JULIET'S LAW

by Ruth Wind

  "Good. I know you've been worried about her."

  "How are things with you? Tell me about the Whiting case."

  She made small talk with him, pretending it all mattered somehow. Once it had. She tried hard to call up his face, his eyes, his hands. Nothing seemed real. He seemed like a character in a book she'd read a long time ago, thin and vague.

  As he talked, she could feel how hard he was working to keep her attention, and a clear, sudden recognition settled on her: it was not fair to keep this up, this masquerade of the Juliet Who Felt Something. Breaking up hurt, but not as much as lies.

  But how to begin?

  When a slight lull fell between them, she said quietly, "You know, Scott, I've been thinking I might not be coming back there." The words ran like electric shocks down her nerves, rippling down her spine and arms—surprise. "To Los Angeles."

  It stunned them both. A long silence, filled with the implications of what she'd just said, fell.

  "You're going to live in Mariposa?" he asked finally, his voice thin. "Why would you do that?"

  "I just don't think I want to live in L.A. anymore. I don't want that job or that life or—anything."

  "Or me?" his voice sounded hollow, like an empty restaurant.

  "It's not you, Scott," she said, knowing it was a cliché even though she meant it. In the middle of her chest was a dull burn, a recognition of the pain she was causing him, but even as she rubbed the heat of it, her shoulders suddenly didn't feel as hunched. "I just don't know what I feel anymore and it's not fair to you to keep you hanging on this way."

  "But we're engaged!"

  "I know." She rolled her shoulders. "I think it's time that we are not." She paused. "Engaged. Anymore."

  "This seems rash," he said.

  "It's not rash, and you know it if you're honest with yourself."

  "Juliet, it's been a little weird the past few months or so, but you've had a hard time, and you probably shouldn't make any big decisions."

  "Scott, I want you to be free to date other people. I have no idea when I'm going to get my head together."

  "I don't want anyone else."

  Juliet took a breath. "Scott, I'm so sorry, but I can't see you anymore."

  "Don't do this," he said, blustering. "You can't do this to me!"

  "To you? I'm doing it for you!"

  "I've been here for you. I've been really patient."

  "You have."

  At the other end of the line, he sighed. "You're really doing it aren't you?"

  "I really am. I'm sorry."

  "Stop saying that, like I'm some pity case or something. You're the one who needs pity, not me!"

  He hung up on her.

  Juliet fell backward. "That went well," she said to Tecumseh, scratching his head. "Maybe we need to get some coffee."

  The phone rang in her hand. Scott's number came up on the screen and she hesitated. Maybe she should just be done with it. And yet, what if the situation was reversed—wouldn't she want to have her say? She flipped the phone open. "Hi, Scott."

  "I'm sorry. I lost my temper."

  "It's okay. But let's not do this, okay, the back and forthing. I'm really breaking up with you and there isn't anything you can say to change my mind." She almost added, I'm sorry, but remembered in time that it had upset him.

  "Just let me ask this one thing," Scott said. "Have you met somebody?"

  Unbidden came Josh's face, the harsh slash of cheekbone and jaw, the licorice black of his hair. Guilt, the color of bile, burst through her. "No," she said.

  "Will you do me one favor then?"

  "If I can."

  "Give it a little time. Don't give up on all of this until you've had time to heal."

  Juliet bowed her head. "I can't do that favor, Scott. This is final." She breathed the phrase anyway. "I'm sorry," she said, and hung up.

  Coffee. Definitely coffee was in order. She slid into a pair of jeans and tugged wool socks over her toes, let the dogs out, and padded into the kitchen. There was no automatic coffeemaker, of course, only an aluminum percolator you put on the stove and boiled the old-fashioned way. Juliet liked it quite a bit, loved the crystal percolator button on top, and the sound of it bubbling up, like an old television commercial, and the smell filling the kitchen like some heady cologne.

  Sunlight streamed in through the window by the sink, and the bars of yellow light falling over the polished pine framing gave the moment a depth of serenity Juliet found surprising. She crossed her arms, leaned a hip against the counter, and wondered what it was that made it seem so lovely. Through the window, she could see pines and blue sky and the jagged line of mountain rising high.

