WANTED (8 page)

Chapter Eight

Lyla was past having second thoughts about this so-called marriage, and those doubts got even worse when she stepped from the bathroom and spotted Wyatt. Before she’d left him to take a shower, he’d warned her that he wasn’t going anywhere, that they’d be sharing his bedroom until the danger was over.

Well, he was true to his word.

He was on his bed, lying sideways. Still dressed.

For the most part anyway.

He’d taken off his holster and put it on the nightstand, but he’d unbuttoned his shirt while he talked on the phone. Something he’d been doing almost nonstop since they’d arrived at the ranch. He was obviously getting updates on the investigation, but those calls had done something else. They had prevented him from having more than a brief conversation with his family.

And with her.

However, he had taken the time to relay to her what Declan had said. That Wyatt should put her in his bed and keep her there.

Lyla hoped that wasn’t a suggestion for them to have sex.

But then she rethought that.

Seeing Wyatt’s bare chest and handsome face was enough to spur her imagination in a really bad direction. He was certainly an eyeful. The stuff of fantasies and dreams, with that toned body. Not muscles from gym equipment, either. That was a cowboy’s body.

If this marriage had been real, they’d be on a honeymoon, and she’d be on that bed with him. Her body went all soft and warm, clearly trying to push her to do just that.

She pushed back.

Consummating this marriage would be a disaster. Yes, it would no doubt be good.

No doubt.

But Wyatt and she had enough complications in their relationship without adding that. Besides, the attraction was probably one-sided on her part. Yes, she’d seen some heat in his eyes when he’d looked at her, but she figured a man like Wyatt looked at every woman that way.

He finished his call and sat up, his gaze zooming right in on her. First her face. Then, the bulky T-shirt she was using for a gown.

His T-shirt.

When she’d first put it on, she felt as if it swallowed her, but now she felt as if it skimmed way too much of her body.

Wyatt continued that sliding glance from the shirt to her bare feet and legs. “Tomorrow, I’ll have someone pick up your things from your house.”

She nodded and wished that she had a chastity belt for someone to retrieve. Or body armor. But even that might not be enough to stave off this heat.

Darn hormones.

He got up from the bed as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Easy and slow. The movement caused his shirt to shift, and she got an even better look at his chest. Like his face, it was a winner. Toned and tanned and sprinkled with dark coils of chest hair. Until that moment she hadn’t realized just how attractive that sort of thing was.

Of course, maybe it wasn’t, on any other man.

Her body seemed fixed on this one.

“Nerves?” he asked.

And it took her a moment to realize she was nibbling on her bottom lip along with staring at his chest.

She nodded. “Sharing a bed isn’t a good idea.”

He lifted his shoulder, shifting the shirt again. Mercy. He had a great stomach, too, but then what had she expected? The man probably didn’t have a flaw.

Well, not a physical one anyway.

But he had come up with a plan that basically sucked. Even he would probably agree with that right now. Because despite that calm exterior, he had to be thinking of the logistics of close quarters with a woman who was clearly attracted to him but wanted no part of him.

Yes, this would be an interesting night.

“I agree,” he said. “Sharing a bed probably isn’t wise.” His voice, like his motions, was slow and easy. But maybe that was her imagination. Everything about him suddenly seemed way too interesting.

Wyatt tipped his head to the floor on the other side of the bed. Lyla had to step around to see the pillow and covers he’d put there.

So, no bed sharing.

That was good, even though her own body seemed to have a different notion about that, too.

“Any updates on the bombing?” she asked. Best to get her mind on something other than Wyatt, and it wasn’t as if they had nothing to discuss.

“All of this is just preliminary, but it appears the device had been set outside the building on an exterior wall just below Stella’s room. It was on a timer so it could have been put there hours earlier. Or days.”

Lyla tried not to groan. “Are there security cameras?”

Wyatt shook his head. “No guard, either. The building was locked, though.”

Of course, that hadn’t stopped the bomber. “What about the evidence? Any idea yet how much was lost?”

His mouth tightened, and she knew the answer before he even said it. “The CSIs got out with the photos they’d taken, but pretty much everything else is gone. The building collapsed shortly after the fire department arrived.”

