by Nora Roberts
"The odds were in my favor," she reminded him. "But I'd have thought of something. Merle, keep an eye on things until I get back."
"Wasting your time."
"Just part of the job."
"If you're wasting your time," Phil began as he stopped her at the door, "why are you taking that gun?"
"It looks so impressive," Tory told him as she walked outside.
"Tory, you're not going out to some sheep ranch with a gun at your hip like some modern-day Belle Starr."
"She was on the wrong side," she reminded him.
"Tory, I mean it!" Infuriated, Phil stepped in front of the car to block her way.
"Look, I said I'd be there in ten minutes; I'm going to have to drive like a maniac as it is."
He didn't budge. "What if there is someone out there?" "That's exactly why I'm going." When she reached for the door handle, he put his hand firmly over hers. "I'm going with you." "Phil, I don't have time." "I'm going."
Narrowing her eyes, she studied his face. There was no arguing with that expression, she concluded.
"Okay, you're temporarily deputized. Get in and do what you're told."
Phil lifted a brow at her tone. The thought of her going out to some secluded ranch with only a gun for company had him swallowing his pride. He slid across to the passenger seat. "Don't I get a badge?" he asked as Tory started the engine.
"Use your imagination," she advised.
Tory's speed was sedate until they reached the town limits. Once the buildings were left behind, Phil watched the climbing speedometer with growing trepidation. Her hands were relaxed and competent on the wheel. The open window caused her hair to fly wildly, but her expression was calm.
She doesn't think there's anything to this, he decided as he watched the scenery whiz by. But if she did, his thoughts continued, she'd be doing exactly the same thing. The knowledge gave him a small thrill of fear.
The neat black holster at her side hid an ugly, very real weapon. She had no business chasing burglars or carrying guns. She had no business taking the remotest chance with her own well-being. He cursed the phone call that had made it all too clear just how potentially dangerous her position in Friendly was. It had been simpler to think of her as a kind of figurehead, a referee for small-town squabbles. The late-night call and the gun changed everything.
"What will you do if you have to use that thing?" he demanded suddenly.
Without turning, Tory knew where his thoughts centered. "I'll deal with that when the time comes."
"When's your term up here?"
Tory took her eyes from the road for a brief two seconds. Phil was looking straight ahead. "Three weeks."
"You're better off in Albuquerque," he muttered. Safer was the word heard but not said. Tory recalled the time a client had nearly strangled her in his cell before the guards had pulled him off. She decided it was best unmentioned. Hardly slackening the car's speed, she took a right turn onto a narrow, rut-filled dirt road. Phil swore as the jolting threw him against the door.
"You should have strapped in," she told him carelessly.
His response was rude and brief.
The tiny ranch house had every light blazing. Tory pulled up in front of it with a quick squeal of brakes.
"Think you missed any?" Phil asked her mildly as he rubbed the shoulder that had collided with the door.
"I'll catch them on the way back." Before he could retort, Tory was out of the car and striding up the porch steps. She knocked briskly, calling out to identify herself. When Phil joined her on the porch, the door opened a crack. "Mr. Potts," she began.
"Who's he?" the old man demanded through the crack in the door.
"New deputy," Tory said glibly. "We'll check the grounds and the outside of the house now."
Potts opened the door a bit more, revealing an ancient, craggy face and a shiny black shotgun. "I heard them in the bushes."
"We'll take care of it, Mr. Potts." She put her hands on the butt of his gun. "Why don't you let me have this for now?"
Unwilling, Potts held firm. "I gotta have protection."
"Yes, but they're not in the house," she reminded him gently. "I could really use this out here."
He hesitated, then slackened his grip. "Both barrels," he told her, then slammed the door. Tory heard the triple locks click into place.
"That is not your average jolly old man," Phil commented.
Tory took the two shells out of the shotgun. "Alone too long," she said simply. "Let's take a look around."
"Go get 'em, big guy."
