Harlequin Intrigue, Box Set 1 of 2 (14 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

There was blood on her hands.

Not her own. And thankfully, not Jericho's. She wasn't exactly sure how it got there, but it belonged to Rossman.

After the ambulance had taken the man's body away and Jericho had come back into the sheriff's office, she'd ended up in Jericho's arms. Laurel was fuzzy about how that'd happened, too, but she'd pretty much lost it when he had told her what Rossman had said.

Of course, she'd known all along that her father was capable of murder. Had known he would do anything to get Maddox and get back at her. But now a man was dead, and he'd used his dying breath to deliver a message.

Tell her that he's coming to kill her.

There it was in a nutshell. So what if they had proof now to discredit her father and get the charges against her dismissed? That wouldn't matter if he was hell-bent on making sure she was dead.

And that riled her to the core.

Rossman's blood angered her, too, because it was yet another reminder of a life lost in this ordeal. Too many lives, including Jericho's father and her own mother. Added to that were the injuries and the fear that seemed to be crushing her lungs.

One way or another, Herschel was going to pay.

She heard the footsteps, and several moments later, Jericho appeared in the doorway of his office where she was waiting. He, too, still had blood on him and was sporting a very concerned expression. Something he'd had for the past hour, since Rossman had been murdered.

“Did you find my father?” she asked.

Some of the concern vanished, replaced by frustration when he shook his head. “Not yet. The deputies looked for him, but I brought them back in so the office—and you—would be protected. The Rangers just arrived so they'll take over the search.”

If her father was indeed still out there, he was probably staying well hidden. Until it was time for the final attack against her.

“I'm making arrangements for a safe house,” Jericho continued. “The Sweetwater Springs's sheriff has offered to lend me two of his deputies to do backup for us while we're at the safe house. But I'm also making this place as safe as possible in the meantime. We've got the security system turned on. And as I said, the reserve deputies are here. Levi, too. He's staying now that Chase doesn't need him.”

She certainly hadn't forgotten about Chase, but with everything else going on, she'd pushed him to the back of her mind. “How's Chase?”

“He'll be okay. He's a Crockett, and along with a hard head, he's got thick skin like the rest of us.”

Laurel appreciated Jericho's attempt to lighten things up, but nothing was going to work right now.

“Did you get a chance to call Jax?” Jericho asked her.

She nodded. “Everything's okay, but Maddox was asleep, so I didn't get a chance to talk to him. He doesn't usually go to sleep this early.”

“Between the deputies, my mom and Jax, he's got four playmates. I'm betting they tired him out.”

Maybe. She hoped that was true and that her little boy wasn't picking up on all the stress from the danger.

She certainly was.

Laurel felt wired and exhausted at the same time. There was so much nervous energy bubbling up inside her and nowhere to aim it. Too bad her father wasn't around so she could give him a piece of her mind.

“Come on,” Jericho said, helping her to her feet. “There's a bathroom just off the break room. Well, sort of a bathroom. No shower, but there's a sink. The water pressure's practically nonexistent, and the hot-water heater taps out after about a minute, but we can both wash off some of the blood.”

Yes, they could wash it off, but Laurel would still see it.

Still feel it, too.

“Laurel's going to get some rest,” Jericho told Levi when he leaned around the hall corner to look into the squad room.

His brother was obviously busy, but Levi muttered something about that being a good idea. And it was, in theory. But that didn't mean it was going to happen. Not with her mind in tornado mode.

“I wish my father was dead,” she said.

Jericho made a quick sound of agreement and led her toward the break room. A place she already knew too well since she'd stayed there for hours the night after the first attack. Maddox had slept on the small bed tucked against the wall while she paced and worried about, well, everything. She wasn't pacing now, but the worry was still there in spades.

He opened one of the metal lockers positioned against the wall and took out a gray T-shirt. He held it up, glancing at it, then at her.

