Lost But Not Forgotten (14 page)

He ambled over to her, stark naked, to rebutton her blouse. Gillian had done it up crookedly. “It’s a little late for modesty,” he said around a grin as she shied away.

“We just—how can you…” Her protest ended in a yelp as his lips closed over hers and she was dragged against his chest.

Giggling, she managed to dislodge him. “Mitch, stop. Do you hear that helicopter? If we don’t hurry and dress, some poor pilot from the air base is going to hover over us and drop his teeth.”

Mitch stepped into his briefs. “He’ll think I’m a damn lucky guy. And I am,” he reiterated stoutly.

“Chopper isn’t from the air base,” he said a moment later after he’d pulled on his jeans and moved out from under their tree to wave at the craft. “Border patrol. They’re always on the lookout for clandestine meetings.” Noting Gillian’s shocked expression, Mitch winked. “Relax. The type of meetings I meant don’t involve lov
ers but illegals and drug runners. Anyway, they know my horses.”

Her cheeks burned, even though she had to admit she and Mitch could be termed
lovers.
Distracted, Gillian folded the blanket and went busily about tying it behind Mitch’s saddle.

“Do you want one of these apples?” he asked casually. “If not, I’m going to treat the horses before we head back.”

“No…really, I couldn’t eat anything. I wish we hadn’t finished off all the water, though. I’m horribly thirsty.”

“We’ll take a shortcut home. I’ve got beer. Also iced tea, or maybe lemonade, in the fridge. A neighbor lady who cleans my house generally leaves me a full pitcher of each.”

“There’s a lot to be said for having nice neighbors.” Gillian was remembering the phone call she’d received from an old neighbor, telling her of Daryl’s death, warning her to flee.

“Yeah,” he agreed, tightening the cinch. “Dave and Barb D’Angelo are nice folks. Dave’s been a huge help, feeding and watering my stock while I was laid up. Barb plies me with bread and cookies she’s baked. She thinks I need a wife. Don’t be surprised if she gets nosy when you two meet.”

“Why would we meet?” Gillian asked as she levered herself into the saddle.

Mitch climbed onto his horse, unsettled by Gilly’s cool remark. But maybe he’d read too much into what they’d just shared. He thought it had been pretty special. If she didn’t…well, damn.

He nudged his gelding around her mare and led the way to a trail that cut several miles off the route they’d taken up the mountain. This path was wider and
smoother, but not as appealing. Suddenly, however, Mitch was interested in getting home as quickly as possible. If Gillian couldn’t wait to be shut of him, he certainly wouldn’t stand in her way.

The grueling pace Mitch set almost jarred Gillian’s teeth out of her head. To say nothing of how sore other parts of her anatomy would be by morning. He seemed to be in a desperate rush and she hadn’t any idea what possessed him. The gallop must be killing his hip. Hers were uninjured, and already her joints protested.

She was totally winded by the time they cantered to a halt outside his barn.

“I’ll unsaddle and rub down the horses,” he said. “I won’t keep you from getting back to town.”

Slow to slide off, she frowned at him over the saddle. “I…thought…you offered me a cold drink.”

“I did. But you sounded as if you were in too much of a hurry.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m dying of thirst.”

“Go on up to the house and help yourself. I’ll look after the horses.”

“I won’t go poking around in your kitchen. Either I’ll help you here and we’ll both go, or we can forget it and I’ll head on out.”

Relenting, Mitch motioned for her to loosen the mare’s cinch. Between the two of them, they made short work of tidying up. Mitch strode out ahead of her, but he stopped on the porch and held the door open to let her pass. He tried to keep Trooper from knocking Gilly over in his excitement. “Down, boy,” Mitch gasped, nevertheless accepting the lap of the dog’s sloppy tongue. “Okay, go outside and sniff around.”

They both watched the pup race in circles around the vehicles, then charge a shrub where he scattered a covey
of quail. Trooper ran back to Mitch and shot between his legs, into the house.

“Looks like he’s had enough. Don’t pay any attention to the condition of my living room, Gilly. I’m working on a case, and I’ve set the computer up on my coffee table. There’s papers all over. Feel free to dump them on the floor. I’ll get our drinks and be right back.”

Gillian nodded, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the dark-paneled room.

Mitch had disappeared through an arch, leaving her alone in the room. The first thing she saw tore the breath from her throat.
Her missing suitcase.
It sat open on the coffee table next to Mitch’s laptop. Gillian’s heart thundered like a cannon blast in her ears.

