by Debra Webb
He bobbed his head up and down. "He wants a real-life piece on the life of a trail guide and a mountain rescue member. Says it's real important to his publisher."
Jayne shrugged. "You don't want to give him the interview?" Sounded like an easy fix to her. A frown inched its way across her brow at his hesitation to answer her question. Judging by Walt's expression there wasn't anything easy about it.
After several moments of deliberation, he confessed, "He doesn't want it from me. He wants a woman's perspective."
It took a few moments for the words to infiltrate the nice little buzz the beer she'd had for dinner and the relaxing bath had cloaked around her brain. "A woman?" she parroted. He couldn't mean…
"I need you to do this for me, Jayne. I owe this guy."
Her head was moving from side to side of its own volition before the words were fully out of her boss's mouth. "I don't need some reporter dragging around in the snow with me, Walt. You have to know what an added risk that would be. You know the rule don't create any new victims. You're the one who came up with that slogan."
He hung his head. "I know. But I'm desperate here. This is important. Can you help me out?"
She crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "For how long?" She had to be out of her mind to agree to this. If she didn't love her big old cuddly boss so much she'd tell him to forget it. But clearly this was a big deal to him. He either owed this guy big-time as he said or he wanted to impress him by showing off a member of his team. A female member, which was admittedly a rarity.
"Three days tops," he said quickly. "As soon as the avalanche advisory passes you can take him on a private tour of whatever peak you prefer."
She lifted one eyebrow skeptically. "Can this guy even ski? I'm not risking my life so some lowlander can scramble up a mountain. He'd better be a skilled climber or he can forget hiking up any peak that would interest me."
Walt blushed to the roots of his gray hair. What was up with that?
"He…ah…he's a skilled climber," her boss assured her. "Has a lot of experience. He won't be a liability."
Jayne still wasn't convinced. "I'll be the judge of that," she countered, annoyed. "He'll have to pass a competency test before he goes anywhere with me." There. That should scare off the cocky reporter. She felt certain once her boss explained to the guy just exactly what a competency test involved he'd be ready to hightail it back to Denver.
Walt suddenly stepped to one side and another man came into view. Jayne's heart skidded to a near stop. Tall was the first detail her mind wrapped around. Dark hair and eyes…the darkest brown eyes she'd ever seen. And those dark orbs were glittering with amusement at her at that very moment.
"When would you like to start?" he asked.
The deep, husky sound of his voice shivered over her skin like a gust of summit wind…only it warmed her on the inside while it raised goose bumps on her flesh.
"Er…Jayne, this is Heath Murphy. He's the investigative journalist my friend at the Post sent to capture this story." Her boss gestured to the man at his side. "Mr. Murphy, this is Jayne Stephens, the best trail guide and rescuer on my team."
Heath Murphy thrust out his hand. "It's a pleasure, Ms. Stephens."
Her eyes still glued to the mesmerizing ones analyzing her so thoroughly, Jayne placed her palm against the one offered. Something electrical sizzled up her arm set ting off alarms in her head. Startled, she jerked back her hand. Her bewilderment instantly morphed into renewed irritation. What the hell was wrong with her? The beer maybe? The weakness left behind after a wild adrenaline rush…whatever the problem she had no intention of acting like a starstruck adolescent.
"I wish I could say the same, Mr. Murphy," she said bluntly. "But you see, in my line of work, the unknown can get you killed."
A smile stretched across that handsome face and her knees almost buckled at the sensual intensity of it. "Don't worry, Ms. Stephens, I can assure you I know how to handle myself in any situation."
Oddly, that was the part that scared her the most.
CHAPTER FOUR
A sultry mix of rhythm and blues whined from the speakers tucked neatly into the Altitude Bar and Grill's classic decor. The jukebox filled with classics was set on continual play—the spirits flowed like a river. The place was crowded with impatient skiers infuriated by the avalanche advisory that had kept them off the slopes that day. Threats of skiing tomorrow, whatever the conditions, were tossed about like speculations on the rise or decline of the stock market, with every bit as much vehemence.
