by Lisa Jackson
“Mom and Dad don’t run my life, my boss can’t tell me what to do when I’m not on duty and the investigation is still ongoing. I haven’t compromised anything.”
“Yet,” Karla said, unconvinced. She walked to the bedroom door and looked pointedly inside. “But it wouldn’t be long.”
“It’s none of your business and you’re borrowing trouble.” Kelly carried the wineglasses to the sink and her sister padded after her.
“I don’t think I have to borrow any. You’ve got enough to last us both for the rest of our lives. Oh, Kelly, don’t be dumb, okay?” Karla rapped her fingers around her sister’s upper arm. “The McCaffertys are bad news, all of them. You can’t trust any one of them as far as you can throw them.”
“I’ve heard this lecture before.”
“Excuse me, I thought you were the one who gave it. Just listen, for God’s sake. Whatever you do, Kelly,” Karla advised with all the wisdom of someone who’d made more than her share of mistakes when it came to affairs of the heart, “don’t fall in love with Matt McCafferty.”
“I won’t.”
“It would be a devastating mistake.”
“I said, ‘I won’t.’”
“And I think you’re a liar. It’s probably already happened.” Karla held up her hands as if to ward off any further protests. “But if you are in love with him, you’re in trouble. Deep trouble. All you’ll get out of it is a broken heart. That, I can guarantee.”
Chapter 9
“Where are you going?” Slade asked as Matt, hiking the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, hurried down the stairs. Slade was standing by the fireplace in the living room with a clear view of the foyer and bottom step. Standing in stocking feet, warming the backs of his calves by a slow-burning fire, he cradled a cup of coffee in his hands and had been paying attention to Larry Todd, who, Matt gleaned from the tail end of the conversation, was explaining the need for a new pole barn.
“So it wouldn’t cost that much, as it’s basically a roof on poles. It would just give the stock some more shelter and make feeding easier.”
“I don’t see why not,” Slade replied, then looked past Larry to the bottom of the stairs.
Matt paused in the archway and explained, “I hope you and Thorne can hold down the fort. I’m gonna be spending a couple of days in Seattle.”
“Don’t tell me, the lady detective is there.” Slade’s smile was downright evil, and with the scar running down one side of his face and the antlers mounted over the mantel seeming to be growing out of his head, he looked even more fiendish. “Right? Detective Dillinger is there.”
Matt didn’t bother to answer. “On my way back, I’ll stop by my place, check in with Kavanaugh, and be back by Thanksgiving.”
“That’s only few days away. And Nicole mentioned something about both of us going into town to make sure our tuxes for the wedding fit.”
“Did she?” Matt wasn’t deterred.
“She’ll be mad as a wet hen if you don’t take care of this. The wedding’s set to go as soon as Randi wakes up.”
“The tux will fit fine, the wedding will go on without a hitch, and they’ll get married,” Matt bit out, his temper starting to control his tongue. “Tell her not to get her knickers in a knot. Randi is not even conscious yet. As I said, I’ll be back in a couple of days.” He clomped down the hall toward the kitchen and the seductive scent of coffee. He’d woken up in a bad mood, having slept poorly, his dreams peppered with images of Kelly—sexy, hot images that had forced him to a shower that felt sub-zero this morning.
He passed the den. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thorne, his casted leg propped by a corner of the desk, a phone crammed to one ear, his black eyebrows pulled into a thick line of consternation as he read the monitor of his computer.
“I’m outta here,” Matt said, and Thorne, absorbed in his conversation, took a second to glance up. He held one finger aloft, signifying Matt should wait a second. Probably for orders. Matt wasn’t in the mood. “Be back in a couple of days.”
“Hold on, Eloise, looks like I’ve got a crisis here,” Thorne said into the receiver, then turned all of his attention on his middle brother. “Where the hell are you going?”
Matt repeated himself. “Striker says I should keep an eye on the police, and since the sheriff’s department is sending Kelly Dillinger to Seattle, I decided that I should tag along.”
