Blue Jeans and a Badge (4 page)

He could tell by her intonation there was more. “So what's the punch line?” he asked.

“The girl was Clyde Tafota's grandmother.”

Philip digested that. “Okay. That's good. She still alive?”

“Unfortunately not. And no one else seems to know exactly where the canyon was.”

“Or they aren't telling.”

“A definite possibility. But the school might have records. Or the police who found them.”

“Hopefully we can come up with an exact location with a few phone calls.”

They talked about the possibilities most of the way back to Piñon Lake, about how they could go about getting the information they needed, and who would take care of what. By the time they were approaching the village, Philip felt fairly confident that Luce had completely forgotten she was mad at him. So he decided to take a chance.

Just before town, he swung the Jeep onto a well-used track that took them up the mountain.

Luce looked around. “Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something.”

The sun was just setting. Because they were on the western slope of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, there was a wide, unimpeded view of the vivid streaks of color being painted in bold strokes across the sky, as if by a giant with a huge paintbrush.

“Oh, my Lord,” she said in a hushed tone as he steered onto a cleared area at the edge of a shallow drop. “That is amazing.”

He shut off the engine. “Just wait. It gets better.”

The sun went down quickly in the desert, so they sat there for ten or fifteen minutes soaking in the incredible cosmic show as it spun its magic upon the earth. First the sky turned bright yellow and lilac, then lavender and orange, melting into deep reds and violets, and finally fading to a stark black with slivers of purplish yellow.

“Incredible,” she murmured. “I have never seen a sunset like that before.”

“Welcome to the wilderness, city girl.”

She rolled her head on the neck rest and looked at him with a smile. “Okay, I guess it does have a few good points.”

“One or two.”

She glanced around. “Where are we?” she asked.

He got out of the Jeep and grabbed their things from the back bench. Then he came around and opened her door.

“My place.” He gave a little bow and gestured for her to hop out. “Welcome to my humble abode, Miz Montgomery.”

 

“What?” Luce balked. “Your place? This?”

She squinted into the darkness that had settled all around them, and was just able to make out a stone path leading away from the parking area to a low, silhouetted structure that nestled a hundred yards or so from the edge of the panoramic cliff drop.

“House, barn and fifteen acres,” Philip said.

She really shouldn't have been surprised by his choice of abode, but for some reason she was. She'd expected…she wasn't sure what she'd expected, but this wasn't it.

“Gosh, I could have sworn I said I wouldn't go to your house tonight.”

Holding both their weapons, holsters and extra clothing in his arms, he leaned up against the frame of the Jeep's open door. “I guess I thought you changed your mind.”

“Based on…?”

He grinned. “Wishful thinking? Besides, we have work to do. There's no time to hold a grudge.”

He just stood there leaning against the Jeep, watching her decide. If he'd touched her she would have immediately insisted on being taken to the motel. But he didn't.

A sinking feeling took hold of her stomach—that she was about to give in.

“Dodge will charge you an arm and a leg for long-distance calls,” he said blandly.

“I have a cell phone.”

“Wireless laptop?”

“No,” she grudgingly admitted.

“There you go, then. Gotta come in to use the computer.”

She hesitated for a moment longer, scrambling for a rational reason to refuse him. One that didn't involve bringing up the subject of touching. Or kissing. Or anything else along those lines. No sense reminding him of all that.

Then she looked up into his eyes and realized she didn't have to remind him. He was already thinking them. His dark gaze lingered on her face, caressing her cheeks and throat with all the reassurance of a mountain lion sizing up his prey.

She shivered, but couldn't for the life of her look away. When he lifted his hand to help her down, she forgot completely she meant to say no.

“Just for a little while,” she mumbled.

“Absolutely,” he allowed.

“I'll go first,” he said, walking ahead of her on the stone path. “In case of rattlers.”

“Rattlers? As in
snakes?
” Nervously, she hurried to catch up to him. “Those nasty ones that can kill you with a single bite?”

“Actually, Western rattlesnakes are pretty docile and will usually only bite if you step on them.”

“Usually?”

