Body Heat (14 page)

 

She'd almost cost him
this
job, too. Leonard couldn't believe it. For a few minutes last night, he'd had the upper hand. He'd enjoyed wielding some power. And then Sophia had nearly hauled him off to jail. If he hadn't passed the Breathalyzer, she would've locked him up and impounded his car. As it was, she'd given him two tickets he couldn't afford, one for running a red light and one for speeding.

Although things could've been worse—if she'd impounded his truck and found the receiver he used to eavesdrop on her—he'd been so angry by the time he got home he couldn't sleep. It wasn't until dawn that he'd finally dozed off, and then he'd overslept.

He'd called ahead to tell Dwight he'd be late, said it was because he woke up feeling ill. He couldn't admit to getting pulled over in the middle of the night for breaking traffic laws while driving his employer's truck. But it was obvious that Dwight wasn't happy to hear another excuse. Since Leonard had returned to animal husbandry, which was what he'd done before his uncle had encouraged him to try his hand at law enforcement, he'd had one problem after another. He couldn't seem to climb out of the mire he'd fallen into the day Sophia had heard about the Mexican girl who'd ratted him out to her loser brother.

Frowning, Leonard watched a tumbleweed roll across the flat desert landscape. He felt just as dead, just as disconnected, as that wind-tossed weed. And it stemmed from one mistake. That was all it took to destroy his life—one mistake and a vengeful, power-hungry fellow officer who'd never liked him to begin with.

“¿Qué quieres que hagamos?”

Saul, one of the migrant workers who helped out at the ranch, approached him.

Lowering the brim of his hat to protect his skin from the broiling sun, Leonard replied in Spanish because none of the men who worked with him could understand English. “Move all the birds from house number one to house number two,” he told him. “It's time to rake out the droppings.” Which they would sell to a fertilizer company, but the laborers didn't need to know that. They just needed
to do the raking and leave anything that required a brain to him.

Saul passed the word to two other migrant workers who waited nearby, wearing their usual sweat-stained baseball caps and filthy work clothes. Then they all walked to house number one.

At least they were obedient. And they worked hard. Their women were well trained, too. The ones he'd met could really cook and clean. They knew how to take care of a man….

Dwight would be along shortly to see how the transfer was progressing, so Leonard needed to join the crew. But he couldn't dredge up the energy to overcome his resistance to such lowly work. Not after his latest indignity at the hands of Sophia “the Bitch of All Bitches” St. Claire. And what was all that business his bug had picked up about Rod being in his trailer? What right did Bruce's bastard have entering anyone's place of residence without permission?

Lingering under the spray mister near the corrugated metal shack where two women—one Mexican, one white—made sure the eggs produced on the ranch were clean and contained no dark spots or blood, he gazed off into the distance. Here he was, overseeing the removal of chicken shit instead of driving around Bordertown in an air-conditioned cruiser, enjoying the envy of the men and the respect and admiration of the women. Lorna, his wife, was gone. His girls were gone, too. For the most part, they refused to talk to him. Lorna said it was because he couldn't say anything nice. She claimed the children were suffering enough, that they didn't need him making them feel guilty every time he called. But they couldn't be hurting as badly as he was. And it wasn't as if he was
asking for the moon. He just wanted them to convince their mother to forgive him and come home so they could go back to life as it was before.

Lorna said she wanted to give their separation a while before she filed for divorce, as if there was a chance she might reconsider, but there were moments he feared those happier times were gone for good. Every day seemed harder than the one before. Staring at the trailer they'd once shared, with its missing furniture and the dog and cat the family had left with him because their new place didn't allow pets, had changed him, hardened him.

He thought about the guns he had at the trailer. Lately, his mind returned to them constantly. Until the past six months, he'd never understood those guys who felt compelled to shoot up their workplace or school. But he understood now. He wanted to walk into Bordertown and kill Sophia, the council members who'd supported her and Bruce Dunlap, the worst of all hypocrites. Bruce had pulled his support the minute he'd learned about the Mexican girl, and then he'd coaxed his bastard half-breed home to help solve a crime Sophia couldn't solve on her own. They even had a cigarette butt from which they were hoping to get a DNA profile. That could mess up everything.

