Showdown in West Texas (14 page)

He was still smiling at her in a funny little way that made her insides tingle. “Would you like to dance?”

“Me? Nooo. I've got two left feet. I'm a terrible dancer.”

“There are no bad dancers,” he said. “Just bad partners.”

“I don't think that's true.”

“It is,” he said. “Just think about it.”

“Well, maybe I'll test out your theory next time,” she said as she slid off the stool. “Right now, I'm headed home.”

“Mind if I walk you out?” His expression sobered. “There's something I need to talk to you about.”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

Outside, the night was still warm, but the breeze that swept in from the desert was cool. The music followed them out, and from somewhere in the parking lot came the sound of raucous laughter. For some reason, Grace was reminded of Sookie Truesdale, and she wondered again about the woman's overt flirtation with Ethan Brennan. Where was Jesse while all this was going on?

“Where's your truck?” Dale asked.

“I walked over.”

He glanced down at her in the dark. “I'm not so sure that's a smart thing to do, considering what happened this morning.”

“It's just a few blocks,” Grace said.

“Just a few blocks is plenty of time to be shot at or nabbed.”

“Well, that's a cheery little thought, but your point is taken. I'll be more careful from now on.”

“Promise?”

She started to laugh, but his voice sounded dead serious. “Yeah. I promise.” His intensity unsettled her a bit. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

He glanced around. The parking lot was almost as crowded as the dance floor, with people milling about smoking and laughing, a few couples necking. “I'd rather not talk here,” he said. “I can give you a lift home. My car is right over there.”

Grace glanced over at the old Caddy, the gleaming paint highlighting the classic lines. “That car suits you,” she was surprised to hear herself say.

“Because it's old and tacky?” he teased.

“Because it has style,” she said. “It may not be to everyone's taste, but there's nothing ordinary about it.”

“Well, thanks…I guess. So how about a ride?”

They were standing next to the car by this time, and Grace ran her hand over the tailfin. “These things make it look like it could fly.”

“It can,” he said. “Hop in and I'll show you.”

 

T
HE NEXT THING
G
RACE KNEW
, they were sailing out through the desert. The top was down, and with the wind in her hair and a blanket of stars overhead, it did feel a little like flying.

She pointed to a cutoff just ahead. “That's the road to Willow Springs. The ghost town I told you about. It's really not much more than a track,” she said. “You almost need an ATV to get there nowadays. The bridge over the arroyo is in pretty bad shape so I'm not even sure I'd want to risk it on a four-wheeler.” When Cage pulled off the highway and onto the trail, she said in alarm, “You're not going to try it in this car, I hope.”

He stopped, put the car in Park and killed the engine.

“What are you doing?” she asked, not the least bit frightened but more nervous than she would have thought possible.

“I told you, I need to talk to you about something. Out here, where there aren't any prying eyes or big ears. Just the coyotes and the stars.” He tilted his head back and watched a meteorite shoot across the sky. And then another and another. “Whoa. I don't think I've ever seen anything like that.”

“You can see meteor showers all the time out here.” She laid her head back against the seat and gazed upward. “This sky was what I missed most when I moved to San Antonio. After a while, you get used to not seeing stars. Then you come back out here and you're reminded on a night like this, with a ghost town in front of you and the desert behind you and all those stars twinkling overhead, that West Texas is just about the most romantic place on earth.”

She turned her head on the seat and looked at him in the dark. “Don't laugh at me,” she warned.

He turned his head, too, and she could feel his gaze on her in the dark. “I'm not laughing, Grace.”

She perceived his head moving closer, and Grace caught her breath. “That's a bad idea,” she said.

“Blame it on the stars. Blame it on West Texas.” He reached out and curved his fingers around her neck, pulling her toward him.

“We can't do this.”

“I know we can't. But I've been thinking about it all night. You don't have any idea just how truly gorgeous you are. I've wanted to kiss you ever since I walked into your office and saw you behind that desk. Even before then.”

“That's not possible. You never saw me before then. And if you tell me you saw me in your dreams, I'll never be able to take you seriously again.”

He grinned, but something dark glinted in his eyes. “Are you sure this is such a bad idea? Just one kiss?”

“Put it this way. If you kiss me, you'll be out of a job. I won't be able to hire you.”