On his fireplace mantel, there in plain sight, stood Katie’s urn.

Gillian tried to muffle an aching cry. Instinct told her to snatch her belongings and make a clean getaway before Mitch returned. In her haste, she tripped on the edge of a braid rug and banged her knee into the coffee table, sending papers flying.

Oh, God, what if the noise brought him to investigate? Fear bore down, crushing her chest. She fought to breathe as she reached over to slam the lid on the case with hands that shook. The lid stuck. It wouldn’t close. Her lungs refused to expand. The room began fading in and out. Gillian’s legs turned rubbery as darkness engulfed her. Despite valiant efforts to scoop the small case into her arms, her knees gave way and she crumpled to the floor.

G
ILLIAN CAME TO
on Mitch’s couch. His pup stared at her with anxious, liquid eyes, ropy tail thumping rhythmically on the thick rug. Someone—Mitch, she assumed—had placed a cool compress on her forehead. He hovered over her now, patting an icy washcloth on the insides of her wrists.

When he saw Gillian’s eyes flutter open, the fear hammering inside Mitch’s chest subsided. “You fainted. I heard you cry out, but you hit the floor before I got here to catch you. No, don’t sit up yet.” He gently pressed her down again. “Your heart is racing a hundred miles an hour.”

“I’ve never fainted in my life,” she insisted weakly.

“You’ve never lived in the desert. Our low humidity dehydrates some people more rapidly than others. I should have insisted you drink more water. Here, take a swallow of this sweetened iced tea.”

Gillian had to tear her attention away from the mantel. Why was he trying to sell her a story about fainting because of low humidity? If he hadn’t wanted to shock her, why had he allowed her inside? God, he’d had her suitcase all along. He and his pals from the blue car. How could she have let herself be blinded by Valetti’s easy charm? How could she have made love with him?

“You’re still white as chalk and you’re shivering. Would hot tea be better?”

She sat up, furtively noting the layout of his doors and windows. She’d lost the chance to grab her suitcase and get away. But it appeared that Mitch was prepared to carry on the charade. Should she play along a while longer? “I tripped on your rug. I’m afraid I knocked over your suitcase and scattered a lot of your papers.” Bending forward, she collected a few of the fallen sheets.

“Don’t lean down like that. You’ll get dizzy again. Those papers are expendable—evidence from a case I’m attempting to solve. Nothing official, even. I thought I’d mentioned it to you.”

“No. What kind of case?”

He stared at her for a minute. “Intriguing to me. No one else agrees. It’s nothing, really. I won’t bore you with it.”

“Fine. I’ll finish the drink and leave. I feel silly, fainting like that.” Gillian picked up the glass. The sweet tea did seem to calm her galloping nerves.

Although…she would’ve expected Mitch to hide the evidence while she was out cold. Why hadn’t he? Was he telling the truth? Could it be possible that he wasn’t aware of her connection with the suitcase?

She felt better knowing it was intact and here for the taking.
Stealing,
warned that nagging voice.

Gillian shivered. Was it stealing to take something that was yours?

“You’re far from being steady enough to drive, Gilly. I’ll run you home. Your car will be okay left here. Give me your keys. In the morning, I’ll drive your car to the café and have Ethan or one of the other guys in the department give me a lift home.”

Gillian opened her mouth to object. Then she realized that picking up her car provided a perfect excuse to come back here for the suitcase. “You said you’ve let chores
go around the ranch too long as it is. If you’re kind enough to take me home, the least I can do is come get my car without imposing on you further.”

Mitch curled her hand over his and kissed her knuckles. “What kind of talk is that? I’ll do anything I can for you. You scared the life out of me just now.”

She offered a wan smile, all the while sneaking a peek at her baby’s urn.
Anything.
He said he’d do anything. Wouldn’t it be great if she could dump the whole lousy mess her life had become into Mitch Valetti’s lap? But of course she couldn’t.

Aware of her slight, restless move, Mitch caught the shift of her eyes to his mantel. “Oh, hey, I didn’t stop to think you might wonder…” His breath stalled a minute. “Is that what happened? You walked to the fireplace and read the information on…” He waved a hand toward the mantel. “Baby Katie isn’t mine,” he said, squeezing Gillian’s fingers too tightly. “She belongs to
somebody,
” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m trying to find out who. I’m not making much headway, though.”

Mitch’s attention seemed to drift.

“I don’t understand. Wh-why is the urn on your mantel?” It took a huge effort, but Gillian managed to get the words out.

