by Lucy Farago
He ran the back of his hand over his mouth. If he answered, would she ask the question that would inevitably follow? But he expected her to trust him. Should he not do the same? “Because no one knows anything about me, my history, I mean. Where I came from, my real name.” He swallowed and continued. “Except Monty, and…he doesn’t know everything.”
Through a crack in the door, she passed him her blouse. He resisted the urge to cover his nose with it and inhale. It would only drive him insane, and he was fairly certain her next question would wreck the mood. This would not end well. He couldn’t tell her his real name.
“You told me your dad died a few years ago. When was the last time you saw your mother?”
Was she putting off the inevitable? “The day she buried my father.” He had no choice but to lie. “But she didn’t see me.” That was sort of the truth. She hadn’t seen him for who he really was, her son. Ever since the incident at the mall, he’d been thinking a lot about his mother. And maybe talking about her would bring her closer to him. Or maybe it was just stupid. Either way he wanted to try. “I went to my dad’s funeral but I stayed out of sight. I wanted to make sure she was all right.” He’d wanted to let her know her wayward son was alive and well.
“And was she?” she said, opening the door and handing him her bra.
He wrapped both hands around the silky cups. What had started out as a sex game was slowly turning into something else. “As well as could be expected, I guess. She looked good. She always took my side when my dad and I fought, but she loved the man and he her. He was good to her.” And to his brothers. He’d been the odd man out.
“But not you.”
“Let’s just say I was the sensitive type and he wasn’t. He didn’t like it when I chose the chess club over football. Or if I stayed after school to help a teacher instead of coming home and helping out on the ranch. He was a religious man but somehow my friendship with the preacher’s daughter put him out of sorts.” He’d known it had nothing to do with Jessie’s skin color and everything to do with his son having a girl friend who wasn’t a girlfriend. “Nothing I did was ever good for him. So I went out of my way to prove how much of a man I really was.” Maybe that’s why he’d join the rodeo. It didn’t get more manly than that. “That included being brought home by the sheriff on more than one occasion. If I was going to get in trouble, better it be of my doing.” And not some lame excuse for his old man not to love him.
“But it didn’t work, did it?” she said, opening the door wide, her arm extended, her panties in her hand.
She stood there naked, as promised. Beautiful and sexy and he wanted to lose himself in her. He stepped inside the room and took the small scrap of fabric from her hand.
She took him by the hand and led him to the bed.
She’d already drawn back the covers and dimmed the lights, their soft glow making her golden skin shimmer. But she didn’t get on the bed. Instead, her delicate fingers went to work on his shirt buttons, slowly climbing up his chest. She had to stand on her toes to reach his shoulders to help him slip it off. Next she tugged at this belt buckle just before he had the pleasure of seeing her pop the button of his jean and unzip his fly. Somehow watching her hands as they undressed him was a huge turn on. He wanted to nibble on each of those fingers before they slid over his skin. When at last she tugged his legs free of his pants and underwear he breathed a temporary sigh of relief.
Soon he would have her. And whatever painful memories talking about his family stirred would be gone. Grace was the balm to a past better forgotten. He didn’t need anyone else. He had her. And he never wanted to let her go. Inevitably they’d part. Her father, his secret, her moral code, they’d all come between them. Here today, gone tomorrow. For now, he’d live in this whirlwind relationship. He’d appreciate the time he’d get with her. Regrets were for later. They didn’t belong in this moment, in the limited time they shared. He’d love her like he’d never get another chance to make her his because tomorrow who knew what would happen.
Chapter Twenty
The following afternoon, Cowboy left Grace in bed to sleep. Part of him felt bad for keeping her up most the night. The other part wished he could do it all again. Their enthusiasm for one another had been boundless. He made himself a cup of coffee, sat on the sofa, and called Monty. He’d asked him to see if Stanton’s daughter had purchased anything on their supposed shopping trip. After some consideration, he’d realized Grace wasn’t wrong. Ella had asked for the horse and it stood to reason she’d want to be there to see it unloaded. So why hadn’t she been there? It was a small detail, but sometimes they meant the most.
