She was alone with Patrick? She felt suddenly warm, and it had nothing to do with what she was wearing. She looked into Patrick’s eyes and saw his awareness there, too—hot and lusty.
“Any idea how long they’ll be?”
“None. But I’ll tell them you were here.”
Well, hell. He wanted her to leave. Which made her, perversely, want to dig in her heels.
Maybe she could even seduce him, to encourage his apparent interest so she could learn something about Shaun’s death and make Harold happy….
Too bad that wasn’t her. Although the idea of having sex with him just for the fun of it had more appeal than she wanted to admit to herself.
She decided to hang around a little longer if possible—not for seduction, but to see what information about Shaun she could extract from Patrick.
“Any chance of getting a cup of hot chocolate?” she asked. “I’m cold!” She gave a little shiver in punctuation.
“If you got back in your car and turned on the heater on your way to town, you’d warm up.”
“You’re right, but it would feel a whole lot better if I had a nice warm drink first.”
“Okay.” His curtness didn’t sound as if he’d decided yet to let her stay long. “But it’ll have to be a short one. I’ve got work to do. And not in the main house—it’s locked up right now.”
Mariah would get to see at least part of the building where Patrick lived…and Shaun died. Trailed by Duke, Patrick ushered her along the driveway and into the back building, then into a first-floor kitchen smaller and more sparsely furnished than the one in the main house. He grabbed a pot and put water on the stove to boil.
“So this is where you stay?” she asked. She stood near the sink, looking through the window behind it toward woods filled with bleak, leafless trees. “That’s right.”
He obviously wasn’t about to keep up a conversation, so it was up to her. “And your friend Shaun—where was his apartment?”
“Upstairs.”
“Yours, too?”
“Near his.” Turning his back, he took some white mugs from a wood-fronted cabinet on the wall beside the sink.
This was becoming more than irritating. But she wasn’t about to give up.
She waited while he poured boiling water over the cocoa mix in their cups, then stirred in some tiny marshmallows. He handed her a mug and his hand brushed hers. He felt it, too, and stared down at the contact with a sensuality in his gaze that made her shiver.
Licking her lips suggestively, she tasted the brew. Good, hot and sweet. But she really had no appetite for it.
She put the mug back down on the laminated counter with a thump that startled the dog, who’d been asleep on the floor. Patrick turned his back, looking out the window. “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ve got some questions for you, Patrick. About your secrets.”
He turned, his expression blank—and she missed his earlier heated gaze. “What secrets?”
“You tell me. What don’t you want me to know? You only ask questions, never answer anything directly. I don’t think you killed your friend Shaun—from what I can tell, you’re genuinely grieving over him. But there’s something else. I’m sure of it. And I’m not going to give up until you tell me what—”
Suddenly, his mug was beside hers on the counter. He grabbed her, pulled her tightly against him, and shut her up—by lowering his mouth firmly onto hers.
She resisted only for an instant, then threw herself into the kiss. Was this what she’d wanted all along?
One of his hands held her so firmly against him that she felt his hardness, pushed herself even closer. His other hand stroked her back, her buttocks. She moaned as it moved forward to cup one breast, tease her nipple…
“You want to know my secrets?” he rasped against her mouth. “Then come upstairs with me, Mariah.”
What could she do but comply?
Bad idea, Patrick cautioned himself. But he nevertheless held Mariah close to his side as they stumbled up the stairs. At the top of the steps, he kissed her again, hard, glad that no one else was around that day. Or maybe that wasn’t such a good thing.
It made it so much easier for him to commit this foolish—yet inevitable—act.
“Last chance to leave,” he muttered against her mouth.
“No way,” she breathed.
And then they were inside the box that was his apartment. He closed the door to keep out Duke, who’d followed them. He saw Mariah glance around, probably noting its tininess, its sparseness—then thrust herself back against him.
Damn, but she got to him. Turned him on so he didn’t wait even to reach the bed. Her spicy scent intoxicated him, surging through his blood stream, making him want even more—of it, of her. A hallucinogen? Addictive? Hell, yes.
She’d left her jacket downstairs. Good. One less obstruction. He pulled at the hem of her green sweater, yanking it over her head. And then he had her pants off, touching her everywhere. Wanting more. Kissing her smooth, hot skin.
“Now, Patrick,” she gasped as she tugged at his own sweater. “Please.”
Whatever the rest of Patrick’s secrets, one was that he was the sexiest man imaginable under his cool, aloof demeanor and his warm Alaskan clothes.
And suddenly, exhilaratingly, that was a secret no longer. Mariah was in his bed. Beneath him as his hands and mouth caressed her until every inch of her was alert, on fire. Needing more.
Needing him.
And yet, despite his own obvious need, he pulled away—and she soon heard a crackle of plastic that told her he had maintained some degree of awareness and sanity, perhaps better than she had. But she reached down, determined to participate, to sheathe him with the condom.
And then, at last, he was inside her. Moving, bucking, causing her to react in unison with him, meeting his thrusts. More, and harder, and—she finally screamed his name, even as he, too, cried out.
