Blue Jeans and a Badge (12 page)

The previous ruins had all been eroded down to at least waist level, if not lower, so it had just been a matter of stepping over the walls. These were almost perfectly preserved.

Pulling out Philip's cell phone, she snapped a quick picture, then pocketed it again. As quietly as she could, she approached the doorway to the closest room.

She'd never been claustrophobic, but the thought of entering the thousand-year-old dwellings, crawling with Lord knew what, gave her the creeps big-time.

“You better be here, Clyde,” she mumbled, shook herself mentally and stuck her head through the opening. The sun had gone down below the cliffs, but there was still enough light to see clearly. Inside, stacked neatly against the far wall, were several wooden crates marked with distinct military lettering.

Military?
Holy mackerel! Weapons?

Or… Had the missing shipment of missile guidance chips from Hidalgo been packed in wooden crates? No.

“Clyde, Clyde, Clyde,” she whispered. “What have you gotten yourself into, buddy?”

She reeled out and propped her back against the cool adobe wall.

She had to think. This changed everything.

Suddenly Tafota wasn't looking so innocent anymore. And there was no way on God's green earth she was going to get him back to St. Louis in time to save Arthur if the Feds or the New Mexico authorities got hold of him first. And that included Philip.

She swore under her breath.

Suddenly, she heard a noise, the distinctive sound of gravel
being dislodged by hurrying feet. She whipped around, zeroing in on the location.

There! Heading toward the back of the canyon and…and
up!

Running to the far corner of the outcrop, she scanned the cliff above it. Another narrow set of stairs was cut into the rock, going up the almost sheer face of the canyon wall, leading to the top of the surrounding mesa plateau.

She swore again, and gave chase.

After slip-sliding several yards up the stairway she halted. The small rocks under her boots were like ball bearings on the smooth, hard sandstone worn concave by centuries of feet.

Besides, what would she do with Clyde if she caught him? If she caught up to him on the narrow stairs there was no room to switch positions, and she'd have to bring him down, possibly at gunpoint, with her going first. On this steep trail that could prove real tricky. Or fatal.

Not to mention, she'd risk her life possibly to have Philip refuse her custody of him when he found out about the military stash.

Better to let Tafota go now. Come back later without Philip, and hide until she could nab Clyde on level ground.

In fact, it would be better not to tell Philip about Tafota being here at all. She wouldn't be lying. She hadn't seen him. She didn't even know if it
was
Tafota she'd heard. It could have been an animal. A very large animal.

Damn.

This was getting too complicated.

Making her way back along the ruin walls, she carefully examined all the rooms along the way. Every one contained a stack of stolen military boxes. A major haul. There was no way she could keep this to herself. Theft on this scale meant something a lot more sinister than one guy stealing a lone shipment of computer parts. This was organized. And ongoing. And possibly terrorist related.

There was no other thinkable option. She had to report it.

After taking as many pictures as Philip's phone would hold, she retraced her steps back to him with a sinking heart.

She knew this marked the end of their time together.

And the end of their relationship, such as it was.

As soon as they informed the Feds about this cache, the place would be swarming with them and the military. Clyde would either be picked up or long gone. Arthur would lose his money. She would lose her paycheck, be out the expenses she'd already incurred and have to delay getting her P.I. business yet again.

Unless she was somehow able to talk Philip into waiting a day to report the cache, so she could come back and get Clyde first and spirit him away to St. Louis before anyone else was the wiser.

But that meant deceiving Philip and going against his wishes.

And for that, she knew, he would never forgive her.

 

As soon as Luce came back through the opening in the cliff, Philip knew there was something wrong.

“What happened?” he demanded, grasping her arms when she dusted off her pants and didn't say anything. Her eyes appeared sad…or furtive…or something.

“I didn't see Clyde. But you won't believe what I found.”

“Tell me.”

“Better see for yourself.” She handed him his cell phone and flipped up the screen. “Check out the pictures.”

He did. It didn't take many to figure out what she'd stumbled upon. The close-up of a wooden crate marked “Property of USAF” said it all.

