Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) (34 page)

“You
really think he’ll come after me again?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

“I
think he’ll come after you with everything he’s got. You’re the one who got
away. He has to hate that.”

She
shuddered. “Don’t let him hurt me.”

Rafe
turned her toward the bedroom. “I’d die before I let him get his hands on you
again.” He gently tugged on her hand. “Come on, forget something to sleep in.
I’d just have to take it off you anyway.”

Her
laughter closed around him, warm and sweet. It was the most precious sound he’d
ever heard.

* * * *

West of Denver

Off Interstate 70

Duel’s Cabin

February 18, Wednesday

Forty-eight hours and thirty minutes after the assassination…

Duel scooped Flayme into his arms and tried not to wince
at the strain on the stitches in his shoulder.
Damn it
. He was sick and tired of feeling like such a candy ass. He
turned and trudged through the undisturbed knee-deep snow covering the path
that led up to the cabin steps.

Undisturbed. Good. It meant for now, they were safe. No
one was ahead of them. And hopefully, no one was behind them to discover they
were here. His internal warning system said they were in the clear—for now.
More snow was in the forecast, but then, this was Colorado.

Already the power lines swayed under the weight of a light
coating of ice. The only saving grace so far was the fact there had only been a
scant amount of freezing rain. Thank God the cabin had a generator and a
backup, just in case.

His cabin was by no means the Dancing Star, but he’d built
the place when he was in his late teens. Using local pine, he’d structured an
A-frame house, added a second story, a wrap-around deck and lots of tall
windows.

Regal, snow-capped mountains provided a stunning view all
around. A winding, twisting road dipped south and led to the nearest town some
fifteen miles away. The tiny, enclosed ski resort reminded him of a Swiss
Chalet village and from here, was accessible only by snowmobile, unless one
didn’t mind driving the switchbacks and crisscrossing nearly fifty miles out of
the way.

He’d never brought a woman to the cabin and he wondered if
Flayme was awake, what she’d think about the smooth spiral staircase he’d built
from the red, wine-colored cherry wood. The look, definitely rustic, but the
wood glowed from years of polishing. The kitchen cabinets matched, as did the
round table in the breakfast nook. It sat in front of a bay window that looked
out over the incredible sight of the valley below.

The lower half of the cabin contained a great room,
kitchen and dining area, breakfast nook, a hall and a second bathroom. A
cathedral ceiling rose above the lower floor. A wide fireplace took up the
center wall of the east side of the great room. The cabin was spacious, utterly
masculine, and decorated with two oversized leather recliners, a matching tan leather
sofa and occasional tables scattered about the room.

The upper floor consisted of the master bedroom, a
bathroom with a whirlpool tub and a sauna. Someday, he planned to install an
Olympic sized heated pool outside and enclose it, then fill the interior with
tropical plants of all sizes and shapes.

Designing and building the cabin, then furnishing it had
been his escape valve, a safety net, whatever one wanted to label it, but it’d
kept him sane when his job closed in and his dreams were filled with the faces
of men who’d died beside him. Plus, it had helped him not think about things at
the ranch and the way their lives had been truly fucked up by Jillian.

Looking back, he knew he’d suspected things were bad
between Jace and their stepmother, but he’d chosen to ignore it, leaving his
elder brother to handle things on his own. It wasn’t until recently he’d
learned just how dreadful Jillian had sexually abused Jace.

But Duel didn’t want to think about those things now.
Jillian was dead. It hadn’t been intentional on his part, but Smitt Davis had
done them a favor by murdering her.

Duel stopped in front of the door, juggled Flayme,
shifting most of her weight to his uninjured side and struggled to get the key
inside the door lock. How pathetic if he ended up dropping the woman in his
arms. She’d swear he did it on purpose. He thought she might hate him and it
sent a ripple of pain through his chest.

It wasn’t often women disliked him. He rarely gave a flip
if one liked him or not. Instead, he chose to move to sweeter hunting grounds.
This woman was different.

Duel frowned. He didn’t know why, but he wanted her
respect, her trust—her love? Shit! He
wanted
her. Lord help him, he was a fucking idiot! Why did every thought lead right
back to him wanting Flayme for himself? Mac was his friend. God knew he didn’t
want to betray the man or cause him pain in any way, but he didn’t think the
choice was any longer just
his
to
make. He wasn’t the only one emotionally involved.

Flayme might not love him, but she wanted him as much as
he wanted her. He didn’t know how emotionally deep that made her feelings for
him, but when it came right down to it, the truth was, it was her choice.
Someone had to lose. He preferred it to be Mac.