But as much as Leonard dreamed of taking everyone out in a hail of bullets, he told himself he wouldn't let Sophia or anyone else tempt him into acting rash. That was no way to win. If he shot up the town, he'd die, too, or he'd go to prison, and that wouldn't fix anything.

No, he'd take her apart piece by piece, beginning with what she'd stolen from him first—her job. And he'd do it without anyone being able to prove it was him. He finally had the tools he needed to insure success. Over the past
few weeks, he'd managed to bug her house, her car, even the station.

She wouldn't make any progress on the UDA murders because he'd know everything she did and he'd stay one step ahead of her.

What he'd learned about her relationship with her stepfather while listening to her conversation with Roderick was simply a bonus….

I
t was midafternoon by the time Sophia woke up. Because of the pressure she'd been under, she hadn't been able to sleep for several days, so she'd taken a sleeping pill, and it had definitely done its job. She'd been unconscious for eight solid hours. But the first thing she thought of when she opened her eyes was what she'd been thinking about when she fell asleep—her conversation with Leonard Taylor.

Was what he'd told her true? Did her stepfather have a nude picture of her in his wallet?

She couldn't imagine how that could be the case. For one thing, she had no idea how or when he would've gotten it. For another, he couldn't risk having her mother come across it. Anne preferred to live in denial, but that kind of proof would be too obvious to ignore, even for her.

And that wasn't the only part of Leonard's story that seemed suspect. He said Anne had gone to the police station and asked for his advice. But Anne had never particularly liked him. He'd dared to come on to her once, when they were both young and unmarried, and Anne was appalled that he thought he was good enough. Some of his cousins had money, but he didn't. Plus, Anne's pride meant everything to her. She'd never be able to hold her head
up in Bordertown if people thought she couldn't keep her husband's sexual interest away from her own daughter.

So…where would Leonard have come up with that if it wasn't true? And how ironic that he'd mention it right after she'd divulged the truth to Rod. During the past decade, she'd heard no allusion to her stepfather's inappropriate behavior, had made no allusion to it herself. Yet the subject had come up twice in the same evening only minutes apart.

Definitely odd….

A knock at the door told her she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep even if she could forget about the sickening possibility that her stepfather might have such a revealing photograph in his wallet.

You have the most amazing tits.
How many people had seen that picture? If it existed…

“Hey, you home?”

It was Rod, calling to her from outside her front door. She recognized his voice, but wasn't sure she wanted to see him. She'd kissed him last night and had considered doing even more. Which seemed crazy in the light of day. They barely knew each other. Besides, she felt a little superstitious about what she'd told him, as if that moment of weakness might bring the world as she knew it tumbling down around her. She'd been too tired and, when it came to Rod, too influenced by guilt and attraction to maintain her usual defenses.

Still, there wasn't much point in leaving him standing outside, banging on the door. He'd be able to get hold of her later, if not now. Why procrastinate?

Dragging herself out of bed, she pulled on a pair of cutoffs and one of the T-shirts she generally wore around the house and answered the door.

 

Sophia's tattoo sleeve took Rod by surprise. When he'd known her, she'd been a cheerleader, a good student. Such a classic symbol of rebellion seemed incongruous with all that. But, as he'd discovered, she'd changed quite a bit after he left Bordertown….

“That's a lot of ink,” he said dryly.

She glanced down. “A remnant of my Starkey days.”

“Ever thought of having it removed?”

“You don't like it?”

“I'm not sure yet,” he admitted. But he liked the rest of what he saw—the braless chest, the shapely legs. She was far more appealing out of uniform. Which did nothing to bolster the decision he'd made after she'd gone home last night. He wasn't going to let himself get physically involved with her. As much as he was tempted to coax her to submit, as much as he believed that would bring him the closure he'd craved for years, he knew a “love 'em and leave 'em” experience wouldn't be best for her. She'd been through enough.

“Then I'm glad I don't care,” she said. “What's up?”

He ignored her tart response about the tattoo. He'd asked for it, after all. “I just spoke to Milt.”