Heath shook his head. Stupid tourists. Whether they were skilled skiers or not, getting out in this kind of weather was suicide. Two more feet of snow had been dumped on the area just yesterday, making conditions ripe for trouble. Those who'd doled out the cash for one-week stays in one of the country's premiere ski resorts had a single goal in mind—getting their money's worth. They'd come here for the snow, what was the big deal?
Not smart.
Jayne Stephens had done a stellar job ignoring Heath for most of the day. He'd watched her leave her apartment practically before daylight to go for a five-mile run. He had to admit he hadn't gone five miles in a while. Over the past couple of years he'd gotten kind of lazy, putting in no more than the perfunctory two or three miles per day that being a cop required. Just enough to keep in decent shape.
The cold combined with the altitude hadn't made this morning's extra effort any easier. Once he'd nearly been certain she'd noted his presence, but then she'd gone on as if she'd seen nothing at all.
Still, he had a feeling she'd known he was there.
After a shower and change of clothes she'd moved on to errands and shopping. She'd dropped by the post office, cruised a couple of women's boutiques, then popped in the supermarket. She'd parked her decade-old SUV behind the bar and trudged up the back stairs, both arms loaded with bags of groceries.
She hadn't come out of her room again until 5:00 p.m. when she'd joined Rafe in the bar to work. That move had surprised Heath. He hadn't read anything in her file about her working at the bar and grill from time to time, but according to Rafe she helped him out fairly often. Good help was hard to find, he insisted. His best waitresses were always leaving town with some rich tourist.
Considering every waitress Heath had seen thus far was not only young but attractive, he could see that happening. He wondered what kept Jayne Stephens hanging around. He sipped his beer and watched her now. Her thick brown hair was pulled back into a braid that hung to her waist. Those green eyes were attentive and the smile…well, the smile was pretty damned gorgeous. Every male in the room noticed, even those ac companied by a wife or girlfriend.
The only person who didn't seem to take note of the attention was Jayne herself. She stayed busy, never slowing or taking extra time to chat. He wondered at that. A young, attractive woman like her should have a steady social calendar, but from what he'd learned so far she scarcely dated and hadn't had a single long-term romantic interest since her arrival in Aspen three years ago.
She took her work seriously, too seriously maybe. Appeared to have no interest in pursuing anything beyond the degree in geology she'd already achieved.
Content.
A frown tugged at Heath's brow. That was the word. Jayne Stephens seemed content with her life just as it was. Definitely unusual this day and time. Satisfaction was a difficult state to reach and maintain. Even he couldn't call himself content. There were holes in his life, past and present. A kind of emptiness haunted him that never really went away.
Heath took a sip from his beer and pushed the thought away. The past was gone…dead. No point re hashing any of it.
Work was what he did now. The occasional date accompanied by sex and then nothing. Eventually he'd stopped bothering, focusing solely on getting a new career off the ground. He had reason to cut himself some slack. He wondered what was her issue. She had to have one. People didn't turn off certain needs without a reason.
"Oka
y."
The subject of his reverie dropping into the chair across the table from him jerked Heath from his unsettling musings. His gaze clashed with hers before he could completely disguise his surprise at her sudden move.
"Why are you watching me, Mr. Murphy?" She placed her tray on the table and propped her elbow next to it to rest her chin in her hand. Those clear green eyes studied him with a curiosity that was at once disconcerting and appealing.
He gave himself a mental shake. "Heath. Call me Heath."
She leaned back in her chair and studied him a bit longer before continuing. "All right. Heath. Why are you watching me like this? I thought you were here to cover mountain rescue or hiking in the backcountry. What does my waiting tables have to do with either of those things?"
"I'm interested in all aspects of your life. This—" he gestured to the room at large "—is part of what makes you who you are."
