by Pat Warren
Beneath her palms, she felt his heart pounding as her fingers curled into the soft cashmere of his sweater. She heard a sigh escape as he changed angles and took her deeper, but she wasn’t sure which one of them had made the sound. The world became a little blurry as she found herself clinging to him, letting his fascinating flavors tease her tongue as it crept into his mouth.
It was the sign Jack had been waiting for, the assurance that she wanted this as much as he. Arms encircling her, he eased her closer, his response to her nearness instantaneous and obvious. It had been a hell of a long time since a woman had put him on the edge of explosion with just one kiss. The truth was, he hadn’t wanted like this in years. But he wanted now.
Without her shoes on, she seemed so much smaller, her bones delicate. She’d risen on tiptoe to better reach him, her slender arms snaking around to settle at his back and pull him ever nearer. She tasted like some fine wine, smooth and sweet, yet with that enticing tingle.
The kiss went on and on, yet was much too short. Finally, Jack released her, fiercely aware that he was getting in way over his head with this woman. He was a man who loved fun and games, the kind that didn’t involve feelings. Rachel somehow reached past his firmly planted barricades and touched something inside him. Something he didn’t want affected.
He shoved fingers that were none too steady through his hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed, shouldn’t have done that.”
Unnerved at how quickly they’d come so far, Rachel took a step back, then another. Breathing hard, she shook her head to clear it, but it didn’t work. “You didn’t do it alone,” she conceded. There’d been that moment there when he’d looked into her eyes, when she’d known that if she said no, he’d have backed off. But she hadn’t stopped him, so she had to share the responsibility.
She made a stab at clearing her throat. “Jack, I don’t think this is wise, considering we have to work together.”
He braced one hand on the archway leading into the vestibule. “You’re probably right.”
Surprised that he agreed, she looked up. “Then why are you coming on to me?”
“Because ever since you landed at my feet in that silly bathrobe and those crazy slippers, I’ve wanted you. I can’t seem to stop wanting you.” A hard admission to make, but he’d felt the need to be honest. And because now, he knew she felt the same.
His simple statement stopped her in her tracks. Don’t make too much of this, she warned herself. Wanting was physical, it wasn’t anything more and it certainly didn’t involve deep feelings.
Jack pulled his jacket off the coat tree, put it on and dug in his pockets for his keys. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll get over this, like the flu, you know.” He forced his mind back to the case, back to his reason for being in this godforsaken town. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon, okay?”
She should say no, should tell him to go alone, that he could easily handle talking with Homer without her. But she knew Homer, knew how strange and shy he was. Jack might scare him.
She badly needed some time and space to sort out her feelings, to put all this in perspective. The long, sleepless night would have to do. “Yes, okay,” she told him.
He left then, without another word, without touching her. With only a long look into her eyes that was enough like a caress to make her heart begin to gallop again.
Rachel locked the door behind him, leaned against it and began berating herself. Why had she let him kiss her? The first time in the car had been unavoidable, so unexpected that it had caught her completely off guard. But this one, she’d seen coming and she’d invited it with open arms. Why hadn’t she turned her head, shoved him away? Why?
Because, God help her, she’d wanted to know if the first one had been a fluke, a onetime happening that her imagination had blown out of proportion. And now that she’d found out that each time he kissed her it was like the first time, how could she keep from wanting more?
Four
She’d tried not to think of him, really she had.
After his somewhat hasty departure, Rachel had cleaned up the coffee things, checked all the doors and windows, then gone upstairs. She’d taken a long hot bath where she’d tried to keep her mind uncluttered and free, thinking nothing more complicated than how pleasant it was to lie back amid the bubbles and let her tension dissolve.
Finally in her bed, the same bed she’d spent endless hours during her teen years yearning for she knew not what, she’d struggled to keep her thoughts centered on her sister, the investigation, the missing baby. But just as if she were still that somewhat dreamy-eyed teenager, a tall, handsome image intruded with those green eyes that seemed to look right through her and that killer smile.
Jack had told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted no serious involvement, that he wasn’t cut out for marriage. Yet, despite her wariness of men in general and right now, Jack Henderson in particular, deep down inside, she wanted marriage, children and all the trappings. Knowing how he felt and how she felt, she should turn from him, not give another thought to him, certainly not let him touch her again.
Yet even as the thought formed, Rachel knew she probably wouldn’t be able to hold firm. For more than five years, she hadn’t dated a man more than once or twice, harboring very real concerns about being hurt again. Richard walking away from her practically at the altar had been the single most humiliating experience of her life, leaving an indelible imprint. She was afraid to trust, afraid even to dream that one day someone else would erase those fears forever.
It hadn’t been all that difficult, for she’d concentrated on her career, her work. It had paid off; she’d moved up in the company and now, as assistant to the head designer, she was not only in line for that job one day, but she had work she loved, a generous salary, benefits and flexible hours.
Only recently had she begun to think that all work and no play was beginning to make Rachel a pretty dull person.
