Bear This Heat (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters) (12 page)

“Right,” she said. She took a large sip of water. “I thought when you said drink, you were going to offer me alcohol.”

“Terrible idea. We’re dehydrated.”

“Yeah.”

Dylan leaned down toward the min-fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. “But after the water,” he said, placing each bottle carefully on the table.

“Dylan…”

“Just being a good host. There’s a chocolate bar in the fridge if you’re feeling a bit peckish. I’ve also got some peanuts, and um, well, I think that’s about it.”

“It’s fine.”

“Good. I’m not hungry, either.” Dylan said, and he drained his bottle of water, then opened his beer.

“Dylan, you’re wasting my time.”

“Well, you’re free to leave.”

She looked at him for a moment, as though studying him, contemplating him. He found it funny that she was trying so hard to work him out. He was much, much simpler than that.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. Even though he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t care if she did, he still felt a pang of anticipation in his chest, as though bracing himself for disappointment. How long it had been since he felt that!

“Why?” she said, deflecting.

“Because I’m interested.”

She tilted her head to the side. “In me, right?”

Dylan took a sip from his beer. He did it slowly. “Who else? Why are you so resistant?”

“Come on, Dylan,” she said, gesturing around her as though the answer were hovering in the air surrounding them. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“So it’s not because you’re not interested, then.”

She paused, face drawn into a half-smile. “Truthfully, not entirely, no.” The confirmation of it made something bloom inside his chest.

“Not entirely?”

“It would be unprofessional. I’m on the clock.”

“You’re a cop,” he said casually. “You’re always on the clock.”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“Got a family around here?”

“If you mean a husband, then-”

“No, I mean a family. Parents, siblings.”

“Yes, but they aren’t here anymore. My sister took my parents somewhere cooler.”

“But you stayed behind?” Dylan sipped again from his beer, and saw Sasha eying it. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve got some white wine as well if you’d prefer. It’s probably shitty, but-”

“Sure,” she chirped. From the way she had said it, it seemed to him that she had been wrestling with the idea for a few minutes already, and had just decided to fuck it.

“Cool. I mean, it’s been a long day, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve got to get off work sometime, right?” He opened the mini bottle of chardonnay, peering around the cupboard that held the mini-fridge, and on which sat the television. He was pleasantly surprised to find a pair of wine glasses, though they were both fairly chipped, and definitely cheap-looking.

“Sorry,” he said. “Best I can do.” She shrugged at him, and he poured her a glass, sat it down on the table in front of her. “Watch out, there’s a small chip.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Actually, I’ll be off in an hour. Technically. But knowing my boss… he’ll make me overtime this thing until it’s solved.”

Dylan leaned his back against the wall. “Why now? Why are you talking to me all of a sudden?”

She took a deep breath, and let it out gradually. She took her first sip of wine, a small one, but followed it immediately with a second, larger one. “Actually, it’s not that terrible. Quite crisp.”

“You know wine?” he asked. He was enjoying the conversation they were having far more than he would ever let on.

“A little.”

“So why now?”

“I think you’re connected. I don’t think you’re the murderer, and I don’t get the impression that you’re a danger to me. I do, however, get the impression that you’re involved in something potentially dangerous. After all, a man is dead. I believe that you’re looking for the same person I’m looking for, but I don’t believe that it is only for answers. I don’t trust you, but I see the investigative value of getting to know you. I believe there is more going on here than meets the eye, but that’s just a gut feeling. I think you think you’re smarter than you really are, and since I’ve got nothing else to do because the lab won’t be done on the fur, and no prints match anything in the database, and there are no witnesses outside of a drunk lady’s shaky testimony, I may as well spend some time getting to know the only lead I have, which is only based on a hunch, and a description that you match, even though you have an alibi.”

She took a deep breath. “Satisfied?”

Dylan scratched his chin, but didn’t break eye-contact. “Yup.”

“Damn!” Sasha said, putting her hands on either side of her face, thumb beneath her jaw and fingers by her temple. “What the hell am I doing here?”

“Investigating.”

