Dead Case in Deadwood (28 page)

"Are you wearing slippers?"

I looked down at the little suns smiling up at me from each
foot. I could use a little of their optimism right about now. "Yeah."

"Do you want to come inside?" he offered an olive
branch.

Yes!
I looked back up at him and tossed the ball back
in his court. "If you want me to."

I needed something from him that assured me tonight’s visit was
worth wading through all of my insecurities and anxieties to stand here in
front of him and make a fool of myself … well, a bigger-than-normal fool.

He stepped back and held open the door for me.

My hands trembled as I climbed the steps. I went out of my
way not to touch him as I slipped past. Inside, I waited. It was his turn to
lead in this dance of ours.

The house smelled like a mixture of furniture polish and cinnamon—none
of the odd stinky odors I was used to coming home to in a house containing a
chicken, a cat, a gerbil, two kids, and a microwave. I hadn’t been inside this
place since handing the keys off to Doc a couple of weeks ago—the same day we’d
last had sex. Only his house had been an empty shell then, his bedroom window
unbroken.

That was also the same day I’d gotten the phone call from
Harvey about the decapitated body his dog had dug up from that old cemetery
behind his barn. Thinking about my partner in crime reminded me of why I was
standing here under Doc’s roof.

Wringing my hands together, I turned to Doc as he closed the
French door and locked it. "I think I know who the killer is."

He strode past me, his eyes averted, and headed into his
kitchen.

I followed, noticing the clean, sparse marble countertops shining
under the over-the-sink can-light. No opened boxes of cereal, no sticky pools
of spilled juice, no half-empty glasses or dirty plates.

Doc pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed a beer and
a soda pop. He held both out toward me. The light from inside the fridge backlit
his bare shoulders and the cargo shorts hanging low on his waist. I dragged my
eyes away from all of his exposed skin and focused my attention on the offerings
in his hands. The beer was a local brand, the pop was diet. I opted for beer, needing
some liquid courage.

"I may have found the weapon used to kill the guy, too,"
I told him as he twisted off the bottle cap and handed me the cold beer.

I waited for a response, for questions, doubts, anything.

He grabbed a bottle of the same beer from the fridge and
twisted off the top, taking a swig before he set it on the counter and stared
at me.

Swirling the beer around in my mouth, I tried to figure out
what to say to break down the wall between us.

I held up the bottle. "This is really good. Kind of
sweet. Isn’t it from a brewery down in Rap—"

"What are you doing here, Violet?"

Sheesh. How many times did I have to say it? "I told
you I need to talk to you."

"It’s almost one in the morning."

"I know it’s a little late, but I had a free moment."
Oh, crap. That didn’t come out right.

His eyelids narrowed. "A free moment?"

"I didn’t mean that the way it sounded."

He took another swig, setting the bottle down a little harder
than before.

"What I meant," I continued, my cheeks warming as
I floundered under his gunslinger glare, "is that I was able to sneak away
from Aunt Zoe’s for a bit to come see you."

"Why?"

"What do you mean
why
?"

"Why me?"

I was getting tired of this twenty-questions game. I set my
bottle on the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. "What’s with all of
the questions, Doc? Just tell me what you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me why tonight you were willing to
push aside all of the reasons that you normally can’t come to see me."

"Reasons I can’t see you? You mean Natalie?"

"Natalie, Addy, Layne, your boss, Detective Cooper,
half the town of Deadwood, and most of Lead."

I took a step back, winded a little by the underlying anger
simmering in his voice. "You’re mad at me."

"I’m not mad, Violet. I’m just tired of being kept at
arm’s length until you can find a ‘free moment’ to fit me in."

"That’s not true."

"Hell, Wymonds gets to spend more time alone with you
than I do."

I could strangle Jeff for opening his big, stupid mouth. "If
this is about Jeff and that comment of his in the paper—"

Doc waved that off. "I don’t think you’re screwing
around with Wymonds, no matter how much he wants to play ‘house’ with you."

"What then? You want to go on dates? I told you that as
soon as Natalie stops staying with me, I can—"

"You can what?" he scoffed. "Sneak over here
more often for a romp or two and then slink home again?"

