Too Sexy for his Stetson (13 page)

And here was her opening.
I think Skip Coogan not only framed my mother, I think he killed Marilyn Abbott.

“They missed watching an amazing girl turn into an equally amazing, strong woman.”

He caught her off guard on that one. She raised a brow in question.

“Yes, amazing.”

She stuffed another bite of food into her mouth.

“So, you survived. And graduated from high school? And put yourself through the police academy? How’d you manage all that?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.” An honest answer from a man who hadn’t uttered a single judgmental word.

“Why? I’m sure someone like Blade Beringer who grew up on the right side of respectability would be shocked at some of the things I did before I was old enough to know better.”

“Probably not.”

“I’m not perfect, Blade, but I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished on my own… as you must be of yourself and the things you’ve accomplished.”

Blade studied the toppings on his pizza. “You think I’m perfect? No one’s perfect, Brandy.” He looked up. “I may have had my mom around long enough to teach me the difference between right and wrong, but even so, I almost got sent up for grand larceny when I was a teenager.”

“You’re kidding.” She stared at him in disbelief.

“My mom was a kind–hearted angel. She deserved a lot better in life than she got.”

“She’s got a son she can be proud of.”

His fingers twitched before he raised the brew toward his mouth. “She died a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She inched her hand toward his, but thought better about touching him. “What about your dad?”

The expression on his face turned stone cold. Time stood still so long she thought he’d never answer.

“I don’t remember the man with whom I share DNA.”

She waited for him to elaborate.

He jerked his chair back and latched onto the Coors bottle. “Wasn’t there something about the John Doe case you wanted to discuss?”

“What about your dad, Blade? My dad died when I was a baby. I’d give anything to—”

“Was your old man a monster? Did he brainwash sixteen–year–old girls into willingly letting him—” He stood and turned away from her. “I’m the product of an angel and a demon.”

Oh my God, was he saying his father had raped his mother?

Still clutching the empty beer bottle, he trudged toward the sink and slammed it into the recycle bin. At that moment, Brandy realized she had no idea who the real Blade Beringer was.

Certainly not the man she’d stumbled upon at the cabin, the playful scoundrel with the sweet–as–honey, wicked–as–sin smile. Her FTO was an expert at smoke screening. The persona Lieutenant Beringer presented to the world was a far cry from the man inside, the man who was made of clashing genes.

Ironic, though, that he doubted himself. It was obvious to her that Lieutenant Beringer exuded integrity. He was one of the good guys no matter what side of the tracks his genes came from. She already knew that much about him.

“You are your own man, Blade, not the man who fathered you.” And because of the kind of man he was, he’d be fair when she presented him with the facts about Secada.

“My mom packed me up and escaped from the commune before I turned two. We were more or less on the run from… him… until I was seventeen.” Eyes filled with agony, Blade lowered his lids. When he opened them, he said, “Skip Coogan’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real father.” The agony turned to admiration.

So much for golden opportunities.
She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t tell him her theory about Skip.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

W
hat had he been thinking? Blade hadn’t intended to tell Brandy about the bastard who had fathered him, but words seemed to spill out of his mouth when he was around her. Every doubt Blade had about himself ate at his soul. He came from bad seed. A hollow feeling twisted in his chest. Would that side of his personality surface at some point?

You are your own man, Blade, not the man who fathered you.

The eyes staring into his were wide with compassion and devoid of contempt. Why’d Brandy have to be so easy to spill his guts to? And hell, the connection he felt with her was his cue to back off. Because wanting to get into her pants was one thing. Wanting to get into her heart was something else entirely. He could never, would never, give his heart to anyone.

Enough about impossibilities. Focus on what’s happening right here and now, Beringer
. So he pushed away the longing for tender emotions and forced himself to concentrate on something he could deal with. Something earthy. Raw, unemotional desire.

