By the time his eyes met mine, they held that look. The look I’d been missing for the last week.
Then he stalked me until my spine hit the counter. “Whatcha got on under that robe, Sergeant Major?”
“Just my skin, Sheriff.”
Dawson made a noise that resembled a growl before his mouth covered mine. I fell into him, fell into the kiss, blanking my mind to everything except the happy fact that he was here.
His hands cradled my face then slid down my neck to the gap in my robe. Then his hands were on my bare skin, cruising down my chest over my rib cage to circle my waist. The way the ragged pads of his fingertips stroked my breasts made me arch into him harder. Kiss him harder.
Then he dropped to his knees.
He chuckled against my lower belly at my moan of delight. Then his hard-skinned hands were on the inside of my thighs, pushing them apart so he could settle his mouth on the damp flesh within.
I held on to his head with one hand, the edge of the counter with the other, and gave myself over to his intimate kiss. He had me panting, begging, and quivering in record time—a feat that might’ve been embarrassing for me if I hadn’t already known this man took tremendous pride in turning me inside out as fast as possible.
As I regained my sanity, Mason treated me to sweet, lingering kisses everywhere on my body, letting his mouth roam. Once he was back on his feet, he murmured, “Jump up,” in my ear, as his hands clamped onto my butt.
Then I was on the counter, my robe was on the floor, and Dawson was unbuckling his belt. The moment his body powered into mine, my world became him: his taste, his scent, his heat.
After he rocked me so hard I swear he rocked the cabinet off the floor, he yanked up his pants and carried me to bed.
Looked like we were making up for lost time.
Not a single complaint from me.
I’d never sexually clicked with any man the way I did with Dawson. Living together hadn’t cooled our passion one iota. In fact, being in close quarters and able to act on impulse whenever we wanted had ramped it up a notch or twenty.
Later, as I was spent and sprawled on my stomach, he’d propped himself on his side, letting his fingers follow the curve of my spine.
“Guess what I got today?”
“A qualified applicant for the deputy’s position?”
“Funny. Try again.”
I lifted my head and looked at him. “You really want to play twenty questions?”
Dawson sighed. “Sometimes your cut-to-the-chase attitude is annoying. Indulge me. One more guess.”
“Fine. You got a commendation from the governor.”
“Nope. I got our hunting licenses.” He toyed with my hair. “I applied for both of us when you were busy at Quantico.”
“What we get?”
“Antelope. Bucks. I thought we could go hunting on Saturday.”
I grinned. “Really? You did that for me?”
“Yep. I reckoned a box of bullets would mean more to you than a box of chocolates.”
The man knew me so well. But that was a two-way street. He had an ulterior motive. “First, you ply me with smokin’ hot sex, and then, you dangle the prospect of killin’ something … What do you really want?” My eyes narrowed. “No way, copper. You aren’t shooting my new AR-15.”
He chuckled. “So suspicious and so freakin’ protective of your firepower. But you are half right.” Teasing aside, he wore a serious face. “There is something I want to talk to you about.” He continued to stroke my arm, almost absentmindedly. “Mona called me yesterday.”
Who was Mona? Took a second for the name to register. Ah, right. The cocktail waitress he’d knocked up; the mother of his son, Lex. “What did she want?”
“Mostly to complain about how hard it is to be a single mother. But the point is, seems Lex has been in trouble, and he’s been suspended from school. Mona is at her wit’s end. She asked if Lex could live with me for a while.”
Silence lingered for what seemed like an eternity before I asked, “What did you say?”
“I said I had to talk it over with you first, since I am living in your house.”
“What did he do to get suspended?”
Dawson started that soothing stroking motion on my back again. “He brought a switchblade to school. For protection, he claims, because some older kids had been threatening him. Unfortunately, this school has a zero-tolerance policy for weapon violation. First strike and you’re out.”
“When did this happen?”
