Dangerous Refuge

chapter Thirty-two



Tanner picked the first motel close to Refuge that advertised more than clean rooms and weekly rates. He knew that Shaye was going to crash sooner rather than later. Dealing with death was like being in a race—at first your adrenal glands run a marathon a minute. More training, more races, and less adrenaline each time, until finally the mind rather than adrenal glands ruled the body.

She was new to the murder business. She needed a safe place to let down. The ranch had too many memories and her condo in Tahoe was too far away.

He parked and turned off the engine.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

“Taking a time-out where nobody can find us.”

He realized how spent she was when she simply nodded her head.

It took him about five minutes to get a second-floor room—the cop in him knew how dangerous first floors were. He told the clerk their luggage had been lost on a Reno flight and checked in as Mr. and Mrs. T. L. Davis. Those were his initials, verified by his driver’s license and credit card, so the clerk didn’t think there was anything odd about a couple checking in without luggage.

After all, this was Nevada, where prostitution was licensed and taxed.

“Come on, honey,” Tanner said, guiding her up the outside staircase to their room. “You need some downtime.”

She wanted to argue, but didn’t. There was no point. She knew she was on the breaking edge of her control. Too much had happened, too quickly, too horribly, for her to absorb. And then there was Tanner . . . a wild wind sweeping away her certainties, leaving her nowhere stable to stand but in his arms.

And those arms would only be around until Lorne’s estate was settled.

“Maybe my parents were right,” she said as Tanner stripped off the bedspread on one of the queen beds. “Maybe I’m not cut out for rural life.”

“Death goes everywhere. Statistically, you’re safer out in the boonies.”

He began undressing her as efficiently as he had the bed. Shoes, socks, jacket, and outer shirt hit the floor.

Though his touch was caring rather than hungry, she felt a rush of heat melt through the ice in her bones.

“But—” she began as he nudged her backward until the mattress hit her knees and she sat suddenly.

“That’s it, honey. Into bed.” He bent and whisked off her jeans. “I’ll wake you in an hour or so. We can talk then.”

“An hour,” she repeated. “No talking.”

“There you go.”

She lay back under the gentle push of his hands—then hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him off balance, into her arms. For a moment he lay full length on her. Then, reluctantly, he made a grab for common sense.

“I meant you should rest,” he said, bracing himself on one arm above her.

“You’re hard.”

“Honey, around you, that’s like saying my heart is beating.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so—”

“You’ve been incredible,” he said, putting his fingers over her mouth, stilling her words. “You saw the model, wanted to take out Campbell’s throat with your teeth, but you hung tough, questioned him like a pro, and never so much as hinted at Rua’s death. You can be my partner anytime.”

Her dark brown eyes examined him intently, then accepted that he was telling her the truth.

“I almost lost it,” she admitted against his fingers. “That damn model was the cherry on top of the crap pile of the last few days. You, on the other hand, are the cake.” She lifted just enough to kiss him. “But I just discovered that I’m greedy. I want the whipped cream, too.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.

Then her tongue slipped hotly between his fingers. Twice. Three times.

“Shaye . . .” It was all he could force out his suddenly tight throat.

“Take off your jeans.”

He removed his fingers from her mouth and kissed her until she was writhing and rubbing against him, wanting more. Demanding it. He stripped off her underwear so that he could do what he’d wanted to do before the deputy’s call had interrupted them this morning.

Tanner’s teeth raked gently, hungrily, down her throat. He kissed her collarbone, the hollow of her neck, the pulse in her throat, trying to tell her how beautiful she was to him.

Her fingers pulled out his shirt and tested every texture of his back, biting into his resilient heat, both impatient and appreciative.

“More,” she said.

Her husky demand went through him like lightning. He laughed deep in his chest and bit her carefully. Her back arched, reminding him that he hadn’t touched her breasts. Her nipples were already hard. He sucked one into his mouth for a long, thorough loving.

“Jeans,” she groaned. “Now.” Her hands tugged at his waistband, then pulled his fly open.

His breath hissed in. “You should sleep.”

“I will. After. I need you so much I’m aching. Help me, Tanner.”

He kicked off his shoes and socks and helped her peel off his clothes. Moments later they were a hot, moving tangle of mouths and searching hands. She kneaded down his back with her hands, short fingernails digging in. Then she slid into the crease until she found his balls drawn hard and tight. She loved the feel of him, the hunger and the heat.