Unchecked need whittled at his control. They’d danced around unspoken desire long enough. “Just so you know, I’m not interested in long–term commitments. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.” Her eyes sparked with fire as she bit her lip. “In my book there’s no such thing as long–term commitment.”

And Jesus, Lieutenant Beringer was
not
supposed to be telling her that he was interested. He was supposed to be distancing himself from her on a personal level.

Unfortunately he was very interested in enjoying another hot kiss like last night’s. Who said sizzling interaction between two consenting adults had to fall into the relationship category? Maybe if they simply gave in and spent a night screwing each other’s brains out, they’d get the forbidden attraction out of their systems.

Okay, Beringer, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll give it a rest.

Instead, knowing how she might read his words, he forged ahead and said them anyway. If she misconstrued… let the good times roll. “So, maybe it’s time we got down to business.”

“What?” Her cheeks flushed.

“We should get down to business. Isn’t that why you came here?”

“You presumptuous bastard.”

Blade swore he saw flames shoot from her mouth and steam rise from her ears. Her cheeks glowed a hot–and–bothered shade of pink he was learning to enjoy.

“I was referring to the discussion you claimed you wanted to have,” he said. “Something regarding the guy who got killed in the rapids.”

****

Brandy tried to tamp down her temper.

She looked her FTO in the eye. The man was incorrigible. Why did she let him rile her?
And shit.
Had she just called her superior officer a “presumptuous bastard?”

For some tall, blond, and handsome reason, she’d almost forgotten why she’d tracked him down at his home after hours. How could she forget, when she was on the brink of finding concrete evidence that would prove Skip had lied under oath? She pulled out the plastic protected note from last night’s attacker and slid the bag across the table.

Blade picked it up, and she went on to present the facts from Joey Secada’s file. Just the facts, no editorializing.

“The floater’s real name is Joey Secada. He was a cop and had been employed in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, the past nine years. Before that, he was on the Milwaukee Police Force. And he happens to be the witness who swore in court that he was with Skip Coogan the night Marilyn Abbott was killed.”

Blade’s expression gave away nothing.

Brandy went on. “My lawyer leaned on Secada earlier this week because there was a discrepancy in his story. Then two days later, he turns up dead in Idaho.”

She wanted desperately to add the information about the phone call from Secada’s brother, but not until she could prove it was legit and not until she knew Blade wouldn’t leak the information to Coogan.

She waited for his comment.

Blade’s attention stayed glued on the note. His jaw tightened as he read aloud, “Give it up, Wilcox, or you’re going to end up dead.”

Graveyard silence fell between them as her FTO mulled over the implication. With shaky, shallow breaths, she waited for him to say something. Anything. Gone were the steamy innuendos. The heat–o–meter totally bottomed out.

When he looked up, the creases furrowing his brow indicated, yes, he knew exactly what she was driving at, that she thought Skip Coogan was a murderer. Maybe he’d known her implication all along and hadn’t let on, smokescreen expert that he was. But he wasn’t hiding his feelings now. His hard expression said he didn’t like her implication one bit.

Staring daggers through her, he rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek, as though searching for words. He finally came up with, “That doesn’t prove Skip was involved with the murder. According to everything I’ve read about the case, he had no motive. He wouldn’t have killed her. He was in love with the Abbott woman. That couldn’t have sat well with your mom.”

“His gun was the murder weapon.”

“Your mother had access to her husband’s gun.”

“Everyone who worked in the Milwaukee Police Department had potential access to that gun.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “And you don’t find it extremely coincidental that Secada was found dead mere miles from Skip Coogan’s current residence two days after my lawyer questioned him about the Abbott murder case?”

Blade’s voice took on a new edge. “Coogan and Secada were friends. He could have come here for a vacation.” He fisted the table. “You claim your mother was convicted on circumstantial evidence, and now you’re trying to damn Skip Coogan on coincidence.”

Brandy shoved away from the table and unsuccessfully tried to slow her pounding pulse and check her anger. “The least you can do before you close your eyes and bury your head in the sand is wait for the medical examiner’s report.”