He stared at the picture. “This is serious.”

“Yeah.”

“We have to report this.”

“Yeah.”

“Right away.”

“I suppose.”

He thought he detected a reluctance. He looked up. “What?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I just… You know what'll happen. Feds everywhere. Clyde will be history.”

“If he was hiding here. Which it's not certain. If he's not involved with this, here would be the last place a sane person would hide out.”

“True.” But she didn't look convinced. In fact, she looked like she knew differently.

“Are you sure you didn't see Clyde? Or any sign of him?”

“I didn't see him. Or any traces of anyone camping out here.” But her gaze avoided his.

He'd hate it if she was lying to him.

Why would she lie?

The sun was getting ready to set over the distant mountains, and already darkness was closing in on the canyon, casting long maroon shadows over everything.

“Come on. Let's get out of here. I want to be back on pavement before it gets completely dark.”

On the way home to Piñon Lake, he thought about the possibility of her lying to him about Clyde being at the box canyon, trying to figure out why she'd do it. He could come up with no rational reason, unless… He didn't even want to think about the possibility that she might be planning to ditch him and go back to the canyon later without him. To get Clyde before the Feds did.

He thought about it for a second, then gave himself a mental shake. No. She wouldn't do that. She was scared to death of the desert. He must be imagining things. She was probably just disappointed she'd failed in her job.

“We could still find him,” he mused aloud.

“No,” she said, bending to unlace and ease her feet out of her boots. “We won't.”

He didn't even try to argue. She was probably right.

She rubbed her calves. “I'm beat. How about you?”

“Not too bad.” He was used to hiking. Skiing in the winter. Not all day, usually, but enough to keep him in shape. That and the weight set in the spare bedroom.

“Think I'll have an early night.”

“Sounds good. Where would you like to eat?”

“Maybe we could just stop at a fast-food place somewhere on the way.” She wriggled her toes. “I don't really feel like putting my boots back on.”

“Sure. When we get home we can have a soak, and I'll give you a foot massage.”

She darted him a glance. “Oh. Um. That sounds nice, but…I was thinking you should just drop me at the motel.”

He digested that information for a moment. What the hell was going on? Something he wouldn't like, he wagered. First her evasiveness, now this. But he'd be damned if he'd let her spend the night at the Lakeview Motel. Without him.

“Like hell,” he murmured.

She looked at him for the first time. “Philip—”

“I thought you had a good time last night.”

“I did. It's just—”

“Not good enough to repeat the experience?”

“You were amazing, O'Donnaugh. The best. But we both know what it was. And that it had to end sooner or later.”

“I was thinking later. Much later.”

She nibbled on her lower lip and turned to stare out the passenger window so he couldn't see her face. “I'm sorry.”

“So you're saying last night was just about sex.”

She remained silent, face averted.

He kept his temper in check. Barely. She knew damn well it wasn't just about sex.

Then he thought about how she'd wanted to leave for two days in a row and he hadn't let her. And remembered what she'd said this morning about not planning the wedding, and not wanting to hurt him, and all that other crap.

Who did
that
remind him of?

Hell.
He wasn't listening again.

Then he thought about the ripped condom and its possible consequences.

And decided he didn't give a damn about listening. Luce was running scared, and they both knew it. The question was, how would he change her mind?

She wanted just sex? He could do just sex. To keep her in his life. Hell, if she wanted
no
sex, he could do that, too. If he had to. To keep her in his life.

That would be harder. But he could do it.

But at his place. Not the Lakeview Motel.

He dropped the subject and talked about the cache instead. “I'll call Ted about the military stuff. He'll know who to report it to. There are so many military bases around here, I'm not sure.”

“Okay.”

Again he heard the reluctance in her tone.

“Are you planning to tell me what's going on?”

“Nothing's going on. I'm just disappointed not to catch Clyde. And I need to get back to St. Louis.”

So they were back to that again. “What about the plane angle?”

“Call me if it turns up.”

“And the Hidalgos and Santanders?”

“What about them?”

“Luce—”

“Maybe I'll pack up and leave tonight.”

