“You’re a teacher, right?”
She nodded her head.
“You don’t seem like a teacher. You don’t have the nurturing attitude most teachers have.”
“You’ve known me all of, what, five minutes?”
He smiled, lifting his wine glass to his lips again. “I’m a quick judge of character.”
Zola played with her wine glass, savoring the deep, rich flavors of the red wine. “You don’t seem like a corporate type to me.”
“Don’t I?”
“The military makes more sense.”
“I told you I was a Marine.”
“You haven’t been out long, have you?”
“A few years.”
She tilted her head slightly. “It must be deeply ingrained.”
“The Marines do that to you.”
Talking to him was like talking to a shy child. He didn’t answer direct questions, and when he did answer a question, it was with short answers that left her still wanting. She drank a little more of her wine, the wheels of her mind spinning, trying to figure out a way to get him to talk to her.
“Have you ever been married?”
That made him choke a little on his wine. When he looked at her, she saw a small light coming into his eyes. “You’re joking, right?”
“Why not? The rules say you have to be single at the time you enter the house, not always.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ve never been married.”
“Any family?”
The light disappeared from his eyes, and his features hardened a little. She’d touched a nerve.
“Parents still alive?” she pushed when he didn’t answer right away.
“Yes. They’re happily living out their empty nest years in Colorado.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“No. I was born and raised in Texas.”
“I should have guessed.”
He smiled again, and she decided she liked his smile. She only wished he produced it more often.
“What about you?” he asked. “You have any family out there?”
She tilted her head a little, playing with her glass. “No, not really. I was an only child with a single mom, so . . .”
“What happened to your mom?”
That was a question she didn’t like to answer. Not even with people she knew and trusted, people who weren’t suspects in an investigation she was running. She stared at the glass for a long time, wondering if a lie or the truth would be better. She’d made up all kinds of stories about her mom over the years: that she was living abroad, that she’d died of cancer, that she was a secret princess who’d been called home by her estranged parents. Any lie had to be better than the truth.
But the truth had a way of making people trust her, and she needed this man to trust her. The case could depend on it.
She looked at him, found him watching her closely. He quickly looked away when she caught him, but he’d been studying her with more than casual curiosity. It made her heart skip a little beat at the implications.
“My mom struggled with depression most of her life. When I left for college, it was just too much.”
He stiffened almost like she’d attacked him in some way. But then he turned to her, resting his hand on her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Yes, well, that sort of thing never seems to get better, does it?”
He said it like someone who had experience with suicide. She met his eye, and he didn’t look away. It was a moment, one of those moments that people fight to experience, but rarely ever do. She felt this urge to move closer to him, but Brian cleared his throat and drew their attention.
“It’s getting late. We should go in.”
Gunner immediately pulled away and the moment was over.
Zola went inside and scrubbed her face clean, changing into shorts and a t-shirt for sleep. When the house grew silent—Brian AWOL from their room—she slipped out into the backyard and over to a dark corner where the cameras were intentionally turned off for the next fifteen minutes.
“How’s it going?” Durango asked in a loud whisper.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. This Gunner guy . . . He’s hard to get to open up.”
“You looked like you were doing pretty well at dinner.”
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “But I think there might be something in his past, a suicide. You might see if you can find something out about it. It could be motive.”
He nodded. “I already have Axel on it.”
“What about you? Are you hearing anything out there?”
“Not much. Not yet. It’s going to take a few days to get these people to trust me.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“You’re doing good, Zola. And, like I said, I’m right here. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to back you up.”
“I know.” She touched his chest lightly. “Thank you.”
He touched her hand and held it against him for a moment, then let go. “You should get back inside before someone misses you.”
“Tomorrow night, same time?”
“Yes.”
She walked away, feeling his eyes on her back. She didn’t look over her shoulder, though, didn’t want to see him standing there alone. There was something profoundly sad about Durango that made her think of her mother. That wasn’t something she allowed herself to dwell on.
She slipped inside and went to the kitchen to grab a water bottle. Gunner was there, making another of those peanut butter sandwiches he seemed to like. He looked up and watched her pad toward him on bare feet.
“Can’t sleep?”
She shrugged. “Strange place, strange bed.”
“You learn to sleep just about anywhere in the military.”
“Then why are you still up?”
“Mind won’t shut up.” He took a big bite of his sandwich. “I think I’ll go try again, though.”
He walked off, not looking back, either. She watched him, her eyes moving over his back, the way his ass moved under the thin basketball shorts he was wearing. She bit the inside of her cheek, again reminding herself that lust wasn’t a good idea. But who could avoid it in this atmosphere?
When she got to her room, Brian was back, curled up in his bed, pretending to be asleep. She was relieved, to be honest. She didn’t want to talk to him right now. She crawled into her bed and forced herself to relax. It wasn’t easy especially when her thoughts drifted to Gunner in the moments before she finally slipped into an exhausted sleep brought on by not sleeping the night before. Her dreams were . . . hot.
