by Lynde Lakes
Gasping for breath she said, “Put me down. I have to find out about Kitty. I think she’s the one who was murdered on our ranch.”
The big man’s nostrils flared and he opened his mouth wide. From deep within him, an agonizing, wounded-bull cry erupted from his tongue-less mouth and echoed down the hallway. Sara Jane froze, terrified.
“Let her go, and we’ll leave.” Nick’s voice was strong, deadly. He had a gun in his hand.
The giant man looked torn. Nick’s glare narrowed, intensified, his finger ready on the trigger. Without taking his eyes off Nick, the big man returned Sara Jane gently to her feet. She sighed in relief, but her mind kept working. Why had this overgrown oaf gone ballistic when she mentioned that the murdered woman might have been Kitty? “I think he cares what happened to Kitty, cares a lot,” she told Nick. Sara Jane turned and looked up at the big man. “We must talk to someone who knew Kitty’s clients.”
When the man grabbed Sara Jane’s hand, she gasped. Nick raised his gun again. The man ignored him and gently tugged on her. “Wait,” she told Nick, her heart still racing. “I think he wants to show me something.” He led her to a window and pointed at the alley entrance below. Her excitement mounted. “Is there someone down there who can tell me what I need to know?”
He nodded and pulled a tiny writing pad from his pocket. He wrote in a barely legible scrawl: Wait for the Indian girl, Babbling Brook. Everyone calls her Brook for short. For a hundred bucks, she’ll talk.
****
The narrow alley had only about a foot of shade from the adjacent building. Nick hoped Babbling Brook made it snappy. It was hot as hell. Uneasiness gripped him. Was this some kind of setup? Something crashed behind Nick. He jumped in front of Sara Jane and drew his gun. His face heated when he found himself pointing at an overturned rubbish can. A yellow tabby cat scrambled out.
Sara Jane laughed and raised a brow. “Bit nervous, are we?” she asked in a soft, singsong Texas drawl that fantasies were made of.
He wanted to strangle her…kiss her taunting lips. How could he handle a woman filled with such fire that it threatened to burn and consume everything in its path? “You can’t keep doing impulsive things like racing upstairs to a whorehouse.”
She bent and picked up the Stetson that had fallen from Nick’s head. The magnificent curve of her slim, firm body made him wish he were an artist.
“I know,” she said. “It was a long shot, but I had to do something.”
She handed him the hat and, when their fingers briefly touched, his heart quickened to double time. Irksome desire and the pressure of her impulsiveness merged and twisted in Nick’s gut. “Thinking things through would be nice,” he growled.
“Message received.” She sat down within the shady strip and rested her back against the adobe building. Even clad in denim, he couldn’t miss the graceful line of her bent legs.
He blew upward at a strand of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. His attraction to Sara Jane warred with his good sense. It was frustrating how her reckless acts, although they made his job more difficult, were the very things that intrigued him about her—her courage, her curiosity, and a mind that was always at least six steps ahead. She wasn’t a person to stand back and let life throw her like a bucking bronco. “Look, I admire how you run full steam ahead to get answers, but your safety must come first.” If he could just get her to trust him. “That big guy could’ve lifted you over his head, tossed you down the stairway, and broken every bone in your—” Nick caught himself before he said sexy little body. Instead he cleared his throat and merely said body. “You were lucky he wasn’t as mean as he looked.”
She laughed and raked back her thick auburn hair in the most tantalizing way. “Were you afraid? A big macho FBI man like you?” Her low drawl hummed through him again.
“Hell, no. But you make protecting you more dangerous than it has to be. If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll hog tie you and we’ll head home now, without answers.”
She moved closer to him. Her deep blue eyes played a seductive dance. “Oooo. I’m so scared.”
He wanted to turn her over his knee and spank her. Thinking how that cute little butt would feel against his hand sent a stirring to his groin. They sat quietly for a while, Nick trying to get his libido under control and Sara Jane no doubt planning what she’d do next to turn up the heat. He had to get his point across. “You’re like a magnet, pulling trouble to you everywhere you go. Who was that guy who followed you out of the barn this morning?”
