Blue Jeans and a Badge (9 page)

“Let me come in the dressing room with you,” he murmured into her ear, folding his arms around her. “I'll help you with the zipper.”

She gave a breathless little laugh. “You'd have to arrest us both.”

“Would I?” he asked softly, and turned her in his arms. He bent his head for a succulent kiss, smoothing his hand over the silky fabric of the dress and the delicious curves of her body. “What would you do that I'd have to arrest you for?”

“Philip,” she breathed his name again, but this time it came out more like a gentle pleading. Her beaded nipple poked into his palm as he skimmed it, tantalizingly hard under the supple satin, and he realized she'd had to remove her bra to try on the dress.

He sighed out a low groan, all too conscious of the public setting. He kissed her again, shallow but intense, and let her go.

“Maybe you'd better not buy it, after all,” he said on a low growl. “I doubt you'd ever see St. Louis again.”

 

Luce's fingers shook as she fumbled with the invisible zipper and spaghetti straps of the dusty-mauve charmeuse dress. For an insane second she thought about asking Philip to help, but shot that thought away, far and fast, as soon as she caught herself thinking it.

Oh, man, she was having one hell of a day.

Between the painful push of the Hidalgos, the guilty thought of Arthur and the devastating pull of Philip O'Donnaugh, she didn't know which way to turn.

She sank onto the narrow bench in the dressing room and bent over at the waist, taking deep breaths. The dress slipped from her shoulders and she slid her arms free.

She had to pull herself together. Take hold of herself. Get a grip. And decide what to do about all three of those situations.

She'd just gotten the shaking under control when two boots appeared under the dressing room curtain, and it parted a crack.

“Are you okay?” Philip asked, peering in at her.

She sat up hastily. Only to realize she was naked from the waist up. Philip realized it a fraction of a second later. His gaze fastened on her bare breasts for an endless moment, then raised to her eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed, and a whole battle played out in his expression.

“I'm fine,” she managed to say, making no effort to conceal her nakedness from him.

What was the use? The damage had been done. The impact of his regard sizzled like lightning from her tingling breasts straight down between her legs.

He didn't say another word, but took a step back and closed the curtain.

She let out a long breath. How could she ever face him again, after this?

She knew that look—the look that said as soon as she set foot outside the dressing room he'd ask her for sex again. Hot, sweaty, passionate, breathtaking sex. And she wouldn't know what to answer.

She wanted him.

He was so good. So handsome and sexy. So honorable. So everything she'd ever wanted.

But so wrong for her.

Already she could feel the picket fence sprouting up and closing in around her. Despite his logical reasons, the fact was he had prevented her from leaving town that morning. And again after the disastrous Hidalgo interview.

Philip wasn't going to let her leave until she'd slept with him. She could feel his determination in her bones.

The problem was, she was beginning to doubt she'd be able to leave him afterward if she
did
sleep with him. Not
until she'd stayed just long enough to take his heart and crush it to pieces when she went.

Not deliberately—never that. But already she was feeling restless, like she had to leave.
Now.
So how could she ever think she'd be able to stay a lifetime?

She slipped off the dress and returned it to the hanger, put on her clothes, straightened her spine and walked out of the dressing room.

Philip was nowhere to be seen. The sales girl took the dress from her with a smile, and she went in search of him. She found him standing with feet spread on the sidewalk outside the front door, hands in pockets and gazing into space.

The bell tinkled sweetly when she went out, and he turned to look at her.

She nearly melted at the expression in his dark eyes. Black lashes rimmed a look of stark longing. The scent of patchouli drifted out from the boutique, and she knew she'd never smell that scent again without thinking of this moment and how her very soul ached for this man.

“Hi,” she said, and was suddenly scared to death.

Scared that she would give in to the overwhelming need.

But he surprised her by sliding his reflector glasses on, and saying, “I just talked with Renata,” like nothing had happened. “She put together a map for us, showing the ruins in the area where we're looking for the box canyon. Feel like taking a walk up to the museum?”

She'd expected him to grab her and demand she sleep with him, or kiss her and make a comment on her brazenness, or at least crack a joke about walking in on people. Something. Anything but ignore it. She was thrown for a loop.

Had she totally misjudged his interest?

It was all good. She was grateful for the reprieve. If he had pressed her, she would probably have given in. A woman could hold out only so long against what she really wanted. And the more she was with him, the more she knew what she really wanted.

Him.

The fact that a future with him was impossible had kept her out of trouble up until now. Well, relatively so. But seeing the look on his face when he saw her in the dressing room, the undeniable longing had slammed into her like a runaway train.

