Between a Book and a Hard Place (9 page)

“Too bad you don't know when Jett died. That could solve all your problems.” Poppy snapped her fingers. “Let me call a friend in the ME's office and see if they've figured it out yet.”

“Whoa.” Boone held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Do we really want it getting around that we're interested in that? It could make Chief Kincaid think we're trying to arrange a cover-up.”

“My friend can keep his mouth shut,” Poppy protested. “Besides, it's worth the risk. If Jett was killed while Yvette and Kern were in the dime store, Dev can quit worrying about them.”

“I kind of doubt that he was murdered too much before we found him,” I said slowly, giving myself time to make a decision.

“Why is that?” Poppy asked, leaning forward. “Was there still blood oozing out of his head when you got there? Was he still warm?”

Boone and I exchanged a glance. Poppy wasn't known for her tact.

“No. The state of Jett's body has nothing to do with why I think he was killed only a few minutes before we found him.” It was getting tough to
remember the sequence of events among all the lies I'd told. If I wanted my friends' help, they needed to know the truth. I trusted them with my life, and I would just have to trust them with my parents' lives, too.

I exhaled noisily and said, “I want your solemn vow that nothing we discuss leaves this room. It's vital that no hint of what I tell you gets to the police.”

Boone pursed his lips, then said, “I still have your retainer from last spring, so technically, I'm your attorney and anything you say to me is covered by lawyer-client privilege.” He glanced at Poppy, dug his wallet out of his pants pocket, handed her a dollar bill, and said, “I am formally hiring you as my administrative assistant. You, too, are under the umbrella of confidentiality.”

“Right.” Poppy nodded soberly. “What are my duties? Should I take notes?”

“Nope.” Boone chuckled. “Just listen and don't tell anyone what you hear.”

Feeling slightly better about revealing my parents' secret, I leaned forward and said, “The reason I think Jett was murdered minutes before my mother discovered his body is because he was texting Yvette almost continually until the time she left the store.”

“Won't the police see that?” Boone tilted his head. “That will help establish the TOD and could give your parents an alibi.”

“Except Jett's phone is missing, and we got rid of Mom's,” I admitted, bracing myself for my friends' reaction. “Since they both had prepaid cells, they can't be traced.”

“Why in the hell would you do something that stupid?” Poppy screeched.

“It's a long and overly complicated story.” I
chugged my second margarita. “Let me start this grisly tale over.” I explained that Jett had repeatedly texted my mother to come to the library while she ignored her current husband to flirt with her former one.

“Okay. I can see how that would look bad,” Poppy admitted grudgingly.

“You haven't heard the worst.” I hushed the panicky voice telling me to shut up. “I wasn't with Mom when she found Jett's body.”

“Oh?” Poppy and Boone said simultaneously, both raising their brows.

“Mom was alone.” I crossed my arms. “She went to the library to find out what Jett wanted, then planned to have lunch with my father.”

“Shit!” Poppy swore.

She looked as if she would have liked to use a stronger word, but the three of us had made a pact to stop dropping the F bomb. Boone rarely swore, but Poppy and I had gotten pretty bad about it.

“When Mom found Jett dead, she called my father, who, like an idiot, hurried right inside to do I don't know what.” I couldn't keep the annoyance I felt for both of my parents out of my voice.

“Dumb move with him being on parole and all,” Poppy commented.

“You think?” I snapped. “Anyway, Dad called me, and since I wasn't sure if he could be sent back to prison for being at a crime scene, I had him leave. Then, before I called nine-one-one, I concocted the lunch-with-Mom-and-stepfather scenario to account for my presence.”

“So you lied to the police, tampered with evidence, and are shielding a suspect.” Boone frowned,
then used his thumb to smooth the line between his brows. “Not your smartest moves, Dev.”

“We're talking about my father.” I scowled at Boone. “What should I have done? Thrown my dad to the wolves in order to protect myself?”

“Kern would have probably been okay.” Boone didn't sound convinced.

“Really?” I barely stopped myself from screaming. “Because, as Chief Kincaid so helpfully pointed out, Jett is new in town, so the only obvious motive for killing him seems to be one that centers on my mother. Like, say, a jealous ex-husband who wants her back.”

“There is that.” Poppy collapsed back against her chair, subdued.

“Damn it all to hell!” I screamed, so frustrated I thought my head might explode.

“What's done is done.” Boone rested his chin on his fist. “Assuming Dev isn't going to tell the police what really happened, we're the only ones with all the facts. Which means, if the crime is going to be solved, we have to figure out who killed Jett.”

