by Debra Cowan
She half turned to find Sam's boss standing in the doorway of his office. "Sir?"
"It's good to see you again," Roberts said gruffly and slammed the door.
She stared for a moment, a smile breaking over her face. She glanced at Sam and he chuckled.
She waited at the top of the stairs as he stopped off at Crime Analysis. A few minutes later, he returned, carrying a printout and the mug shots of several suspects that he'd pulled from Records. Excitement shone in her eyes, making them smoky and pulling at that ever-present awareness in his belly.
He tried to ignore it as they walked out, together. Adrenaline pumped through him. And he suddenly felt an ease with Dallas he hadn't experienced since before Brad's death. He chuckled. "That reminds me of the time Brad and I were called in. We'd just started Vice and we were so green. Our assignment was to observe these girls at the Red Dog Saloon. 'Blend in,' we were told, which meant order drinks, but don't drink them."
"What happened?" Dallas's eyes sparkled and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Sam laughed. "Our lieutenant got a call from the bar owner, complaining that his potted plants were dying. We were—"
"Pouring your drinks into the plants." She chuckled softly. "Brad never told me that one."
"Really? He probably didn't want you to think he was anything but perfect."
"That was it."
Was she hurt by the fact that Brad hadn't shared the story with her? Sam couldn't tell.
She nudged him with her shoulder, laughter warming her voice. "'A female perspective'?"
He grinned, relieved that she seemed fine. "Hey, I was working it back there."
She threw back her head and laughed, a full-throated sound that made him join in, feeling as self-satisfied as if they'd gotten away with making out under the bleachers.
Bad analogy, he immediately thought, ambushed by vivid memories of the long, hot kiss they'd shared the other night. He shoved the memory away and slid into his truck.
Something had shifted—something he couldn't define even though he felt they were poised on the edge of something momentous. She'd tried to cover for him in there. They'd fought together and for each other. That fact had not escaped Sam. They were partners now; real partners. It felt good, better than it probably should. He liked Rock and got along great with the older man, but with Dallas, Sam felt his strengths as a detective were complemented by hers.
There were boundary lines between male and female partners, he reminded himself sternly. Lines he didn't cross. He had to know he could trust her at his back, no matter what. Sex between partners was not a good idea, no matter how good the cop. Or the sex, he added wryly.
It blurred the lines, confused the rules. It was the reason Sam had never gotten involved with female cops, and he wasn't about to change now. Besides, he and Dallas had a lot of history. It would be stupid to get all that stirred up. Very stupid.
Sam let the truck idle as he opened the file he'd gotten from Crime Analysis. "I didn't know Roberts knew you."
"Just a little. He came to Brad's funeral."
Sam nodded, feeling a keen empathy with her, connected by more than Brad this time, and noticing he didn't feel the sharp stab that his partner's name usually brought.
"What did Crime Analysis find?"
He dumped the photos out on the seat and discarded two from the top. "Both these guys are still in the pen at McAlester. This one—" he plucked a picture from the bottom "—is dead."
"That leaves us four." She picked up the printout, then a photo. "It doesn't say on here which hand his tattoo is on."
Sam leaned close, inhaling the crisp scent of winter on her, aware that she suddenly went stone still. "Hmm, he was stopped for a busted taillight in the winter. Sometimes the officers at the scene don't note specifics."
She nodded. A delicate flush pinkened her cheeks and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she pointed to another name. "It's the same with this one, too."
Desire punched through his gut. He dragged his gaze from her and stared, unseeing, at the card she held in her hand. "Yeah."
"What's next?" She gathered the pictures and cards, put them back into his file.
"Let's show these pictures at the truck stops." He cleared his throat, which felt scratchy. "See if that gets us anywhere."
"Okay. We can also see what kind of logs, if any, truckers keep. Maybe these stops keep a record of the cabs that stay overnight in their parking lot or stop there. Maybe credit-card receipts for gas or food?"
