Set the Dark on Fire (5 page)

Shay lay back and closed her eyes also, irritated by his nonchalance. It didn’t seem fair that she be interrogated when he’d revealed nothing of himself. “Have you ever been married?” she asked, posing the first question that came to mind.

“No.” His tone suggested he didn’t care for the topic.

She pressed on, undeterred. “Do you have a girlfriend back in Vegas?”

“No.”

“Don’t you like women?”

He shifted beside her, lifting the arm that was covering his face. Too late, she realized how provocative her question sounded. She could feel the heat of his gaze all over her body. Her nipples tightened, pebbling against the lace of her bra, and a beat pulsed between her legs. The sun was shining on the front of her panties, soaking them in warmth, and the sensation was so pleasurable she had to smother a moan.

She wanted to squeeze her legs together to ease the ache.

Instead, she sat up. Desperate to find something else to focus on, she reached out and plucked a green sprig from the plant next to her. “This is white sage,” she said inanely, because he was still watching her. “Cowboys used it for deodorant.” Like a moron, she rubbed the tiny leaves against her armpit to demonstrate.

His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared.

It was a pleasant fragrance, she supposed. Better than skunk anyway. “Do you want some?” Twisting off another sprig, she held it out to him, moistening her dry lips.

He moved so fast she gasped. Ignoring the sage, he took her upper arms in his hands, pressing the full length of his body against hers. When the hard wall of his chest met her lace-covered breasts, the sprig of sage fell from her hand, forgotten. “Do you always get what you ask for?” he said, his eyes on her mouth.

He was breathing hard, and she could feel tension in his pectoral muscles and the tautness of his abdomen. More to the point, she could feel the exciting proof of his arousal, nudging the sweet spot between her legs.

“Yes,” she said, brushing her lips over his, answering the question his body was asking rather than the one his mouth had posed.

He let her go as quickly as he’d grabbed her, denying them both.

Muttering a curse, he stalked over to the tree branch where his pants were hanging and proceeded to put them on. In his condition, the damp fabric must have been twice as unforgiving, because he had some trouble with the zipper.

While she sat there, feeling confused and dejected, he wrestled into his shirt and strapped on his gun belt.

Then she finally understood. The signs had been right there in front of her face all day, but she hadn’t seen them. Now the answer to that question she’d asked was as clear as tracks in the snow: Luke Meza liked women, all right. He just didn’t like her.

4

The hike back to Luke’s pickup really sucked. Shay was hungry, tired, and uncomfortable. Each step she took was an agony of damp, form-fitting denim. The adrenaline that had been driving her since sunup fled, leaving her running on empty.

Every few moments a fresh wave of humiliation washed over her. She wanted nothing more than to stop and rest, to collapse in a pathetic little heap, to curl up in a ball and wrap her arms around her head.

Instead she straightened her shoulders and lengthened her stride. On the downhill grade, she went faster than she should, and was pleased to hear him stumble a few times in an effort to keep up with her, sending a spray of loose pebbles down the trail.

What had possessed her to throw herself at him? Even at her lowest, loneliest moments, she’d never come on to a stranger. She’d never had a one night stand. She’d never picked up a guy at a bar and gone home with him.

So why had she acted like such a desperate slut after one touch from Luke Meza? God! He hadn’t even kissed her.

Clenching her hands into fists, she rounded the last bend to the clearing where his truck was parked, torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to punch herself.

“I need to talk to your neighbor,” he said as he got behind the steering wheel. He consulted a small wire-bound notebook that had been resting on the dash. “Fernando Martinez?”

Frowning, she pulled on her seat belt. “Why?”

“He found the body.”

“Oh.”

He gave her an assessing glance. “You’re State Parks, right?”

She nodded, catching his drift. A lot of park employees were also trained peace officers, assigned to serve and protect the people as well as the land, but Shay was a field biologist, not a ranger. Dark Canyon State Preserve didn’t get many visitors, and she had no law enforcement experience. Nor did she want any.

The last thing she felt like doing was spending more time with Luke, extending what had already been an excruciating, exhausting, embarrassing day.

“I really shouldn’t do a drop-in interview alone,” he said.

Sighing, she furrowed a hand through her drying hair. It was hanging loose down her back, keeping her shirt damp and her neck cool. At early evening, the Santa Ana winds were still blowing, warming the night air.

Although she wanted to refuse, she’d engaged in enough unprofessional behavior today. “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing, really. Just come along and let me do the talking.”

“Fine,” she muttered, annoyed with his ability to focus. After what had transpired between them, she felt painfully self-conscious. How could he act so unaffected?

