But she was glad after all for his presence when she pulled into the Gazette parking lot—after edging around the ambulance waiting there.
“What’s going on?” she demanded of one of the interns who stood outside the door, tears rolling down her pink cheeks.
“Someone collapsed,” she cried. “In your office.”
“Oh, my Lord! Della!” Cara pushed past the intern, feeling Mitch close behind her.
As she reached her office, she had to buck her way through the crowd at the doorway.
“What’s wrong with Della?” she asked Beau, who stood right inside the door, his drooping shoulders making his suspenders slack.
“We don’t know yet,” he said.
That wasn’t good enough. Cara drew closer, close enough to see that the EMTs had Della down on the floor.
“Stay back,” one yelled at her.
“What the hell?” Mitch said. He flashed his badge—unnecessary since he was in uniform, Cara thought. He approached her desk.
As she watched, he used a manila file folder to move something right in the middle, a red box.
“Check her for poison!” he ordered the paramedics.
“What are you talking about?” Cara demanded.
He nodded toward the box. A candy box.
On its top was glued an open card that said, “To Cara, from Mitch.”
“I didn’t send this,” Mitch said, his mouth in a grim line.
But Cara’s knees went weak as she realized who probably had sent it. A killer.
For if the candy was poisoned, it had been meant for her.
Chapter Twelve
While the EMTs did their job, Mitch did his. First he called the matter in, requesting back up and a Forensics Division team. Then he commenced his investigation of this latest incident, all while keeping watch over Cara.
Her hazel eyes were wide and frightened as she leaned against her office wall, the taut fold of her slender arms suggesting how hard she worked to keep her emotions in check. He gauged her trembling by the shimmy of her long blue skirt, but she refused to leave the room while Della was being treated.
He wanted to take her into his arms, comfort her. But, as often happened lately, his wants conflicted with the actions he let himself take. For one thing, he didn’t want to embarrass her in front of friends and co-workers. For another, he had work to do. Besides, the best comfort he could give would be to find the truth.
Who had wanted to harm Cara? Those candies had been meant for her. And the card had said they were from him, damn it. Whoever had done it, Mitch wanted to shove those cursed chocolates down the SOB’s throat.
Outside the door, Mitch asked Beau Jennings if he knew where the candy came from. His answer was negative. No surprise.
No one else at the Gazette remembered any unusual deliveries, either. There were always plenty of things being brought to the newspaper office: mail, advertising art, paper, printing supplies. Everyone was supposed to check in at the desk by the front door, but a messenger with a potentially deadly package could easily have slipped by.
Mitch was in the brightly lighted hall outside Cara’s office talking to a proofreader when a paramedic hurried backward through the door, guiding a gurney carrying Della Santoro and holding a plastic bag hooked up to an IV tube. Della, though still alive, was nearly as pale as the bleached sheet covering her, and her eyes were closed.
Mitch had questions for her. He hoped he’d get the opportunity to ask, but it wouldn’t be now.
Cara followed the second paramedic out the door. “Where are you taking her?” she asked.
The EMT named the nearest full-facility hospital, in a larger town close to Ft. Worth. Good. That meant Della was stable enough for the ride that would take half an hour even at top speed, siren shrieking. Mitch had seen accident victims who were taken to the town’s primary emergency clinic die before they could be transported elsewhere. Maybe they’d have died at any facility. But it didn’t speak well of the skills of Doc Swenson, whose clinic it was—and the doc was also the local coroner.
“Can we follow?” Cara asked.
By then, the forensics techs who’d come to the scene of Nancy Wilks’s murder had arrived. They took charge of the candy and checked Cara’s office for fingerprints and other evidence. Deputy Stephanie Greglets had come. So had Deputy Hurley Zeller.
It was getting late. Mitch should be off duty. But if he left now with Cara, he’d never hear the end of it. Zeller would report to Ben Wilson that Mitch disobeyed the sheriff’s direct orders by not handing Cara Hamilton off to him to deal with.