"Good ideas." He glanced at the clock on his dash. "I've got to be somewhere in a few hours. We can start with these truck stops, then I can meet up with you afterward."
"I'd hate for a murder investigation to interfere with your social life." Her voice was caustic. Immediately, regret flashed across her features and she shoved a hand through her hair. "I can make some calls while you're gone."
He laughed, irritated by the pleasure he'd felt at her obvious jealousy when she thought he had a date. He'd hoped to have moved past that. "My big date is with my folks."
"Oh, you still have dinner with them every Friday night?" Fondness laced her words.
"Yep, the whole family." He glanced over at the pleasure on Dallas's face, the wistfulness. "Mom's a stickler for it."
"That's nice. I've always liked your parents. How are they?"
"Doing great. Dad's getting in plenty of hunting now that he's retired. And Mom has been taking some classes at the university. She's into photography." He added, "Yeah, they like you, too."
"Brad and I always enjoyed it when we were included in your family's summer cookouts."
He glanced over at her and suddenly realized she had no one. Brad was dead. Her parents were in Texas, as was her law-enforcement brother, the ranger.
"How are those crazy brothers of yours? I heard Linc got married again."
"Mace and Devon got married, too. They have a baby girl now."
"I thought they'd ended their engagement?"
"They did." He grinned and explained how Devon had walked away from Mace out of fear for his job, only to wind up needing his protection a year later when her father's murderers came after her.
"And now?"
"She testified against the scum who masterminded the whole deal and sent him to prison. She and Mace are together and I've got my first niece, hopefully not the last."
"They're happy." She looked genuinely pleased.
"More than anyone has a right to be. Both Mace and Linc married way better than they deserve. You'd like Jenna, too. She's Linc's wife—a veterinarian."
"You always said your brothers were animals."
He chuckled. "Linc saved her from a stalker. Actually, Mom and Dad say that Jenna saved Linc from himself."
"Oh?"
"After Michelle left him, he wasn't much good to anyone. At least until Jenna came along." Sam went on to explain how his middle brother had sheltered the veterinarian from a stalker who was intent on killing her for her role in getting him convicted of rape.
"Wow," Dallas said quietly. "Doesn't anyone in your family just meet someone, date them and get married?"
"Not so far."
"Jenna sounds very special."
"My brothers know how lucky they are and I think they've gotten the last good women. So does Dad." A swell of warmth moved through him as he spoke.
Devon and Mace had overcome their past mistakes and the hurt between them, and were now building a life together. For one blinding instant, he wished fiercely that he and Dallas could do the same, but he didn't see how that could happen. Besides the pain they'd caused each other, Dallas had another life in another state. Partners and friends were all they could be. All they should be.
They pulled into a truck stop and she opened the door to step out. "Tell them I said hello."
Something hit him hard in the chest. It was the holidays. She was all alone. An impulse swept through him. For the first time since she'd arrived, he didn't analy
ze his actions. "Tell them yourself."
She looked startled. "Oh. No, I didn't mean—"
"They'd love to see you. All of them have asked about you. Several times." She didn't need to know that he'd told his family to mind their own business.
"Really?"
He nodded. "We can play pool."
Her eyes lit up. "I haven't played since last summer."
"And—" he waggled his eyebrows "—Mom's making coconut cake."
Dallas groaned. "No fair. You know I can't turn that down."
"Then don't." He shrugged, as if it were simple. And for the moment, it was.
"What should I bring?"
"Nothing. You know how she is."
"She won't be expecting me."
"You know there'll be enough food for thirty people."
She smiled in agreement. "All right."
"We'll head there around five-thirty."
"Okay." Pleasure warmed her eyes.
As they walked up to the doors of the first truck stop on their list, Sam wondered what he had just done.
"Thanks." A beautiful soft smile curved her lips. "See, Sam, this is going to work. We can do this friends thing."
"Sure. Yeah." Despite the slow burn of desire through his blood, he felt for the first time that there was a chance they might salvage something from their past. "Now, let's get busy."