With Hamlet gone, the immediate threat had been taken care of, but the work had only just begun. Weeks of study would be dedicated to sorting through the particulars of the attack. If Shay could discover a reason for the lion’s behavior, she would do her damnedest to prevent another tragedy from occurring.

Because Hamlet had been her baby, her lion, her research experiment, Shay felt as though she had Yesenia Montes’s blood on her hands. Maybe Fernando had seen something she hadn’t, a track she’d overlooked, a detail she’d missed. The sooner they talked to him the better, because once word got out about Yesenia’s death, rumors would fly.

There were no secrets in Tenaja Falls.

Fernando Martinez lived a quarter of a mile down the road from Shay. Like hers, and most of the residences on Calle Remolino, his was a ranch-style adobe, flat-roofed and low to the ground. In the summer, when temperatures soared above 100 degrees on a regular basis, this type of building stayed relatively cool.

As Luke parked his truck in Fernando’s driveway, two brown-skinned boys came flying around the side of the house wielding super-soaker squirt guns. Smiling at their antics, Shay pulled on her sweatshirt before she exited the vehicle.

She knew the boys’ names, if not which was which. Fernando had two kids in grade school, another teenager besides Angel, and the sweetest little curly-haired kindergartener you’d ever seen. Shay had often wondered what kind of mother would leave so many children behind, especially one so young.

She’d often wondered how her own mother could have done the same, but never came up with a satisfying answer to that question, either.

“Dad!” the taller boy yelled in the direction of the screen door, lowering his water gun. His younger brother took that as an invitation to soak his T-shirt, and they were off, laughing and chasing each other through the lengthening shadows.

Angel opened the door, a harried expression on her pretty face. Her long black hair was caught up in a ratty-looking ponytail. Unlike Shay’s, this style appeared deliberate. She also had circles under her eyes, a half-dozen rings in her ears, and a metal-studded leather bracelet around her wrist.

No wonder Dylan had a crush on her.

Clinging like a vine to Angel’s jean-clad legs, there was a small girl with chocolate-colored curls. Her eyes widened when she saw Luke’s badge.

“Hi there,” he said, looking down at the little girl. “What’s your name?”

Too shy to answer, she hid behind her older sister.

“I’m Sheriff Meza,” he offered politely.

Angel stared at him in mute defiance, her hand on the doorknob, as if she was thinking about barring him entry.

“Do you know Miss Phillips?”

“Yes,” Angel said, nodding at Shay.

“Can we speak with your father?”

When panic crossed over Angel’s features, Shay realized the girl thought this visit was regarding her late-night tryst. Fernando must not have told his daughter about the gruesome discovery he’d made this morning.

“It’s not about Dylan,” Shay said to reassure her.

Luke arched a questioning glance in Shay’s direction, and Angel relaxed immediately. “Come on in,” she said, putting her hand on the top of her sister’s head to guide her forward. “He’s just out back.” Angel led them past a family room that looked well used and through a kitchen that smelled of good things to eat. There were chopped vegetables on the countertop and simmering pots on the stove.

Shay’s stomach rumbled.

Angel opened the screen door leading to the backyard, gesturing for them to go on without her.

Fernando was tossing feed to a group of chickens in a small coop. He was a strong man, wiry and compact, with a face that showed plenty of wear and tear. Over the past three years, since Maria left, he’d aged a decade.

When he saw them he straightened too quickly, then grimaced and placed a hand on his lower back, a telling gesture. Despite his weariness, and the lines around his eyes, he was handsome. Hard and handsome and, like a lot of Tenaja’s men, old before his time.

She’d known him for most of her life, but Fernando greeted Luke first, showing deference to his rank. After introductions were exchanged, Fernando invited them both to sit in a couple of green plastic chairs around a matching table on the back patio.

Luke took out his notebook and pen. “Tell me what you remember about this morning,” he requested, “beginning with the time you woke up and ending with the phone call you made to emergency services.”

Fernando paused, collecting his thoughts. Although his kids spoke English without a trace of an accent, Fernando struggled with the language. “I woke well before sunrise,” he said. “It was dark. I clean my rifle and go out to hunt.”

Luke’s brows rose. “What’s in season?”

“Rabbit is always …” He made a gesture with his hands, like a bunny hop, then turned them palms-up, empty. “But not today.”

She waited for Luke to ask Fernando if he had a license, or if he knew hunting any kind of game was illegal on county property, but he didn’t.

“I went to Graveyard, as kids say. I look for bottles and cans to recycle.”

“Did you find any?”

He frowned. “I did not notice. When I drive close, see …

“What?”