“No,” she said, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “No, it’s more than that.”

“You’re interested in me,” Dylan chanced then. “And more than just in terms of the case.”

She looked at him, apparently unhappy with the truth. “Yes.”

“I’m not a bad guy.”

“I don’t really believe that,” she said.

“Okay, I’ve done some bad things. But I’m not an evil guy. I wouldn’t kill.”

“Tell me more about this person you’re looking for. Probably the same one I am.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know much. All I know is that they are here, in this town.”

“How do you even get to a position where you’re looking for someone who knows something about you, but you know nothing about them? Where do you even begin to look?”

Dylan was starting to realize that he was getting into some slippery territory. Deflecting now would be too obvious. But he couldn’t tell her the truth.

Could he?

*

Sasha sipped at her wine frequently. It was cool, refreshing, and was sanding down the rough edges of her day that were beginning to seriously grate on her. She knew she shouldn’t be even having a single drop while she was still working, but given the circumstances, it seemed the best way to lubricate Dylan into telling her something.

Also, it didn’t hurt that she was felt pretty rotten. Her energy and enthusiasm and patience were all draining away. One of her university roommates had told her that alcohol was the best medicine for a hangover. She wasn’t sure that she believed it, but right now it was definitely helping to smooth out the creases. And there were too many creases.

“Come on,” she said, taking another sip from the glass. The wine had a little too much body for her tastes, but it wasn’t half-bad for crappy motel stuff. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s really going on? I mean, you’re innocent, right?”

She watched him, wondering if she was making any headway. He seemed at a point of conflict, the proverbial fork in the road. Maybe this was it.

“Why are you looking for this person?” she pushed. She saw in his face the rocks tumbling, the pillar crumbling. She couldn’t believe it. He was relenting.

“I have a condition,” he said. “Genetic. Not contagious, not communicable, and not bad, so don’t worry. It’s extremely rare. I don’t know the specifics – nobody seems to – but the gist of it is that my blood cells will sometimes merge.”

Sasha blinked. “Merge?”

“Yes. Two blood cells sometimes become one.”

She peered at him. She definitely felt like she was missing something. “That’s all?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much. One cell will swallow the other up. My red blood cells show activity thought only to exist in white blood cells, because, you know, whites will eat up bacteria and things like that. But my red blood cells don’t do it as an immune response like white cells do. They just sometimes do it for no reason, it seems. It was first observed by my pediatrician when he took a blood sample. I was tested for anemia when I was a child.”

“And it’s harmless?”

He shrugged again, smiling. “As far as I can tell.”

“So, what, you come to Salty Springs after somebody else who has the same condition?”

He tapped his finger on the table. “Bingo.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know if he or she has had any children,” he said. Sasha saw his eyes leave hers for a moment, and she was wondering if he was telling the truth. It was plausible, she guessed, though stretching believability. The sheer coincidence of it, two people with a rare
condition
, and one of them ends up committing a gruesome murder. On top of all of that, what
motive
was there for the murder of Charlie Kinnear?

“You want to know if it got passed on, if it is hereditary?” she ventured.

“Yes. My parents didn’t have it, as far as I know.”

“Are you expecting to have children? It would make your behavior to me very-”

“No,” he said. “Not yet. I’m unattached. But hopefully in the future.”

Sasha felt relief flood through her. Damn, she thought. She didn’t want to be feeling
that
jealousy.

“Okay, let’s assume I believe you. How did you find this person here?”

“I saw a post on an online message board where they talked about the condition. So, I did a bit of probing.”

“Really?” Sasha asked, peering at him. “And this person ended up here? Seems awfully convenient.”

“Yes, really. I’m telling you the truth.”

“And how long ago was this?”

“Few days ago.”

Sasha thought about it. “Why didn’t you drive here?”

“I don’t own a car. Well,” he said, correcting himself. “I do, but I didn’t want to drive it here.”

“Why not? And if so, why hitch? Why not take the bus?”

“I did take the bus most of the way,” he said. “Stopped off at Rainbow Valley for a day to do a bit of sightseeing, and then got lucky and managed to get a ride with someone driving up here from there.”