Jericho tossed her the T-shirt. “It won't be a good fit, but it'll be better than nothing.”

It would be. She didn't want any more reminders of the violence that'd just taken place.

The blinds were still closed, and he slapped off the overhead lights. However, it didn't plunge them into total darkness because of the light coming from the hall. There were also lights threading in around the edges of the blinds. Plenty of light for her to see the worried look on his face.

“Is there something you aren't telling me?”

He looked down at the blood on her hands. On the front of her top, too. “I just don't like seeing that on you.”

“I could say the same thing.” She touched the front of his shirt. Of course, that meant she touched his chest, too. Not a good idea, considering her raw nerves and spiked adrenaline.

Also not a good idea because of the attraction.

Jericho didn't exactly step back, but it was close. He glanced away, dodging her gaze and dodging her touch in the process. Wise decision. His mind was likely in tornado mode, too.

“Go ahead. Wash up,” he said, opening the bathroom door for her.

Laurel didn't turn on the light, and since there was no window, there was even less light in here than in the break room itself. Still, she found her way to the sink and began to wash off the blood.

“My father took a huge risk by shooting Rossman,” Laurel said, thinking out loud. Thinking quietly about it, too. There was something about this that just didn't add up.

Jericho made a sound of agreement, but she could still see his face, and that wasn't agreement in his expression. “Think this through. Pulling the trigger himself just isn't something Herschel would do. So, why do it now? Especially when he has his spies planted all around. Why not just get one of them to do his dirty work?”

Good question. Too bad Laurel didn't have a good answer. “You think Rossman would use his dying breath to lie?”

“He might if he was dying, anyway, and wanted to get back at Herschel. Heck, Rossman could have even shot himself. A suicide so he could incriminate your father. After all, Rossman was about to be arrested for money laundering. His partner's already dead, so he might have figured this was the easy way out.”

She splashed some water on her face while she thought about that. Yes, a suicide was possible. But it was also possible that either Theo, Dorothy or both had ordered the hit on Rossman.

Laurel groped around until she located a towel. Dried her face. And then debated how to change out shirts. She didn't especially want to close the door between Jericho and herself, but it probably wasn't a good idea to strip down in front of him, either, so she stepped back into the corner of the bathroom to change. When she came back out, she realized he was staring at her.

Judging from the heat in his eyes, maybe she hadn't been in the shadows as much as she thought. Best not to bring it up, though. And it wasn't as if they didn't have anything else to think about. Or talk about.

“My father has a strong motive for wanting Rossman dead,” she reminded him. Reminded herself, too.

Jericho nodded. “But it still doesn't feel right. Herschel would have found another way. Maybe a car accident like the one that Rossman's partner had. Now, that's something Herschel would do.”

“But Rossman said he saw my father.”

“He could have lied about that. Or maybe he did see him. Herschel's probably still in town somewhere, and Rossman could have been at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Or else someone could have made sure he was there by luring him to the area. Theo or Dorothy could have certainly managed that. And that meant they were back to square one again.

Well, almost.

“You can still use Rossman's accusation to arrest my father.” Her father might be able to wiggle out of the charges, but that would take time, and it would give him something else to focus on rather than Jericho and her.

“Oh, yeah,” Jericho quickly agreed. “And trust me, that's exactly what'll happen when he's found. I've asked the Rangers to assist in the search.”

Good. So, not square one.

“But we need more,” he added. “I'm playing around with the notion of trying to set some kind of trap to lure your father or anyone else involved in this.”

“What kind of trap?”

He shook his head. “Not sure yet. I'm still trying to work it all out. But once I have the details set in my mind, you'll be the first to know.”

Jericho peeled off his blood-stained shirt and headed into the bathroom. As she'd done, he scrubbed his hands, hard. His face, too. But since she was holding the only towel, he came back into the doorway to take it from her.