“Might be worth it,” he murmured.

“You're just letting your hormones talk,” she said. “Maybe we should drive back to town before they say something you and I will both regret.”

“Okay, you're right. No romance tonight.” He flopped back against his seat and gazed up at the sky. “But I still need to talk to you about something that, trust me, will be a real mood killer.”

“I'm listening.” Grace was amazed at how normal her voice sounded when her insides were such a mess. What was she doing out here anyway with a man she hardly knew? What in the world had possessed her to consider even for a moment—to still be considering—what the harm would be in just one kiss?

She knew the answer to that.

Because a kiss was never just a kiss.

There would be touching and more kissing, kissing and more touching, and the moment would come, sooner or later, when she'd have to decide if she wanted to have sex more than she wanted a deputy.

It was ridiculous to even contemplate such a choice. She was a grown woman, a professional, not some eighteen-year-old girl who had let her libido and a few tequila shots get the better of her.

“Grace? Are you listening to me?”

She roused herself. “I'm sorry. What did you say?”

He was holding some papers in his hand. “Did you know that your name is on the deed to Jesse Nance's ranch?”

It took a moment for the words to penetrate her addled brain, and then Grace scoffed at him. “No, it isn't. Who told you that?”

“I've got the evidence right here.” He held up the
papers. “This is a copy of the deed. You can see for yourself.”

He reached over and fished a flashlight out of the glove box, then angled the beam over the paper so that Grace could skim it. Sure enough, there was her name. Grace Steele Nance.

She glanced up. “There must be some mistake.”

“There's no mistake,” Cage said. “Unless you signed a transfer that would have allowed him to take your name off the deed.”

“I signed divorce papers,” Grace said. “There was nothing about a deed.”

“You said his mother was happy about the marriage. She must have signed the deed over without telling either one of you about it. Jesse probably didn't know about it himself until he wanted to sell the ranch. And then he couldn't without your signature.”

“So, why hasn't he asked me to sign something?”

“Because legally half of that land is yours. And depending on what McKinney is offering, half could be a lot. You see what this means, don't you?”

Grace looked over at him. “It doesn't prove anything. We have to be careful here with any accusations.”

“You're right,” Cage said. “It doesn't prove anything. But you have to admit, it does give your ex-husband a pretty strong motive for murder.”

When Cage pulled up in front of Miss Nelda's a little while later, Grace said, “Why don't I go inside and you use the outside stairs to the balcony. I don't see the point of giving the sisters something to speculate about.”

“Fine by me.”

She opened the door and climbed out, then turned back. “I'm going to hang on to this if you don't mind.” She held up the copy of the deed.

“It's yours,” Cage said. He watched her until she was inside the house, and then he put the top up, got out and locked the doors. A vehicle turned the corner behind him, and as Cage glanced over his shoulder, he heard the motor gun as the driver accelerated.

Quickly, he stepped into the shadows at the corner of the house and watched as the car approached. It was a silver SUV with a techno beat blasting from the open windows. A beer bottle exploded on the street and then the vehicle shot forward, careened around the next corner and disappeared.

Just a bunch of kids, Cage thought, with a driver who
obviously had no business being behind the wheel. He watched for a moment to see if they came back, and as he turned toward the steps, a hand fell on his shoulder.

Cage whirled and almost whacked the person behind him until he realized in the nick of time that it was Miss Nelda. She jumped back, her hand at her heart.

“Oh, dear, you scared me half to death!”

“Likewise,” Cage said. “I didn't hear you come up behind me.”

Now that she had her poise back, she gave him a sly smile. “Using the side stairs? It's a good thing Billy Don came over and fixed that light for Sister and me so now you'll be able to see where you're going.” She glanced at the street where his car was pulled to the curb. “Oh, how that car takes me back. My fiancé had one just like it in fire-engine red.” She clasped her hands together and held them to her heart. “It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw, and he looked so dashing behind the wheel. Just like Robert Taylor in
Magnificent Obsession.
Did you ever see that movie, dear? It's about a man who falls madly in love with a woman whose life he feels responsible for, but he conceals his identity from her, making it impossible for them to ever be together.”

