CLINT'S WILD RIDE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  "Actually, I would mind," she snapped. "I'm not a child. Anything you have to say—"

  He shook his head and turned to Clint while Mary was still in midsentence. "I can't believe you'd drag in a girlfriend and try to get her a job. I expect better of my best bullfighter. She must be pretty damn good in the sack to get you to—"

  "I'm not his girlfriend!" Mary insisted before he could say any more. She wasn't alone; Clint's protest echoed hers.

  "She's a friend of my sister," Clint said in a calmer voice. "And she's always dreamed of working in the rodeo."

  Brisco, who continued to sit behind his desk, grunted. "Not a girlfriend, huh?"

  "Absolutely not," Mary said.

  "No way," Clint added in a lower voice.

  "I can make balloon animals," Mary added, rather pathetically.

  Brisco shook his head. "I really don't need anyone else. My roster is set."

  What would she do if he kicked her out? Follow the rodeo like a groupie? Become a rodeo ho? Ask Clint if she could be his makeup man?

  "I'll work for free," Mary said quickly.

  Brisco laid those dark eyes on her again and she shivered. He was her prime suspect, and he certainly appeared to be capable of murder.

  "Are you one of those chicks who has a thing for bronc riders or bull riders?"

  "No," Mary said indignantly. Chick? It was much worse than Clint's easy darlin' or even girl.

  "Because if I catch you screwing any of my athletes you're out of here."

  "I don't have a thing for anyone," Mary said coolly. "I simply want to spend the summer being a clown. Is that so difficult for you to believe?"

  Brisco almost smiled. It was difficult to tell. "I'll let you work here in Birmingham, and if you do well we'll talk about the rest of the tour."

  Mary breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks. You won't be sorry."

  Actually, if he was the man she was looking for he would be sorry. Very sorry. Realizing that this man might be the monster who had raped and murdered Elaine made Mary's heart beat too hard and fast. Her mouth was dry. Her fingers and her knees trembled.

  There was a very good reason for keeping agents who were personally involved in cases far away from the investigation. When she looked at Brisco and wondered if he was her man, she didn't think about the other seven victims, she only saw Elaine. And in her mind she saw too much. Her imagination provided pictures more vivid than the crime-scene photos. In her really bad moments, she could hear Elaine scream.

  She knew her job, she knew what was expected and required. But when she thought of Elaine she didn't want to arrest the man responsible … she wanted to kill him.

  * * *

  "You think he did it, don't you?" Clint asked as they walked toward his truck.

  "Who?" Mary asked too sharply.

  She thought she was so cool … and in truth he didn't think anyone else would have picked on the change in her body language the minute they'd walked into Oliver's office.

  "Brisco," he said. "You think he's your guy."

  "I'm not ruling out anyone at this point," she said with a professional crispness to her voice.

  "He's a suspect," Clint said, pushing for a more satisfactory response.

  "I can't talk about the details of my case."

  "You think he did it," he said, more certain than ever that Mary thought Oliver Brisco was a murderer and a rapist.

  "Clint." She cast him a censuring glance.

  "You're wrong," he said, opening the passenger door for her.

  Mary gave him a "what are you doing?" look before she stepped into the truck. At least she didn't close the door and open it again for herself! Sometimes he expected her to be just that stubborn.

  She didn't say anything until they were on the street headed for their hotel. Some of the performers stayed in trailers at the site, but he never did. He helped with the animals when necessary, and he was always happy to lend a hand. But he was only needed during the bull rides, which were split into two sections. One at the beginning of the show, the other at the end.

  Besides, he hated sleeping in a trailer. He'd done it for too many years, when he'd first started with the rodeo and had needed to be on call at all hours of the day.

  "Any man connected with the Brisco Rodeo is a suspect at this point," Mary said once they were down the road from the site.

  "Even me?" Clint asked teasingly.

  "Of course not," Mary answered in a low voice.

  At least she didn't suspect him. She knew him too well.

