Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas) (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kirby’s eyes opened to bedroom ceiling and Seth’s light snores.

Not night, not dawn.

His regular breaths sputtered. His drowsy lips traced her jaw, searching for her mouth. His hands traveled across her skin, finding breasts. He was warm, half asleep, hard.

The bed shifted, his chest brushed her shoulder, his mouth her ear, breathing pleasure into her, rasp upon rasp upon rasp.

His fingers closed around her wrists.

He raised her arms, pinned them against the pillows, suckled her until her hips rose. He suckled her again. This time he used his tongue, light flicks across hard nipples. Lightning and blood, throbbing desire…need, love.

One of Seth’s hands held her two wrists. One seeking hand moved. Lower and lower. Across her shoulder, over her damp breasts. Lower and lower. Finding the place she wanted him to find. She loved him for this, for everything.

His fingers slow, lazy, gentle, played. Explored. Until she couldn’t breathe or talk or see. She tried to pull her arms free, make him go faster, but he held her tight.

The bed shifted again. She spread her legs to receive him. No more prying or begging. The fire in her body needed quenching. The fire in her heart, too. But that was a different matter.

He mounted, teased, refused to give her all of what she wanted: him inside her, him part of her, one body, one need.

Just brief, teasing forays.

A single ray of sun—the first ray of the morning—shot through the window.

He thrust.
Mine. Remember it.

She moaned. Her need for him was greater than the handful of mornings that had come before. She wanted to touch him, but he wouldn’t release her arms.
Mine.

He held himself over her, thrusting in long, slow strokes until her breath hitched. She pushed at him. Begging with her body.
Go faster, finish what you started.

He kissed her until she gentled, continuing the long, slow torture until the first shattering contraction. Then another and another and another.

“Oh.” She hadn’t expected such pleasure.

He released her arms, pressed her into the bed, rode her. Rode her to ecstasy inside pleasure inside desire, rode her to spinning release and Hydra heads of hunger.

Coffee mugs rattled in the kitchen. “Kirby? Are you up?”

She opened an eye. In the doorway, corded muscle, wide shoulders, faded sweatpants, steam rising from a chipped mug.

“Time for you to get back to the house.” Seth set the coffee down and pulled her out of bed.

“How can you be so wide-eyed? We barely slept.”

He grinned. “Guess it’s the company.”

“Humph.” But she knew what he meant. Happiness was its own kind of drug. She bent and picked up her panties and jeans.

“Here.” He held out her shirt. “Found this behind the couch.”

She snatched Frankie’s delicate tee from him.

“You’re blushing again,” he teased.

Her faced burned hotter. She’d surrendered herself to him, denied him nothing. He knew every vulnerable, secret place in her body and her heart. But what did it mean to him? If it meant less than lasting love, if he let her leave the ranch when it was all over, how would she go on?

He walked her down to the garage and pushed up the doors. “Clear skies. We’ll finish harvesting today.”

His hair was a tangle of blue-black waves. His eyes matched the morning sky. His sweatpants hung from narrow hips below a long waist. A tiny love bite marked his chest. Her heart shattered.
I love you.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Just happy.”

“Me, too.” He jerked his head at the house. “Better get up there before Miss Bea finds you missing.”

Until Zack’s murder was solved and Bobby’s explained, they were treating Miss Bea as suspect number one. Seth was sure. Kirby thought so, too. The knife
had
come from Miss Bea’s kitchen.

If only she could look around the west wing with an escort. Behind one of those doors lurked the truth. She felt it in her bones.

Kirby fast-walked up the gravel drive, feeling Seth’s eyes on her—its own small pleasure—slipped into the silent house and past Sarah Slade, who, mercifully, still slept.

She made it to Frankie’s bedroom door without being spotted or, at least, without being called out.

Her cell phone vibrated. Scott. He’d called a dozen times, left a dozen messages, texted, tweeted, tweaked her conscience.

She pressed the phone to her ear.
Keep it bright.
“Hi!”

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for the last three nights. I was about to send out an APB.”

A nudge of her hip, and Frankie’s door swung open. Funny. She remembered shutting it tight. “I’ve been turning my phone off before dinner.”