He didn’t have to wait long for Monty to answer. “Hey, did you find credit card receipts?”
“No. But she could’ve used cash. However, it does makes sense that Stanton might not have wanted his granddaughter around. The cops returned to the ranch yesterday morning. Did you see them?”
“No, we must have missed them.”
“Mayor wasn’t happy, but after Jessie’s body was discovered they felt they needed to tighten up the timeline. The fact that her notebook was never found isn’t sitting right with anyone. Could be Stanton didn’t want the girl around to witness the police interrogating the family again.”
“And the missus? Find out anything there?”
“Sorry, nothing documented. As far as the rehab center is concerned she’s still there, due for her outing next week.”
“So no one is supposed to know she’s home.” Why?
“My guess is another favor was pulled. If the police saw her, nothing was said. At least not officially. Just like the anonymous tip Irvine received and is keeping under wraps. Guess whose DNA was a positive match for a cold case?”
“They have evidence linking Edward Stanton to that body they’d recovered all those years ago? Impressive, Monty.”
“Grace gets that credit. They had his DNA from the night he was killed. But he was the victim, so no one bothered to do anything with it. Until someone suggested it.”
“Irvine is smart. He’ll hang on to that bit of proof until he can use it. Dozier have any luck with Ms. Denzel?”
“You mean Mrs. Henry, Mrs. Shaw, or Mrs. Clarke? It took a little while to track her down. She lives in Santa Barbara now. Married three times. All three divorces cited irreconcilable differences. Her husbands claimed she was hard to get along with. I don’t think Dozier’s charm is going to work. You may have to fly out.”
“If Dozier can’t get a woman to talk what makes you think I can?”
“Not you, dumbass. Grace. Want me to book the flights?”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ll let her know. She had wanted to be the one to talk to the woman anyway. What about Lyle? We didn’t see him at the ranch.”
“Apparently he was in town, keeps a condo there.”
He filled Monty in on their plan to lure Lyle into trying something stupid with Cowboy. The hints had to be subtle, enough to make him paranoid and perhaps slip up.
“It might work, but be careful. You don’t want him thinking Grace is involved or he’ll go after her.”
“Right. We can’t know for certain that he killed Jessie, but something is up with that family. And I don’t think Regina Lewis wants to run forever. I just feel like we’re missing a big piece to this puzzle.” It was frustrating.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I got another call coming in from the team in Thailand. For now, I’m going over Jessie’s pictures. I’ll let you know if I find anything.” And with that, the line went silent.
Why had Jessie taken the assignment? If Ryan hadn’t forced his hand he wouldn’t be anywhere near San Antonio or the Stanton family. You’d think she’d have felt the same.
Since they were sleeping together, Grace had moved most of her things into his suite. He found her computer and decided to take one last look at the pictures Jessie had taken. Could be she’d been killed for them. He checked every one, every detail, and came up with nada. Then h
e picked up his cell and redialed Monty while he stared at the last of the photographs. It was Carrie, Monty’s assistant, who answered.
She explained there was a situation in Thailand and every member of the team who hadn’t been posted was to report in. Everyone was busy.
“Okay, but I need a background check. Give me the password and I’ll remote in.”
“Monty would kill me.”
“He’s done it before.” And since when was she afraid of Monty?
“Right. He’s done it before.”
True, and he was a big baby when it came to his programs. “Fine, then run it for me.”
“I’m not sure I know how.”
“Carrie, you’re not helping here.”
“Okay, give me the name and I’ll try.”
“Richard Ashley.” Stanton’s foreman. He heard the clacking of keys on the keyboard.
“Damn. Sorry, Cowboy, but he’s got it password protected. How badly do you need this?”
“Just get it to me as fast as you can,” he said, staring at the picture of the man closing the barn doors.
“Get you what?” Grace said, standing in the doorway to the bedroom.
