by Sandra Brown
Which made him one very sick individual.
Well, didn't it?
The bathroom door opened and Melina came out fully dressed. In a very businesslike manner, she asked, "Is Longtree back yet?"
"I thought I heard some activity in the kitchen."
She crossed the room and reached for the doorknob. "Then as soon as you're ready—"
"I usually don't make a woman cry, Melina."
Without even turning, she pulled open the door and said, "I'll be waiting for you," then closed the door behind her."Shit," he hissed, throwing off the sheet.
Five minutes later, he joined her in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table sipping a glass of water and talking with Longtree. She didn't acknowledge him, but Longtree asked if he would like something to drink.
"Water's fine."
"Chief Longtree has graciously agreed to loan us his pickup," Melina said, still managing not to look directly at him.
"That's very generous."
The older man passed him a glass of water. "I thought you might need it. It's got a full tank of gas. I also picked up a map for you and marked the roads I advise you to take. It might be best to stay off the main highways." He pushed the folded map and a key ring across the table.
Chief accepted them with a terse thanks. "I don't know when we'll be able to return the truck."
"Jed will take me wherever I need to go."
Melina glanced at the wall clock, then came to her feet. "We appreciate all you've done for us."
It was while she was shaking hands with Longtree that Chief noticed it. "Gillian's pendant."
Melina rubbed the ruby heart where it lay against her throat, saying to him, "I just put it back on."
"I thought you threw it away along with your handbag." "We checked it," she reminded him. "Besides, I hated to part with it. It's probably the last thing she touched before going to bed that night."
He thought about it for only a split second before extending his hand. "Let's take a closer look, Melina. The light's better here than inside the plane."
She hesitated only a moment before removing the pendant and passing it to him. He dangled the charm close to his face, holding it so that he could see light coming through the translucent stones. That's when he noticed a dark spot in the dip of the heart right against the gold mounting. It was barely discernible. One would have to be looking, as he was, and even then it could be mistaken for a flaw in the small stone or in the gold mounting. "Do you have an ice pick?" he asked Longtree.
Within seconds he was applying the utensil to the spot. Longtree and Melina peered anxiously over his shoulder. Before any of them expected it, a small chip popped out and landed on the oilcloth that covered the dining table. It was the color of a pencil lead and smaller than the head of a pin. Chief poked it several times with the sharp tip of the ice pick. "Hennings's love gift isn't so lovely, is it?"
Melina bristled. "That bastard. I'm sorry he's dead. I'd love an opportunity to tell him what a despicable human being he was."
Chief explained the GPS tracking system to Longtree. "The technology has advanced even more than I'd heard. I'm sure a transceiver this minuscule hasn't been approved for commercial use yet. Which means that criminals are the only ones with access to it."
"Oh, my God," Melina exclaimed. "This means we've led them straight here. I'm so sorry, Chief Longtree. After the kindnesses you've extended us, we've repaid you by putting you in danger."
"Don't worry about me."
"She's right," Chief told him solemnly. "These are bad men. They killed two people yesterday. They're on somebody's payroll, probably Brother Gabriel's, and they're good at what they do."
"You've managed to escape them."
"By the skin of our teeth. Even if we've disabled the transceiver, this will be the last place it transmitted a signal. They'll try and pick up our trail here. Is there someplace you can go, hang out for a few days?"
The older Indian smiled. "American Indians have been pushed off their land for three hundred years. I couldn't look myself in the mirror if I let a couple of thugs run me off my place. I can take care of myself."
Having said that, he moved to a drawer and took a pistol from it. "Take this with you."
"You may need it more than we will."
"I insist." He passed both the pistol and a box of bullets to Chief. "Do you know how to load it?"
Chief wanted to decline the loan of the pistol, but he only had to remember Hennings's fate to change his mind. He asked Longtree to load the revolver for him. "As a safety precaution, I'll leave the first chamber empty," he explained. "You'll have to pull the trigger twice in order for it to fire."
"I can't go, leaving you here without a weapon or transportation," Melina told him.
"I'm not afraid. My destiny isn't in the hands of hit men." Seemingly amused by the notion, Longtree motioned her toward the door. "If you want to arrive in Lamesa before dark, you'd better leave now. The sun sets quickly behind the mountains."
At the door, Chief gripped the other man's hand. They looked hard at each other, and the understanding that passed between them made words unnecessary.
CHAPTER 35
"Making love to me usually doesn't make a woman cry, Melina."
She couldn't keep her back to him and walk out of the room as she had at Longtree's place. Unless she wanted to leap from the cab of the pickup, she couldn't escape. At sixty miles an hour, it was doubtful she was going to do that. She could, however, ignore him. It was so long before she answered, he thought she'd exercised that option.
Finally she said, "It shouldn't have happened, Chief." "But it did. So let's talk about it."
"Why not just forget it?"
"Because it's like a giant wart on the end of somebody's nose. You wish you could ignore it and pretend it wasn't there. You even know that's what you should do. But it's impossible. It's there and you see it."
"And you accused women of always wanting to talk things out," she muttered, turning her head to gaze out the passenger-side window.
"You were crying, Melina. I'd like to know why."
