CROSSING THE LINE (RANGER SECURITY Book 5)

by Rhonda Russell

  She knew exactly how she was distracting him, of course. She was equally distracted, and for the same damned reason.

  Lust.

  He frowned at her plate. “Oatmeal is nasty. I’d rather eat a cardboard box.”

  “We should pick up some fiber bars when we stop for my toothpaste.”

  “I don’t mind sharing,” he said. There was an undercurrent to his voice she didn’t fully under­stand.

  She shook her head. “I prefer my own brand.”

  He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with yours,” she said. “Most people like their breath minty fresh.”

  He slid her a sardonic look. “And you don’t?” “Mint makes me gag. I prefer oranges and cloves.”

  “Mint makes you gag?” he asked, slightly incredulous. His lips twisted. “Bet that made for some interesting kissing sessions, huh?”

  Her gaze involuntarily dropped to his lips and she felt her own mouth tingle in response. She’d bet he was one hell of a kisser. “Only when a guy dosed up on something strong. Usually the taste is too faint to trigger the reflex.”

  “Little favors, eh? That could definitely give a guy a complex. Finally build up the courage to make his move and you gag on him.”

  She chuckled at his analogy. “It’s not like I can help it, you know,” she said. “It’s just...too strong.”

  “It’s supposed to be,” he told her. “How else is one supposed to fight bad breath?”

  She narrowed her gaze in playful censure. “Are you saying my breath is bad because I don’t use minty toothpaste?”

  He fought a grin and his gaze drifted over her lips. “I won’t know until you’ve tried it, will I?”

  “Fine,” she said drolly. “Tonight after I brush my teeth, I’ll be sure to breathe on you.”

  This line of conversation could so get her into trouble. It felt too much like flirting and not enough like harmless banter.

  Naturally she found it thrilling.

  The grin that tugged at his lips? Pure sin. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Perversely, so did she.

  Chapter 7

  “Theo was here a couple of days ago,” Mimi Wat­son said. “I was surprised, of course. Haven’t seen him in years.”

  “Was he just visiting, Miss Mimi, or was there a specific reason he came by?” Rhiannon asked the elderly woman.

  Mimi’s faded blue eyes were warm as she worked the crochet needles between her arthritic fingers. “Oh, he just wanted to chat. Said he was working on a genealogy chart, a new hobby of his, and wanted to pick my brain about some of our relatives.”

  Rhiannon sent him a significant look. “Really? Which ones was he interested in?”

  She corrected a bad stitch. “All of them, really, but he was particularly interested in where Mrs. Amelia Watson was buried. Oh, and little Winston, of course.” She tsked under her breath. “The infant mortality rate was terrible in those days,” she said sadly. “Moving south was not an easy journey for old Uncle Mortimer. Buried a wife and child on the way. The child first, of course. The pox. Amelia grieved herself to death. She’s buried in Kingsport, I believe. Wasn’t sure about Winston, but like I told Theo, I think they lost him somewhere around Roanoke.”

  “That’s terrible,” Rhiannon commiserated softly, and Tanner could tell the news affected her on a deeper than ordinary level. Almost as if it was her own family.

  A puzzled frown wrinkled her forehead. “Theo has shared a lot of your family history with me over the years. So Mortimer must have been married before then? Sophia was his second wife?”

  “That’s right. He missed his family terribly, you see. The story I’ve always heard was Miss Sophia was a very jealous woman and destroyed all the pictures of Mortimer’s late wife. Guess she knew that Amelia would always have his heart, that she was the substitute wife.”

  Always have his heart, Tanner thought. That certainly sounded like a significant clue.

  And once again he had to hand it to Rhian­non. She’d spent several minutes going over the atlas this morning, searching for places along their route to Philadelphia that Theo had mentioned. She’d hit pay dirt with Sweetwater, pulled out her iPhone and used the mobile phone book to pull up all the Watsons. She’d found Mimi and instantly recognized the name as one Theo had mentioned.

  Mimi Watson had at least a decade on her nephew, but lived alone in a small cottage down­town. She wore a trendy sportswear outfit in shades of lavender and her snowy-white hair was set into a sweeping, puffy style. Her lined cheeks were powdered to perfection and bright pink lipstick painted her mouth. Her white tennis shoes didn’t show the faintest scuff and gleamed against the green indoor-outdoor carpeting covering her front porch. She epitomized a genteel Southern lady and, though they didn’t have the time, he could have listened to her tell stories in her lovely drawl all day long.

  Rhiannon laid her hand on Mimi’s knee. “Mimi, thank you so much for all your help. It’s a relief to know that Theo was here and was fine.”

  “Silly boy,” she said, disapproval coloring her tone. “He should have let you know where he was going. People tend to worry when their old folks just vanish. Poor Tad must be a wreck with nerves,” she fretted.

  Rhiannon delicately avoided answering by ask­ing instead, “He was here day before yesterday, you say?”

  “Yes. I insisted that he stay for dinner, of course, and you know Theo.” She gestured to a vase of flowers. “He’s always so thoughtful.”

  Rhiannon grinned. “Yes, he is.” She nodded once. “Well, Miss Mimi, we’d better be on our way.”