“Two weeks ago. But Mona was too deeply involved with her own shit to let me know, which is about par for the course with her. Apparently, Lex has been parked on the couch playing video games for the last two weeks, since he hasn’t been in school.”
“So you’ve talked to Lex about moving here?”
He nodded. “Today. Lex actually seems excited about it. I don’t know if he’s playing me or what, since it’s only in the last six months he’s been interested in spending time with me. Anyway, this is something you and I haven’t talked about, besides me asking if you’d mind him being here over Thanksgiving or Christmas break. But it’s a big difference—”
I rolled to face him and placed my hand on his chest. His heart pounded beneath my palm. “Mason. It’s all right. I know how much you’ve wanted—how hard you’ve tried—to have a relationship with your son. I’d never stand in the way of that. Lex is welcome here.”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me. To be honest, as much as I’ve always said I wanted Lex around, this whole thing scares the living shit outta me, Mercy.”
“I know.”
“I mean, we’ll get the logistics of how he’s getting to and from school figured out, but I don’t know if I have … hell, I’ve never been around kids that much. Sometimes—most times—Lex doesn’t feel like mine. He just seems like a kid I know that I see once in a while. What if I’m a shitty father?”
That confession made me ache. “I think the fact you’re worried about being a good father indicates you’ve already won half the battle. Once he is around you, day in and day out, he’ll see what an awesome guy you are.”
“I like this flattering side of you, Sergeant Major.” He brushed his lips across mine. “So since you admitted that I’m an awesome guy, does that mean you’re ready to marry me?”
I tried to keep it light. “I’m still weighing my options.”
“What options?”
“I hear that Dick and Alice Anderson might be headed for divorce court. And you know I have a thing for former rodeo cowboys. So I might wait to see what happens there.”
“Dick Anderson is seventy. Been a long time since he’s been on the back of a bull. Plus, rumor is … the reason Alice wants to call it quits after forty-five years? Dick ain’t performing his husbandly duties anymore.”
“Who’d you hear that from?”
“Lila, at the diner. And apparently, Dick ain’t the type who believes in Viagra.” He pinned me to the mattress, rubbing his third erection of the night against my belly. “So maybe you oughta put this on the plus side of staying with me for the long haul.”
“Cocky man.”
“And I’ll prove it.”
• • •
Sophie lured us out of bed early the next morning with the scent of bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes.
I noticed she’d folded up my robe and set it on the kitchen table, but she didn’t tease—a rarity for her.
“You’re here early,” I said.
“Couldn’t sleep. Pain in my hip kept me awake.”
Wasn’t like Sophie to complain. “Maybe you should have the doctor check you out the next time you take Penny in.”
She gave me a considering look. “You worried, hey?”
“Yes, because you haven’t been your bossy self lately. I wondered if it’s too much, splitting time between here and Hope’s place.”
“You askin’ if I’m getting a little lo
ng in the tooth to be doin’ my job?” she asked sharply.
“No. And you don’t need to snap at me for caring about you, Sophie.”
She made that sound between a sigh and a harrumph. “Sorry, takoja. I’ve got a lot on my mind, with Penny’s cancer and all.”
Penny was Sophie’s last living daughter. All of her Red Leaf kids had passed on, and her son Devlin Pretty Horses was the only remaining male child. “Anything I can do?”
“Nothin’ no one can do.” She offered a tremulous smile through the sheen of tears. “Workin’ takes my mind off it.”
“We’ll be able to oblige you on that, because Mason’s son Lex is coming to stay with us for a while.”
“Really? When?”
“Soon, I think.”
“Oh, the sheriff’s gotta be happy about that.” Her sharp brown gaze locked onto mine. “But are you happy?”
I don’t know. “Yeah, I am.”
“That don’t sound convincing, Mercy.”
“I just … don’t want him to get hurt. He has wanted a chance to really be Lex’s father for longer than he’s willing to admit. I hope this kid isn’t the type to take advantage of him.”
Sophie patted my arm. “Me, too. Now how about if we get you fed, eh?”
