by Nina Bruhns
"Ten o'clock. Now tell me what's going on."
"Ten?" He glanced toward the window and frowned. Sunshine poured through the dusty panes. "Then why is it still so light out?"
"It's 10:00 a.m. You slept nearly twenty hours."
"No wonder I feel better."
Had she lain next to him during the night?
"Why did you leave?" she asked. "And who did this to you?"
"Why do you assume it's a 'who' and not a 'what'?" he said, resisting the impulse to check her side of the bed for residual warmth.
"Because Bugs told me those bruises on your ribs and chest were made by a boot and the ones on your face by knuckles."
"You let him look at me naked?" Roman tried to feel whether he was completely bare or just his chest. And feet, he mentally added, wiggling his toes against the blanket.
"I described them to him."
"You looked at me naked?" He grinned, absurdly pleased she'd bothered to assess his condition. She did care, at least a little.
"You're not naked," she gritted out.
Sure enough, he could feel the rasp of denim against his hips and legs. Too bad. Lord, he must be feeling better.
"I just pulled off your boots. You'd done the T-shirt yourself. I couldn't help but notice the distinctive triangle shape of the black and blue marks, so I asked Bugs. He was very enlightening."
"Insects are his field of expertise, but he can wax eloquent about bruising," Roman agreed. "And does a mean exit wound, too."
He didn't have to open his eyes to know she'd closed hers and was counting to ten. His grin widened. He did love her hot little temper. It had always led to such gratifying make-ups. Maybe if he really pushed her—
"Please, Roman. Tell me who did this to you. And why."
The bed dipped and he felt her hand gently rest on his chest. His eyes sprang open to see her gazing down at him, eyebrows pleated.
Hell. He was wrong, she wasn't angry; she was worried. It was almost as if she somehow knew it was connected to her, and couldn't stand that.
He looked up at her face, so concerned, so trusting. He wished to God he didn't have to shatter a piece of that trust.
"I didn't leave. I couldn't come back. Three Inyo County sheriff's deputies gave me a tune-up and left me for dead. Toby found me and saved my life. But I was out for almost three days thanks to his grandmother's home remedy."
"Oh, my God!" Her expression melted into a portrait of stunned confusion. "But that can't be true! Why would sheriff s deputies beat you up?"
"They mentioned something about me stealing cars and women. And that I should leave Inyo County and not come back. They did their best to persuade me to their point of view."
"Stealing women?"
"Course, that was before they found my FBI credentials."
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to imply?"
He sighed. "I'm implying nothing, cara. Just answering your questions."
She leaped off the bed, fury emanating from every pore. "I don't believe it. You're saying Philip had something to do with this!"
"O'Donnaugh wasn't there. He was with you."
"You think he gave the orders!"
"I didn't say that."
"But that's what you believe."
Disgusted, he tossed off the blanket and rolled to his feet. "The only thing I believe right now is, something is going on here that shouldn't be. And trust me, I'm going to get to the bottom of it."
* * *
She'd stalked from the cabin shortly after that, and was out at the site helping Bugs. Roman could see them, heads bent together over something or other that had shown up in the screen. He had to parry a stab of jealousy over the sight of them standing so close. Bugs was smart, good-looking, and single. True, examining dead bodies wasn't exactly a glamorous profession. But still, if Bugs made a move on RaeAnne, it would be over his dead body.
Roman wrestled his jealousy back and shook his head over how quickly the flames of possessiveness had swept over him. It would be pure torture giving her up if she really meant to send him away.
But he was determined that wouldn't happen anytime soon. Luckily she hadn't pressed the issue of wanting him to leave. He hated to be hard-nosed about it, but there was no chance in hell he was going anywhere until this murder case was solved. There were too many questions. Too many coincidences. And too many cosmic connections—the kind that intersected around him and her and Cleary Hot Springs. As an FBI agent, if there was one thing he totally mistrusted, it was coincidence.
On top of which, Bugs was staying at a motel down the mountain, which meant she'd be at the site alone.
Not an ice cube's chance.
After breakfast, he strolled up to the hot springs for a long soak, hoping the minerals in the water would hurry his healing. He peeled off all the small bandages Cole's wife had plastered over his face and arms and lay back in the steaming granite basin, counting butterflies and the steady stream of vehicles on the winding road to and from the lumber camp.
And came up with a plan.
* * *
"Coffee anyone?"
Roman had put together some sandwiches and brewed a pot of cowboy coffee, figuring RaeAnne would drop dead from hunger before coming back to the cabin for lunch.
"You're looking a lot better," Bugs commented as he accepted an enameled mug. "What the hell happened, anyway?"
"Long story," Roman evaded, pouring RaeAnne a cup and adding sugar. He tried to catch her eye as she took it, but she wouldn't look at him. This was going well.
"So, Bugs, got any theories about our dead guy?"
Bugs sipped his coffee with an ambrosial expression. "You always did make the best java. Well, it seems like a pretty straightforward case of murder by gunshot. Nothing struck me as too out of the ordinary."
"Other than the burial site," Roman said, taking a seat near the edge of the unit they were working in.
