Colder Than Ice (27 page)

“I'm not angry. I'm…I don't know what the hell I am.” He sighed. It was a deep sigh that seemed to come from his core. And then he squeezed her and stood back to look into her eyes. “It's done. We'll deal with it. And no matter how fast the bastard moves, he's not going to lay so much as a finger on you, Beth. I promise.”

She smiled through her fear. “Now who's the hero?”

His expression changed then. Something clouded his eyes. Something she couldn't name. “I'm no hero.”

“No? You mean you
didn't
come charging into Blackberry with everything but the white steed for the sole purpose of keeping one lonely woman alive?”

He lowered his head. “Beth, there are things…you still don't know about me.”

“I know there are.”

His eyes snapped back to hers.

“You don't think a woman who's been through what I have is easily fooled, do you, Josh? I know there are things you've been keeping from me. I've known it all along. But I also know that you mean it when you say you want to protect me. That you're on my side in this. I believe that. And I…I think I'm starting to believe that you aren't lying about…about having feelings for me.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

She nodded. “So what else is there?”

He licked his lips. “We've hit a crisis point here, Beth. Let's get through this, and then…then we'll deal with the rest.”

She stared at him, searching his eyes, wondering what he was still keeping from her and aching inside because she was so afraid it would change everything between them. God, she was more afraid of his secret than she was of Mordecai. Her priorities were skewed to hell and gone.

“Do you trust me enough to do that, Beth? To wait a little bit longer for the answers to your questions?”

She sighed. “You're not giving me much of a choice.”

His lips thinned. “I can't. I'm sorry.”

She sighed, slipping free of his embrace to walk to the table, where she picked up her now cold coffee, took a sip and grimaced. “It's a major thing, Josh. As badly as I've been burned by men who keep secrets—this is a lot you're asking of me.”

“I know that.” He walked up behind her, slid his hands along her outer arms. “Believe me, I know.”

She lowered her head, his touch warming her, coaxing her. The telephone rang, and she let out a sigh and moved away from him to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Beth, it's Chief Frankie. Why the
hell
didn't you two tell me any of this?”

She licked her lips, lowered her head, taken off guard by the lack of preamble or small talk. “I don't imagine you're too happy with me right now, are you, Chief?”

Her eyes met Josh's. He nodded, as if he'd expected Frankie to be calling.

“Not thrilled, no,” Frankie said. “Don't you think this is something you might have considered telling me? By God, woman,
Josh told me he was here to protect you, but not the rest. Don't you think the fact that one of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted felons is in my little town is something I ought to know?”

Beth lowered her head. “There were reasons.”

“I've got no doubt about that. As far as your protection—”

“It's covered, Frankie.”

“It's my job, Beth. Or should I call you Elizabeth now?”

She closed her eyes, not answering.

“Did Maude know about this, child?”

“No,” Beth said softly. “She didn't know any more than what Josh told you.”

Frankie sighed. “We don't have the resources to deal with this sort of thing on our own. I have a call in to the state police requesting help, though I have no doubt there are federal agencies we should be working with on this, too. I thought you might have a name for me. Tell me who's in charge. The same fellow whose number Joshua already gave me?”

She wasn't too overwhelmed to be surprised by Frankie's brisk efficiency—or to be disappointed in herself for that surprise. Had she just blithely assumed Frankie was incompetent because she was female and over fifty? Shame on her.

“You probably ought to talk to Joshua,” she said. “I'm putting him on now.” Beth handed Joshua the telephone, sighing and walking away, leaving him to handle things, even though she hated how dependent she had become on him in such a short time.

“Hold on, Chief.” Josh put his hand over the phone. “Where are you going?” he asked Beth.

“Upstairs,” she said. “I have to get ready. I don't imagine it will be long now.”

J
osh confirmed for Frankie that Arthur Stanton was indeed the man in charge of Beth's case and informed her that he was on his way to town as they spoke. Then he called Arthur and filled him in on the latest developments. He put the phone down and glanced toward the staircase.

Beth was starting to believe his feelings were genuine.

And she wasn't the only one.

Josh sighed as his stomach knotted up and his throat went dry. He could barely tell what was true and what was a lie anymore. What did he really feel, and what was he pretending to feel, and what was leftover guilt from what he had done to her in the past? He didn't think this was any time to be trying to work all that out, anyway, not when her life was hanging in the balance.

He drew a breath and headed up the stairs. Her bedroom
door was open, and beyond it, she sat on the edge of her bed, with her pathetically tiny derringer in her hands. She held the nickel-plated barrel of her little gun as she ran a tiny wire brush through it. Then she set the brush aside and held the barrel up, peering into it.

He stepped inside, and she looked up at him. “Thought I'd better get this in shape. Hasn't had a thorough cleaning in a while.”

He nodded at the cleaning kit, open on the bed beside her. “You went shopping, huh?”

“Picked it up while I was in town this morning. The old one got blown away.”