Yet Cara, her chin high but her sweet, slender body shaking, couldn’t stay here.
To accomplish his own key goal, Mitch had to hang on to his job as Mustang County Deputy Sheriff. But if he blew it, so be it.
“Yeah,” he said to Cara. “Let’s go.”
“DELLA, THIS IS Deputy Mitch Steele,” Cara said to the slight woman with messy dark hair and hazy eyes who was propped up in the mechanical bed. “He has some questions for you.”
Her voice was gentle, but at least it was stronger than any other time since she got the call about Della. Mitch was glad. Maybe she was snapping out of her earlier shock. Sure, he found her usual intrusiveness and insistence exasperating. But that was the Cara he’d come to know. And appreciate. And care about.
Where the heck had that come from? He shelved it in his mind to chew over later—and spit out, before it caused him further trouble.
He approached the bed, sliding slightly on the slickness of the polished hospital floor despite the rubber soles of his work shoes. “Hi, Della. I’d like you to help me find out who did this to you by answering some questions.”
“I’ll try.” Her voice was weak, and Mitch leaned over. He smelled the too-clean scents of disinfectant and bleach intermingled with a more sour smell, like vomit. Well, they had pumped the poor woman’s stomach, after all.
The brief interrogation turned out what Mitch anticipated: nada. Zilch. The candy was on Cara’s desk when Della came in. She’d been sure to ask Cara’s permission before taking any.
“I’m so sorry, Della,” Cara interjected. “I didn’t even know about that candy. I assumed you were talking about my regular supply of malted milk balls.”
“You’re not to blame, Cara,” Della said.
But by Cara’s sorrowful expression, Mitch could tell she was riddled with guilt. He’d talk to her about it, but that was something he understood well—a person’s assuming he had control over everything in his life, so if something went wrong, it had to be his fault.
Of course, sometimes it was his fault. But not this time. Nor Cara’s.
He gently insisted that Della go on with her story.
She’d eaten the candy. Then there’d been pain and she’d passed out. “That’s all I know, Deputy.” She sounded apologetic.
“You’ve been helpful, Ms. Santoro. And to Cara’s friends, I’m just Mitch.”
“I didn’t think police gave interviews about ongoing cases, Mitch.” Della’s brown eyes focused on him for the first time. “Cara told me you’re the deputy in charge of the investigation of poor Nancy’s death. She’s looking into it, too. And I gathered from the Gazette article that you disagreed about how the press was handling things.”
Della was an attractive woman, or she would be when her dark brown hair was combed, her mascara not blotched and her complexion less pale. Her bone structure was fine, though her chin was a little too flat. And no one looked good in those ugly, thin hospital gowns.
Mitch knew she was a professor. Cara had told him that. But he wished the woman would keep her lectures to herself.
Before Mitch responded, Cara broke in. More effervescent now, she paced the short length of Della’s hospital room. “I’m not interviewing him about Nancy’s murder,” she said, though she stumbled over the last words. As professional as she was, she apparently couldn’t detach herself emotionally from her friend’s death. It suited her. B
ut Mitch, of all people, recognized how much harder it made her job. “We’ve worked it out for now,” Cara continued. “I won’t quote him unless he approves, which he won’t, I’m sure, till something breaks. Meantime, we’re conducting independent investigations and sharing what we learn.”
Mitch tuned out most of the rest of the conversation, though he listened for any speculations about who had left the candy for Cara. The chocolates would be sent to the lab in Dallas for testing, then they would see.
“I had more background for you on Shotgun Sally,” Della was saying. “You wanted to know where she lived, her family’s property? I researched it and came up with something, though it’s not substantiated yet. The site was on the east side of town. I laid some printouts on your desk.”
“Hopefully, they’ll still be there,” Cara said. “Don’t worry about it now. Just concentrate on feeling better, okay?”
“Sure.” Della sank back into her pillows, her eyes closed.
“I’ll call tomorrow,” Cara said. “For now, get some sleep.”