Tory barely controlled a laugh. "Just keep out of the way, Kincaid."
Whether she considered it a false alarm or not, Phil noted that Tory was very thorough. With the empty shotgun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, she checked every door and window on the dilapidated ranch house. Watching her, he walked into a pile of empty paint cans, sending them clattering. When he swore, Tory turned her head to look at him.
"You move like a cat, Kincaid," she said admiringly.
"The man's got junk piled everywhere," he retorted. "A burglar doesn't have a chance."
Tory smothered a chuckle and moved on. They circled the house, making their way through Potts's obstacle course of old car parts, warped lumber and rusted tools. Satisfied that no one had attempted to break into the house for at least twenty-five years, Tory widened her circle to check the ground.
"Waste of time," Phil muttered, echoing Merle.
"Then let's waste it properly." Tory shone her light on the uneven grass as they continued to walk.
Resigned, Phil kept to her side. There were better ways, he was thinking, to spend a warm summer night.
And the moon was full. Pure white, he observed as he gazed up at it. Cool and full and promising. He wanted to make love to her under it, in the still, hot air with nothing and no one around for miles. The desire came suddenly, intensely, washing over him with a wave of possession that left him baffled.
"Tory," he murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Ssh!"
The order was sharp. He felt her stiffen under his hand. Her eyes were trained on a dry, dying bush directly in front of them. Even as he opened his mouth to say something impatient, Phil saw the movement. His fingers tightened on Tory's shoulder as he automatically stepped forward. The protective gesture was instinctive, and so natural neither of them noticed it. He never thought: This is my woman, and I'll do anything to keep her from harm;
he simply reacted. With his body as a shield for hers, they watched the bush in silence.
There was a slight sound, hardly a whisper on the air, but Tory felt the back of her neck prickle. The dry leaves of the bush cracked quietly with some movement. She reached in her pocket for the two shells, then reloaded the shotgun. The moonlight bounced off the oiled metal. Her hands were rock steady. Phil was poised, ready to lunge as Tory aimed the gun at the moon and fired both barrels. The sound split the silence like an axe.
With a terrified bleat, the sheep that had been grazing lazily behind the bush scrambled for safety. Without a word Phil and Tory watched the dirty white blob run wildly into the night.
"Another desperate criminal on the run from the law," Tory said dryly.
Phil burst into relieved laughter. He felt each separate muscle in his body relax. "I'd say 'on the lamb.'"
"I was hoping you wouldn't." Because the hand holding the gun was shaking, Tory lowered it to her side.
She swallowed; her throat was dry. "Well, let's go tell Potts his home and hearth are safe. Then we can go have that drink."
Phil laid his hands on her shoulders, looking down on her face in the moonlight. "Are you all right?"
"Sure."
"You're trembling."
"That's you," she countered, smiling at him. Phil slid his hand down to her wrist to feel the race of her pulse. "Scared the hell out of you," he said softly.
Tory's eyes didn't waver. "Yeah." She was able to smile again, this time with more
feeling. "How about you?"
"Me too." Laughing, he gave her a light kiss. "I'm not going to need that badge after all." And I'm not going to feel safe, he added silently, until you take yours off for the last time.
"Oh, I don't know, Kincaid." Tory led the way back with the beam of her flashlight. ' 'First night on the job and you flushed out a sheep."
"Just give the crazy old man his gun and let's get out of here."
It took ten minutes of Tory's diplomacy to convince Potts that everything was under control. Mollified more by the fact that Tory had used his gun than the information that his intruder was one of his own flock, he locked himself in again. After contacting Merle on the radio, she headed back to town at an easy speed.
"I guess I could consider this a fitting climax to my sojourn to Friendly," Phil commented. "Danger and excitement on the last night in town."
Tory's fingers tightened on the wheel, but she managed to keep the speed steady. "You're leaving tomorrow."
He listened for regret in the statement but heard none. Striving to match her tone, he continued to stare out the window. "We finished up tonight, a day ahead of schedule. I'll head out with the film crew tomorrow. I want to be there when Huffman sees the film."