“Where have you been?”

“Out.” A lie was a lie if you intended it that way. She was lying.

“When are you coming home? You’ve been there a week. Your life, your job—hell, your house is here in Tulsa. This is where you belong.”

She was no closer to finding Charleen, and then there was Zack’s murder…and Tulsa was a million miles from Seth. She’d rather tear off her arm than leave him.

“Kirby?”

Tomorrow is not here, Kirby-nee. Just today.

She wouldn’t think about Seth. Not now. “I’ll be back soon.”

“When’s soon? You’re scheduled out on patrol this Wednesday.”

“I’ll be there.”
Or not.

She kicked off her ballet flats and wandered into the bedroom.

“Holy shit!” The phone slipped from her hand, and her world narrowed to a single kitchen knife sunk to the hilt in Frankie’s mattress.

She jumped when Scott’s voice barked at her. “Kirby? What is it? Are you okay?”

She scooped up the phone. “Someone stabbed the bed with a knife.”

“He could still be in the room.”

Scott was right. She slammed her back against the wall. “Identify yourself.”

No one did.

Her hand groped for the underwear drawer and her Glock. A soft pile of silk tumbled through her fingers. But no Glock.

“Talk to me, Kirby. What’s happening?”

Her mind raced. “My gun. It’s gone.”

There was a long pause then the hollering started. “What the hell is going on down there?”

He’d be down in two moos of a steer if he knew. “Nothing…much. Frankie is sort of a wild child. I, uh, told you that. She got into it with some people here.”

“So they threaten
you
with a knife and steal your gun?”

“We’re sharing a room.” She checked the closet.
Shit.
The bag with her service revolver and badge were missing, too. The ground under her feet seemed to fall away.

“I’m coming down there.”

“No!” She pictured Scott confronting a smug Miss Bea and shocked Mr. Shaw. Then there was Seth.
Yikes.
“The room is clear. I checked.” She had to get into the west wing and find her gun.

“Come on. He could be hiding anywhere in the house.”

Not he.
She.
It had to be Brittany or Miss Bea. No one else had access.

Brittany. She was a mess of girl, isolated, lonely, confused. Laboring for the she-hawk and waiting for Seth to rescue her. Kirby eyed the knife. It could be Brittany, and if it was, Kirby could subdue her.

But it probably wasn’t. Because whoever killed Zack had done this. It was the same MO. And why would Brittany kill Zack? Seth and Frankie both thought Miss Bea was after Shaw Valley Ranch, and maybe she was. Maybe she had Charleen tied up. Maybe she was trying to paint Frankie as a crazy killer. What else made sense?

She imagined Scott and the local police showing up and discovering she’d lost her badge and weapon. She felt humiliated just thinking about it. “I just need another day or so.”

“For what? To get yourself killed?”

“No. Frankie needs me.” She eyed the knife. “I really need to secure my weapon.”

“What the fuck! You know who took it?”

“I’m pretty sure. Look, I’ll be careful. I’m a trained officer. I can take care of myself in tough situations.”

“In tough situations, as you call them, trained officers have backup.”

“I have backup, sort of.” She swallowed hard. “The ranch manager is ex-military.”

“Really? How long has he been out?”

“Eight, nine years, I think.”

Scott’s voice softened. “You mean the world to me, Kirby. If anything happened to you…I couldn’t live with myself. Not so soon after, well, you know.”

She couldn’t bear to listen. “Scott, we’ll talk when I get back. Honest. But right now—”

“Fine. But don’t go off the grid again. I’m warning you. I’ll be down there fast as a black-and-white with sirens blaring can go. You got it?”

“Got it.” She tipped her head forward and tried to rub the tension out of her neck.

Gooong, gooong.
It was the doorbell, clamoring up and down hallways and past thick doors and—no doubt—waking up all the sleeping denizens of the house, animal, vegetable, or human.
Gooong, gooong. Gooong, gooong.

Riding on the last wave of tolling bell, Sarah Slade screamed, “She’s here, she’s here.”