Mercy. That meant the explosive device had been extremely powerful, and she shuddered to think how close they’d come to dying.

“Yeah,” Wyatt said. He went closer, touched her arm with just his fingertips and rubbed gently. “But Declan thinks the bomber was the one who phoned in the threat.”

So, he’d wanted them to get out. But why?

“More questions, few answers,” he said when she made a sound of frustration. “I’m getting a little tired of that, too.”

He drew back his hand from her arm, and Lyla hated that she was disappointed. Touching, even as a comforting gesture, was a big no-no with this sexual energy sizzling through the room.

“What about our situation?” Lyla asked. She saw the flicker of heat go through his eyes and realized she should clarify. “The possible charges for obstruction of justice?”

“Oh. That.” Another shrug. “As long as we appear to have a marriage, there isn’t much the governor can do. There’s no physical evidence to link me to information I found out about you. There are no records of the donor embryo or the theft at the fertility clinic storage.”

“You destroyed it?” she asked.

“No. But someone else did.”

Lyla pulled in a hard breath. What the heck was going on?

Wyatt made a sound, as if agreeing with her reaction, and he checked the time. “I need to grab a shower. The door’s locked, and the security system’s on.” He pointed to the windows of the second-floor room. “Even the windows are wired for security, and if someone manages to get close enough to break the glass, the alarm will sound.”

Good. Even though Lyla hated that these precautions had to be taken.

“When I’m in the shower, I want to leave the bathroom door open,” Wyatt added. “Just in case.”

Just in case there was an attack.

He didn’t wait for her to agree, probably because he knew she had no choice, and he gave her arm another of those fingertip brushes before he headed into the bathroom.

And yes, the door stayed open.

Lyla made sure her attention was anywhere but on Wyatt undressing, but her imagination was too good tonight, and she saw him anyway. Not just the undressing. But as Wyatt stepped into the shower and let the steamy, hot water slide over his body.

Get a grip.

Her heart was racing. Her breath thin. All normal reactions if this were a real honeymoon night.

She snatched up her phone to get her mind on something else. No messages, but there were plenty of emails. Work was stacking up, but she’d already called the captain at San Antonio P.D. and explained why she couldn’t come into the lab. Of course, he’d already heard about the attacks.

Had no doubt heard about the governor’s concerns, too.

So, no one was pushing her to return to work, but soon a decision would have to be made. Either her cases would have to be reassigned or she would be replaced.

That felt like a fist around her heart.

She’d been a crime scene analyst since graduating from college seven years ago. She loved what she did, helping to solve cases that would clear the innocent and help convict the guilty.

But all of that could be taken from her.

She heard Wyatt turn off the shower and purposely kept her back turned, though she could hear him dressing. Except, he didn’t really dress, Lyla soon learned when he stepped back into the room. No shirt, bare feet and he had on a pair of gray boxers that dipped precariously low on his waist.

Her mouth went dry.

Which was good, since she couldn’t blurt out something stupid about his making a top-notch underwear model. Except somehow, wearing just the boxers, he still managed to look like a cowboy lawman.

Probably because of the scars.

She counted three. One on his upper right forearm. Another on the left side of his chest. And the other on his hip bone.

“Sorry, but I don’t own pj’s,” Wyatt said.

Lyla tore her gaze from him and focused on her phone, which in no way needed her attention. There was nothing new left to see there, but it beat gawking at Wyatt.

“Are the scars from gunshots?” she asked.

“Yeah. There’s another on the side of my head. Just a graze that my hair covers.”

Four wounds. Good grief. Stella had been right about the bullet-magnet label. She wondered if that was because he was truly unlucky or if he’d just stepped up to take more dangerous assignments than most. Considering the way he was protecting her, she figured it was the latter.

Wyatt did a phone check, too, but he’d no sooner glanced at the screen when it rang.

“Hell,” he grumbled. “Sheriff Zeke Mercer.”

One of their suspects, and considering it was past eleven in the evening, his call probably wouldn’t be good news.

“It’s late,” Wyatt snapped when he answered. Thankfully, he put it on speaker so she could hear what the man had to say.

