Blue Jeans and a Badge (2 page)

After forcing down pancakes and three cups of Betsy's coffee at the Shamrock Slipper, he headed to the old Western-style storefront on Main Street that served as the Piñon Lake Police Station and poured his frustrations into an Internet search to find out everything he could about the woman who had kept him up most of the night.

Well, certain parts of him, anyway.

Which was a little strange, because he hadn't really gotten a good look at her last night. Her body had been dynamite, and had thoroughly ignited his starving libido. But he'd only had short glimpses of her face and a blond ponytail in the distorted light of a flashlight beam and the vaguest outline of her features in the moonlight. She could be ugly as a three-legged coyote for all he knew.

The first thing he did was get a copy of her driver's license from the Missouri DMV.

She wasn't ugly. Not even close.

And his curiosity about her increased with every new bit of info he turned up.

By 8:00 a.m. when it was time for his morning rounds, he'd printed out a stack of articles gathered from various newspapers around the country that mentioned Luce Montgomery's exploits as a bounty hunter, as well as copies of old bail enforcement extradition orders filed at a dozen or more county courts naming her as the retrieval agent on as many cases. And those were just the big ones.

Quite an impressive career.

A few of the tricks she'd used to get past unsuspecting accomplices had been ingenious. His personal favorite was the
IRS inspector. As if anyone in their right mind would believe the IRS would personally deliver a $5,000 refund because of an error they'd made. If he weren't so annoyed with her for blowing him off last night he might have smiled. He didn't.

It's not that he couldn't handle rejection. Hell, in his lifetime he'd handled it in spades. Being jilted for another guy in front of half the state made a man either bitter or philosophical about rejection. Philip had long since gotten past the bitter stage.

But last night, he was absolutely convinced the sexy bounty hunter had wanted him as much as he wanted her. What was it about him that always made the women he wanted back off and run away?

Hold on, there, O'Donnaugh. Self-pity? On second thought, maybe he still was just a little bitter.

He logged off the computer in disgust.

And twiddled his thumbs for ten minutes, trying to decide what to do about the intriguing Ms. Montgomery.

To pursue or not to pursue, that was the question….

It wasn't sex he wanted.

Okay, it wasn't
just
sex he wanted.

Sure, she had a body that wouldn't quit and obviously wasn't afraid to use it, but besides that she was brainy, sassy and confident—everything he liked in a woman. Pure and simple, she had caught his fancy. He wanted to get to know her better.

Too bad he hadn't noticed any backward glances as she'd strolled off last night. Apparently, the feeling wasn't mutual.

Well, he thought, rising to his feet and grabbing his keys. They'd just see about that.

It shouldn't take long to find her. There was only one place to stay in the village: the Lakeview Motel. April wasn't exactly tourist season so there would be plenty of rooms available, and Philip didn't figure Luce for the prissy type who would insist on staying down the mountain at some four-star palace in Taos or Santa Fe.

He was right. Dodge Broomfield, owner of the Lakeview and its sole employee except for the busy summer and ski months, jerked a thumb down the row of sagging adobe bungalows. “She's in room 953.”

Philip did his best not to react to the room number. He'd made that mistake once. The Lakeview had fifteen rooms at best, but all fifteen doors boasted three-digit numbers. None in any kind of order. But Dodge was kind of sensitive if you ribbed him about it. Or even mentioned it.

“Thanks, Dodge.”

“You goin' to arrest her?”

“No, Dodge.”

“Then what are you goin' to do with her? I run a decent establishment here, you know.”

“Sure, Dodge.” Everyone on the hill knew the Lakeview Motel was no more decent than it had to be. Him included.

Philip slapped the old gaffer on the back and sauntered down to Luce's door and knocked loudly. When no one appeared, he knocked again.

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on!” Luce's voice boomed back at him, the volume growing with each word, along with her footsteps.

The door flung open so hard the 9 in the 953 flipped down into a 6.

She stared at him for the full thirty seconds it took for him to remember how to breathe again.

She was fresh from the shower, her face rosy and dewy from the steam, her pale hair damp and glistening in a pile of curls on her head, secured with one of those claw things. She was wearing an overly fluffy black robe that said You're Hired on the front breast in big red embroidered letters. Well,
wearing
was perhaps an exaggeration. It had obviously been hastily thrown on. The belt hung loose and she was clutching the lapels together with her right hand.

