Sara drove slowly away from Sterling Farms, her gaze fixed on the dark road. It was a moonless night, and the car’s headlights provided the only illumination.
“What was that all about back there?”
Shrugging a broad shoulder, Chris stared straight ahead.
“It’s exactly what you heard. I want to buy the house.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to grow old here. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No. It’s just that I’ve never heard you say anything about moving back to Las Cruces, that’s all.”
What he wanted to tell his sister was that after attending two funerals in less than a month, he was reminded of his own mortality, and the realization was sobering. That he wanted more from life than the ambition that drove him to consider a career in politics.
“What’s the matter, sis, you don’t want me as your neighbor because you’re afraid that I’ll see you and Salem when you guys run around naked outside at night?”
Sara’s mouth gaped for several seconds. “We do nothing of the sort!”
“That’s not what my brother-in-law told me.”
Heat flared in Sara Lassiter’s nut-brown face. “Both of you are full of it.”
Curving the fingers of his left hand around his sister’s neck, he caressed the hair on her nape. “And I love you.”
Giving him a quick glance before she returned her attention to the road in front of them, Sara smiled. “Love you back, bro. What’s happening with you and Emmie?”
“We see each other occasionally.”
“Only occasionally?”
“Not enough,” he admitted.
“You still love her?”
“More than I thought I could ever love a woman.”
“Will she ever become more than godmother to my children?”
“What more do you want?”
“Try sister-in-law and neighbor.”
Warm sparkling lights from the Lassiters’ expansive two-story house lit up the desert. Less than a minute later, Sara maneuvered into the driveway that led to the three-car garage.
Chris turned his head, concealing a secret smile. “Have patience, little sister.”
Sara wrinkled her delicate nose. “I’m trying, Chris.” She pressed a button on the visor of the car and the garage door slid up smoothly. Pulling into a space beside her husband’s truck, she put her car in park and turned off the engine. She touched her brother’s arm, stopping him as he attempted to alight from the car. “I want to apologize.”
Turning, he stared at her over his shoulder. “For what?”
“I didn’t mean to sound so unsympathetic at Mom and Dad’s.”
“What are you talking about, Sara?”
“Alejandro Delgado. Your father. I’m sorry.”
Leaning over, he pressed his mouth to her forehead. “Thank you, baby sister.”
Two minutes later they walked into the kitchen arm in arm and found Salem Lassiter cradling his sleeping son in his arms. A smile softened the brilliant veterinary surgeon’s stoic expression. Overhead lights glinted off the ebony and silver strands falling around his broad shoulders.
“Hey, Chris. How long are you going to hang out with us?”
“Only for the night. If you don’t mind, I’d like to fly up to Santa Fe with you in the morning.”
“Of course I don’t mind. You know you owe me a rematch.”
Whenever the two men got together they spent hours over a chessboard.
Chris wagged his head from side to side. “You’re going to lose.”
“Not tonight,” Salem predicted. “Let me put the little prince to bed, then you get ready to weep.”
“You wish.”
Sara walked over to the counter, a smile curving her lips. She would put up a pot of coffee for the chessboard gladiators before she settled down to review a brief for a small Las Cruces law firm. She’d walked into their office a week before and volunteered her services. One of the partners stared at her, bewildered, until she placed her résumé on his desk. Two days later he called, asking if she would review a brief. It wasn’t the courtroom, but that didn’t matter. It was the Law.
Chapter 26
Emily maneuvered her Corvette out of the parking lot, waited until traffic slowed, then drove quickly, expertly, along the wide avenue. Each time she recalled the mysterious telephone call her pulse raced. She wanted to discover who’d shot and killed Bettina, and she also wanted to redeem her slightly tarnished professional reputation.
Some of her colleagues hadn’t approached her, but rumors were flying about the office that she was guilty of journalistic sabotage when she reported the shooting without first clearing it with Savoy’s press secretary. The rumors were compounded by everyone’s knowledge that she was a personal friend of Savoy’s opponent. No one had openly expressed an iota of sympathy for the murdered reporter or her family, and for the first time since she’d become a journalist, Emily regretted her career choice. She’d been taught that her first priority was reporting the news truthfully and accurately. That was what she’d done, and the result had been an unofficial demotion and ostracism.
Her right foot bore down on the gas pedal, sending the racy car forward in a burst of speed as she moved into parkway traffic. She hadn’t gone more than a quarter of a mile when she heard a siren. Glancing up at her rearview mirror, she spied the flashing lights from a car belonging to the highway patrol. Slowing just under the speed limit, she moved over to the right. The car moved over with her.
Cursing softly under her breath, Emily maneuvered to the shoulder, then waited for the officer. He stopped, pushed open his door and strolled over to her. She knew she had been speeding, but not by much. This time she was only ten miles an hour over the limit.
Pressing a button, she lowered the driver’s-side window. Her lush mouth parted in a friendly smile. “Yes?”
“License and registration, ma’am.”