“Yeah, but I figured you were up, being a newlywed and all.” His voice was like gravel, and he sounded riled to the core.

So, Zeke knew about the marriage, too. Probably the baby, as well. Which was a reminder of something else hanging over their heads. The lab test that Wyatt had ordered on the amniotic fluid. The test that would determine if she was truly carrying his child.

“Travis told you I got married?” Wyatt asked.

“Who else? That man’s got a ten-gallon mouth. Said he mentioned my name to you when you asked who’d blown Rocky Creek to smithereens.”

“Your name came up. So did your business partner, Greg Hester.”

Zeke stayed quiet a moment, as if surprised by that. “Because Travis is trying to cover his own hide, that’s why. But you and I both know I had no reason to want Jonah Webb dead.”

Lyla thought of the gunrunning deals that had gone on years ago. The ones Travis hinted that Zeke had orchestrated. But she doubted the retired sheriff would admit to a crime like that. Still, there might be some old records to link him, and she made a mental note to do some checking. Sometimes, evidence from gunrunning turned up in other cases, and maybe she could cross-reference that. Of course, that would first mean having access to the crime lab and files. Lyla wasn’t sure how much longer she’d have that.

“What about Greg?” Wyatt pressed. “Did he have a reason to kill Webb?”

“You’d have to ask him, wouldn’t you? But if I did the math right, Greg would have been just a teenager back then. Of course, that doesn’t rule him out. You and your foster brothers were teenagers, and you’re all suspects.”

Wyatt huffed. “Is there a purpose to this call? Because as you pointed out, I’m a newlywed with better things to do.” And he slid her a glance that caused her skin to flush.

“There’s a purpose. Travis’s hired gun, Nicky Garnett, was holed up in a dirtbag hotel over in San Antonio. I called the locals. Doing my civic duty. But they got there too late. Or else there’s some kind of leak that alerted him.”

Lyla knew of no such leak, but it was possible. Equally possible that Garnett had just gotten lucky and evaded the police.

“Next time I spot Nicky, I’ll be calling you,” Zeke said to Wyatt. “You got a hell of a big reason to bring him in, since he’s the one who took shots at you.”

“I’d appreciate any tip I can get.” But Wyatt didn’t look or sound very appreciative. It was clear he didn’t trust this retired lawman. And Lyla didn’t trust him, either. Still, if he could deliver Garnett to them, then the gunman could tell them who’d hired him to come after Wyatt and her.

“Be talking to you then,” Zeke added before he ended the call.

Wyatt stared at his phone for several seconds. “There’s only one of our main suspects who hasn’t contacted me personally,” he mumbled. And he made another call. “Declan,” he said a moment later. “I think it’s time we talk to Greg Hester. Can you set up something for first thing in the morning?”

Unlike the other call, this one wasn’t on speaker, but Wyatt rolled his eyes. “All right, but not too early, for appearance’s sake.”

Oh, because Wyatt and she were on their honeymoon and they needed to continue that facade until the culprit was caught.

Wyatt ended the call with his brother but kept hold of his phone and went across the room to the light switch. “Need anything before we pretend to get some sleep?”

Lyla couldn’t help it—she smiled. It was the second time Wyatt had managed to do that, and she realized it’d been a while since a man had brought a smile to her face. Of course, Wyatt seemed to have her number.

“You can turn off the lights,” she told him, and she climbed into the bed. Lyla pulled the covers up to her neck despite the fact the room wasn’t chilly. She needed all the protection she could get between her and Wyatt’s half-naked body.

He groaned when he got on the floor, and she nearly asked if it was hard. But best not to bring up that word, either. Still, it was difficult to avoid it when she heard him toss and turn, no doubt trying to get into a more comfortable position.

Lyla hoped she didn’t regret what she was about to offer.

“It’s a king-size bed,” she pointed out. “One of us could sleep on top of the covers.”

He didn’t wait even a second to debate that. Wyatt grabbed his pillow, put his phone on the nightstand by his holster, and he dropped down onto the mattress. There was at least three feet of space between them, but Lyla figured that was still much too close.