“Same goes for you. And I know how to do my job, Deputy.” He punctuated the statement with another rap on the table.

“So do I.” Mimicking his action, she smacked the table so hard her elbow tingled.

Rambo sat up and flattened his ears, then let loose with a whining sound. He crept toward Blade, nuzzling his head against his pants leg.

“It’s okay, boy…” Blade huffed out a breath and patted the dog’s head. “It’s okay. Just blowing off a little steam, that’s all.”

He glanced at Brandy and heaved a sigh.

Silent moments ticked by.

He hunched his shoulders. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be an asshole. Sometimes it just comes natural.”

He totally threw her off guard with the apology.

“Sometimes,” he added, “I’ve got a short fuse.”

And then, cripes, he came up with a variation on the sweet–as–honey smile.

Oh no you don’t, Beringer.
Damn, how could the man shift gears at the drop of a Stetson? “At least when you’re being an asshole, I know where I stand.” She grabbed the note and stomped toward door.

“Brandy?”

Already outside on the deck, she stopped and asked herself what she was doing. She paused long enough to call over her shoulder but couldn’t think of anything to say.

A second later, she startled when Blade’s hand clamped her upper arm. Even in cowboy boots, he moved as quietly as a mountain lion.

“Brandy.” His voice took on a softness she found more frustrating than his angry edge. “Someone threatened you. It could have been the Neo Nazis or it could have been any number of characters you’ve run into since you joined the Department. The Sheriff’s not going to take that note lightly. Neither should you. Watch your back, okay?”

“I always do.” She faced him and forced a small smile. “Especially when there are murderers on the prowl.”

Before he could respond, she raced to her truck.

In the dark, grinding gears as she drove down the long drive, she kicked herself. That certainly hadn’t gone the way she’d intended. Unless, of course, she’d set out to alienate her superior officer with smart–mouth remarks that bordered on insubordination.

If she knew what was good for her career, she sure as hell had better start practicing her “yes–sirs” and minding her Ps and Qs. Meanwhile, she would assemble enough evidence to prove Coogan wasn’t the man Blade thought he was.

****

The eastern sun hung over Thunder Mountain, promising the Little Chute Valley another blistering day. From his office window, Blade soaked in the landscape and dwelled on last night’s confrontation with Brandy. He concluded that, yes indeed, he’d done a damn good impersonation of an asshole.

What was he going to do about it?

Brandy had raised enough questions about Coogan to tie Blade’s insides into knots. He’d get to the bottom of her accusations. Anyway you sliced it, there was a murderer running loose. Maybe he could clear both Amanda Wilcox’s and Skip Coogan’s names if he dug deep enough. Meanwhile, he had other problems to address.

He focused a pair of high–powered Nikon binoculars and viewed a spot high in the Coeur d’Alene forest, which could be the epicenter of Reverend McKee’s underground operation.

You are your own man, Blade, not the man who fathered you.
Brandy’s words echoed in his head, a foreign thought… but somehow it made him feel better about himself.

A knock on the office door interrupted his moment of reverie. He lowered the binoculars and angled his head. Brandy stood framed in his doorway. He was surprised when she waved a small white flag made from a napkin glued to a pencil. For a second, he wondered if most of what he thought he knew about women was wrong or had somehow gotten lost in the translation when it came to Brandy Wilcox. He’d certainly expected a cooler approach this morning.

Juggling two coffee mugs along with the flag, she entered and set the peace offering on his desk. “L.C.S.M. Good for what ails you.”

With no mention of last night’s altercation, she slid into the chair opposite his desk, business as usual.

He lifted a mental brow, because God only knew there was nothing
usual
about anything that transpired between the two of them.

“Thanks.” He took the coffee and handed her a computer printout. “Forensic report comparing the note from your apartment with the one tacked to our front door yesterday and the original that was left in your duffle bag. They were all written by the same person.”

“Is there any way we can connect them to Reverend McKee?”