She sat back in the chair, an air of impassiveness settling over her. “Ironic, coming from you.”
“What’s good for the goose isn’t always good for the gander.” He rolled the stylus between his fingers. “Tell me your initial thoughts when you came on the scene of the robbery.”
Cassy took a moment, letting the silence stretch between them. “A wing-wang for a goose’s bridle,” she blurted.
Boyce jolted at her remark, then gaped. Had she lost her mind? A wing-what?
A grin appeared, and Cassy snorted and covered her mouth as she giggled. “Sorry,” she said behind her hand, “I couldn’t help myself. You mentioned geese, and that’s all I could think of.”
“What did you say?”
She made a horrible attempt at stifling her laughter. “Your face,” she gasped, “was … priceless.”
“Good Lord,” he groaned, rubbing a spot on his forehead where a headache was starting.
Cassy sighed, calming herself. “No, seriously, sorry.” She blew out a breath. “I’m good.”
“Well, now that you’ve officially broken the tension, what did you say?”
“It’s just something I’ve heard a few of the older ladies around town say. Mostly as a response when people ask what something is. ‘A wing-wang for a goose’s bridle.’”
“Must be a Midwest thing.”
That mischievous smile returned. “Must be.”
He’d missed her uncanny sense of humor. At times—this being one of them—she’d used it as a shield, but he loved hearing it nonetheless. It was what made Cassy enjoyable to be around.
“Are you good now? Can we proceed?”
“Sure.” Returning to her previous, bent-forward-elbows-braced-on-knees posture, she cleared her throat and then rolled into her account. She must have gone over her report many times, because she was repeating it verbatim.
Boyce tuned her voice out and focused on her mouth. It was a safe place to stare at; it gave the impression he was paying attention to what she was saying yet allowed him to think about her kissing him on the lips, on the neck, all over. Mercy, Cassy was something to behold. On the outside she was all wrapped up in a neat, professional package, but underneath was a wild woman.
When he’d first met her, Boyce had figured her for the straight-laced type, a woman who was more reserved and inexperienced. She’d given him the impression that her job was important and that she didn’t have time for relationships, especially with someone in the law enforcement field. Had he ever been more wrong.
“Seriously?”
He blinked in response to Cassy’s incredulous retort.
“You were thinking about sex, weren’t you?”
“Actually, I wasn’t.” He adjusted his seat, shifting the tablet to conceal the telltale sign in his pants that gave away his lie.
Cassy’s eyes narrowed. “If you weren’t, what was the last thing I said?”
“That you suspect last night’s robbery and the murder of the Eider police officer might lead back to the bank robbers.”
“What the—? How?” Cassy grimaced, then held up her hand, and waved it. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Good.” He flipped the cover over on his tablet and slid to the edge of the sofa, preparing to stand. “We’re through.”
“That’s it? You made a big fuss over this, and that’s all you’re going to do?”
“You have nothing more to add. Your report will suffice.” Boyce headed for the door.
The chair rattled against the floor seconds before Cassy’s hand landed on his arm and turned him around. Her warmth seeped through the fine wool of his blazer and touched his skin. It spread from there, filling him with the desire to pull her into his arms and kiss the anger and pain he’d caused right out of her. Cassy dropped her hand and crossed her arms at her chest. The absence of her touch chilled him, dousing the desire.
“What? Nothing to say about the possibility of these cases intertwining?” she asked. “No remarks about them keeping you here longer?”
Boyce risked the reaction, whether it be angry words or a slap, and caressed her scarred cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the raised skin. “Sweet pea, I think we’re both going to be disappointed. There’s a set of killers out there, and we’re going to be stuck working together.”