“I thought you were beat,” he reminded her, proud of how reasonable he sounded despite his spiking anger. Anger at the thought of her driving off into the night. Fury at the thought of her running away from him and everything else she should be facing.

“Suddenly I'm wide awake.”

Yeah. She looked wide awake. So wide awake when she rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes it took her about three seconds flat to fall asleep.

He let her. Gave him a chance to think. And calm down enough to formulate a plan.

A
different
plan.

Option one hadn't worked. At least the effect on her hadn't. Option two was a nonstarter by the looks of it. Option three? God. What was option three?

Good question.

By the time he rolled up his driveway and parked, he'd decided on an option three. It was a pretty good plan. It could work.

Correction, it
would
work.

It would.

Because it had to.

“W
here are we?” Luce asked when the Jeep came to an abrupt halt and she opened her eyes. She looked around. It was like déjà vu all over again. “Your place,” she answered herself.

She took a second to tamp down on…first a rush of panic, then her anger that Philip had totally ignored her wishes.

So much for feeling guilty. Small consolation for betrayal, but she'd take it.

“Philip,” she began, summoning her sternest voice. Which came out more like a husky whisper after being asleep for the whole trip up the mountain.

She needn't have bothered.

“Here's the deal,” he said. “I'm not letting you drive. You're too tired. As for us, we can have hot—but casual—sex,” he neutrally informed her, shocking the residual cobwebs from her brain, “or you can sleep in the guest room. Your choice. Doesn't matter to me, either way.”

It didn't?

Okay.

She closed her eyes again and tried to wrap her mind around his sudden 180. But there must have been a whole bunch of cobwebs still hanging around in her head.

What was happening here?

The only thing that seemed clear was that she was stuck with no way to town and he was already carrying their things from the Jeep to the house. She unbuckled and trailed along after him.

There was definitely something different about him. Even in her muddled state she recognized that. He seemed…cool.

Speaking of cool, the temperature outside had plummeted. It couldn't be much over freezing. Goose bumps rose on her arms.

“Chilly tonight,” she remarked.

He led her into the living room, where he set her briefcase and their other things on an end table, then turned on the gas in the fireplace.

“It'll get warmer soon.”

She sure hoped so. And she didn't mean the house, either.

“Hungry?”

In answer, her stomach grumbled. “Starving.”

“Didn't want to wake you to stop for food, so we'll have to make do with something frozen.”

Sort of a theme going on here. She attempted a lame chuckle. “I'd offer to cook, but I wouldn't want to burn down your house.”

That got a smile. Well, sort of. Half of one. Of the humorless variety.

He headed for the kitchen. “Earlier I'd thought to make you a nice dinner tonight. Three courses, candlelight, the whole bit. But I'm afraid
that
Philip has left the building.”

A funny feeling swirled in the pit of her stomach. Not funny ha-ha, but funny…hurt. She followed him into the other room. “
That
Philip…?”

He dug through the freezer. “Yeah. You know, the Philip
who makes love to a woman.
He's
the one who cooks.” He found what he was looking for, pulled it out and turned to meet her sinking-hearted gaze. “You specifically requested the it's-just-sex Philip.” He set the frozen package on the counter and smiled. Sort of. “
That
Philip doesn't.”

She swallowed, reeling from the pain that suddenly zinged through her heart. But did her best to smile back. “What about the can-we-be-friends Philip?”

He gave a dour laugh. “It's all the same.”

As he turned to the sink and fussed with the frozen whatever, she watched his back. Straight and proud, there wasn't a trace of a stoop or a bow in his shoulders. But she knew.

She'd hurt him. He'd offered her nothing but warmth and love, even a relationship. And she had thrown it all back in his face.

Why?

All because of some…unknown thing…she'd dedicated her life to chasing.

He'd said he thought she was running.

Was he right? Was she really not chasing anything at all, but running away from something quite different?

Again,
why?

Abruptly she turned. “May I take a shower?” she asked.

“Use mine. End of the hall. Towels are in the cupboard. Leave your clothes in a pile and I'll run a wash.”

