She gasped at another jab of pleasure as they bumped over the shoulder of the road. She braced her palms against the dashboard, trying to hold herself steady, hoping to stop the reaction that was spreading through her body.
It was no use. She couldn’t control it. What on earth was wrong with her? Or was it him?
In the light from the instrument panel, Anthony’s face looked as harsh and unyielding as the first time she had seen him. With disbelief, she realized that had been less than twenty-four hours ago. How could it be him? She barely knew the man.
She looked away quickly, focusing on the rocks and pin-yon trees that loomed in the headlights. He wasn’t following any trail that she could see. “Where are we going?”
“We aren’t going anywhere until we get some things straight.” He hit the brakes harder and jerked the wheel, sending the Jeep into a skidding circle. It came to a stop with its headlights pointing over the tracks in the dirt they had made on the way in. Puffs of dust drifted through the beams.
Her hands slipped from the dashboard. She wiped them on her skirt. She bit her lip to hold back a moan as the fabric slid over her sensitized thighs.
He killed the lights and turned off the engine. “Melina, you put yourself in danger tonight. I won’t let you do it again.”
She tried to concentrate on his words, but the sudden darkness made her more conscious of his presence than ever. She heard the creak of his leather jacket and the soft rasp of denim against denim as he shifted on his seat. His scent enveloped her as seductively as the night.
“You had no reason to go into that bar,” he continued. “You should have let me handle those men. It was foolish to risk your safety.”
He was scolding her, she realized. Scolding her. That was why he had brought her here—he wanted to lecture her. “I’m twenty-nine years old, Anthony. I’ve been taking care of myself just fine for years and I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”
“What would you have done if I hadn’t seen what was going on through the window and come out the back way? That man was twice your weight.”
“I admit I was grateful you were there, but I was about to use pepper spray, anyway. It’s top-of-the-line and it’s rated to stop bears, so it would have stopped Kenny. But that’s beside the point. You have no right to give me orders or to reprimand me.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need or want your protection. I want your story. I thought we were clear about that.”
“Yes, we’re clear. I know what you want. You know what I want.”
“Then let’s get out of here. We’re wasting time. We have to find someplace to spend the night. We should go over what we learned.”
He hit the steering wheel with the heels of his hands. “Don’t you think I know that?”
His sudden spurt of temper made her breath catch. The veneer of control he kept over his emotions was cracking, just as it had in the restaurant this morning. There was anger in his actions and frustration in his voice. She should be afraid, yet she wasn’t. She still didn’t believe that Anthony would harm her. “Then why are we still here?”
He didn’t reply. He hit the wheel again, then twisted to face her.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Moonlight glinted from the gold at his earlobe and bathed the angle of his jaw in silver. His eyes were hidden in shadow, yet she could feel the force of his gaze. She laced her fingers together, telling herself not to reach for him. She took slow, shallow breaths, trying not to smell him.
It was useless. The awareness of him was in her blood, pulsing into every hidden, intimate spot in her body. Her legs quivered. Her breasts felt so full, they ached.
Ignore it, she told herself. He’s a source. A temporary partner. Nothing more.
He leaned closer. So did she. His breath puffed across her mouth. She parted her lips. Waiting. Ready. Oh, so ready. Please. Please!
He groaned and thrust his fingers into her hair, grasping her head between his hands. “I’m sorry, Melina,” he whispered. “I never should have let it go this far.”
What did he mean? Their argument? Or this…thing between them?
Oh, God. Did he know what she was feeling?
He pressed his forehead to hers, holding her steady, keeping their lips a safe distance apart. His fingers moved in her hair, his breath feathered over her cheek, but those were the only caresses he allowed. He held her in silence until her heartbeat gradually slowed. The heat eased from her blood, as if she were drawing away from a flame. Traces of it remained, like a fading afterimage, but the driving, mindless ache had dimmed.
She was the first to pull away. The instant she did, he released his hold and sat back against his door.
She swallowed her protest. This was good. Really. Things were already awkward. The quarrel they had just had was bad enough and could damage their working relationship. It would have been so much worse if he had kissed her, right? Right?
Without another word, he started the engine and drove back to the highway.
Melina rolled down her window, closed her eyes and hoped the cold breeze would work.
Chapter 5
Anthony pushed the loose-weave curtain aside to study the street below. Dawn had broken over an hour ago, but there wasn’t a rush hour in Antelope Ridge. The only traffic he saw was a dusty pickup truck and a school bus. The bed-and-breakfast he and Melina had found after they had left the bar the night before was a large two-story adobe house that had once belonged to the town’s doctor. Like the rest of the town, it had seen better days.
Still, they were lucky to have found the place. It was private, with a large yard and ample space for parking behind the house so the Jeep couldn’t be seen from the street. The spry, white-haired widow who was the proprietress was grateful for their business—only one other of her six guest rooms was occupied. The rooms she had given Melina and him were done in the same Southwest style as the ones at the Pecos, although they were half the size. At least the bed was big and comfortable. Too bad the walls weren’t thicker.
