by Lori Foster
It was addressed to Shay McIntyre.
Underneath it said: PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR.
She’d lied.
He peeled open the envelope and pulled out the papers.
They detailed the life history of one Luke Mason Wilder.
She’d pried.
And that was much, much worse.
CHAPTER 6
Shay finally felt closer to normal, or as close to normal as she was going to get and still be this near Luke Wilder. Shay’s body felt like it belonged to someone else, and in many ways it did. She wasn’t the same woman she had been twenty-four hours ago.
The realization stopped her for a moment. It scared her and thrilled her. She turned off the faucet and toweled off, hearing Luke whistling in the other room. She smiled, even as she ran the rough motel cotton over sensitive skin.
The whistling abruptly stopped. Shay ran the brush quickly through her hair, wrapped the towel around her, and peeked out into the room.
Luke stood damp and bare-chested, his Wranglers only half-zipped, reading a handful of papers. It took Shay a moment to peruse his body first before being curious about the papers, but once she got his face—dangerously empty—she knew she was in trouble. He held the envelope she should’ve kicked under the bed when they’d come into the room last night. It had to be the envelope from her colleague in Austin.
Shay was mad at herself—for being careless at her job, for letting her heart believe Luke was innocent when her head shouldn’t have accepted it without proof. She’d never been so angry.
But she wasn’t as mad at herself as he was.
When Luke looked up at her in the doorway, his face tightened with barely contained fury. “So you’re lying and spying.”
“What have I lied about?” Shay asked.
“You’re not a reporter working for a magazine. You’re a private eye working for the WBP.”
“You ought to understand,” Shay threw back, hating the hard bite of her own words. “Aren’t you the one who said you’d do whatever it takes to win?”
“I did, and as I recall, you didn’t like it very much.”
“No, because it makes you a more viable suspect. And I didn’t want that.”
“Oh, sure, you didn’t want that; that’s why you ordered the gory details of my life. That’s why you spent the night getting to know me inside and out,” he snapped with a narrow-eyed look at the rumpled bed, her clothes strewn around the room. A flash of betrayal showed through his armor of anger for an instant before he lashed out again. “You certainly are a thorough investigator; you must get a lot of practice.”
His barb hurt, but she refused to let it show. She held her voice calm. “I asked for that information to clear you of suspicion.”
“Well, it certainly won’t do that. While I don’t have a criminal record of sabotaging rodeos with wild abandon, I do come off here as a poor-little-rich-boy-gone-poor-again, a sullen, good-for-nothing son who was disowned by his family. That might be enough for a motive.”
“I haven’t read it yet,” Shay said softly, hurting for him now more than for herself. The pain of his childhood was etched on his strained face and in the miserable tension in his body. She knew instinctively he’d never said those words to anyone before, but he’d carried them in his heart always.
“Don’t bother, unless you like a good tragedy of a wasted life.”
“Luke, the only time you waste your life is when you live it for someone else instead of yourself.”
“Oh?” Luke raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t see PSYCHOLOGIST written after PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR on your envelope.”
“It’s not,” Shay said. “Here is who I am. I grew up in Midland; I have three big brothers. I went to college at TCU. I got out and apprenticed with a private investigator with my parents’ reluctant support. I started out on my own two years ago. I live in a small house with a cat named Richie. I’ve collected enough information about this bullriding to think it is sabotage, and I know you didn’t do it. And that’s the truth.”
“I can’t trust that’s the truth.”
Shay could see he’d closed himself off again. She’d lost him not by the private eye business so much as poking into his past. She dropped her towel and began to dress in fresh panties, bra, T-shirt, and jeans, noting his jaw flexing. She knew that despite his anger, he wanted her body again, but it wasn’t enough for Shay. She wanted him to want her heart, her soul. Yet she knew it was a long shot with a man with such emotional scars. A man she’d betrayed.
“How can I prove it to you?” She could see she’d driven him to be even more reckless, more willing to risk his life on the next bull just to prove he hadn’t lost control of his life.
“Why do you need to?”
“Because I care about you.”
“That makes one of us.”
He’d said more than he’d intended with the flippant remark. Shay decided to play life his way and see if she could win back another chance for them both.
“How about a high-stakes competition to find out the truth?”
He narrowed his eyes and stalked closer to her, step-by-step, finally circling her slowly with his hypnotic words. “While I can attest to skills that might make you a good bullrider—wicked wraparound legs, a body with just the right combination of tight muscle and exquisite rhythm, and a perfect stroke with your free hand—I really think the bullring is not the place for you.”
Shay steeled herself against the shiver he’d expertly orchestrated. How could she want him when he was being intentionally cruel to her? How could desire course through her at his words that were only meant to push her away? “That’s not the kind of competition I’m talking about. I want us on equal footing—how about Truth or Dare?”
“I haven’t played that since high school,” he scoffed, walking back across the room, away from her.
“That certainly surprises me,” Shay said acidly, “considering your level of emotional maturity.”
He aimed a narrow look at her. “Very funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. How about the game?”
“I don’t care enough to go to the trouble of a game,” Luke said, his face hard, baritone cruel.