Sighing heavily, she turned and reached into her purse on the midnight blue leather passenger seat. The firm set of the police officer’s sable brown jaw indicated that he meant business. This was one time when she wouldn’t be able to flutter her lashes and talk her way out of a speeding ticket.
She handed him the requested documents, then settled back to wait for him to return to his cruiser. The eerie glow of headlights from oncoming traffic reminded her of films depicting a fleet of flying saucers filling the nighttime sky. She hadn’t raised the window and a raw dampness in the winter air hinted of snow.
The familiar strains of a musical composition coming from the car’s sophisticated sound system caught her attention. It was one of her cousin’s Grammy-nominated songs, from Gabriel Cole’s soundtrack. The album had been nominated for Album of the Year, Record—Single, New Artist and Male Pop Vocal Performer. Her uncle David, Gabriel’s father, had received a nomination for Producer of the Year—nonclassical. Her very talented musician cousin had also garnered an Oscar nomination for Original Dramatic Score for “Reflections in a Mirror.”
“Miss, your license and registration?”
Her head came around and she looked at the police officer bending over the low-slung sports car. She took the papers from his hand, stuffed them into her handbag. He had given her a ticket. “Thank you.” There was no warmth in her voice.
He angled his head, his dark gaze moving slowly over her composed features. “Drive carefully, Miss Kirkland.”
Forcing a supercilious smile, Emily nodded. He returned to his car and she eased out into traffic, watching the speedometer. She didn’t exceed the speed limit until she exited the parkway and took the local road that led to her housing development.
Five minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of
her house. She retrieved her mail, then opened the front door. Warmth and soft lighting enveloped her as she left her handbag, a stack of bills, magazines and catalogs on a table in the foyer. The top portion of the parking ticket was visible, and she withdrew it to see whether she would be able to pay the fine by mail or would have to appear in traffic court.
Her mouth gaped slightly when she read what the officer had written on a blank sheet of paper: If you are free this weekend, I’ll pick you up on Friday afternoon at five. I’ll be waiting in the lobby of your office building to take you to CBD-Q. If you’re committed to something else, then beep me to cancel. The number is on the back. Steve.
She turned the page over and stared at the number. Throwing back her head, she laughed. Chris had said he would contact her about their weekend getaway, but she never thought their go-between would be one of Santa Fe’s finest.
Emily was still smiling when she unbuttoned her coat and hung it up in a closet in the foyer. She had only three days before she would be reunited with her husband. Three days she prayed would pass quickly. Walking into the half bath off the living room, she washed her hands, splashed water on her face, then blotted it dry. She stared at her reflection, not recognizing the person she had become. Her face appeared thinner, almost pinched. Since she’d become an earwitness to Bettina’s murder she hadn’t been able to sleep undisturbed through the night, and not sleeping and eating had taken its toll. It was a good thing she didn’t have to appear in front of the camera. The makeup person would be hard-pressed to conceal the obvious exhaustion mirrored by the deep hollows in her cheeks and the dark circles under her light-colored eyes.
The sound of the angry voices and the explosion of the gunshot wound their way into her dreams, shocking her into wakefulness. However, it was the sight of Bettina lying in her own blood that had provoked several nightmares.
She sat up at night, with all the lights on, shaking uncontrollably. It was only when exhaustion claimed her tense body that she was able to sleep—albeit fitfully, though she was grateful for even a few moments of tranquility.
Staring at her bare fingers, Emily was reminded that even though she was married she wore no evidence of her marital status. She’d returned Keith Norris’s ring via a bonded courier, while the ring Chris had slipped on to her finger now lay in a safe concealed under a floorboard in her bedroom.
She, like Chris, was tired of hiding and couldn’t wait until they were able to reveal to everyone that they’d pledged their futures to each other. Closing her eyes, Emily prayed that moment would come quickly; she didn’t know how long she would be able to conceal their private passions.
* * *
Emily didn’t recognize the police officer when he walked into the lobby of the building that housed the network’s offices. He looked taller, much more muscular out of uniform. A short black sheepskin jacket, jeans, boots and a turtleneck sweater failed to conceal a hard, well-conditioned body. His smooth dark skin shone with good health, while his features were even, pleasant. She liked his eyes and mouth. A neatly kept mustache outlined his full lips.
His penetrating dark eyes spied her overnight bag resting next to her booted feet. If he looked different, then Steve Washington thought the same of Emily Kirkland. She was casually dressed in a pair of navy blue wool slacks, a matching pea coat and a turtleneck cashmere sweater. Her hair was brushed off her rounded forehead and over her ears. Large yellow stones sparkled in her pierced lobes, and as he neared her he recognized them as rare multifaceted diamonds.
Leaning over, he pressed his lips to her cheek. “Hello, Emily.” He hadn’t realized she was that tall. Her head was only several inches below his.
“Hello, Steve,” she whispered, a gloved hand going to his shoulder.
He smiled down at her. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Bending down, he picked up her large calfskin bag, then cradled her hand in his. Anyone who saw them together would think they were a young couple who were planning to spend the weekend together. And that was exactly what Highway Patrolman Steve Washington wanted them to think as he escorted Emily out of the building to his Jeep, parked two blocks away.