Melina’s room was next to Anthony’s. He’d been conscious of every creak in the floorboards as she had moved around in the night. It sounded as if she got as little sleep as he did.
That incident in the Jeep had been too close. Where was his self-control? She had no idea what was going on, so it was up to him not to let it get out of hand. But when he’d felt her hair curl around his fingers and heard the catch in her breath, he’d been one stray thought away from letting nature take its course, and to hell with the consequences.
But he wasn’t free to do that, was he? Until Benedict was stopped, no one in Anthony’s family would be safe. Nor would Melina.
The sooner they finished this, the better.
He let the curtain fall back into place and turned to look at Melina. She was sitting cross-legged in the center of the patchwork quilt that was spread over his bed, her notepad on her lap. She was wearing an olive-colored turtleneck and loose-fitting cords, so she was covered from her chin to her toes. She had tied her hair back with a flowered scarf and hadn’t put on any makeup.
If she thought that made her unattractive, she was wrong. Just seeing her on the big, pine four-poster where he’d lain awake trying not to picture her beside him was playing havoc with his concentration. Yet meeting in this room was the sensible choice—they couldn’t afford to be overheard discussing Benedict, especially if she was right and his stronghold was in this area.
Anthony walked to the door, checked that the hallway was empty, then resumed his post at the window. With Melina’s room on one side and an outside wall on the other, they should be able to speak freely. “According to the man I talked to at the bar, Fredo’s last name was Guzman. He was raised by his grandmother. She died a few years ago and he had no other relatives.”
“That could be why Fredo went to New York,” she said. “If his last relative died, he would have nothing to keep him here.”
Anthony heard a
businesslike distance in Melina’s tone. She hadn’t met his gaze once since she had entered his room. He didn’t like it, but he knew she was doing the right thing. He leaned against the window frame, drumming his fingers on the sill. “His grandmother’s house is gone. It burned to the ground after she died. Fredo had no other fixed address in town, so there wouldn’t be anyplace we could search for more clues about him.”
She made an entry in her notebook. “What else did you learn?”
“He was a petty thief, but he wasn’t into drugs.”
“No,” she said. “He wasn’t into drugs when I met him, either.”
“If Fredo didn’t do drugs, and his crimes were too minor to interest the Titan Syndicate, then what connected him to Benedict?”
She tapped her pen against her lips. “Kenny said the last he knew, Fredo was trying to sell what he called ‘old Indian stuff.’”
“Artifacts?”
“That’s probably what he meant. It couldn’t have been regular Indian pottery, since there’s too much of that around for it to be worth anything on the black market.”
Anthony picked up the high-scale map he’d acquired yesterday and rolled it out on the mattress. He held on to the edges to keep it flat and pointed his chin at the shaded areas. “There are several pueblos and Indian reservations within thirty miles of Antelope Ridge. I’ve heard that this entire region has been occupied for more than seven hundred years, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there are undiscovered caches of artifacts around. Fredo might have found one.”
Melina put her weight on her hand and leaned forward. She twisted her neck, trying to read the map upside down. “There aren’t many roads. Judging from the countryside we went through when you took the Jeep off the highway—” She paused and looked at him sideways. The way they both leaned over the map, her head was only inches from his. She pressed her lips together and sat back on her heels. “It, uh, seems pretty rough.”
“It’s rough but not impenetrable. And if a thief like Fredo managed to stumble over something genuine, he wouldn’t take it to a museum.”
“No, he wouldn’t. He’d try to sell it as fast as a hot Rolex.”
Anthony straightened up. The map rolled shut with a snap. “That’s the connection, Melina. Benedict would have wanted the artifacts.”
“Kenny mentioned Fredo knew some big-time collector, but why would Benedict be interested in Indian history?”
“He’s interested in power. And he’s obsessed with psychic phenomena. If he believed those artifacts possessed any trace of either one, he would have wanted them.”
“Whoa. Back up a bit here. What’s this about Benedict and psychic phenomena? This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
Anthony debated how much to tell her. Only as much as she needed to know, he decided. “Benedict has always been interested in the supernatural.”
“Like ghosts?”
“Whatever could give him power. I remember there were Ouija boards and decks of tarot cards at the house.”
Melina leaned back against the bed’s headboard. “Well, now it makes sense.”
“What does?”
“Something Fredo told me before he died. He said Titan had always been weird but lately he’d flipped out. Those were his words. He said Titan was over the edge. He must have meant this psychic stuff.”
Anthony felt a sensation of foreboding. Benedict had been careful to keep his obsession private. To reveal it now must mean he was feeling extremely confident…or increasingly desperate. Either possibility made him more dangerous than ever. “What else did he say?”
“That Titan thought he was a magician.”
“The Magician is one of the most powerful figures in the tarot deck,” Anthony said. “He uses secrecy and illusion as a means to manipulate and control.”