Chapter 7
Chicago, Illinois
Astoria Hotel
Durango was exhausted when he walked through the door of the hotel suite that first night. Forty-eight hours with no sleep was harder on a man of his age than it had been when he was in high school. College, even. He hadn’t pulled an all-nighter since he was a detective and that was too long ago to think about.
Gracie was sitting on the couch, once again surrounded by file folders. He wasn’t sure what she’d look like without all that stuff. He was so used to seeing her that way.
“How’d it go?” she asked, pushing her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose.
“Productive.”
“Any leads?”
“Not yet. But it was just the first day.”
She nodded, her eyes dropping back to the papers on her lap. “There’s food in the little fridge.”
Durango walked over and found a plate of cold meats and cheeses, along with a bowl of fresh fruit. He took it out, grabbed a bottle of soda, and settled on the loveseat across from Gracie.
“What’s all this?”
“I’ve been organizing the information the production team gave us on their suspects, trying to make it easier to fill holes and whatever you and Zola might need. I’ve already found a few things that it might benefit us to look into a little closer.”
>
“Like what?”
“One of the production assistants worked for another reality show. I thought we should probably look deeper into that, see if that could be a motive.”
“Good thinking.”
“And I called Axel about Gunner and the suicide thing like you asked. He said he’d get someone on it tonight.”
“Glad he’s willing to help.”
Gracie’s head came up, and she looked sharply at Durango. “You know he’d do anything for Mastiff, right?”
“Sure. Especially after I told him I was signing it over to him when the cops come to take me in.”
She shook her head, a harsh sigh slipping from between her lips before her head dropped again.
“What?”
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think you’re being an ass. You’re so busy feeling sorry for yourself that you can’t see that people care about you, that people are trying to help you!”
“No one cares about anyone but themselves. This world is nothing but a bunch of selfish, self-centered people who are all out for themselves. Look at this reality show we’re investigating. Those people, someone is trying to sabotage the set, hurting people they don’t even know for reasons that are probably as simple as greed. Why would they do that if they weren’t only out for number one?”
“Maybe that’s true. But you can’t lump everyone into one category.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not right, Durango. Axel and Calder are trying to help.”
“They’re trying to save their jobs.” Durango put the food down, suddenly too tired for anything more than a hot shower and bed. “And, honestly, I’d be doing the same thing, for the same reasons, if I were them.”
“Would you stick your neck out to find the girl who shared your bed the night Kyle died? The one girl who was your best alibi, who the cops didn’t bother to get her name although she was standing right there in your living room when they served their warrant?”
Durango hesitated. “They found her?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t easy, since even you didn’t bother to get her name either.”
“I told you; I’m an asshole.”
“You are.” Gracie pushed the papers off her lap and stood, crossing to him. “You are your own worst enemy, Durango.” She stopped a few feet from him and buried her hands in the pockets of her skirt as though she’d finally gotten the message that he didn’t want to be touched. “They also found the girl you were with before that, and she told them you left her outside the club, high and dry. Wasn’t happy about it, either, but was willing to sign an affidavit swearing to it.” She tilted her head to one side. “Your alibi is solid for each one of the murders.”
He was quiet for a moment, watching her face even though her head was tilted down and her eyes were hidden behind her glasses. He could hear in her voice how disgusted she was that he was with those women, but he didn’t hear any doubt, any incrimination. He reached out, unable to stop himself, and lifted her chin.
“Do you believe I’m innocent?”
“I’ve always believed you were innocent, Durango.”
He lifted her glasses, needing to see her brown eyes, needed to read the emotion dancing in them. She met his gaze and didn’t try to look away, but there was something . . . He didn’t understand it. This woman who was so innocent and awkward one moment and quietly confident the next seemed to be hiding something from him. But he couldn’t figure out what it might be.
He stepped into her and kissed her because he was too tired to fight off the impulse that had been there longer than he could admit to himself. Three years she’d worked for him, three years she’d slowly insinuated herself into his life until he found himself wanting to be a better man because she told him he could be. She gave him hope, gave him a sort of peace he thought he’d lost after Sarah died. Kissing her reminded him how alive he really was, how desperate he was to keep things that way.
But could he allow himself to fall into the abyss she offered him? Could he risk putting her in danger, risk losing her, too? Would he survive losing another woman who made him feel whole, who made him feel better than he was?
He knew he couldn’t.
“Don’t trust me, Gracie,” he said softly, then turned and locked himself in his room of the suite. He leaned against the door and listened, but he couldn’t hear anything. Perhaps his words, his reluctance to indulge in this thing that was happening between them, didn’t hurt her as much as it did him. Or maybe she simply didn’t care all that much.