“Rainbow Valley, huh?” Sasha asked. That was a natural park and canyon just a few dozen miles south.

“Yup. Quite beautiful. Surprising amount of vegetation.”

“It’s a bit of an oasis, yes.”

“Do you believe me now?”

Sasha smiled at him. Truthfully, she was skeptical. He was still being sufficiently vague about it all to trip her mental alarms. But she didn’t deny to herself that he
could
be telling the truth.

And, after all, that possibility was just as relevant as the opposite.

“Come on,” she said. “I could do with some dinner. But you’re going to keep talking. I want to know everything you know about this guy.”

“I’ve pretty much told you everything. And why are you assuming it’s a guy?”

“Just a hunch. Statistically speaking, women don’t commit murder like that.” She finished off her glass of wine and stood up. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She watched as Dylan got up, and then did a double take when he began to remove his clothing. He took off his top first, and his upper body was, to put it as simply as possible, really fucking hot.

“What are you doing?” she asked, but he ignored her. He began to unbuckle his belt, then worked the button on his jeans, and he pulled them down his strong thighs, over his feet, socks with them.

He looked at her then, standing only in his briefs, and for the life of her she couldn’t stop herself from looking at his crotch. The bulge was prominent. He had a really sexy body.

“I told you,” he said, and he hooked his thumbs into his briefs at his hips and started to tug them down. Sasha looked away instinctually. “I need to freshen up.”

After a moment of silence had passed, she turned back toward him. Her eyes lingered on his unclothed body. Now that she had more than a quick glance, she could see that his physique was breathtaking, something out of this world. Its lines didn’t capture the single-minded vanity of gym-addicts, and its leanness spoke of power and promise; potential and possibility.

She blinked at him, slightly surprised at herself, for through her mind raced sexy thoughts that awakened her senses, and tickled her nerve endings, and were entirely inappropriate, but that she couldn’t deny had already been roused from their deep sleep into a shallower slumber since she’d first laid eyes on the man.

“Well?” she asked, unable to stop her mouth from pulling into an incredulous grin. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to get in the shower?”

She met his gaze with hers, and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. It was hunger. Desire. It didn’t lurk in the background. It wasn’t hidden or shielded or behind a self-protective veil. He had bared himself to her, both physically, and that which he sought.

She was flattered and appalled in equal measure. A part of her entertained the idea. There was no doubt that it was an intriguing, even enticing one. The man looked like a fucking sex god, and she was pretty much certain he could raise her to heights she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

It was more than just the fact that she hadn’t shared a bed with someone for longer than she’d care to admit. He held in him an intensity and confidence, a cavalier nature that, in all likelihood, was a marker for an adventurousness of spirit. He’d take risks, no doubt, and he’d never stop to ask how it was.

Truthfully, she wanted him, but she kept the truth at bay, behind a barricade of mental fortification. She couldn’t do it. But she couldn’t deny that simply the sight of him was enough to cut a swathe through her own self-determination. Suddenly, self-interest was on her other shoulder, whispering in her other ear.

After all, he wanted her. That much was obvious. Though she had tried to avoid it, she hadn’t managed to stop her eyes from traveling down to his crotch. His manhood was already halfway there, thick and, in its unsurprising impressiveness, holding a promise of pleasure that was so, so hard to say no to.

Especially when it was just there for the taking.

“Dylan, would you just go take a fucking shower?”

She shook her head at him, and she started to wonder how she’d even gotten herself into this position. Though the glass of wine she had was doing its best to dull her doubts, she still found herself asking the question of how she had ended up agreeing to all of this. Of course, she told herself that she was still investigating, still on the job. The potential for information – he was
still
her only lead, and she definitely intended to ask him questions to see if his own story was at least consistent – was alluring, but this was definitely not protocol of any sort. She wasn’t in any undercover capacity, and while he had a rock-solid alibi, a story that didn’t seem entirely out of the realm of possibility, there was also no evidence that he
wasn’t
an accomplice, wasn’t somehow partially responsible.