Against the Tide (8 page)

His mouth edged up as he remembered the baseball cap she'd been wearing today, one of a dozen different caps he'd noticed.
EARTH SUCKS,
that one had said, relaying her mood, and pretty much summing up his feelings at the moment, as well.

In all the times he had been in the café, he had never seen her hair down. But damn, he wanted to. Wanted to see if it was as silky as it looked. Wanted to wrap his fist around it and drag that sexy mouth up to his.

Maybe tonight he'd convince her to come home with him.

Probably not.

More importantly, maybe tonight he'd come up with information on Scotty Ferris's murder. Rafe's jaw hardened as he sat down at the computer to work.

Chapter Nine

The Fisherman's Catch was jam-packed on a Friday night. It was one of those locals' joints with a couple of flat-screens on the wall playing ESPN, an L-shaped bar with black-and-chrome bar stools, and small, round, Formica-topped tables scattered around the interior.

Pitchers of Alaskan Amber flowed like water out of a Valdez gutter in the rainy season. Rafe spotted a table off to one side that had just been vacated, walked over and took a seat. He scanned the room but saw no sign of Sam King or Olivia. It was early yet. From where he sat, he could watch the door, keep an eye out for both of them.

He ordered a beer and leaned back to wait. At exactly one minute to eight, Liv pushed through the door. Several male heads turned and Rafe sat up straighter in his chair.

Holy Mother of God. His wish had just been granted. Well, one of his wishes.

Liv had set her dark hair free, letting it hang in long chestnut waves down her back, and in the neon-lit bar, it gleamed. In a short—and he meant short—black skirt that barely covered her sweet little ass, a hot pink top with a bare midriff that exposed a glimpse of pale skin, and high black heels, she was a knockout.

Some of the other women in the bar wore dresses on Friday nights, so she didn't look completely out of place.

She just looked incredible.

She spotted him and waved, and heat exploded in his groin. Beneath the table, he went hard to the point of pain. Rafe took a calming breath and thought of icebergs as she hung her coat on the rack beside the door and started walking toward him.

By the time she got there, he was once more in control, his brain in gear enough for him to stand up and pull out a chair. “For a minute, I didn't recognize you,” he said with the hint of a smile.

“I hope that's a compliment.”

“Darlin', you look delicious. Good enough to eat.”

She glanced up, saw the hunger in his eyes he made no effort to hide, and colored at his choice of words. A good sign, he thought.

“You should dress up more often,” he said as they sat back down.

“Are you kidding? In Valdez?”

His gaze fixed on her mouth, those perfect, plump red lips that never failed to turn him on. She was wearing makeup tonight, including a trace of eye shadow that made her big gray eyes stand out. He was amazed at the change. Olivia wasn't just a good-looking woman. She was over-the-top beautiful.

And clearly the lady went out of her way to make certain no one noticed. Which was nearly impossible to do.

“Be my pleasure to take you somewhere else,” he said. “Anchorage has some nice places. We could fly up. Go out for supper, go dancing. I've got a hunch you're a very good dancer.”

The color slid out of her face. “What . . . what makes you think that?”

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular.” Though he figured he had just touched on one of her secrets. “Maybe the way you move.”

She relaxed a little, glanced around the crowded pub. “Is King here yet?”

“Not yet.” He lifted a hand, and the waitress moved toward them, a chunky little brunette named Donna. “What're you drinking?” Rafe asked Liv as the waitress walked up to the table.

“I'll have a beer. Alaskan Amber.”

“Got it,” Donna said with a smile and hustled away.

“A woman who drinks beer,” Rafe said. “Another mark in the plus column.”

Liv smiled. “I guess I'm doing pretty well so far.”

“I'd say you're doing just fine. How am I doing?” He took a sip of his beer.

“If I were interested in dating—which I'm not—you'd be at the top of my list.”

“Not bad, then. I'm still in the running.”

“I said
if
—”

His mouth edged up. “I know what you said.”

Olivia glanced away. She understood what he was saying—that he wasn't about to give up. Not by a long shot. He had a feeling she was glad.

Donna showed up with Olivia's beer and headed off to another table. Olivia slid the glass a little closer. “Do you think King will show?”