  "You were in the hospital when the first murder took place," she continued, "and still laid up when the second occurred. You're in the clear."

  He gave her a quick glance. Of course, she had only eliminated him from her list of suspects because he hadn't been physically able to commit the first two murders. If he'd been with Brisco four years ago, he'd be a suspect, too. He was certain. If that had been the way of it, Mary never would have come to him for help. She never would have almost made love to him under the stars.

  "I still say it could just as easily be someone who follows the rodeo," he argued. "A wanna-be, maybe."

  "Maybe," she said softly. "I hope not."

  "Why?"

  She didn't answer for a moment. "It's not that I maliciously want one of your friends to be a killer, it's just that if he is following the rodeo he'll be harder to catch. He'll blend in, maybe change his appearance slightly from one town to the next. Maybe not even show up at every stop. If I don't find him, and quick, we'll have two more dead women by the end of the summer."

  "I can't see Brisco doing the kinds of things your guy's done. Yeah, he's gruff, and not particularly sociable, but—"

  "Sinclair," Mary interrupted. "Can you see anyone you know committing a brutal murder?"

  "No," he admitted.

  "No one can. We can't imagine how anyone could hurt another living being in that horrendous way, and whoever the man is … he can't be a friend, someone you've laughed with or had a drink with or had over to your house for dinner. But he is. He can appear to be perfectly ordinary one minute—" Mary turned her head and stared at him "—and turn into a monster the next."

  "Still…"

  "These murders are very carefully planned," Mary interrupted. "He doesn't lose control … at least, not in the planning stages." She sounded like she'd choked up a little on that last sentence. A deep breath, and her voice was perfectly steady again. "The victims aren't missed for days, which means he chooses them very carefully. Not a single body has been found in less than a week's time after the victim's death. There's no usable DNA, no footprints, not a single decent clue to go on." She relaxed visibly. "He took one earring from four of the victims. Four of the others weren't wearing earrings, but I think maybe the killer took both from them. He did that on purpose, to throw us off."

  "Earrings. That's not much to go on. One or both might have been lost during a struggle. Maybe the victims who had both missing didn't wear earrings at all on that particular day. In the cases where one is missing, maybe the bodies were mishandled, or…"

  "I've heard all this," Mary snapped. "Every argument, every rationalization. No one wants to admit that we have a serial killer on our hands, because right now there are two men sitting in jail who have been convicted of two of the murders. The man in Shea's story and one more, a man who was divorced from the third victim. Admitting these crimes are connected means two innocent men are in prison."

  "Yeah, but earrings…"

  "That's his weakness," Mary insisted. "That's how we'll catch him."

  "What if he doesn't hang on to them?" Clint asked.

  "He does," she said, not leaving room for the possibility that her one solid clue might lead nowhere.

  * * *

  The hotel where they'd be spending the next several days wasn't exactly four star, but it was nice enough. It was definitely better than the Scottsboro hotel where she'd spent more than a week.

  She and Clint rode up on the elevator
together. She carried her own bags and had slipped the card key into the breast pocket of her shirt. Clint seemed slightly uncomfortable. He was obviously still having a hard time envisioning one of his buddies as a killer.

  Yeah, she still had her money on Oliver Brisco. She knew there were several others who had to be considered as possibilities, but it was Brisco who set her nerves and her instincts on edge. His ex-wife was blond and attractive, and in at least one of the photographs Mary had been able to round up the woman had been wearing dangling earrings. That was hardly evidence, but it did point her toward the outwardly caustic Brisco.

  When the elevator stopped on the fourth floor, they both got off. They both turned right. She should have known better than to let Clint make their reservations! He'd probably requested rooms side by side.

  Sure enough, when she dropped her bag on the floor before the door to room 416, Clint passed close behind her and stopped at 418.

  Best not to comment on the arrangements he'd made, not just yet. This was an issue that had to be addressed, though. She couldn't have Clint at her heels all the time! That would be fine for gathering initial information, but if she did have to put herself out there as bait, no one could believe she and Clint were close in any way. She had to appear to be expendable.