"Because it was a bad idea."
"For a bad idea, it felt awfully good."
She gave him a look before quickly fixing her gaze on the horizon again. "I never said it didn't feel good."
"So we agree on that. Which only makes my original question more pertinent. Why did you cry?"
Minutes passed. Again he thought she intended to ignore him, but eventually she spoke, and of all the things she could have said, he never would have anticipated her next statement. "Gillian told me you didn't kiss her until after you'd made love."
Startled, he turned his head toward her. "What?"
She was looking at him now. "She said you told her it was like saving the best for last. Was that just a line?"
Ill at ease, he returned his eyes to the road.
"You didn't kiss me," she continued. "Not on the lips. Not once."
"It's no big deal."
"It wouldn't be if you had. That you didn't is significant, I think. Especially in light of what you said to Gillian."
She'd struck a chord, so, in self-defense, he copped an attitude. "You know, I think it's sick, the way you two discussed our lovemaking in such intimate detail."
"Like it's perfectly healthy to use one woman as a substitute for another."
"That's not what today was about."
"Wasn't it?"
"No." He flashed her an angry glance to match his rising volume. "It could be that I didn't kiss you afterward—saving he best for last—because afterward you were crying! Did you think of that? Or maybe I didn't kiss you on the mouth because I was involved with other parts of you."
"Parts, yes. But you weren't involved with me."
"I wouldn't have made love to you if I hadn't wanted to."
"Oh, you wanted to," she said, laughing a soft but mirthless laugh. "I saw that. I felt that. Biologically you were into it one hundred percent. But
it was Gillian you were emotionally entangled with."
His jaw tensed. What could he say? If he said, You're right, it would wound her pride. If he said, You're wrong, he'd be oversimplifying it. And if he said, Hell, I don't know, Melina, he'd be telling the God's honest truth. Ironically, it was the truth she was least likely to believe.
Would it make her feel better or worse for him to explain that up until a few hours ago, he'd been able to keep her and Gillian separate in his mind? Now, having made love to her, felt her, tasted her, experienced her moves, and heard her sighs, the distinctions between them were blurred.
It was a damned dirty trick for his mind and body to play on all of them. It was unfair to Melina, whom he had come to like and respect. It was equally unfair to Gillian, who had first attracted him and indelibly stamped herself onto his memory.
And it was unfair to him, when he was trying to do right by both women.
"Never mind trying to come up with a graceful answer, Chief. I know Gillian was the one you were thinking about this afternoon. It was her name you called." Again, he looked at her sharply. "You didn't realize?" she said, noticing his surprise.
He shook his head.
"You did," she said quietly. "You called her name. Passionately."
"Oh, God, Melina, I'm sorry."
She smiled wanly. "No reason to apologize. Anything spoken during... at that moment, is brutally honest."
That she had forgiven him for such a dreadful gaffe made him feel even more like a shit. To salve his conscience, he felt that now was the time to come completely clean with her.
Before he could think about it too long and possibly talk himself out of it, he steered the truck off the road. It bumped over the hard, rocky ground and eventually rolled to a stop about thirty yards from the road. He cut the engine and turned toward her.
"I lied to you, Melina."
He had her undivided attention. She was looking at him with perplexity, her mouth slack. Her eyes were wide, still, focused intently on him. He applied the same intensity of concentration to her eyes as he did to the markings on the runway when he landed the shuttle. It seemed that important that he get this exactly right.
"You read me right. From the moment we met in Lawson's office, you nailed me perfectly. I wanted to distance myself from the whole mess. I mourned Gillian, but I wanted to do so privately, not in the glare of TV lights, which I was afraid my involvement would attract.
"And frankly, I was pissed that one night out of my life—as great as that night was—had the potential of ruining everything good I had going. That one, random, romantic encounter had the capacity to wipe out everything I'd worked so damn hard for.
"But even after Lawson told me that the case was wrapped and I was free to go on my merry way, something kept nagging at me. That unnamed something caused me to stick around. It wasn't until the evening following Gillian's memorial service that I figured out what it was." He paused to signal that this was the heart of the matter. "When Dale Gordon killed Gillian, he might also have killed my baby."
He saw her swallow, but before she could speak, he rushed on.
"Do you remember when I came to your house that night, battered and bleeding, you asked me why I'd changed my mind? Why I was getting involved?"
"Because someone had tried to kill you," she answered huskily. "You figured the attack on you was related to Gillian's murder. That's what you said."
"That was true. But only partially. In that same conversation, you asked me if I had used a prophylactic when I was with Gillian. I told you I had."
She nodded.
"That was a lie. I didn't. Not once."
"Oh." She lowered her eyes to her lap, where her hands were tightly clasped. "Not today, either."
"Which was totally irresponsible of me."
"You've got nothing to worry about with me."
"You misunderstand, Melina. The reason—the sole reason—I brought this up was to explain why I got involved, why I was willing to risk my reputation and career and, as it turns out, my life, to get to the bottom of this."
He reached for one of her hands and pressed it between his. "It was the prime time in Gillian's cycle to conceive, right? Hennings remarked on it in Lawson's office, but I didn't really think about the significance of it until later. She was ovulating. That's why she was artificially inseminated that day."