Friends. Yeah. He could do this.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
"Number nine, corner pocket." Dallas measured her shot, leaned over the pool table, slid the cue stick lightly between her index and third fingers and shot. The cue ball cracked its target and number nine disappeared into the corner pocket.
"Oh, man," Sam groaned. "Not again."
"You sank the last three shots." Mace chuckled.
"And won three games," Sam reminded dryly.
"How long did you say it had been since you played, Dallas?" Mace asked.
"A few months." She grinned, holding out one hand. "Pay up, boys."
Sam's oldest brother shook his head. "How about double or nothing?"
"You're going to owe me fifty bucks." She eyed him critically. "Are you good for it?"
He laughed. "Hey, I'm a cop. You can trust me."
"Ha!"
"Sam, what about you?" Dallas turned to where he stood at the back corner of the table. "You up for another game?"
"Sure," he answered easily, but she didn't miss the tightening of his mouth.
Mace racked up the balls for their fifth "ring game" or Nine Ball. Dallas had played well today, surprising even herself. In the second and third games she'd sunk the nine ball early. Sam and Mace had both protested, but they knew she'd followed the rules by using the lowest-numbered ball to knock in number nine.
She was trying not to analyze Sam's every move. They were getting somewhere, finally, and she wanted things to stay good between them. This case was still about Valeria, but it had also become about a second chance with Sam. A chance to try and repair the damage they'd done a year and a half ago. He'd defended her to Lieutenant Roberts. He wanted her help. She didn't want to blow that.
Because she and Brad had occasionally been guests of the Garretts, a part of Dallas dreaded the evening. But her unease had disappeared once she'd walked through the door. Sam's parents had greeted her warmly, making her feel as welcome as they always had. In his late fifties, Cliff Garrett was still a very handsome man. Mace and Sam had both gotten their thick black hair from him. And those killer blue eyes. Linc favored Bonnie, with his sandy hair and quiet gray eyes.
She enjoyed the warm greeting both Sam's brothers had given her. It was great renewing her acquaintance with Mace's wife, Devon, and meeting Linc's wife, Jenna, for the first time. Judging from the total openness of their smiles, Dallas decided none of them were aware of what had happened between her and Sam before she'd left Oklahoma City.
Devon had hugged Dallas and whispered how good it was to see her. Mace and Devon's daughter, Ashley, was at Devon's mother's house, but Devon had pictures of the tiny dark-haired baby. Jenna Garrett, a pretty auburn-haired woman, seemed quieter—like Linc—but very warm.
When Sam's dad and Linc pulled on their coats to run an errand, Dallas had offered to help in the kitchen. But Sam's mother and the other two women had shooed her off into the game room with Sam and Mace to play pool, insisting she was their guest. She and Sam had stopped at a bakery on the way over where Dallas had chosen an apple pie. Of course, it couldn't hold a candle to anything Mrs. Garrett made, but Dallas felt better for making the effort.
Since she and Sam had moved into the game room with Mace, she'd felt the ease between them slowly evaporate. They'd worked at truck stops all afternoon, coming up with nothing yet from the pictures of the suspects. But she knew that wasn't the problem.
She wanted them to be friends. This was going to work. She would make it work.
The game room, converted from Linc's bedroom after all the boys had left home, was warm and comfortable. The oak wainscoting and billiard-patterned curtains gave it a cozy, casual feel, as did the oblong light fixture shaded with green glass that hung over the center of the pool table.
As Mace broke for the next game, Dallas slid a look at Sam. He stood in the back corner, where he'd been for the other four games, leaning on his cue stick as he carefully watched his brother's shot.
Both his large hands were wrapped around the sleek polished wood. Light shone on his thick dark hair, casting his chiseled features in a ruddy light. He wore the same tight faded jeans he'd worn all day, the same red corduroy shirt. The soft fabric hugged his broad shoulders, molded the hard edges of his biceps. He'd worn his coat all day, so she hadn't noticed before, but she noticed now. He looked good. Way too good.