“It's Friday night. Odds are he'll be here.”

“Unless he killed Scotty and he's already left town.”

“King's still on our suspect list, so it's possible, but it's better not to jump to conclusions.”

“True enough.” When she took a sip of her beer, Rafe's gaze went to that porn-star mouth and his groin pulsed. He needed to get a grip.

“Anything new on the case?” Liv asked.

Rafe took a drink of his beer. “Actually, there is. The autopsy arrived. Scotty wasn't killed at the dock. The police say it happened somewhere else and his body was dumped next to
Scorpion.
They've been searching for the primary crime scene since this afternoon.”

“Wow, I didn't see that one coming. That changes everything. Scotty would have walked to the motel, so it must have happened along the route on his way home.”

Rafe nodded. “I got a look at the security cam photo, but it was raining and the lens was aimed in the wrong direction. Couldn't see much, but there was definitely an image of a big guy in a hoodie.”

“Sam's big.”

“Yes, he is.”

“What about the murder weapon?”

“No sign of it yet.”

“Why would the killer dump Scott's body next to the
Scorpion
?”

“Good question. I've been trying to figure that out myself.”

“Everyone in town knew Scotty worked for you. That points to the killer being local.”

“It definitely narrows things down in some way.”

They sipped their beers for a while. More people streamed in and the jukebox in the corner fired up. Nineties music. Some Garth Brooks, an Alabama tune, a few other country favorites. Someone played an old rock and roll song. Elvis was belting out “Burning Love” when Sam King walked into the bar.

“That's him. He just came through the door.” Olivia tipped her head in that direction, making all that long, wavy hair swing against her cheek. Desire shot through him like a fire in his blood. Damn, he had it bad.

“I see him,” Rafe said. “Let's let him settle in for a while.”

Liv nodded. They ordered another Amber, sipped it slowly. King cozied up to a little redhead at one of the tables and started drinking boilermakers—a straight shot of Jack washed down with a glass of beer. He was pretty well lit by the end of the hour.

When the redhead laughed at something he said and headed for the ladies' room, Rafe stood up from his chair. “Showtime.”

Liv grabbed her little handbag, hot pink in a snakeskin design, and slung the strap over her shoulder. He didn't know much about fashion, but the bag looked anything but cheap.
Interesting.
He was beginning to amass little tidbits of information about her, but they only made her more intriguing.

Setting a hand at her waist, he guided her over to Sam King's table. “Well, look who's here,” Rafe said, taking one of the empty chairs while Liv sat down in another. “Buy you and your lady friend a drink?”

Sam leaned back in his seat. He was big and good-looking. Trouble was, he knew it. “Sure, why not?”

Rafe raised a hand and the waitress went to fetch another round.

“How's the investigation coming along?” Sam asked, a trace of whiskey in his voice.

“They may have a suspect. They're trying to eliminate anyone else on their list. You're still on it, you know.”

Sam stiffened. “What?”

“No alibi,” Rafe said. “You told them you went home, but until you can prove it, you stay on the list.”

“For chrissake, I didn't kill him. We were friends.”

“I'm pretty sure you didn't go home, Sam. Which means the cops don't think so, either. Be better for everyone if you just told the truth.”

Sam's big hand fisted. “That's bullshit. Where do you get off calling me a liar?”

“I don't think you're lying. I just don't think you're telling all the truth. You can rectify that right now.”

“I told you I went home.”

Olivia leaned across the table and got right in his face. “You went home—eventually. Where were you after you left the poker game, Sam? Did you follow Scotty, maybe the two of you got in an argument? Maybe it got heated and you picked up something and hit him in the head. Is that how it happened?”

Sam's face turned beet red. “Back off, lady, or you'll wish you had.”

Rafe felt the heat at the back of his neck. “Take it easy, Sam.” The warning was clear in his voice.

“You believe what she's saying? Or are you just trying to get in her pants?”

Rafe came up out of the chair. He had Sam by the front of his shirt and dragged out of his seat before he even realized what was happening. “Watch your mouth, kid. Or you'll be dealing with me, not her.”