“Well, in the springtime when they wake up they can be a bit cranky.”

“Springtime? You mean like, say, April?” She pressed in closer to him. She didn't have to double-check her watch to know what month it was.

“Now that you mention it. But don't worry. Their bite is rarely fatal. You just get really sick.”

“I'm so reassured.”

She heard him chuckle. “Just stomp really loudly as you walk. The snakes will feel the vibrations and hide. Works for bears, too.”

“Wonderful.”

They reached a set of low steps and went up to a wraparound patio surrounding the house, artfully lit by low-watt deck lights. “Here we are, safe and sound.”

“Wow, this is really nice,” she said when Philip had let them into the house and they were standing in the large, cozy living room.

He watched without comment as she made a full circle, taking in the whole room. The contemporary-style house was built completely of wood and glass. On the floors, thick carpeting was covered by Indian rugs, and a towering stone fireplace sat between two huge plate-glass windows. There was a wall of lighted, built-in bookshelves, and big burgundy leather furniture with walnut tables filled the space between. Everything seemed designed for comfort, but managed to look masculine and elegant at the same time.

“Wow,” she repeated. The man obviously had an abundance of good taste. And money. No wonder he wasn't concerned about his salary if he could afford fifteen acres with a home like this on it. “It's beautiful.”

“Good,” he said, and she thought she detected a shade of satisfaction in the pronouncement. “I'm glad you like it.”

She was tempted to ask him why, but thought better of it.

She was attracted to Philip. More than attracted, truth be told. But one look at this place and she knew without a doubt he was one of those picket fence guys looking for a little lady to put it around. Luce had no plans to be fenced in—no mat
ter how sexy the man looked in his well-fitting jeans and cowboy hat. She had things to do with her life. Places to go.

And there was that something special she had to find before she could even think about settling down. Something good she knew was out there somewhere, waiting for her. Just on the other side of the mountain.

So it was no use even opening up that can of worms with Philip O'Donnaugh. Despite their mutual attraction, for both their sakes, their relationship had to stay strictly professional.

“I'll be right back,” Philip said, depositing her gun and other belongings on a side table. He pointed out the kitchen and powder room, said, “Help yourself to anything,” and disappeared down a hallway, presumably leading to the bedrooms.

She took the opportunity to freshen up, then wandered over to the bookshelves. Running her hand along the buttery-smooth arm of a giant leather sofa, she tipped her head to check out his book collection. She was surprised by the diversity of titles and topics. There was a bit of everything, from paperback mystery novels to leather-bound classics, to volumes on local history, to expensive texts on forensics and other sciences. Interspersed among them all were small but beautiful works of bronze, ceramics and ancient art.

She leaned over for a closer look at an extraordinarily beautiful black glazed pottery bowl which she guessed was Native American.

Suddenly she felt the barest feather-touch of a caress on her bottom. Acting on pure instinct, she spun like lightning, grabbing her attacker's wrist and toppling him backward onto the sofa. She grabbed his throat and clamped her legs around his thighs to prevent him from moving.

When she saw who it was, her breath whooshed out.

“
Jeez,
Philip.”

His hand came up, one finger dangling a pair of handcuffs, which he offered to her with a crooked smile.

She frowned. “What are those for?”

“Oh—” he said with a bemused expression. “You mean this isn't foreplay?”

She clenched and unclenched her jaw, then took her hand from his throat. “You are so not amusing, O'Donnaugh.”

His lip curled. “Then what's all this about?”

“I like a little warning before someone touches my backside.”

“I'll try to remember that in the future.”

She was about to correct him about that future thing when she made the mistake of relaxing her thighs. That's when she realized she was straddling his lap. Again. Her hands were planted on either side of his head and he was looking up at her with a strange expression on his handsome face.

“Sorry about tackling you,” she murmured, knowing she should get off him immediately, but for some reason she couldn't make her legs work.

“No worries. I'm getting used to being in this position.”

She swallowed. “Sorry. It's just…reflex.”

“In fact,” he said, his voice lowering an octave, “I'm kinda starting to like it.”