  “Good luck finding him, dear. I’m sure he’s fine. You let me know when you run him to ground, you hear?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Rhiannon gave her a quick hug and, feeling strangely out of place, Tanner merely nodded once.

  “Okay,” she said with a heavy breath when they were once again in the car. “We’ve got our next destination.”

  He backed out of the drive. “Kingsport.”

  “Yes.” She pushed her hands through her hair. “But I don’t think we’re going to find him there.”

  Tanner didn’t, either. They were only about three hours from Kingsport and Theo had left almost two days ago. If he’d found what he was looking for in that town, then they would have heard from him by now. Clearly he hadn’t, and he had moved on.

  “So you’d never heard of the first wife? Amelia?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I can recall.”

  “Do you think Theo knew of her?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “He must have found something. He’s been going through some old boxes, had found them tucked away in the corner of the attic in the cottage there on the plantation. It was the first house, you see. The temporary home while the plantation home was being built.”

  Tanner considered that. “Then why doesn’t Theo live there? Why move to town?”

  She leaned her head against the back of the seat and rolled her neck toward him. A smile played over her ripe mouth. “The official reason? Because his estate manager needs to live on site. The real reason? He’s convinced it’s haunted.”

  Tanner chuckled. “Haunted? But wouldn’t he be related to this particular ghost?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Rhiannon said. “He still gets spooked.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Interestingly enough...it’s Sophia.”

  A bark of laughter rumbled from his throat. “But she sounds like such a sweet, understanding lady.”

  Rhiannon scowled. “She sounds like a bitter old bitch to me, but what do I know?”

  His lips twitched. “Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”

  “Do I strike you as the kind of person who holds back?”

  Tanner shook his head. “You absolutely do not,” he admitted. “You’re frighteningly...honest. It’s refreshing, actually.”

/>   And he meant it. No doubt a person never had to wonder where they stood with her. Furthermore, though he’d laughed at the fact that she was a guidance counselor, he could easily see how kids would readily warm to her. She was frank without being cruel and there was a comforting quality, despite her obvious energy, that literally compelled a person to want to be close to her. To confide in her.

  Mimi was a perfect example. Rhiannon had never met the woman before in her life and yet within three minutes of being in her company, Mimi had acted as if they were old friends. Rhian­non had been able to garner the older woman’s trust with enviable ease. Had he been asking the same questions—alone—Tanner didn’t think he would have fared so well. Just another reminder of how much she was genuinely helping him.

  Distracting him, too, of course. He could never forget that. Take now, for instance. Her warm citrusy scent—it must be in her shampoo, too, Tanner thought—swirled around his senses and the yellow- and-white checked top she wore showcased her pear-shaped breasts to absolute perfection. She wore a denim skirt that was long enough to be appropriate but short enough to make him sweat, and a silver chain loaded with star charms dangled around her ankle.

  Because he was a nosy bastard, he’d taken a cursory look at her toiletries in her bathroom this morning and realized that she hadn’t brought a single bit of makeup, only a small tube of tinted organic lip balm. Hell, she’d gone to sleep with her hair in a damp ball on her head and woken up this morning looking as though she could have shot a shampoo commercial. She was effortlessly sexy, and something about that made her all the more appealing.

  And minty toothpaste made her gag. He laughed under his breath, remembering.

  She shot him a look. “Something funny?”

  Just you, he thought

  And clearly he was an idiot...because while she’d been stocking up on fiber bars and bagged popcorn—she’d had a craving—at the drugstore this morning, he’d snuck to the photo-center cash register and purchased a new tube of toothpaste.

  One that wouldn’t make her gag.

  And a box of condoms.

  * * *

  Finding Amelia Watson took a bit more effort, but after a vital-records search using various spellings of Amelia’s name, they finally got a hit.

  Rhiannon stood at the foot of the grave and felt a pang of regret for the woman who had grieved herself to death over the loss of her child. Theo’s flowers—only slightly wilted this time—were nestled against the chalky, weathered headstone.

  “Another penny?” Tanner asked. “Is this the quirk you were talking about? Do you and Theo leave pennies on headstones?”

  Half of her mouth hitched up in a grin. “Nice try, but no.”

  “Damn.”

  “Theo likes to share his thoughts, whether he’s asked for them or not,” she explained. “He’s just being courteous.”

  He arched a skeptical brow. “You mean he talked to Amelia’s marker?”

  She studied the headstone. Beloved wife and mother. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “No wonder you’re so close to him. You’re both—”

  She shot him a glare, silently urging him to re­think what he was about to say.

  “Unique,” he finished, smiling.

  She nodded primly. “You’re learning.”

  “We’re closing the gap,” he said. “Getting closer.”

  Which was true, yet she could still feel an unexplained sense of urgency. Rhiannon was by no means psychic—clairvoyance was not her talent— but she knew well enough to trust her instincts, and those same instincts now were telling her that she needed to find Theo before something terrible happened. An unexplained ball of dread sat in her belly, a constant reminder that they needed to push on.

  “So he obviously didn’t dig here,” Tanner said, inspecting the undisturbed grass.