Mitch stood and dug a ring of keys out of his jeans pocket. Trooper, who’d dropped down beside the couch, sat up and barked loudly.

“Come on, Gilly. I’ll explain on the way to your place. Believe me,” he muttered, “it’s probably going to sound screwy to an outsider.”

“Outsider?” Gillian passed so close to her baby’s ashes, she could have touched the vessel. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her midriff and let Mitch lead her out, followed by the dog.

Her heart sank as he locked his front door. Why wasn’t he one of those rancher types who didn’t see any need for locks?

“I don’t mean outsider the way you obviously took it, Gilly. I probably should’ve said lay person. Cops get jaded. Nothing surprises us, uh, them. Like, only a cop or ex-cop would make a federal case out of finding a suitcase of baby things.”

“F-fed…eral c-case?” Gillian stumbled and almost fell, even though Mitch had a firm grip on her waist as he was set to help her into the cab.

“Another figure of speech. Look…you’re way too shook up for me to go into detail. I shouldn’t anyhow. Wouldn’t, if I was still with the force. Can you manage that step into the truck? My Vette’s in the shop being tuned.”

Trooper bounded inside, nosing Gilly aside. The pup sat in the center of the seat, which suited Gillian, who clung to the door.

Mitch rounded the hood and climbed in on his side. “Where to? I know you live near the café. What street number and which block?”

Gillian rattled off her address, all the while trying to decide if Mitch was playing her for a sucker. She wondered if he was laughing silently at reeling her in and out like some dumb trout on a line. It hurt to think he would, after everything they’d shared on the mountain. But to some men, sex meant nothing more than personal gratification. It shamed her to think that the only man she’d given herself to, outside of the one she’d married, might be so callow.

Daryl’s brother, Conrad, said she was gullible. Actually, he’d called her an airhead. He’d never liked her, and she’d hate for him to be right about anything. He’d done
his level best to talk Daryl out of marrying her. She realized now that she hadn’t called Conrad before fleeing Louisiana. He was probably stewing—no doubt even blaming her for his brother’s death. And considering the way she’d disappeared, he probably had every right. Maybe she should call and ask his advice.

“I’m glad to see you’re getting some color back.” Mitch cast a quick glance in her direction before returning his attention to the Sunday-evening traffic. “I shouldn’t have raced downhill so fast. Why didn’t you yell at me to slow up?”

“I thought of it. I had visions of a black-and-blue bottom in the morning. The pinto mare does not have a rocking-chair gait.”

“She’s the least feisty of my saddle horses.”

“It’s okay, Mitch. I’ll live. Wait, you missed the turn. My building’s on that one-way street.”

“I know. But the next street over allows access into your parking garage. I’m walking you to the door, Gilly. So don’t try talking me out of it.”

Strangely enough, Gillian wouldn’t have. She’d been nervous ever since Bert’s warning about two strange men hanging out near the café. Not only had she kept a sharp lookout, she’d been fighting a strong feeling that they knew exactly where she lived but were biding their time. They’d probably lost her trail during the week or so she’d laid low. They must have figured out she’d dug in somewhere around here. It wasn’t as if towns in Southern Arizona were plentiful.

Mitch suddenly jammed on his brakes as a car shot out of a driveway that led to a tavern. He reached out a hand to keep Gillian from flying forward. “Jerk,” he snarled. “They wouldn’t get away with that if I still had my badge.”

Gillian, anticipating a collision, grabbed Trooper. As the car and truck barely missed scraping sides, her panicked gaze flew to the offending vehicle. At once her stomach did cartwheels.
It was them. The two from Louisiana.
She slid down in her seat, feeling awfully close to throwing up.

Trooper whined and stuck his cold nose in her ear, shooting her upright again.

Mitch slowed to a crawl, straining to see in his side-view mirror. “Damn, I can’t read their plate. That car could benefit from a good washing. The passenger had on a business suit, otherwise I’d guess they were cowboys gathering for next week’s rodeo,” he muttered. “That car looks like they’ve been out in the desert. Hey, are you okay?” He gave a guilty laugh. “Once a cop always a cop, unfortunately. Okay, I admit, once in a while I miss having a badge.”

“My parking space is number fifteen,” Gillian said. He seemed to be taking his time turning into her below-ground parking garage. Seeing the blue car so close to her residence rattled Gillian more than she cared to admit. Darn, she
liked
working for Flo and Bert. Had even grown complacent, always a dangerous thing. She sensed her world crumbling again.