“Sounds like a chick flick,” Cage said, although he was starting to wonder about Miss Nelda. She either had uncanny instincts or she'd been doing some heavy-duty snooping. He had a feeling it was a little of both.

“It was wonderfully romantic,” she said. “And everything turned out all right in the end because when he operated on her to remove a brain tumor, he also restored her sight, which she'd been told was gone
forever. So, you see? Things have a way of working out for the best, especially when you do the right thing.”

Uh, yeah, in movies,
Cage thought. Real life was a different matter.

“Well, I won't keep you,” she said. “I imagine you're anxious to get to bed.” Her gaze traveled up the stairs to the balcony where a light in Grace's room had just come on. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Miss Nelda.”

Cage went up the stairs and let himself into his room. He took the briefcase from its hiding place, set it on the bed and popped the latches. Everything was still inside, just the way he'd left it—the guns, the cash, the envelope containing Grace's photo.

He took the picture out and studied it. His gaze was drawn to her lips, so full and ripe and delectable. He'd wanted to kiss her earlier. Badly. Still did. But first he had to make things right with her. Because he realized now, after spotting the SUV at the courthouse earlier that day and just now with the scare in front of the house, that it was very possible he'd have to leave town on a moment's notice. And there was no way he could skip out without telling her—without proving to her—the nature of the danger she faced.

There was a right way to do this. If he was careful, he and Grace might both come out of this alive.

Snapping the latches closed, he picked up the briefcase, went out the balcony door and strode down to her room.

 

W
HEN
G
RACE HEARD
the soft knock at the balcony door, she knew exactly who was out there. And she did not
want to let him in. She told herself if she just ignored him, he'd finally get the message and go away.

But in spite of her best judgment, she found herself opening the door, one hand on her hip as she gazed up at him.

“What?”

He was taken aback by her abrupt tone. “I just want to talk to you.”

“It's late, and we've done a lot of talking already tonight.” Too much, maybe. “Can't this wait until morning?”

“No. I really need to get this off my chest tonight.”

Grace noticed the briefcase then, and she said, “What's in there?”

“That's what I want to talk to you about. It can't wait any longer.”

She stood back. “Okay. But make it quick. And please keep your voice down. I can just imagine what the sisters would think if they heard you in here. It would be all over town by morning.”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

He looks nervous,
Grace thought. Nervous and wired.

Placing the briefcase on the table, he turned. “Before I start, I just want to say that I did what I thought was right at the time and I hope you won't judge me too harshly.”

“Well, that sounds ominous.”

“Just…promise you'll hear me out and keep an open mind. Here.” He pulled out a chair from the table. “Maybe you better sit down for this.”

“I'm fine,” she said, although she was starting to get a little nervous herself. “Well?”

“Okay, here goes.” But he took another moment
before he continued. “When I first came into the station, I told you I'd had some trouble out on the road.”

“I remember.”

“Well, that was all true,” he said. “I ran into this guy who was…having some problems. He'd pulled off the road because he wasn't feeling well. He passed out, hit his head on the bumper and when I came upon him, he was bleeding pretty badly. I drove him to a hospital in the next town, and after a little while, the doctor came out and told me that the guy hadn't made it. He had a heart attack and died. That's why he'd been feeling so poorly earlier.”

“That's too bad,” Grace said. “But I don't understand—”

“You will. I'm getting to the good part. The hospital needed to know how to get in touch with the guy's next of kin. I couldn't even tell them who he was. We'd just met out on the road. So, I went out to the car and opened his briefcase—this briefcase—to see if there was an address or something. That's when I found…well, take a look.”

He snapped open the latches, raised the lid and stepped back.

Grace took one look inside, then shot him a look. “Are those—”

“Hardballers,” he said. “Custom-made. And that's five thousand dollars in cash. And this—” He picked up the envelope. “This is what you really need to see.”

A hard little knot had formed in the pit of Grace's stomach as she glanced inside the envelope, then pulled out the photograph. She read the note attached, glanced at the picture, then read the note again.

Slowly, she looked up.

“Now you know why I'm worried that the shoot-out this morning was a little more than just a warning. Someone wants you dead, Grace.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed, still clutching the photograph. “You're telling me the guy who died was a hit man? Someone hired him to come here and kill me?”

“I don't have to tell you. You can see for yourself right there.”

