by Meryl Sawyer
Beware the coyote.
By going to Bam Stegner’s club, she’d allowed herself to be set up. She could have told Seth no, but she hadn’t. She had agreed to the date immediately, welcoming the chance to taunt Stegner.
“What now?” she asked.
“Instead of butting your nose into everything, the way you usually do, I want you to keep your mouth shut. Not one word to your father, not one word to Seth Ramsey. The less people know, the more likely someone will trip up, and I’ll be able to solve this case. But if you go around whining about Roofies and mysterious strangers, you’ll tip off the killer.”
She gritted her teeth to keep from protesting she wasn’t a whiner, but she knew he was right. Don’t give the killer even more of a chance to frame her. “Why are you helping me?”
“Do you really think I give a damn about what happens to you?” Zach asked. “I’ve got something to prove to Tohono and the others who stood up to your father. They got me the job as sheriff.”
“And you have an election coming up next year,” she said before she could stop herself.
His whole face contracted, every muscle hardening against the other. His eyes turned the steely blue-gray of a gun barrel. It was all she could do not to back up.
“I intend to solve this case. Don’t get in the way, Claire.”
With a few angry strides he crossed the family room and went into the entry. Lobo jumped up and followed him and Lucy tagged along. Claire walked behind, not certain what to say.
Zach dropped down to a squat and faced Lobo. He looked directly into the dog’s eyes, then said, “You’re staying here. I want you to—”
“Staying?” Claire cried. “What for?”
Zach ignored her, still speaking to Lobo. “Take care of Lucy and Claire. I’ll be back for you.” He rose to his feet, facing Claire. “You need protection. You’ve got Stegner pissed big-time, and someone’s out to frame you for mur—”
“I have an alarm system and a gun,” she protested.
“Stegner’s a sneaky son of a bitch. He lost it this morning, but that’s not like him. He’ll get you when you least expect it.”
She couldn’t deny he was right. Prom the moment she’d heard Khadafi was going to be liberated, she knew Stegner would blame her. She had her guard up; she could take care of herself.
“Most people think that Attica was the worst prison riot in U.S. history, but they’re wrong,” he said, rising to his feet. “More men died during the riot at the penitentiary near Santa Fe. Know who was behind it?”
“Stegner?”
“Right. He eliminated all his enemies in that riot, guards and prisoners. But he was so slick, he was never blamed. Since then he’s appeared to be clean. He doesn’t want to go back to prison, so he’ll strike when you least expect it.”
“I knew that going in,” she said, although she hadn’t known all the details of Stegner’s past. “I don’t want Lobo around. He’s wild, unpredictable.”
“Bull shit. Just talk to him like you would your own dog. Use regular obedience commands. Stay. Sit. Come. But pay attention to his signals. He’ll bark if anyone is near. If he senses real danger—he’ll growl low in his throat.”
Taos was an unconventional town with many artists and writers who took their pets wherever they went. It was common to see two or three dogs waiting outside restaurants or shops for their masters. People wouldn’t look twice at anyone with two dogs—unless one of them was Lobo. Being part timber wolf and having Zach for an owner had earned the dog quite a reputation.
What about her father? She could just imagine what Alexander Holt would say if he saw her with Zach’s dog. It was bad enough that she was the image of her mother, but Zach could have been his father’s identical twin instead of his son. If her father even suspected Claire was seeing Zach—for any reason—he would be humiliated the way he’d been when the whole town discovered Alexander Holt’s wife had run off with Jake Coulter. She couldn’t put him through any more heartache.
“Thanks, but—”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have any choice,” Zach informed her. “I’m taking care of you, like it or not.”
His gaze narrowed and without moving his head, he scanned her body with the calculating appraisal of a man who mentally undressed women as a hobby. She was tempted to slap him, but thought the better of it as his eyes shifted to her lips and settled there.
She lifted her chin to look him in the eye and glared at him. It took a supreme effort, but she managed it. “First, you don’t give a hoot what happens to me. Now you’re determined to take care of me. You sound like a confused idiot.”
Her scathing comment did nothing but encourage him. He grinned with a maddening hint of arrogance yet the effect on her was shattering. It was all she could do to throttle the dizzying current racing through her. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to kiss her. Just thinking about it made her pulse skyrocket. What was wrong with her?
She mustered the strength to say, “Get out!”
Zach cracked a laugh, startling her. “You’re in no position to order me around. I’m in your life to stay. Count on it.”
She took one small step back, then another for good measure. No denying it; her body responded to this man, overriding the rational objections of her brain. Too clearly she remembered what it had felt like to be in his arms, and some traitorous part of her wanted to be there again.
“You’re not part of my life. As soon as the killer is found—”
He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, and her body reacted with a surge of excitement as he pulled her flush against him. She twisted and shoved at his chest with both hands, but his arms shackled her.
“We’re going to start where we left off,” he said, a husky undertone to his voice. “It’s been years, but I still remember how hot you were for me.”
His comment shocked and disgusted her. Years ago, she’d come within a hair’s breath of losing her virginity to Zach. The fiery crash that had taken the lives of both their parents had ended their relationship. At least something good had come out of the tragedy.
