In The Arms Of Danger

by Jaydyn Chelcee

  But he couldn’t.

  She clung to him like a cocklebur, and he couldn’t bring himself to push her away.

  Lord, he couldn’t breathe—then, he could.

  The soft, delicate fragrance of baby powder robbed him of the ability to think straight. He knew it, couldn’t stop it from happening, and damn if it didn’t feel good as the blood rushed to his cock.

  Her firm breasts pushed against his chest. Christ, he was going to suffocate. She was too close. But she felt good. Too good. How could she feel so right in his arms when she was so wrong for him? Sweet, Lord, what the hell was he going to do about her?

  How could one tiny female feel so damned soft? And fill his arms so perfectly? He couldn’t resist trailing his fingers through her hair, or fisting a handful of her wild mane in his hand.

  Danger drew a deep, unsteady breath. She tilted back her head and gazed up at him. Their eyes locked, held. Her lips trembled, parted on a quivering sigh, lush, red, and as inviting as a ripe cherry. He stifled a moan. Her mouth—well, it was damned tempting. That’s what it was.

  The sultry scent of this woman danced across his nostrils, tantalized him like wisps of erotic perfume, tempting him to do something he knew would be disastrous. A warning bell clanged its subtle gong in the back of his mind. He released the hold he had on her hair and captured her shoulders to gently push her away.

  He needed space, room to think—to breathe, for Christ’s sake. He purely needed—

  Danger’s heart thudded painfully against his chest. The blood in his veins thickened and chugged to a stop to all vital parts—except one. He removed her arms from his waist as gently as possible. “No one is going to hurt you,” he said huskily. “Do you understand? No one.”

  Lacey shook her head and buried her face against his throat. He felt the brush of her lips against his flesh. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she tasted him. Had that been her tongue against his skin?

  Danger swallowed back a groan as her breasts flattened against his chest. He had to get free of her before she realized what she was doing to him. Sweet, Jesus. She was like a kitten curled against him.

  Raw hunger slammed into him with the force of a sucker punch. Fiery tendrils curled through his stomach and loins. It came to him then, just how desperately he wanted her. A belittling smile, directed inward, curved his lips. Tightness settled in his chest.

  Fool. She’ll break your heart. Right before she rips it out of your chest.

  It was a moment before he could take in the air his lungs so desperately demanded. And when he finally did draw in a breath, he stepped back from her, mentally, as well as physically.

  Lacey sat back down and reached for the cup of coffee Danger had poured for her earlier. Wrapping her icy fingers around the foam cup, she sought its warmth, but the coffee had grown as cold as her trembling hands. Somber, she watched as Danger sat down behind the desk.

  He seemed to be looking everywhere, anywhere—but at her. His gaze finally settled on the ceramic mug he held between his big hands, and he glared at it as if it contained poison.

  Something happened between them, something sweet and rare. Something neither of them was ready to face. Or accept. She didn’t know when the hunger had crept into her soul, but she suddenly knew this man was the one person she needed in her life at this moment.

  He looked up. Their gazes collided and abruptly parted. Lacey’s heart stuttered, then picked back up its beat. Her lungs shut down. She felt as if her breath had just been stolen. In that brief moment, when their gazes connected, she saw shattering pain deep in his soul. And despair.

  Who had caused this man so much hurt? A woman? Undoubtedly. She wished she knew him better, maybe then, he would trust her more. Maybe she would trust him more, too. She didn’t understand why he seemed to dislike her so intensely, yet at the same time, she knew she correctly read the raw hunger blazing in his eyes, when he looked at her, held her.

  It had been impossible not to feel the change that took place in his body. And as much as she disliked the idea, maybe—just maybe, she could use his desire for her against him.

  Lacey squelched the feeling of disgust that threatened her conscience. She had no one but herself to rely on for her safety. That’s the way it was and the way it had always been. She figured it was the way it would always be.

  No matter what it took, no matter how cruel, she had to use whatever means she had, forget remorse, and get the hell away from here. The sheriff was a big boy. He could take care of himself, emotionally and physically.

  Lacey looked up and barely suppressed a gasp. He was staring at her, reading her like a book. It startled her that he seemed to be able to figure her out so easily.

  His anger was nearly palpable.

  She saw it. Felt it.

  His fingers wrapped so tightly around the ceramic mug she could see the white of his knuckles. He probably pretended it was her neck he had between his hands.

  Lacey shuddered. She had the uneasy suspicion she was in immediate danger, more deadly than the individual stalking her. Desperation vibrated through her bloodstream. The need to escape slammed into her with an urgency that left her feeling confused.

  She drew in a deep breath. Her main concern had to be with what was happening to her, now. And right now, her life was headed down the gaping hole of an outhouse.

  “He’ll have to kill me, Sheriff,” she said quietly.

  Somehow, she had to convince him her story was true.