Chapter Six
Entering his hotel room, Boyce let the door swing shut on its own and flipped the light switch. He dropped his things on the dresser serving as a TV stand and removed his heavy coat, draping it over a chair. Twenty-four hours of mental alertness and emotional strain was making for one hell of a tension headache. He loosened his tie and made short work of removing it, unbuttoning his dress shirt, removing his leather belt, and tossing each item on the bed. Kicking off his leather shoes, he rolled his neck side to side to ease the tight muscles. A shot of warmed bourbon would taste good right about now.
He turned on the TV, searching for the news station. Just his luck—it was time for the sports report. Like he gave a crap about the local basketball victories and coaches’ interviews. But it was as good as any other channel, so he lowered the sound to a tolerable level and set the remote on the round table by the balcony’s sliding glass doors. It was snowing again, lighter than it had the night before. As he stared at the dark skyline, he untucked his white undershirt and pulled it off. His focus shifted from the drifting snow to the reflection of his naked torso.
A patchwork of scars dotted his left shoulder and dipped down his chest to right above his heart. Boyce fingered the raised bumps. A “gift” one of Mother’s husbands had imparted upon him when he was a teenager and dared to defy the asshole’s demands. He’d kept them hidden from all save the people who needed to know, and the story was always different for each person privy to the scars. The sole bearer of the partial truth was Cassy. He’d told her they were burns from an accident. What he left out was the cigarette continually branding his skin. His ears rang with the memory of the bastard’s laughter and taunts while Boyce screamed and begged. “Feel that boy? Do ya? Let this be a reminder I’m top dog around here. Fuck with me again, and I’ll castrate you.”
When Boyce had recovered from the incident, he made the prick pay for his actions. Except his tormentor ended up dangling from the ornate railing overlooking Mother’s foyer. The damage done had settled one thing in Boyce’s mind: He was going to ruin people like Mother and the men she married and used to claw her way to the top.
“Tonight the residents of Eider are holding a candlelight prayer vigil in memory of Eider police officer Ethan Wallis, who was killed last night when his truck was run off the road.” The solemn tone of the anchorwoman was as dark as Boyce’s memories of his past. “Police are treating Officer Wallis’s death as a homicide. They’re asking anyone who has any information about the incident to please contact them.”
Boyce grabbed the remote and hit mute. He peered at the people gathered around the site where the truck had crashed. Through the cameraman’s lens, Boyce picked out Cassy from the large gathering. She was out of uniform and hunched down inside a heavy white coat, holding a candle. From this angle, she looked like she was barely holding herself together. Boyce ached to comfort her.
He had no right. He was the coward who’d left her when she needed him the most, not once but twice. What did he care about her feelings? Besides, Cassy had her sister and brother-in-law now. There would be no room for the likes of him.
He headed for the bathroom and the promise of a scalding shower to rid his body of the insufferable chill. He paused in the bathroom doorway and looked back at the darkened windows. She was out there, suffering. Probably hadn’t said a word to Nic, either. Cassy didn’t process sorrow the same way some people did. She shut down and buried her grief, trying to manage it.
Boyce slapped the wall. He was asking for any punishment Cassy dished his way, but damn it, he wasn’t about to let her hide away to grieve on her own.
From his small carry-on suitca
se, he pulled out his “downtime” clothes: jeans and a desert-tan, snug-fitting, long-sleeved shirt. The shirt was too thin for this weather, but he’d suffer through for now. A trip to the store to get something heavier might be in order tomorrow. Once dressed, he clipped on his sidearm and badge then bundled up in his long, heavy coat.
He doused the lights. So much for that hot shower.
• • •
Cassy sniffed, pressing the tissue to her nose. Thankfully, the weather was cold enough to make it appear that she was warding off a runny nose. She didn’t want anyone around her to know she was actually crying over Wallis’s death. Criminy, she was such a wimp.
Snow clung to her lashes and melted against her cheeks. She lifted her face to the gently falling flakes, such a contrast to last night’s storm.