"Of course." The pain rammed into her, dazzlingly physical. It took concentrated control to keep from moaning with it. "You've still quite a lot of work to do before it's finished, I suppose."
"The studio scenes," he agreed, struggling to ignore twin feelings of panic and desolation. "The editing, the mixing...I guess your schedule's going to be pretty tight when you get back to Albuquerque."
"It looks that way." Tory stared at the beams of the headlights. A long straight road, no curves, no hills. No end. She bit the inside of her lip hard before she trusted herself to continue. "I'm thinking about hiring a new law clerk."
"That's probably a good idea." He told himself that the crawling emptiness in his stomach was due to a lack of food. "I don't imagine your case load's going to get any smaller."
' 'No, it should take me six months of concentrated work to get it under control again. You'll probably start on a new film the minute this one's finished."
"It's being cast now," he murmured. "I'm going to produce it, too."
Tory smiled. "No guarantors?"
Phil answered the smile. "We'll see."
They drove for another half mile in silence. Slowing down, Tory pulled off onto a small dirt road and stopped. Phil took a quick glance around at nothing in particular, then turned to her. "What are we doing?"
"Parking." She scooted from under the steering wheel, winding her arms around his neck.
"Isn't there some legality about using an official car for illicit purposes?" His mouth was already seeking hers, craving.
"I'll pay the fine in the morning." She silenced his chuckle with a deep, desperate kiss.
As if by mutual consent, they went slowly. All pleasure, all desire, was concentrated in tastes. Lips, teeth and tongues brought shuddering arousal, urging them to hurry. But they would satisfy needs with mouths only first. Her lips were silkily yielding even as they met and increased his demand. Wild, crazy desires whipped through him, but her mouth held him prisoner. He touched her nowhere else. This taste—spiced honey, this texture—heated satin—would live with him always.
Tory let her lips roam his face. She knew each crease, each angle, each slope, more intimately than she knew her own features. With her eyes closed she could see him perfectly, and knew she had only to close her eyes again, in a year, in ten years, to have the same vivid picture. The skin on his neck was damp, making the flavor intensify as her tongue glided over it. Without thinking, she ran her fingers down his shirt, nimbly loosening buttons. When his chest was vulnerable, she spread both palms over it to feel his quick shudder. Then she brought her mouth, lazily, invitingly, back to his.
Her fingertips sent a path of ice, a path of fire, over his naked skin. Her mouth was drawing him in until his head swam. His labored breathing whispered on the night air. Wanting her closer, he shifted, cursed the cramped confines of the car, then dragged her across his lap. Lifting her to him, he buried his face against the side of her neck.
He fed there, starving for her until she moaned and brought his hand to rest on her breast. With torturous slowness he undid the series of buttons, allowing his fingertips to trail along her skin as it was painstakingly exposed. He let the tips of his fingers bring her to desperation.
The insistent brush of his thumb over the point of her breast released a shaft of exquisite pain so sharp, she cried out with it, dragging him closer. Open and hungry, her mouth fixed on his while she fretted to touch more of him. Their position made it impossible, but her body was his. He ran his hands over it, feeling her skin jump as he roamed to the waistband of her jeans. Loosening them, he slid his hand down to warm, moist secrets. His mouth crushed hers as he drank in her moan.
Tory struggled, maddened by the restrictions, wild with desire, as his fingers aroused her beyond belief. He kept her trapped against him, knowing once she touched him that his control would shatter. This night, he thought, this final night, would last until there was no tomorrow.
When she crested, he rose with her, half delirious. No woman was so soft, no woman was so responsive.
His heart pounded, one separate pain after another, as he drove her up again.
Her struggles ceased. Compliance replaced them. Tory lay shuddering in a cocoon of unrivaled sensations.
She was his. Though her mind was unaware of the total gift of self, her body knew. She'd been his, perhaps from the first, perhaps only for that moment, but there would never be any turning back. Love swamped her; desire sated her.