She was wearing one of his sweatshirts and it fell to her knees. What was it about seeing a woman, that woman, wearing his clothes that made him want to beat his chest… and make her naked again? “Gotta go, Carrie. Be a doll and burn a fire under Monty’s ass when he’s done with his meeting.”
“Happily,” she said and hung up.
“You’re awake.”
Grace covered a yawn with the back of her hand. “It’s the afternoon. Why’d you let me sleep so late?”
“You needed it.” He patted the sofa cushion beside him.
“And you? Don’t you sleep?” She meandered on over, sitting next to him and pulling the sweatshirt over her knees and feet.
“I learned to go with little sleep.” On the streets if you didn’t sleep with one eye open, you might not open them at all come morning.
“Hmm. So what were you asking for?” she said, then noticed the picture he’d been inspecting. “Stanton’s foreman. Are you doing a background check on him?”
“Something like that. You recall the senator telling you he only had an SUV?”
“All gas guzzlers, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Well, if you noticed, my rental is a hybrid, as is my SUV in New York.”
“I did notice, and for that,” she said, rising to her knees, “you get a kiss.” Then she kissed his cheek and sat back down.
“That’s it. I’m helping to save the planet and all I get is a kiss on the cheek? What if I told you I recycle?”
“Do you?” She wiggled to free herself of his sweatshirt and propped her heels onto the coffee table.
“Sure do.” Not much of what they printed in their offices could be recycled due to confidentiality… and them not wanting to get arrested… but every effort was made to leave as little a fingerprint on the planet as possible.
“Then you can kiss me.”
He leaned in, eager for that kiss. She put a hand to his chest.
“Later. Tell me about Ricky over there.” She flicked her fingers toward the computer screen.
He touched the screen with his index finger and thumb and enlarged the picture, zeroing in on the barn doors. “What do you see?”
She inched forward and squinted. “It’s…it’s a, uh…. Is that a car?”
“A caddy, I think. I’ll need Monty to check it out with one of his voodoo blow ups. Stanton said he only had SUVs.”
“Maybe it’s Rick’s?”
“And he keeps it in the barn for what?”
“Maybe it doesn’t run?”
“Maybe,” he repeated, smiling down at her. “So, what do I get if I told you I help build homes for Habitat for Humanity?”
“Do you? And no lying so you can get another kiss.”
“I already have another kiss,” he smugly pointed out. “This is for bigger and…” he wiggled his eyebrows, “… saucier. My big, your saucy.”
“You’re a pervert, you know that?”
He rubbed his palms together, eager for the win. “Deal?”
“Whatever,” she said on a sigh.
“Every spring. I take one month off and go where they need me. Last spring, I was in Haiti.”
That caught her attention. “Seriously? What was that like?”
Damn, he’d called this wrong. He face-planted his hand and shut his eyes. “Are we going to spend the next few hours talking about my experience in Haiti?”
He felt a warm hand cut across his shoulder and the cushion beside him dip low. Opening one eye, he saw her stand on the sofa and was pleasantly surprised when she squeezed behind him to straddle his back. Her breasts pressed against him and she leaned forward and whispered a very sexy, very dirty, and very suggestive turn-on in his ear. He’d asked for saucy and saucy was what he got.
*
The next day they flew out to the coast to talk to Mrs. Denzel, or the former Mrs. Denzel. Monty had been right. She hated men, and with just cause. Grace had requested he leave them alone, and seeing as she wasn’t in any immediate danger, he waited in the car. By the time she came out, they had their third victim. Young and poor, the woman had been too embarrassed to report the assault. She’d simply wanted to forget it and to put as much space between her and Edward Stanton as possible. To say she’d been happy about his death was an understatement.
“She’s willing to give a statement if she has to. She never thought she’d be able to, but she also doesn’t want to endanger her life.”
“Great. For now, we tell no one.” That included her father. If he had a leak in his department, he didn’t want Ms. Denzel to come to any harm any more than she did.
“What next?” Grace asked.