Her eyes widened. “You were there?”
“That’s my job, watching you.” A job that was becoming more arousing and frustrating by the minute. “So who was he?”
“Van Verdugo, an over-the-hill rodeo clown.” Again, she raked back her long, wavy hair that tumbled free. Sun glinted in the auburn tresses like spun gold.
He ached to wrap those tresses around his hands and bury his face in her hair. “You looked upset.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t like child molesters.”
Nick’s gut tightened. “What?”
“It was a long time ago—when I was thirteen. Nothing happened. Van cornered me and I kicked him where it hurts.”
Nick would have laughed if the subject weren’t so serious. “Good for you. Why the hell didn’t Matt fire him?”
“I never told my dad. At the time, I thought it might be my fault. He’d told me not to go in the barn alone.”
Nick started to say that even then she didn’t listen, but stopped himself. That would sound like he believed she was guilty of something. “It definitely wasn’t your fault!” He’d like to pound Van’s face into hamburger. “I’ll have a little talk with him.”
Her chin shot up. “Forget it, FBI Lancelot. I’ve handled him myself for seven years.”
Nick studied her face and saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. He had learned quickly not to count on just her words. “But?” he prompted.
She shrugged. “I can’t help but wonder if Van had something to do with the break-in and murder. I’ve heard that rejected guys sometimes brood and go nuts.”
“Has he done other things over the years?”
“Just a look now and then, nothing really.”
“Looking alone doesn’t fit the profile. But I’ll check the guy out. Your safety is too important to ignore any suspects.”
A trickle of sweat slid down Nick’s back. Sara Jane had tiny glistening drops on her upper lip. He watched them, thinking he saw a rainbow prism. He wanted to taste it. He groaned inwardly as his jeans tightened. He clenched his jaw and glanced at his watch. It had been over twenty minutes. He was about to say that the big guy had led them astray when a dark-skinned girl with shiny black braids slipped out the door and headed for them. The Indian girl’s thigh-length buckskin dress was definitely nontraditional. Dark bruises on her thighs marred her legs. No wonder the girl wanted to quit. Nick and Sara Jane got to their feet and met the girl in the middle of the alley.
“Are you Babbling Brook?” he asked.
She nodded and held out her hand. “Money?”
Nick pulled a bill from his pocket, folded it in half, making certain Brook could see that it was a hundred. “Talk first.”
Sara Jane opened her wallet and withdrew a snapshot of her uncle and her cousin Erik. “Ever see either of these men upstairs?”
Brook lifted her chin. “Wally said get cash or no talk.”
Sara Jane grabbed the money from Nick’s shirt pocket and tucked it into her own. Her chin went up, too. “Tell me first. Have you seen either of these men upstairs?”
Brook laughed and nodded. “That one.”
Nick knew it was a member of Sara Jane’s family by her gasp-like intake of breath. He put his arm around her waist. She swayed against him. “I had hoped it wouldn’t be a relative,” she whispered. Sara Jane swallowed and met Brook’s gaze, her voice strong again. “Was that man a customer?”
Brook smiled. “He friend. Save Kitty from ba
d man.”
Sara Jane closed her eyes a moment and then crossed herself. “Do you know the bad man’s name?”
Brook shook her head. “He wear jingly spurs. Belt buckle have Las Vegas on it.”
Sara Jane’s eyes widened as though the spurs and engraved belt meant something to her. Nick didn’t know why; probably half the cowboys in Texas wore spurs and lots of tourists had belt buckles from the gambling state.
“Was Kitty her real name?” Nick asked.
Brook shook her head. “She Evelyn Pikes. From Nevada.”
Nick withdrew the hundred from Sara Jane’s pocket and gave it to Brook. The name alone was worth the price. Brook turned to go.
Sara Jane put her hand on her arm. “Who would want to kill her?”
Brook’s eyes welled with tears. She shook her head fiercely and scurried away, leaving the question to echo unanswered down the narrow alley.
Chapter Five
“Let’s go to the sheriff’s office next,” Sara Jane said.