“One day I’m going to make it slow,” he groaned, arching at another lightning strike of need.

“Not today. Not now.”

“Not now,” he agreed.

He sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit down just enough to get her attention. Then he released her with a slow promise that had her hips lifting urgently against him. His hands moved down her back and over her butt until his fingers slid down the seam between her cheeks to the hidden flesh below. The feel of her seething and wet and eager against his fingers made him light-headed.

“Damn, you’re a miracle,” he said, easing her over until she covered him. “Never felt a woman half as hot.”

“I don’t want to hear about your other women.”

“What women? Bring me home, Shaye.”

She shifted until she could take him hard and solid and so deep they felt like one being. With urgent, hungry motions they rode each other until they were both breathing too hard, too fast, and the only possible end was a sensory explosion that left them spent and at peace.

The sound of Shaye’s phone dragged her out of sleep.

“Ignore it,” Tanner said.

The rumble of his chest beneath her cheek made her smile. She rubbed against the sensuous texture of hair and flesh while she fished blindly around for her jacket, which had landed within reach of the bed. Her fingers found the phone.

“It’s Ace,” she said.

Tanner made a snoring sound.

Snickering, she took the call. “Hi, Mr. Desmond.”

“Ace,” he corrected. “I found something that may help you. Or rather, Tanner. McCurdy’s 8 lets women in because it has to, but no one will talk to them.”

“What’s McCurdy’s 8?”

“A Reno gym where Rua signed up recently.”

“Hang on. I’m putting you on the speaker.”

Muffling a yawn, Shaye put the phone on speaker and said, “Can you hear okay?”

“Just fine,” Ace said. “I’ve been really bugged by Rua and those gold coins. Have you gotten any further on that?”

“No,” Tanner said. “My source hasn’t sent any more leads.”

“Hell,” Ace muttered. “I told Personnel to go through Rua’s file and give me any contact numbers he had. He only listed two. One was his cell phone, which I assume was found at the scene . . . ?”

“I haven’t heard one way or the other,” Tanner said. “The death of some mook in Meyers isn’t exactly a fire burning under the El Dorado County sheriff’s ass.”

Ace said something muffled to somebody on his end. Then, “Sorry. I’ve told Security to go through the tapes we saved and see if Rua appears on any of them. We might pick up a friend of his with him or something. I’ll tell my people to forward anything they find to Shaye’s number.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You mentioned two numbers for Rua?” Tanner asked.

“The second one is a mixed-martial-arts training gym I was telling Shaye about,” Ace said.

“McCurdy’s 8?” she asked. “A gym that will let women in but then ignores them?”

“That’s the one. I put it through the cross-match site online and came up with a place north of Reno.” A paper rustled as Ace read off the address. “I’d go there myself, but I’d planned a fishing overnight in the mountains, and if I don’t get away today, I won’t get away at all.”

Shaye stifled another yawn—or tried to. “Sorry.”

“You sound as tired as I am,” Ace said. “Want to go fishing?”

Tanner glared at the phone. “She’s going to take a nap while I check out McCurdy’s 8. Thanks for the tip, and I hope you catch a mess of fish.”

He hung up before she could stop him.

“That was rude,” she said.

“It’s a gift,” he agreed as he slid out of bed and started pulling on clothes.

Her head hit the pillow with a muffled thump as she buried a yawn in it. “How do you keep going?”

“Practice. I don’t blow through all my adrenaline at once. Close your eyes, beautiful, or I’ll be tempted to demonstrate just what you do for my stamina.”

She opened one eye. “Rain check?”

“For you, always.” He bent and gave her a gentle kiss before he pulled the blankets up to her chin. “I’ll put out the Do Not Disturb sign, but don’t turn off your phone. I’ll be calling you.”

“Shouldn’t we call August?” she mumbled against the pillow.

“And tell him Campbell has a model-building habit? I’d be lucky if he didn’t cuss me out as an amateur. Go to sleep while I check out the woman haters.”

“I could—”

“Sleep,” he interrupted. “I’ll call if anything comes up.”

She mumbled something, then gave in to sleep.

He turned and quietly left the room before he could demonstrate just what had come up. Again.

After the gym, he promised himself.