“Does she know it?”
“Nope.”
“Thanksgiving is in three days.”
“I know, I know, and Slade was already on my case about the tux. I’ll take care of it when I get back.”
“You’d better.” Nicole’s voice preceded her, and Matt inwardly groaned as he turned to face his soon-to-be sister-in-law. Her hair was pinned back and she was wearing a crisp white blouse, dark slacks and a wide belt. A briefcase swung from her fingers, as she was on her way to the ER at St. James Hospital. She took her place in the doorway next to him. “If you don’t,” she warned, her lips quirking as she fought a smile, “I’ll just have to tar and feather you, then skin you alive.”
“Thanks, Doctor. Anything else?”
“That should do it. For now.”
“Are you always this much fun?” Matt grumbled.
“Only when I want something.” She smiled sweetly, then rested a shoulder against the door frame and turned her attention to Thorne. “I’ll look in on Randi, and Jenny should be here any minute to see to the twins and the baby. Juanita’s feeding him right now. I kissed the girls goodbye, but they both fell back to sleep, so they shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Thorne grumbled, but his eyes had brightened at the sight of Nicole.
She chuckled, the sound deep and low. “I’ll call them later.” Sliding a glance at her brother-in-law-to-be, she added, “You might want to say goodbye to your nephew.”
“I will.”
“Good.” She blew a kiss to Thorne, then walked briskly down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Thorne’s gaze followed her, his important call temporarily forgotten as he watched the sway of her hips. Boy, did he have it bad. When the lovebug bit Thorne McCafferty, it wasn’t just a tiny nip. Thorne had been swallowed whole.
“I’ll call,” Matt said, and followed his future sister-in-law to the kitchen. As Nicole stated, Juanita was cradling the downy-haired baby in her arms and singing something that sounded like a Spanish lullaby to J.R. The baby blinked his round eyes and stared at the housekeeper-cum-nanny as if he was mesmerized.
Matt poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot simmering on the coffeemaker. Juanita was doing a helluva job with the kid, and Jenny Riley, Nicole’s babysitter, was a godsend. But, by rights, little J.R. should be with his mother. Right now Randi should be the one singing to him, cuddling him, even nursing him. The muscles in the back of Matt’s neck tightened as he thought of the bastard who’d tried to kill his sister. Not once, but twice. Who the hell was he? Could he possibly be J.R.’s missing father? That would be a bitch. The poor kid would be screwed up for life. Matt couldn’t imagine saying, Yeah, J.R., we didn’t know who your father was, but it turned that he didn’t claim you and tried to kill your mother while she was pregnant with you, and when that didn’t work, tried again when she was in a coma in the hospital.
Still in a black mood, Matt took two long swallows from his cup, then tossed the dregs into the sink.
“You’re leaving?” Juanita asked, eyeing his duffel bag.
“After he gets fitted for his tux,” Nicole said. She was half-serious, half-teasing. She sipped from her coffee cup and rested a hip against the counter.
“I’ll take care of it.” Tapping J.R.’s button of a nose, Matt said, “Don’t give anyone any trouble, okay?” The baby cooed and Matt felt that familiar pull
on his heartstrings that had become a part of his life here at the Flying M, new emotions that both J.R. and Kelly evoked in him.
Damn it all, anyway, what was happening to him? Ever since he’d heard the first news of Randi’s accident, he’d changed. Angry at himself and the whole damned world, he squared his hat upon his head and ignored Juanita’s protests that he needed a real breakfast before he left.
* * *
A broken heart indeed, Kelly thought the next day as she slid behind the wheel of her rental car at the Sea-Tac airport. That would be the day. But as she drove through the tangle of traffic toward downtown Seattle, flipping on her windshield wipers against the steady rain, she knew there was a smidgen of truth in her sister’s concerns. She was falling in love with Matt McCafferty and it was a monumental mistake. Mon-u-men-tal.
