But no one had ever presented him a prize for being a good
Boy Scout. If he had stayed, he couldn't have kept his hands,
or his mouth, or his cock, away from her. That's why he had
left. Their needs hadn't been compatible.
Now, she was hesitating, half in, half out of the truck.
"Well, thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Are you sure you won't let me pay you?"
He didn't honor that with an answer. Instead, he asked a
question of his own. "What was the big powwow about?"
"A case I was working on before I left. The other prosecutor
needed some facts cleared up."
"And they couldn't be cleared up over the phone?"
"It was complicated."
He knew she was lying, but saw no reason to pursue it.
"So long."
She stepped to the ground and, pulling the strap of her
heavy bag onto her shoulder, went into the motel lobby, where
the clerk greeted her and handed her a stack of messages.
Reede backed up and turned the truck around. He was about
to pull out when he noticed that Alex had slowed down to
read one of the messages. Her face had grown even paler
than it already was. He shoved the transmission into Park
and got out.
"What's that?"
She squinted up at him, then hastily refolded the letter and
stuffed it back into the envelope. "My mail."
"Let me see it."
"You want to see my mail?"
He snapped his fingers rapidly three times and opened his
palm. Her exasperation was plain when she slapped the envelope
into his hand. It didn't take him long to read the letter.
It was short and to the point. Tawny brows merged over the
bridge of his nose as he frowned. " 'An abomination unto
God'?"
"That's what he's calling me."
"Plummet, no doubt. Mind if I keep this?"
"No," Alex said shakily. "I've memorized it."
"Be sure to keep your door locked."
"You're not taking his threat seriously, are you?"
He wanted to shake her, hard. She was either stupid or
naive, and either one could get her hurt. "Damn right, I am,"
he said. "And so should you. If he makes any attempt to
contact you, call me. Understand?"
She looked ready to argue, but eventually nodded her head.
Her exhaustion was evident. She seemed on the verge of
collapsing in the parking lot. Reede knew he could take partial
credit for that, but instead of making him feel smug, it made
him feel terrible.
Closing his mind to it, he returned to his truck. He didn't
drive away from the motel, however, until Alex was locked
safely inside her room.
Twenty-nine
Reede turned his head when the corrugated tin door of the
hangar crashed open. The sinking sun was behind her, so
Alex's face was in shadow, but he didn't need to see her
expression to know that she was furious. She looked as tense
as a pulled hamstring. The vivid light shining through her
hair made it appear to crackle like flame.
He calmly finished washing his hands at the industrial metal
sink, rinsed them, and reached for a paper towel from the
wall dispenser.
"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" he asked
pleasantly.
"You're a liar, probably a cheat, possibly a murderer."
"That's been your opinion of me from the beginning. Tell
me something I don't already know."
He dropped down onto a stool and hooked the heels of his
boots on the lowest rung. Mindlessly, his hands slid up and
down the tops of his thighs. He'd never wanted to touch a
woman so badly in his life.
She advanced on him militantly, a package of quivering
energy. She looked soft, but so goddamn alive and vibrant
that lie could almost feel her skin against his palms. He
wanted to clutch her hair while crushing her smart mouth
with nonstop kisses.
She was wearing the fur coat that never failed to elicit an
erotic curl deep in his groin. Her tight jeans gloved thighs
that he could think of better uses for than supporting a woman
obviously on the brink of exploding with rage.
When they were but inches apart, she shook a paper in his
face. He recognized the letter she'd received from the concerned
citizens soon after her arrival in Purcell. The shit was
about to hit the fan, all right. He'd been waiting for it. This
showdown had been due to happen the minute she figured it
out.
"I knew something didn't jive with this," she said through
clenched teeth, "but today as I was poring over the material
I have, looking for clues, I finally realized what was out of
sync."
Pretending that he didn't smell her tantalizing fragrance,
which made him crazy, he folded his arms over his middle.
"Well?"
"There is one more business cited in the letter than there
are signatures at the bottom. Moe Blakely Airfield," she said,
stabbing her finger repeatedly at the typed paragraph. "But
Moe Blakely didn't sign it."
"That would have been tough to do, since he died about
seven years ago."
"Moe Blakely was the old man you told me about, wasn't
he? The one who taught you to fly and treated you to strawberry
soda pops."
"You're batting a thousand, so far."
"You own this airfield, Mr. Lambert."
"Right down to the tumbleweeds and tarantulas. Moe
willed it to me. Surprised?"