“I’ve got to go, Scott.”

“What the hell is happening now?”

“Someone’s at the door. ’Bye.”

Miss Bea beat Kirby to the stairs. Beady eyes pinned her in place. “I’ll get it, Miss Frances. Go back to bed.” She paused and sneered. “Or whatever you were up to last night.”

Kirby’s breath caught. The she-hawk knew. She
knew.
Knew Frankie’s room was empty last night. Probably knew “Frankie” had slept in the coach house. Probably knew about the gun.

Miss Bea hurried down the stairs, pulled back the bolt, and Officer Jones shoved into the house. Officer Swope was on his heels.

Swope lifted a pair of handcuffs. “Beatrice Vine, you are under arrest for the murder of Zachary Jonas Robbins.”

Miss Bea gasped. “This is preposterous. I would never—”

He turned her around and grabbed a bony wrist. “Easy does it, Miss Vine.” With two hard clicks, Swope cuffed her. “You can tell us your story when we get to the station.”

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Shaw’s thin, old-man voice rattled through the cavernous mansion. “Uncuff Bea this instant.” He limped downstairs. In his pale cotton pajamas, he appeared small and defenseless.

Jones tipped his hat. “Morning, sir. Sorry to barge in like this, but Beatrice Vine is under arrest for suspicion of murder. Her fingerprints were all over the knife that killed Zack Robbins.”

“Ridiculous.” He grasped Miss Bea’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”

Her little eyes were round with fear. “I don’t know why this is happening.”

Enough of Miss Bea’s innocent pleas. Seth was right. All the evidence said guilty.

“You stabbed my mattress with a kitchen knife last night.” Kirby’s voice echoed in the stairwell like the final judgment. “Your reading glasses were found next to Bobby’s body, and your gun was found on the ridge after Mr. Maguire and I were shot at. And what about Charleen? She’s been missing for over two weeks.”

Miss Bea’s gaze swung up to Kirby. “Why are you doing this to me? Stop! Please!” She sank to the floor. Her head hung in defeat.

Mr. Shaw patted her head. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“It’s not. It will never end,” she sobbed.

Gently, Mr. Shaw pulled Miss Bea to her feet. “Come on, now. Gather yourself.”

Miss Bea sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry. You’ve been falsely accused, and I am going upstairs to call my attorney. Then I’m going to come down to the station and bail you out.”

“Bail hasn’t been set, Mr. Shaw,” Swope said. “That’s up to the judge.”

Swope towered over the frail old man, but it didn’t stop Mr. Shaw from sticking his face into Swope’s. “When I get down to that station,
sir
, you will have bail set. Do I make myself clear?”

Swope backed up, but Shaw stayed right on him.

“And take those goddamn cuffs off her.”

Swope’s eyes slid past Mr. Shaw to Jones, who shrugged. “Go ahead. She can’t get far if she runs.”

Mr. Shaw’s expression turned dark. “She’s not going anywhere except a quick trip to the station and right back home again.”

“Don’t be too sure about that, Mr. Shaw.” But Swope unlocked the handcuffs before escorting Miss Bea out.

Jones tipped his Stetson as he left. “Sorry to disturb y’all.”

Lights flashing, the cruiser pulled away, carrying the soon-to-be notorious Miss Bea to jail.

Shaw’s eyes met Kirby’s. Their pale blue color reminded her of icicles. “When I return from El Royo and settle Bea, we need to talk. You’ve put Susannah at risk again after I asked you to have a care.”

His unshakable faith in Miss Bea’s innocence stunned her. “Nothing else makes sense, Cousin Eenie. You must see that.”

He climbed the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing, shaking his head. He wore disappointment like a second skin.

Just before he disappeared into his wing, he turned to her. His eyes had softened a little, more ice than icicles. “A reckoning is coming, Frances. Be vigilant.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Seth was stacking crates of the puniest, wormiest apricots in the state of Texas when Kirby walked into the barn. A tissue-thin pink shirt hugged her soft breasts, and those damn jeans…well, all they did was remind him of luscious hips and a perfectly curved bottom.