"Right. No blood in the grave and not a lot left in the body, so he was killed somewhere else and brought here for disposal."
"Why?" RaeAnne said, then looked up when they turned to her. "Why here?"
"That's the big question," Roman concurred, glad curiosity had prodded her from her silence.
"The lab is working on some plant fibers from the clothes. Might give us a clue," Bugs said.
"Did you get fingerprints?"
Bugs nodded. "Some partials. Dawson should be getting the ID this morning, if he's in the system."
Thoughtfully RaeAnne gazed at Roman. "And with any luck, knowing who he is will give you a motive for his death, and thereby the identity of the killer as well."
"Ideally," he agreed, "that's how it works."
Open-and-shut. That's what he wanted out of this case. That, and no connection between the murder and RaeAnne or her excavation, which thank God was impossible, due to the timing of the death.
"It has to be someone who knows the area," she said, tapping a finger against her lips. He was captured by the image, supple strength against moist softness, and wished he could become that small column so casually accepting her mouth's caress.
"Otherwise they wouldn't know about this site," she continued, snapping him out of his daydream. "Hide a body in an old cemetery. Pretty smart. They probably hoped the remains would just blend in with all the others."
He swiped up his mug to keep his hands occupied, once again impressed with her deductions. He frowned as a thought occurred. "And if the killer is still around, he must have been damn nervous when you first started your dig. Did anyone give you a hard time, or try to stop you?"
RaeAnne shook her head slowly. "No. Just Toby."
They stared at each other as the implications settled in. Just one more reason to find Toby immediately and grill the kid. Roman had accumulated quite a list by now.
"Toby can't be involved. He's just a boy."
As he said, Roman didn't believe in coincidence, and there were too many of them concerning Toby. He was involved, all right.
Roman just wasn't sure how.
"I don't think Toby's killed anyone," he said evasively. "What about the lumber camp?"
"Lumber camp?" Bugs interjected.
Roman jerked a chin toward the high country. "Up the mountain a few miles. Pretty active, judging from the traffic."
"Maybe a fight got out of hand?"
"Would make sense. And here would certainly be a convenient spot for one of them to dump the body. They must all know about the historical site." More often than not the simplest explanation solved the crime. He prayed it was the case this time, too.
"A twelve-gauge shotgun is as common as it gets. I'll bet the lumber camp is littered with them."
"Do you know how long the camp's been there?" be asked RaeAnne.
She shook her head. "A long time. But Philip would know more exactly. He goes up there all the time."
He whipped his gaze to her. "Is that so?"
"Don't start with me," she muttered through clenched teeth. "A cruiser comes through almost daily, checking on things. The sheriff likes knowing what's going on in his jurisdiction."
Roman wasn't about to remind her that the National Forest wasn't part of the sheriff's jurisdiction. If the man was guilty of something, proof would surface and Roman'd be spared playing the Big Bad Wolf to Mr. Perfect.
Instead he said, "Then O'Donnaugh should know if any of the loggers disappeared in the past year or two."
"I'm sure he would," she answered in clipped tones.
"And if anyone quit recently."
"You mean the killer?" She suddenly looked worried.
He nodded. "If the killer is one of the seasonal workers, I doubt he's stayed in the area. Especially after you started excavating."
Nervously she glanced around the site. "God, I hope not."
He rose, dusting off his pants. "Don't worry, you've got Bugs here to protect you."
"Hey!" Bugs said, "Where will you be?"
He gave the other man a wry smile. "Doing my job. Which I can't do sitting here drinking coffee, as much as I'd like to."
"Uh, listen." Bugs stood up and handed him a pile of evidence bags. "I was wondering…"
Roman placed the bags in the carton next to the unit. "Spit it out, compadre."
"Miss Martin has been very cooperative, helping me gather my samples and evidence."
"Thank you," she said with a smile.
"But the thing is, I'm down to the area right under where the body was, and, well, I prefer to work that part alone. You know how oblivious I get while I'm working, so I feel Miss Martin would be safer if she went with you today."
Bugs gave him a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat. The man was a regular nuisance. "You do, eh?"
"That won't be necessary," RaeAnne said primly. "I have things to take care of. I don't need a bodyguard."
From her lips, the term bodyguard took on a whole new meaning. Oh, yeah. He'd love to guard her body. Closely. The trouble was, at this point the main thing her body needed protection from was him. Still, Bugs had a point.
"Until we know what we're dealing with, Bugs is right. It's best we stick together."
"Oh, honestly. You desert me for four days, and now you're worried about my safety? Make up your mind, Roman."
He turned and took in the sight of her. Her proud stance and tilt of her chin, the arms crossed across her chest like armor, the vulnerable trace of hurt and heartache that still lingered in the depths of her eyes. The hint of uncertainty.
No, there was no need to make up his mind. It had been made up long ago. It had just taken him too many years to recognize.
"Please," he said, stretching out his free hand toward her. "I want you with me."
It didn't come out as the order he'd intended, but more of a plea. Just as well. It made her meet his gaze and hesitate.
Just long enough for him to add, "But first I need you to do me a big favor."
* * *
Chapter 9
«^»
"You want me to do what?"