She cocked her head and eyed him skeptically, apparently searching for the ulterior motive. "Really?"
Cute, he decided, even annoyed as she was. "Absolutely."
Jayne pushed to her feet and picked up her tray. When she would have walked past him to attend to her customers she leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Just one pointer—you're going to have to run a hell of a lot faster if you plan to keep up with me."
A self-deprecating grin slid over Heath's lips. Oh yeah. She'd noticed him this morning. He watched her move back to the bar to place an order but this time his attention wasn't drawn to her long hair…those swaying hips snagged his complete interest. He wasn't supposed to focus on those kinds of details, but she had a great body. Running wasn't all she did to keep in shape, he'd wager. A little body pump, maybe yoga for flexibility. A person, man or woman, had to have tremendous upper-body strength to be a climber, especially one trained to rescue the injured.
Her legs were long, well muscled but still womanly. Very nice curves—dangerous curves—completed her stature. This morning's running attire had included frame-forming material from the waist down. Great legs, great ass. Both of which he could objectively appreciate as a man, he told himself. The assessment was a fact, nothing more.
She turned just then and objectivity went out the window. His heart rate surged as if he'd just scaled to some unseen peak. What was it about her innocent beauty that disturbed him so? She could very well be hiding information about her father. She could know exactly where he was, who he was, everything.
But the sharpest instincts Heath possessed refuted that conclusion. She didn't know what her father did…had no idea who he was. Her life was far too serene to be hiding a secret that unsettling. If this mission played out the way Danes wanted it to she would soon learn both things about her father. Maybe that was the part that got to Heath. Her life of simple contentment was about to end and his participation represented the catalyst.
As a police detective he had used people, generally dirtbags, to glean the information he needed. He'd hurt people, even killed once. All in the line of duty.
But never, not once in his life had he damaged the innocent. And this time there was no way around it. He clenched his jaw and stared hard at his glass of beer. If he could find anything on her, some wrong thing she'd done, some knowledge of wrongdoing she possessed, his conscience might just let him slide on this one, but his gut told him that wasn't going to happen.
She was clean.
Innocent.
He closed his eyes and exhaled.
Whatever it takes.
Cole Danes expected him to use her no matter the circumstances or the fallout.
Heath opened his eyes and asked himself the question he should have asked before he surrendered to this assignment.
Would Victoria Colby-Camp have allowed this underhanded strategy? Would she have directed him to use this young woman in whatever way necessary? Heath didn't know Victoria very well but he understood one thing with complete certainty: Victoria was a woman of principle. One who would never compromise those principles. So, the real question was, just who was Heath actually working for? The Colby Agency or Cole Danes?
He had his orders.
She, his gaze followed Jayne as she weaved her way through the congested tables, was his assignment. What ever it took to reel in her father. No questions, no hesitation. Her emotional well-being would be part of the collateral damage, but Heath would do everything within his power to see that she didn't lose anything else. Keeping her safe, maintaining control over her physical well-being, was paramount.
As she headed back to the bar with an empty tray a rowdy patron snagged her by the arm. Heath went on instant alert, sat up a little straighter. He'd noticed this guy flirting with her all evening. The jerk stood, taking the tray from her and setting it aside as a new, achingly slow R & B melody floated through the air.
Smiling politely, Jayne attempted to beg off the unwanted advances, but her pursuer didn't let go. Heath pushed to his feet as the jerk tugged her to the dance floor. It was clear that she had grudgingly relented to the dance to prevent a scene.
Before he realized he'd even moved, Heath was at the guy's back, fury pounding in his skull. He tapped him on the shoulder.
"Get lost," the guy tossed over that same shoulder.
In one fluid motion Heath gripped the man's arm and turned him around. Before the jerk could spit out what ever he'd intended to say, Heath warned, "This is my dance, pal."