  She let herself into the room without comment, allowing the heavy door to close behind her. Her accommodations were decent. Not shabby but not luxurious either. It would do. She'd miss the warmth of Clint's house, though, and Katie's cooking and Wes's lame jokes over dinner.

  A knock sounded at the door. It had to be Clint, she thought as she turned on her heel. They definitely had to have a talk! The knock came again as she reached the door, but it didn't come from the hallway door.

  It came from the door that adjoined her room to Clint's.

  She threw the door open. "You got us connecting rooms?" she asked tersely.

  "Yep." He didn't even have the decency to deny his hand in this.

  She wished he were shorter. She had to look up to glare into his eyes. "We can't have people thinking we're … we're…"

  "Involved?" he said when she faltered.

  "I'm your little sister's friend, nothing more. If anyone suspects that we're, umm…"

  "Sleeping together," he finished calmly.

  Mary felt a blush rise to her cheek. "It'll ruin everything."

  He clenched his jaw. His normally bright eyes darkened and his lips, those lips that smiled so easily and often, thinned.

  She wondered if he would mention that they almost had slept together. She hoped he would not. In fact, she hoped he had already forgotten about last night! Her training was over and now she had to devote every second of her time to finding Elaine's killer. Clint was a distraction she could not afford.

  "No one has to know this door is here, much less that it was opened," Clint said in a lowered voice. "But if you plan to make yourself bait for a sicko, I plan to be close enough to do something about it."

  "I repeat, for the umpteenth time, that I am not setting myself up as bait. I am here to investigate, that is all."

  "Right," he muttered.

  "I don't need you getting underfoot," she said calmly.

  "Underfoot?" he asked, an incredulous lift to his eyebrows.

  "Underfoot."

  "I'm just supposed to sit back and let you offer yourself up to a man who rapes his victims and then cuts them up."

  "Clint! I told you, he's never picked anyone who's worked at the rodeo…"

  "You're blond, you're definitely pretty and you're here. Deny it all you want, but you fit the profile, and if your theory is right, you've put yourself in the sights of a serial killer."

  Mary swallowed hard. "It's not going to come to that."

  "But you don't know for sure…

  "I can handle myself."

  Frustration colored Clint's face and made him look formidable. No endearing lock of hair or casual stance could make him look like the easygoing Clint she knew and … knew.

  "Dammit, Mary, you don't know that you can handle this. You don't know who or what he is. You don't know when or how or if he'll come after you."

  "For now, I'm simply gathering information. It's a perfectly safe assignment."

  And if that didn't work, she had a pair of earrings that were very much like those in the killer's collection. Dangly, ostentatious gold earrings, very unlike the studs she usually wore. She couldn't possibly tell Clint she'd packed those earrings just in case…

  Mary started to close the door, giving it a little push. Clint stopped the motion with a booted foot. "The door stays open."

  "Not on your life, Giggles."

  His jaw tensed. "The door stays open, or I go to Oliver and tell him everything. Everything, Special Agent Paris."

  Her right eyelid twitched. "I could have you arrested for obstruction of justice."

  "Go right ahead."

  "Don't tempt me."

  They stared each other down. If Clint knew the truth, he really would hit the roof. He'd turn on her in a heartbeat and there would be no safe cover from which to study Brisco and the other rodeo regulars. The killer would go under. He'd hide once he knew she was searching for him. She couldn't afford to lose everything she'd worked for because Clint Sinclair had decided to turn macho on her!

  She should thank him, she supposed, for deciding to be so honest last night when they'd both been half naked and he'd been minutes away from being inside her. Something inside her lurched at the memory, and she pushed that reaction deep. Sleeping with him would have been a huge mistake. The hugest. What had she been thinking?

  Oh, yeah, she hadn't been thinking. For the first time in so long she could not remember, she'd been swept away. It had been the night, the meteor shower, the way they kissed.