She groaned and nestled closer against his chest. Duel
smiled. She didn’t even open her eyes. She might not like him, but she cuddled
real nice. His little wild cat was exhausted. Hell, a lot had happened to her
in a short span of time, but he still couldn’t figure out how she managed to
sleep with the icy wind blowing around them. She hadn’t even stirred when he
lifted her off the front seat of the SUV.

Duel didn’t know why he’d thought to do it, but before he
ever left for D.C., he’d stopped by here on a whim on his way to the airport in
Denver, and turned on the heat. He owned the gas and mineral rights on the ten
acres his cabin set on, so he received free gas.

One year he’d been away and not turned on the heat. The
water pipes froze and ruptured. It’d been hell digging them all up and replacing
them. Ever since, he’d always tried to make certain the three fireplaces were
lit.

When he stepped past the door and inside the cabin, the
welcoming warmth from the gas logs surrounded them. Resetting the alarm behind
him, he turned to the narrow staircase and carried Flayme up to his bedroom.
They’d have to share. He grinned.

Most likely, when she awoke in the morning, she’d have a
fit because she didn’t have a bed to herself. Hell, he liked the feel of her
body next to his. He’d grown accustomed to the way she fit against him—he liked
that, too.

It took some effort to hold on to her and flip back the
thick comforter. Once she was down, he stripped her of her coat, shoes, socks
and jeans. The seductive piece of peach lace covering the fiery nest of soft curls
did little to conceal anything from his eyes.

“Shit,” he muttered, catching his breath on a sharp hitch.
This was cruel and unjust punishment. Duel reached for the tail of her T-shirt,
thought better of it, and decided he’d removed enough of her clothes. Standing
up, he stretched, yawned and tore off his coat and shirt. He dropped his jeans
on the floor and started to remove his briefs, paused and eyed her delicious
body. “Best not get naked next to that.”

No use fanning the flames when he couldn’t put out the
fire.

Sliding under the covers, Duel spooned his body around
Flayme’s, slid his arm around her slender waist and sighed. This felt right.
This woman belonged right here, cradled against his body. “Sorry, Mac, you
lose.” No way in hell was he giving her back to the older man. Yep, no doubt
about it, this was going to get complicated.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Murder is always a mistake
—
one should never do anything one cannot
talk about after dinner.

~Oscar Wilde

Annandale, Virginia

February 18, Wednesday

Forty-eight hours after the assassination…

Neil
had been dead for over eighteen hours when Sam and Travis literally tripped
over his body in Flayme’s kitchen. With the freezing cold outside, and a
complete reverse of temperature on the inside, the medical examiner refused to
estimate time of death on the scene.

At
the moment, it was utterly impossible to state for certain if Neil had been
killed and brought here or murdered here and left behind, if he’d been in the
snow and ice or in the warm house the entire time. Not knowing where his body
had been, time of death couldn’t be determined by checking the temperature of
his liver.

“Hours,”
was the M.E.’s best guess. “He’s been dead for hours.”

Sam
was pretty sure they weren’t looking at where the crime took place, another
deciding factor for T.O.D. There was no blood inside the house, except for what
had already been in the kitchen. They still didn’t know who that belonged to.

Phillips,
the medical examiner, would give them an exact or nearly exact time and cause
of death once Neil’s body was on the slab and a more thorough exam completed.

She
rubbed her face and tried to figure out what it was she was missing. Something
niggled at her mind about Neil’s time of death, something she should be on top
of, but damn if she could think what it was.

She was too tired to try and stimulate her brain into
thinking clearly. Eventually, she’d remember. She hoped. In the meantime, Sam
prayed her lack of recall didn’t cost someone their life. What she needed was a
very icy Sex on the Beach, followed with hot food and—well, hotter sex. Some
good old boinking would work wonders, she thought.

Glancing
across the room, she caught Travis’ eye. His dark brows rose and she wondered
if the hunger she felt for him showed on her face. She quickly looked away,
just in case. Yep, sex would be hot with him. That’s one thing she already
knew. Did she wanna go there? Again?

Yes!
Her body screamed the silent reply.
Her inner heat revved up another notch.
No!
Her common sense put in, slamming the brakes on her lusty thoughts.

Then
he was beside her, taking her by the elbow. “We’ve done everything we can do
here tonight.” His body heat surrounded her. His manly aftershave flooded her
senses. “Let’s get outta here,” he said.

Was
it her imagination, or did his voice sound husky? Needy?

Tight-lipped,
he guided her past the weary-faced detectives, past the fresh-faced officers
stationed at the front door and to the car. Travis bundled her inside and took
the wheel.

Sam
laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. It was several minutes
before she ventured to open them and look around. It was only then she realized
they were headed in the wrong direction. “This isn’t the way to my house.”