“Zach, you’re the biggest jerk I’ve ever met.” She braced her hands against his sturdy torso and pushed with all her might but couldn’t free herself.
“You’re pissed off big-time because you know I’m right. That’s why you hightail it every time you see me coming. You haven’t the guts to admit to yourself that you’re just as hot for me as your mother was for my old man.”
Fury erupted inside her with such frightening intensity that she gasped, words eluding her. How dare he? She was anchored to his chest, his superior strength imprisoning her, the smirk on his face goading her. She had no choice. She leaned over and bit his arm.
Big mistake!
He released her—for a second—then he grabbed her again, twirled her around and pinned her against the door before she could draw a breath. He was grinning at her, but his eyes glinted and his nostrils flared slightly, betraying his anger.
“Darlin’, biting can be a real turn-on,” he said. “Let’s head into the bedroom.”
“Dream on!” She congratulated herself for sounding so forceful, but a growing sense of alarm warned her that he seriously expected … What? An affair? A one-night stand? Something. Like a gunslinger notching his belt, Zach Coulter wasn’t going to be satisfied until he could count her among his conquests.
His smile vanished, replaced by an expression of icy contempt. A cold knot of fear formed in the pit of her stomach as he studied her. It was dangerous to cross this man, but she refused to give into him. He raised his hand and took a loose tendril of her hair between his fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.
He didn’t say a word, but his body was pressed against her, every muscle taut, communicating barely restrained anger. A flicker of apprehension coursed through her. She kept staring into his compelling blue eyes, determined not to look away and let him know she was afraid of him.
The silence lengthened
. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it seemed like hours as she gazed up at him while he played with her hair. The very air around them seemed to be electrified as if they were in the midst of one of the wild summer storms that ripped through the mountains.
She wanted to bite him again, harder this time, but she didn’t dare. This murder had given him an advantage over her, and it was clear he intended to use it.
He slowly brushed the tendril of hair across her cheek. “Bite me again and you’ll be real sorry.”
She opened her mouth, a scathing retort on her lips, but something glistened in his eyes at that moment—unyielding determination. And a deeper emotion, which seemed to be frighteningly intense. She sucked in a calming breath, praying he’d just leave, but knowing he wouldn’t.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, his hand slowly circling her head until his palm gloved the back of her skull. A slow heat unfurled in her belly, languidly spreading downward. Oh, Lordy. Don’t let this be happening. Not with this man.
Say something. Do something. Get him out of here before he kisses you.
“I swear. You’re going to regret this,” she said in her most self-righteous tone.
He winked at her. “I live in fear.”
He was massaging the back of her head now, his strong fingers gently moving against her. His touch was oddly soft and caressing, a sharp contrast to the muscular length of his body braced so intimately against hers. She could feel every firm, well-toned muscle. Suddenly, she couldn’t look into his eyes any longer. Instead she concentrated on the hollow at the base of his throat where his pulse beat against the tanned skin.
One … two … three. She counted each pulsation, forcing her thoughts away from him and the incredible magic his fingers were working along the base of her skull. When she finally gave up and met his gaze again, his usually turbulent blue eyes were almost black, only a thin band of blue remained. Her heart was beating so hard she was positive he could hear it because he smiled, a slow sensual smile that sent a rush of heated longing through her.
“Don’t,” she murmured.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t kiss me,” she answered, her voice pathetically unconvincing.
Claire knew better, realizing full well she shouldn’t allow him to kiss her, even as his mouth came toward hers, but she didn’t turn her head away. Instead she waited, anticipating the kiss, her entire body charged with suspense. Desire coursed through her, sweeping away all rational thought. He kissed her roughly, one hand raking through her hair while the other pressed on the small of her back, arching her backward so that her breasts were flattened against his chest, his powerful body dominating hers.
True, she’d been kissed—many times—but only one man had used such sheer masculine domination, eliciting a dark, primal response from her. Zach. It had been years ago, of course, a summer she’d forced herself to forget. He’d been a boy then, gentler and manageable. No telling what this man would do.
Push him away, her mind ordered, but her body couldn’t resist temptation. He teased her lips apart with the tip of his tongue, then surged inward. Shocked at her own passionate response to the touch of his lips, Claire returned the kiss, her tongue greeting his. The contact sent a bolt of sheer pleasure through her entire body and her pulse went haywire, throbbing in intimate, sensitive places.
Desire swept over her—and carried her away. She responded to the sensual movement of his body and the scorching heat of his thighs by running her hands over the steely muscles of his back and shoulders. Her hands explored while her tongue joined with his in a sensual parody of another more intimate mating.
“Damn, Claire,” he murmured, lifting his mouth from hers for a moment.
She clung to him, savoring the male scent of his body and the smell of vanilla hazelnut coffee on his breath. And the feel of a swelling hardness thrusting against her. Oh, she knew she was going to bitterly regret this, part of her already did, but she didn’t have the willpower to deny herself this pleasure.
“Damn, Claire, is that all you have to say?” she managed to whisper.
“We’re past talking, babe. Way past.”