"Yes."
"So chances are very good that she could have conceived by me that night. You said so yourself when you asked me about the condoms."
His chest was suddenly filled with a surging emotion; the density of it stunned him, as it had that night in the Greenville Avenue bar, when it finally occurred to him why he couldn't let the matter drop and forget he'd ever spent a night with a woman named Gillian Lloyd.
"See, Melina, because my dad practically disposed of me, I vowed that if I ever had a kid, I'd be there. I'd be a constant presence in his life. He would know me and rely on me to be his parent every day of his life. I would protect his life with my own." He squeezed her hand tightly. "So if there's even a remote chance that Gillian conceived and that my child died with her, I want the son of a bitch who's responsible."
She reached for him, and he allowed himself to be drawn against her chest. She hugged him tightly, and stroked his head, and whispered words of consolation. Her breasts were softly comforting, and so was her soothing voice.
It felt good to relinquish control to someone else for a change. One by one, he knocked down all his defenses. He ceased to be a military officer, or a commander, or a celebrity.
He was just a man. Not even that. He was little Christopher, seeking the comfort and consolation he'd never permitted himself to seek.
After a time, she set him away from her. Tears streaked her face, and when she spoke, her voice was barely audible. "No one would have known but you. You could still have walked away."
"No. No, I couldn't."
Even more tears overflowed her eyes and slid down her cheeks. "Chief, did you fall in love with Gillian? In the space of those few hours you were together, did you fall in love with her?"
He had been dodging this question ever since he had first asked it of his reflection in the shaving mirror the morning he woke up and discovered she'd left. He had asked himself again when he was informed of her murder and it had hurt so badly to realize that she was lost to him forever. And again, when he sat in that bar and realized that their lovemaking might have created another life. Every time he had felt stirrings of desire for Melina, it was that haunting question which, until today, had stopped him from acting on that desire. And it was why he felt so guilty now for having yielded to it.
He was tired of trying to outrun the answer he knew, the answer he'd known all along. "Yeah," he confessed gruffly. "God help me, I did."
Sheriff Ritchey shifted his weight in the uncomfortable chair. According to his wristwatch, he'd been waiting for over half an hour. He had followed protocol and called ahead. A time or the meeting had been set, and he had arrived promptly. Making him wait like this was unforgivable, especially since I'd made it clear that it was urgent he see Brother Gabriel his evening.
"How much longer, do you think?"
Mr. Hancock turned away from the computer terminal where he'd been working since Ritchey's arrival. "I wouldn't know. Can I get you anything?"
"No, thanks." Then, with an edge, he said, "This is very important."
"Yes. You've said that, and that's the message I conveyed to Brother Gabriel."
Which was in no way an apology or an explanation for the wait. It was another fifteen minutes before the massive gilded double doors opened and Brother Gabriel emerged from his bedroom.
He was wearing a bathrobe, although it was fancier than any Ritchey had ever seen, even in catalogues. It was made of silk. The belt Brother Gabriel was tying around his slender waist had long fringe dangling off the ends.
"Good evening, Sheriff Ritchey."
Forgetting his pique, Ritchey shot to h
is feet and nervously threaded the brim of his hat through his fingers. "How are you, Brother Gabriel?"
"Extremely well, thank you. I'm having a brandy. Would you like one?"
"I'm on duty."
"Of course. Something else?"
"No, thank you."
His feet and legs were bare. They were tanned and muscled, beautiful feet and legs for a man. Ritchey stared at them as the preacher unselfconsciously crossed the room. The silk robe didn't conceal much. Ritchey tried not to notice the obvious bulge of his sex or the crack between his buttocks when his back was to him. The man was as naked as a jaybird underneath that robe, but his immodesty astonished Ritchey more than it offended him.
Brother Gabriel took the snifter of brandy from Hancock, who'd had it ready for him and carried it to his desk. He sat down behind it and indolently crossed one long leg over the other. "You dragged me from my bed, Sheriff Ritchey, so I hope this is as urgent as you let on."
"I didn't think you'd be in bed this early. I apologize for waking you up."
"You didn't. I was in bed, but I wasn't sleeping. Now what couldn't wait until morning?"
Ritchey's face was hot with embarrassment. "I wouldn't have bothered you, only I didn't think this should keep till morning."
Brother Gabriel took a sip of brandy, savoring it for several seconds before swallowing. "That was the agreement we reached seven years ago, wasn't it? You'll have the job of sheriff for as long as you want it. In exchange, I receive firsthand information on any matter that should arise concerning me or the ministry."
"Yes, sir, that was the agreement. I'm upholding my end of it."
"So, what's of concern this time?"
"The same as last time."
Brother Gabriel shot Mr. Hancock a quick glance. The assistant left the elaborate computer setup and moved to stand at the edge of Brother Gabriel's desk, apparently deeming Ritchey's business more important than what he'd been working on.
Hancock made the sheriff even more jittery than Brother Gabriel did, if that was possible. How could you trust a man who wore a flower in his lapel? The only other man in Lamesa County who did was the undertaker. Associating the two made Ritchey uneasy.