Ho, boy.

“Chief O'Donnaugh. What can I do for you?”

Ho, boy.

He barely resisted the urge to stick out his hand and make her shake it. Not that she'd fall for that. Still, it might be worth a—

Damn. Get it together, O'Donnaugh.

“Please, call me Philip,” he said, striving desperately for a calm, professional air. And striving desperately not to look below her chin. “I have a proposition—” Her brow arched. “That is…” He pulled at the collar of his khaki uniform shirt. Had it suddenly gotten hotter? “I mean, can I have a word with you? About Clyde Tafota.”

She raised a finger to the door panel and deliberately slid the 6 back up into a 9, pressing it into place. “Why?” she asked.

The question threw him. “Why? Because…because…I'd like your help.”

Both brows arched. “That has to be a first. A cop asking a bounty hunter for help.”

Her hand had slipped down the robe a few inches, so he could see the lush slopes of her breasts beneath the cloth. His mouth went dry. They were gorgeous.

With difficulty he forced his eyes back to hers. “I figure if we work together, it could be mutually beneficial.”

She gazed at him like she could read every thought going through his mind. She shook her head. “Sorry, I prefer to work solo.”

She started to close the door, so he stuck the flat of his boot up against it. Surprise skittered across her face.

“Just hear me out, Luce.”

He knew he should remove the boot and act civilized, but took perverse pleasure in not doing so. Two could play this game of cat and mouse. “Listen, I'm here about finding Clyde. Nothing else.”

Her expression turned skeptical. “Is that so.” With maybe a little anger thrown in for good measure.

“Yeah. It is.”

“Get your boot off my door and I'll think about it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

She pushed out a sharp breath, then let the door go so it opened wide. He adjusted his stance and they stood there like a couple of gunslingers contemplating the odds—him in his cop gear carrying a loaded gun under his arm and a knife in his boot, she in her birthday suit and a fluffy robe.

He wasn't sure who had the biggest advantage, but he had a sinking feeling it wasn't him.

It took all his strength not to back down.

He wasn't surprised when she didn't, either. But she did gather her robe tighter and tip her head defiantly to the side.

“All right then, talk.”

“Aren't you going to invite me in?” he asked, deadpan.

“No.”

“Doesn't bother me, but you must be getting cold.” He indicated her bare legs and feet. The temperature wasn't below freezing, but it had to be close this early in the morning.

Abruptly she turned and paced into the room. “Fine.”

She headed right for the bathroom, picking up a few articles of clothing on her way, and closed the bathroom door with a smack.

He removed his Stetson, stepped through the front door and glanced around.

He'd spent the occasional night at the Lakeview, and every one of the rooms looked identical. Neat, clean and spartan, with hand-framed prints from old
Arizona Highways
as the only decor. Luce's suitcase and a briefcase stood in the open closet, a purse and cell phone were tossed on the dresser along with an untouched six-pack of Diet Rite Cola. He wondered briefly where she kept her gun.

He tried to avoid looking at the bed, but couldn't help himself. It was big and rumpled, sheets strewn every which way as though she'd spent a restless night. Or— He glanced around again, looking for signs she'd been entertaining.

Thankfully he found none. But that didn't stop the sudden
slash of queasy pain in his gut at the memory of a time he'd walked in on a woman he was involved with a few years back. She
had
been entertaining. And he'd been hurt. Real hurt.

That was the last time he'd let himself become vulnerable with a woman. Since then, he'd been very careful about who he let into his life and for how long. He'd do well to remember that painful lesson.

Recalling the incident put a real damper on his mood. Come to think of it, Luce Montgomery reminded him a little of that other woman. They were both smart, blond and didn't like to be tied down. Maybe that's why he was so fascinated by Luce. That fatal-attraction thing.

Not good.

Better watch himself with this one. The last thing he needed was a repeat performance of that disaster.

He strode to the window and gazed down at the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and the stark landscape beyond that stretched below the town like a bold painting. The views in this state never ceased to take his breath away. Greens and oranges, browns, purples and blues combined in ways like no place else.

“Okay,” Luce said from behind him, startling him back to the present. “I'm listening.”