She’d become a thirst he couldn’t quench, and right then, he could sure go for a long, cool drink.

Her brows were puckered, and she was chewing on a thumbnail.

He winked at her. “You look like a woman with a problem.”

“They arrested Miss Bea.”

“They what?”

“Jones and Swope came and arrested her for Zack’s murder. Her fingerprints were on the knife.”

“Hot damn. It’s about time they caught up with her.”

“You’re sure it’s her?”

“It had to be. No one else had opportunity or motive.” He winked at her. “I’d hand over a week’s pay to know how she got Zack stripped down to his birthday suit.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Zack had a drinking problem. Maybe the stripping and the murder aren’t related.”

“He did like his drink. And he wouldn’t be the first cowpoke to rip off his clothes after a few too many.” His gaze flicked over Kirby. Her hair gleamed like satin. The fresh scent of female skin drifted past his nose. “Too bad you gals aren’t prone to exhibitionism.”

She didn’t smile.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I don’t know exactly. I mean, it
had
to be Miss Bea.”

“If there were fingerprints on the knife, the cops have her dead to rights.”

He’d never noticed it before, but the corner of her eyebrow lifted when she was puzzling out a problem.
The hell with Miss Bea.
“Why don’t you let Ed and Derek worry about Miss Bea.” He pulled her against him.

“This is serious, Seth.” But her arms slid around his waist. “Someone attacked Frankie’s bed with a knife last night and stole my Glock.”

An unexpected sense of alarm gripped his chest. “Jesus, Kirby.”

“I’m fine, but it had to be Miss Bea or Brittany. Who else had access? Brittany seems incapable, and Mr. Shaw is convinced Miss Bea’s innocent, and, well, I don’t know, the way she reacted when they arrested her…shocked and confused. Innocent.”

“Did you expect her to act guilty?”

Outside, the empty, sunbaked yard rippled with heat. In the barn’s cool shadows, they were alone. Manny would be at the orchard. Brittany in the house.

“Seth?”

“Hmm?” He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sweet girl in his arms.

“I do have a few questions I hope you can answer.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Nothing too personal.”

“Seriously.”

His eyes sprang open, but he didn’t let her go. “A few means two.”

“Not including follow-up questions.”

“That right? And what do I get for being a cooperative witness?” He let his fingers slide down her spine and over the curve of her waist.

Her breath quickened; her lips nibbled the base of his neck. “What are you doing?”

“You still owe me a quickie.”

“I do?” Her voice softened, grew throaty.

“From the parking lot the other night. When you were attempting to hide certain facts.”

“I was a bad girl, wasn’t I?”

His penis shot to the upright position. “Come here.” He pulled her into a stall and unzipped her pants.

For a moment her eyes widened.
Here?
But she let him push her jeans and panties down to her ankles.

He dropped to his knees and pressed his face into her thighs, letting his hands roam over her bottom and between her legs. He buried two fingers inside her, where the slickness and building heat waited for him. His tongue flicked out and teased her.

Her hands cupped his head and pulled him to his feet. “No. My turn.” She kicked away her jeans and knelt in front of him. “Undo your pants.”

He did, pushing them down to his knees. She captured his penis in her silky hands. His loins tightened. “Kirby. Baby. You don’t—”

“Hush, now.” She lowered her head. Her hair brushed his hips, releasing a soft fragrance that made him dizzy. Her wet mouth slid over him. Her tongue played with his shaft.

He leaned against the wall, shut his eyes. She was loving him. Kirby. His lady cop, his lover. Desire for her hardened, clutching his stomach, tightening his muscles, softening his heart. Her dark head moved against his thighs, driving a fierce possessiveness into him. His. She was his for as long as he wanted.

He pulled her away, sank to his knees, tangled his hands in her hair. “Straddle me, baby.”

She settled her bottom on his thighs. “Like this?”

“Like this.” He gripped her waist and lifted her up.

Her fingers found his erection, guided it into her. Her mouth found his ear. “Ready for your quickie, cowboy?”

