Heart thumping unevenly in his mouth, Marsh swallowed and turned her onto her back, lifted her top and traced the pale jagged lines that ran from just below her collarbone to her navel. One sliced the edge of her nipple, furrowing its edge. Desire surged within him at the sight of small pert breasts and a lean soft tummy, but he ignored it, concentrating on something more important. Six scars ran the length of her torso, in long straight lines. Smaller ones flashed across her skin, pearly white in the bright light.
Jesus. He sat stunned and it took a moment to realize the pounding in his ears was blood blasting through him like a juggernaut down a ravine.
He’d forgotten about the report. Forgotten about the fact she’d been knifed, almost to death, as a kid.
Son of a fucking bitch. And he’d wondered why she was so bitter and angry. Pulling her shirt down, he covered her up and smoothed the material at the edges.
How could anyone do that to a small, defenseless child?
If he ever got hold of the bastard... But he wouldn’t. Life was never that neat and tidy.
Marsh looked at her sleeping form and shut off the guilt and anger that hummed within him. He rolled her onto her front where she flopped like a giant rag doll. Trying not to think about the violation, he pulled up her vest, picked up the syringe and inserted the tiny transmitter, subcutaneously, just below her shoulder blade.
There was no time for sentiment. Neither woman would applaud his methods, but he wasn’t looking for thanks. Standing back on his heels, he gazed down at her. She would hate him if she found out what he’d done, but he’d deal with that. If he had any hope of keeping Elizabeth and Josephine alive, he didn’t have a choice.
****
Eliza stood on the porch with two hands wrapped firmly around a mug of hot coffee. She’d pulled on a pair of baggy sweats under her nightshirt and was wrapped up in her bathrobe. She was watching a bizarre scene play itself out in the yard. Blue and a couple of other ranch dogs were rounding up a bunch of stray cows that had somehow managed to get into Rose’s garden. Rose ran around, waving a tea towel like a red flag. But, most incredible of all, two kittens had joined in the chase and cornered a large cow against the back fence.
Despite her sour mood, Eliza couldn’t help grinning. The kittens thought they were tigers, not half-pound bags of bones. Snarling, sharp-clawed bundles of fur, they hissed and spat until the cow dived for the gate and ran back into the meadow. Eliza laughed out loud and Rose noticed her for the first time.
The older woman wasn’t long out of hospital. She must have spotted the cattle from her bedroom window and rushed out to defend her precious flowers that were just starting to sprout. She wore a navy bathrobe over flannel pajamas, bare feet stuck into heavy work boots. Iron-gray hair flew haphazardly around her face, softening the heavy wrinkles carved into her narrow mouth and wide forehead.
Rose waved her over and, reluctant to disobey a direct command from the matriarch of the Sullivan family, Elizabeth grudgingly went.
“They breed them fierce around here,” Elizabeth said, pointing to the kittens with her coffee mug. She clutched it like a shield, wary of the older woman’s regard.
Rose gave a husky laugh as she slammed the gate behind the cows. “They do that,” she agreed.
Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her robe more tightly around her shoulders. It was cold out here in the open with the wind blowing.
A ruddy glow spread across Rose’s cheeks, emphasizing her otherwise pale complexion. Rose grimaced as if in pain and took time to catch her breath. Elizabeth put a hand on the older woman’s arm, but Rose patted it away with a half smile.
Eliza wondered where Nat was. She’d wondered where he was all last night. In fact she’d lain awake for hours, expecting him to turn up at her door and take her up on her offer of ‘no-strings’ sex, half dreading it, half desperate to get it over with.
He never came.
She’d given him a massive green light yesterday, but obviously he’d reconsidered.
“The boys spent last night foaling another mare,” Rose said, reading her mind. She folded the tea towel neatly into quarters and slapped it against her thigh.
Elizabeth spun towards the older woman. “Was everything all right?” she asked. Her sense of liberation was tempered by the grisly memory of Banner’s carved-up body.
“Yeah.” Rose nodded towards the stables where Nat and Cal appeared out of the gloom, grimy and rumpled, but both smiling.