He turned. She'd changed into tight jeans and a turquoise turtleneck that revealed every curve beneath it. A pair of woolly socks hid her feet. Her long, blond ponytail flowed over her shoulder like a mountain stream, her face fresh and unadorned except for a touch of mascara. Every inch of her body was covered and she was practically devoid of makeup, but he didn't think he'd ever seen a woman look so sexy.

Or maybe it was just this particular woman would look sexy no matter what she was wearing or not wearing.

Man, was he in trouble. Luce Montgomery was not a woman he should get involved with in any way, shape or
form. She was too risky. Too dangerous to his peace of mind. Too perilous for his heart.

What had seemed like a good idea a half hour ago suddenly took on the proportions of a major miscalculation.

All those thoughts flashed through his mind as she returned his stare, her cheeks getting redder and redder by the second.

He took a deep breath. See there? She was as freaked out as he was.

He could handle this. He could handle
her.

No problem.

He let out the breath, praying he wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

“I think I know where to find Clyde Tafota,” he said gruffly, sliding his Stetson back on his head. “Let's go pick him up together.”

L
uce had no clue how she had let herself be talked into this insane excursion.

Oh, the idea of checking out the Jicarilla Apache Reservation where Clyde's people lived was a good one. Families and friends were always a useful source of information, even if Clyde himself didn't turn out to be there.

It was the part where she had to share the confines of a small two-seater Jeep for hours on end with Philip O'Donnaugh…
that
was the crazy part. They'd already been driving over two hours and they hadn't even gotten to the reservation. New Mexico was one big state.

Chief O'Donnaugh was big, too. Too big. He hogged up all the space in the tiny vehicle with his long legs and broad shoulders. She had to be constantly on guard against bumping up against him as they sped along the road. Every time he shifted gears she had to move her knee so his knuckles wouldn't brush it. He was making an attempt to hide his attraction, but she'd seen the way he'd looked at her back at
the hotel—all bedroom eyes and hot blood. The atmosphere in the Jeep was thick with awareness. She could barely get enough air to breathe without running into his damned pheromones.

“Almost there,” Philip remarked, jerking her out of her unsettling thoughts.

“Yeah?” She reluctantly turned to him.

She didn't know why the police chief unnerved her so. He was just a man. She'd brought down a dozen men as big or bigger than he was. Slapped them in handcuffs and hustled them back to jail without blinking.

“Let's start at the tribal police in Dulce. We'll be there in five minutes.”

Maybe it was the fact that she couldn't look at him without wondering what he tasted like, or shivering at the memory of his hard body rolling her on her back and his gravelly voice whispering in the dark, “Now it's my turn.”

It didn't help, either, that he had a pair of handcuffs dangling provocatively from his rearview mirror. Lord, the images
that
provoked.

She jetted out a breath. She had to get a grip.

“What?” he asked.

“Just anxious to get out of this Jeep,” she mumbled. “Think we'll find Clyde?”

Philip shrugged. “The rez is a tight community. Outsiders are always suspect, and residents don't give up info on one of their own. I'm hoping the news that he's in the clear for the murders will flush him out.”

“And if it doesn't?”

“Then we'll have to try something else.”

The whole thing sounded like a long shot, but since Clyde's sister lived on the rez, Luce would definitely have ended up coming out and poking around anyway. So what the heck.

Philip pulled into the parking lot of the Jicarilla Apache Tribal Police when they finally reached the small, dusty com
munity of Dulce, the only town on the reservation according to the map.

Inside the station they were ushered into the office of the duty sergeant. Luce listened while Philip talked. And tried not to frown when he spilled the same story to the sergeant that he'd told her on the drive up.

In her profession, she never gave away any information she didn't absolutely have to.

“The Soffit and Dickson Law Office in Piñon Lake was robbed of a large amount of cash on Thursday night,” Philip explained to the sergeant. “According to Dickson's secretary, Clyde Tafota was the last appointment before closing, but she left for home before he came out. I'm hoping he saw someone go into the building after him, or remembers a parked vehicle or something.”

“So he's not a suspect?”

Philip shook his head. “I'm holding a man named Jim Kendall based on some circumstantial evidence, but it's weak. The secretary is his sister, and she swears he's innocent.”

“And you're hoping Tafota will tip the scales one way or the other.”