  Mary closed the door halfway. As she turned around she said, "Come into my room without an invitation and I'll shoot you."

  She expected a smart retort, but Clint said nothing.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  It was clear by the odor in the dirt-packed enclosure that the animals had arrived. Mary wrinkled her nose as she followed Clint through the arena. She didn't want anyone to think that the two of them were anything more than casual friends, but she did need to meet everyone. Clint could make introductions and then back off.

  Unfortunately, Clint Sinclair was no better at "backing off" than she was.

  It was true that she had allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by the attractive, well-mannered, charming cowboy. But now that she was here all distractions had to be put aside. Nothing in this world was as important as finding Elaine's killer. Nothing. Especially not an annoyingly sexy rodeo clown.

  "Clint!" Squeals, in stereo, broke the uneasy silence.

  Clint turned toward the noise and smiled widely as two semidressed girls ran toward him.

  Mary herself did not care for the term girl, when applied to a fully grown woman, but these squealers didn't look to be more than twenty years old.

  Clint gave each girl a big hug while Mary hung back and studied them. Identical twins, they were both dressed in tights. Form-hugging, shiny, full-body electric-blue tights. Both girls had long dark brown hair pulled back into ponytails, and equally dark eyes. They were somehow exotic and girl-next-door wholesome at the same time.

  "Mary." Clint turned to face her. He was sandwiched between the squealers, and had tossed easy arms over their shoulders. "This is Amber," he said, nodding to the girl on his right. "And this is Tiffany."

  How could he tell? She couldn't see any difference at all, not in their faces, their bodies, or in the way they moved.

  "Ladies, this is Mary," he continued. "She'll be joining us for the summer."

  Tiffany's smile faded. "You've never brought a girlfriend with you before."

  At the same time Mary insisted, "I'm not his girlfriend," Clint said, "She's just a friend of my little sister."

  Tiffany got the message
. Her smile grew wide again.

  "The Kirkland twins are trick riders," Clint continued, that awkward moment out of the way.

  Each overly pert girl gave Clint a kiss on the cheek before stepping out of his embrace.

  "Mary's going to be a clown," Clint said.

  The twins stared at her, wide-eyed. They each took their time looking her over. "Not a bullfighter!" one of them said.

  "Nope," Clint muttered.

  "Where's Eugene? Isn't he coming?" one of the twins asked.

  "He'll be here. Mary is just going to work the crowd before the show and during intermission. You know, make balloon animals for the kids. Juggle." His eyes met hers. "Mary Mary Quite Contrary. That's her name."

  "Oh," one of the twins said. "Okay. Well, that's different." The simple comment sounded very much like an insult.

  Clint glanced down at Amber. Or was it Tiffany? Mary was still confused. "Is Sam here yet?"

  Sam. Mary made an effort not to snort. Sam was probably short for Samantha. What was she? Rodeo Queen? Another trick rider?

  "I saw him this morning," one of the twins said.

  Him. Mary felt almost deflated. Since she'd met Clint Sinclair she'd done her best to paint him as a ladies' man, a charmer, a man who had a string of women he led around like the pied piper. And she was always wrong. Always! Still, it just wasn't possible that he was as perfect as he seemed to be. It was … unnatural.

  "If you see Sam around, tell him I'm here and looking for him," Clint said.

  "Sure thing." The bubbly, curvaceous twins waved goodbye and Mary managed a tight smile. The smile did not come easily. Good heavens, was she jealous? Impossible.

  "Sam?" she asked as they walked toward the calf pen.

  "He's the other bullfighter. My partner. He's the best. Next to me, of course."

  Mary shook her head. According to the information she had, the other rodeo clown was named James Grady. She searched her memory, and saw the name in her mind. James Samuel Grady. She was letting her tenuous personal involvement with Clint color her judgment already! She should've made the connection. "Second best, huh?" She managed to snort under her breath. "And he's your friend. You never intended on letting me into the arena, did you?"