Whatever it was, it was killing him. A million times a day he wished things were different.
But wishes were as useless as prayers, weren’t they?
Chapter 8
Chicago, Illinois
The Set of Stranger’s Retreat
Gunner was running on the treadmill, which was set out by the pool, enjoying a rare hot spring day, trying to focus on the mileage adding up on the LCD screen and nothing else. It’d been a long six weeks in this house, and they still had at least three weeks left. Three days had passed since the new girl, Zola, came into the house, and things were more relaxed than they had been from the beginning. Even the first week, when they were assured there’d be no eliminations, had been filled with tension. No one knew anyone and getting to know one another without knowing who would be on whose team was one of the most stressful things most of them had experienced. But now, everyone pretty much knew everyone else, all but the new girl. And she seemed to be fitting in quite well, becoming very chummy with Michelle, seeming to enjoy Jessica, and steering clear of Lesley.
She was a smart girl, this Zola.
The guys, too, were drawn to her, even Brian. From the beginning, Brian had been a solo player, looking out for only himself. Michelle must have been thrilled to get off his team back in week three. And then that girl . . . Tina. But he lucked out, hooking up with Nicole right before Tina and her new partner went home. Brian had been lucky over and over again in this house despite being an ass. If the contestants were allowed to vote on eliminations like on Big Brother, Brian would have been out in week two.
Gunner liked to sit back and watch things play out, stay quiet and let the viewers focus on the ones making trouble. But now that there were only eight people left in play, it was getting harder and harder to do that. He had to start making more choices that could put him on the viewers’ radar, and that worried him. He’d promised himself he’d win this thing for Gretchen. He always kept his promises.
Zola came out of the house, a light pink blouse hanging down to her knees. She had a drink in one hand and a paperback novel in another. Apparently, she was set on enjoying this unusually warm early April afternoon, too. Gunner missed a step as he watched her shed that thin little blouse and expose the black and pink bikini she had on underneath. The pink set off the copper undertones in her skin, the black bringing out the blue highlights in her hair, which was pulled into a ponytail and twisted in on itself around the hair tie, locking it into a thick bun at the back of her head. Gunner didn’t normally like women who wore buns, but there was something about the way it made her cheekbones look fierce, more competent; that he really liked.
She didn’t seem to notice him on the treadmill—a machine he’d had to slow to nearly a crawl so that he wouldn’t fall off while he watched her—because she didn’t wave or otherwise acknowledge his presence. He found himself wondering how uncomfortable it would be in the water closet with two people stuffed back against the far wall . . . And then told himself he was being stupid. He couldn’t put everything at risk for a little lust.
Remember Gretchen, asshole!
He turned the speed up on the treadmill and forced himself to focus on the movement of the belt and the track outlined on the screen. He was getting there, actually retaining his focus and keeping his eyes off her long, slender legs, her barely covered rack. But then Brian came out the door and sat on the loun
ger beside Zola, blocking his view.
He almost wanted to kiss the asshole.
Gunner was running at full speed, only the sound of his breaths and the beating of the bottom of his shoes on the heavy belt, when he suddenly heard Zola cry out.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You’re my partner,” Brian told her, outrage as clear in his voice as it was in hers.
“That means we have to work together, not that you have a right to do whatever you want to me!”
“Did you not read the rules of this game before they dumped you inside? We’re supposed to encourage a romantic connection to prove to the viewers and producers that we deserve to win the game.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to kiss me whenever the hell you want to! This is still America, pal. There are rules against that sort of thing.”
A little red invading Gunner’s vision, he turned off the treadmill and grabbed his towel, wiping sweat from his forehead as he crossed the yard.
“What’s going on, Brian?”
Brian looked up, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. “We were having a team meeting. So, if you don’t mind—”
“Where’s Lesley?”
“How should I know? She’s your partner.”
Trouble in paradise?
“Last I heard, the two of you were better partners than her and me. Been to the water closet lately, Brian?”
The smaller man glared at Gunner, anger flashing in his eyes. “What are you doing, man?” he demanded, standing up to confront Gunner. “This part of your game? You trying to steal my partner?”
“Not at all.” Gunner held up his hands. “I’m just wondering why you care so much while you’re running around with my partner.”
“You’re an ass; you know that?”
Brian—who still believed that no one knew about him and Lesley—rushed into the house, pissed that Gunner had just announced the truth to the cameras. Gunner watched him go, amusement dancing on his lips.
“Thanks,” Zola said.
He didn’t look at her because he knew if he did, he’d show the world right along with her how badly he wanted her, and he wasn’t prepared to do that just yet. This wasn’t about a damn game or a lasting relationship to Gunner. This was about Gretchen. And she wouldn’t be impressed if he let himself get distracted by some pretty girl, even if she was gorgeous and intelligent and everything Gunner wanted in a woman.
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