I’m living right now, but I haven’t put down roots.”
He wasn’t ready to settle down. She knew that about him. Dash was a rolling stone who had already left a law career and a wife. “What are you looking for?”
“A good laugh, a soft bed and a great cup of coffee.”
Life wasn’t that simple, and neither was he. She’d caught glimpses of a complicated man. Strong and sensitive. He was interested in new knowledge and information, but when he made up his mind, the decision was as solid as granite.
And he’d decided that he needed her. Tonight they would be al
one. Just the two of them, alone in their camper mini-home.
No wonder she was excited. Peeking over her shoulder, she checked out the very narrow bed that hugged the wall of the camper. It didn’t look big enough for one skinny person. “Where are we going to sleep?”
“That bench folds out into a full bed. And there’s another bed in the back. We don’t have to, um, you know.”
This was the first time she’d heard him sound unsure of himself. “We don’t have to sleep together?”
“Right.”
She reached across the space between the two captain’s chairs and stroked the cool leather of his jacket. “One bed will be enough.”
As he turned toward her, the nose of the camper swerved. The music on the mix switched to classic Isaac Hayes with a hard, pounding beat. “I don’t want to pressure you, Cara.”
“And you don’t want me to get the wrong idea,” she said. “I understand.”
“Do you?”
She had a very clear picture of Dashiell Quincy Adams. “A federal agent who has already been married once. There’s no room in your life for a relationship, and you have no intention of settling down again.”
“That’s an accurate profile.”
Though she might want more from him, Cara knew what to expect. Her eyes were wide open. Tonight, she would make love to him. And that would have to be enough.
THE TOPOGRAPHY OF PILAR CANYON met Dash’s requirement for a safe site. It was desolate. No one had followed them. For the past ten miles, he hadn’t seen another vehicle.
At the unmanned camping area, he’d parked on a high ridge overlooking a pine forest. Even if, by some freak chance, Russell located the camper, he couldn’t approach without making noise.
While Dash fumbled in the back of the camper, flipping down panels to make a bigger bed, Cara had stepped outside to catch a breath of air. She’d promised to stay close.
Soon, they’d be even closer.
When he climbed out of the camper, he saw her standing at the edge of the rock overlooking a deep canyon. Her chin tilted upward, and her face was bathed in moonlight. The dry winds played with her long black hair.
As he came up behind her, she didn’t turn. His arms glided around her slender body, and he pulled her close. She smelled like flowers and fresh mint.
“What do you think of me?” she asked.
“You’re beautiful.”
He nuzzled through the curtain of hair to kiss the warm nape of her neck, and she released a tiny but very sexy sigh. “Really, Dash. I told you my opinions. Now you tell me.”
“You want a profile?”
She wiggled her butt against him, and his groin tightened. He was already primed for lovemaking. In the back of his mind, he’d been thinking about sex for days.
“A profile.” Her voice was husky. “That’s exactly what I want.”
“Determined. Ambitious. Intelligent. Maybe a little too smart for your own good because you tend to over-think.” She shifted against him, and the friction of their bodies aroused him even more. “You take your Navajo heritage seriously. When I saw you standing here in the moonlight, you seemed like part of this land.”
“But I’m really not. As much as I appreciate the time I spend at the reservation, I always feel like an observer. I don’t speak the language. I don’t even know how to ride a horse.”
“You’re a city girl.”
“An overly educated city girl. When you requested DNA testing on the murdered daughter of the elder, I found myself agreeing with you. Tribal rites are important, but I wanted justice for that victim. For all the victims found on sacred sites and in burial mounds.”
He didn’t want to get her started talking about archaeology. “Are you nervous?”
“Maybe,” she admitted.
He could go slow. After one last kiss on her neck, he separated from her. Standing at her side, he peered into the depths of the rugged canyon. He repeated the question she’d asked him earlier. “What are you looking for?”
“A place where I belong. It’s not really the reservation. Or in my career where there’s so much competition. I never fit in with my very blond family.”
“Right now,” he said, “you belong with me.”
Her lips parted in a smile. “That’s so simple.”
“Life doesn’t have to be complex.”
Her hands slipped inside his jacket and she pulled him toward her. When they kissed, the canyon winds swirled around them—a cool contrast to the moist heat of her mouth. Her soft female body molded against him.
The kiss ended; they were both gasping. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the camper. “Come on, Dash. Hurry.”
“We’ve got all night.”
“I want you now.” Cara was so eager that she tripped over her own feet on the way to the camper. Inside, she was delighted to see that the entire back section had been turned into a bed.