Rearranging the pillow beneath her head, she settled down again, willing sleep to come. But instead, she relived that last kiss, the one where she’d risen on tiptoe and felt her heart pound in rhythm with his. She’d jumped up from the couch intending to keep him at bay, to send him on his way. Instead, one look, one touch, and she’d opened to him like a desert flower to the first rainfall.
Disgusted with herself, Rachel stared at the ceiling, deliberately coralling her wandering mind. Where was her father? The clock had chimed eleven the last time she’d made a note of the time. Dare she confront him, ask him what kind of meetings lasted this late? Not a good idea, she decided. Ellis would likely tell her it was none of her business, and he’d be right. After all, she didn’t want to answer to him so she’d best leave well enough alone. Dad wasn’t too happy with her right now, anyhow.
Maybe if she and Jack could discover something, come up with a clue that would lead them to Christina’s killer, perhaps then Ellis would come around. She had a feeling that her father had more or less ignored his youngest daughter for years because her behavior embarrassed him and certainly wasn’t an asset to his political ambitions. For that matter, he’d pretty much ignored Rachel, as well, and she hadn’t given him a moment’s worry.
A new thought occurred to Rachel. Ellis might even be concerned that Jack would unearth something about Christina that would bring shame on their family. In his position as mayor, Ellis could strong-arm the police or sheriff’s office to bury such evidence. But not an outsider like Jack.
Rachel brushed back her hair and changed positions again. What a mess. Tomorrow she’d have to call Pete Ambrose at Kaleidoscope and request a short leave of absence. Fortunately, she’d recently covered for him on a very large project when he’d had to fly to Florida to settle his mother’s estate. She felt sure he wouldn’t give her a hard time. She’d pretty well cleared off her desk before leaving.
She wasn’t crazy about hanging around here too much longer, but once started, she felt she had to finish. Call it guilt, or belate
d sibling love, or whatever, she had to learn what had happened to Christina. And then there was the baby.
Rachel hugged herself, wishing the child were here with her now. Would the baby have Christina’s huge blue eyes and chestnut hair? Or would he or she resemble the father? And just who was the father? Had Christina been seeing one certain person, someone she loved who’d fathered the baby, or had this been a random pregnancy and the father unknown, even to the mother? She wasn’t sure why, but she prayed the child had been born of love.
Her dormant romantic streak, Rachel decided. Well, why not? There wasn’t enough romance in the world. Lots of sex, but very little romance and certainly not enough love. The three elements should be in the same package, but were they ever? She had her doubts.
Sighing, she beat down her pillow and closed her eyes, trying desperately to get to sleep.
They were trudging around on the rocky hillside in the area where Christina’s car had been found and where Homer Gilmore’s shack was located. He’d picked her up around two on a gray and gloomy afternoon that threatened later snow.
“Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?” Jack asked, following Rachel up along the trail.
“I’m sure of the general direction, but I’ve never actually been to his home. I keep hoping we’ll run into him wandering around here, which he does frequently.”
She’d been very businesslike with him since he’d picked her up, Jack noted. Not cold exactly, but cool and more formal. If it’s possible to be formal with someone who’s kissed you brainless. “Does he have family somewhere?” he asked, trying to keep their conversation on track so he wouldn’t grab her into another mind-blowing kiss.
“I think I remember hearing that he had some family somewhere, but I can’t recall the details,” Rachel answered, swinging to the right as the path did.
Under her jacket, she was wearing a blue sweater the exact color of her eyes, Jack noticed. Even without sunshine, her hair was shiny and clean, skimming her shoulders as she walked. His hands itched to touch that thick mass, to pull her around to see that quick jolt of surprise jump into her eyes followed by the sudden heat of desire. Like last night.
Instead he dropped his gaze to the path, knowing that if he kept watching her, he’d surely act on his thoughts. The thoughts that had kept him awake a good part of the night.
He’d had her in his arms last night, right where he’d been wanting her, yet he’d been the one to stop, to put the brakes on. Because he’d sensed that Rachel was somehow different than the women he usually spent time with. She had a way of looking at him, quietly studying him, gazing inside him, as if wanting to know everything about him.
He couldn’t allow that. He’d spent years—while in the service, as a cop and as a private investigator—making sure no woman broke through the careful facade he’d created. He didn’t want someone poking around in his past, analyzing him, telling him what was wrong and how she could help fix him.
He liked women, liked their softness, the way their minds worked, so different from men. But to get tangled up with one forever? That scared the hell out of Jack. He knew he couldn’t cut it, as his father before him. He’d wind up hurting her and himself.
And yet…
He watched Rachel stop and peer ahead, perhaps trying to get her bearings out here where every bush looked like every other and the paths were no more than winding, twisting trails often crossing themselves. She was lovely, yet he had a feeling she didn’t think so, probably because she’d lived in the shadow of a more beautiful younger sister. A mature man would more quickly be drawn to Rachel than what Jack had seen and heard of Christina, but he didn’t think Rachel would realize that.
It was generally accepted around Whitehorn that Christina was a good-time gal. Yet even she must have yearned for a family, otherwise why would an experienced woman such as she have gotten pregnant? As for Rachel, one day in her presence and, despite her wariness because of the way Richard had treated her, Jack knew she was a forever woman. She may be a career woman right now, but with a crook of the right finger, she’d happily settle down in a house with a passel of kids. After all, look how seriously she was searching for a child that wasn’t hers.