“You're worrying,” he pointed out, frowning. Maybe because she was frowning at herself. “You shouldn't. There's good news in all of this. With Herschel arrested and charged with murder, that'll make it easier to ax the arrest warrants against both of us. Ax his custody petition, too.”

Laurel heard every word he said. Felt the relief that the danger might finally be ending. But she also had a shirtless Jericho standing in front of her, and he hadn't even attempted to find a shadowy corner to hide while he dried off.

She saw it then. The faint scar on his chest where her name had once been.

“What?” he asked. But then he scowled when he followed her gaze. “Yeah, I had it removed.”

That was to be expected. But Laurel couldn't help remembering the time he'd first gotten it when they were still teenagers. A tattoo to prove to her that she'd always be part of him.

As if she needed ink to prove that.

If there was a test for it, she was sure Jericho was in her veins, in her blood. He was certainly in her heart.

“What can I say? I was young, and in those days words alone didn't seem to be a strong enough man-statement.” He walked past her, heading toward the locker again. No doubt for another shirt. But he didn't take out anything. He just stared inside the locker as if expecting to find some kind of answer there.

“It was a statement. I remember you trying to pretend it didn't hurt like crazy. The tattoo,” she clarified when he turned around to face her again.

Still no shirt. Just that intense stare that only Jericho could manage. “It hurt,” he verified.

And they were no longer talking about the tattoo.

She shouldn't touch him. Laurel knew that. Touching Jericho was never as simple as just touching, and it could be dangerous.

It didn't stop her.

As if her hand had a mind of its own, it went to his chest, and the moment she felt him beneath her fingers, the relief came. Washing over her. Through her. For this brief time, she hadn't lost him. He was still hers to touch.

Hers to take.

Of course, it was pure fantasy. He was no one's for the taking, especially hers, but when it came to Jericho, she'd spent most of her life weaving fantasies, and tonight was apparently no different.

He glanced at her hand. “You plan on doing something about that?” Those sizzling amber eyes came back to hers and held. Waiting.

Without lifting her hand, Laurel inched it lower. To his stomach. She hadn't thought she could ache more for him, but she'd been wrong. Every part of her was aching now. Every part wanting him. Wanting more. She was so close to his zipper. Close enough that she could
do something about that
.

Something she was sure they'd regret when they came to their senses.

But not now.

No regrets now.

She leaned in to kiss him, but Jericho beat her to it. His rough hand went around the back of her neck and dragged her closer. Not for a kiss, though. He just stared at her, studying her. So much emotion in his face. A tangled mix that Laurel was feeling, too.

“Damn you,” he growled. He shut the door. Locked it.

And he kissed her.

Laurel had wanted that kiss more than her next breath, but she still wasn't ready for it. Jericho mouth's came to hers, and she remembered that he kissed with the same intensity that he did everything else in his life. No gentle lead-in. Just the sweet assault of his taste and his body against hers.

He took her hand, put it over the front of his jeans. “Are you going to do something about that?” he demanded.

She did. Laurel unzipped him, slowly, eased her hand into his jeans and beneath his boxers. And she got the reaction she wanted. Not only was he hard as stone, he made a sound, deep in his chest.

Before he dragged her to the bed.

It was exactly what Laurel wanted. This fire. This need that only Jericho could fix. And he fixed, it all right.

Everything was urgent. Fast. As if this had become a life-and-death matter. He stripped off her borrowed T-shirt. Her bra, too. And Laurel got the full impact of having his bare skin against hers. It didn't rob her of her breath exactly, but Jericho did something else to make sure that happened.

As she'd done with him, he slipped his hands into her jeans, into her panties, touching her while slipping off her jeans at the same time. Laurel wanted to help him. She freed him from his boxers but wanted to get rid of any and all barriers between them. His touch stopped her from doing that.

No ordinary touch.

No.

His fingers went inside her, and just like that she went from being on fire to being very close to climaxing. Something she didn't want to happen. Not until he was inside her, anyway.