“Secrecy and illusion,” Melina repeated. “That fits, too. Fredo said Titan was in plain sight but I wouldn’t see him.” She drew up her legs and hugged her knees. “If we were talking about anyone else, I wouldn’t take the supernatural nonsense seriously, but given Benedict’s track record of brutality, this obsession of his could make him even more dangerous.”
“I agree.” Anthony looked at the way she had curled up protectively. It was good that she was intelligent enough to be frightened. Too bad she was too stubborn to be sensible. “Melina,” he began.
She held up her palm. “I know what you’re going to say, so don’t bother.”
“If you went home now…”
“I thought we straightened this out last night, but maybe we need to talk about what happened after we left the bar. It might be good to clear the air.”
He wanted to do more than clear the air. He wanted to close the space between them and finish what he hadn’t allowed them to start. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nothing happened.”
“You hauled me to the Jeep and lectured me about being careful. I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
She wasn’t talking about their almost-kiss, he realized. She was still ignoring the sexual current that had spiked between them. She was more concerned with her…what? Her independence? Her pride?
For some reason, that irked him. “You’re angry because I protected you?”
“I’m not angry. I realize you meant well, and I appreciate the way you helped me when Fredo was killed. But if we’re going to avoid problems in the future, you have to respect the fact that we’re partners. I thought I had made that clear, but the first chance that came up, you tried to get me to leave.”
“I apologize if I offended you by attempting to keep you away from harm.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“No, you’re not seeing the big picture. If I decide the risk is too great, I’ll do whatever is necessary to make sure that you’re safe.”
She swung her legs over the side of the mattress and stood. Her cheeks glowed with color, and several locks of hair had corkscrewed away from her scarf. She parted her lips, then hesitated, as if reconsidering whatever retort she had been about to make. “I don’t want to argue again, Anthony. We do have to work together. I have to remind myself your attitude is because of your sisters.”
The change of subject took him off guard. “What?”
“Danielle and Elizabeth. And your friend Jeremy. Knowing they could be in danger from the man who killed your mother must be stressing you out. It’s making you overprotective.” She moved toward him, halting beside the post at the foot of the bed. “I realize you have a lot of personal feelings tied up in this search for Benedict. You have every reason to want him brought to justice.”
“I never pretended otherwise.”
“That’s right, you haven’t. So it’s understandable that you’re going to get emotional at times.” She rested one hand on the bedpost and regarded him for a while. “And you probably like to be in control because of your childhood. That would have been one way to deal with the trauma you went through.”
“It sounds as if you have me all figured out.”
Her lips tilted in the hint of a smile. “You? Hardly. I have a feeling it would take a lot longer than two days to figure out Anthony Caldwell.”
He moved to the corner of the bed where she stood, keeping the post between them. “And what about you, Melina? Why is it so important for you to feel in charge?”
“It’s my story. It’s natural that I’d want to do things my way.”
“It’s more than that. What happened to you, Melina? You have passion, yet you keep it locked inside. Did something happen in your childhood?”
“I had a storybook childhood. Two great parents and a wonderful home. I never went through anything like the tragedy you did.”
“What made you learn to control your emotions?”
“I need to be objective to do my job.”
He suspected that wasn’t the whole truth. By the set of her jaw, he could see she didn’t intend to tell him the rest. Yet he wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. He graspe
d the bedpost, placing his hand below hers. “Do you ever let them go?”
“What?”
“Your feelings.” He slid his hand upward until their fingers touched. “Your passion.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She didn’t reply.
“Don’t you get tired sometimes?” he asked. “Tired of having to push your needs aside so you can do what’s right? Aren’t you tempted to forget your job and your obligations, and seize the pleasure of the moment?”
The color in her cheeks deepened. He could see the flutter of her pulse behind her ear.
He touched his thumb to the knuckle of her little finger. “Is there anything else that happened yesterday, after we left the bar, that you think we should talk about?”
She returned her gaze to his. “No.”
“Melina…”
Although her eyes had darkened, she looked at him steadily. “I’m not as emotionally involved as you are, Anthony, but I have a lot riding on this story, too. I’ve put my personal life on hold. I’ve invested months of my time, and so much of the Journal’s money, that it’s either going to make my career or end it. I won’t go home—I can’t go home—until I can reveal the truth about Titan.”
Tension hummed between them. Anthony was tempted to push. It would be so easy….
She pointedly lifted her hand away from his and stepped back. “So what I need is information. And the only thing I want to talk about now is finding Benedict.”
Anthony slid his palm over the place where hers had been. The wood was still warm from her hand. He hadn’t used one twinge of his power this morning, yet he felt almost as connected to Melina now as when they had been caught in the force of his power’s backwash last night.
“Tell me more about this interest Benedict has in the paranormal,” she said. She snatched her notebook from the bed and retrieved her pen. “That might be an angle worth pursuing.”
He let his hand fall to his side. Obviously, the subject of their relationship was closed. It had never really had a chance to open.
She was right to keep her distance. Of course she was right. Anthony shouldn’t feel disappointed. He should respect her strength. If they ever did acknowledge the connection between them, there would be no going back.
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