Microsoft Word - DeadHeat_wrp356.doc (7 page)

like a rocket. The chair crashed to the floor.

When he burst into her bedroom, she stood beside the

bed, staring at it as if a rattlesnake lay coiled in the

middle of the comforter. After a quick look around the

room, he checked the closet. They were alone in the room.

A window was open, the pale yellow curtains fluttering in

the slight breeze.

“What is it?” He moved behind her and rested his

hands on her shoulders—her
bare
shoulders. She stood

there in only a bra. A damn skimpy one at that. At least

she wore jeans.

“Emotional terrorism.” She pointed to a piece of

paper. “It wasn't there when I first came home. Someone

came in here while I took a shower.”

The thud he’d heard when he first entered the

apartment? Rye reached around and picked up her shirt

from the bed. “Put this on before you catch cold.”
Put this

on before I lose my mind.

“Enjoy bondage,” he read, without picking up the

note. “I won't bother asking if it means anything to you.

Just another cryptic message.”

She pulled the T-shirt over her head and rubbed her

hands on her thighs. Rubbed hard enough to put holes in

her jeans. “What am I going to do? Who's doing this to

me?” She lifted her chin and stared up at him.

The anxiety in those gray eyes tore at Rye. He

wished he had an answer to her questions. “Pack some

clothes. You're not staying here.”

Prepared for an argument, she surprised him by

nodding and going to the bureau. Her fingers fumbled

with opening drawers. She pulled out several pairs of

jeans and some clean T-shirts. Next came the bras and

panties. He swallowed hard and turned away.

The ring of the phone startled both of them. Rye

reached towards the nightstand, but Jenna grabbed it

first. “Hello?”

He moved close, bending to be near the receiver.

“Don't think Rye Cameron can protect you. Your

time's running out.”

“What do you want?”

The line went dead.

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Dead Heat

Her body trembled against his back. “He knows

you're here. He’s watching us.”

“You're safe. I promise.” Rye put his arms around her

and drew her against him. Her hair smelled of sweet

lavender. He gave in to the desire to bury his face in her

curls.

She took a deep breath and pulled away. “Give me

five minutes.”

“I'm calling Hills. He can come by to take our

statements and dust for prints. How did someone get in?

Wasn't the window locked?”

Her gaze shied away from his. “It was. But when I

got home, I opened it to let in some fresh air. He must

have pulled off the screen.” ****

Jenna sat at the kitchen table, clutching a mug of

coffee in a death grip when Sergeant Hills arrived with

two young cops in tow. Rye directed them to the bedroom.

Her frazzled nerves couldn't take any more by the

time Hills and Rye returned to the kitchen. “Where are

the other two?” The thought of them poking around her

bedroom violated her for the second time in an hour.

“Jenna.” Hills nodded a greeting as he lowered his

bulk into a chair across from her. “You did say I could call

you Jenna?”

She nodded.

“Roberts is dusting for prints. McMullen's outside

asking neighbors if they saw anything unusual in the last

few hours.”

“Most of the tenants here are racetrackers. They

probably aren't even home yet.”

Hills shrugged. “Standard procedure.”

She chanced a glance at Rye, not surprised to see his

bland expression, as if his thoughts were miles away. She

turned her attention back to Hills. “Have you had any

luck deciphering the notes?”

“As a matter of fact, we have.”

The muscles in Rye's arm visibly tensed, increasing

Jenna's anxiety. Hills statement had gained his attention.

The detective stopped writing in his notebook and

leaned back. The chair creaked. Jenna prayed it wouldn't

collapse, dumping him on the floor.

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Pam Champagne

“There's a guy in our department who's into word

games...things like anagrams. He found a website devoted

to anagrams and spent an entire morning working out the

puzzles.”

Jenna and Rye leaned forward with interest.

“The one found on Dimitri translated to 'Charles

Kincaid Wants Tsunami'.”

Jenna held her breath, waiting to hear about the one

found in her pocket. She started when Rye pushed his

chair back from the table. Good lord. A mere scraping

noise almost pushed her over the edge.

Hills’ troubled expression got Jenna's heart thudding

against her ribs. “Our man unscrambled the one in your

pocket, Jenna, to 'Your turn Jenna'.”

Jenna cleared her throat and tried not to show her

fear. “Do you have any leads? Any idea who's behind

this?”

“Unfortunately, no. We're investigating Charles

Kincaid, but he's got a solid alibi for the night of Dimitri's

death. Not to say he couldn't have hired someone to kill

the man. But logic makes one wonder why he would

incriminate himself with that anagram.”

Jenna decided to tell Hills about Rye's mob theory.

“Rye and I have been talking, and we think that

perhaps—”

Rye cut her off. “We've decided that Jenna's moving

out to the farm until this matter is resolved.” He reached

over and covered her hand. “Isn't that right, Jenna?” If

the warning glare in his eyes hadn't convinced her to stay

quiet, the way he squeezed her fingers got his point

across.

“Yes, it's for the best.” Rye Cameron had some

explaining to do. Why didn't he want the police to know

about the mob theory?

“I interviewed all the employees in your barn, Mr.

Cameron. Everyone gave their full cooperation, except the

groom, Jamal. To give the man credit, I couldn't

understand a word he said when he did agree to answer a

question.”

“He speaks in a Jamaican dialect,” Rye said. “If you

want to talk to him again, I'll attempt to translate.”

“Great. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. I’ve heard

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Dead Heat

rumblings from other horsemen that Kincaid wants your

horse, Tsunami. Any truth to it?”