Then she pushed down, burying him. A hunger rose up in him, wilder and more urgent than any he’d ever known. He bucked up his hips, wanting to touch deep inside her where no one had ever gone—would ever go. Her breasts brushed against his chest, yielding to his body. Her breath blew hot against his jaw, gasp after gasp. She pulsed around him, fingers tearing at his shirt buttons, nails digging into his chest, knees hugging his waist, body soaking up his desire like a hungry child. He let go, spiraling into her warmth and softness.

“Baby.” He kissed her. “You’re amazing.”

Her dark lashes fluttered against golden cheekbones and opened. Her eyes shimmered.
I love you.

Not yet. Not now. It was too much, too soon. He wasn’t ready. He checked his watch. “What about those questions.”

A flash of uncertainty crossed her face, the love light dimmed. She jumped away from him, and retrieved her clothes.

“Mr. Maguire? Where are you?” Brittany called to him from the barnyard.

Kirby dug her panties out of the straw. “Can you hold her off?”

“Sure.” He hitched up his jeans, grateful for the diversion and ashamed at the same time.

“Wait.” Kirby snatched some straw from his hair and examined him. “Okay. But button your shirt. She’ll think you’re boinking the horses in here.”

He tried to grin, but he just didn’t feel like laughing.

Brittany was a dark blot against the sunlight. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Minding my own business.”

“Thought I heard someone.”

Irritation chafed him. He arched his back, releasing some of his tension. “What are you doing out here?”

She batted her eyes. “Thought you’d want to know. Miss Bea got hauled off to jail. She killed the guy in the bunkhouse.”

“You don’t say.”

“And Mr. Shaw said to tell you to bring the car around in exactly one hour. He’s going to get Miss Bea.”

He glanced at his watch. “Tell Shaw I’ll pick him up in front.”

“Okay.” She didn’t move. “There’s no one around. I mean, if you wanted to talk or anything.”

Behind him, straw rustled. “I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Her eyelids fluttered again. “Later.”

He returned to the stall.

Kirby was slipping into her shoes. “What did Brittany want?”

“Got to take Shaw into town to see Miss Bea.”

She grimaced. “You think they’ll let her out?”

“It’s probably just a visit. Why?”

She looked away. “Nothing.”

His gaze fell on her mouth, still swollen from lovemaking. Her hair was knotted where he’d fisted it. His throat closed with an unfamiliar emotion. “What about those questions you had? I need to get back to work.”

“Right. Do you know who Susannah is?”

“The name’s not familiar. Why?”

“Mr. Shaw mentioned her. He said I—uh, Frankie—was putting Susannah at risk.”

“Sounds like Shaw’s opening up to you.”

“We’ve had a few talks. He reminds me of Grandy a little. There’s a spiritual quality about him.”

“Unlike me.” Why was he acting like a jealous asshole?

“They’re older. They’ve figured out what they want from life.” She smoothed back her hair. “So. You don’t know who Susannah is?”

“Don’t think I’ve heard that name. Could be one of his animal friends.”

“Maybe. He met her when he was out in L.A. Something happened to her. She might have overdosed or something. But why bring up Susannah and not Sarah Slade or Old Tom?”

“Don’t know.”

“Let’s assume Susannah is a person, and let’s assume she matters to Mr. Shaw. How could Frankie put her at risk?”

He eyed the sagging rafters in the barn. “Could be financial.”

“Why’s that?”

“Frankie throws money around like it’s lettuce. She had a fancy decorator do her room, and her clothes”—he nodded at Kirby’s silk shirt—“she isn’t shopping at Walmart with the rest of us. Don’t even know where you’d buy a getup like that around here. Last year she bought the Mercedes.”

“What are you saying?”

“Charleen had to borrow Shaw’s Escalade to go into town or do some shopping in Austin. Frankie got a car. An expensive one. Maybe she had something on Shaw.”

Her jaw dropped. “That’s ridiculous. Frankie wouldn’t hurt Mr. Shaw.”

As far as he could see, Kirby had a huge blind spot, and its name was Frankie. He glanced at his watch. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” Her eyes glittered with hurt. She swung away.

He couldn’t bear to leave her like this. “Kirby. Wait.” He grabbed her arm.