  She felt lighter than she had in months. How could she have not realized how much she wanted to break up with Scott, all this time? What else was in her life that she wanted to let go?

  She called up her life, and really, there wasn't much to it, was there? Scott, her condo, her job. Essentially, the job was gone, and she'd known it the minute she'd lost what should have been an easy win. The lives at stake were too important to risk on a sloppy lawyer, which was what she'd become over the past year, sadly enough.

  In time, she'd be ready to go back to work. When she had her head together. When she could think about a courtroom without thinking of her rapist being on trial.

  She liked working for the people, trying to even things out between the little guy and government or business, but a person could do that in many different ways.

  She might miss her friends, but this wasn't her first big move. If it ended up being a move. Which left the condo in old Hollywood, her pride and joy, with all its Art Deco touches and glowing woods. It was a beauty, with a fireplace, within walking distance of shopping and restaurants and the bus line. She'd paid a pretty penny for it, but the value had nearly doubled since then. If she sold it, could she buy something in Mariposa?

  Would she even want to?

  Maybe it was better to just stick with the condo for awhile. Not too many changes at once.

  Humming under her breath, she poured coffee and thought about how to spend this beautiful day.

  * * *

  Josh drove to Desi's ranch with a heaviness in his gut. Of course it could only be he who delivered the news, and he didn't expect Desi to take it particularly well.

  It seemed incongruous to be bringing such bad news on such a great day. Melting snow dripped from the trees, pattering and dazzling on such a bright day. Most of the snow was gone, but he knew there was meant to be more tomorrow afternoon. He made a note to be sure they had plenty of supplies in case of a blizzard.

  He parked under his favorite tree and got out. Desi's truck was not in its usual place. He'd hate to have to go find her at work to deliver this news, and had tried to get here a little sooner, for precisely this reason. Reluctantly, he crossed the gravel, steering clear of a puddle. Three dogs came running through the trees, barking first in warning, then in welcome when they saw who it was.

  He knocked on the door. In seconds, Juliet swung it open, and Josh was awash, once again, with the luscious, somehow innocent sensuality of her. Her pale hair was slightly mussed, as if it had not yet been brushed, and her face was absolutely bare of makeup, showing pale smooth skin only lightly freckled across the nose. She wore a flowered Henley with three buttons and long sleeves and no bra, which he tried mightily not to notice, but there was such a delicious loose sway of breasts beneath thin cotton that he couldn't help it. Her feet were bare.

  "Hi, Josh."

  "Hi," he said, and cleared his throat. "Is Desi here?"

  "I think she went to work already. Do you want to come in?"

  "Um." He tried to think. The smell of coffee blasted out of the kitchen, thick as a giant arm snaring him around the neck. "God, that smells good. Yeah, I'd love some of that coffee."

  She moved away from the door, leaving it open for him to come in.

  As he entered, he saw the pile of covers and pillows before the fire, stil
l rumpled from her sleep, and damned if he didn't feel a little heat in his sex, a wash of awareness over his lower belly, a wish to have her back in those mussed covers, naked, with him on top of her. Kissing. Bare-chested, bare-hipped, legs tangling—

  "Cream and sugar?" Juliet asked.

  "What?" He blinked, aware of a graininess behind his eyes, in his throat. It had been a long night. "Yes, please."

  "You don't look very well, Josh," she said. "Come sit down. Is there something wrong?"

  He settled on a bar stool. "Long night," he said, reluctant to go into it just yet.

  "This will help." She came around the counter and put the cup down beside him, then rested her hand on his shoulder. "Can I get you something to eat? There are eggs, some bread."

  Up close, he smelled her skin, something vaguely meadowlike, the slightest bit spicy, like crushed grasses. He found himself noticing the hollow of her throat, the rise of collarbones on either side, her breasts, with raised nipples burning through the cloth. He felt dizzy with the desire to touch her, weigh her breasts in his palms, taste her mouth, feel her body close to his own.