She wandered down the hall, oddly reluctant to breach the private sanctity of his bedroom. Last night at La Posada they'd shared a bed and a couple of showers, and that had been fun and sexy, intense at times. But they'd been at a hotel. Even alone, being in Philip's bedroom was very…personal.

Setting aside her reservations, she walked in. The room was wonderful. Very much Philip. Most of one wall was taken up by a window she assumed overlooked the trees and desert below, but it was too dark to see anything now, especially with the light on. His bed was huge and covered in a
luxurious-looking plaid wool blanket, with bunches of pillows propped up against the headboard. Made of darkish wood, it had square, masculine spindles that reminded her of the furniture in some of the old turn-of-the-century homes in St. Louis. It was beautiful. There was a matching dresser and a rocking chair and reading table. They sat a few feet from a small wood-burning stove, now cold, that wafted the piquant scent of burned cedar.

Rubbing the shiver from her arms, she went into the bathroom and closed the door resolutely, trying like mad not to picture herself in that room, lounging on the bed with a novel while he read the Sunday paper and a cozy fire crackled in the stove.

Where was the lavender spray when you needed it?

Never mind. Purposefully, she turned on the shower and shed her clothes, assembling them in a pile as he'd instructed. She stepped under the nozzle. At every turn in New Mexico she'd seen notices about water conservation, so she picked up the bottle of shower gel intending to wash quickly. And halted midpour.

The gel smelled just like Philip. Spicy and male, faintly of sage. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply, feeling the recognition deep within her body.

This was so unfair. How could she forget the man if everything reminded her of him?

No. She had to do better than this. Holding her breath, she washed, and was finishing up when she heard Philip open the door.

“Just getting the clothes,” he said.

“Okay.” She wasn't too worried; the shower door was frosted glass, aside from which she had more to fear from herself than him. He'd be honorable to the end.

Whether she liked it or not.

“Find everything you need?”

Don't even think it, Luce.

“I could use a razor. Mine's at the motel.”

There was a pause. “I'll see what I can do.” The door closed again.

She let out her breath. And ran a hand slowly over the lower slopes of her breasts. The redness had disappeared, but this morning they'd—

No.
She dropped her hand and grabbed the shampoo. She was thinking about her
legs,
not his stubbled jaw.

Sure she was.

She'd just poured a puddle of shampoo into her hand when the bathroom door opened again. Her pulse skyrocketed when the shower door opened, too.

“I found a razor,” he said, and held one up. At least she figured he was holding a shaver, but she really didn't know because she couldn't tear her eyes from his body.

Which was naked.

“Philip—”

“It's mine, but I put a new blade in for you. Will that work?”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

He stepped into the shower with her, taking up almost all of the room in the small cubicle. His shoulders practically hit either side, and she had to step back to keep her breasts from touching his chest.

He caught her hand just as the shampoo started to trickle from her palm.

“No sense wasting this,” he said calmly, and gathered the sticky liquid into his own palm. “I'll use it on your legs.”

With that, he squatted down and picked up her foot, placing it on his knee. And began lathering up her calf with the shampoo. Her jaw dropped even further.

“What—” she began.

“Don't worry. You've made your wishes pretty clear. I'm not here to seduce you.”

He wasn't?

“Then what—”

“Saving water.” He looked up, droplets streaming down his face as the spray hit him. “It's the law here.”

“Shower-pooling?”

“Whatever works.” He lifted the razor and began to scrape it leisurely down her leg. She had to grab his shoulders to keep from jumping out of her skin.

“Um…”

He drew it down again, and her whole body shuddered hotly. His legs were splayed apart, unabashedly showing off what was between them. He was aroused.

“Is there a problem? We've seen each other naked before, if you recall.”

Flagrantly
aroused.

“Um—”

“Why don't you wash my hair for me, while I shave you?”

Somehow she recovered her voice. “Philip, why are you doing this?”

“I told you.”

“Water conservation.”

“Yeah.”

She didn't believe that for a minute. The problem was, she had no idea what he
was
up to.