“Let me go.”

“No. Listen. You…you’re special. To me.”

“Thanks.” The word sounded like an accusation. She tried to pull away.

He had to make her understand without fencing himself in. “I know I don’t deserve it, but you have to give me some time. This is all new.”

“This?”

“Us. Remember what you said about your soul mate being your best friend? That’s what you are to me.”

She studied his face for a moment. “I guess you were right about virgins. We do want more than a good time.”

He swooped down and brushed her lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m sorry about anything. Because I’m not.” She was the most amazing woman he’d ever met.

Hermit or not, Shaw still wielded authority in El Royo.

Fifteen minutes after Seth dropped him at the station, he emerged with Miss Bea. Her skin was ashen, and her eyes were red. Her fingertips were black from the fingerprint ink.

Seth sprang from the car and helped her in. Normally she’d shake his hands off.
I can manage, Mr. Maguire.
But she didn’t seem to notice him.

In the car, Mr. Shaw murmured to her. Comforting words, optimistic words, bullshit words floated past Seth. “Everything is going to work out, Bea. They’re going to find the real killer soon. I have a feeling about this.”

She sniffed. “What if they don’t?” A tear seeped from her swollen eyes.

How gullible could Shaw be? What if he was the next one to get a knife in the back? Seth glanced in the rearview mirror and met Shaw’s eyes. Beams of emotion clashed like swords. Shaw’s jaw tightened.

So did Seth’s.
Damn fool.
He snapped his gaze back to the road. If Shaw wanted to stick his skinny old neck out, there wasn’t much Seth could do about it but say “I told you so” when Miss Bea got her hands on another kitchen knife.

“I’m pleased that you and Frances have finally buried your differences and become friends, Mr. Maguire.”

“I guess.” He rolled his shoulders.

“You’re a fortunate man. She’s a fine woman.”

“Eenie!” Miss Bea was appalled.

“Calm down. You might not have noticed, but Frances has turned a corner.”

Miss Bea folded her arms. “You’re hallucinating.”

Shaw leaned forward. The sharp scent of Bengay hit Seth’s nose. The old man spoke softly. “Frances told me about your sister.”

The saliva in Seth’s mouth curdled. Kirby, the girl he was hot for, the girl he thought he could trust, had blabbed to Shaw. Seth could just imagine their smug sympathy as Kirby recounted the Maguire parents’ ridiculous end and how frantic Seth had been when the state took Hannah away. They’d probably shaken their heads and called him pathetic for losing track of his sister. Of course, he was pathetic or he would never have trusted Kirby. But the rest? He’d kept it to himself because he didn’t want Shaw’s pity. Kirby
knew
that. She
knew
he’d turned himself inside out for her, and she’d bleated it to his damn boss anyway.

Was there an intelligent response to a sucker punch? “Yeah?” was all he could manage.

Shaw patted Seth’s shoulder. “She asked me to look around. I still have some connections in L.A.”

The old man leaned back, but the ghost of his touch lingered on Seth’s shoulder like a bruise. Because Kirby—the girl who was supposed to have his back—had turned him into one of Shaw’s ridiculous charities.

“What’s this about, Eenie?” Miss Bea’s voice quavered from the backseat.

Fuck!

Shaw leaned back. “Nothing for you to worry about, my dear. Mr. Maguire’s sister ran away a few years back.”

“Are you looking for her?”

“I’ve asked Mr. Cargill to do a legal search since he’s out in L.A.”

“It’s not necessary, Mr. Shaw.” He sounded ungrateful, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from seeping into his words.

Shaw leaned forward again. The minty scent of his ointment stuck in Seth’s throat. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Frances meant well.”

“And it can’t hurt to look, can it?” Miss Bea asked, sounding almost chipper. She was probably enjoying his humiliation.

Why argue? They wouldn’t find anything. Tracking down a girl who’d disappeared eight years ago would be like looking for a flea in a sandstorm. Good luck. As long as he didn’t have to hear about it. He’d already faced the disappointment of losing Hannah. Put it behind him. Kirby should have understood.

Trusting her had been a mistake.