Eliza caught Nat’s gaze, and even at this distance, the air sizzled.
Rose obviously felt it too. The woman’s expression turned pensive, her lips drooped down at the corners. “Worst thing about dying is leaving your babies behind.” She followed Elizabeth’s gaze back to Nat.
Elizabeth looked at her sharply. “Are you dying?”
“Yeah,” Rose nodded. “Yeah, I am.” The old woman pulled her stooped shoulders straighter, slapped the tea towel rhythmically against her thigh.
Elizabeth watched Nat walk slowly toward where they stood on the other woman’s frost-burned lawn.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured to Rose, noting the gray pallor that permeated her skin, knowing her sorrow was wasted—Rose wasn’t telling her this to gain her sympathy.
“It’d be nice to see at least one of my babies settled,” Rose said with a gleam in her eye. “I know he’s got his eye on you and my Nat is mighty picky.”
“It isn’t like that,” Elizabeth stated, blushing at the same time. She could hardly tell Rose they were only interested in sex—not marriage and babies.
“Don’t break his heart, ya hear,” Rose muttered fiercely under her breath.
Elizabeth watched Nat move. His long legs covered the ground with an easy stride, broad shoulders strong and sure, blue eyes dazzling. Her breath caught. She didn’t want to break his heart.
“We don’t always get to make the choices we want.” Elizabeth matched Rose’s quiet tone.
Rose laughed and tapped her chest before Nat was close enough to hear, though he eyed them nervously. “You don’t have to tell me that, girl, I know. But if you hurt him, I’ll come back and haunt you all the way to New York City.”
Elizabeth smiled the way Rose had meant her to, but sorrow tugged at her heart. Staying wasn’t an option.
“I’m going to put on breakfast.” Rose called to the dogs and kittens and headed into the ranch house at a brisk walk. “Come on in when you’re ready.”
Elizabeth nodded, emptied the dregs of her coffee onto the flowerbed and held Nat’s gaze as he approached. She’d spent half of last night scared to death that he was going to turn up and the other half pissed because he hadn’t. She wasn’t backing down now and she wasn’t running away—not anymore.
He had on the same clothes as yesterday and he stopped an arms’ length away from her, resting his hands on his hips. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal strong forearms, roped with lean muscle and covered with warm, tanned skin. She wrinkled her nose. He smelled musty and sweaty from the work he’d done, looked tired as he stood watching at her.
Elizabeth took a half step toward him, but he held up his hand, palm outstretched to stop her from touching him.
“I’m in dire need of a shower, Eliza,” he warned. “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you—”
Elizabeth caught his hand in hers and reached up and pressed her lips to his mouth. She muffled his half-hearted sound of protest and wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing as she kissed him for all she was worth. Nat gave up the fight, folded his arms around her waist and pinned her to his chest. He molded her body to the length of his with firm strokes of strong hands, lifted her up off the ground in an effort to get even closer.
Eliza’s head spun from the sensations that bombarded her. His mouth claimed hers with a passion that felt both fiery and tempered. Restrained—like a volcano.
It was heady to realize she could do this to him. His mouth was wild and gentle and as sweet as spring water. She ran h
er fingers through his silky hair, cradled the back of his head and gave her lips free rein across his rough jaw. He shuddered and closed his eyes. She raised her head, traced the crease that lined his forehead and placed a small kiss at the edge of his mouth.
She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked down into his eyes as he held her aloft.
A shrill whistle blasted the air, breaking the moment and the illusion that they were alone. Nat grinned and threw Ryan a one-fingered salute as he lowered Elizabeth back down on the ground.
“Well,” Nat leaned back on his heels, still holding her shoulders in a loose grip, “good morning to you, too.”
Elizabeth tried to pull away, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just...” Time didn’t permit wasting a moment. “I wanted to do that all night and well...”
Nat laughed, held onto her and kissed her again. “Yeah, apologize, why don’t you? Like that wasn’t the best damned kiss I’ve ever had.”