Ignoring her bossy drawl, Nick grinned and took her arm. “How about a sandwich and some iced tea first? We’ve earned it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, there’s a place—”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it handled,” he said, needing to feel a sense of control yet knowing, with her, it would be fleeting.
He chose a small place down the street, intrigued by the name, Double Your Pleasure. As he opened the door for Sara Jane, aromas of chili hit them along with a blast of cool air. A sign on the wall bragged that the place served the best chili and home-baked pies in Texas. Judging by the nearly full tables, the claim had merit. Noises of clattering dishes and clinking utensils rose over the hum of voices.
Nick tensed at the mischievous sidelong glance from Sara Jane, wondering what she had in store for him now. She glanced at a table of loud children and smiled. “Let’s sit here by the window.”
Nick laughed. She was trying to get back at him by choosing a spot close to a gray-haired woman and her three boisterous grandsons. It wouldn’t work. He loved kids, even noisy ones. He learned while living in foster homes that children and noise went hand in hand. “With a threat against your life, I’ll have to insist on a table at the back.” He led her to a table just vacated, but not yet cleared and pulled out a chair for her. “Allow me, ma’am,” he said in a mock drawl.
Fire sparked in her eyes, and then faded. Whatever comeback she had dreamed up, she held back. Instead, she smiled and said, “Why thank you, UC.” Nick knew the initials referred to the nickname Urban Cowboy, which she seemed to delight in calling him.
He glanced at his watch. It was well past two in the afternoon, but the place was hopping. The twenty-something twin proprietors wearing the name tags Marybelle and Maybelle flashed big Texas smiles. They wore short denim skirts and fire-engine-red bare midriff tops that showed off trim abs. They swung their hips as they rushed about. Marybelle cleared the table and took their order. “How about having a bowl o’ red with your grilled cheese sandwiches,” she asked.
“That’s spicy chili,” Sara Jane explained.
Nick laughed. “Too hot today for that.”
“Well, honey,” Marybelle drawled, “you look like you can handle the hot stuff.” Then she swished away.
Sara Jane glared after her. Nick wondered if she was jealous. He refused to analyze why the possibility tickled him.
Maybelle, the chef, grilled their cheese sandwiches and brought them to the table herself. “Ain’t seen you around these parts, sugar,” she said, winking at Nick. “Plan on stayin’ a spell?”
“He’s just passing through,” Sara Jane snapped.
“Bummer,” Maybelle said over her shoulder as she went back to her grill.
Sara Jane sipped her tea, and Nick felt her watching him through lowered lashes, pretending a calmness he didn’t buy. But he wouldn’t call her on it. They both had to stay focused on her safety. Nick took her slender hand in his and studied it a moment before springing another question on her, one that had eaten at the edges of his mind since this morning. “Who was the other guy you were talking to this morning? The unlikely cowboy in black leather.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Skeeter Hoag. He’s one of the owners of the nearby dude ranch. He wants to buy a large parcel of our land, but Dad doesn’t want to sell.”
“What were you doing talking to a guy like that?” Nick’s tone came out harsher than he intended. “Your dad said Hoag is one of the suspects who might be responsible for the slaughter of his cattle.”
Sara Jane snatched back her hand. It was just as well, he told himself, fighting the feeling of loss.
She stared at him, her gaze fierce. “Being a suspect doesn’t make him guilty,” she said. “Not that it’s anyone’s business, but he wants me to train one of his horses.”
“What does your dad think of that?”
Her chin shot up. “Dad doesn’t make my business decisions.”
Nick knew he should drop the subject, but he didn’t like the guy’s looks. “Until we know who murdered Evelyn Pikes—if that’s who she was—you might consider putting Hoag off a while.”
Sara Jane stiffened, as though someone had run a rod up her back. “Don’t tell me who to take on as a client, Nick. Besides, I have my own reasons for holding off on my decision. Lucky for both of us, I don’t make business decisions based on emotion.”
