Best Kept Secrets (34 page)

He ripped open the first, then, more hastily, the second.

Greg Harper practically hurdled his desk and lunged for the door of his office. "Alex, you bitch!" he roared down the empty corridor.

"She just left," his startled secretary informed him. "With a man."

"Who?"

"A cowboy in a fur-trimmed leather jacket."

Greg returned to his desk, wadded the two empty envelopes into balls, and shot them at the wastebasket.

It was close to sundown when Reede wheeled his Blazer into the parking lot of the Westerner Motel.

"Just drop me at the lobby, please," Alex told him. "I need to check for messages."

Reede did as she asked without comment. They'd had very little to say to each other since their awkward reunion outside the D.A.'s office. The flight home had been uneventful. Alex had dozed most of the way.

Reede had passed the time watching Alex doze.

No less than a thousand times during the night, he'd almost gone back to her condo. Looking at the crescent-shaped circles beneath her eyes while she slept, he didn't know how he could have walked away from her. She had needed someone with her last night. He'd been the only one available.

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 to keep your curiosity at bay," he whispered. "Isn't that what you've been doing with Junior, satisfying your curiosity about why your mama found him so appealing?" He took perverse pleasure in watching the color drain from her face.

"No," she denied hoarsely.

"I think it is."

"You're sick."

"Not me, baby." His breath trailed across her lips.

"You're the one who's curious."

He bent his head and kissed her. She stubbornly resisted the pressure of his mouth, but he finally succeeded in maneuvering her lips apart. His tongue raked her teeth and the inner linings of her lips.

She opened to him. He felt the breath leave her body on a ragged sigh. It was moist and warm and sweet inside his mouth. His erection stretched, pushing painfully against his fly, against hers. He reached inside her coat and covered her breast with his hand. Beneath his revolving thumb her nipple hardened, and when he swept it lightly, a low moan rose out of her throat.

He raised his head and looked down into her face. Her head was resting against the body of the airplane, her throat arched and exposed. She was breathing hard. Her chest rose and fell swiftly. He could feel her heart, like a small, wild, frightened creature that had become trapped in his palm. Her lips were slightly parted, wet and glistening. Her eyes were closed. Slowly, they came open. They looked at each other with wariness and confusion.

Oh Jesus, was Reede's last coherent thought. His mouth lowered to hers again, hungrier, but much more temperate.

He pressed his tongue into her mouth, giving, not taking. He fondled her breast with more finesse.

Eventually losing patience with her clothing, he dropped his hand to her waist. Her sweater was pushed up, the cup of her bra was pushed down, and her warm, soft flesh filled his hand. Reflexively, she arched her back, plumping her breast against his callused fingers and palm. He kneaded it and continued to agitate its tight, feverish center with the pad of his thumb.

Kissing her as though this was his first kiss ever, or the last one he would ever be granted, he worked her legs apart with his knee and angled his hips toward her cleft. From the edge of his mind it registered that she made a helpless little sound and lifted her arms to encircle his neck, but he could focus on nothing except her mouth, his invasion of it, and how damn much he wanted to be buried snugly inside her.

His free hand slid over her butt, down the back of her thigh, and caught her behind the knee. He lifted it, propped it on his hip, and made a grinding motion against her. He fit his rigid body into the notch of her thighs and stroked her there until the tempo escalated to a breathless pace. She spoke his name on a sudden, catchy little breath that fanned his passions hotter.