A burnished ball of fire, the sun quickly sank below the horizon, green-black vegetation growing along the far opposite bank of the Mississippi. Swirls of color skated along the moving waters which lapped at myriad foliage-covered sandbars. A picture-perfect setting.
The breeze kicked up from the river and Roz shivered. “Goose bumps." She rubbed her arms. “I could use a walk to stay warm."
Though Skelly welcomed the cool night after the heat of the day. He glanced down at Roz's foot. “Tempting fate?"
"A short walk," she clarified, “to someplace private. Besides, this time, I taped up my ankle for support."
Passing a group of oldsters jabbering about their wins and losses on the river boat, they descended the stairs to the first of several landings. An abbreviated wood-chip path led only as far as a fenced cul-de-sac that held several benches...one of which was occupied by a pair of lovers locked in each other's arms.
Immediately envisioning Roz in his arms, Skelly wondered what she'd do if he kissed her again.
The fantasy tortured him. He knew he should leave her be until this hunt for a murderer was finished, not because he had anything against mixing business and pleasure, but because he was holding back.
She wouldn't want to hear that Noah had lied, that he suspected the old man could have been in Galena to get rid of his supposed rival. Voicing his suspicions now would not only hurt Roz but put immediate distance between them. And he could only imagine how she would feel later if he pointed a finger at her grandfather.
"Feeling adventurous?" he asked her, indicating the natural path that he'd noticed earlier.
"Looks safe enough. Sure."
Skelly climbed through the rails of the fence and offered her a helping hand. At contact, his senses flared, and he was certain Roz felt the connection, too. Like a scared rabbit, though, she scrambled to the other side.
Dusk surrounded them as they started off, but the sky was clear and filled with swirls of stars that would grow brighter as the sky darkened to night.
Rather than letting go of her, he wrapped an arm lightly around her shoulders.
Rather than pulling free, she leaned into him.
Making Skelly want to forget about everything but a growing certainty that only Roz could fulfill Moira's legacy.
"I HOPE WE'RE NOT WASTING our time," Rosalind said as they put distance between them and the lodge. “What if we wait for Cavillo for nothing?"
"Then we come back tomorrow. Besides, I don't know what else we can do at the moment. I was counting on his giving me some new leads."
Skelly's determined tone was gratifying. No doubt about it, he was committed to smoke out the real murderer. Rosalind figured finding the diary had reinforced his commitment. Learning that Lily and Sullivan hadn't been lovers had eliminated her motivation for killing him.
Now if only they could figure out why her grandmother was upset with Sullivan.
What had the politician been up to? Maybe she'd better read the diary in more detail when she got home. If only she could figure it out, Rosalind was sure they'd have the motive for his murder.
"We are at a standstill," she admitted, appreciating Skelly's experience at digging for the truth. “The only suspects we have so far are Diane and Perry Nesmith."
She looked to Skelly for an affirmation. When he said nothing, her stomach knotted. Surely he couldn't suspect anyone close to her. Even as she formed the denial, she thought about the way her grandfather and aunt had been acting. About her mother showing up unannounced.
Pushing those ugly misgivings away, she said, “We have lots of bits and pieces of information with no way of sorting them out."
"Give it time. We keep talking to people and the information will sort itself out."
Skelly's promise made her feel a bit better. “I'm sure you're correct, though I feel as if I've led you on a wild goose chase."
"You don't hear me complaining."
"Not at the moment." Increasingly amazed by the turn their contentious partnership had taken, she murmured, “Funny how things change."
"As in?"
"You, for one. I thought I would throttle you before you agreed to investigate Sullivan's murder for yourself.“
"And I thought you would throttle me when I coerced you into working with me."
"I knew you wouldn't do a thing if I didn't agree. Honest,” she added, “I, uh, suspected you had designs on me."
"I did." His fingers tightened on the soft flesh below her shoulder. “I still do."
The intensity of his statement shook her, as did his expression. He was looking at her as if...
"But you're doing serious work here," she said, a lump in her throat. “That can't be merely to impress me."
"Truth is, I feel like a real investigative reporter again."
"Again?"
"I didn't start out wanting to sensationalize the news. Not that I have a problem with what I do for a living," he assured her. “I do have ethics, and I put in an honest day's work like the next guy."
"What did you want to do?"
"Actually, as a kid, I thought I'd be a different kind of writer altogether," he admitted. “I used to make up stories, tell them to my friends.“
"Even now, you have a flare for storytelling," she noted dryly, thinking of the fables he'd spun for her over the past few days.
Skelly grinned down at her, his dark hair fluttering in the breeze, his too-handsome face washed by moonlight. His appeal never stronger, Rosalind couldn't resist succumbing. Her pulse fluttered and her knees felt weak. If she were the kind of woman who swooned...
A loud pop was followed by a spray of color across the sky. River Bluff's fireworks had begun. Skelly removed his arm from her back, took her hand and pulled her toward a grassy area in the midst of a thicket.
"Looks comfortable enough." He dropped to the ground and gave her arm a tug so she joined him.
"I see." She gave him a knowing look. “You're the one who's done too much walking today."