Yes.
"No."

"Don’t fuck with me, Violet."

"I’m not. Jesus, Doc, what do you want from me? I’m doing
the best I can with what I’ve been dealt."

"No, you’re not." His tone challenged.

I lifted my chin. "What do you want from me?"

He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, frowning, and then
shook his head and gulped more beer.

"What, Doc?" My stomach clenched with the fear
that he was going to tell me he wanted me to walk out his door and leave him
alone for good. "Say it."

"I want you to make a choice."

Or that he’d ask me to make a choice.

"Between you and Natalie," I finished for him.

I’d dreaded this moment for weeks, but never fully believed
he’d actually make me choose between him and my best friend.

"No, not that." He raked his fingers through his
hair. "God, this is so—never mind. Forget it. Tell me who you think the
murderer is." He swallowed more beer.

I almost let him sidetrack me, but he’d lowered his shield
there for a moment, and I wasn’t going to let him put it back up quite yet.

"How many women have you been with, Doc?"

His frown deepened, adding vertical creases between his
eyebrows. "I’d rather talk about a decapitated corpse."

"How many?"

He shrugged. "Enough."

I nodded, absorbing that tidbit of his history. "How
many have you been serious about?"

"What do you mean by
serious
?"

"How many of these women have been about more than just
sex for you?"

"I don’t know. A couple."

Tiffany?
I didn’t let my jealousy distract me. "Only
two?"

"No. Just one."

"What happened to her?" I tried to prepare mentally
for a tragic story about a long-lost love and the man who turned me inside out.

"Nothing."

Well, that wasn’t very romantic. "You mean you just
split up for no reason?"

"We haven’t split up, but she did break my window."

I blinked as the meaning behind his words sank into my
sleep-deprived brain. A wave of heat rippled outward from my core, melting my
uncertainties about Doc, me, and our immediate future. "Oh."

He raised one eyebrow. "What was your point, Violet?"

"I can’t remember." His answer had left me
spinning. I leaned against the counter, needing something stable to support me
for a moment.

Grabbing my hand, he tugged me toward him. "The choice
I want you to make is to trust me."

Why did my jealousy have to flash loud and bright like a Las
Vegas billboard? "I’m trying, Doc, I really am. But did you have to pick
such a good-looking ex-girlfriend? How am I supposed to compete with her red
hair?" Not to mention her complete lack of sag. It was abnormal, really. I
suspected an alien invasion.

"Boots, there’s no competition. Only you." He
settled me between his legs. "But I’m not talking about other women."

"You’re not?" I said, everything tingling in
anticipation.

He reached down and untied my robe. "No. I want you to
trust me with your secrets. Stop shutting me out."

"Okay." Right about then, I’d have agreed to shave
my head and hand out flowers at the airport if it meant him following through
with what his eyes were promising.

His focus drifted down to my open robe. "Is that Elvis?"

"Yes."

"What are you wearing under him?"

"What’s it look like?"

"It’s hard to see through his black leather jacket. I’m
hoping for a velvet belly dancer top covered with sequins. Maybe you should
show me so I can be certain."

"Where’s the fun in that?"

He pulled me closer, his mouth hovering over mine, but
holding back. "I want you, Boots."

"Yeah." I nestled against him, almost touching his
lips. "I noticed."

He groaned, holding me still.

"Doc?" I ran my nails over his bare shoulders, down
his chest.

"What?"

"I was at the Mudder brothers tonight with Harvey, looking
in their garage and basement windows."

He toyed with the hem of my T-shirt, the back of his fingers
brushing my stomach. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I’m telling you my secrets."

"Oh, right."

His breath caught a little as I leaned forward and nuzzled
his throat, licking the hollow at the base of it. He tasted like a mix of salt
and sin—a sure-fire, high blood pressure cocktail.

His hands drifted lower, spanning then cupping. "You
said something about figuring out the killer’s weapon of choice."

My fingers scrubbed down his ribs, one at a time, nails scratching.
"Scissors."

"I thought you said the neck was sliced, not stabbed."