He shifted a fraction under her, and she felt that he was telling the truth.

Oh, God.
Her heart thundered.

She really did have to move.
Now.

“Fair warning,” he murmured, and before she knew what was happening, she felt his hands on her bottom, brushing over her with fingers spread.

She gasped. “Philip!” she said on the exhale, and tried to sit up.

But he was faster. His strong hands spanned her back. And started pulling her down, toward him, while slowly stroking up and down her sides.

“Um, what are you doing?”

He didn't answer. His hands worked themselves higher still, pulling her down even more until her face was mere inches from his.

“This is not a good idea,” she whispered as he tugged her closer and closer.

His eyes had darkened, the lids falling to a sexy half-mast, his black lashes framing a look of smoldering desire.

Her pulse skyrocketed. But her body became inexplicably weak, like there was molasses flowing through her veins.

“We really shouldn't—”

“Luce?” he murmured, sliding his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head in his palm.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Then he closed the gap between them and covered her mouth with his.

L
uce heard a whimper as the taste of Philip's kiss exploded on to her senses. She knew she should resist, but for the life of her she couldn't remember why.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, urging her with his tongue to open to him. She did, and heard another whimper. Her own? No. Luce Montgomery had never whimpered in her life.

He changed angles and his tongue invaded her mouth, causing a riot of sensation all through her body. A sharp coil of desire tightened from her nipples straight to where her legs were spread and pressing up against him.

She groaned. He tasted so good. She opened wider, loving how he wasn't gentle but took what he wanted, laving her mouth with his tongue, suckling and nipping her lips, demanding her response with heated fervor.

Suddenly, he tightened his grip on her and rolled them off the sofa, carefully landing on the floor, clutching her under him.

“I want to be on top,” he rumbled with barely a break in his kissing.

She moaned her assent, wrapping her arms around his neck, molding herself around his body. He felt powerful, in control, his muscles rippling as he lowered himself between her thighs. And suddenly she knew with dead certainty the only reason she'd ever been able to bring this man down was because he'd let her do it.

For some reason that realization turned her on even more. She returned his kisses with abandon, reveling in the rare sensation of a man's weight on her and in the sheer intensity of their desire to taste each other.

They kissed and kissed, and she didn't stop him when he grasped her calf and wrapped her leg around his thigh. It felt so good,
he
felt so good, that she lost herself in his passion and ignored the little voice in the back of her head warning her that this was a monumental mistake.

He pressed into her, teasing her, tempting her, rubbing the long ridge of his arousal against her center. Even with two layers of jeans between them, he felt mouthwateringly hard. They were both breathing so fast they had to break the kiss. But he kept his cheek against hers, moist and hot as a midsummer day. While they caught their breath, his hand smoothed circles around her hip and up her ribs.

Then it closed over her breast.

Too far.
She grasped his shoulders, intending to push some space between them. “Philip—”

“Mmm?” His fingers moved over her tantalizingly slowly.

She forgot what she was doing. “Um…”

She blew out a steadying breath, fighting to get her rioting body under some kind of discipline. Which was a whole lot harder than just about anything else she'd ever done in her life. Especially when his thumb stroked over the pebbled tip through her top, making her want to cry out with pleasure.

“Mmm,” he moaned huskily. “Like that?”

“I think you know I do,” she managed. Her nipples were tight points of aching need.

Their bodies expanded and contracted together with each labored breath they took. He pulsed between her thighs, even larger than before.

She knew it was now or never. Somehow she dredged up the willpower to say, “I think you also know I want you….”

Philip stilled, and after a moment his head came up. “I'm sensing a
but
in there somewhere.”

His hand was still on her breast and for one insane moment she considered letting it stay there. Saying, no, there was no
but.
Just want. Except she knew what would happen if they went through with this. If they ended up in bed, and formed a bond that would be painful for both of them to break. Not to mention making their professional relationship way more complicated.

“Yeah,” she said regretfully. More regretfully than he would ever know.
Damn.

His fingers moved on her breast, cupping her, but not insistently.

“No sex?”

“You'll thank me in the morning.”