“That's right.”

“Well, I haven't seen him out this way for a few months, myself. But Lieutenant Clay Pipe is the one to talk to. His aunt is best friends with Donna Tafota, Clyde's sister, and he might know something.”

That sounded promising, Luce thought.

“He around?” Philip asked.

“It's his day off but he's probably down at the feed at the Munoz's spread. Their son's back from the Middle East on leave. A Marine.”

“So everyone's there.”

“Everyone who's not working.”

“What's a feed?” Luce asked when they were back in the Jeep heading south on Highway 537, following the sergeant's
directions to Clyde's place. They wanted to check that out before trying the Munoz's, which was still farther south.

“Sort of like a barbecue. Big gathering with lots of food and usually dancing and stories.”

“A party?”

“Sometimes it's for a happy occasion, sometimes it's solemn, sometimes ceremonial or even political.”

She tipped her head. “You seem to know a lot about this stuff.”

“I grew up in California surrounded by Indian reservations. Had a lot of Paiute friends.”

“California?” She glanced at him in surprise. “You're not from this area?”

He shook his head. “Moved here a few years back.”

“What brought you to Piñon Lake?”

He slid her a lopsided grin. “I lost a poker game.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You
lost
the game?”

His chuckle was expressive, drawing her in. “I was traveling around and dropped in on a friend of mine from the Taos County Sheriff's Department. One night we got into a game with some of the local suits. My friend was yakking about my background when one of them offers me a job as Piñon Lake police chief. I just laughed.”

“You didn't want the job?”

“I didn't want
any
job. Especially as a cop.”

His brief tone of distaste surprised her. But before she could ask about it, he went on.

“Anyway, we played for a few more hours and I was running low on chips when the same guy raises the bet by some ridiculous amount. We were the last two in, and I had a pretty good hand so I was ticked. You can probably guess what came next.”

She grinned. “He said he'd accept your services as police chief in lieu of money.”

“You got it.”

“And you lost the hand.”

“Yep.”

She laughed out loud. “Sounds to me like the California boy got shanghaied.”

“You think?”

“How long they stick you for?”

“Just a year. But I liked it so much I stayed on.” He shrugged. “The pay's crap but it's exactly what I needed.”

She glanced through the windshield at the stark, spectacular scenery. Soaring purple mountains slashed with amazing red formations were covered by towering green forests that melted into the sepia-and-orange sands of the desert. In the distance a river sparkled like a winding blue-gold ribbon, cutting a swath through everything in its path. She was more of an urban gal herself, but this wilderness would be paradise to a rugged outdoorsy type like Philip.

“Yes, I can see the appeal.”

But on a deeper level, she wondered. About why O'Donnaugh would be “traveling around” with no desire for a job. About what kind of “background” he had that would prompt an offer to be police chief of anywhere. About what a man like him needed so badly that was satisfied by hiding out in a town of three hundred permanent residents smack in the middle of nowhere.

Interesting.

Not that she gave a fig about Philip O'Donnaugh or the devils that drove him, she reminded herself.

All she wanted was to find Clyde Tafota and beat it back to St. Louis as soon as humanly possible. She had a retrieval fee to collect and a P.I. business to open. After eight years on someone else's payroll, she now had the skills to branch out into more than bounty hunting. She wanted to become her own boss, and this was the paycheck that would put her savings account over the magic number she needed to do that.

“Looks like this might be the right road,” Philip said, turning off the highway. There hadn't been a single road sign since Dulce, and the directions the sergeant had given
to Donna Tafota's place were sketchy at best, so it was hard to tell.

The dirt track meandered through the Ponderosa pine forest eventually emerging into a small valley. Luce wound the window down all the way and filled her lungs with crisp mountain air.

She loved the smell of New Mexico. She'd noticed it the moment she'd opened her car door after arriving yesterday. It smelled wild and fresh, like juniper and sage and wildflowers and ancient earth, all mixed up in one unique scent. There was something exotic about that smell, and at the same time strangely soothing and somehow familiar.