  The very quietness of her statement seemed to hold more impact than if she’d shouted the words at him. His head snapped back as if she’d struck him.

  “No,” he stated fiercely. “That’s not going to happen.”

  His voice was steady and reassuring.

  Lacey chewed her bottom lip. Dammit, she knew something he didn’t know, something she dared not share. The slayer wore a badge. Whether this man was guilty, or if it was one of his deputies, the need for caution could not be ignored. She couldn’t afford to take chances.

  Lacey leaned closer. “He shot her. I’m the only witness. He has to kill me.”

  “What did you see, exactly, Miss Weston?” Danger drew closer. “Let me correct that. What do you think you saw?”

  Her hesitancy was tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull. It created more doubt in his mind and made him wonder what she was hiding and why. There was something she’d said earlier that nagged at him. Something important that had slipped away. Her words would come back to him, eventually. “Did you see him pull the trigger?” he asked. “Did you see it, or—”

  “No. Not exactly.” Color stained her cheekbones. She was back to wringing her hands. “I heard her scream. I heard shots. It all happened so fast.”

  “How many shots did you hear?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Danger gave a snort of disbelief. “You know what I think, Miss Weston? I think you were scared all alone out there. I think your imagination went crazy.”

  “Damn it. I saw him kill her. I saw it.”

  “No, Miss Weston, you said you heard gunshots. How do you know a woman was murdered if you only heard gunshots?”

  “When I got there, he was carrying her, Sheriff. She was dead. My God, how graphic a picture do you want? How much proof?”

  “He was carrying her? So she might have fainted or been ill. They could have been target practicing. Maybe she screamed, because she saw a snake. Maybe she was bitten.” He gave a low grunt. “There are any numbers of things to explain why he was carrying the woman. Right?”

  Lacey looked doubtful. “What you say makes sense, except who would target practice at night?”

  “You’d be surprised what people will do with a few beers beneath their belts. What if you’re wrong? What if you imagined the whole thing?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I won’t let you do this to me—or her. I know what I saw. I know it, damn it. Why won’t you believe me?”

  “Unless you can
direct me to where this happened, produce a body, a suspect, or proof of some kind, how can I believe you? I can’t just go racing off into the mountains and valleys simply because you heard gunshots.”

  He leaned back, waiting patiently for her reply.

  Lacey glared at him. “I got lost, Sheriff. It’s dark out there. I’m not familiar with the area. I told you, I lost everything. My compass. The flashlight. My camera. Believe me I wouldn’t part with my camera for anything. It’s a damned expensive item. Once the compass was gone, it was easy to get lost. Everything looks the same in the dark.”

  “That’s it,” he said, snapping his fingers.

  “What’s it?”

  “You said you took pictures? He heard the click of your camera?”

  “Yes. Little good it will do us, since I lost it. I’ll never find it, as I said; everything looks the same in the dark.”

  “Miss Weston, everything looks the same in the daylight. If you’re sure you got a picture of him, I need the camera.”

  She glanced around the tiny cluttered office, desperation and doubt in her voice. “I’m not sure. I think I got the snap, but I—I don’t know. The only thing I know for sure is Rimrock is south of Chinook and borders the Bear’s Paw Battlefield. I saw the name on my map, but I was never here until tonight. But I wasn’t in Chinook. I stumbled into your town by pure dumb luck.”

  He tapped a steady rhythm on the desktop. The little vixen was still not forthcoming with everything she knew. His gut told him she was hiding something important, something she wasn’t going to share no matter what. She’d gotten the picture all right. He knew it. She simply didn’t trust him with whatever evidence she had.

  He sighed. “Miss Weston, Rimrock is fifteen miles south of Chinook. There are a lot of valleys and mountains in between here and there. You better thank your lucky stars you stumbled in the right direction.”

  He took a swallow of cold coffee and grimaced, got up and refilled the cup, grabbed hers and topped it, then returned to his chair. “How far into the back country would you say you camped?”

  “Fifteen, maybe twenty miles. I’m not sure. I wasn’t keeping track. I found a place I liked and stopped.”

  “You probably weren’t that far from here to begin with. You might have even set-up camp on part of my grandfather’s property.”

  “It wasn’t posted or anything,” she said.

  “It wouldn’t be. Papa Joe wouldn’t dream of fencing in the wildlife.”

  “It seemed as if I wandered for hours trying to remain undetected.”

  Danger agreed. “It was hours. You said you heard gunshots around eight o’clock. I found you at nearly two-thirty. That’s over six hours. It wouldn’t take six hours to walk ten miles or so. It’s possible you went in circles. We’ll search for the campsite at daylight; see what we can find—if anything.”

  “No. I don’t want to go back out there.”

  She didn’t want to go anywhere with him, particularly back into the wilderness. Maybe he just wanted to get her out of town, so he could kill her. She didn’t want to stay in Rimrock either, but as long as she was here, she felt a measure of security. It was a town, such as it was, but there were people who could help her.