  With a sense of near-despair, he wanted more than anything to just be held, and it shamed him.

  "It must have been terrible," she said. Her voice was smooth and deep, like a hot spring pool, and her hand moved on his hair, as if she petted a dog.

  He bent his head, trying to maintain a sense of propriety. Her hand moved on his neck, smoothing the skin over the tense muscles there, and he felt the touch through his whole body.

  Josh lifted his head, and Juliet swayed forward and pressed a kiss to his brow, put her hands on his face. "What can I do?" she asked, and there was her pricelessly pretty face, so scrubbed and lovely, and he put his hand up around her neck and pulled her closer, between his knees. Her breasts touched his upper chest, surprisingly full and soft, and their eyes locked for a long, long second, hers smoky and sure and vibrantly blue. Her fingers were cool, almost cold. He put his hands on the small of her back, nudged her closer, and lifted his face to receive the kiss she bent down to offer.

  It was one of those moments that would not come again, and Josh tried to gather as many details as he could. The sway of her back beneath his palms, the smell of her skin, the cold tips of her fingers against his cheekbones.

  The very good taste of her mouth. A good mouth. Plump lips, breath that tasted of sugar, a sweetness he expected and a heat he hadn't. He let her lead, let her just do whatever it was she was doing here. One moist kiss, two. His chest ached and he wanted to pull her more closely against him, but something told him not to.

  But it was funny how it seemed there was light flowing between them. Not just nerves and excitement and arousal, but actual light, as if her lips flipped on some switch inside of him.

  She raised her head. Her thumbs moved on his jaw, sweeping lightly against the bone. "Did that help any?"

  "What about your fiancé?"

  She pulled a hand from his face and showed him the bare space on her left hand. "We broke up. This morning."

  "I'm glad," be said, and meant it.

  "Me, too." She stepped away. "Let me get you some coffee and eggs."

  "I need to—uh, tell you something, Juliet. This morning—" His voice, always gravelly, gave out on him. He cleared his throat. "I have something else to talk about. The reason I came here."

  "Okay." Trouble came over her eyes, clouding the vivid blue. She stepped out of his embrace. "What is it?"

  "First, do you know where Desi is?"

  "She must have gotten up early. I haven't been up that long, really." She glanced over her shoulder at the bed. "Why?" she said suddenly in alarm. "Is she hurt or is there an accident or—"

  "No, she's not hurt. When was the last time you saw her?"

  "Last night. She was called out to an animal emergency and I went to bed."

  Josh's belly dropped. "What time was that, do you remember?"

  A quick shrug. "I don't know. About nine, maybe?"

  Mentally, he swore. This would not look good for her at all. It might not be good. He had to remember to think like a cop, not like Desi's buddy. What if she had killed him? "And you haven't seen her since?"

  "No. I already said that. You're scaring me, Josh. What happened?"

  He squared his shoulders. "Claude is dead, Juliet. We found his body out on the rez last night."

  Her hand flew to her mouth. "Dead? How? Like murdered? Or in a car accident or something?"

  "We're waiting for the autopsy, but it's pretty clear he was shot to death."

  Juliet went so white he was afraid she'd faint. Carefully, she sank down to a stool, and let go of a breath. "Do you have ideas who did it?"

  "Not yet."

  She raised her eyes. "It's not Desi, you know. She might seem as if she'd like to kill him, but I know she wouldn't really do it."

  "I know that, too," he said, and realized it was true. He could see her shooting Claude during a confrontation, but not stalking him to shoot him dead, or luring him out to some deserted place. "But it's not going to look good for her, not after that run-in yesterday in front of half the town."

  Juliet pressed her lips together. "Damn."

  "And the trouble is, she has the most motive. Who would blame her for killing him?"

  "Right," Juliet said grimly, and looked at him hard. "I hear what you're saying, but there's no way she did it." She rubbed her palms on her jeans. "Do you know the land is worth ten million dollars?"

  He whistled. "There's motive."

