Part 16 (1/2)

An hour later Cait was feeling fairly human again after a thirty-minute soak in the tub. She was even feeling marginally friendly toward her hiking boots. After the ground they'd covered the last couple days, a less-than-perfect fit would have had her feet in agony. But they'd been well broken in before this trip.

That didn't mean, however, that she wasn't looking forward to a break from them while she did some work in the lab tomorrow.

As she dressed, she put in a call to her a.s.sistant and got her voice mail. Grimacing, Cait pulled on a green tank and denim shorts. It didn't take much imagination to figure out where Kristy was. Or at least whom she was spending her time with.

Her cell rang almost the moment she set it down, and she picked it up again to look at the screen, expecting her a.s.sistant.

But recognizing the number that appeared there, Cait dropped the phone into her purse, unanswered. This would make the third time her mother had called back since their conversation last night. And she'd delete this message the same way she had the others, without listening to it.

Distractions were something she could ill-afford in the middle of a case. And Lydia Regatta redefined the term distracting .

She took her weapon from her holster and placed it in her purse. Not because she credited Sharper's warning of trouble at the tavern, but because Raiker drilled into each of his investigators the need to be armed at all times. It was easy to guess where his insistence came from. All of his employees had heard the story of his final case with the Bureau. After her boss had been caught by the serial child killer he'd been trailing, he'd been imprisoned and tortured for three days before finally freeing himself and killing the man. He bore the scars as a haunting reminder. He regularly insisted on a concealed permit for his operatives before he ever accepted a job from a law enforcement ent.i.ty.

Finally ready, she went to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. Then jumped back, startled. It was difficult to say who was more surprised-her or the man on the other side of it.

”Sharper. What are you doing here?”

He'd used the intervening time since they'd parted to shave and change clothes. He must have a never-ending supply of jeans and T-s.h.i.+rts, since she'd seen him in nothing else. Or maybe, she thought consideringly, he knew exactly how well they suited him.

”You're going to Ketchers tonight, right?” Without waiting for an invitation, he brushed by her to enter her motel room and immediately shrunk it with his presence. ”Thought we decided last night that you weren't going alone.”

It took a moment longer than it should have for her to recall the conversation he was referring to. Turning to watch his progression in the room, she let the door swing shut behind her. ”This isn't necessary.”

He raised a brow. ”Are we really going to have that argument again?” Digging into his jeans pocket, he withdrew a white wrapper. ”Figured you probably needed to change those Steri-Strips by now, too. Might as well do that first.”

Taking advantage of her momentary speechlessness, he ripped open the package and sat on the corner of the bed. ”C'mere.”

The sight of him on her bed scattered her thought processes even further. Given his mood when they'd parted after she'd fingerprinted him, there was a definite Alice-in-Wonderland feel to the entire scene. ”I'm perfectly capable . . .”

”Yeah, I know. You've got the whole Superwoman thing nailed, okay?” There was a glint in his eye that could have been amus.e.m.e.nt. Or she might be imagining it. There was something more than a little surreal about this. ”But the sooner we get it taken care of, the sooner we can get to the tavern. Believe me, the earlier we get there, the better.”

Her feet seemed to approach him of their own accord. ”It's not that I don't appreciate the thought,” she began. Then winced a little as he yanked the strips off her palm. He wasn't exactly angel-of-mercy material. It occurred to her that maybe he'd come to exact a bit of payback for taking his prints earlier.

”Looks like it's healing all right.” He rubbed his thumb over the wound.

Lowering her gaze, she inspected it critically. ”It'll be okay.” It hadn't slowed her down much, and she was doubly glad she'd resisted getting st.i.tches. She'd never been overly fond of needles, and doubted she could have gotten any better results if she'd allowed him to haul her into the clinic. Because it would have seemed churlish to pull her hand away at this point, she waited awkwardly for him to finish replacing the strips.

”You've got hidden talents,” she said lightly, inspecting his handiwork when he was done. ”Where'd you get your medical training?”

He smiled, slow and satisfied and devastating. ”Actually I got all my skills from playing doctor.”

Something in his expression had her heart stuttering. It ought to be a crime to give a man who looked like him the weapon of a smile that powerful. It was all the more effective for being so rare. She was certain it could shred hearts of unsuspecting females at ninety paces.

And right now she'd feel a lot safer if there were that much distance between them. If she weren't close enough to notice his eyes were alight with tiny golden lights that flickered like wicked flame.

If she weren't close enough to be tempted, just a bit, to pick up his unspoken invitation and be wicked with him.

She took a deep breath. And then another. Cait didn't make reckless decisions these days based on need and sheer self-indulgence. If there was one thing she'd learned over the years, it was that every act had consequences. Some had come at a price she was still paying, decades later.

”You wanna stay in tonight and play doctor, Slim?” Zach's eyes were intent. His voice raspy.

