He sat up immediately, reaching for his gun. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m cold and stiff. Naomi and Wynonna are hogging the pillows and Dolly and Reba stole all my covers.”
“Those cats are spoiled rotten.”
“May I sleep in here with you?” Actually, sleep wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.
“On one condition.”
“Another condition?” What was it with him and his conditions?
“Just one. Lose the nightgown. That material’s so loud, it’d keep me up all night.”
She smiled. Keeping him up all night was pretty much the idea. “But it’s cold.”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
Hot was more like it. Still smiling, she tugged the offending garment off over her head an inch at a time and dropped it in a pile on the floor. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “How’s that? Better?”
Their gazes locked with a jolt, the expression on Dixon’s face triggering little charges of excitement in all her major erogenous zones.
“Oh, yeah.” He lifted the covers to welcome her in and she realized he was as naked as she was.
She slid into his arms, her body locking in place as snugly as a Lego piece.
“Hey,” he protested as she pressed a string of kisses along his collarbone, “I thought you asked if you could sleep with me.”
“Sleep? In your dreams maybe.” She whispered the words against his throat, one hand burying itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other snaked down between their bodies to reach for him. He was rock hard before she started on the second collarbone.
“Can I play too?”
“I thought you were sleepy.” She wriggled up to nip at his lower lip.
“Not me. Sleep’s the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Really?” She gave him one last, lingering squeeze, then eased her body away from his and marched her fingers up his abdomen and across his chest. “If sleep’s the furthest thing from your mind, then what’s the nearest thing?”
“Witch.” Dixon’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the slats of the blinds. “This,” he said, pulling her hips hard against him. “And this.” He massaged her nipples with a finesse that nearly toppled her right over the edge. “And this.” Dixon’s kiss short-circuited her few remaining brain cells.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She dragged her mouth from his, gasping for air. “Oh, God. Dixon.” She quivered uncontrollably, the tension in her body unbearable. Instinctively, she reached for him. “I want you. I want you now.”
Dixon grabbed her wrists, then forced her onto her back, both arms pinned above her head. “Patience is a virtue.”
ELEVEN
His kiss was leisurely.
Alexandra shuddered and arched her back, straining to rub herself against him.
When he touched the sensitive spot at the juncture of her thighs, she stilled for a moment. Her eyes looked huge and luminous. “Dixon, please!”
He slipped two fingers inside. She was slick and ready.
“Oh, God. Oh, God.”
He entered her in one smooth movement.
She rocked her pelvis upward in welcome. “Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
And the world exploded in a wild eruption of pleasurable sensation.
“I love you,” she whispered long after the last of the violent paroxysms had subsided, when Dixon lay drowsing in that no-man’s-land that lay between waking and sleeping.
Or maybe not. Perhaps what he heard was no more than the echo of his own heart.
“What was that?” Alexandra reared up in bed. Moonlight poured through the opened slats of the blinds to paint her body in silver-blue stripes.
“I didn’t hear anything. I think you were dreaming.” Dixon put his hand on her shoulder; she was vibrating with tension.
“No, I heard something. I’m sure of it.”
“Okay.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “In that case, I’d better check it out.” He pulled on his jeans and boots, then grabbed his gun from the table by the bed. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Alexandra caught his arm. Her eyes looked huge. “Watch your step, Dixon.”
He crept through the darkened house, making his way to the front windows overlooking the drive. He pulled the drapes open a crack and peered out. Nothing moved outside. No fresh tracks marred the perfection of the snowy drifts. He listened intently, but all he heard was the whine of a chinook wind and the steady drip of water melting off the roof.
Suddenly a three-foot strip of icicles fell from the eaves with a clatter.
“Did you hear that?” Alexandra called from the bedroom.
Dixon smiled to himself in the darkness. “Nothing to worry about,” he yelled. “Just icicles parting company with the roof.”
Alexandra emerged from the bedroom. “Thank God. Sorry I was so jumpy.”