“Any ideas?” I asked, turning my gaze on Boone. He was one of the smartest people I knew, so maybe he had a plan to exonerate Dad.

Poppy and Boone shook their heads, and the three of us sat in silence until Poppy jumped up and said, “Time for another round.” She headed to the bar. “Booze always helps me think much more clearly.”

After Poppy returned with a fresh pitcher, she said, “If we take love and jealousy off the table, what other motives are there for murder?”

“Hatred, robbery, revenge, obsession, mental illness, drug deal gone wrong, the victim knowing too
much.” Boone pursed his lips, clearly racking his brain for more reasons someone would kill.

“You know,” Poppy said, tapping a perfectly manicured fingernail against her glossy lips, “we're overlooking the obvious.”

“The money.” I leaned forward, a flicker of hope in my chest. I had almost forgotten Boone's statement about the delay in the library's endowment. “Why was the funding he promised late? We need to investigate Jett's finances.”

“How will we do that?” Poppy asked.

“I could probably get that information for you,” a sexy baritone drawled from the doorway.

I jerked my head up and saw Jake leaning against the wall. My insides melted and relief oozed through my veins. Like Dudley Do-Right, my very own ex–U.S. Marshal had appeared to save the day.

W
hen I eventually tore my eyes away from the sexy ex-lawman, I looked at Poppy and Boone. They glanced at each other uncomfortably, then back toward the doorway. Following their gaze, I saw a tall, gaunt woman step from behind Jake. She had to be his ex-wife, Meg.

I could tell that at one time she had been a gorgeous redhead. Long, limp ginger hair framed her once beautiful face, and her empty green eyes were fringed with thick, dark lashes. Her vacant stare and shrunken cheeks only hinted at the person she had been before her ordeal at the hands of a serial killer.

Struggling to sort through my feelings, I finally forced myself to stand and walked over to the woman. I held out my hand to her and said, “I'm Dev Sinclair, and you must be Meg . . .” It dawned on me that I didn't know her last name. Did she still go by Del Vecchio? I really hoped she didn't.

When Meg didn't respond, Jake placed her flaccid fingers in mine, and as I shook them, I raised a questioning brow in his direction.

He lifted a shoulder, then guided his ex to a chair
and said, “These are my friends Poppy and Boone.” Jake turned to them and asked, “Could you two keep Meg company while I talk to Dev?”

“Sure.” Poppy nodded, then asked the eerily silent woman, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Dr Pepper,” Meg whispered, surprising me when she actually spoke.

“Coming right up.” Poppy turned to Jake. “How about you, cowboy?”

“When we get back, a Shiner Bock would sure hit the spot.” Jake cupped my elbow and said to the others, “See you in a few.” He glanced at his ex-wife, then said to Poppy and Boone, “Call me if there's a problem.”

“Will do.” Boone nodded. “I've got your cell number right here.” He tapped the device clipped to his belt, then turned toward Meg and said, “Let me tell you about our charming town square. It has quite a history. During the Civil War, there was a standoff between the Union and the Confederacy.”

Before I heard whether Meg responded to Boone or not, Jake said, “Let's go sit in my truck. I'm pretty damn sure we should talk in private.”

“Good idea.”

I followed him as he wound his way through the packed bar. Jake was at least six four, with the type of powerful, well-muscled body produced by hard work on his uncle's ranch rather than hours in a fitness center. Although considering the sculpted biceps and triceps visible below the short sleeves of his white T-shirt, I was certain he spent time at the gym as well.

I shivered as a flash of unexpected heat sizzled through my body, leaving me breathless. The first time I'd seen Jake, his arresting good looks had
totally captured my attention. And even during his long absences, said hunkiness had kept him in my thoughts.

While I was drooling over Jake's hotness, I completely missed the fact that he had stopped moving. Slamming into his back, I stumbled and would have fallen if not for his quick reflexes.

Once Jake steadied me, I peered around him to see what had halted our progress. At first all I saw was a large group of people gathered near the stage that was usually used only during the weekends, when Poppy hired local bands or DJs to liven up the club.

Then I noticed the man clutching the microphone. It was the alientology professor who had spoken at the city council meeting. He wore a white tunic with a gold-embroidered insignia over his left breast. Squinting, I could just make out that the patch seemed to depict a solar system, although not one I recognized.

