Grave Danger (26 page)

“No. My skin has a four-orgasm glow today.”

“Only four? I’m going to have to work harder.” He reached into the nightstand and grabbed a condom.

He made love to her slowly, silently, her gasps of pleasure as he woke her body and mind the only sound in the room. He was ass over teakettle crazy for this woman. And it wasn’t the sex—although that was nothing short of spectacular—it was Libby and her intelligent eyes, her forthright manner, her passion for her work, her courage in her convictions, and, of course, her sexy underwear.

He’d failed her last night. He’d left her in jeopardy and she could have paid for his mistake with her life. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive himself.

His mouth captured the sounds of her coming as her body shuddered in climax. His orgasm followed. An intense wave of pleasure, his relief was both physical and emotional.

Afterward, they lay in a spooning position while his hand stroked along her hip. “I have to leave for work soon.”

“I should get some work done today, too. But frankly, I don’t even care about the project at the moment.” She rolled over and faced him. “I wish we could just pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

“You can. Stay here today. Get some rest,” he grinned, “because when I get home, you’re going to need your energy.” He slid his fingers through her hair, and then tightened his grip and pulled her to him for a deep—but too-brief—kiss. “I’ll try to be back by six. I’m taking tomorrow off. Sunday, too, if I can.”

“If I’m going to take the weekend off, I’d better work today. I’ve got a report to write, interviews to transcribe. Can you drop me at Simone’s so I can get the Suburban?”

“Sure. We’ve got twenty minutes to get ready.”

She climbed out of bed. “Shower with me?”

“And another wish comes true.” He followed her into the bathroom.

“You saw another shooting star last night?”

“No, I held one in my arms.”

She stopped and faced him. “You better watch it. You say things like that and I’m going to fall in love with you.”

His heartbeat sped up. “Maybe that’s my plan.” He knew it was early to talk about love but he wasn’t interested in playing games.

She laced her fingers through his. “Then I don’t stand a chance.”

He pulled her against him and kissed her. He couldn’t seem to get enough of kissing her.

After a moment, she pulled away and turned to the shower. “You only gave me twenty minutes.”

“Will you go back to the Shelby house today?” he asked.

She paused. “I should. It’ll be worse if I put it off, but I’m not going there alone.” A small shudder passed through her and guilt jabbed at him. “Not today, anyway. I’ve got enough materials at the site to work on, plus I need to talk to Simone. She’s going to kill me for not calling her last night and telling her what happened.”

“Tell her you were in good hands.”

She took his hands and pulled him into the shower with her. “I was in excellent hands.”

H
E WATCHED
L
IBBY FOLLOW
the police chief down the front walkway and climb into the cop car. Before starting the engine, the chief kissed her. A long, lingering kiss that would have told him they were lovers if he hadn’t known already.

His failed attack last night had pushed them together. Dammit. Another five minutes and Libby would have been locked in the tool shed. The Molotov cocktail would have taken care of the house, and he’d have been long gone before the fire was under control and anyone even found Libby.

The house would have been destroyed and with the evidence he’d left, Libby would have been blamed. If the fire ended up destroying the shed and killing Libby, then she would have been considered a victim of her own mental illness, her twisted desire for attention. She’d be dead and his worries would be over.

Now the police chief and the archaeologist were lovers. He needed to destroy the trust between them. He already had the pieces in place. The question was: would Colby follow the clues?

S
IMONE WAS RELIEVED
to see the Suburban pull up to the site just before noon. Libby didn’t come home last night. She assumed Libby stayed with the police chief. Worry hadn’t set in until she wasn’t able to reach her this morning. She finished her notes and then tucked her trowel in her pocket and climbed out of the unit. “Wrap up what you’re working on, everyone,” she called out. “Lunch starts in five.”

She left the crew and joined Libby inside the RV. A grin spread across Libby’s face as Simone pulled the door shut. “You got laid last night.”

“Repeatedly.”

“Hallelujah! So, is there something going on between you two, or are you just a slut?”

Libby laughed. “There is definitely something going on. I’m crazy about him, and he seems to feel the same way.”

“He’d better, or I’ll have him neutered. Oh, God, Libby. I’m really happy for you.” She walked to the coffeemaker and poured a cup of boiled down sludge, and then poured the thick burnt liquid down the drain and began brewing a fresh pot. “I’ve been worried.”

“I’m sorry. I slept in.” Libby’s eyes turned serious. “I had a close call last night.”

“Explain.”

They ate their lunch together while Libby told her what had gone on the previous night. Simone rubbed her eyes as she took in all the details. She tried to make sense of the attack. “You were zapped by a Taser. Was it your own?”

“I have no idea,” Libby said, surprise in her voice. “Mark didn’t tell me if he found mine in my purse.” She searched her bag. “It’s not here. I wonder what that means?”