And, attracted to her though he might be, that wasn’t the life Jack wanted. Oh, maybe some part of him yearned for that which he’d never known, the family unit. But he knew himself, knew he’d get bored with that whole scene and want to take off. The responsibilities would crowd in on him and he’d leave.
He couldn’t do that to Rachel.
So he’d best not lead her on. If only he could persuade her that they could have a good time together for now, then bid a fond farewell when it was over. He saw her shade her eyes, though there was no sun, and squint through the barren trees, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive Homer Gilmore. Her hair shifted in the breeze and she shook her head, then turned to look at him.
He wanted her so badly he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“I don’t see anyone, do you?” Rachel asked, wondering why he was standing a good thirty feet away, quietly staring.
Jack finally found his voice. “No, no one. Maybe we ought to give up on this for today. Don’t you know someone who could contact Homer and let him know we want to talk with him?”
“Gosh, if only we had his cell phone number,” she answered, deliberately sarcastic. Jack had been distant all morning, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Perhaps the memory of that stirring kiss was still with him, as it was with her. But they had to move on.
“In case you haven’t noticed, there are no phone lines out here, no gas or electricity up this way. Homer roughs it. The only way to contact him is to wait until he wanders into our path. Do you want to give up?”
Jack knew he had to show more enthusiasm. After all, he was working for her. “Of course not,” he said, coming up alongside her. He pulled a pair of small but powerful binoculars out of his pocket. “Let me lead the way and see if I can spot him.”
Rachel fell into step behind him. They’d been walking for about fifteen minutes when Jack stopped, gazing through the glasses.
“Here, look through here and tell me if that guy up on that ridge is our man.” He handed her his binoculars.
It took Rachel a moment to adjust them to her eyes, then to find the man. “It looks like Homer. He’s got long hair and a full beard like Homer has. Must be him since I doubt there’d be two men out here fitting that description.”
Keeping his eye on the elderly man, Jack stepped up the pace although the stooped man was hobbling along rather slowly. After several minutes, they were fairly close and the old man heard them. Turning, he stopped, his face registering surprise then fear.
Rachel stepped around Jack and smiled. She didn’t know Homer well, but she was sure he knew who she was. “Homer, it’s Rachel Montgomery. You remember me?”
Frowning, Homer scratched his bearded chin with a gnarled hand. “You the mayor’s daughter?”
“Yes, that’s right.” They walked closer. “This is Jack, a friend of mine.” She held off mentioning Jack was an investigator, thinking the knowledge would frighten Homer. “I wanted to ask you about my sister, Christina. She…she was out here back in late August.” It was still difficult for Rachel to envision her sister in these hills, pregnant and in labor, delivering a baby on the hard ground under less than sanitary conditions.
Homer’s rheumy eyes glistened with what looked like tears. “Died. She died over yonder.” He pointed vaguely in a direction over the next hill.
“Yes, that’s right. Were you out here around then? Did you see her or anyone else?”
Leaning on a bent stick he used as a cane, Homer stared off into middle distance, seeing things only he could envision. “Seen her with them white skirts flyin’ around in the wind.”
Rachel frowned, knowing her sister was found wearing a blue dress. “Are you sure?”
“I done watched her, till she’s floatin’ up into the sky and don
e disappeared.”
“Sounds like an apparition,” Jack said softly to Rachel, then spoke to Homer more loudly. “Was anyone with the woman in white?”
“She be right pretty, floatin’ like an angel.” Homer smiled.
“Have you seen her since?” Rachel asked, disappointed. The man must have been seeing things.
“Yep. Lots a times. But not for a long while now.”
Jack leaned close to Rachel. “I think we’re wasting our time with him.”
Rachel smiled at the old man. “Thank you, Homer.”
Without another word, the old man shuffled off, his gray hair blowing every which way in a sudden strong breeze, his beard reaching almost to his waist.
Jack watched him awhile, then turned to Rachel. “Maybe he’s found some hallucinogens out here in herbal form and brewed himself a happy cocktail. He’s seeing visions that are stranger than Winona’s.”
“Or maybe he’s just old, disoriented, perhaps with Alzheimer’s.” She turned to retrace their steps. So much for help from that quarter.
Taking her arm on the somewhat steep path downward, Jack had to agree. “He wasn’t around the murder scene. Did you see how big his feet are? No footprints we saw came even close.”
Surprised, she glanced up at him. “Aren’t you observant?”
“Just doing my job.”
Rachel stopped a moment, thinking. “Maybe Homer actually saw a woman. After all, there’s that broken chain and locket found in Christina’s hand.”
“I suppose that’s possible, if you discount the part about her rising into the sky and disappearing.”
Rachel had trouble with that part, too. “I know there are some discrepancies in Homer’s memory.”
“Yeah, you could say that. But what other woman would be up on this hill with Christina? We’ve been questioning her men friends. Do you know the names of women she was close to?”