While Jake fought to clear a path for us through the mob, I heard Professor Hinkley say, “Despite the nonbelievers who have refused to cooperate and have hindered my research, I've managed several sightings and have communicated with our extraterrestrial friends.”

Immediately there was a high-pitched buzz from the spectators, several of whom also claimed to have spotted hovering lights. Hinkley paused, clearly waiting for the noise to die down.

I tapped Jake's shoulder, pointed at the professor, and asked, “Did that guy try to get your uncle to allow him to set up his ET equipment on the ranch?”

Jake flicked a glance at the stage, then turned to
me and said, “Yeah. But Tony told that nut job if he caught him on our property, we'd set the bull loose. When the guy started arguing, I reminded him that we had a lot of acreage to hide a body.”

“Gran pretty much told him the same thing.” I snickered. “Except she threatened him with Banshee instead of a bull. Hinkley thought that was hilarious until the Siamese shredded his pants.”

“Knowing that cat's temperament, the guy was lucky it wasn't his leg.” Jake chuckled.

We were distracted as the mike screeched and Hinkley said, “Khrelan Naze has indicated that he will meet with us in the town square on what we earthlings call Saturday noon. At that time, he will present a gift for mankind.”

The professor's announcement whipped his audience into a frenzy, and they all pressed closer to the stage. Seeing our opportunity, Jake took my hand and towed me in the opposite direction.

Just outside the bar, Jake paused and did a swift recon of the parking lot. Evidently there were no aliens or assassins hiding among the rusted pickups, shiny motorcycles, and dusty family sedans because he led me to his black Ford F250, opened the passenger door, and helped me scramble inside the cab.

He'd finally stopped teasing me about my inability to hoist myself up into the hulking vehicle. The enormous truck reminded me of its owner—solid and rugged, with just a hint of sexy playfulness. I briefly wondered how difficult it would be to hoist myself up Jake's hard length, but banished that naughty thought from my mind. Or at least hid it somewhere in my subconscious.

As I settled on the butter-soft brown saddle leather, I watched Jake climb into the driver's seat. He seemed to get better-looking every time I saw him. His thick black hair was longer than he'd worn it when he was working as a marshal, making me want to run my fingers through the silky strands. And his full lips tempted me to slide over for the kisses I'd been missing.

Jake seemed to read my mind, and his sapphire blue eyes darkened. But when I scooted closer to my door, his mouth twitched downward. He was aware that our relationship had taken a hit when he'd brought Meg to the ranch and devoted so much attention to her.

It had been more than three weeks since Jake and I had managed any time alone, and I wished I had bothered to apply makeup, fix my hair, and put on something other than a polo shirt and jeans. But then again, I'd had no idea he would pop up at the bar.

When Jake remained silent, I glanced at his chiseled profile, noticing for the first time since his arrival that the bronzed skin pulling taut over the elegant ridge of his cheekbones appeared tighter than usual. Clearly, the caretaker duties he'd assumed for his ex-wife were putting a strain on him.

Jake continued to stare mutely out of the windshield as if the dark parking lot held the answer to his troubles. When I saw the muscles in his strong throat move as he swallowed, I figured he was trying to figure out how upset I was and what to say to make things better.

Without any warning, he flipped up the console, reached over, and tugged me closer. I tried to scoot
away, but he cradled my cheeks between both his callused palms and rested his forehead against mine, softening my resistance. I couldn't deny the heat I saw in his expression, but there was more than just raw sexual desire. There was wonder and a look of peace, as well. Almost as if he could finally relax.

I breathed in the enthralling scent of what I thought of as eau de Jake—a mixture of lime, saddle soap, and sexy man. He smelled so damn good.

“I'm sorry I haven't been around much,” Jake murmured. “I promise that will change right now.” His eyes were so dark with a mixture of remorse and desire that I was nearly hypnotized.

Being with him like this reminded me of how much I was attracted to him, and erotic images began flickering through my mind. I had promised myself that until I decided between Jake and Noah, I wouldn't sleep with either of them. But at times like this, I was sorry I'd made that vow.

Clearing the lust from my brain, I asked, “How are you going to accomplish that? I don't think they're cloning humans yet.”

I knew I sounded snarky, but I'd been hurt by his casual neglect. And with Jake's lips a fraction of an inch from mine and his gaze searching my face, I needed to remind myself of that pain.

Jake's jaw clenched, but he continued to caress my cheeks with his thumbs as he said, “A home health aide is starting tomorrow night. Meg is better during the day, and Uncle Tony's housekeeper has been keeping an eye on her while I'm working out on the ranch. But for some reason she's more agitated in the evening, and I couldn't ask Ulysses to watch her then.”