Shay thought she’d probably already been relegated to the graveyard of his one-night stands, no matter what they’d said or felt last night. Still, she had to try. She cared about this stubborn, hardheaded cowboy. She wanted him to care about himself. Fighting the tears that pressed against her eyelids, Shay turned away from him to slip her sunglasses on. “It’s your choice. I have to go now to check up with the WBP on the investigation.”
“Of course, since sleeping with the prime suspect didn’t turn up anything enlightening on your end.”
Knowing what he was trying to do, yet barely able to contain her fury regardless, Shay stalked up to him. “I didn’t make love with you for the case. And you know it.”
“All I know is you’re the one who talked me into bed.”
“Yes, because you got scared. Big, tough bullrider almost ran away from a little ‘girl.’ You hate to lose control. You always want to make the moves so you can protect your precious heart and soul. Careful; if someone got to what’s inside you, you might have to admit you’re worth loving after all. You’re pushing me away because I managed to get too close again.”
Luke turned away from her. “I’m pushing you away because you lied to me and spied on me.”
Throwing her bag over her shoulder and leaving the envelope in his hands, she opened the door to the motel room and walked out. “If you want to know if I’ve lied about the things that matter and spied because I care, meet me at the Devil’s Crook off the Llano River at noon.”
Luke stomped down the road after leaving Shay’s motel room, having had to walk back to his because he’d ridden to the dance with Cody and Karen. It wasn’t a long walk, and it probably did him good to blow off some steam. His emotions had never soared so high or dropped so far so fast as they had in the last tw
enty-four hours. And never would again if he had anything to do with it.
“That’s what happens to you, Luke, when you leave your heart open,” he muttered to himself as he kicked a rock on the shoulder of the road. “I told you so, stupid redneck.”
Yeah, he knew better than to let a woman get to him and still he let Shay sashay right in, sweet-talk him, and steal it away. Well, not really sweet-talk—she was more of a sharp talker; the only thing sweet about her was the way she tasted.
And smelled.
And sighed.
And lied.
“Hey, cowboy, you get bucked off already this morning?”
Luke turned to see Tim Auerbach’s sister. She pulled her pickup truck onto the shoulder and leaned out, revealing plenty of cleavage and a toothy grin. Her name was Bunny or Berry or Cherry or something like that, and she was attractive in a pouty-lipped, overly made-up, dyed blond, super-teased sort of way that Luke was afraid would never appeal to him again after his night with a woman whose idea of makeup was a single swish of mascara and whose hairstyle involved ten swipes with a hairbrush. Still, he slowed his walk to a stop. He was desperate to find a distraction. Luke never dallied with the groupies, since they didn’t fit into his never-see-again requirement, but this morning it was tempting to bury himself into another woman just to see if he could empty his memory of Shay.
Bunny-Berry-Cherry opened her passenger door, leaning over farther to give him a better view inside her shirt. “Hop in, Luke. I’ll give you a ride.”
He just bet she would. He slid onto the vinyl seat and realized how wrong it felt to be there with her.
“Where to?”
“You can just drop me at the lobby of my motel.”
“Sugar, I know you bullriders like an audience, but that may be pushing it.” She giggled, gave him a sidelong look, and realized he was serious. “OK, sugar, just a drive then. It’ 11 be enough of a charge just to have those awesome buns sharing my seat for five minutes. Just remember, my offer is always open.” She slid her short-shorts-clad legs wider just to emphasize her point.
Luke suddenly hoped someone else’s offer was still open.
They rode in silence until she stopped in front of the motel. Thanking her, Luke got out, went to the lobby, and asked for directions to the Devil’s Crook.
“The bull had been injected with methamphetamine—speed. Enough, the vet says, to make a ton of animal temporarily crazy. It can take thirty minutes to an hour to take effect, and its effects can last from four to twenty-four hours. The bull got here yesterday around noon.” Monty sat down across from Shay in his trailer that served as his traveling office on the tour. “So, it could’ve been injected anytime in its trailer or while it was penned. If it was before the draw, no particular cowboy was the target. If it was after, then the target was Luke.” Shay’s heart pounded; her throat grew dry.
“Right. We’ve informed the authorities here. They’ve put some investigators on it, but right now with no damage done it’s just ranked as criminal mischief and is pretty low-priority for them. The fact is they just want the WBP to get out of Sutton County without getting hurt; then it’s not their problem anymore. We’ve hired some more off-duty cops to watch the bulls tonight in addition to the riders and the riggings. But you’re still our ace in the hole, Shay. You can still be the eyes and ears, since nobody knows you’re working for us.”
“Except Luke.”
“Shay, I told you he was trouble.”
Shay couldn’t deny that. “Don’t worry for the WBP’s sake. He’s not going to tell anyone. You think it would look good for his macho image to have been duped by a female PI?”
“What if he’s the suspect?”
“He’s not.”
“How do you know?”
How could she tell Monty that she’d made love to Luke, she’d felt his soul, and it was tortured but not guilty? That’s why she knew he was innocent. The bull’s blood test proved it. “Come on; you gave him the option for a re-ride. If he’d injected the bull, he could’ve easily taken it and no one would’ve been the wiser.”