“We’re
going to mine. It’s closer.” He slanted a wary glance her way. “Before you say
anything, I have a spare toothbrush.”

“I
don’t have clean clothes for morning or anything to sleep in. I need a shower.”

Travis
took a left turn and headed down a one-way street. “I have sweats you can sleep
in, and we’ll go by your house in the morning. You can dress for work.”

“
My
mother
—
”

“I
already called her, Sam. She knows it’s been a hell of a day.”

“I
can’t sleep with you, Travis.”

He
turned the car in the drive of a single story brick home and killed the engine.
Shifting to face her, he sighed. “I didn’t ask you to sleep with me,” he said
sharply.

“Oh.”
She blinked. “Of course you didn’t. I shouldn’t assume
—
”

“Yes, you should assume. God knows I want you in my bed,
but there are three friggin’ bedrooms, not including mine, and a guest
bathroom. Take your choice of the bedrooms. I’m all in. Hungry. And I wanna
shower same as you. It’s not like we haven’t shared quarters before.”

“It’s
been awhile.”

“Too
damn long,” he muttered and shoved open the car door.

“What?”
Sam fell into step beside him, but he didn’t say another word. Travis
apparently wasn’t in the frame of mind to carry on a chatty conversation. She
felt too bushed to soothe his bruised ego. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“This
is as good as it gets,” he snapped. “I’m not getting back inside that car until
morning. I know it’s tough for you, but let’s just get through this.” He
unlocked the door and stepped aside so she could go in ahead of him. “And Sam,
don’t make me go over your head for the transfer. I’m leaving your division,
one way or the other.”

She
nodded and turned her head so he wouldn’t see the tears blurring her vision.
Sam cleared her throat. “I’ll sign it when you put the transfer request on my
desk.”

* * * *

Travis
picked up his watch and sighed. One minute past two.
Shit!
One minute ago when he looked, it’d been two. Yeah. And how
many times before that had he eyed the minute hands? Hell, he hadn’t stopped
checking the time because he hadn’t fallen asleep yet. There was no way in hell
he could sleep with her down the hall, so close, and yet so far away.

The
cold shower he’d taken hadn’t done a thing to ease the need. His body burned.
His cock hurt. Damn it! His balls were squeezed so damn tight, he thought
they’d explode any minute.
Enough!
Travis flung back the covers and dragged on a pair of navy blue silk boxers.
Maybe a glass of warm milk would do the trick. Yeah. One couldn’t get anything
much more boring than a glass of warm milk.

He
pulled his bedroom door behind him, but instead of turning down the hall in the
direction of the kitchen, he headed straight toward the room Sam had selected.
He started to knock, but hesitated outside her door.

Crap!
What was he doing?

She didn’t want him. Didn’t need him. Yet here he stood
like a little lost puppy dog waiting for a scrap to be tossed his way. He
rocked back on his heels. “Go back to bed, Trav, and watch the minute hands on
your watch.”

But
he couldn’t make that turn, couldn’t leave.

She
was definitely awake. Light filtered beneath her door with the occasional
flickering shadow as if she was pacing back and forth. Suddenly the door swung
open and she stood there staring at him, a hand pressed to her throat.

“Travis!”
she choked.

Christ
Almighty! She stood there wrapped in nothing but a plush red towel. Ribbons of
water sluiced off her smooth shoulders. Her skin looked flushed. She looked oh,
so edible. Her shoulder-length dark hair fell around her shoulders, clean and
shiny. Ah, God, he remembered how her hair closed around them when she’d been
on top of him—so long ago.

His
groin tightened. Pain stabbed the tip of his hard cock. His breath locked in
his chest and his heart—his heart belonged to her. Standing there, he knew this
was his last chance with her. Everything inside him tensed. Hell, he was a
grown man. He felt like bawling. “Sam,” he whispered. “I…” He licked his lips
and tried to swallow, but his throat was dry as sawdust. “Sam,” he repeated.
“Don’t send me away. I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. Please?”

She
searched his face, for what, he had no clear idea. Jesus, he had no clear idea
of anything at the moment because she loosened the towel and let it drop at her
feet in a crimson puddle.

Slowly,
she reached for his hand and locked her trembling fingers with his. “Come in,”
she quietly invited, and turned in the direction of the bed.

She
hadn’t said she loved him back, but he wasn’t going to be picky at a moment
like this. She’d let him in part way. He’d take what he could get.

“I
need you,” she said, almost defiantly.

“Thank
God,” he whispered, and closed the door with a soft snick behind him.