He sat down on the bed beside her, replaced the wire brush in its slotted spot in the case, took out a yellow felt square and a bottle of gun oil, and handed them to her. “I have a kit in my room.”

“I didn't think of that before I left or I'd have asked.”

“Never hurts to have a spare.”

She nodded. He watched her drip oil onto the gun barrel and then buff it with the felt. She knew what she was doing. She used another tool, sliding the felt through a slot on the end, to oil the inside of the barrel. The familiar, powerful scent of gun oil would cling to her hands for hours, he thought. Finally she snapped the barrel back onto the rest of the weapon, which had clearly already been cleaned.

“You need a bigger weapon,” he said.

“Had one. Lost it.”

“Did you have a holster for it?”

She shook her head. “Never got around to buying one. Guess I didn't want to think about the time when I'd need to have it with me 24/7.”

“I don't blame you. But that time is here. I want you to carry one of mine. And I don't want it farther than arm's length from you from here on. Okay?” She nodded, repacking items into the gun cleaning kit, wiping her hands on a rag.

“Okay.” She slipped the two tiny bullets into the derringer, then held it up and sighted down the barrel at a spot on the wall. “You ought to be wearing your own from here on, too, Josh.” He glanced at her. She didn't lower her weapon. Her finger caressed the trigger, and she closed one eye. If Mordecai Young were on the other end of the room, Josh had no doubt he would be hurting. The tiny gun wouldn't stop him, but it would sure slow him down.

“Headshots only,” she told him, still sighting.

“Headshots?”

She nodded. “Smaller target, but the only sure thing. Last time I killed him he was wearing a vest. If I'd put one between his eyes then, he wouldn't be a threat now.”

No, he wouldn't be, Josh thought. Even the derringer might do the trick if she hit him there. But if she had killed him, other things wouldn't be happening now, either. He would never have found out that the woman he thought he had killed was alive after all. He would never have found her again. He would never have kissed her, touched her, made love with her.

“I'll get that gun and extra holster for you,” he said, and it came out gruff and hoarse. He got his own guns, both of them, and his holsters, and a heavy knit sweater, then headed back to Beth's bedroom. He handed her his 9 mm. “How about you carry this one for a while?”

She took it with a frown, hefted it in her hands. “I had one something like it. Mine was a .45. Never carried it around with me. Too bulky, too heavy, too slow.” She met his eyes as
she handed it back, then nodded at the gun in his other hand. “What's that one?”

He tossed the sweater and holsters onto the bed and handed her the gun. “A .38. It's a revolver, though. Only holds six shots.”

“I don't plan to need six shots.” She looked the gun over, nodding in approval. “I like this one better.”

“Keep it, then. And if you should happen to need more than six, you'll have the derringer as backup.”

Josh set both guns on the bed and reached for one of the holsters, held it up. “You ever use a shoulder holster?”

“Nope.”

“Handy as hell. We'll have to adjust it to fit you, though. Put it on under a bulky sweater and no one will be the wiser. Just make sure you can grab it in a hurry.” He glanced at her, rapidly adjusting the straps to an approximation of the right size. “We'll adjust it once you get it on. Here.”

He held out the holster. She took it. Then he peeled off his shirt and grabbed his own holster. “Put it on like this.” He held the holster up to show her. She wasn't moving, though, and when he looked at her, her eyes were on his chest, not on the holster he held in his hands.

The way she was looking at him made his blood heat. But then she looked away, licked her lips. Set the holster down and peeled her sweater off over her head. She picked the holster up again, held it awkwardly. “Like this?”

Josh cleared his throat, told himself he'd seen her naked, so there was really no earthly reason why the sight of her standing there in her lacy purple camisole should turn him into a drooling idiot. “Here, let me show you.” He put his own holster down, took hers from her hands, moved closer to her. But
before he could slide the holster onto her, her palms were touching his chest, sliding slowly over his skin. Josh closed his eyes and let the holster go. It landed on the floor, and he kicked it aside, his hands going to her waist to pull her closer. Silk against his skin, under his hands. She was soft, warm, beneath it. He needed to taste that smooth skin again, and he did, bending his head to kiss her shoulder, the crook of her neck, the hollow underneath her ear. Her hands slid around to his back, and she returned every kiss. His shoulder, his neck, his chin.

With a low growl, he pushed her backward onto the bed, shoving the weapons aside with a sweep of his arm. His body covered hers, and he ground his hips against her as he finally took her mouth. She opened to him. Her lips, her legs. All of her. God, she had a way of turning him on like no woman ever had. He'd decided this was a bad idea. That he shouldn't do it again. But he'd be damned if he could stop himself. It wasn't just wanting her—it was a compulsion, a need that couldn't be denied. He needed her like he needed air.