IT WAS MIDNIGHT before Cara returned to her apartment complex. Surprisingly, she slept part of the ride back. When she’d opened her eyes a few minutes ago, she’d seen the familiar streetlights of Mustang Valley.
Mitch had driven the whole way to the hospital and back. Sometime, while she’d stayed with Della, he’d changed into civilian clothes—jeans and a T-shirt.
He parked in an empty space in her complex’s lot.
“Thanks.” Cara rolled her head along the headrest and found the energy to smile at him. “For everything.” She meant it. His presence had made bearable all the miserable things that had happened that day—the menacing call, the ugly interview with Shem O’Hallihan, the attempt on her life that had harmed poor Della instead.
“You’re welcome.” He opened his door and got out. Nice man. He was probably going to open the door for her, though it wasn’t necessary.
In a moment he helped her out of the car. She looked up into his face under the sodium lights near her building. That last kiss they’d shared—it seemed a long time ago—still sang show tunes in her mind. She wanted him to kiss her again. Could he see that in her eyes?
Oh, yes. In a moment his arms were around her and his lips on hers. Lord, the man could kiss. His hard body rocked against her as he tasted her, using his tongue as a thrusting hint of what he really wanted.
What she really wanted, too. This irritating, officious, sexy deputy had really gotten under her skin.
Heat curled like smoke all through her, particularly where need pulsed inside her.
She smiled against his mouth as she gently pulled away, knowing it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
Speaking of hard… Maybe her mouth had moved away, but her hips hadn’t. She closed her eyes, gathering strength. And then she pulled back. “Good night, Mitch,” she whispered.
“We’ll say good night in a little while,” he said.
Her eyes popped back open, and she narrowed them when she saw mocking humor in a gaze that otherwise mirrored the desire inside her. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “Just because I let you kiss me good night isn’t an invitation for anything else.”
“Let me? I’d say you were more than a willing participant.” He moved closer again and took her into his arms.
Cara didn’t resist when he kissed her once more. Why should she? She enjoyed it. Really enjoyed it. Ached for more—and not just kisses. But that was an urge she wouldn’t give in to.
She wasn’t in a hurry to end this kiss. But eventually she murmured once more, against his lips, “Good night, Mitch.”
“I’m coming inside, Cara,” he said, his words reverberating from the contact with his mouth all the way to her toes.
Temptation? Sure. But she said, “Like hell you are.”
“If you think I’m going to leave you alone tonight after all that happened today, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
Her body stiffened, and she tried to step back. “I don’t need—”
“Yeah, you do. And if you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t. Though if you can be convinced—”
“In your dreams, Steele.” Cara tried hard to still her heavy breathing as she glared at him.
“Most definitely,” he agreed.
THE HELL WITH THIS TORTURE, Cara thought a while later. She lay sleepless in her bed. Her place had only one bedroom, so Mitch was on the couch in her living room. Since he’d been so insistent on staying, she had finally agreed, though she hadn’t offered him her bed.
Suffer! she had thought. He was too substantial a man to feel comfortable on her sofa.
But she was the one who was suffering. For that last kiss kept replaying in her mind. And the fire inside her refused to be snuffed out, even after a lukewarm shower. She hadn’t resorted to a cold one, but that might be next.
Better yet, she’d handle the fire a different way.
Since it was summer, she slept in a short silky nightgown that left her arms and legs bare. It was light blue—not the most seductive color, but so what? She got out of bed and headed for the door.
She pulled it open and listened for a moment. The only illumination was the apartment complex’s light, barely shining between slats of the vertical blinds on her living room window. If Mitch snored, she didn’t hear it. She padded in her bare feet, cool against the hardwood floor, toward the sofa.
“Mitch?” she whispered, unsure whether she wanted to wake him if he was asleep.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded at once. His deep voice wasn’t coarsened by sleepiness.
“What do you think?” She moved to the front of the couch. “I’ve only been threatened by at least two people in the past few days, and one or more actually tried to kill me.”