“Better safe than sorry.” Dixon uttered the cliché absently. He hadn’t counted on the wind. If the snow kept melting like this, they wouldn’t stay isolated for long.
He stared out at the full moon reflecting off the snow. It wasn’t daylight, but he could see—even without headlights. Maybe he ought to get the tractor started and the road plowed. The sooner they moved on, the better.
“Dixon?” Alexandra hugged Great-grandmother Yano’s ugly olive-green comforter around herself for warmth. “What are you doing?”
“Thinking. Bad habit of mine.”
“Thinking about what?”
“About how long it’s going to take this wind to melt all the snow.”
She shivered. “But if the snow melts …”
“Exactly. I’m going to get dressed, then go out and see if I can get the old John Deere started.”
“I’ll pack.” Her voice was soft, but full of determination. Dixon was proud of her.
“Throw in some food while you’re at it.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“It’s time for last resorts.”
A rustic sign hung suspended between two colorful, rough-hewn totem poles. “The Last Resort,” Alex read aloud. “I didn’t realize you were being quite so literal.”
“I know the owner. It’s not really a resort, just a glorified bed-and-breakfast that caters to the yuppie trade, but Kurt has big plans. He’s a mover and shaker. Even my mother considers him a model of success, despite the fact he rarely wears a tie.” Dixon glanced down at his watch. “Nine-twenty. With any luck, the breakfast buffet’s still set out. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“After scarfing down half a box of crackers?”
Dixon’s grin made her heart do a flip-flop. “I’m a big boy, Alexandra. It takes a lot to fill me up.”
Dixon was a man who’d stand out in any crowd, but at the moment, with his rumpled clothing, bloodshot eyes, and heavy-duty stubble, Alex feared he would stand out for all the wrong reasons. Even to her, partial as she was, he looked like a thug, and she suspected she didn’t look much better.
“I am hungry, but the last thing I want to do is call attention to myself, and as disheveled as I am right now …” She let it trail off. Maybe she was being overly cautious.
“Damn. I hadn’t thought of that.” Dixon rubbed a hand across his bristly jaw. “I probably look more like an escaped convict than a paying guest myself.”
He drove the Jeep around the back of the lodge, past the converted machinery shed designated for guest parking, and parked in a smaller, three-bay garage. The Jeep—nestled between a vintage Cadillac, glossy black and heavy with chrome, and a red ’65 ’Vette in mint condition—was as out of place as she and Dixon were. “Kurt’s a collector,” Dixon said. “Or anyway, a temporary collector.”
“Meaning?” Alex got out of the Jeep, careful not to bang her door into the Corvette.
“He buys them, restores them, then sells them and starts all over again. I’ve never known him to keep the same car longer than a couple years.”
She stroked the Corvette’s shiny crimson hood. “How can he bear to part with them?”
Dixon smiled. “For Kurt, the pleasure’s in the transformation, not the ownership.”
Alex turned as one of the big doors rolled up. The man standing there was tall, lanky, and loose-limbed, with long, fair hair, heavy-lidded pale blue eyes, and a droopy mustache.
“Guest parking’s over there, miss.” Yawning, he indicated the direction with a languid wave of his hand.
Dixon stepped forward. “Kurt, old buddy. You don’t expect me to park with the hoi polloi, do you?”
When he caught sight of Dixon, Kurt’s eyes brightened and his mustache twitched. Alex suspected the lips hidden underneath were stretched in a smile.
“Get outta here, Dix.”
The men wrung each other’s hands and slapped each other’s shoulders in a ritual Alex thought looked more like the opening round of a fight than a friendly greeting.
“How you doin’, you old horse thief?”
“Just fine, Yano. Better than you are anyway, from the looks of you. What’s going on? You haven’t traded the PI biz for a life of crime, I hope. You look like you’re on the run.”