“Not seduction?” she asked again.

“No. If you want to sleep together, great. But it's
your
turn to ask for it. I won't.”

He made two more passes at her calf before she was able to jumpstart her pulse. Of course she wanted to. She just didn't dare.

Did she?

No. She'd hurt him enough already. She was lying to him, and was about to betray him big-time. She had no business sleeping with the man. Not even casually. If that was even possible.
Casual
wasn't in his vocabulary. And there was no way Philip O'Donnaugh could ever be of casual interest to her.

“The idea here is to
save
water, Luce.” He glanced up at her expectantly. Nodded to the shampoo.

Right. Wash his hair. A good distraction from what he was
doing to her leg. Going higher and higher with his hands. Rinsing away her willpower along with the suds.

He paused, closing his eyes when she squirted shampoo onto his head and began to rub. “That feels nice.”

“Yeah,” she croaked.

But she wasn't sleeping with him.

She wasn't.

No matter what he did to her leg.

Or anything else.

Oh, Lord.

She rubbed his head like crazy, and he continued shaving her leg. When he finished, he switched her other foot onto his opposite knee and started in all over again.

It was agonizing.

It was heavenly.

It was frustrating as hell, because all he did was shave her legs.

When he was done, he stood up and rinsed his hair, then perused her body. “I assume you washed before I got here?”

She nodded, unable to speak again. He was still aroused. Even
more
aroused.

He picked up the shower gel and handed it to her. “Then I'll wash your hair while you do me.”

He tipped her head back with his fingers and guided it under the streaming water. Then he gathered her hair and lathered it up.

“Well?” he asked when she just stood there. Terrified to touch him. Terrified to move. Terrified to open her mouth because she was terrified what might come out of it.

It was just a body, she told herself. He was just a man. All these feelings were just hormones.

Her eyes blurred from the water, which was lucky because then she couldn't really see him as she stroked the soapy gel over his chest and everywhere else.

“Did I get shampoo in your eyes?” he asked, voice filling with concern.

“A little, I think,” she said, and closed them as he aimed the spray to rinse away the shampoo and the sting.

Too bad it wasn't working.

“Turn around,” she said, and by the time she'd done his whole back, her eyes were almost normal.

“Finished,” she said when she really couldn't find any more of him to wash or rinse.

“Okay,” he said, and turned back to her. “Thanks.”

They stood and gazed at each other for a few moments, not moving.

“I guess we should get out,” she said.

“You go ahead,” he said. He rubbed his upper thigh, catching his thumb over the root of his arousal. “I'm just going to take care of myself before I get out.”

Scandal sifted through her body. Surely he couldn't mean… Her shock must have shown on her face.

“I need sleep, Luce. Look at me. I'll never get any in this condition.”

“But I thought…”

“What? That I don't want you? That I'm not aching to do everything we did last night, and more? Sweetheart, my brain might have gotten the message, but my body hasn't.”

“Oh.”

“I can control a lot of things, but this isn't one of them. There's no shame in that.”

“No.”

“Guest room's down the hall on the kitchen side.”

She licked her lips, trying to read his mood. “Okay.” But all she could see behind his shuttered expression was tiredness.

He sighed, lifted his fingers and ran them gently along her jaw. Then he gave his head a tiny jerk toward the door. “Go on.”

She was a coward, so she fled. Ran from the shower, grabbed a towel on the way out and smacked the bathroom door shut after her. And found herself standing in front of his bed.

The covers had been turned down, and the room was toasty warm, heat emanating from the woodstove, which he must have stoked up. She squeezed her eyes shut.

What was she going to do?

His hurt was so palpable it was almost physical, as blatant as the want for her his body had displayed so unabashedly.

How could she leave him like this?

How could she leave herself like this?

There were a million reasons not to go to him. All good ones. Nothing would be solved by prolonging their physical involvement. Things could only get worse, especially when he found out what she was planning to do later tonight.

But she couldn't stand to see the hurt dimming his beautiful eyes. And know she'd put it there.

She'd do anything not to have to see that hurt.

Anything at all.