He shifted, waiting for an answer to a question she'd forgotten.

“Listen, um…” She gathered her thoughts. On the other hand, if he could ignore what had happened, so could she. “You were right about this morning.”

He tilted his head, his glasses reflecting her own nervous image back at her. But he didn't say anything. He did that silent routine a lot, she'd noticed. He must be a killer interrogator.

“About the Hidalgos and the Santanders,” she clarified.

“Yeah, huh,” he said noncommittally.

Hat low over his eyes, arms crossed over his chest, his Beretta holstered at his hip, he looked like a character out of a Clint Eastwood movie.

“I should go to the library,” she said, “the newspaper archives, and do some research. Find out more about both families. And the murders,” she added, proud of how calm she sounded. “I don't know what good it'll do…” Other than getting her away from him, of course. “But, um…” She shrugged. “You never know.”

She couldn't see his eyes behind those stupid glasses—why had she ever made him buy them?—but his mouth softened. He had such a beautiful mouth. Strong, masculine, sculpted but not curvy like a woman's. Well-defined lips that she loved to run her tongue over. Smooth and firm, capable of the most tender kisses, but able to deliver such powerful pleasure it made her quiver inside to remember.

She jerked her gaze back to his eyes—um, his glasses.

“Okay,” he simply said.

“Okay,” she said back. And since there was nothing else
to do, after an awkward pause she turned away to walk down the sidewalk, hopefully in the direction of the library. But she wasn't sure because for some reason the street signs were all blurry.

“Luce,” he said, and she halted but didn't turn around. “I'll come get you. How long do you need?”

She swallowed, a queasy sense of relief sputtering through her. She didn't know why, but she hadn't been certain he would come for her. Ever.

“Give me a few hours. Two or three.” She looked at him over her shoulder. Took in his proud, towering stance and square-jawed face, his black hair and serious mouth. Tucking it all into her memory.

In case he changed his mind and
didn't
come for her.

“I'll be there,” he said, and walked off in the opposite direction.

Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. Because she couldn't shake the horrible sinking feeling in her gut.

The one that told her he didn't really mean it.

I
n front of the microfiche machine, Luce peered at the fuzzy screen, then sought the print button and pushed it. A few feet away the hum of the printer sounded. She stretched her arms and her aching back.

By now she had read through quite a stack of newspaper articles concerning the all-American, up-and-coming middle-class Santander family, the murder of their oldest son, Peter, and subsequent disappearance and hunt for his wife, Maria, one of the heirs to multimillion dollar Hidalgo Industries, and their daughter, Constanza.

Luce's head spun from information overload. She rose from her chair, retrieved the printed copy and stuck it in the manila folder she'd begged from the reference librarian an hour or so ago. Then she gathered up the rest of her things and slowly made her way toward the front door. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten. It was nearly dusk.

And there was no sign of Philip.

She stepped outside and scanned the area. To one side of
the entrance, in the lengthening shadows of a spreading oak, she spotted a low step in the sidewalk. She walked over and dropped down onto it. Her things slid from her arms onto the still-sun-warm cement as she covered her face with her hands.

He hadn't come for her.

Suddenly, a large frame eased onto the step next to her and she felt a strong arm go gently around her. Her body gave a shuddering sigh of relief. And a spurt of joy. Instinctively she leaned against him and let her hands fall to her lap.

“Hi.”

Wordlessly he laid his cheek on her head. She sat there with eyes closed for a long time, drinking in the familiar scent of him, fighting the inner trembling that threatened for no rational reason.

“Tough day?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Yeah,” she whispered, toying with the reflector glasses hanging from his shirt neck. “You get the map from Renata?”

“Yeah. Don't worry. We should be able to find the box canyon tomorrow.”

She swallowed. “How do you know I'll still be here tomorrow?”

She felt his warm breath in her hair and knew that he knew. That she'd stay. What she was feeling. Everything about her. Somehow he always knew.

“Because you want your P.I. business.”

She should be terrified of his ability to see right through her, but at this moment it was…comforting.

After a moment he quietly said, “Tell me what you found out at the library.”

She pushed out a weary breath. Gathering her wits, she sorted the information jumbled in her brain.

“The Hidalgos aren't Hispanic. They're nobility from Cantabria, in Spain, from way back.”

“Ah. That's why the blonds. Light hair is fairly common in the northern part of Spain.”

“You've been there?”

“A summer in college. Go on.”