Which of course was crazy since she'd never stepped foot in New Mexico before. The only reason she was here now was because of her boss, Arthur's, warped sense of humor. Luce collected Santas. As in Santa Claus. She was the first to admit that her collection, started at the tender age of four and encouraged by a doting adoptive mom, had gotten a little out of control. She must have more than two hundred figures and depictions of various sizes, shapes and origins. For some reason she'd always been a sucker for the jolly old grandfather in the red suit. Anyway, Arthur thought the whole concept of relentless, workaholic, take-no-prisoners Luce having a tender spot for the warm, fuzzy icon was hilarious. So he took special delight in assigning her all skip-trace jobs involving any place name that had the word
Santa
in it.

Santa Fe was the capital of New Mexico, and that was good enough for Arthur. She couldn't help but smile. She loved her job, and Arthur was one of the main reasons why.

But she would love it even more when she could hire him for jobs, instead of the other way around.

“What do you think?” Philip asked when they reached the end of the road.

Luce studied the group of three white structures that nestled together in a glade of shade trees bordered by a small brook.

She shook her head. “I thought he said the sister's house was pink adobe. And I don't remember anything about a stream.”

“I was afraid of that.”

Philip pulled into a dirt parking area containing a couple of old trucks and a new Honda sedan. As soon as he turned off the engine they were surrounded by a trio of barking dogs, but their tails were wagging and they looked friendly enough.

The man who emerged onto the porch of the main house looked less so. Philip wasn't armed—having stowed both their weapons earlier in a strong box hidden in the back bench seat—and as cop cars went, his Jeep wasn't all that imposing. Unadorned black with a rack of red and blue lights on the roof, a siren, and a police-band two-way radio. But that and his uniform shirt were plenty to put people on their guard, including this guy.

“Can I help you, Officer?” the man asked, approaching Philip's side.

He had the slow, proud, rolling gait and windblown wrinkles of a man who'd worked outdoors all his life, along with the bronze skin and long, pulled-back hair of a traditional Indian man.

Luce decided to let Philip do the talking yet again. She didn't mind. It was actually kind of nice letting someone else do all the work for a change. Besides, she didn't want anyone here knowing she was a bounty hunter. Nothing would drive Clyde underground faster.

“Morning, sir,” Philip said, sliding from the vehicle. He identified himself thoroughly and showed his credentials. “I was hoping you might help me. I'm looking for Clyde Tafota. I understand his sister lives around here?”

The man looked assessingly at him for a long moment, then slid his gaze to Luce, no doubt taking their measure, deciding how much he should say. Luce gave him a smile.

“Her place is farther south. Down the highway,” he finally said in a pleasant sing-song.

Philip nodded, and turned unhurriedly to gaze at the mountains, then watched a large bird of prey circle lazily above them. “Beautiful land,” he said after a while.

Luce shifted in her seat, wondering what the heck Philip was up to. It was getting hot in the Jeep. She pulled at her turtleneck.

The old man didn't comment, but also gazed up at the peaks, his eyes smiling. The two of them stood looking for a few more minutes in silence, then Philip turned back to him and indicated the man's vest.

“Nice beadwork. You ever use porcupine quills?”

The old man's expression didn't change. “Not so much anymore.”

Luce knew the sale of porcupine quills was illegal, with a few exceptions for Native Americans, so she was puzzled by Philip's line of questioning.

“I had a tourist run over one a while back,” he said to the old man. “Still have some quills.” He strolled to the Jeep and leaned into the back seat, giving her a wink as he did so.

“What's this all about?” she whispered.

“Respect,” he said, smiling over at her. “Thanks for letting me handle it.”

“No problem.” She didn't have a clue, anyway.

Flipping up the bench top, he gathered a handful of long, elegant quills from a tackle box sitting next to the strong box and returned to the old guy. “Figure you could use them more than I can,” he said, and poured them into his hand. “Thanks for the info.”

Then he slid back into the Jeep and revved it up. Just before pulling out, he stuck his head out the window and asked, “By the way, have you seen Clyde since last Thursday?”

The man looked down at the quills on his palm, then closed his hand over them. “No,” he answered.

Philip nodded. “Well, if you do, can you tell him he's been cleared of that mess in St. Louis? He just needs to turn himself in and it'll go away.” Then he wheeled the Jeep around and headed back toward the highway.

Suddenly everything he'd done made sense.

Luce was impressed.

“Nice work,” she said. “Using the native telegraph to tip off Clyde that he's been cleared.”