Warmth spread from her toes to her hairline, leaving a telltale blush that heated her cheeks. Desire skittered below the surface of her skin, reminding her she was a flesh and blood human being, not a husk of womanhood that Andrew DeLattio had chewed up and spat out.
Dawn rays glinted off Nat’s hair as he squinted down at her. He seemed to have understood her swift change of mood and his eyes turned serious, full of patient concern.
She knew the difference between sex and violence, knew the difference between force and desire. But she didn’t know if her mind was strong enough to cope with making love, or if she would freak when push came to shove.
“We have to talk.” Eliza stepped out from his embrace and wrapped her arms across her chest. She might not be able to tell Nat the full details of what had happened to her, but he deserved the basics. She owed him that before things went any further between them.
Nat nodded, looked at the ground for a moment as if reluctant to meet her gaze. “Yeah.”
“Tonight,” Elizabeth squared her shoulders and forced a smile. Telling Nat what had happened to her was not going to be easy, but she was determined. It was way past time.
“Tonight,” he agreed. He reached out a hand and stroked a finger down her bottom lip and along her chin and then tapped her nose lightly.
A sound caught her attention. She saw a car behind Nat’s shoulder, just cresting the rise to the rear of the ranch house. She turned, her fingers automatically reaching for her pistol, only to come up against the soft toweling of her robe. No holster. No Glock. Stupid.
“You’ve got company,” she said, her voice, hard and low.
Nat turned and cursed. “Sheriff Talbot. What the hell does he want?”
****
An hour later, instead of wrapped up in the arms of a handsome cowboy, she sat opposite a local law enforcement officer, Sheriff Scott Talbot, in the Sullivans’ den. She’d showered and dressed as slowly as she could, hoping to avoid the man, but it turned out he’d come to interview her—about her little brawl down at the Screw Loose.
Somebody had made a complaint.
Just thinking about Marsh’s reaction to that fiasco made her squirm. Her boss was a perfectionist and expected the best from his agents, but she wasn’t his agent anymore, she reminded herself—she was on her own now.
Sipping hot sweet tea from a bone china mug, she controlled her irritation.
In his forties, with a florid complexion and a belly that strained over the thick belt of his washed-out khaki trousers, Sheriff Talbot had black hair liberally sprinkled with gray and light brown eyes that turned golden in the sunshine. Shorter than Elizabeth by a head, he wore his revolver on his hip like a man with a Napoleon complex.
Elizabeth ground her teeth in order to stop herself from finishing his sentences. And he took notes like a schoolboy, long torturous notes that had her repeating herself a hundred times. If she’d been working with him, she would have pointed out the advantages of a digital voice-recorder, but it wasn’t her problem.
Feck.
“So you’re from New York City, Miss Reed?”
That was the third time he’d asked her that question and she itched with the desire to call him on it, but at least she wasn’t feeling like a victim. She was totally pissed.
“That’s right, Sheriff,” she replied with a smile, unconsciously flexing her fists. “Need me to spell it for you?”
He hesitated, looked up from his notes.
“Well ma’am,” there it was again, that long pause for no earthly reason, “I can see why these questions might seem like a waste of time to you, but...” he paused for another long breath and she held back a groan, “...that’s just the way we work around here.” He smiled at her, almost in slow motion.
She held his gaze and forced herself to smile back while he jotted something down in his little book. She craned her head, desperately wanting to see what he wrote.
“You got an address for me, ma’am?”
A false one on Staten Island rolled off her tongue. She released a pent-up breath and placed her cup carefully on the coffee table. Mistake number one. Like a nervous suspect she’d blown it.
She got up and began to pace.
Didn’t matter that she’d told him what had happened three times already. He just kept on at her like a damned...cop.
“You sure you handled those boys all by yourself?” Talbot scratched his head with his pen. “I mean we’ve got a report of a broken nose, broken fingers, concussion, dislocated shoulder—you did all that?”
Was he going to press charges? Then suddenly she saw it—he wasn’t out to get her. He was after Cal, or Nat. Eyes narrowing, she stared him down. He’d figured she wasn’t capable of taking on a couple of goons and she was taking the rap to keep Cal out of prison.