Slowly, slowly, her breathing settled down. She turned into him, clasped in his strong arms as he, too, caught his breath. Warmed by a body she could only term as phenomenal.
But as her awareness returned, so did her consciousness. She may have experienced the best sex in her life, the best sex imaginable.
But she still had not learned any of Patrick Worley’s secrets.
Chapter 9
Gentleman that he was, Patrick had allowed Mariah to shower first in his apartment’s small bathroom. Alone. He’d initially expressed concern that others might return soon to the building. Although two of them showering together could theoretically save time, chances were that they’d wind up back in bed. Against the wall. On the floor. Making love all over again.
The thought made Mariah shiver deliciously, even now.
But as Patrick showered, she used the time alone to put her clothes on and repair her hair and makeup as well as possible, considering that she had left her tote bag and its contents downstairs.
She let Duke into the apartment and made a fuss over him. The poor dog had started making noises out in the hall, where Patrick had exiled him.
Giving Duke a reassuring hug, Mariah stood and looked into the mirror attached to the small dresser. She’d have done better with some lip gloss, but she had found a comb of Patrick’s so her hair wasn’t too awful.
A phone rang nearby, from somewhere in the apartment. Mariah looked around. Should she notify Patrick to come out and answer? He probably had voice mail. Even so, she looked for the phone, then realized that the ring emanated from the large backpack she’d seen Patrick carry on the night he had spent at Inez’s.
The night he had found poor Shaun…
Shaun! She’d gotten so distracted that she had forgotten what a great opportunity she had, being inside the building where he had been killed.
Maybe she could duck into the apartment that had been his and look around.
But first, she should check the caller ID on the still-ringing phone so she could at least let Patrick know who it was.
> Kneeling by the backpack, where it lay on the floor beside the dresser, she unzipped it and reached in—just as the phone stopped ringing. Oh, well. She started to withdraw her hand, but felt something odd. She pulled the pack open farther.
Looking inside, she saw a cloth bag that contained something that felt…well, smooth. She was curious, but left it alone when she noticed a large, opaque bottle. Booze of some kind? Odd, that Patrick would carry alcohol. She’d gotten the impression at Fiske’s that his beer consumption was pretty light, and she’d not seen him with anything stronger.
Curious, she pulled the bottle out—and saw that its label was not a commercial distributor’s but what appeared to be a prescription with no identification of the drug inside. It had Patrick’s name on it, though, with directions “Take as needed.”
Strange. Was Patrick ill? Was that why he was so secretive? He certainly didn’t act as if anything was wrong, but who knew?
Of course, this could simply be a health supplement or vitamins, although why would they be prescribed for him?
Or…if Patrick was the guy she’d found on the internet, who was once with the U.S. military and then discharged under less than honorable circumstances, could it have been for using drugs—like this? If so, what was it?
Well, it wasn’t really her concern. Having sex, no matter how extraordinary it had been, didn’t give her any say in how he lived his life.
But she’d nevertheless try to find a subtle way to ask him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She turned to see Patrick standing in the bathroom doorway, wrapped only in a towel tied at his waist. She couldn’t help staring, smiling in sexual awareness…until she caught his expression.
Fury raged on his face, furling his pale brown eyebrows and jutting his lower jaw. He crossed the room and yanked the bottle from her grip.
“I…your cell phone was ringing, and I thought I’d hand it to you.” She hated how defensive she sounded.
“Thanks,” he said curtly. “Now, I think it’s time for you to leave.”
She rose to her full height and glared at him. “I agree,” she said coldly. “But I’d like to know if you’re ill, Patrick. It’s a reasonable question for me to ask, considering that we just made love. Does that bottle contain prescription medicine?”
Of course he had used a condom. So even if he was on meds for some sexually transmitted disease, he had kept her safe.
“It’s. Not. Your. Business.” He accentuated each word menacingly.
“I suppose not.” She turned and strode toward the door. Duke stayed by her side, and she stopped just long enough to pat the large, furry dog. And then she turned back to Patrick and spoke softly, as if they were parting as friends. “You look good to me, Patrick. I’ll assume you’re not ill. But if you are—or if you’re on something you shouldn’t be—and you need help, you know where to find me.”
She left the apartment and closed the door behind her, leaving Duke inside.
And stood still in the narrow hallway, energy spent.
Damn Patrick and his secrets! Why didn’t he just explain the bottle, without putting her on the defensive?
She started to leave—then noticed the police tape cordoning off a door farther down the hall.
That had to be Shaun’s apartment.
She went to that door and stopped. There was enough tape on it that she couldn’t easily get by. The door was most likely locked.
Even if she could get inside, she doubted she’d see any clues the cops hadn’t picked up.
But then it hit her.
What if Shaun’s murder had something to do with Patrick’s secret…wrapped up in that mysterious bottle?
“Damn!” Patrick wanted to ram his fist into the apartment wall, but breaking his hand wouldn’t solve anything.
Duke, on the floor beside him, stared up with nervous bug eyes.
“I could just have laughed it off. Told her it was some dumb homeopathic stuff I take to build my muscles. Whatever.”
What made it even worse was that Patrick had anticipated…something. Mariah was a writer. Filled with curiosity. Even if it was focused on wildlife, that wasn’t all she was interested in.