“Who's Milt?”

“My boss.”

She shoved her sleep-tousled hair out of those bottle-green eyes. “Is he planning to have the governor call me?”

“I told him it wasn't necessary. He was pleased to learn that you like me now.”

Her eyes met his. “Who said I like you?”

He smiled. “I can tell.”

“How?”

“You don't have your Taser out anymore, for one. I figure that's a step in the right direction.”

“Why bother with a Taser? Even electrocution won't get rid of you.”

He lowered his voice. “And then there was that kiss.”

“A peck.”

“You melted like butter. That had to mean something.”

She grimaced. “It means I'm hard up, remember? You were the one who pointed that out last night.”

“I didn't say you were hard up. I said you don't have a lot of discreet options.”

“And you offered me a one-night stand.”

“An offer that has since been rescinded, by the way. You missed your opportunity.”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and, although it wasn't intentional, the action drew his attention to the cleavage showing above the top of her wide-necked T-shirt. “You're saying you don't want me anymore?”

Want
had nothing to do with it. “Nope. Not now that I've seen you without makeup.”

She slugged him. “Thanks for the ego boost!”

“About time I returned the favor,” he said as he laughed. “After all, you're the girl who destroyed
my
ego fifteen years ago.”

He'd meant that last part as a joke, but she sobered immediately.

“I'm sorry about that, Rod. At fifteen, I was nothing but a…a spoiled brat. I can't tell you how bad I've felt about that incident ever since. When Starkey told me you were back in town, I was hoping I wouldn't even have to see you, I was still so embarrassed.”

He hadn't expected such an honest and heartfelt apology.
It made the grudge he'd been carrying seem childish. But he wasn't noble enough to completely relinquish the power her contrition gave him—not without having some fun with it first. “So what are you going to do to make it up to me?”

“What do you want?” She sounded suspicious, but she was smiling.

He stepped inside, crowding her.

She moved back to make room for him. “I'd like to see if you have any more tattoos.”

“I don't.”

The door closed with a click. “Prove it.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “How?”

“Lose the shirt.”

“Here?
Now?
”

“Quit stalling. You've already seen everything I've got. Now you owe me.”

“I thought we were even.”

“Not by a long shot.”

She took another step back. “I let you out of jail last night.”

“You shouldn't have arrested me in the first place.”

“That's not strictly true.”

“Excuses. What, are you too chicken to give as good as you got?”

Her chest rose as she drew in a deep breath. “Still getting up my nerve.”

She was going to do it? “Should I help?”

“Absolutely not.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Then why don't you start?”

Slowly, she began to bare her midriff.

“That's it,” he murmured as more and more of her came into view. He spotted a pretty little beauty mark below her
rib cage, noticed how smooth and creamy her skin looked. But once she exposed her breasts, all his blood headed to his groin, and he could hardly breathe, let alone think.

When he didn't react, confusion and uncertainty entered her eyes. She assumed his silence meant he didn't like what he saw and was lowering her shirt.

He needed to say something. But he was too busy wrestling with himself. Part of him wanted to seduce her, to slip his hand up under that shirt and cup her breast. He was pretty sure she'd let him. She was lonely, hungry for physical fulfillment, as vulnerable as he'd been fourteen years ago. The tables had turned just as he'd always dreamed. But he couldn't allow himself to take advantage of her. He refused to be that selfish, that callous.

Swallowing hard, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug of indifference. “Not bad.”

Such a bland response was almost a slap in the face, but it worked. His lack of appreciation stung her enough to make her defensive, unwilling to trust him again.

She crossed her arms over her chest, even though her shirt was back in place. “Well, whether you enjoyed the show or not, I did what you asked. So…you forgive me, right?”

“For what?” He was so busy battling the effects of the testosterone flooding his body that he couldn't even remember what they'd been talking about.

“Standing you up for Homecoming.”

“Of course. You made the right decision. Whoever you chose over me probably took you out for steak and lobster. I barely had enough money for pizza.”

He'd just been referring to the practical benefits of going out with someone who had more money than he'd had at the time, trying to divorce feeling from action so
they could forget what had happened and move on. But his words only made the strain between them worse.