As Mitch found the right spot, stopped, hopped out and rushed to help her from the truck’s cab, she sneaked a look at her watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Is that a hint for me to take off?”

“Actually, I thought about inviting you up for a bite to eat.” Even sharing a table with a known enemy was preferable to sitting alone waiting for the unknown to strike.

Mitch eyed Trooper, who’d responded eagerly to the rattle of his leash. “Okay, but if you feel up to eating,
we could walk down to Flo’s. Bert will give me a big soup bone for Trooper to gnaw on.”

Her heart sank. “Uh, I’d prefer to go upstairs. You don’t have to stay if you’d rather eat at Flo’s. Pets are allowed in my building, though. Trooper can have the leftover hash Bert sent home with me yesterday. But don’t let me twist your arm.”

“Twist away.” Mitch kissed the tip of her nose. “Trooper will love the hash. I’ll order pizza for us. While we’re waiting for delivery, you can soak in a hot tub. That ought to stave off the sore muscles you were worried about.”

“Sounds great. Except I don’t have a TV. How else can you occupy yourself while I soak?”

“Um.” Mitch wagged his eyebrows. “Scrub your back?”

She’d started up the stairs. At his announcement, she stopped. “Mitch, I—maybe this isn’t such a hot idea, after all.”

“You do have regrets about our time on the mountain,” he accused.

“No.” She shook her head. “Not regrets, exactly. It’s more that…well, there hasn’t been anyone but my husband—until us.”

Mitch gently scraped the back of one knuckle along the hollow of her cheek. “I had that figured out, Gilly.”

She felt his hand leave her face and settle on her hip as he reached over her head and opened the heavy door. His touch set new wildfires racing across her skin. Wildfires she had to keep in check. “I’m not placing blame, Mitch. I was a willing partner.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, yanking open the same kind of door on the third landing. He waited for Trooper, who’d stopped to sniff the wooden floor. “I care about
you, Gilly. We’ll take whatever’s going on as fast or as slow as you’d like.”

“How can you care when you know nothing about me?”

He tugged the dog into the hall by his leash and let the fire door slam shut. “Ethan asked the same thing. I didn’t have an answer for him, either. Look, let’s just work through this hour by hour if need be. I’ll make coffee while you shower, okay?”

She led the way down the hall to the last apartment. Mitch helped himself to the key she dug out of her jeans pocket. He jabbed twice before hitting the keyhole.

“Gilly, did you know there’s a light out at the head of your stairs? Have you called maintenance?” Mitch glanced up and down the hall. “Muggers love shadowy corners like the one over there.” He pointed to the blackness at the end of her hall.

“Thanks,” she drawled, her years in the South more noticeable than usual. “I chose this building for its proximity to the police station. Wouldn’t a mugger be too smart to strike this close to a bunch of cops?”

“Gilly, Gilly. People who break the law usually aren’t rational.”

She stepped inside and turned on a lamp, barely able to suppress a convulsive shudder. Mitch could well be describing the men who believed she had information she didn’t have. Those two possessed the tenacity of killer sharks. And she felt their razor-sharp teeth inches from her throat. Quite possibly, he was in cahoots with them.

Mitch came in after her, shut and locked the door. He rammed his hands in his front pockets and stood blinking in the brighter light. The room had stark white walls and a nondescript beige carpet. A single pole lamp stood between a horrid orange plaid couch and a lime-green chair.
The coffee and single end table, both bare, looked like early Salvation Army rejects.

“It’s not much.” Gillian shrugged.

The understatement of the world.
Mitch bent to unsnap Trooper’s leash, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Gilly crossed to a window overlooking the street that ran past her parking garage. Her bedroom window looked out on the opposite street—the one at the building’s entrance. Standing to one side, she depressed a slat on the miniblinds and scanned the street below before closing the blind tight.

Mitch considered her behavior rather odd, but he wasn’t a woman living alone. She’d probably developed a nightly routine. He wandered into her kitchen, which had even less character. Enameled white walls looked bleak against dark wood cabinets. The only color in the room came from straw mats on a table tucked into an alcove.

“The place was already furnished,” she offered after handing him a small canister of coffee and two clean cottage cheese cartons.

“That’s a relief. I’d hate to think our tastes were that different. What am I doing with these?” He waggled the empty cartons.

“They’re for Trooper’s food and water. Are you sure it’s okay for him to eat hash?”

“I won’t give him much.” Filling one bowl with water and setting it on the floor, Mitch made an offhand remark. “So Desert City really is a stopgap for you?”