She glanced down at the photograph. It was a shot of her coming out of the station. Must have been taken right after she first got to town.

But…there was something about all this that didn't add up. Something Dale Walsh wasn't telling her.

“There's nothing in here about who I am or where I live. How did you find me?”

“Before we got to the hospital, the guy mentioned he was on his way to Jericho Pass to see someone about a job.”

“Well, that's convenient,” she said. “Since you were on your way here, too.”

She saw him swallow before he nodded. “Exactly. I thought I'd bring the briefcase in, give it to the sheriff and hope that he would know how to find the woman in the photograph. And then I saw you.”

“And you decided not to tell me? Why?”

“Because it occurred to me that I was in a unique position to find whoever had hired this guy. He probably didn't know what the hit man looked like or even what his name was. All he'd know was that sooner or later a stranger would show up in town, and I thought
there was a good chance he—or she—would make contact with me. Then we'd have him.”

“That is the biggest load of crap I've ever heard in my life.” Grace got up and tossed the envelope toward the open briefcase. “Of all the harebrained schemes—”

“Hey,” he said, looking a little wounded. “It's not that far-fetched. It could have worked.”

“Why on earth didn't you just come clean with me to begin with?”

“Because for all I knew, it could have been someone close to you who hired the killer. If they got wind that he was dead, they might get desperate enough to take matters into their own hands—which is what I suspect happened today.”

Grace pressed a hand to her head. “This is seriously one of the worst judgment calls I've ever heard. What were you thinking? I don't even know what to say. I'm not even sure I believe you.”

“How can you not believe me?” he demanded. “The proof is right here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How do I know you're not the hit man?”

“Would I be standing here talking to you if I were?”

“Maybe, if you thought you could get away with it. What's the name of the town where the man died?” When he told her, she said, “You know I'm going to check out your story.”

“That's fine. Just start taking precautions. Don't walk any place alone at night. Wear a vest. Whatever you have to do to stay safe.”

“Funny that you're so concerned about my safety now.”

“Believe it or not, keeping you safe has been my
primary concern all along. But you're right. I made a bad judgment call. I should have come clean with you from the start.”

“But you didn't, and now there's no way I can hire you. After today and now this? You're too impulsive and you seem to think you operate under a different set of rules than the rest of us. That just won't work for me. I don't trust you and I don't want you on my team.”

She expected him to argue, but instead he nodded. “I screwed up. I accept that. And now I think the best thing for me to do is just get in my car and go back to where I came from.”

Grace folded her arms. “I think that would be the best. And I would advise you to do so sooner rather than later, because there's still something about this story that stinks to high heaven. If I sit around thinking about it for too long, I may just decide to let you cool your jets in a holding cell while I figure it out.”

 

C
AGE GOT ALL THE WAY BACK
to his room, even had the door open, before he turned and walked back to Grace's room. This time he rapped soundly, not caring who heard him.

She pulled back the door in annoyance.
“What?”

“Just to be clear…I'm not coming to work for you. Ever.”

She folded her arms.

“So there's no reason why I can't do this now.”

Before she had time to protest, he bent and kissed her, threading his fingers through her hair so she couldn't pull away.

Not that she tried. Not for a moment or two at least.

What she did was part her lips and melt into the kiss. The mint toothpaste on her breath was like ambrosia, Cage thought. The floral scent of her shampoo like a summer dream. Her skin was warm, soft and inviting, and when he slid a hand down her arm to curve around her waist—

She stepped back and gave him a good slap.

Cage was stunned. He put a hand to his face. “What did you do that for?”

“You don't just come to a woman's room and assume you'll be welcome. Next time, you ask first.”

“Next time—”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him all the way into the room. Before Cage knew it, they were kissing again and stumbling all over the place until something crashed to the floor. That stopped them for a moment, and Grace put a hand to his mouth and shushed him as she glanced over her shoulder to see what had fallen. And then they were at it again.

Cage had his arms around her as he backed her up against the wall, and one of her legs curled sensuously around his calf. They were pressed so tightly together, he couldn't have gotten to third base, let alone hit a homer, even if he'd wanted to. There was no maneuvering room, but that suited him fine for now. It was like heaven kissing her. He could go on like this all night.