Nick forced a cough and covered his mouth to hold back a laugh. Her emotions were tangled up in everything she did. He clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to goad her into doing something they’d both regret. He covered her small hand with his again. “Look, I’m sorry. I was out of line. It’s just that as long as Hoag has an excuse to come on the property…” Nick let his voice trail away, letting her fill in the blanks. A worry line crinkled at the bridge of her nose. He longed to smooth the adorable crinkle and bring back the feisty sparkle in her eyes. Forget that, he thought. Just concentrate on building her trust.
****
It was almost 3:00 p.m. by the time they walked through the door at the sheriff’s office. There was only one man on duty and he was engrossed in the data on his computer screen. Sara Jane cleared her throat twice, feeling her tension building.
Finally the deputy looked up. “Help ya, folks?”
Sara Jane rested her arms on the high counter, trying to look relaxed. “There was a murder at the Ryan spread. Have ya’all identified the woman?” she said, forcing an even tone.
The deputy’s alert eyes focused on her. “You Matt Ryan’s daughter?”
She nodded.
“Heard ya might be comin’ around.”
Nick leaned so close she felt his heat. He flashed a badge. “Do you have the results of the autopsy?”
The deputy got up and pulled out a black and white sketch from a file. “Reckon I do. Forensics came up with this drawin’ based on the woman’s facial bone structure. The report sez there weren’t no defensive marks or injuries, so she probably didn’t put up any kinda struggle. Could mean she was surprised. Traces of chloroform on her shirt bears out that theory. When Deputy Wills gets back, I’ll circulate the picture around town. Might get lucky.”
“We have a possible name,” Nick said. “May I use your computer to check it out?”
The deputy gestured with his head. “Help yourself.”
Sara Jane wondered if Nick’s badge always received such cooperation. He rolled up the sleeves of his blue western shirt and stretched his fingers. They looked strong, capable. A dusting of fine black hair covered his suntanned bare forearms. She wondered about the rest of his body…
“Either of you care for a cup a joe?” the deputy asked, interrupting her musings.
Her cheeks flamed. It was a simple question that a two-year-old could answer, but she could only shake her head.
“None for me, thanks,” Nick called, sounding absorbed in punching keys and reading the screen.
The deputy propped himself against the counter an
d stared at her, sipping his steaming coffee. “Ya’all ride in on horseback, or come by truck?”
She shifted under his probing gaze. “Why do you ask that?”
He laughed. “Is it a secret?”
Her face flamed again as she thought of the sparks that had fired between her and Nick on the drive to town. “Of course not. We came by truck.”
The deputy flipped a knob on the air-conditioning to high. “Hope you had AC.”
She laughed nervously. “Open windows.” When she shifted her weight again, he gestured to a chair. Rather than sit, she picked up the black and white composite sketch of the murdered woman. “May I have a copy of this? I’d like to show it to Lady Leila.”
The deputy glanced at Nick. “Reckon it’ll be okay.” The lawman went to the copier and made a print and handed it to Sara Jane. She stepped toward the door.
“Wait!” Nick said, his jaw tight. “Just hang on. We’ll both go in a sec.”
His voice had an edge again, just like it did after the crashing garbage can. All of his tension in the alley wasn’t just about danger. She could tell by the way he’d looked at her, all smoldery, his gaze lingering on her face, her lips. Her knees felt weak, and she sank to a chair.
Nick’s fingers flew over the keys for about fifteen minutes while she squirmed in her seat. She was about to say she could have gone and been back by now, when he finally pressed the print button and made two copies of his findings, one for the deputy.
“Okay,” he said, “we’re all set. Got complete profiles on Evelyn Pikes, Verdugo, and Hoag. No apparent connection between their home regions of Nevada, Mexico, and Arizona.”
His comment brought several questions to Sara Jane’s mind, but she decided to save them until they talked to Leila. Nick thanked the deputy. As they headed out the door, he pressed his hand firmly into the small of her back. For a moment she savored the strength of his hand and the feeling that they were a couple. “Do you think Leila will cooperate?” Sara Jane asked, stepping over the threshold onto the wooden walkway.
He took her arm. “If not, we’ll find someone who will.”