Unless the police had come up with something new, they had time to kill until Ella’s party. And he knew just how to use it. “Ever been to Disneyland?” His Cinderella needed to have fun.
Chapter Twenty-One
Grace told her reflection in the bathroom mirror that today would be the day. They’d flown back to San Antonio and buried Jessie alongside her parents. That had been a hard. Harder still was knowing the police hadn’t made any headway in finding out who had drugged and then run Jessie off the road, and fear they never would was getting harder to ignore. She wasn’t sure what going to this party would accomplish, only that she had a feeling this was their last shot at giving Jessie the justice she deserved. Grace would get a chance at Madeline Stanton and they’d agreed Cowboy would handle Lyle.
She walked out of the hotel bathroom, a towel around her wet hair, another around her body, to see two boxes on the bed, one a Jimmy Choo, the other labeled Nordstrom. She opened the shoe box and found lovely silver, strappy sandals. What had he done?
“No way,” she mumbled. Gingerly, she lifted the lid and removed the tissue. “Wow. Yup, he did.” Should she be pissed? Flattered? She removed the ice-blue dress and watched as layers of French lace spilled free. She held the gown up to her body, unable to prevent a slow smile from curling her lips. The dress was beautiful. She rushed back into the bathroom to look at her reflection in the long mirror. Her grin grew wider. She’d loved everything about this designer creation, except the price tag. And he’d gone and bought it for her. He’d gone and done a lot of things for her. The feminist in her was appalled. And as much as she wanted to wear the dress, the rest of her struggled with his generosity.
She’d come to learn Cowboy had money and he got super pouty if she didn’t let him spend it. It had been awkward at first. But he seemed to genuinely enjoy torturing her with every amusement ride at every theme park he’d dragged her to in California. The louder she screamed, the more excited he got. He was like a kid and his enthusiasm had rubbed off. When she got tired of all the people, heat, and junk food, they drove more than five hours and rented a cliffside, romantic house in Carmel, like two silly lovebirds. And she’d let
him win, given in to his sudden need to spoil her. Honestly she didn’t know why she’d allowed it, only that she liked seeing how happy it made him.
She told herself to stopping smiling like a silly fool. She returned to the bedroom, ready to pack everything back up. Then she spotted the note stuck inside the tissue.
“This dress was made for you. If you wear it, I’ll promise to have you home by midnight.”
Could the man be any cornier? He had no shame. What he did have, however, was great taste in clothes. She hung the gown on a hanger and finished her hair and makeup, humming “Secret Love” by Doris Day.
*
Grace had not had a sweet sixteen party, and looking around the lavish garden at the who’s who of Texas, she’d never been more thankful that she’d grown up middle class. These people were ridiculous, and even more so when they discovered she was a reporter. Their smiles widened, their handshakes nearly took her arm off, and either she’d quickly become their best friend or someone they hadn’t spoken to years just arrived and they had to speak to them.
Mrs. Stanton was curiously absent among the attendees, who included the mayor, more congressmen than she could shake a stick at, and a combined guest list income of a small country. Where were the kids, and who ordered the string quartet? What teenager wanted to dance to classical music? For all his talk about family, this party was about political networking more than the young woman dressed in a pink organza gown, which on someone else might make them resemble cotton candy but on her was stunning. The girl looked a bit flushed, but being dragged from guest to guest might have something to do with that.
Twice Grace had tried to wish Ella happy birthday, but her entourage, her mother among them, were very adept at steering her away. Cowboy, however, had been doing the exact opposite, and after careful observation, Grace realized why. Ella was Scarlett O’Hara reincarnated, and Cowboy was her Rhett. Not that she could blame the girl. Today’s cowboy hat was black and more suited to the dark suit he’d chosen to wear. He’d dressed his white shirt with a braided, black leather bolo with a silver and turquoise slide. And from the way Ella stroked Cowboy’s arm, it was obvious the girl had a crush on him. He couldn’t get away from her fast enough, but when she managed to corner him at the bar, Grace decided she’d help the poor slob out.