“Is Cal Landon still on parole?” Eliza enquired, her voice as hard as flint.
Sheriff shook his head slowly. “No, ma’am.”
“You should be asking those bastards why they attacked an innocent man minding his business in a bar.”
“Now, I wouldn’t exactly call Cal Landon an innocent—” the sheriff broke in with a chuckle.
“And you can ask all those so called witnesses why they did nothing to help a man who could have been beaten to death.”
Small town justice sucked.
The justice system sucked, period.
The sheriff seemed unfazed by her anger. He offered her a piece of gum before he popped a piece into his own chubby mouth. “You wanna make a complaint, Miss Reed?”
“This is your town, Sheriff. You deal with it.” Heat burned along her cheekbones and she compressed her lips angrily.
Tilting his head to one side he appeared to consider her answer before nodding. “That’s right, ma’am, something you’d do well to remember yourself.” His tone went stiff for a moment, just long enough for Elizabeth to reassess Sheriff Talbot’s tedious probing.
They held each other’s gaze for two interminable seconds before she conceded the point with a cheerless nod.
“You’re staying at the Triple H for another couple of weeks, right?” he asked, getting awkwardly to his feet.
Elizabeth nodded. She had to leave sooner rather than later now, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Well, ma’am, as they say in the movies, ‘don’t leave town’ without talking to me first, now will ya?” The drawl was still languid and easy, but Elizabeth recognized the tougher steel beneath it.
She smiled sweetly, knew she didn’t fox him for an instant. “No sir, Sheriff.”
“Would you mind asking Doc Sullivan to come on in here for a minute, ma’am?” He continued to labor over his notes and she breathed a sigh of relief, escaping as quickly as she could.
****
Nat woke to the faint buzz of the TV. After being up all night, he’d fallen asleep on the couch in the family room while waiting to talk to Sheriff Talbot. It was obvious from the settled hush of the house that Talbot was long gone and the place seemed empty.
; A news channel droned on, and he knew he really should go to bed and get a few hours of rest before he got back to work.
“Today, seventeen alleged members of the Bilotti crime-family were indicted in front of the grand jury on multiple counts under the 1970 ‘Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations’ act, RICO for short. The Bilotti crime-family is reputed to be the largest Mafia family currently operating in the US.”
Like Nat cared. The Mafia was about as far removed from Montana, as Brazil was from Iceland.
The dignified, gray-haired newscaster continued in a gravelly voice. “Those indicted today include Julian Galliano, the so-called ‘Godfather’ of the Bilotti crime-family.” A picture of an old man with a large nose hit the screen, followed by pictures of several other well-dressed middle-aged men.
“John-Paul Mallena, nicknamed ‘The Lion’ and considered by the FBI to be the second-in-command, was also indicted and is being held without bail at a federal facility here in Manhattan.”
The newscaster paused dramatically as Nat stretched out his limbs—thank God the foaling had gone well last night. He smiled thinking about the smart purebred Arabian filly who’d all but pranced out of the womb. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Better check her.
“If successful at trial, the FBI will have dealt a crushing blow to organized-crime here in NYC. This is the biggest operation since 1991, when John Gotti, head of the Gambino crime-family, was sentenced to life without parole, along with dozens of his associates.”
Behind the newscaster’s rigidly coifed, poised head, the picture of another man appeared. This time the face was younger with pale eyes and Italian good looks.
Nat put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes for a moment longer.
“The indictments follow the arrest of Andrew DeLattio on charges of insider-dealing and money laundering. Mr. DeLattio is a stockbroker on Wall St. and is also the nephew of John-Paul Mallena. FBI officials refuse to say whether the cases are connected.”
The newscaster droned on. “Police are still looking for a former girlfriend of Mr. DeLattio. Miss Juliette Morgan disappeared three weeks ago.” The anchorman looked soberly into the camera. “Fears are growing for Ms. Morgan’s safety following rumors that she provided key evidence against the Bilotti family. Ms. Morgan was herself accused of switching valuable pieces of artwork with quality forgeries.”
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