Sam's thick shoulders vibrated with tension. The look in his black eyes could have sliced through steel. He was big and strong, but he was a hothead. Guys like that went down hard.

Rafe let go of Sam's shirt and some of the younger man's tension eased. He sat back down in his chair and so did Rafe.

Sam blew out a breath, raked a hand through his shaggy black hair. “So that's what the cops think? That I followed Scotty down to the dock and killed him?”

“Turns out he wasn't killed at the dock. He was murdered somewhere else and dumped there. Where were you, Sam? You need to tell us. If you do, I'll straighten things out with the police.”

Sam sighed. “I was with a woman. She's married. Her husband'll go crazy if he finds out we were together.”

“What's her name?”

“I don't want to cause her trouble, okay?”

“What's her name?” Rafe repeated, leaning toward him.

Sam's shoulders slumped. “Heather. Heather Polson. Promise me you'll keep her out of this.”

“The cops'll want to verify your story, but I'll talk to the chief, fill him in on the circumstances. That's the best I can do.”

Olivia's voice came out softly. “You did the right thing, Sam.”

The kid's features softened. “I'm ah . . . sorry about the comments. This whole thing with Scotty . . . it's really got me freaked, you know?”

“I know,” she said.

A smile flickered over Sam's lips. “No offense meant, but, fact is, you are one smokin'-hot babe.”

Olivia's pretty mouth edged up. “No offense taken.”

Sam turned his attention to Rafe. “So we're good, then?”

“Long as your story checks out, we're good. If you think of anything that might help, give me a call.”

“Count on it,” Sam said. “I want this prick as much as you do.”

Rafe just nodded, glad to have the kid on his side.

They were just leaving when the redhead walked up. “What do you say we blow this joint and go somewhere a little more . . . private?” she said.

Sam winked at Rafe. “Good idea.” Draping a thick arm around the girl's shoulders, he headed for the bar to pay his bill and the two of them slipped outside.

Rafe waved to Donna, left enough money on the table to cover his check, grabbed Olivia's coat off the rack next to the door, and they walked out of the bar.

The night chill had set in and the air felt damp against his skin. Stars glittered like diamonds above his head. Rafe held the coat and Olivia slipped into it.

“We still haven't talked to Reed,” she said as she tied the sash around her waist.

“He's due back late tomorrow afternoon. I'll pick you up at seven thirty if that works for you.”

She nodded.

“Did you walk down here?”

“I drove.” She smiled. “I wasn't dressed for walking.”

He glanced down at the vamped-up, come-fuck-me shoes she was wearing and felt another shot of lust. No, she wasn't dressed for walking. She was dressed to stir a man's blood, and it had worked on half the men in the bar, and especially him. “Where's your car?”

She turned. “Over there.” She pointed toward a little white Subaru. Good car for this kind of climate.

“You look so pretty it seems a shame for you to go home this early. Maybe you should come up to the house and let me fix you a nightcap.”

Liv shook her head, setting her long, dark hair in motion. “Not a good idea.”

“Maybe not,” Rafe said, trailing a finger down her cheek. “But I'm pretty sure this is.” Liv gasped as he pulled her into his arms and his mouth came down over hers. For an instant, she stiffened, pressed her hands against his chest to push him away.

Then those full lips softened under his and she kissed him back, a hot, wet, openmouthed kiss that sent a fresh rush of heat straight to his groin. Hunger burned through him, sharp and fierce, and the kiss went deeper, hotter. That sexy mouth tasted like ripe, dark cherries, and her floral perfume filled his senses. Heat and need battered at his control and his erection throbbed against the fly of his jeans.

A heartbeat later, she was gone.

Rafe groaned.

Breathing too fast, Liv backed a couple of steps away. In the lamplight, her pretty gray eyes looked big and uncertain. “I have . . . have to go,” she said, sounding slightly breathless. “I have to get back to the café. Good night, Rafe.”

He didn't try to stop her. As he opened her car door and she slid in behind the wheel, he didn't remind her he would be seeing her again tomorrow night. “Good night, Liv.”

He hadn't missed that deer-in-the-headlights moment when she'd ended the kiss, and he didn't want to scare her away. He'd been patient for weeks. He could wait a little longer.