Dawson’s arms came around my waist, and he squeezed me. When he left a sweet, lingering kiss on my temple, I knew he’d heard the entire exchange.
“Mornin’, Miz Red Leaf,” he said. “That smells awesome.”
“It is. Sit down, both of you, and I’ll dish up.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Sophie. Get some of your questions about Lex living here out of the way while I dish up.”
Sophie grinned. “Seems someone’s in a very good mood this morning. I wonder why? Any theories, Sheriff?”
Dawson smirked. “I ain’t touching that one.” He poured three mugs of coffee and sat across from Sophie.
“When will your son be here?”
“Sunday night. Mercy ’n’ me are goin’ huntin’ Saturday. After I bag a bigger buck than her, I’m driving to Denver. We’ll be back Sunday so I can get him enrolled in school Monday.”
I snorted. “In your dreams about bagging the bigger buck, marine.” I slid the plates on the table and took my seat next to Dawson.
“I love a challenge.” He snatched a slice of bacon off my plate and shoved it in his mouth.
I whapped his knuckle with my fork.
“You two behave,” Sophie warned. “What room were you thinkin’ of putting Lex in upstairs?”
“Not my old room, since Joy’s crib is in there. Probably Hope’s old room. It’s empty, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s got a floral bedspread and curtains,” Sophie pointed out.
“That’ll be fine,” Dawson said. “I don’t think Lex will care.”
Sophie and I exchanged a look. “Uh, yeah, he’s gonna care. I’ll stop at Walmart on my way home tonight and pick out bedding that’s plain and … manly.”
“Fine, but I don’t see the big deal. You’ve got girly sheets on our bed, and I haven’t complained.”
Not the same. He’d sleep on burlap if he was getting laid regularly, but I didn’t want to argue with him. We tucked into the food, and no one spoke until our plates were empty.
As we finished our coffee, Sophie said, “Such a pity about that Shooting Star girl. So young. I know not everyone likes that family, but it’s hard not to feel sorry for them, hey.”
Leave it to snoopy Sophie to bring up a case I’d hoped to avoid discussing with the sheriff.
“I assume the FBI was brought in?” Dawson asked me. “It’s under investigation.”
“Well, good luck with that.
I’m just damn happy it didn’t happen in my jurisdiction.” He pushed back from the table and took his plate to the sink to rinse it. “Miz Red Leaf, outstanding breakfast. Thank you.”
She waved him off with a smile.
“Mercy? Got a minute to talk to me before I head out?”
“Sure.” I followed him to the bedroom and watched as he strapped on his gun. “What’s up?” I formulated a half-dozen responses to his inquiries about the Shooting Star case, hoping I could hit the balance between evasive and professional.
“Don’t spend a lot on the bedding stuff for Lex’s room, okay?” He opened his wallet and passed me three twenties.
I nodded, happy that Lex was the buffer between our jobs. For now, anyway.
“I’ll be late tonight.” Dawson kissed me thoroughly. Then he held my face in his hands and locked his steely gaze to mine. “You know I love you, right?”
“Right.”
He waited for a better response.
Might be perverse, but I let him wait.
“And?” he prompted.
“And I love you, too.”
His smile had me smiling back at him as I watched him walk out. This frequent admission of how I felt about him was a whole new experience for me. During my stint in the army, I’d had to hide my true occupation from my fellow soldiers. So because I really couldn’t be myself, I’d formed no long-term emotional attachment to any man during those twenty years. Which left me the emotional equivalent of a robot.
Dawson saw beyond the facade—almost from the moment we’d met—which was part of the reason he’d had me running scared. It took a tragedy—a near mental meltdown—for me to stop finding excuses for why he and I would never work, to see him as the man who wanted me, the real me, no matter what I’d done in the past.
I relied on him—emotionally, physically. Me, Mercy Gunderson, badass former sniper who never needed anyone, needed him. Once I admitted that need to myself—and to him—I honestly felt more in control of my life than I ever had.