"I did. Big scissors."

"Like loppers?"

"Yeah," I trailed my lips along the ridge of his
shoulder toward his neck. "But with shiny slightly curved blades."

"Did you tell Detective Cooper about them?"

"No. I can’t." I sucked softly on the skin where
his shoulder met his neck. "He’ll have me arrested for just breathing in
the vicinity of Mudder Brothers."

"You really believe that?"

"Mostly." I breathed in his ear. "The man
scares me."

Doc chuckled. "He’s not that bad."

"You should try being on the receiving end of one of
his glares."

I nipped his earlobe, then sucked on it.

Doc’s grip on me tightened, his own hips starting a slow
grind. "So, you think one of the Mudder brothers had something to do with
the murder?"

"Or Ray. I’m pretty sure he’s mixed up in it, too—if
not directly responsible for the decapitation."

"Why are you so obsessed with Ray?" he asked, his
chest rising and falling faster under my fingertips.

I really didn’t want to talk about that jerk right at this
moment, so I kept it short and sweet. "He’s a dickhead."

"Besides the obvious."

Pulling back, I met his gaze head on, wanting him to
understand. "I’m tired of him threatening me."

His jaw tensed. "He threatens you?"

Sometimes. "Mostly my job, which endangers my kids and
pisses me off. I want to take him down a notch."

His eyes narrowed. "Accusing him of murder is a little
more than just a ‘notch.’"

"He’s the one who got himself mixed up in this mess. I
just keep stumbling into clues."

"Stumbling?" He laughed outright. "You’ve
hidden inside a crate at Mudder Brothers. Seems more like you’re looking with a
magnifying glass to me."

Maybe so, but it was time to change tactics. I let my
fingers drift to the waistline of his shorts. "I need your help."

He glanced down at my hands, then met my attempt at a flirty
gaze with a crooked grin. "So you said earlier."

"Will you help me?"

"I don’t know." He took my hand and moved it
lower. "I think I’m going to need to be seduced into agreeing."

It was my turn to grin. I squeezed, then rubbed, spurring a deep
guttural sound from his chest.

"I’ll tell you everything I know about Ray and the
Mudder brothers later," I whispered.

His brow wrinkled. Grabbing my hand and holding it still, he
asked, "How much is ‘everything’? How long have you been working on this?"

That was enough sharing about Ray and the Mudder boys for
the time being. I pulled free of his hold and unbuttoned his shorts. "A
little less conversation, Doc," I said with a purr.

In one fluid move that I probably wouldn’t be able to repeat
even if I practiced, I swept my T-shirt over my head and tossed it aside. "A
little more action, please."

Doc’s eyes darkened as he ogled my bare chest. "Damn,
Boots." He licked his bottom lip. "I can’t believe you used an Elvis
line on me."

"Did it work?"

He lifted me and spun me onto the counter. His lips and
tongue answered my question.

"Want to know what I have on under my boxers?"

"Later," he said against my bared skin. "I’m
busy right now."

I leaned my head back against the cupboard doors, my
fingernails digging into his shoulder muscles. Two little kicks and my slippers
dropped to the floor. I wrapped my legs around his back, his skin burned hot
against my cool calves.

His mouth climbed to mine, his lips soft, teasing. His
tongue tasted, then sought mine, the kiss deepening, growing more forceful. When
he came up for air, he leaned his forehead against mine. "Stay with me."

My heart did an awkward flip-pitter-patter-flop, like it had
fallen off the back of a speed boat and tumbled across the water. "You
mean like long-term?"

His eyes crinkled in the corners. "How about we start
with just tonight and see how things go?"

I closed my eyelids, feeling like a big dope. "I didn’t
mean to sound like I’m hinting for commitment. I just wanted to make sure I
understood—"

"Shut up and kiss me, Boots."

If I did, I wouldn’t be stopping at just his lips, and we
both knew it. He wanted me to stay. The kiss meant I would, risking Natalie
waking and finding me gone.

My libido won the tug-o-war with my guilt.

"Okay," I nudged him out of the way and hopped off
the counter. "But not here."