  "Talk that one up," she said, and he suddenly realized he wasn't dealing with soft Juliet, but a tough lawyer who probably did very well in court, thank you very much. "Let me find my cell and I'll try to call her."

  "I already tried," he said. A headache throbbed at the back of his skull, low, right over his neck. "No answer."

  "We need to find her."

  Josh nodded and then asked the question he had to ask. "Are you sure she even came home last night?"

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Juliet darted a glance at the bed. What she had not noticed upon awakening was the yellow sweater, inside out and sleeves akimbo, that Desi had flung there last night. Juliet remembered her tugging it off over her head, her hair coming loose in a heavy tumble.

  "Maybe she wasn't here last night," Juliet admitted.

  "Did she tell you anything about the call?"

  "Yes." Juliet frowned. "Goats. Some goats were attacked by a mountain lion. She had to take—" Another wave of guilt swamped her and she halted, the salty taste in her mouth.

  "Had to take what?"

  "Her rifle. For protection."

  Josh pursed his lips. "It's not surprising, considering." He dropped his head in his hands. So weary.

  Juliet didn't know if she should comfort him or protest or weep. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

  He raised his head. "What do you remember about the call? Do you think it was really an animal call?"

  She thought back. "We'd just gotten out of the hot springs, you know. I was tired and not paying much attention." She narrowed her eyes, trying to recreate the moment in her mind from the things she could remember. The yellow sweater. The fire in the grate. The sound of Desi's voice, murmuring, pausing.

  Where did you see him?

  In a split second, Juliet chose her sister over any other thing, even the truth. "I'm absolutely sure," she said.

  "All right." He pulled his cell phone off his belt and punched in a number. "Let's find out who keeps goats."

  * * *

  The only possibilities, according to the main vet office, were Alvin Taylor, Pauline Two Tree and John Crum. The first was a wealthy rancher, sitting on about fifty million dollars in land in a flat strip between the two mountain ranges. He turned out to be on an extended vacation and his ranch manager didn't have a record of anything happening to goats the night before. They had, however, seen the mountain lion s
everal times in the past few weeks.

  Two Tree lived on the edge of the reservation. Her goats, used for their hair in her weaving, were fine, as carefully tended as small children.

  Which left Crum, an ex-hippie turned farmer on the outskirts of town. Josh turned in to his drive and a dozen creatures skittered out to see who had arrived—dogs, goats, a couple of sheep. Chickens squawked and chuttered from their coop, protected from prey behind two layers of fencing.

  "A mountain lion would have a good time here, all right," Josh said.

  "Poor things."

  He gave a little shrug. "It's just nature."

  A man with a beard combed neatly to his waist came out of the house carrying a rifle. He wore jeans and a cowboy hat and heavy work boots. Juliet wanted to laugh—he looked like a cartoon version of a mountain man. "I didn't think people like him still existed," she said quietly before they got out.

  "Don't you dare make me laugh," Josh said with a glance.

  "I'll do my best."

  They got out of the truck and Juliet held out her hand for a big shaggy dog to sniff. The man stood there suspiciously. "Can I help you folks with something?"

  "We're looking for Dr. Rousseau, the vet? Her office thought she might have come here last night," Josh said.

  "Yeah, she was here, but I ain't seen her since she stitched up the goats."

  "Do you remember what time that was, sir?"

  "Must been ten, ten-thirty, I guess. I just missed the news."

  Juliet felt a sense of mingled dread and relief. Relief that Desi actually had been called out to tend some wounded animals, dread that she had been out all night. "Did she say anything about what she was planning to do when she left here?"

  "Yup." He lifted his hat, pulled it down tighter over his ears. "She was gonna go track that blasted cougar while the tracks were fresh."

  "Damn," Josh muttered under his breath. Then, more loudly, "Where?"

  "She headed out to the reservation. Said she thought she might know where it had its den."

  "By the reservation," Josh repeated dully.

  The man hawked and spit. "Wasn't that she wanted to kill it, you know. I shot it. She was afraid it might be dangerous."