• • •
I must’ve been smiling when I wandered into the conference room, because Shay muttered about someone getting lucky. I ignored him and studied my notes. As the newbie agent in the office, I listened a lot because I had a lot to learn. But today I was determined to bring up my preliminary discovery on the unexplained deaths on the reservation over the last two years.
Director Shenker ended his phone call as he sailed into the room. “Morning, all. Agent Turnbull? If you want to get started?”
“Sure. I just got off the phone with the crime lab regarding the samples taken from the victim in the Shooting Star case. No tissue from her attacker was found under her fingernails. No evidence of rape.”
“What about defensive wounds?” Director Shenker asked.
“None. The tox results came back with high levels of digitalis, which is unusual. I did some research. Evidently, its intended use is for heart arrythymia. Given to patients with congestive heart failure.”
“But if you aren’t suffering from congestive heart failure? What does the drug do?”
“Causes irregular heartbeat. And all sorts of other nasty side effects, like vomiting, diarrhea, hallucinations, listlessness … almost always resulting in death. I also learned the foxglove plant is the most widely known source for digitalis. The leaves, the roots, the flowers are all poisonous.”
“Is it a controlled substance?”
“Yes and no. In prescription form it’s controlled. But the plant itself is for sale in greenhouses across the country.”
Something occurred to me. I looked at Shay. “Could Arlette have taken it as a suicide drug? Along the lines of Romeo and Juliet? She drinks the poison because she can’t be with her true love?”
He leaned back in his chair. “It might be plausible … except for the fact that somebody drove a stake through her heart.”
Male chuckles sounded around the table.
Ooh. Smackdown. But I wasn’t about to be deterred. “Or maybe she tried to kill herself and was wandering around aimlessly, confused, with the toxin in her system, and—”
“Some random guy saw her, picked her up, stripped her, and staked her? I don’t think so,” Turnbull retorted.
“Fine. But don’t you agree that the m
urderer seems to have a sense of irony with that stake, given Arlette’s love of vampire tales? Wouldn’t feeding her poison before he killed her play a part? The guy didn’t rape her,” I reminded him. “And he had her for a couple of days before she turned up dead. So maybe this sicko played with her. She’d be easy to lug around if she was drugged up. But he’d still get to kill her, she just wouldn’t fight him.”
“Good point, Agent Gunderson,” Shenker said. “Do we know what form she took the drug in?”
“Nope. But the best guess at this point was she consumed it in liquid form.” Turnbull sighed. “And here’s another bizarre twist. The comfrey plant is used in teas and herbal remedies, and the leaves are so close in appearance to the leaves of the foxglove plant that sometimes foxglove is mistaken for comfrey. There’ve been several cases of accidental poisoning.”
“So the poisoning could have been accidental and unrelated to her murder,” I said.
“We cannot rule out that theory entirely.”
Somewhat vindicated, I pushed my next point. “With the absence of defensive wounds, it would appear Arlette knew her attacker.”
“Yes, but remember, we’re dealing with a small pool of people on the rez, so chances are just as likely it wasn’t a male she knew intimately, but a male she knew in passing.”
“We’re assuming it’s a male?” Agent Mested asked.
“Isn’t it always?” Agent Flack shot back.
Strained laughter.
“Director Shenker?”
His gaze bored into me. “Yes?”
“It’s come to my attention that there have been quite a few young women found dead on the reservation in the last couple of years.”
Agent Flack snapped his gum and whipped around to face me. “You talking about that Good Shield woman? Victim found gut shot out in the middle of nowhere?”
I hadn’t seen that obituary, and it bothered me there was one or more I’d missed in my small bit of research. “Was the FBI called in on that one?”
“Called, yes. We didn’t get involved because I agreed with the tribal cop who suspected a domestic dispute. Evidently, nine-one-one dispatch had several emergency calls involving the vic and her partner, going back a couple of years. The last time cops were called to the scene, guns were involved.”
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