“I know.” There was a grimness in his tone and utter sexiness to his appearance in the shadows of her apartment. He sat on the sheets she’d proffered as her only concession to making him comfortable. He’d stripped off his clothes, except for white boxers. They seemed to glow in the faint light, calling attention to that part of his body—quite an exclamation, considering the appeal of the breadth of his chest, sprinkled with hair as black as the mussed mop on his head. “That’s why I’m here,” he continued. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe. You can relax.”
“No, I can’t. That’s not the only reason I couldn’t sleep.” She sat down close to him. “Care to guess why?” She let one hand range over the tight muscles of that incredible chest.
Mitch groaned. “Cara, you don’t want to do that.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Maybe she’d come in as the aggressor, but he jumped immediately into her game. Prey became hunter as he wrapped his arms about her, pulling her close. He was warm, with a faint sheen of moisture on his skin. He smelled of the familiar soap she had in her shower, but the scent blended with his own masculine aura of tartness and temptation.
“This isn’t right, Cara,” he whispered, but before she could contradict him, he lowered his mouth to hers once more.
She’d thought his earlier kisses had been sexy, but they were chaste compared with what he did to her now. His tongue was an erotic taunt, thrusting and parrying and driving her wild with desire.
Or maybe that was because he was touching her now, no holds barred. His fingertips plunged below the neckline of her gown, finding her breasts, teasing one nipple, then the other, till she moaned from the sensation. Moist heat oozed from her, down below. She wanted more.
She wanted Mitch.
She showed him so, the best way she knew how. She moved her hands from the taut planes of his back, down, down over his tight butt and around, over his shorts, till she found what she wanted—what she’d already felt pressing against her. His length was thick and rigid and showed he wasn’t kidding when he licked her earlobe and whispered huskily, “I want you. Now.”
Now, that turned up the thermostat of her already burning desire. Still, she wouldn’t
give in that easily to temptation. To allow him to think he was in charge.
“Nope,” she said aloud, ignoring how fast and hard her breathing was. Although she didn’t stop stroking his erection, she otherwise pulled back. Just a little.
“No?” He sounded shocked back to reality. With a groan, he tried to pull away. But she didn’t let him. She held on with gentle strength. “Cara, if you don’t let me stop now, I won’t be able to.”
“Really?” she murmured. “You mean, if in three minutes I stop, you’ll force me to go on?”
“Don’t tease,” he warned. And then she gasped as she felt the roughness of his hand grasp her below, where her ache for him was already intense. He stroked her, teasing her with two fingers where she wanted another part of him to be. Fast.
“No,” she said.
“No?” His voice was ragged, and his stroking stopped.
She grabbed his hand and moved it until he continued. “No, I won’t tease,” she said in explanation. And then she didn’t say anything for a very long time, as he heated her to her boiling point and beyond, stopping only once, to grab protection from a pocket of his pants on the floor.
When he entered her, she cried out. And very soon, she reached the fulfillment she’d yearned for, even as she heard Mitch’s gasp and felt his satisfaction, too.
MITCH WAS NOTHING if not creative. And his stamina?
Incredible. They made love at least three more times that night. Cara lost count. She lost track of time and place, too. When she awakened the next morning she discovered they’d somehow made it into her bed.
Which was a good thing, as she was right beside the phone on her nightstand when it rang. This early in the morning, she knew who it had to be. No one else called at this hour.
“Hi, Mom,” she muttered into the receiver, turning slightly to meet Mitch’s grin as he awakened, too.
“I’ve heard some terrible things about yesterday, Cara.” Cara could picture her mother standing by the wall phone in her kitchen, clutching it, her face filled with worry.
“Probably all an exaggeration.” Cara loved living in Mustang Valley, where she’d grown up. But there were times she wished she lived in Dallas or Ft. Worth or any fair-size town where rumors didn’t circulate like dust in a windstorm.
Lawful Engagement - Linda O Johnston Page 16