“Don't count on it.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it go this far. I know how hard it is—”

He cut her off with a choked laugh. “Funny.” Then he sighed and rolled off her.

She felt like such a jerk doing this to him. To both of them. But it was the smart thing to do. For both of them.

They lay there for a few minutes staring at the ceiling. Recovering.

“Just out of curiosity…” he said. “Why not?”

“Which one of the thousand reasons would you like?”

“I'm in no hurry. Start at the top.”

“For one, I'm leaving in a few days.”

He shrugged. “I'm not asking you to marry me.”

She smiled wryly at the ceiling.
So like a man.
“Sorry. I'm not into the love-'em-and-leave-'em lifestyle.”

“So stay awhile.”

She turned her head and found him watching her. Their eyes met and she saw the depth of his sincerity. “I can't,” she said, sensing the danger in that sentiment with every cell of her body. “Besides…”

He canted on his side, bent an elbow and rested his head on his palm. He reached out a finger and toyed with the hem of her top. “Besides?”

She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn't looking for anything permanent, but that didn't mean she couldn't fall for him and get hurt. That she'd never been quite this drawn to any man she'd met, so she didn't want to take the chance. Because eventually her restlessness would take over and pull her away from him. And then
he'd
get hurt.

But he didn't need to hear any of that, so instead she said, “We're working a case together. It would be a conflict of interest.”

He pursed his lips and slowly nodded, but she could tell he wasn't buying that one. “I won't ask you to do anything you don't want to, Luce,” he finally said.

He leaned over and gently kissed her. “But if you change your mind, you just let me know.”

With that he rose and helped her up. Then he turned and said, “Guess we'd better get working on that case.”

With a sharp pang of regret, she watched him walk away.

She'd done the right thing. There was no doubt in her mind she had.

So why was it her heart suddenly ached so badly?

 

Philip managed to keep himself together enough to show her he'd taken her rejection in stride.

Which he had. Really.

Actually, it had been more of a heading off at the pass than a rejection. Luce had made it clear she really wanted
to have sex with him. There were just too many good reasons not to.

He had just one word for that.

Bull.

But that could be his ego talking. He'd be more objective in a day or two when his body stopped throbbing for her. Okay, maybe five or six days.

He got them drinks, because he sure as hell needed one, and fired up the computer while she phoned her boss in St. Louis to fill him in on her progress with Clyde Tafota.

He did a quick Google on the two runaway kids in the local newspaper archives, and confirmed that the girl's name matched the maiden name of Clyde's grandmother, but didn't find any more specific references to the box canyon than they already had. He jotted down the pertinent information on the school and noted it had been the sheriff's office that returned the kids to the school.

He figured that was as good an excuse as any to call Ted Pace down in Taos. Ted was his friend there at the sheriff's office who had lured him into the fateful poker game, of which Philip never failed to remind him and pull endless favors from him on account of. He would be eternally grateful to his friend for aiding the hand of fate, but Ted didn't need to know that.

“Hey, buddy, what's up?” Ted greeted Philip when he called him at his home number. They shot the breeze for a while before he brought up the reason he was calling. After explaining briefly about Clyde Tafota, he relayed the information he needed on the kids.

“Dang, man, you say it happened back in 1934?” Ted said. “I don't know if I can get hold of records that old, especially if it was only something minor with no arrest or anything. But I'll see what I can do. Call me at the station tomorrow morning.”

Philip thanked him and hung up. That's when he noticed Luce had wandered into his office and was checking out the
photo gallery on the wall. His mom had always kept the staircase wall full of pictures of family and special events, and the habit had stuck.

“I didn't realize your dad is in law enforcement, too,” Luce remarked, looking at an old photo of his father in a khaki uniform. “What branch?”

Philip frowned. He didn't really like talking about his father. “He was sheriff of Inyo County for twenty-two years.”

“In California?”

“Yes. But he's been dead for a long time.”

Dead but not forgotten. And still running Philip's life, even from the grave.