  “No need if the metal detector didn’t give him any indication there was a reason to.”

  “True,” he conceded. He inspected the sky, in particular the low orange ball of sun sinking to the western horizon. “We’re less than three hours from Roanoke. We should probably get on the road.”

  He was right, she knew. They would need to get an early start tomorrow. She’d also done an online search for Winston Watson’s marker—or records of any sort—and hadn’t found the first thing. Of course, she’d done only a cursory search. It didn’t mean nothing was there—it just meant she hadn’t had time to look properly.

  Unfortunately, if finding Winston’s marker was easy, then she suspected she would have heard from

  Theo already. He’d had at least a thirty-six-hour jump on them and obviously was still searching. Poor record keeping, lost or destroyed documents... there were so many things that could have gone wrong over the years.

  Rhiannon let go a small breath. “This is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Yeah.” He passed a hand over his face. “And Mimi said ‘around Roanoke.’ That leaves a lot of ground.”

  Yes, it did. And Rhiannon wasn’t entirely sure where they should start.

  Tanner stooped, picked a dandelion from the ground and twirled it between his fingers. “Theo was a librarian, right? He knows those systems better than any of the other more advanced tech­nologies out there now, I would assume?”

  She considered him. “Yes.”

  “Then he’s probably relying on old obits from newspapers stored on microfiche.”

  She brightened. “You’re right. He’s competent on the computer, but he is much more at home in the library.”

  “So we start with the libraries on the fringes of Roanoke and tighten our circle. Work from the outside in.”

  She smiled at him, impressed. “That’s an excel­lent plan.”

  His lips lifted with droll humor. “I do have them on occasion.” He laid the bloom on the headstone. “Are you hungry?”

  She gave him a duh look. “Do you even have to ask?”

  His chuckle was low and sexy. “We need to find a sandwich bar with Wi-Fi,” he said. “Get a list of libraries and start mapping our route.”

  Rhiannon headed for his Jeep. “You’re on a roll.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  Twenty minutes later Tanner had his laptop open and had begun the search. He’d ordered an enor­mous sandwich and waffle fries and was periodi­cally taking bites between searches.

  He grimaced. “There are a lot of little libraries around here,” he said, scrutinizing the screen.

  Rhiannon popped a bite of artichoke into her mouth. “How many?”

  “More than twenty on the fringes, and that’s not including the city.”

  “No wonder we haven’t heard from Theo.”

  “Yes, but I think we can gain some ground. I imagine he’s just wandering from town to town making inquiries and checking cemeteries along the way. We have a plan.”

  “Are we going to check the cemeteries, as well?”

  He shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt. There are a lot of deaths that never make it into the obituaries. Particularly if they weren’t local and were simply passing through, you know?”

  Rhiannon’s eyes widened significantly as she digested that. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time in your car.”

  His eyes twinkled and he cocked his head. “Mine might not be as economically friendly as yours, but it’s got more legroom.”

  She couldn’t argue there. And he was an ex­cellent driver. He expertly negotiated traffic and, though it was ridiculous, she’d found her gaze riveted on the way his hands rested against the steering wheel—the large palms and long, blunt- tipped fingers, the masculine muscles and veins that made his arms so very different from hers. A breath stuttered out of her lungs as she imagined them wrapped around her, his skillful hands on her body.

  “It’s nice,” she said, trying to distract herself from that line of thinking. “And really new. When did you get it?”

  “A couple of days ago.”

  “So you would
have wanted to drive regard­less.”

  He made another notation on the map and added an address. “I would have wanted to drive even if I’d been in a tank.”

  She grinned. “He who has the keys has the power, eh?”

  “Something like that,” he admitted, still focused on his task.

  “So how much longer are we driving before we settle in for the night?”

  “I thought we could put in another hour on the road. You up for that?”

  “Sure.” Though she was a bit worn out. The endless time in the car, the stress of worrying over Theo and the unceasing attraction—being constantly aware of and in tune with every move he made, every breath that entered and exited his lungs—was beginning to get to her. She needed a little distance. A chance to regroup. To possibly desensitize herself.

  As if that would help, she thought fatalis­tically.

  She was hopelessly in lust with him, had been fantasizing about him all day. In bed, against a wall, in the shower. Didn’t matter. She just wanted, and there was nothing tender or gentle about the sentiment. She wanted the hot, desperate, mindless sort of sex that resulted in frantic disrobing, torn underwear and whisker burn. Her skin prickled with heat and she squirmed in her seat as her sex tingled with warmth.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, looking up at her. “Sure. Why?”

  “You look a little flushed.”

  Busted. “My sandwich is hot.”

  He smiled, the wretch, as though he knew she was lying. “Want me to blow on it?”

  “With your minty breath? No, thank you.”

  He laughed and his gaze drifted slowly over her mouth. “Still going to breathe on me?”

  “Yes,” she said, her toes curling at the thought. “If for no other reason than to prove to you that mint isn’t the only option when it comes to fighting bad breath. We’ve been brainwashed with advertis­ing to believe otherwise, I know, but—” she sighed as though it were a tragic injustice “—it simply isn’t true.”