He lowered his mouth to hers again and she willingly parted her lips, then daintily sucked at his tongue. His kiss, the feel of his body was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced, his body the hardest, most powerful force. Yet it was the touch of his hands that enthralled her.
Sounds from outside dimly penetrated her senses. The lonely hoot of an owl, the chorus of crickets and the tick-tick of the clock in the hall. Traces of coffee and sweet scents from the aromatherapy lingered in the summer air. But she was so mesmerized by the sensations generated by his hands as he explored her body that she couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
“I want you,” he whispered. A low growl rumbled from deep in his throat. He cupped her bottom with both hands and brought her up on tiptoe against his stiff erection. “Hey, have you ever done it standing up?”
The crude question made her pull back slightly, but he wouldn’t let her go. He held her firmly against the hard heat of his lower body. She sank her nails into his back and arched against him. An uncontrollable shudder of pleasure racked her body.
“Standing up?” she echoed like the village idiot. “Standing up?”
He pulled his lips from hers and mumbled something that must have been a curse. Eyes squeezed shut, he sucked in his breath and held it, his head tilted toward the ceiling. She reached up to pull his head down for another kiss, but he opened his eyes and released her.
“You’re a real hot number, Claire. Like I said, you’re just as crazy for me as your mother was for my old man.”
With a smirk he blew her a kiss on the way out the door.
Twenty minutes later Zach was sitting in his Bronco outside Hogs and Heifers, watching. For what? He wasn’t sure, but he damn well couldn’t sleep. Not after that little scene with Claire.
It had taken every ounce of willpower to walk out on Claire, but he was proud of himself. He intended to play with her, give her a dose of the hard-to-get medicine that she liked to dish out He laughed under his breath as a couple of drunks stumbled out of the nightclub.
It was easy to tease Claire. Just throw her mother’s love for his father in her face. Like the rest of the town, Claire believed their parents’ affair had been a short fling. Zach knew the truth. He smiled into the darkness and took a deep breath of the cool mountain air laced with the scent of pine. When the time was right, he was going to tell Claire what really happened between their parents.
He brooded in the darkness, barely hearing the raucous sound of the band playing in the club. After Flash and the Rusty Roots, they weren’t worth listening to. His mind drifted back to Claire.
He could still feel her, soft and willing. He’d been aching to put his tongue, his lips on every delicious inch of her body. He’d start with the sensitive spot behind her earlobe and kiss his way downward, taking so much damn time that she’d be writhing beneath him.
Begging for more.
Then he’d part those thighs and show Claire that he could torture her with just his tongue. Heat pooled in his groin again. Jesus! Get your mind on something else.
“How did the murderer know Claire was coming to the club? He must have known. The Roofies were ready. Someone wanted Claire knocked for a loop,” Zach muttered, then realized Lobo wasn’t around. He was talking to himself.
Could have been coincidence, he thought. He wasn’t a big believer in coincidences, but shit happened. Years ago, Claire had forgotten something and returned home in the middle of the afternoon. She’d caught her mother getting it on with Jake Coulter.
Coincidence. Deadly coincidence for their parents, he thought with an unaccustomed pang of regret that he thought he’d outgrown years ago.
That was then, and this is now. Was it just coincidence that someone slipped Claire a Roofie on the night Duncan Morrell was murdered? Probably not. He had a sneaki
ng suspicion Seth Ramsey was hiding something. He was going to take a real close look at the cocky lawyer.
But first he needed to get a little more info on the Roofies. He decided to go into the club and stir things up. Inside, the Silver Bullet sign above the bar flickered like a flame in the wind, threatening to die and leave just the candles on the table to light the joint. The makeshift stage raised above the floor by two feet was deserted while the band took a break.
Zach eyed the dimly lit walls where posters from B-movies hung. Spaghetti Westerns mostly, but a few pre-dated the Eastwood era. Those went back to the old days when Native Americans were stereotyped. Indians were the bad guys. White men were the chosen ones.
“Coulter,” Stegner bellowed from behind the bar the second he spotted Zach. “When are you going to get that fuckin’ tape off those rooms? You’re costing me money.”
Zach sauntered up to the bar, deliberately taking his time. “The State Police’s forensic team from Santa Fe should be finishing up tomorrow sometime. Until then, it’s still a crime scene. It’s against the law to take off the crime-scene tape and let anybody go into those rooms.”
Stegner grunted and glared at him from behind the bar. Even in the dim light of the Silver Bullet sign, Zach could see how pissed Stegner was, but he didn’t give a damn. Zach figured the guy was guilty of more crimes than he cared to count. If he had the resources of the SFPD, he’d have his fat ass in prison. As it stood, he’d have to be patient. One of these days, he’d catch Stegner red handed.
“Want a whiskey?” Stegner asked, his bare belly slopping over the bar.
Zach shook his head, keeping his face expressionless. The bastard knew damn well Zach never drank. Whiskey straight—cheap rotgut—had been his mother’s favorite drink. Stegner knew it was the last thing he’d order.
“I have a couple of questions for you, and I want straight answers.”
Stegner leaned against the counter where the bottles were kept. “More questions? Shit! You’ve been here three times already.”