“We are, in a manner of speaking. I probably should have called first, but we were a little rushed.” He introduced Alex, then explained their situation in a few stark sentences that somehow made the events of the past few days sound all the more terrifying.
Kurt propped himself against the Jeep’s rear bumper. “I take it you need a place to hole up for a while.”
A muscle twitched beneath Dixon’s eye. “Right.”
“Mi casa es su casa. I have a couple empty rooms on the second floor and one dormer room on the third. Take your pick.”
“How about the apartment here?”
“Over the garage?” Kurt’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “It’s not very fancy. I don’t rent it out except to college kids during the height of the ski season. Nobody’s using it now. If that’s what you want …” He shrugged. “Be my guest. We won’t be busy enough to need it again until Anthony Lakes opens all their runs. Season’s running late. They don’t have a heavy enough base yet. Do you ski?” he asked Alex.
“Yes,” she murmured, suddenly reminded of all the ski weekends she and Mark had spent cozily ensconced in B&Bs much like this one.
Kurt snorted. “Then you’ll have to teach Dix. He’s never progressed beyond the bunny hill.”
“I have other skills.” Dixon shot her a private look.
Alex’s cheeks burned. Indeed he did.
Kurt glanced from Dixon to Alex, then back to Dixon. “You sure you don’t want the dormer room? It has its own Jacuzzi.”
Dixon shook his head regretfully. “The garage apartment’s more private.”
“Bunk beds and a shower, no tub.”
“We’ll manage.”
Dixon’s offhand assurance sent a series of erotic pictures rushing through her head. Damn her overactive imagination. Alex fought to keep her expression neutral.
“Okay. Whatever suits you tickles me plumb to death, as my uncle Tex used to say.” Kurt handed Dixon a key. “Are you two hungry?”
“Starving. We haven’t eaten since dinner last night and neither one of us has had more than a couple hours’ sleep.”
“I’ll bring something over in about fifteen minutes, okay? You’re in luck. Ginger made quiche this morning.”
“Ginger Ellingson is Kurt’s partner,” Dixon explained.
“Ginger Ellingson,” she repeated. She turned to Kurt. “I don’t believe I caught your last name.”
The mustache twitched again, even more violently this time. “Swenson. Kurt Swenson. Yano and I are first cousins.”
“My compliments to the cook.” Alex gave a sigh of contentment. It was a wonder the difference a shower and a good, hot meal could make.
“I’ll be sure to pass them along to Ginger.” Kurt turned to Dixon, who looked at least fifty percent better since he’d shaved. “Anything else I can get you?”
“No. You’ve done enough.”
Kurt lounged against the door frame. “Got any plans?”
Alex spoke up. “I need some clothes. I lost virtually every stitch I owned in the fire.”
“Can’t help you there. Neither Ginger nor I is the right size. Closest shopping would be in Baker City. Dix knows the way.”
“And I’ve got some calls to make,” Dixon added.
“Help yourself. Phone’s on the wall over there.”
Dixon shook his head. “No, I’ll make my calls from a pay phone. I don’t want to be traced.” He and Alex exchanged a look.
“Whatever you think is best.” Kurt shrugged. “Oh, and before I forget, Ginger invited both of you to dinner tonight. You’re not a vegetarian, are you, Alexandra?”
“No.”
“Good. Ginger is planning to try out a new chicken recipe for the Friday-night buffet. You two can be the guinea pigs.”
Alex smiled. “I like surprises.”
“I don’t,” Dixon growled. “What’s wrong with steak and potatoes?”
“Cholesterol, cuz. Ginger says we should be careful at our age.”
“Nothing wrong with my arteries.”
Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Still living on cold cereal and fast food, I presume?”
“I cook.”
“Yeah, what? Hot dogs? Frozen pizza?”
“And pot pies. Ramen noodles.”
Kurt made a face. “Salt, fat, and preservatives. I rest my case.”