Caught by complete surprise, RaeAnne laughed out loud. "Cut your hair? Are you serious?"
Roman tipped his head. The long raven strands flowed from his crown to his shoulders, the shorter sides and braid over his ear making him look like some kind of space pirate. Amusement suddenly twinkled in his eyes. "Well, if you like it this way so much, I guess I could keep it—"
"Oh, no," she said, taking in the wild hairdo. "A new style would be good." She wiggled a brow. "But are you sure you still trust me with scissors near your neck?"
"Funny."
She smiled, remembering all the times she'd trimmed his hair in high school. She'd apprenticed for a summer in a beauty salon to get out of Home Economics the next semester, and he'd been her guinea pig. Most of her experiments had turned out okay. He'd never complained. Especially when she'd shampooed his hair at home afterward in the bathtub. To this day she couldn't take a bubble bath without being assailed by visions of suds slipping over smooth bronze skin, or getting a shiver over the thought of what would always come next.
He met her glance, and she knew immediately he was also remembering those times in the tub. She pushed the memories aside and asked briskly, "Not that I think a haircut won't be an improvement, but what brought this on?"
"Since I'm going official on this case, I suppose I should give my undercover image a rest." He watched her steadily, heat still blazing in his eyes, despite his innocuous answer.
"Ah." She licked her lips, unable to stifle her body's instinctive reaction to his unspoken invitation, or even look away.
"Time for a change, anyhow," he added.
The low, intimate timbre of his words made her legs suddenly weak. It was a tone that said he was talking about more than getting a haircut.
I want you with me.
His earlier declaration continued to ring in her ears. She didn't know what to think. He kept saying stuff like that, and yet he disappeared when she needed him most. When he should want to be with her and nowhere else.
"Want to borrow my surgical scissors?" Bugs offered from down in the unit, breaking through her confusion. "They're pretty sharp. Just do me a favor and don't mess up my crime scene."
RaeAnne accepted the scissors and led Roman to a tree stump in the meadow, well away from the grave site. He pulled off his shirt and took a seat.
Bugs was right. The scissors were really sharp. She had to give the job her full attention as she snipped away Roman's hair, and not look down at the broad expanse of strong back, the thick ropes of his biceps and forearms, the knotted discs of his male nipples. Or the blue-green web of bruises scattered over his otherwise perfect body. To see all that would surely shatter her concentration and cause a disaster.
Somehow she was able to hold her hands steady as she clipped away long locks of obsidian-black, leaving a civilized man in the pirate's place.
Well, almost civilized. She stood back for a good look at her handiwork, and her pulse skipped at the sheer, primitive male power he exuded, even at rest.
"What do you think?" he asked, brushing snippets of hair from his shoulders.
A wedge of air stuck in her throat and she forgot completely what she was supposed to be looking at. Her gaze slid down his body and snagged on his lean, trim waist, his low-slung black leather pants hugging his hips without an inch of surplus.
"Um…"
Under the bruises, his smooth skin glowed like polished copper, muscles rippling across a washboard torso. She was seized with an irrational urge to stroke her hands over his battered chest and ribs, horror at what he'd gone through all jumbled up inside together with a potent attraction that wouldn't be denied. She wanted to soothe his hurts, and assuage her own hunger to touch him at the same time.
Lord, she had to get hold of herself.
She snapped herself back to the subject of Roman's haircut. "A little short for my taste, but it'll do."
"Come here," he said, capturing her eyes with his, beckoning her back to him through t
he pure force of his will.
A bad idea. She shook her head.
"Brush me off." He handed her his shirt and waited expectantly.
A really bad idea. She didn't move.
"Scared?"
She lifted her chin. "Of course not." Gripping the shirt, she made herself step nonchalantly between his legs again, afraid to admit to either of them just how terrified she really was. "Don't be ridiculous."
With firm swipes of the shirt, she dusted the fallen hairs from his shoulders, careful to keep from actually touching him. "What would I be scared of?"
"Touching me." He just smiled when she jerked away and stared at him. "Because if you do, you'll have to admit to yourself how much you want me to touch you back. And that scares you even more."
She felt the heat rise in her face. How did he do it? How could he constantly read her mind like that?
"I saw how you looked at me, cara."
She gave herself a mental kick and replied, "You're a good-looking man. Who wouldn't?"
His lazy smile blazed through her like a torch on ice cream. "Not like you were looking."
"You're dreaming, Santangelo."
"Oh, yeah," he said. "I'm dreaming." His hands reached for her hips, pulled her closer into the V of his legs. "Dreaming of you and me together."
She subdued the jolt of electricity his touch sent through her and extracted herself from his grip, circling around to his back. "I told you I'm not going to bed with you again."
"Who said anything about bed?"
She rested her hands on his shoulders, oh, so tempted to slide them around to his chest, embracing the warmth of his body, filling her arms with the feel of him.
"I want you," he quietly said. "Anywhere I can have you."
It was no more than she already knew, but his words, spoken so simply and with such emotion, almost did her in.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered, "Please, Roman, don't."
"Why not? It's the truth."
"It can't work. We both know it. There's too much past between us, and not enough future."