“Not that I'm aware of,” Rye answered. “I suppose it's

possible. Charles and I both bid on him at the Keeneland

Sale. I didn't think there were hard feelings that I outbid

him.”

Hills wrote it all down. “Now, about the phone calls.

Did either of you recognize the second caller?”

Jenna pulled her hand away from Rye, but he hung

on. “I didn't. It sounded muffled, as if the person wanted

to disguise their voice.”

“Neither did I,” Rye confirmed. “Are you through

with your questions? Time's marching on, and we have to

leave.”

Dani! Damn. She was supposed to have met her

friend an hour ago.

Hills snapped his notebook shut and struggled to lift

his weight from the chair. “I guess that's enough for

tonight. I know where to reach you if I have more

questions.”

Rye walked him to the door. The two younger officers

waited outside the apartment.

Jenna confronted Rye as soon as he returned. “What

was that all about?”

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

“What was all what about?”

“Don't play dumb with me.” She gazed at him in

disbelief and tried to pretend that raw sexuality didn’t

radiate from his body like heat waves off a tarred road in

the summer’s heat. “You stopped me from telling Hills

about the mob.”

He pushed away and moved towards her. She

sidestepped to avoid the brush of his body. “What’s the big

secret? Why don’t you want him to know?”

Unease rippled along her nerve endings as he

continued to stare. Was he about to lie to her? If so, why?

Finally, he brushed her off. “It's just not the right

time to mention unfounded theories. Get whatever you're

taking and let's go. We'll leave your car here.”

Jenna struggled to control her anger. She refused to

be railroaded by this man, employer or not. “I'm meeting a

friend tonight, so I’m driving my own car.”

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Pam Champagne

He moved fast, backing her against the wall, a hand

on either side of her head. “You do realize you're in

danger?”

She tilted her head and made the mistake of looking

into those hypnotic blue eyes.

“Of course I do. That's why we need to share our

suspicions with the police.” Damn the breathlessness in

her voice.

One of his hands slid down the wall and threaded

through her curls. “Such beautiful hair.”

Before she could respond, his mouth lowered and

hovered inches above hers.

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Dead Heat

Rye's mouth lightly brushed her lips on its journey to

her ear. He tugged an earlobe into his mouth and sucked

gently. Jenna gasped as the tip of his tongue traced her

ear’s sensitive shell. Hot need weakened her knees. She

jerked as if zapped by an electric shock.

Warm breath feathered her neck. She licked her lips

and moaned low in her throat.

“What's wrong?”

She managed a negative shake of her head, her

panties growing wet when his hands trailed from her neck

to her ribs. She dug her fingers into his chest at the erotic

sensation of his thumbs brushing the undersides of her

breasts.

Jenna ached to feel Rye's lean, hard body pressing

against her. That ache became an all-consuming need. He

resisted her attempts to pull him closer. She wanted to

touch him, too, but her arms stayed trapped between

them.

At last his mouth ceased its assault on her ear and

traveled across her cheek to her mouth. Their mouths fit

perfectly and the kiss burned hot enough to fuse metal.

Hot enough to make her forget where she was and where

she needed to go. Too hot. Surely sparks flew. His tongue

played a game of advance and retreat. At his next

advance, she bit, then sucked, gratified when his breath

caught in his throat.

Callused hands slipped under her T-shirt, his thumbs

inching upwards to rub across her nipples. She broke the

kiss with a gasp, her head slipping sideways. She

slumped and would have fallen if Rye hadn't held her up.

She was his to mold to any shape, in any direction.

As much as she hated having no control, she was

powerless to stop it. Grasping her waist, he turned her

body so she faced the wall. When he pressed himself

against her back, she squirmed. His erection rested at her

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Pam Champagne

waist. She stood on tiptoe and pushed back, seeking closer

contact with that hardness. His fingers curled around her

hips, preventing any movement.

Jenna stilled and listened to her erratic breathing,

her fists clenched. As she struggled to regain control of

her senses, his fingers moved, spanning her stomach. A

flick of his thumb unsnapped her jeans. His hand pushed

down, slid under the lace band of her panties, and found

the damp triangle of curls. One finger slid into her wet

center, stroking her very essence. Liquid warmth, thick,

like honey, covered his fingers.

With a will of their own, her legs parted. She smelled

her own musk. A small part of her wept for her lack of

control.

If not for the support of the wall, her knees would

have buckled.

“God,” he whispered in a raspy voice. “You're so wet,

so ready.”

“Please...I want you...” She moaned and leaned her

head back to lick his neck.

He stiffened, then pushed against her, flattening her

against the wall. “Not here. Not now.” His fingers curled

into her wet warmth and then stilled. For a few moments,

he leaned heavily on her, his breathing hard. “I could

make you come. I should. But, I'm selfish. I want

everything. To feel and taste all of you before you climax.”

He pulled his hand from her pants. With a sigh, he

lifted his weight.

He spun her around. Unable to function, she looked

down at his shaky fingers refastening her jeans.

If not for the sound of raspy breathing, she could

believe the entire incident was a figment of her

imagination. Who was she kidding? This was more than

just an incident. Rye had made love to her with his mouth

and hands. Made her ache for him. And she’d merely

hung on for the ride. What type of game was he playing?

Her belly still clenched with sexual desire. Had he gloried

in his power to turn into a quivering fool?

He moved away. “I'm sorry. That was rude.”

She stifled the urge to laugh.
Ya think?
Rude that he

came on to her? Rude that he didn't make her come? Her

gaze dropped to the front of his jeans. She hoped the bulge

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Dead Heat

she saw there hurt like hell.

He walked towards the door, stopped, and faced her.

“I'll meet you on the backstretch. You can leave your car