“The family has always maintained close ties to the old country. The children were regularly sent to Spain to find appropriate spouses. Until Maria Hidalgo, who married a local boy in a love match.”

“Peter Santander.”

“He was a midlevel employee at Hidalgo Industries. A bookkeeper or advertising executive or something. Rising, but his family was not of the upper class, and the family was horrified at the marriage. Their little girl was called Constanza.”

“Does that name sound familiar?” he asked.

She shook her head and his cheek lifted, cool air rushing to replace the warmth of his nearness. “No,” she whispered, not sure if that lack of recognition was reassuring or distressing.

He gave her forehead a lingering kiss. “Why did they think Maria killed Peter?”

“The theory was that she was having an affair, and he found out about it. He supposedly caught them in flagrante at the Hidalgo summer cabin, and she killed him to prevent a scandal.”

“Seems extreme.”

Luce smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

“Guess that theory's changed a bit since they found her remains.”

“From what I've read, they don't have a new theory. Tough to reconstruct motive after nearly thirty years.”

“Motives don't change,” he said. “Money. Power.” He looked down at her. “Love.”

She swallowed again, pulled by the tenderness in his eyes. “Yes. But which one?”

“We may never know. But if anyone can find out, it's Ted. He's like a pit bull with a bone.”

She sighed. “Anyway. It has nothing to do with me. I
looked at every newspaper picture I could find of every member of both families, and nobody rings a bell. I don't recognize any names or faces, other than myself in Maria. I can't be that little girl, Constanza. Even if they never find her remains, I'm not her.”

He stroked her back. “Still…”

At his tone she looked up. “What?”

“You could request a DNA comparison. They must have done one on the remains.”

Her jaw dropped. “Why would I do that? It's just too farfetched to act on a superficial resemblance.”

“Maybe.”

“But you think I should anyway?” she asked, incredulous.

“Maybe. Just to put your mind at rest.”

Rest. Something she'd never be able to do. Not as long as she had to keep searching for that elusive…something, somewhere on the other side of the mountain.

She put her hand to Philip's cheek and gazed up into his concerned face. And thought that perhaps she should give it a try. For a day or two. Just to test the waters.

She'd never met a man like him before. And wasn't ever likely to again.

Perhaps she should give
him
a try. For a night or two…

Darkness had settled in as they talked. Around them the garden shrubs cast shadows from the lights of the surrounding businesses and the headlights of the hushed traffic driving by. Still in her short-sleeved top, she shivered.

She stretched up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then rose to her feet. “So, what does a woman have to do to get an invitation to dinner around this town?”

He leaned back on his elbows on the sidewalk, looking sexier than any man alive had a right to look. He flicked his chin at a largish bag she hadn't noticed had been sitting behind her on the step, and beamed her an enigmatic smile.

“Just put that on,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You like Santa,” he said. “So I figured you like presents, too.”

“A present?” She sat back down next to him, astonished he remembered her thing for Santa. Even more astonished he'd gotten her a gift. “For me?”

Nobody got her presents. Except her mom and dad. And the white elephants at the annual jump shop holiday party, but they didn't really count.

He pushed the fancy handled bag toward her with a finger. “Go on.”

She took a breath and peeked down into the bag, shifting aside the extravagant tissue paper. “Oh, my God.” She cut him a look of disbelief. “It's the dress!”

He gave her a roguish grin. “I liked how you looked in it. I'd like to see you in it again.”

Her mouth opened, recalling the price tag. “But I couldn't possibly—”

“There's more,” he said, cutting off her objections.

Now she was really shivering. Curiosity more than prudence made her dig deeper in the bag. And found—“Matching shoes.” She lifted the elegant sling-backs from the depths. “They're gorgeous, Philip. And just the right size. How did you—”

“When we bought your boots.”

She gazed at him wonderingly. “You remembered?”

“I remember everything about you, sweetheart.”

He held her eyes for a long moment, until she was forced to look down at the shoes and dress she held reverently in her lap. “I can't accept these, Philip. It's far too much, and—”

“There are no strings, Luce. I don't expect anything in return, except you sitting across from me at dinner wearing them.”

“They're too expensive—”

“I know the shop owner. She gave me a deal. Please, let me do this for you. I want to.”

She could tell he was lying about the deal. But she could also tell he wasn't planning on taking no for an answer.

“Will you wear my dress?”

She filled with warmth. And relented, cherishing his gift with all her heart. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Just dinner,” he said. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” And she did. He had no idea she was so close to surrender he didn't need presents to topple her over the brink.

“Good. Because there's more.”