Correction:
had
been running his life up until a few years ago, if largely unbeknownst to Philip. But no more. Clean-break time. Time to forget the bad and remember only the good—of which, admittedly, there was plenty. To be fair, his dad had no idea Philip would get elected to his job after he died.

Forgive and forget. Philip was working on it.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“Ancient history.” He waved off her sympathy, and decided to change the subject before it went any further. His messy past was public record, but he didn't see any reason to bring it up.

“What about your dad?” he asked as a diversion. “What does he do for a living?”

She strolled along the wall, still studying the photos. “He sells cars.”

The sip of beer he was taking almost went down the wrong pipe. “You're kidding. I thought sure he was a cop or in the military or something.”

“Nope.” She stopped in front of an early O'Donnaugh family portrait, taken when Philip was still a toddler. She reached up to straighten it with a lingering touch to the frame.

“So, how did a mild-mannered car salesman end up with a penchant for guns and a bounty hunter for a daughter?”

Turning from the portrait, she took a pull from her own beer. “He likes deer hunting. And I'm adopted.”

He raised a brow at the casual admission. “Yeah, huh?”

She crossed her arms over her abdomen. “I was left sitting on a church pew in St. Louis when I was three. The Montgomery's adopted me a year later.”

Again he wondered at the calm way she talked about such a traumatic, life-altering event.

“Have you ever tried to find your real parents?” he asked without thinking.

“The Montgomery's
are
my real parents,” she said with a steely determination Philip guessed hid a whole lot of love, but probably a whole lot of hurt, too. So her calmness about the subject was a facade. Knowing you were abandoned couldn't be easy, regardless of how much your adoptive parents loved you and vice versa.

“Real in every way that matters,” he agreed, kicking himself mentally for being so insensitive. Better get back to business. “So,” he said, “did you find out anything new when you called your boss?”

“No developments on that end. Tafota is still at large and the clock's ticking on his bail forfeiture.”

“He's just digging himself in deeper and deeper by not turning himself in.” Philip shook his head. “I don't get it. He could lose his business over this mess.”

Luce toyed with a pen sitting in a holder on his desk. “I've long since given up trying to figure people out. Especially the ones in trouble. People do weird things under pressure.”

Didn't he know it. He pulled up his keyboard. “Let's try running his credit cards,” he suggested. “Check if they've been used lately. Maybe we'll get lucky.”

“You can do that?” She came over to stand at his shoulder.

“Sure.” He winked up at her. “I'm the law.”

It was actually a bit more complicated than that, but he'd
built up a good network of contacts over the years. Generally if you did someone a favor, they didn't mind returning it. And he'd done quite a few favors in his eight years as sheriff and two as police chief.

He just wished Luce would do one for him now and not stand quite so close. It was hard to concentrate when he could smell her perfume and feel the heat from her body on his back. The memory of her taste rushed to his mouth, doubling his discomfort. Damn, he wanted to turn around and grab her.

Down, boy.
He'd already tried that. The lady wasn't interested.

He made himself concentrate and navigated to the Web site he needed, then typed in a password. With a few quick keystrokes he pulled up Clyde Tafota's credit history and downloaded a copy. Clyde had two major credit cards and a gas card.

“I have contacts at all of these companies,” he said. “We can call them in the morning to find out his activity.” He outlined his conversation with Ted, the relevant bits anyway, then he handed her his earlier notes. “This is everything I found on the school. At least it's still in business.”

Mercifully she took the printouts and notes over to his easy chair and plopped into it. He tried not to watch her as she read through them, but it was no use. It was like trying not to look in a bakery window when you were on a diet.

His gaze wandered over her body and, unbidden, the feel of the places he'd touched her echoed across his palms. He could still feel the lacy outline of her bra on his fingers, the pebbled tip of her breast on the pad of his thumb.

Damnation!
He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.

“Do you think we should— Philip?” Luce interrupted his inner frustrations.

He snapped his eyes open. “Yeah?”

“You okay? You look a little green around the gills.”

He sat up straighter. “I'm fine. What were you saying?”

She blinked, then all at once stood up. “I, um, think I'd better get going. It's late and, um… It's late.”