But he’d been taken off guard by the truly excellent sex they’d just shared. Had even started wondering, just a little, about where this might go.
How much she could learn about him before she’d run off screaming. Or start asking more questions for some damned magazine article.
Now he’d have to fix this—somehow. See Mariah again, explain his embarrassment that she’d found his stupid indulgence, laugh it off.
And then not see her again. Ever.
Not touch that mind-blowing body of hers…
He stalked across the room. Picked up his backpack. Looked inside—and confirmed that the elixir and light were still there. At least she hadn’t sneaked out with them.
He dug down again and extracted his cell phone, the supposed origin of all this trouble. When he looked at it, he saw he had, in fact, missed a call, from Drew Connell.
Taking a deep breath, he sat down at his kitchen table and called his superior officer back.
“No further leads on what happened to Shaun yet,” Patrick responded to Drew’s inquiry. “I’ve got a few more ideas, though.”
He had, of course, checked the other mushers’ rooms and found no evidence that any had harmed Shaun—and also found no laptop. But he’d discovered that Pilke of the local police liked to brag a bit, so he was working on grabbing a beer with him to learn if there was anything on the official’s radar. But so far Pilke had remained unavailable.
“Keep at it,” Drew said, then paused. “You okay? You sound…ragged.”
“Nothing I can’t deal with,” Patrick shot back, then said, “Sorry. I came a little close to being outed by a magazine writer who’s too nosy for her own good.”
“Be careful,” Drew said. “I’d send you more help, but we’ve had all members of the team involved in that mine sabotage matter I told you about. It doesn’t help that I get frequent calls from General Yarrow. He’s receiving pressure from on high because the whole mining industry, including a mega-mogul who speaks for all of them—Austin DiLisio—is making lots of angry noise about getting results. Fast.”
“Want me to come back and help?” He had to suggest it, though the idea tore Patrick in many directions. He’d be leaving a mission without completing it. He’d be running out on Shaun, without finding who’d murdered him.
And—hell, he admitted it to himself. He didn’t like leaving Mariah. And not just because he figured she wouldn’t accept his explanation of the elixir.
“No, I talked it over with the general. The higher-ups are watching what you’re doing, too. The destruction in the Arctic Ocean and other ice shelves have seemed more comprehensible. What’s happening in your part of Alaska needs better explanation before we bring you back and send someone with whatever skills you find are needed to fix it. So…when will you have some answers?”
“Soon,” Patrick promised.
And hoped he wasn’t lying to his commanding officer.
Mariah headed for the Tagoga Police Station. At least this way, she could tell Harold she had tried to research the extra story he wanted, the one about Shaun’s murder.
The Tagoga P.D. was in one of the two modern hexagonal-shaped buildings in the town’s civic center. Detective Gray, in charge of Shaun’s case, agreed to talk to her, but he didn’t say much. He was a tall, older guy with gray sideburns that ended in muttonchops framing his mouth, who mostly frowned and said the case was still under investigation so he couldn’t talk about it to the media. He rolled his eyes when she gave him her business card identifying her as a magazine writer.
So what now? Coming here had also been one way to keep her mind off what it really wanted to focus on: Patrick. Hot sex. And medicines and secrets.
She needed to focus on her wildlife story. Get enough info to write it and leave here
, no matter how hard that might be. What she had gotten from the high school teacher was a good start. Jeremy Thaxton wasn’t about to cooperate with her, and there didn’t seem to be other authorities on wildlife present in Tagoga just now except for Flynn Shulster, if she could even count him.
Well, if she had to she would just go with the celebrity angle. People might even pick up copies of the magazine to get the opinion of a TV personality like Shulster.
Time to schedule an interview.
Mariah covered her yawn as she sat at the table with Flynn Shulster and his hangers-on. It didn’t help that the piano player was into lethargic middle-of-the-road oldies tonight.
When Flynn stopped talking after what felt like an hour, she asked, “So you’ll meet with me tomorrow for an interview on your opinions about global warming, and what impact you’ve seen on animals?”
“Of course.” He winked at her. “We know there’s a lot more to it, don’t we?” The crowd around him cheered.
Mariah needed a break. She excused herself to head toward the restroom.
Which was when Patrick Worley entered with Toby and Wes Dawes and others from the Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch.
She couldn’t avoid him—not when the others greeted her so effusively. And so she said hello. And tried not to think about the magnificent male body hidden under the navy sweater and slacks and his unzipped jacket.
“Hello, Mariah.” His low voice sent a shiver of desire creeping up her back.
He might be on drugs, she reminded herself.
Or be ill…
Well, she might be worried about him, but he clearly didn’t want her concern.
She took her time in the restroom, trying to get her thoughts in order. She would interview Flynn Shulster tomorrow.
And maybe she would leave Tagoga earlier than she had intended, use what she had gotten so far to write a puff piece rather than the substantive article she had hoped for.
She wouldn’t have to torture herself by seeing Patrick anymore. Remembering the delights they had so briefly shared. And wondering about that unidentified stuff he didn’t want to talk about.
Alaskan Wolf Page 10