“I guess you’re right. You think he’s the one the suspect will be gunning for?”
“Depends on the motive. Luke is only in the middle of the WBP standings, still ten places away from qualifying for the finals, so it just makes him among a host of suspects if the motive is to knock off the competition.”
“What other motive would there be?”
Shay flipped quickly through the papers in front of her. “I’ve been looking at the list and I think it has something to do with the recklessness. All these bullriders were risky riders, showboats.”
Monty nodded. “Those showboats, like Luke, are crowd favorites, and I have to admit that more and more the crowd reaction is starting to affect the judging like never before. A lot of times a little flash will overcome an inconsistent ride and get a better score than a simple, solid ride.”
“Maybe it’s a dull but solid rider with a point to prove,” Shay mulled.
“Most of the guys are decent, fair competitors; I just can’t see any of them doing it, taking the chance at getting caught.” Monty shook his head, his brow furrowed with concern. “But of course with bullriding growing so much, there’s more money to be won than ever before. Maybe greed is a factor.”
Only half-listening to Monty, she nodded. Shay knew she didn’t quite have it but was getting close. Knowledge floated in her subconscious that she couldn’t quite bring to the surface. She looked back down at the sheaf of papers Monty had given her with every WBP cowboy’s background. An edginess, her investigator’s sixth sense, buzzed stronger than ever, telling her she could solve the mystery with just a single right question.
“Can I get the list of injuries from last year?” Shay asked, still thoughtfully paging through the papers.
“You think they started last year?” Monty asked incredulously. “I told you we checked—”
“I don’t know what I think,” Shay interrupted. “Just get them for me if you can.”
Monty nodded and phoned the WBP headquarters. A few moments later, the fax machine began to hum and spit out the information.
Looking at her watch, Shay grabbed the fax and walked to the door.
“Where are you going?” Monty asked.
“I have an appointment.”
Monty shot her a skeptical look. “For what?”
“To get some answers,” Shay said, shutting the door on his warning.
CHAPTER 7
The crisp smell of the morning air after a cleansing thunderstorm was being burned away by the merciless Texas sun as Shay turned her Mustang convertible onto what was little more than a dirt path off a gravel road. A craggy limestone hill dotted with cactus, mesquite, mountain cedar, and hackberry trees rose up to the right, separating the path she bounced along from the road. She estimated she was at least five miles from Interstate 10 now and three miles from the farm-to-market road that led her to the gravel drive. In a part of West Texas where you could go for hundreds of miles without seeing any sign of civilization she felt isolated and alone. For the hundredth time she wondered if Luke would come.
For the ninety-ninth time she told herself not to bet on it.
She had found out about the Devil’s Crook by eavesdropping on some teenagers who’d been eating breakfast at the Dairy Queen where she stopped when she first came into town. It apparently was a branch of the Llano River, fifteen miles northeast of Sonora, where teenagers slipped away to skinny-dip at midnight. Shay asked for directions that morning from another teenager behind the counter at the convenience store.
Rounding the next outcropping of white rock, she nearly drove into the river. Throwing the car into park, Shay stepped out and took in the view. The Llano River, like most rivers in West Texas and the Hill Country, was small but beautiful. Crystal-clear spring water ran across the limestone rock, making the river a gorgeous aquamarine color. The water was running faster after last night’s rain. Tall cypr
ess trees and taller-than-usual live oaks grew up next to the bank, always a giveaway to where the water was in the near-desert. She walked along the bank, listening to a mockingbird’s call and its mate’s answer.
Shay was afraid she wouldn’t know the place, but then she saw it. A stubby creek coming out of the river was in the shape of a crook of a cane, curling back on itself, and appeared lovely more than menacing. It was testimony to the dramatic bent of most Texans that it would be named after the devil instead of some somnolent old man.
Slipping out of her boots, she walked barefoot to the bank, dipping her toes in the surprisingly cool water, closing her eyes, and feeling herself relax. A soft swish of cotton settled over her eyes just as a knot tightened around her head. Adrenaline rushing, Shay tried to spin around, tried to reach up to grab at her face, but a vise grip and big body held her still. She screamed even as she began to recognize the rainy oak scent that suddenly surrounded her.
“There’s no one to hear you for miles, Shay,” the baritone she knew too well said in her ear.
The adrenaline-fueling fear quickly transformed into fury. She jerked against his restraining muscles, and he loosened his grip. She yanked off the bandanna and spun to face him. “What are you doing, Luke?”
“I’m showing you how easy it would be for anyone to sneak up on you.” His eyes bored into hers with no apology.
“So you’re teaching me a lesson?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
“I’m teaching you you’re going to have to sharpen your mental defenses in order to survive if you’re after a killer.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you care if I survive?”
Luke paused, taken aback. “Is that your first Truth or Dare question?”
“Yes.”
He grinned just enough to show the hint of his dimple. “Then I take the dare.”
Shay frowned in frustration and his dimple deepened. She’d been foolish to suggest this game. The daredevil would take every dare; she wouldn’t learn anything about him, but maybe she could arrange it so he would.