More vehicles arrived, the occupants leaving the warm interiors to join the others paying respect to a young man who never should have been taken so soon, or so violently. Cassy closed her eyes, listening to the prayers from the community’s spiritual leaders. A tremor rolled through her as she recalled the demented prayers The Priest had uttered after kidnapping her. “Oh, great Father, I beg You to cleanse this soul for her atonement. Save her from the sinners that will certainly try to corrupt her from her duty. All she needs is Your love—show her the truest meaning of justice. Ease her for the task to come.”
“Do it, Cassandra, kill your sister and ease your suffering ... ”
Those words had been like snake oil, dragging her to a place in her soul she’d never been before, a dark, hate-filled place. From that pit, The Priest managed to open Cassy’s eyes to what she’d long been hiding from—hating her father for what he’d turned Nic into and how he’d destroyed their family.
Cassy opened her eyes, sucking in a deep breath through her mouth. The cold air hit her lungs and made them cramp. The jolt of pain freed her from the mental wandering. She dared not think on what had happened to her. Dredging up those memories only brought more terror, more fear into her life. Criminy, she’d chosen to stay near the back of the crowd, as far from the woods as she could get without being obvious.
“I own your mind ... ”
Cassy stuffed her gloved fist into her mouth to stifle the cry. Turning from the man praying, she spotted the McIntire sheriff’s dispatcher, Jolie Murdoch, and her parents, Eli and Ginny. The Murdoch family was close with the Wallis family, and Ethan’s death affected them greatly. Jolie huddled with Ethan’s younger sister, consoling her as the young woman cried.
Cassy swallowed hard and turned from the sight. What was she thinking coming here alone? She hadn’t said a word to Nic, and it had been a mistake. Moving through the loosely packed bodies, Cassy made her way back to her truck. When she breached the edge of the gathering, she pulled up short.
Standing about ten yards away, with a set of headlights backlighting his body, was Boyce. He was hunched inside his long, city-boy, wool dress coat, hands buried under his arms. His breath came out like tendrils of smoke, circling above his head before vaporizing into the dry air. Where he was positioned, with the snow drifting down around him through the lights, he looked like an angel coming to her rescue. A very cold angel.
How had he known she’d be here? Was he spying on her now? Anger burned a path through her veins. He slipped his right hand free then beckoned her closer with the crook of a gloved finger. The anger momentarily forgotten, in its place came curiosity. She went to him.
“Why are you here?” she asked in a low voice, not daring to attract any unwanted attention and take away from the vigil.
“The local news crew did a report on this, and I saw you.”
Cassy frowned. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
His gaze held steady, never revealing what was going on inside his head. She hated that about him, how he could hide his emotions and thoughts behind the facade.
“Where’s your vehicle?”
Her frown scrunched into a scowl. “Boyce—”
He made a motion across his throat, silencing her. “Cassy, I’m freezing my ass off. Liza brought me here and left so I could take you home. Now, where is your vehicle?”
Oh, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to slap his face, walk off, and let him freeze, or return to the vigil and completely ignore him. Inside her coat pocket, she wadded up the tissues. She slowly began to realize why he was really here. He’d seen her on the news broadcast, most likely caught her dabbing at her face and nose, and concluded she was hurting. And damn it, she was! Boyce had come here to comfort her, because he was the only damn person in the world who knew how.
Nic never learned, and Mom … Mom came close, but she’d always been … distracted. God forbid Pop ever give two shits about comforting his favorite daughter. He’d just tell her life sucked and she’d have to pull on her big-girl pants. She was a Rivers—they bucked up and marched on.
“What happened to you staying away from me?”
“I think we’ve far surpassed keeping ourselves apart in this ordeal.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”
She stared at the offered hand, weighing her options of turning tail or accepting his gesture of assistance. Well, there was one thing she’d never do—what he’d done—and that was run. She placed her hand in his, becoming aware of the strength in his grip as his fingers closed over hers. Gradually, he drew her to him, until inches separated them.
She pointed over his shoulder. “My truck is over there.”