On the way over to the resort, Skelly had informed her of his visit with Orville Galt. He'd used her hurt foot as his excuse for not sharing his plans beforehand. He'd feared she'd insist on coming along when she needed to take it easy. He was probably right.
Rosalind had been heartened to learn the retired sheriff doubted her grandmother's confession. And she'd been outraged that he hadn't had the gumption to speak up about the blood issue if nothing else.
Thinking about the unfairness of what her family had suffered made her tremble.
"Actually, I thought we could watch the fireworks." Skelly scooted closer so they were shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip. “Warm?"
"Plenty." Heat seeped through her everywhere they touched. Savoring the delicious sensation without knowing what she wanted to do about it, she asked, “Where were we?" as golden stars sprayed across the night sky. His intense gaze leaving her no doubt as to what he wanted, she swallowed hard and clarified, “You were saying something about the kind of writer you hoped to be."
"Oh, right." He sighed. “By the time I got to high school, I had dreams of writing short stories and novels for a living, spinning tales that would touch people. Keelin says I inherited my storytelling ability from our grandmother."
She knew about the Irish cousin who'd inherited her mysterious extrasensory sight from Moira McKenna. Somehow, Rosalind was reassured that Skelly had one of his grandmother's more down-to-earth qualities.
"I might have given fiction writing a serious chance...if I'd had any encouragement."
"So your father disapproved of your ambitions."
"Good guess. He convinced me fiction writing was impractical, that I could never make a living at it. I always tried so hard to please him...”
Even as she had tried in vain to please her own mother, Rosalind thought, empathizing. She shifted and rested more fully against Skelly, enjoying the columns of white shooting high above the river, followed by whining rockets and tiny bursts of additional light. When her hair brushed
his cheek, he turned his head, his breath drifting down her neck. Savoring the sensation, she let her eyes flutter closed for a moment.
"I compromised and worked at a degree in journalism," he continued softly. “Then, for several years, I was employed by what even you would consider a legitimate newspaper. I worked the inner city on the crime beat, sometimes undercover. I made a bare bones living when I deserved combat pay."
"So you changed jobs for more money," she said, hoping she didn't sound disapproving. She wanted in the worst way to understand him.
"The choice wasn't mine. A story about a drug operation that I'd been working on for months went belly up. Given my not-too-cooperative attitude when I got a bone between my teeth, my editor decided that it was my fault. That I'd blown it. So he fired me. And writing for a tabloid was the only job I could find. I told myself I would only do it until I could get back into the mainstream."
"Did you ever try?"
"I found I was good at tabloid news. I was successful. Money can be seductive if you haven't had a lot," he admitted. “Not to mention how satisfying being in the spotlight can be. When opportunity knocked, I jumped at the chance to be an investigative reporter for a televised tabloid that's now defunct. That led to the anchor desk on The Whole Story. Not only did my current job put me in another tax bracket, but it was safe. No more pavement pounding. No more rubbing shoulders with the criminal element."
"Until now."
He ignored her reminder, saying, “The change felt good at first. I didn't realize how quickly safe could get old."
His confiding in her made Rosalind feel closer to Skelly. “You can always make a move in another direction if that's what you really want."
"I've certainly been thinking about it a lot lately," he admitted. “Would you respect me if I went legit?"
She glanced at him and was surprised by his perfectly sober expression. “I respect you now, Skelly." Staring at his profile limned by a bloom of sparkling red, she realized it was true. “You didn't have to help me. You could have told me never to darken your doorstep again. But you didn't. You agreed to look into my claim, unfounded as it might have been. Giving up your holiday and putting yourself out for something you didn't believe was pretty selfless."
He was staring straight out at the river, his jaw muscles clenched. “I only wish that were true."
She cupped his chin and turned his head so he was looking at her. “Maybe you took the challenge I offered because you needed to prove something to yourself. Whatever your motive, I don't care."
Skelly started to say something, then shook his head and remained silent. Rosalind examined his face lit by the layered colors of a series of fireworks. His expression mirrored his quandary. She couldn't decide which was the stronger of his warring emotions – hope or regret – but she had no doubt of the clear-cut desire that shone from his eyes.
An insistent inner voice warned her that she shouldn't succumb. Keep your mind on business!
"Oh, do be quiet," she murmured.
"I didn't say anything."
"Not you."
Though his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, his gaze continued to hold her fast, and Rosalind braved a discomfiting truth.
Respect wasn't the only thing she felt for Skelly.
She wouldn't put a name to the longing that filled her. Neither would she beat it away by trying to control this connection growing between them...nor by trying to control him. She was weary of being too careful. And alone. And no matter her logic, no matter the cursed gene she imagined the women of her family had been bequeathed, she didn't feel alone with Skelly.
He drew closer. Unflinching, she sighed and parted her lips in invitation.
One he answered.
The first brush of his mouth across hers was light, undemanding, as if he were allowing her a chance to change her mind. Her fingers grazed his chin, slid around his jaw and stroked the length of his neck. He sucked in his breath and kissed her properly, if not with the same intensity he'd shown the last time.