But, no matter how she tried to talk herself out of seeing him again, she knew she wouldn’t. It was all part of that moth-and-flame scenario where she was attracted to something that would ultimately burn her. “Fool, fool, fool,” she admonished as she switched lanes, brake lights flashed in front of her, and someone honked loudly. She found the address of the Seattle PD, and after scouring the parking lot, squeezed the rental into a tight spot. Dashing through the rain, she headed into the building.
She spent the next five hours at the police station talking with a friendly, heavyset detective who had been handling information on Randi McCafferty. Oscar Trullinger told her that so far no one could see that the book Randi had been writing was connected to the attacks upon her in any way and that they had no new information. Of the men she’d been associated with, none seemed likely to hold a grudge against her. Sam Donahue was currently living in western Washington on a ranch outside of Spokane; Joe Paterno, the photojournalist, was on assignment in Alaska; and Brodie Clanton, whose great-grandfather had founded the Clarion, was out of the country, vacationing in a villa in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
How convenient that all of the men Randi McCafferty had dated weren’t anywhere near Seattle. Too convenient, she thought as she drove to the offices of the Seattle Clarion. Located on the third floor of a brown brick building near Pioneer Square, the offices of the newspaper weren’t much different from what she expected. Inside, the once-open rooms were broken up by modular units of soundproof walls where cluttered desks were occupied by a dozen or so reporters all typing on keyboards of computers, or talking on the phone, or scanning news reports on small television sets. Through the windows, views into other buildings and a few glimpses of the gray sky and green waters of Puget Sound were visible.
“Can I help you?” a sober receptionist with doelike eyes asked.
“I’d like to speak to Bill Withers,” Kelly said, and flashed her badge. “Detective Kelly Dillinger. I’m from Grand Hope, Montana. I have some questions about Randi McCafferty.”
The receptionist offered what might be considered a smile. “Mr. Withers isn’t in right now.”
Kelly wasn’t surprised. “How about Joe Paterno or Sara Peeples?” she asked, though, again, she anticipated the answer.
“Joe’s on assignment, won’t be back until tomorrow. But Sara’s in. I’ll let her know you’re here.” Without waiting for a reply, she pushed a button and left the appropriate message.
Within two minutes a small woman with a long face, oversize features and tousled blond curls appeared. She wore a short fitted dress, boots, jacket and half a dozen bracelets that jangled as she walked.
“You’re Detective Dillinger?” Sara asked. “I’m Sara, and I’m really glad you’re here. How’s Randi?”
“Holding her own.”
“Come on back, my desk is a mess, but we can talk there.” She led Kelly through a maze of desks and past a fax machine and copy center to a desk in the corner, near what appeared to be an adjacent office dedicated to photography. “I heard Randi’s still in a coma. That someone might have tried to kill her.”
“That’s what we’re looking into,” Kelly admitted.
“Wow.” Sara’s smile twisted at the irony. “You know, the paper reports this kind of thing all the time, but it doesn’t really touch you until it’s someone you know. Someone who’s your friend or relative.”
“I know. I was hoping you could tell me a little about Randi. Who she hung out with, who she was dating, who were her friends and enemies.”
“And who the father of her baby is,” Sara said. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? And I don’t know.” She seemed earnest, her eyebrows knitting, her lips pursing as she thought. “You know, I don’t know who would want to hurt Randi and I would hope it wouldn’t be the father of her kid, but the world is made up of all kinds....”
For the next two hours Kelly talked to Sara and others in the office and left without much more information than she came in with. No one had any idea who would want to hurt her, who the father of her baby was, who she’d inadvertently ticked off. She had girlfriends from college, one in particular, Sharon Okano, whom she was close to, an aunt and female cousin on her mother’s side who weren’t related to any of Randi’s brothers, and it was generally thought that she was writing a novel, a fictional story against a backdrop of the rodeo circuit. Aside from her regular column, she occasionally wrote a freelance piece.