His coy smile turned up the corner of his mouth. Cassy resisted the urge to lick her lips and kiss him. God, the things he did to her.
“A truck? I never took you for the type.”
“Bet you didn’t take me for being a horsewoman, either.”
He squeezed her hand. “That, I did know.” He led her in the direction she’d indicated, refusing to let go of her hand.
“Boyce?”
“Yes, sweet pea?”
Why did he insist on calling her that? The few times she’d asked, he wouldn’t give her a straight answer. She figured it was a southern thing she wouldn’t understand.
“Why is it that wherever I go, you always seem to show up?”
Boyce stopped trudging through the snow and turned to look at her. “I don’t know. Guess it’s just one of those things that doesn’t have an explanation.”
That wasn’t good enough for her. Not when she’d put her heart on the line with him in the past and she could feel her resolve to keep him out slipping with each encounter, each touch. Boyce was like the forbidden fruit of old, the one everyone warned you away from, but it increased the desire for him tenfold. She’d get her reason, one way or another.
Chapter Seven
By the time they’d reached Cassy’s home—Boyce having navigated over the snow-packed roads by remembering to put the truck in four-wheel drive and not treat the thing like it was a plow, which was better than she expected for someone who didn’t drive on snow often—it had stopped snowing. Boyce parked in front of the single-vehicle garage and sat back in the seat. They sat in silence, Cassy gnawing on her lip as she tried to think of something to say.
“Isn’t this O’Hanlon’s place?” he asked.
“Was.” She reached for the door handle. “I bought it from him after they married, and I moved here.”
“It looks smaller than I remember.”
Cassy examined her cottage, decked out in colorful Christmas lights, pots of silk ivory poinsettias, and dangling, frosted star ornaments. She’d gone a bit overboard in decorating this year, telling herself it was for Liam. The cottage was the perfect size for her.
“It’s fine,” she said curtly.
“I’m not criticizing … Never mind. Whatever I say is going to be wrong.” He exited the truck’s cab.
She scrambled to do the same and beat him to the sidewalk leading up to the door before he could round the truck’s front end. Unlocking the door, she entered then paused. “Boyce, how are you getting back to the hotel?”
“Oh my God, you had no intention of going back.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “If you think for one minute I’m going to let you spend the night—”
He grasped her hand and lowered it away from his body. “Relax, Cassy. I have no grand design to seduce you.” He released her hand and moved into the living room, removing his coat as he went. “At least not tonight.”
Heat flushed through her. No, I will not let his words turn me into some nympho. Lockdown! Now!
She removed her coat and hung it in the small wardrobe next to the entrance. She turned back to find Boyce exploring her home. It was an open floor plan; the only walls were those that formed the bedroom and the bathroom. The décor was decidedly old-farmhouse style, with lots of wood and antiques. It was warm and homey, rooting Cassy for the first time in her life. Being a child of a career military man, base-hopping and enduring whatever housing the bases had to offer had left Cassy ungrounded, listless, and drifting. This was her place, something she could finally claim as her own. Her home.
Boyce wandered closer to her, coming within a foot of touching her. “Feels … right,” he whispered.
Awareness skittered down her spine. If she lifted her chin, just an inch, she’d be close enough to smell that key lime scent that was all Boyce. How did a simple citrus fruit turn her into a hot-and-bothered mess? She could kiss him. Brush her lips against his rough cheek.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, shattering her wayward thoughts.
“Yes, I have.”
With a shrug, he headed into the kitchen. His absence turned her limbs wobbly, as if he’d leeched all the sexual tension from her. Cassy braced a hand on the wardrobe to steady her body. He needed to leave. Now. His mission was accomplished. He’d seen her home safely, comforted her, and turned her on so she’d have nothing but sensual dreams about him tonight. He could call Liza to come get him.
The pop of a cork made her stiffen. She dashed into the kitchen.
Born to Die Page 5