Skelly's holding himself in check frustrated Rosalind. Thinking she'd entice him into showing a bit more enthusiasm, she playfully nipped his bottom lip and drew back so that he had to come after her. The maneuver gave him leverage, and before she knew what was happening, his weight shifted and pressed her to the ground. Grass prickled her bare arms as he lay half atop her, one hand tangling in her hair.
Another kiss, this one deeper.
He assaulted her senses every bit as sharply as the bright heat that lit the night sky.
The inside of his mouth tasted as sweet as any forbidden fruit. She inhaled his earthy, provocative scent. The low sounds he made deep in his throat struck a responsive chord inside her. And when he traced her curves ...hip to waist to belly...her flesh vibrated with expectancy. Eyes closed, she could nevertheless see them.
Together.
A growing ache filled her and clamored for attention. An agonizing eternity passed before he so much as palmed her breast. Immediately, her nipple tightened and her flesh swelled against his hand. The need for further intimacy made her restless and bold.
She explored him in the opposite direction...waist to hip to buttocks. Probing further, she stroked him so that he filled her hand.
But before they could be swept away to another dimension where they'd be at one with the fleeting colors that laved them with their hot brilliance, Skelly rolled to his back, taking her with him.
"You are beautiful, Roz," he whispered looking up at her, “and not only on the surface."
A compliment no man, not even Tim, had ever paid her. Touched, Rosalind experienced a rush of warmth and pleasure foreign to her.
"Maybe you bring out the best in me."
He laughed softly. “Mostly, I irritate you."
"That, as well," she admitted.
"You stimulate me, too."
Skelly shifted and rolled again. Laughing softly, she landed under him, their bodies sharing a more intimate connection. Even through double layers of clothing, Rosalind acknowledged his arousal against the inside of her thigh. Her response natural and spontaneous, she arched against him, a hiss of desire whistling through her teeth as a series of rockets burst behind him in increasing crescendo.
"What are we going to do about this?" she asked.
Sounding every bit as breathless, he teased, “Why, Miz Van Straaten, we are in a public place."
To emphasize his statement, a long series of blasts issued from the river.
"The River Star..."
The fireworks had ended and the floating casino was pulling into the dock. She couldn't believe such lousy timing. Not that they would have consummated their passion right there. But at least they could have shared their feelings about doing so at a more appropriate time.
Instead, Skelly was shifting away from her, his attention already refocused. “It's docking now."
The river boat left its berth every hour and a half, the short sessions designed for people who gambled on a limited budget. Nothing as unprofitable as passengers whose gaming allotment had already gone bust, Rosalind thought sardonically, rising also. She swiped at the bits of grass that clung to her bottom and for the moment appreciated the draft that cooled down her heated flesh.
"If Cavillo did board the River Star," she said, “he'll be back at the lodge soon."
"And we can be waiting for him."
They retraced their steps along the pathway and soon had a clear view of the stairs leading to the dock. Swarms of people were descending, and by the time they reached the area, swarms more would be making their way up to the lodge. In fighting the crowd, they might miss the very man they meant to confront.
"Maybe we'd better watch for a shortcut," she suggested, hoping for a feasible route to the walkway above.
"The slant softens ahead."
Giving the vicinity Skelly indicated a once over – they'd have to get past some pretty rocky places – she muttered, “Great trail for Big Foot."
The
going was a lot easier than Rosalind feared, however, and Skelly helped her over the few tough spots.
An unexpected sound overhead, like the spray of pebbles beneath a careless foot, made her pause a moment. The skin along her neck crawled. Unable to ignore the creepy feeling of hostile eyes on her, she scanned their surroundings, but a cloud cover was settling over the night sky, methodically blotting out the moon and stars. Even so, she recognized the towering silhouettes of black-on-black as being trees.
The air around her suddenly kicked up and a chill whistled down her blouse. The wind, she realized with relief, rushing to catch up to Skelly.
Nothing more sinister.
A moment later, they climbed through the fence onto the walkway and stopped to catch their breaths.
"Just in time," Skelly said.
She followed his gaze. Disembarked passengers were already halfway up the lit staircase. “Do you see anyone who could be Cavillo?"
"Too far away to recognize him. Let's see if we can find him up close and personal."
But out in the open, the wind had turned insistent and the temperature had dropped several degrees. The air hung heavy with the threat of rain. And despite the exertion she'd put out, Rosalind was chilly. Gooseflesh spread along her bare arms as had happened earlier.
"Skelly, you go ahead." She easily located the Thunderbird beneath the light standard. “I'm going to fetch a sweater from the trunk."
"I can wait."
"And let Cavillo give us the slip? Don't be silly. I'll catch up to you."
After a second's hesitation, Skelly headed for the lodge at a trot. Rosalind veered in the opposite direction.
Trying to ignore the lingering notion that hostile eyes were following her.
EVEN FROM A DISTANCE, Rosalind's trepidation was evident from the way she kept glancing over her shoulder while cutting across the parking lot. Too bad she wasn't scared enough to run all the way to Chicago and never look back.
Her taking on a burden that didn't belong to her had been her big mistake. Foolish, foolish young woman. What had to be done was repugnant, yet her determination to get at the truth left no options.
The McKenna Legacy Trilogy Page 33