"You with us here, Dallas?" Mace's voice pulled her back to the game. "I just missed the two ball."
The rules of Nine Ball stated the balls had to be sunk in numerical order. The nine ball could be sunk at any time in the game as long as the lowest-numbered ball hit and sank the nine. Since Mace had missed his shot, it was now hers.
She balanced her stick lightly in one hand and eyed the placement of balls on the table. The two ball was far right and the cue ball rested in the back corner by Sam. To make the shot she'd have to chip the edge of the ball, not take it straight.
Moving to the back corner, she smiled slightly at Sam. He smiled back, even if it did look forced, and he shifted, giving her room.
"You think you can make that?"
At the low rumble of his voice, a shiver chased up her spine, but she grinned at him over her shoulder. "Wanna lay some money on it?"
"I already owe you twenty."
His eyes sparkled and Dallas realized just how much she'd missed him in the past eighteen months.
"Show me what you got, Kittridge."
He meant absolutely nothing suggestive by that, Dallas told herself. Still, the huskiness in his voice released a flurry in her stomach and she had a difficult time tearing her gaze from his.
Feeling suddenly breathless, she turned her attention to the table and tried to ignore the musky hint of his body heat, the lingering whiff of his early-morning shower. She leaned forward, gauging her stroke. She could feel him behind her, not touching, but his warmth silhouetted her entire body. She could feel his strength, the power emanating from him.
For a moment, she stared unseeingly at the green felt table-top. Her hands trembled slightly and sweat dampened her palms.
Friends, she reminded herself, focusing again on the ball. She took the shot, but her hands shook and she jerked back at the last minute. The force of her shot had been weak and she held her breath as the ball rolled slowly toward its target.
The cue ball wobbled into the two ball and nudged it into the pocket.
"Aaargh!" Mace groaned. "That shouldn't even have gone in. What kind of puny stroke was that?"
"The kind that works," Dallas said sweetly, moving around the table to
take her next shot. Her back felt cold without Sam's heat there, but she could concentrate better away from him.
The three shot was a tricky hook and she missed it just barely.
"Your turn, Ever Ready," Mace prodded.
Dallas glanced at Sam, her insides knotting. She'd forgotten about the nickname his brothers had given him. Brad had also called Sam that on occasion, telling her it was because Sam always traveled with at least two condoms in his wallet.
As Sam studied the lay of the balls, she studied him, annoyed that her knees felt weak and wobbly. Intent and focused, he quickly sized up the shot. Dallas's attempt had left the three ball wide-open and perched on the edge of a side pocket.
Sam made the shot easily, then frowned at the four, which was surrounded by a circle of balls.
"Think you could make that, Dallas?" Mace glanced over at her.
"It's a tough one," she conceded, mentally calculating how she would do it.
Sam looked up, challenge gleaming in his blue eyes. A thrill shot through her. She'd seen him pick shots like this out of a group before and it was beautiful to watch.
He walked toward her, smiling cockily, and her stomach fluttered. He edged between her and the table, his thighs brushing hers. Her smile slipped. He looked away, rubbed the chalk on the tip of his stick and tapped the butt on the floor while he considered his shot.
Only inches separated them and Dallas backed up as far as she could, unable to touch the wall because of the stick rack hanging behind her. If Sam had straightened, his arm would have brushed her breast.
A low throb drummed through her and she shifted, suddenly very aware of the thin camisole and panties she wore, the silky slide of her cranberry shirt over her chest and arms. She gripped her pool cue tighter and forced her attention to the table.
Sam leaned forward, his hip nudging hers. "Sorry," he muttered.
She didn't move. She couldn't. His hip was situated right at her leg and she knew how it would feel against her—warm, hard, heavy.
Liquid silk unfurled between her legs. She closed her eyes briefly, chanting to herself, Friends … fiends… When she opened her eyes, Mace was staring at her, his eyes twinkling. She smiled, though it cost her, and tried to get a grip on her exploding hormones.