He worked one hand in between their straining bodies, fumbled with her jeans to get them undone, then managed to shove a hand down the front of them, inside her panties and into the warmth, the wetness, beyond. She shivered at his touch, so he made it deeper, probing inside, one finger, then two. She moaned his name around his tongue, encouraging him. So he used his free hand to slide the straps of the camisole from her shoulders, pushing it lower, baring her. And then he slid his mouth from hers and went to work on her breasts, first laving, then sucking hard on one stiff nipple. Her hands gripped the back of his head, and she arched her back. He nipped with his teeth and she whimpered, so he did it again. He moved his fingers inside her still deeper, then at
tacked her other breast with his free hand, pinching its little nipple as he bit down.

“Good, baby?” he asked, mouthing her with the words.

“Good, more. Harder, Josh.”

Even as she spoke, she shoved her jeans and panties down, lifting her hips against him and then freeing him of his jeans. She wrapped her hand around him, guided him. And then he was inside her, plunging into her, suckling and biting and pinching and driving deep inside her.

The way she clung to him, pressed against him, matched his every move with one of her own—it was as if she could read his mind. As if they were one being. And she was the most enthusiastic lover he'd ever had, whispering to him, telling him what she wanted, needed, snapping her hips to meet his, wrapping her legs around his waist to take him deeper.

He would have hated himself for not lasting longer except that she climaxed just before he did, her heels digging into his back as her spasms and cries sent him spiraling over the brink.

He collapsed on top of her, panting, breathless. “Damn, Beth, you're incredible.”

“Mmm.” She nuzzled his neck with her nose, kissed it and sighed. Then she went stiff, hearing what he heard. A car pulling up out front.

“Shit.” He got off her, yanked his jeans up, pulled on his holster and jammed the gun into it. Then he reached for her. “Here, babe.” He put her holster on her, over the camisole. “We'll tighten it up later.” He thrust the .38 inside. “Put on a sweater.”

She spun to snatch a sweater from the nearest pile of clothes—she'd been sorting, and most of them hadn't yet been put away. He saw her tuck the derringer into her jeans even as he pulled his own sweater over his head and started out of the
room. She was behind him within a second, had to hear the footsteps on the front porch.

Beth came out of the bedroom into the hall, met his eyes, and there was no mistaking the fear in hers. But there was determination there, too. God, she was something.

“I expected him to come in quietly,” she said, pulling her sweater down over her waist, adjusting it to hide the bulge of the weapons.

He took the lead, heading down the stairs and toward the front door, never standing directly in line with it. He was just about to peek through the curtain when someone knocked, startling him.

Beth was standing about four feet back. Not far enough, in his opinion. “Who's there?” she called.

“Chief Frankie,” a voice replied. “And, uh—and company.”

Beth frowned at Josh. He shrugged and moved to the nearest window to take a look outside. A half dozen people were standing on the front porch. A few he recognized. Most he didn't, and he didn't like that. But then Beth was beside him, her breath warm on his neck as she leaned in close to look outside. “What in the world…?”

“More cars are pulling up,” he said, nodding toward the headlights. “What do you want to do?”

She lifted her brows. “Open the door?”

He sighed, but went to the door and opened it. Chief Frankie stood front and center, a small crowd gathered behind her.

“What's going on, Chief?” Joshua asked, even as Beth crowded up beside him.

Frankie shrugged. “I came by to check on things. These others—well, I'm not real sure. But my best guess would be that they read their newspapers.”

“Darn straight we did,” a woman said from behind her. “Beth Slocum—or Marcum or—well, hell, you've lived here a year, girl. Maude loved you enough to leave her home to you, and in my book, that makes you one of us.”

“That's right,” someone else said. “And in Blackberry, we take care of our own.”

Frankie lifted her copper-red eyebrows, glancing from Josh to Beth.

Beth tapped Josh on the shoulder, then stepped aside and said, “Come on inside. It's cold out there.”

The chief backed away and stood beside the door, her eyes telling Josh without a word that she would make sure no strangers were among those filing into Beth's living room.

One woman was carrying a pie, another a cake, another a bouquet of flowers. Before Josh knew it, the living room was full, and one of the women was hustling Beth into the kitchen, talking about putting on a fresh pot of coffee.

“Hold on a moment, sir. Just wait right there,” the chief said, drawing Josh's attention back to the doorway.

A large man stood there, turned partly to the side as the far smaller woman in the police uniform waylaid him, apparently because she didn't recognize him. Josh did, though.

“It's okay, Chief. This is Arthur Stanton, the man I told you would be coming. Art, this is Blackberry's Chief of Police, Frankie Parker.”

Art looked surprised, but hid it quickly and offered a hand to shake Frankie's. “Nice to meet you. Good to see you're on the job here.” He glanced inside. “What is this, some kind of party?”

Josh followed his gaze to see that several women had cleared off the buffet in the dining room, draped it in one of
Maude's crisp white tablecloths and were setting food they had brought there. A whole group had gathered around Beth. Snippets of their conversation reached him from the noise in the room.

“…so sorry…”

“…. you don't need to go…”

“…for having misjudged you…”

“…didn't know, didn't understand.”

“…proud to have you tutor our daughter…”

“…anything we can do to help you through this…”

“…Maude would have wanted you to stay…”