“Can they test to see if yours was fired?”

“I think so. And my blood would be on the barbs.”

Simone stirred her yogurt, not really paying attention to the food in front of her. Libby could have burned to death. Aaron was a sick prick and she was going to make him pay.

“Something else you should know. The bones we found were Angela Caruthers. Mark told Jack and Jason last night.”

Jason—the name alone hit her like a bee sting; said with Jack’s name and she nearly suffered an anaphylaxis-type reaction. The fact EAC’s excavation found Angela seemed like a cruel irony. “How did Jason take the news?” she asked.

“He’s worried about Jack, worried that he’ll be arrested for murdering Angela.”

“Why would Jack hire us if he buried Angela in the site? That doesn’t make sense. Jack’s too smart to be that stupid.”

“The spouse is always the starting point for a murder investigation. Makes marriage sound so appealing.”

“There’s no emotion stronger than love turned into hate,” Simone said, wishing she didn’t know that so well. “Have you got plans for the weekend?”

Libby nodded. “With Mark.”

“Already you don’t have time for me,” Simone said with as much melodrama as she could muster. “Seriously, if you’re busy—and being with Mark, I’m going to assume you will be both safe and busy—I think I’ll head to Seattle.” She couldn’t do a damn thing about the mess she’d made of her life in Coho, but she could do something about Aaron.

“I thought you dumped your apartment?”

“I need to finish cleaning, and I have it until the end of the month. May as well have a last hurrah before I resign myself to small-town life.” She tried to sound flippant.

“I like it here.”

“Says the woman who is currently getting laid.”

Libby laughed. “Okay, I concede your point. But Jason Caruthers is here.”

“Jason’s not my type,” she said more sharply than she’d intended.

“Please. He’s completely your type.”

Simone looked down. “No. He’s too pretty-boy for me.”

“Simone, I know you. You want him. I just don’t understand why you aren’t going after him.”

Simone had to put an end to this here and now. “He’s the son of our client, and you know me. I’d just screw him and dump him. We don’t need that.” Ninety-five percent of the time, her words would be true, but in this one instance, she was lying. What happened between Jason and her was her secret, one she couldn’t share with Libby.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
O
NE

O
N
S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON,
L
IBBY
followed Mark through the woods on acreage he owned outside Coho. They wound their way to what Mark described as his favorite place on earth. Between the two of them, they carried a large picnic lunch, plenty of water, and fishing gear.

Libby’s father had been an avid fisherman, but fishing was just one more thing he never shared with his children, and so she’d avoided it. The prospect of being with Mark for her first time fishing was remarkably appealing.

They scrambled down a steep slope and suddenly a narrow tributary was before them, lazily winding down from the mountains to the strait. A flat area adjacent to the glacier-fed river was grassy and shaded, and a small trail through shrubs provided access to the river. Even though it was a warm summer day, the air was crisp. She could practically smell the cold of the water, the scent mixing with the damp earth and leaves.

“What do you think?” Mark asked.

“It’s amazing,” she said, and meant it. She spread out the blanket on the flat above the bank and made herself comfortable while he organized his fishing gear.

Less than forty-eight hours before, she’d been bound, gagged, doused in gasoline, and tortured. Even falling in love with Mark—which she was certain was happening with every moment they spent together—wasn’t quite enough to block out the horror of what happened late Thursday night. Mark knew it; she knew it. They’d talked about what happened late into the night last night, eventually deciding this picnic would be a good escape from the fear and questions that hounded her. Right now she just needed a break, and Mark was giving it to her.

“Time for your first casting lesson.”

She quickly learned she had zero natural talent for casting. They both laughed at her botched attempts, and he didn’t even complain when she snagged yet another of his hooks in the trees that lined the river.

“Okay, so you know how to make a spearhead out of rock because that’s what Indians did a thousand years ago, but you can’t catch a fish?” Mark teased. “Wasn’t fishing just as important as hunting?”

“Probably more important. Fish were abundant and easily harvested.” She caught the humor in his eye and defended herself. “Well, they were easily harvested when the rivers were full of them. This tributary probably ran out of fish in the sixties.”

He dropped his pole and slid his arms around her waist. “You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“It does.”

He picked her up and carried her down the path, stopping at the edge of the bank. “Or you can go for a swim and see for yourself if there are any fish in the river.”

She clutched at his neck. “You wouldn’t dare.” But she could see from his face that he would. “Mark Colby, if you drop me in the river, then you’re going swimming too.”

“Deal,” he said and jumped off the low bank into the frigid water. They landed in a four-foot deep pool, just deep enough for Mark to dunk her, which he did immediately. The water was so cold it burned. She gasped for breath as she scrambled for purchase. Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, his cold, wet body plastered to hers in the middle of the river.