It was dark by the time Kelly checked into a hotel overlooking Elliott Bay, where she made her way to her room and tossed her purse onto the table.
She stood at the window, stared at the gray water for a few seconds, then placed a call to Randi’s friend, Sharon, who, according the recorded message, would call her back “as soon as possible.” Kelly left her name and the number of her hotel along with the telephone number of the sheriff’s department in Grand Hope, then called the department and left a voice-mail message for Espinoza. Those tasks completed, she decided to explore the city. Windows ablaze, skyscrapers knifed upward from the steep hills, traffic whizzed past, and pedestrians huddled in raincoats and, carrying umbrellas, hurried along the wet pavement.
Kelly made her way to the waterfront, where a stiff breeze blew across the white-capped sound and ferries chugged through the dark water. Though it wasn’t quite Thanksgiving, there were already hints of Christmas in the store windows, and there was a buzz in the air, an electricity that seemed to charge the night.
She bought a cup of chowder from a small restaurant located on Pier 56 and hiked back to her hotel, feeling wound tight and wondering what Matt McCafferty was doing. She thought about the fact that she’d nearly made love to him and knew in her heart that given a second chance, she’d do it again. Jamming her fists into her pockets, she considered the consequences of that one fateful act.
What would be the harm?
She was an adult.
He was an adult.
But you’re a cop and he’s the brother of a victim, perhaps even a suspect. Not that she believed the local gossip. Her hair was wet by the time she reached the hotel, her cheeks chapped and her fingers icy. She walked through the rotating door and started for the elevator when she sensed, rather than saw, someone fall into step with her. A hint of musky aftershave, and just the wisp of the scent of leather and horses. “How did you find me?” she asked, her heart skipping a beat as she caught his reflection in the elevator doors.
“A little detective work.”
She nearly laughed. “Oh, yeah, right.”
The doors parted and she stepped into the waiting car. Matt was beside her and she looked up into his dark eyes. They sparked with humor and something decidedly more dangerous.
“You think you’ve got the market cornered on snooping?”
“I don’t think of it as snooping.”
He pressed a button for the top floor of the hotel and she reached forward to poke a different one, but he grabbed her hand. “I thought you might want to come up to my room for a while. Have a drink.”
&nbs
p; Her throat tightened. “Did you?” She shook her head. “I know that we got a little carried away the other night, but it’s really not a good idea for us to…” She lifted her shoulders and one hand as the elevator rumbled ever upward. “Well, considering the circumstances, it just wouldn’t be smart for us to get involved.”
“We already are.” He was standing next to her, not touching her, just seeming to fill the whole damned car. Kelly felt claustrophobic, as if she couldn’t breathe.
“Okay, then, maybe not any more involved. Until this case is solved, I don’t have any business losing my objectivity.”
“Too late.” He grabbed her then, and though she knew she should tell him to go jump in the proverbial lake, she didn’t. Instead she tilted her chin upward and met his warm mouth with her chilled lips. His arms wrapped around her, and as the elevator car landed on the uppermost floor, he kissed her. Hard. Long. With enough passion to send tingles to the deepest part of her.
The battle was over and she knew it, didn’t bother to protest or resist as he lifted her from her feet and, like a groom carrying a bride on his wedding night, carried her over the threshold of the penthouse suite.
She closed her eyes and lost herself in him. They were alone, and what would one little night together harm? Groaning, he worked at the zipper of her jacket, peeling the unwanted garment from her easily as he kissed her. First the jacket, then her sweater, her boots and jeans, all piled onto the plush carpet, and she didn’t stop him, just kissed him as fervently as he kissed her.
She was vaguely aware of the dimmed lights, hissing fire and flowers scenting the room as she stripped him of his clothes, but those images were lost in the touch and feel of his work-roughened hands caressing her body, his lips and tongue touching and tasting her, the length of him pressed hard against her. Slowly he pressed her backward onto the satin comforter stretched across a king-size bed.