I bit my tongue to stop myself from suggesting that Meg might be exaggerating her symptoms when Jake was around. That was a conclusion he'd have to draw on his own. Instead, I concentrated on ignoring the feeling of his body pressed along the side of mine. The sensation made me hotter than a curling iron.

Gathering my scattered wits, I said, “What made you decide to hire someone? It's been quite a while since she came to the ranch.”

“I've been working on it all along,” Jake hedged.

“So, why are you here now . . . ?” The warmth of his palms as he slid them down my shoulders made me gasp. And when he moved his hand to the neckline of my shirt, his fingers trailing over my collarbones, a delicious shudder shot up my spine. I gritted my teeth and focused. Once I could breathe normally, I continued. “Instead of waiting until the aide took over?”

“Your stepfather's murder.” Jake must have realized that he couldn't seduce me into forgetfulness. He sighed, withdrew his hand from under my polo, and said, “Birdie called Tony.”

“Of course she did.” I slid back to the passenger seat. “So the only reason you think it's important to free up some of your time is because your uncle asked you to help me.” I didn't add
again
, but I could have, since that was how Jake and I had met.

“Son of a bitch!” Jake roared. “I knew that was what you would think.”

“Because it's a logical conclusion.” I crossed my arms. “Why do you think I didn't call you myself? I don't want the only reason I see you to be because I need rescuing. I'm not a damsel in distress.” Knowing that I had made my point with surgical
precision, I refrained from pushing the scalpel in any deeper.

“Look,” Jake growled, evidently holding on to his temper by a thread. “Granted, the timing is suspicious, but I swear I've been trying to find an aide ever since I brought Meg to Shadow Bend. You know damn well that I want to be with you. You told me you understood about her and weren't upset that she was here. Say the word, and I'll ship her back to the psychiatric clinic.”

“No.” Feeling lower than pond scum, I shook my head. Jake didn't lie. If he said he'd been trying to hire someone, he had. “Sorry for sounding like a jealous bitch. I guess I missed you more than I realized.” I scooted closer and trailed my fingers across the Levi's covering his muscular thighs. The denim was faded and as soft as velvet. “I appreciate that you want to help me.”

“Actually, it sounds more like your dad is the one in hot water this time.” Jake captured my hand and brought it to his lips.

“I guess.” I kept my gaze on our entwined hands. How much did Jake know? Had Dad told Birdie that he was with Mom at the library, not me? He'd agreed not to, but Gran was good at ferreting out info from him. Had she told Tony? “It sounded like Chief Kincaid thought both my parents might have a motive to kill Jett.”

“Yep.” Jake slipped an arm around me and cuddled me to his side. “Spouses and exes are always high on any law enforcement department's suspect list, so your idea to look into your stepfather's finances is a good one. What made you think of it?”

After I explained what Boone had told me about the delayed library funding, I said, “As a former
investment consultant, the situation made me suspicious.”

“Right,” Jake agreed. “You would think that Benedict would have had the financing all lined up before he presented it to the city council.”

“I'm also curious as to exactly what Jett was researching.” I tried to ignore Jake's lips nibbling along the side of my neck, but my pulse began to pound in my ears and I was having trouble concentrating.

“Why is that?” Jake continued to kiss his way down my throat.

“It just seems odd to me that he couldn't wait until the library was reopened to use the archives.” I gasped. The chemistry zipping between us was taking all the oxygen out of the truck's cab.

“Maybe because Benedict never really intended to donate the money.”

When Jake tugged me into his lap and drew my top over my head, I didn't even pretend to resist. Murmuring, “Good point,” I returned the favor and took off Jake's T-shirt.

He was the kind of man who would look good wearing anything or—even better—nothing at all. It was a testament to my sadly lacking sex life that I was thinking entirely inappropriate thoughts a few hours after my dad had become a suspect in my stepfather's homicide.

I was losing my train of thought, but there was something else niggling me about Jett's murder. Just before Jake's mouth came down over mine, I squeaked, “The scrap of paper in his hand.”

“What? Who?” Jake jerked his head up, his blue eyes unfocused.

“Jett was clutching a scrap of paper in his fist.”

“I'll look into that,” Jake rasped. “Tomorrow.” He tightened his embrace and said, “It's been so long since I had you in my arms.”

“It has.” His expression made my mouth go dry and chased off any lingering thoughts about my stepfather's murder investigation.