A biting wind stung their exposed faces and he curved an arm around Emily’s waist to share his body’s heat. She stiffened slightly when the outline of his automatic handgun, clipped to the belt around his waist, pressed into her flesh, but she recovered quickly.
“So, Steve,” she said, glancing up at his strong profile, “do you have a last name?”
He smiled. “Washington.”
“How do you know Chris?”
“We went to the same high school.” It was his turn to look at Emily. He liked her voice and her perfume. It was a heady, spicy scent.
“You grew up in Las Cruces?”
“No, I grew up here in Santa Fe. My family moved to Las Cruces during my last two years of high school. They still live there. I decided I needed a little bit more excitement, so I came back here to attend college. I graduated with a degree in Criminal Justice, then joined the police department.”
They arrived at his Jeep, and he helped her in. She waited until he sat down beside her, then teased him about police entrapment. Steve laughed, saying he was certain she would forgive him because everything had been done in the name of love.
She sobered, wondering how much he knew about her and Chris. Did he know they were husband and wife?
Twenty minutes after she and Steve walked out of the office building, Emily found herself belted in as she sat in a twin-engine private plane. He told her he would be waiting to take her back home on Sunday night.
Emily was the only passenger as the pilot taxied down the private airstrip in preparation for liftoff. Closing her eyes, she waited for her stomach to settle as the propeller-driven aircraft rose smoothly off the runway.
It appeared as if they had just taken off when she felt the aircraft descending. Glancing at her watch, she realized the flight had lasted less than half an hour. They touched down, and she peered through the small window, encountering darkness.
She unbuckled her belt, retrieved her single piece of luggage, and followed the pilot as he opened the door and lowered the steps. Standing in the shimmering glow of a pair of headlights was Christopher Delgado.
Quickly closing the distance between them, he pulled her into his embrace, holding her close to his heart for a second before his head came down. His mouth devoured hers with a hunger that left her gasping for her next breath.
“Baby. Oh, baby,” he chanted as plumes from his warm breath disappeared into the blackness of the night. “Let’s go. We have so little time together before you have to go back.”
Waving to the pilot, Chris picked up Emily’s bag, then led her to a sport utility vehicle. He had kept the engine running while awaiting the arrival of the plane.
Sitting in the warm vehicle, she asked, “Where are we?”
“We’re about fifty miles west of Cowles.”
Her eyebrows lifted. They weren’t far from a ski resort.
Chris glanced at Emily’s profile. Diffused light from the dashboard shimmered on her face. The first thing he’d noticed when he held her was that she’d lost weight. He wondered what had happened to her since their last meeting.
“If it’s all right with you, I’m going to stop and get us something to eat.”
“Do you have food at the place where we’re staying?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’d rather eat in.”
“You’re more than aware of my culinary skills, so that means you’ll have to do the cooking.”
“We can eat out tomorrow,” she argued softly. She knew she sounded selfish, but she wanted to spend all their time together alone with each other.
Chris nodded. “Okay.”
He concentrated on navigating the dark, narrow, unpaved road. His ears popped with the higher elevation, and as they neared the small log cabin snow began to fall, covering up his footprints and the tracks from the SUV from earlier that afternoon.
He stopped under a carport. “We’re here.”
Emily registered the deep timbre of his voice, and a warmth spread over her body, settling between her thighs. She held her breath. Emily wanted Chris, wanted him with a hunger that nearly overwhelmed her.
She didn’t move as he stepped out of the vehicle and came around to assist her. He opened the passenger-side door, extending his arms. Light from the cabin reflected on the snow as it fell, settling on his hair and jacket.
“Come, baby,” he urged softly.
The sound of his voice broke the spell, and she curved her arms around his neck as he lifted her effortlessly. He set her on her feet, then reached in and took her bag from the backseat.
Hand in hand, they walked to the cabin as the silently falling snow blanketed the night with pristine beauty. He unlocked the door and opened it. Table lamps and a smoldering fire in a massive fireplace provided warmth and light for a space that was much larger than it had appeared from the outside. Her gaze moved up to a second-story loft. She walked in, followed by Chris, who closed and locked the door behind them.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered when she felt him move behind her. Pressing closer, his warm breath swept over the top of an ear.
“You’re perfect, Emily Kirkland-Delgado,” he whispered. One hand curved around her neck, pushing aside the soft cashmere fabric of her sweater to reveal the silken flesh on her nape. Lowering his chin, he kissed the side of her neck, eliciting a slight shudder and a smothered groan from his wife.
“Chris.”
Her whispering his name fired his blood. He wanted her. Wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman or anything.
Curving his arms around her waist over the short jacket, he held her to his heart, burying his face against her sweet, fragrant-smelling short hair. He didn’t know when he had first fallen in love with her, but now he was thinking of the distinct changes in her the summer of her eleventh birthday. She had begun growing taller—several inches within months—and her body had begun to blossom.
Private Passions Page 24