At the look on his face her heartbeat kicked up. In the gathering darkness, the sharp lines of his features were thrown into sensual silhouette, his lounging figure shrouded in erotic inky shadows. With a start she realized he was no longer in uniform. He was wearing dark jeans and a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to midforearm, his Stetson tipped casually back on his head.

He pushed the bag back toward her.

She nibbled her lower lip and slid a hand into the far depths of the tissue. And found a cellophane-wrapped rectangular box. She pulled it out, recognizing immediately what it contained.

Condoms.

“In case you'd like dessert after dinner,” he murmured, soft and low.

Her pulse tripled. “Philip…” she whispered.

He reached into his breast pocket and fished out a flat, plastic object. A hotel room keycard. “It's a long drive back to Piñon Lake. I thought we might stay the night in Santa Fe. If you like.”

Rendered speechless, she was unable to tear her gaze from his. In the distance a horn honked, and the insects in the nearby flowers tuned their orchestra a little higher.

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. A soft, undemanding kiss. “Don't answer now. Wait till after we've eaten. And remember, only if you really want to.”

Mesmerized by the gentle persuasion of his mouth, she slowly nodded.

He pressed a button on his watch and it glowed a dim green. “Library closes in fifteen minutes. Better get in there and change.”

 

Philip waited for her, stretched out on the steps, awaiting his fate in the darkness. The smell of sun-warmed earth and spring-fresh plants mixed with the enticing spicy aromas wafting from the neighboring restaurants. Here in town the stars were faint, but the moon shone above big and bright. A Chevy drove by trailing the twanging notes of a popular Tex-Mex tune in Spanish.

He liked it here. He'd never been to St. Louis, but he didn't think it could possibly be better than Santa Fe.

Not that it mattered. He was only asking her to stay with him for one night. Not a lifetime.

Still. She had to see that Santa Fe was way better than St. Louis.

When she came out he was unprepared for the vision that came to a halt at his feet.

The dress was everything he remembered and more. She'd taken out her ponytail, and her pale hair cascaded over her shoulders, the ends turning in to accentuate the low cut of the dress over her full breasts. The cute strappy heels made her legs look miles long. She'd also found the lipstick the lady at the drug store had recommended when he was buying protection.

His mouth went dry as desert sand. “Oh, baby,” he whispered.

Vaulting to his feet, he resisted the overwhelming compulsion to sweep her into his arms and maul her right there, as the mountain lion hiding inside his body urged him to do. He confined himself to one intimate kiss.

“You look beautiful.”

He drove them to Maria's, his favorite Mexican restaurant.

“The margaritas here are unbelievable,” he told her as they took their seats at a romantically lit table in a back corner. “The food, too.”

There was just enough light to see all the delectable details of her in that incredible dress. His mouth went from dry to watering. Damn. His body didn't know what to do with itself.

He wished they'd gotten a booth so he could touch her.

She glanced around, then at him, looking like a nervous teenager trapped in a movie starlet's body. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said with a little laugh.

“Like what?”

“Like you don't want me in this dress, after all.”

He grinned. “Smart girl.”

“I haven't said yes.”

“You haven't said no.”

Her tongue peeked out and slid across her lips. His body tightened. “True.”

The waitress came, and Luce hiked a brow when he didn't even try to order for her.

“You order for me,” he told her.

Her eyes widened. “What?”

He relaxed back in his chair. “Go on. I trust you.”

It took her about three seconds to get over her shock and quickly peruse the menu again. She ended up getting two different combo plates—one with blue-corn tortillas—with chips and guacamole to start, along with bowls of
posole
as the first course.

“Good choices,” he said approvingly, after the waitress had left. “Most outsiders don't get
posole,
or blue corn.”

“I'm the adventurous type,” she said with a teasing smile.

His body tightened even more. “Lucky me,” he said, lifting his margarita for a toast. “To more adventures.”

Their glasses clicked, sprinkling salt over the table. He sipped his Chinaco Classico as he watched her test the flavor of her drink on her tongue. She'd made him choose the margaritas. A hundred different types were too many for her to decide among, she'd protested. He'd ordered her a Paradiso. Sort of like a glass of Kristal, Mexican-style.

“Wow,” she said. He could practically see the liquor burn a path down her throat. “Tasty.”

He grinned. “Did I mention it was strong?”

He liked her spunk. He liked a lot of things about her.
Right now he liked the way she looked in that dress, and what she was doing to his body. He hoped she'd be doing a lot more to it later.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said, dumping him out of his pleasurable thoughts after the food arrived.

“Like what?” he asked semiwarily, digging in.