“Her. Yesenia. On the ground.”

“You recognized her.”

He considered his response. “Not at first. I just thought she was a girl in trouble. Maybe drink too much. Or go with boys …” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Then I get close, see her face. Torn clothes. Marks on neck.” He rubbed the back of his own neck with a wince. “I went home to call right away.”

“How close did you get?”

Fernando gave an approximate indication, widening his arms.

“You didn’t touch her?”

“No. Nothing to do. She was already dead.”

“How did you know?”

He thought about it. “Her chest was not moving. Head … turned funny.”

Luke was silent for a moment. “Did you see anyone else this morning? Driving on the road, or in the area?”

“I passed a few cars on the main drag. No one near the Graveyard. No one for miles.”

Luke slanted a glance at Shay. “Anything you want to ask?”

“Fernando, you’re a hunter,” she said, leaning forward. “Did you notice anything unusual at the Graveyard?”

“Si,”
he said. “No tracks. No blood.”

“What do you think killed her?”

“Un león,”
he replied immediately.

“Did you see one?”

“No. I have never seen one.”

Shay sighed. The locals would be whispering about vampires and
chupacabras
. She turned to Luke, not sure what else to ask.

“You said you recognized Yesenia,” Luke continued. “How well do you know her?”

Fernando shifted in his chair, uncomfortable for the first time since the interview began.

“La conóces … o la sábes?”
Luke asked.

Shay felt heat rise to her face, and not just because Luke was asking Fernando if he knew Yesenia in the biblical sense. By posing the question in Spanish, he was cutting her out of the conversation, dismissing her as if she weren’t there, and insulting her by assuming she wouldn’t understand. He was wrong. Not only did she catch his meaning, she discovered something new about him: he was not a native speaker of Spanish.

His pronunciation was a little too … hard. Spanish speakers tended to soften some consonants and drop others altogether.

“I didn’t know her very well,” Fernando replied in the same language, choosing to ignore Luke’s insinuation. “But where are my manners?” he said with a smile. “Would either of you like something to drink? There is cold cerveza inside.”

Shay shuddered and Luke declined, standing and thanking Fernando for his time. When they passed through the kitchen once again, she inhaled deeply, wishing such a feast would be waiting at her house.

Instead she’d be met by a sink full of dirty dishes and an empty fridge.

She said good-bye to Angel with a conflicted heart, hoping Dylan wasn’t serious about her. Angel seemed like a nice girl, but she represented the kind of complication her brother didn’t need. Dylan was rebellious, abrasive, and smart as a whip. Shay wanted him to go to college more than she’d ever wanted anything for herself. As much as she loved Tenaja and respected its blue collar men, she wanted better for her brother than a lifetime of backbreaking manual labor under the hot desert sun.

As they walked toward Luke’s pickup, Shay shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her sweatshirt, feeling the heaviness of damp denim against her legs and the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She settled into the passenger side, not bothering with her seat belt, and studied Luke with open interest. He could be of European heritage, she supposed, but with his dark coloring, and a name like Meza, she’d figured differently.

“What?” he asked, surprising her. She’d have sworn he could pull off stone-faced silence for any length of time.

“You speak Spanish like a white man.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. It was a stupid thing to say, impulsive and presumptuous, but what the hell. She was curious, and he didn’t like her anyway. “I’m Luiseño,” he said, turning his attention back to the road.

“Really?” Her interest was piqued further. The Luiseño tribe, named by the founding fathers of the San Luis Rey Mission, was one of the twenty-six registered tribes in the area. San Diego had a more diverse Indian population than any other place in the United States. “Where were you born?”

“Pala.”

Shay was stunned. Pala Reservation was only thirty miles from Tenaja, and one of the poorest communities in the county. Luke Meza wasn’t a well-to-do city boy from the lights of Las Vegas. He was local. Not only local, but Native.

He’d probably grown up with less than she had. Now he thought he was too good for her, and that rankled her hard.

“Who’s Dylan?” he asked, rolling to a stop in front of her house. “You mentioned that name to Fernando’s daughter.”

“He’s my younger brother,” she said, glancing toward the door.

“He lives with you?”

“Yes.”

He followed her gaze, assessing the single car in the driveway, rusted basketball hoop above the garage door, and sadly neglected front lawn. “Where’re your folks?”

The question shouldn’t have caught her off guard, but no one in Tenaja Falls ever asked about her parents. They already knew. “Gone,” she said shortly.

He nodded, looking down the road instead of at her face.

She supposed that was his way of saying good-bye, and it left a lot to be desired. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure,” she muttered, getting out of his truck.