"Flabbergasted."
"Most folks around here were. Pissed off some of them,
too--the ones who would have liked to get their hands on
fee property. That was when they were poking holes in the
ground, drilling for oil under every rock."
"We discussed this letter at length," she grated. "You
said you'd already seen it, but you failed to mention that your
business was listed."
"The people who drafted the letter didn't consult me first.
If they had, I would have told them to leave me out of it."
"Why? Your sentiments match theirs perfectly."
"That's right, they do, but I don't make veiled threats. I
told you to your face to get your ass back to Austin. Besides,
I'm not a joiner, never have been. Group projects aren't my
thing."
"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me that the
airfield was yours, when you've had so many opportunities
to do so."
"I didn't because I knew you'd blow it all out of proportion."
She drew herself up. "I am not blowing it out of proportion.
You own this airfield free and clear, and you've got big plans
for expansion and improvement."
He came off the stool slowly and loomed above her, no
longer amused. His eyes were icy. "How do you know about
that?"
"I did my homework this afternoon. Representing myself
as your secretary, I called three commuter airlines and asked
about the status of our application for service. If they had
never heard of you, I would have known my hunch was
wrong."
She gave a dry laugh. "They'd heard of you, all right.
They were very anxious to extend their congratulations to
you for ME being guaranteed the racing license. All three
are excited about your charter service ideas and are currently
preparing proposals. They'll be in touch as soon as their
market research is completed. By the way, you owe me ten
dollars in long-distance charges."
He grabbed her arm. "You had no right to meddle into
my business affairs. This hasn't got a goddamn thing to do
with your murder case."
"I have every right to conduct this investigation as I see
fit."
"Just because I own an airfield that will prosper if that
racetrack is built, doesn't mean that I took a scalpel to
Celina."
"It might mean that you're protecting whoever did," she
shouted.
"Who? Angus? Junior? That's crap and you know it."
She wrested her arm out of his grip. "You've hampered
this investigation every step of the way. You've got a badge,
so that's supposed to make you an officer of the law. Ha!
Now that's crap!
"You don't want me to discover the killer, whoever he is,
because any indictment would mean bye-bye racetrack and
the end of your money-making schemes. No wonder your
loyalty to the Mintons is so steadfast," she said scornfully.
"It has nothing to do with friendship or compensation for
past favors. You're selfishly protecting your financial interests."
Her breasts quivered beneath her sweater when she pulled
in an uneven breath and added, "I might just as well tell
you, I think you're it."
"What, the murderer?" His voice was sibilant and sinister.
He backed her against the fuselage of the airplane he'd been
tinkering with before she had arrived.
"Yes. I think you killed her. I think I know why."
"I'm all ears."
"You loved Celina to distraction, but she betrayed your
love. I was a constant reminder of her betrayal, even before
I was born. You couldn't forgive and forget, but Junior could.
He welcomed the chance to take your place. He began to
court her, and his efforts were effective.
"When you noticed that she was falling in love with him,
you just couldn't stand losing her to your best friend and
chief competitor, so you killed her. If you couldn't have her,
then, by God, nobody, especially Junior, was going to."
He let one eyelid sink into a slow, congratulatory wink.
"Very good, Counselor. But you got a big, fat problem with
that pile of tripe.'' He took a step closer and lowered his face
nearer hers. "You can't prove it, not a frigging bit of it. It's
all conjecture. You've got nothing on me, nothing on anybody.
So, why don't you just make life easier on all of us
and give it up?"
"Because I can't."
He heard the desperation behind her words and knew that
he was more than halfway to breaking her.' 'Why can't you?''
he taunted.
"Because I want to punish whoever killed her."
"Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "You're not doing
this for Celina. You're doing it for yourself."
"I am not!"
"Your granny built Celina up to be larger than life in your
eyes, and you can't forgive yourself for coming along at the
wrong time in her life and messing it up."
"Now who's talking psychological bullshit?" she asked
angrily. "I know enough about you to know that you're
selfish, Reede Lambert. The idea of another man touching
what you considered your personal property would be intolerable
to you."
Her expression was triumphant and challenging. "What
did you find the hardest to forgive, Reede? That Celina went
to bed with another man? Or couldn't you forgive yourself
for not taking her when you had the chance?"
"Why are you so hung up on who I did or didn't take!" He nudged her body with his, then inclined forward until
they were touching middle to middle. "I warned you once