Dixon turned Alexandra and her mother’s charge cards—her own had burned in the fire—loose on the dress shops of downtown Baker City while he filled the Jeep’s gas tank and made a few necessary phone calls.
The first was simple enough, a brief message left on the answering machine at his father’s office. He detailed the circumstances that had resulted in his cutting short his house-sitting stint and requested that the senior Yano arrange for someone else to look after Great-grandmother’s cats.
He reached a machine on the second call too. This time his message was even shorter. Without giving any details, he told Regina Roundtree that her daughter was safe and staying at an unidentified location. He hung up quickly, half-afraid she might pick up and demand all the details. Having endured one of her marathon interviews last summer, Dixon knew his discretion was no match for Regina’s curiosity.
An actual human voice answered the third call. “Brunswick Police Department.” The dispatcher connected him with Cesar.
“Man, where are you?”
“I’d rather not say. We’re running out of places to hide.”
“Who knew you two were at your great-granny’s place?”
“Short list. Aside from a few members of my family who are probably no longer on speaking terms with me, just Alex’s mother, her sister, Mark Jordan, and you.”
“Either one of the Roundtrees have a motive?”
“Damn it all, everyone connected with the case has a motive.”
“What about the fiancé?”
“Former fiancé,” Dixon said quickly.
“Oh, yeah? You don’t say? Way to go, man.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh, yeah? Then tell me, what is it like? What’s she like?”
“You’re disgusting, Rios.”
Cesar laughed at the crude course of action Dixon advised. “Hey, man. I’m flexible, but not that flexible.”
Dixon grunted.
“Seriously, Dix, what about Jordan? Maybe he’s holding a grudge.”
“I’d like to believe he was guilty. The creep turns my stomach. He cheated on his wife and he cheated on Alexandra. Does having the morals of an alley cat automatically qualify him as the prime suspect? I don’t know.” He fell silent a moment. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
“What do you think?” Cesar’s voice was strained.
“Sorry. I had to ask.”
“Yeah, I suppose you did, but you should da
mn well know better than to suspect me. I’m a cop, one of the good guys.”
“I’m getting paranoid. Got anything new on Danny Hall?”
“No, but while I’m at it maybe I’ll haul the scuzzbag in and lean on him, see what he has to say for himself.” Cesar paused. “Listen, man, is there a number where you can be reached or someplace I could leave a message? How about your cell phone?”
“No!” The word came out a little more emphatically than Dixon had planned. He took a deep breath. Trust no one, he reminded himself. “My phone burned up in the fire. Don’t worry. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. You can tell me then what you’ve come up with.”
“I’m off this weekend. You’ll have to contact me at home.”
“You planning to be around?”
Cesar chuckled. “You know me so well. Call before six.”
“Hot date?”
“Sizzling.”
“This one’s not married to a Neanderthal truck driver, is she?”
“God, I hope not.” A trace of apprehension entered Cesar’s voice. “I forgot to ask.”
“Some guys never learn.”
Ginger’s red hair hadn’t surprised Alex, but his gender had. “Kurt’s partner is quite a cook. If I stay around here for long, I’m going to weigh two hundred pounds.” Keeping an eye on Dixon, she curled up at one end of the sofa in the garage apartment.
He stood staring out the window at the falling snow, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.
“Is something wrong?”
“What?” He turned to face her. “Yeah, something’s wrong, but the hell of it is I don’t know what.” He shook his head slowly from side to side. “No matter how I shuffle the puzzle pieces, they just don’t fit. Alexandra, is there anyone we’ve forgotten? Anyone else who stands to benefit from your death? Anyone else who has a motive, no matter how slim?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’ve been racking my brains, but I can’t think of a soul.” Someone wanted her dead, but who could possibly hate her that much?
“Do you want to ride into Baker City with me?” he asked abruptly.
“Are you kidding? It’s almost midnight. And it’s snowing.”
“I’ll chain up and drive slowly.”
Upon a Midnight Clear Page 14