Quickly, she shed her coat and stretched out on top of the blankets covering the mattress. Not exactly a feather bed, but fairly comfortable. If she stretched her arm out to the right, she could touch the faucets in the mini-sink.
As Dash peeled off his leather jacket, he bumped his head against the ceiling. “Not much room in here.”
“It’s like a cocoon,” she said.
He locked the doors and started the music again.
“Won’t that run down the battery?”
“Separate adapter,” he said. “No juice from the car.”
A cool instrumental jazz piece softly teased her senses. She watched as he slipped out of his shoulder holster and stretched out on the bed. He kept his handgun within easy reach—a reminder of all the dangers that lay outside their camper cocoon.
She snuggled into his embrace. Their lips joined, setting off a chain reaction of sensation. A fiery heat raced through her body. She belonged here. With him. For tonight, this was home.
In the glow of moonlight through the rear window, she gazed into his eyes. From the first time she’d seen him, those deep-set blue eyes had drawn her toward this moment in his arms.
Holding her gaze, his fingers expertly unbuttoned her blouse, exposing her black lace bra. He unfastened the front hook, freeing her breasts.
“Smooth move,” she said. “How did you learn to do that?”
“FBI.”
When she laughed, he lowered his head to kiss her throat and then her breasts. With aching tenderness, he suckled her taut nipples, and the fire inside her grew.
With his skillful fingers, he undid the button on her slacks and parted the zipper. His hand glided over her panties. She parted her thighs, welcoming his touch.
Her muscles tensed and released. Desire throbbed in every cell of her body. The sweet jazz music harmonized with a sexy internal rhythm. Pure sensation.
She was ready for sex yet she wanted to savor the moment, to make it last.
“Dash,” she whispered.
“What is it?”
“Your shirt. It needs to come off.”
He lay beside her, his head propped up on an elbow, waiting for her to remove his shirt. But she wasn’t as clever as he was. Her fingers plucked clumsily at the buttons. Damn it, this was taking too long. She gathered the material in each hand, but before she could rip it apart, he stopped her.
“Let me take it off,” he said.
“All off,” she demanded.
She wanted to see the muscular, lean body that had tantalized her for days. And she wasn’t disappointed. Broad, well-muscled shoulders. Narrow torso. His chest hair was an enticing, dark pelt that arrowed into the waistband of his jeans.
There wasn’t enough space in the back of the camper for a striptease. Dash pulled off his shoes, socks and jeans with more efficiency than sexiness, but the end result was spectacular.
He pounced on her. “If you think you’re going to be dressed while I’m naked, forget it.”
At the foot of the bed, he removed her sneakers and socks. His thumb pressed into the arch of
her foot. Being careful with the cuts and bruises that had just healed, he massaged the sole of her foot and her toes. His touch sent a current of electricity up her legs to the core of her sensuality, setting off delightful shivers of pure desire.
He slid her slacks down her legs. Removed her blouse and bra. She was naked except for the turquoise beads at her throat and the silver cuffs on her wrists.
He laced his fingers with hers and pulled until she was sitting on the bed, facing him. For a long moment, they merely stared, each of them drinking in the other.
When she looked into his face, he smiled and she saw a dimple she’d never noticed before.
He opened his arms to her, and she moved gently into his embrace. Her hand gracefully traced the line of his torso. There was a synchronized elegance to the way they moved together. Like dancers. They were meant to be together. A perfect fit.
She wanted to know every part of his body. Intimately. Trailing her fingers through his chest hair and down his torso, she grasped his hard, hot erection.
He tensed. “Careful. I want to take my time.”
But she was ready to take their passion to the next level. “Condom?”
“Yes.” He kissed her.
After he sheathed himself, he lowered her to the bed. The weight of his body pressed on top of her, and she arched her back, wanting to be closer to him, wanting him inside her.
Where had he been all her life? She’d always enjoyed sex, but never like this. With him, she was transcendent, ethereal. This blue-eyed man was taking her to a place she’d never been.
A saxophone wailed on the soundtrack. Her dance had become more demanding. A fierce tango. She shimmied against him, pulled him so tightly against her that their flesh melted together. And still, he held back.
She rolled on top of him, but he flipped her back. And he entered her with a long, slow thrust. She whimpered, “More. Faster.”
He moved inside her. “You feel so good.”
Her pulse fluttered. An intense energy was building inside her, driving her wild. She heard herself moaning, gasping. Her muscles constricted in a fierce spasm that demanded release. As he thrust harder and faster, her world shattered in a prolonged explosion.