  At least, she assumed there were people—somewhere.

  When she left this little town, she intended to leave alone. She could hire someone to retrieve her things from the valley floor. She never wanted to see Montana again.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. “Look, sugar—”

  “No—you look,” he interrupted. “We’re going out there. Together. And it’s too damned bad if you have a problem with it.”

  Lacey narrowed her eyes at his tone. Her decision was already made. He’d just have to deal with it.

  “Can you describe the man you saw?” he asked. “I’ll contact the FBI if we find a body. I’m not contacting them without proof of some kind. A wild story from a hysterical woman would—”

  “I am not hysterical. I don’t know where the body is, but if that’s what it takes to convince you I’m telling the truth, maybe you can find it. I’m not going with you.”

  “Sit down,” he ordered calmly. “And quit yelling, or I am going to think you’re hysterical. Can you describe the man you saw?” he repeated.

  Lacey’s mouth tightened. She’d give him a description all right, one that would curl his toenails. “He was tall, about six feet, broad shoulders, long dark hair, faded jeans, tan shirt. He was wear—”

  Danger tossed down the pen. Disgust speared his dark features as he leaned back, made a steeple of his fingertips, and stared at her. In a blink, his eyes turned to frost.

  Lacey looked up, innocence stamped on her face. “What’s wrong, sugar, premenstrual cramps of the fingers?”

  He was dead certain the little witch was toying with him. She had given a deliberate description of him just to get a reaction out of him. Just like her saying she didn’t want to be safe with him.

  Why had she made such a provocative statement?

  Didn’t she realize a man could imagine all kind’s of games to play with her— all of them unsafe?

  Was this some sort of perverted test? He suspected so.

  “Wrong?” he asked sourly. “Hell, woman, you’ve just described me and nearly every man within a fifty-mile radius. I can assure you, the only place I’ve been tonight is here in Rimrock.”

  “So you say, sugar. But how do I know that’s true?” She refused to back down.

  “Are you accusing me of this alleged murder?”

  “Well, now, I really don’t know if you were in Rimrock as you stated. Do I?”

  “I don’t lie, Miss Weston,” he said coldly. “I don’t play games. I have no need to.”

  “What do you do for recreation, sugar?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t want to go there, honey. You don’t want to play with me. I’m warning you, don’t keep pressing my buttons. When I play, I play for keeps. I’m sure that word isn’t in your Anglo vocabulary.”

  “My Anglo vocabulary? Talk about being bigoted.” Lacey huffed. “I guess you won’t know until you select a door, sugar. I’d suggest you go for door number three and see what the prize is waiting behind it.” Lacey fluttered her lashes.

  “I don’t think so. I’m not much at playing guessing games.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. I saw him kill her,” she said bluntly, reverting to the point of their conversation.

  “No, lady, you did not see it.” Danger said through clenched his teeth. “You heard gunshots and then, you saw him carrying her, from there your wild imagination took root and grew out of control.”

  “Look, sugar, at this point I don’t give a good damn, if you believe me or not. I know what I saw.”

  “It’s not unusual to hear gunshots in the wilderness, Miss Weston. There are always hunters out there, men with guns, shooting old bottles, shooting at anything that moves.” Arching a brow, he finished quietly, “Rattlers.”

  Lacey exhaled. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I’m not a fool, Sheriff. We have to do something.”

  She had to do something. She had to distract him, play for time, until she could make her escape. Opportunity would present itself eventually. When it did, she intended to grab it with both hands and to hell with the consequences.

  Danger grunted. “I have every intention of doing something, all right. At the top of my list is getting you and your sweet little magnolia ass out of my town.” He puffed out a deep breath loaded with frustration. “The only way to prove to you that you didn’t witness a murder is to return to the valley with you in tow.” Rising slowly to his feet, he curled his fingers around both her wrists and lifted her off her feet. “The way I see it, first things first, Miss Weston.”

  Lacey gulped. “What do you mean first things first? Let go of my arm. What are you doing?”

  “For starters, I’m going to lock you in a cell for your own protection. Come daylight, I might
or might not take you back into the wilderness in search of your missing corpse. Depends on my mood, but for now, Miss Weston, for this single moment in your life, be silent and consider yourself a guest of the State of Montana.”

  In The Arms Of Danger

  Chapter Six

  “A gun is a tool, Marion, no better or no worse than any other tool, an ax, a shovel or anything. A gun is as good or as bad as the man using it. Remember that.”

  Alan Ladd: ‘Shane’

  Rimrock Sheriff’s Dept. Sat. 4:00 a.m.

  “Hey, Mr. Dances-With-Wolves, you can’t do that!” Lacey turned and twisted but couldn’t break the tight hold Danger had on her wrists. “I’d rather take the chance of surviving on my own than be locked away in a miserable jail, in a miserable town, run by a pokey sheriff. And I do mean pokey, literally.”