They’d
work out details about their relationship later…

* * * *

Blackstone Ranch

February 19, Thursday

Fifty-five hours after the assassination…

Danger emptied the dregs of his coffee mug and set it in
the sink. He glanced at the turquoise banded watch on his left wrist and
frowned. At least another hour before he could reasonably take off to Rimrock.
If he left too early, Karen would have one of her bawling fits.

A few miles to the west, Lacey was likely snuggled in
Rafe’s arms or under him. The picture of the two of them wrapped in each
other’s arms,
hell,
of Rafe kissing
her made him crazy. He couldn’t get the images of the two of them in bed
together out of his head. It ate at him night and day. God, he wanted her back.
He’d give anything to be able to turn back time—hold her against his chest,
kiss her, and make love to her—appreciate what he had when he had it.

Danger jerked when Karen came up behind him and slid her arms
around his waist. Her rounded belly pressed against his spine and for a second,
he wanted to gag or heave up his insides. What was it about her and the baby
that turned his stomach?

It wasn’t normal for him to feel such repulsion.

Maybe he was the kind of man who simply couldn’t love
well, or tolerate pregnant women, but he didn’t remember feeling this way when
Lacey was pregnant with Joseph. Granted, Karen was always creeping around, but
that wasn’t a good enough reason to detest her and the child.

The strange thing was he felt as if he needed to be on
guard against her twenty-four hours a day and he didn’t know why. She was his
wife, for heaven’s sake. She was pregnant with his baby. But he didn’t love
her. God knew he didn’t love or want the baby. There was something not quite
right about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it yet.

He frowned. Or maybe it was him. Maybe there was something
not quite right about him. The thought scared him, because that meant he might
never be happy. He might never win Lacey’s love again.

Danger moved out of Karen’s grasp and turned to face her.
He didn’t like having his back to her. He always felt as if he was about to be
knifed. She made a face and took a cup down from the cabinet. “I’ve been
thinking…” Her words trailed to an end, leaving him to guess what she’d been
thinking about.

“Oh yeah?” He tried to work up some enthusiasm, but
thinking wasn’t one of her better abilities, and he really didn’t give a shit
what her rat-sized brain dwelled on.

She smiled, but he thought it looked forced and more like
a grimace. Hell, maybe she felt the same distaste for him he felt for her.

“Yeah. I know how much Lacey loves Calla,” she said, “and
well…I thought it might be a nice gesture to invite her here to visit the
mare.”

“Karen, no, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She pouted and walked her fingertips up his chest. “But I
want her to come here so we can bury the past…so to speak. Her son is buried
here. She’d probably like to go see his grave…again.”

“Huh.” Danger hated to think it, but she sounded almost as
if she was gloating or had some ulterior motive for wanting Lacey here. He sure
as hell didn’t believe it was out of the mercy of her heart. She’d always
resented Lacey. “Rafe is with her. There’s no way he’ll let her out of his
sight. I don’t blame him.”

For a moment, she narrowed her icy blue eyes and tightened
her lips, then she forced a bright smile to her lips. “That’s even better.
Killing three birds with one stone…sort of makes it…ideal.” She batted her
lashes in feigned innocence.

“What?” Danger scowled. She sounded too damn cheerful,
looked too damn—too damn
innocuous.
Why was she acting so guileless? Why the fuck was she so chipper?

She smiled and pressed a moist kiss to his mouth. “Maybe
you and he can get together and compare notes on how good Lacey fucks, while
she and I go to the barn and compare a few notes ourselves.”

Danger gripped her by her upper arms and pushed her away.
“For God’s sake, Karen, the last thing I want to do is discuss anything about
Lacey with Rafe. Why do you always turn everything concerning her into
something disgusting?”

Karen batted her eyes and sniffed. “I was only trying to
be nice and invite her here. I have something I want to talk to her about.”

“What?” He knew damn well Lacey had no desire to talk to
Karen.

“Women things,” she popped off. “She’s had a baby and this
is my first. I thought we could talk about how it feels to be pregnant…compare
notes.”

Danger clenched his fists. “What the hell is wrong with
you? You like rubbing salt in a wound? In view of the fact that Lacey most
likely will never conceive again, I hardly think discussing your pregnancy is
something she’s dying to do. Try to remember, Karen, I made you pregnant while
Lacey was still my wife.”

“I had no idea she couldn’t have another baby.”

Somehow, he doubted that. There was something in her
voice, a hint of malice or glee, he didn’t know which, but she knew Lacey
couldn’t have any more babies and it pleased her.

“For heaven’s sake,” she snapped, “why are you defending
her? Your loyalty belongs to me and our child. I’m trying to be supportive to
the woman. Will you drive by there and invite them over or not?”

“No. It’s a lousy idea. They didn’t return to be sociable,
and if you notice, Rafe isn’t exactly my best friend.”