”No.” Her answer shouldn't be tinged with regret. But she was lucky to have forced it out at all. Her lungs felt like they were slowly strangling in her chest. ”Something tells me you already have a specialty in that area. But once I figured out what lousy taste I had in patients, you could say I gave up my practice.” She took a step away. The next step was easier.

His expression was arrested, and she knew immediately that she'd said too much. ”Uh . . . exactly how long has it been between 'patients'?”

She was immediately sorry she'd let that information escape. ”None of your d.a.m.n business, Sharper. Unless you're willing to answer the same question.”

”Two weeks.”

”Two . . .” her voice tapered off as his meaning became clear. ”Well, no surprise there.” For the first time she found herself wondering if his commitment to the sheriff's department was putting a crimp into his social life. ”After this case is over, you'll be able to get back to your normal . . . interests. Whatever they might be.” And whomever they might involve.

His gaze was sober. Searching. ”After this case is over, the only woman I'm interested in will be gone.”

It was surprisingly difficult to draw a deep breath. ”I'm not that interesting, Sharper. Unless you've got a thing for women with stratospheric IQs and abysmal taste in men.” It'd taken her a long time to recognize that she consistently chose males who didn't see her, only their own reflection in her. Once she'd figured that out, she'd started to regain a measure of her self-respect. And she'd kept it all these years by removing the revolving door to her bedroom.

But she'd be lying if she said that Zach Sharper didn't present the most temptation she'd faced in years.

He rose and approached her. Cupped her jaw in his hands and lowered his head to whisper against her lips, ”Turns out that's exactly what I'm interested in. And I'm not sure which of us should be more surprised.” His kiss then was hard and much too brief. And while she was still reeling from the effects, he pulled away and walked to the door.

”I'll drive.”

Ketchers was everything she'd been led to believe . . . and less. Cait looked around at the dim interior curiously as they stood in the doorway. A row of booths lined one wall, opposite the scarred bar. There were a couple dartboards hanging on the wall, and the area around them looked as though the partic.i.p.ants weren't too skilled at hitting the target. Two pool tables were jammed into another corner, and the center was filled with what looked like plywood-topped tables. The floor was concrete and the drinks were served in plastic cups.

Cait had the distinct impression that the owner purposely kept things low rent. Given the clientele, that was probably wise.

Zach's next words echoed her thoughts. ”Place has burned down three times in the last eight years.” With a hand in the small of her back, he nudged her farther into the interior. ”Every time Kenny Smalley rebuilds, he goes more and more no frills.”

”No frills is one thing,” she muttered, aware that all eyes in the place were on them. ”But isn't the exterior tin?”

”Aluminum. No insulation, either. Place is an igloo in the winter. Hey, Jodie.” He spoke to someone who'd hailed him from a nearby table of card players.

”Hey, Sharper, you want in this hand? I gotta take a leak.”

When Zach shook his head at the offer, she c.o.c.ked a brow. ”Go ahead. I won't tell the sheriff that the owner is running illegal gambling from his establishment. I'll even bring you a beer.”

”No reason to tell her.” He continued to propel her through the crowded floor. ”The guy offering me his chair is Gibbs, one of Andrews's finest.”

Cait turned to look over her shoulder. Tony Gibbs was tall and lanky, with close-cropped dark hair, a predominant nose, and large ears. He was leaned forward over the table, talking quickly to the other men playing cards. With a flash of intuition, she knew that she was the topic of conversation.

Thoughtfully, she continued to wend her way through the tables, ever aware of Zach right behind her. If the waitress at JD's could be believed, the deputy also had more to say about her and this case than was probably wise for someone in his position. She was more eager than ever to speak to the man, if only to see how well apprised he was about the details of the investigation. Stopping at an empty table, she looked at Sharper. ”This one okay?”

”First the drinks.” His hand exerted light pressure at the base of her spine. She could feel the heat emanating from his flesh through the thin fabric of her top. ”This place doesn't run to wait staff. If we want something, we have to get it at the bar.”

”I don't really need . . .”

He leaned closer, the low timbre of his voice rumbling in her ear. ”You're a stranger, and everyone in the place is wondering what the h.e.l.l you're doing here. A beer will help you fit in.”

Without argument, she continued moving forward and found a spot at the bar. He was right, of course. And she shouldn't have needed the reminder. It suited her to blame her unusual lapse in judgment on the excitement of the day. That was more comfortable than to think that his words to her in the motel room had rattled her too much to think clearly.

”What'll you have?” The bartender was the polar opposite of the man she'd encountered at JD's last night. His gleaming bald head was the color of toffee, and when he ducked down to speak to her, she could see a large winged dragon tattooed on his dome. His arms were bare, save for full sleeves of tattoos twining up them. His hands were as scarred as the heavily pocked tables and bar top. She recognized the prison tats on his knuckles. Wondered how long it'd been since he'd gotten out.