“That wasn't why I did it,” she said softly.

Suddenly angry at himself for using her apology as leverage to get her to flash him, he scowled. “Yeah, well, forget it. I was joking earlier. You were never that important to me.”

She blinked several times. “You can be an insensitive jerk, you know that?”

But an insensitive jerk was better than what he'd be if he carried her into the bedroom and convinced her to give him what she wouldn't give anyone else. “Better you learn that now.”

“Or?”

“Or it might be a harder lesson later.”

Her laugh was more of a scoff. “Don't flatter yourself.”

Those words offered a fresh challenge, a new temptation, but he didn't let himself react the way he wished he could. “Milt called to tell me the FBI has formed the task force you've been waiting for and they're going to jump all over this UDA case,” he said, turning the conversation to business, where it should've been from the beginning.

She avoided his gaze but made an effort to speak more stridently than she had a moment earlier. “Took them long enough.”

“They had to replace two senior agents. They won't say why, but they made some transfers and are now ready to come on board. The special agent in charge wants to meet us in an hour.”

“Us?”

He knew she must want to be rid of him now more than ever. He'd coaxed her to let go, to be daring, and then he'd
made her regret it. But once she'd actually lifted her shirt, he didn't see that he'd had any other alternative. “Us,” he repeated. “They called
you
to set it up, even though I'm the chief of police.”

Thanks to him, she was having a very bad afternoon, and he knew it. “I told you I have friends in high places.” He was joking, but she didn't crack a smile, and he wasn't feeling very happy, either.

He waved at her general dishevelment. “Why don't you jump in the shower while I make breakfast?”

She shook her head. “There's no need for you to wait here while I get ready. I'll meet you. Where do I go?”

He'd been hoping to make up for what he'd just done. He liked to cook, liked taking care of people. But she wasn't about to let him. She was slipping back into tough-cop mode.

“The meeting's at the Sierra Vista Resident Agency,” he said. “There's no point in both of us driving that far.”

“Except that I have a lot of errands to run on my way home.”

“You've got to eat.”

“I can manage on my own.”

It wasn't going to be easy to work with her. They couldn't seem to find any middle ground. They were either too busy hating each other or wanting to make love.

Figuring it might help to give her more space, he nodded. “Fine. I'll see you in an hour.”

She waited politely until he went out. She even waved as if he hadn't embarrassed her. Then she closed the door and when he heard the dead bolt slide home behind him, he understood she was barring him from more than the house.

 

Damn, she was an idiot. What had she been
thinking?

Sophia slid down the wall to the hardwood floor. She'd just flashed Roderick Guerrero, and he'd looked at her as if he wasn't the least bit interested or impressed. She couldn't imagine anything more humiliating, couldn't imagine feeling more self-conscious than she had in those few seconds when he went silent and still. She usually avoided situations that made her emotionally vulnerable. So why had she taken such a risk? What had she hoped to achieve?

Forgiveness. She'd been sincere about that. And, regardless of the fact that she'd had the law on her side, she regretted bursting into his motel room without even allowing him time to dress.

But still… She'd been crazy to set herself up for his revenge. He'd exacted it so quickly and easily, with a mere look. Or maybe it was the lack of a look. His face had gone completely blank.

Obviously, she wasn't her usual self. Not only was she fighting a deep-seated fear that she wouldn't be able to solve the UDA case, she was terrified that there'd be other victims. She didn't want to feel responsible for their deaths. Roderick was handsome and exciting and he'd created a distraction from the endless worry and doubt. Then there was the drive to prove herself desirable enough to appeal to a man like that. Dick's behavior—cheating on her with a seventeen-year-old girl—must've taken more of a toll on her self-esteem than she'd realized.

So she'd made a mistake. It wasn't catastrophic. She'd pretend it had never happened and go on. Roderick had wanted to get even, and she'd let him. Done. Over. She had too much going on to worry about the fact that he hadn't been the slightest bit tempted by what he'd seen. He
lived in Southern California, for crying out loud. Hard for natural breasts to compete with all the surgery-enhanced beach bodies in L.A.