There was nothing left but the need to possess, to be possessed, by one man. In that instant she conceded her privacy.
The change in her had something racing through him. Phil couldn't question, couldn't analyze. He knew only that they must come together now—now, while there was something magic shimmering. It had nothing to do with the moonlight beaming into the car or the eerie silence surrounding them. It concerned only them and the secret that had grown despite protests. He didn't think, he didn't deny. With a sudden madness he tugged on her clothes and his own. Speed was foremost in his mind. He had to hurry before whatever trembled in the tiny confines was lost. Then her body was beneath his, fused to his, eager, asking.
He took her on the seat of the car like a passionate teenager. He felt like a man who had been given something precious, and as yet unrecognizable.
Chapter 12
A long sleepy time. Moonlight on the back of closed lids...night air over naked skin. The deep, deep silence of solitude by the whispering breathing of intimacy.
Tory floated in that luxurious plane between sleep and wakefulness—on her side, on the narrow front seat, with her body fitted closely against Phil's. Their legs were tangled, their arms around each other, as much for support as need. With his mouth near her ear, his warm breath skipped along her skin.
There were two marginally comfortable beds back at the hotel. They could have chosen either of them for their last night together, but they had stayed where they were, on a rough vinyl seat, on a dark road, as the night grew older. There they were alone completely. Morning still seemed very far away.
A hawk cried out as it drove toward earth. Some small animal screamed in the brush. Tory's lids fluttered up to find Phil's eyes open and on hers. In the moonlight his irises were very pale. Needing no words, perhaps wanting none, Tory lifted her mouth to his. They made love again, quietly, slowly, with more tenderness than either was accustomed to.
So they dozed again, unwilling to admit that the night was slipping away from them. When Tory awoke, there was a faint lessening in the darkness—not light, but the texture that meant morning was close.
A few more hours, she thought, gazing at the sky through the far window as she lay beside him. When the sun came up, it would be over. Now his body was warm against
hers. He slept lightly, she knew. She had only to shift or murmur his name and he would awaken. She remained still. For a few more precious moments she wanted the simple unity that came from having him sleep at her side. There would be no stopping the sun from rising in the east—or stopping her lover from going west. It was up to her to accept the second as easily as she accepted the first. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to be strong. Phil stirred, dreaming.
He walked through his house in the hills, purposely, from room to room, looking, searching, for what was vague to him; but time after time he turned away, frustrated. Room after room after room. Everything was familiar: the colors, the furniture, even small personal objects that identified his home, his belongings.
Something was missing. Stolen, lost? The house echoed emptily around him as he continued to search for something vital and unknown. The emotions of the man in the dream communicated themselves to the man dreaming. He felt the helplessness, the anger and the panic.
Hearing him murmur her name, Tory shifted yet closer. Phil shot awake, disoriented. The dream slipped into some corner of his mind that he couldn't reach.
"It's nearly morning," she said quietly.
A bit dazed, struggling to remember what he had dreamed that had left him feeling so empty, Phil looked at the sky. It was lightening. The first pale pinks bloomed at the horizon. For a moment they watched in silence as the day crept closer, stealing their night.
"Make love to me again," Tory whispered. "Once more, before morning."
He could see the quiet need in her eyes, the dark smudges beneath that told of patchy sleep, the soft glow that spoke clearly of a night of loving. He held the picture in his mind a moment, wanting to be certain he wouldn't lose it when time had dimmed other memories. He lowered his mouth to hers in bittersweet goodbye.
The sky paled to blue. The horizon erupted with color. The gold grew molten and scarlet bled into it as dawn came up. They loved intensely one final time. As morning came they lost themselves in each other, pretending it was still night. Where he touched, she trembled. Where she kissed, his skin hummed until they could no longer deny the need. The sun had full claim when they came together, so that the light streamed without mercy. Saying little, they dressed, then drove back to town.