The lethal intensity of the words sent the guy staggering back a step. "Whatever," he muttered. He re leased his hold on Jayne and shuffled back to his table and friends.
She looked as annoyed at Heath as she was at the other guy. "It wasn't a big deal," she protested. "Rafe would have stepped in if he'd thought I needed help."
One glance at the bar told Heath she was right. Rafe was watching, his gaze narrowed suspiciously even now.
Heath shrugged. "Looked like a big deal to me."
When she would have walked away Heath stopped her with a hand on her arm careful to keep his touch gentle. "You mean after all that I don't get the dance." He couldn't say what possessed him to make such a move. Maybe Danes's words about seduction echoing in his brain, or maybe just plain old lust. Whatever the case, he wanted this dance…wanted to hold her like that.
She surveyed her tables and tossed a look at her boss before meeting Heath's gaze. "Sure." She halfheartedly hung her arms around his neck and gave him a look that said she had better things to do. "I wouldn't want you to miss out on anything that makes me tick."
Oh, the lady had an attitude problem. He smiled, slid his arms around her waist and scooted her real close. She gasped, startled by the bold move. Heath's smile widened to a grin. "Thanks. That'll make my job a lot easier."
The dance floor was crowded, which ensured that they stayed close. The music drowned out all else. After about thirty seconds Heath gave up on pretending the dance was about the case. Instead, he lost himself to the sweet smell of her. Lilac. Not perfume. Bath oil maybe. Or shampoo. Soft and subtle. Sweet and enticing. He in haled deeply, allowing her scent to permeate his senses.
The heat…the response she generated in his body surprised him, caught him completely off guard. The man-woman thing, physical attraction. That's all it was. Basic chemistry. But the conclusion didn't ebb the tension tightening inside him. If anything, the mental denial only pushed him closer to some crazy edge on a physical level.
Another couple bumped into them and Jayne's arms tightened around him. His own reacted in kind. Protective instinct, he told himself. But when his jaw brushed her soft temple he knew his speculations were way off course. Want seared through him, burning down too many defenses for comfort.
It was crazy but he couldn't stop it. She felt good in his arms and somehow he needed that. Like going shop ping without having eaten for days and buying every thing in the supermarket. He felt starved for just this kind of touch…her touch. No strings, no emotional lug gage. Just the simple pull of attraction. He hadn't realized how badly he'd wan
ted to feel that again.
Impossible, the voice of reason insisted…but every sway of her body, every touch of her against him shook him up inside…made him want her more. Incredible…but true. His hands slid down her back, pulled her closer still. He felt the little hitch in her breathing…felt her tremble. And then he stopped, unable to do anything but look at her and wonder at how a total stranger could make him react so irrationally.
The music faded away and she stepped back, her eyes round with surprise or something on that order.
"I have to get back to work."
She left him standing there…watching her walk away.
Heath shook off the haze of lust and made his way back to his table. What the hell had just happened?
He looked at his empty beer mug and decided an other was in order but damned if he'd risk having her get close enough for him to order one.
He pushed a path through the thickening crowd, slid onto the one empty bar stool and waited for Rafe to notice his presence. The bar was a sharp contrast to the tables behind him. Most of the folks seated on the stools spoke quietly to each other or basically peered silently into their drinks. The rabble-rousers and dancers were all taking up space around the numerous tables.
He gave himself a mental kick for going stupid on that damned dance floor. Maybe he'd just gotten caught up in the moment. Everyone else was partying the night away.
Yeah, right. And maybe he'd lost his mind. That was the more likely scenario. Lust. He'd neglected his social life far too long.
Jayne rushed up to the bar a few feet away and belted out an order. Thankfully four or five occupied seats separated her from Heath. He refused to look her way but, as bad luck would have it, their gazes collided in the mirror behind the bar. She looked away first.
Damn.
Twenty-four hours and he'd already lost control of the game. Not a good sign for his future career. He had a feeling Cole Danes was not the sort of man who readily accepted failure.