2000 Kisses (14 page)

“Oh, Lord, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—well, that must feel terrible. There, at your waist. At your—”

His jaw locked. “I know exactly where the pain is,” TJ. said hoarsely. “If I were a questioning man, I might think you did that on purpose.”

“I
didn't.
Here, let me help.” In a flurry of movement she caught a napkin and pressed against the hot coffee. Then she gulped, realizing exactly how her hands were spread—and over what part of his body. “Oh, I didn't mean—” She swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

She could only stare, red-faced and mortified.

“I think I'll go change while I can still manage to walk,” he muttered.

Tess stared at the closed door to the bathroom. What was wrong with her? She'd seen handsome men before. Not a single one had left her so jittery.

Muttering, she turned and began stacking dirty dishes for Mae. In the process, she managed to spill half a cup of chili down her arm. Fuming, she looked for the paper towels and saw them on the edge of TJ.'s desk.

Beneath them the drawer was ajar. A glint caught Tess's eye.

By the time she realized what she was staring at, it was too late to look away.

Photographs.

Neat Polaroids in a stack, each one capturing the flat finality of death. This must have been the man at the bank, Tess thought. But he wouldn't be taking any more hostages. Not ever again.

Tess gripped the desk. Her heart hammered painfully as the water in the bathroom hissed on.

As a sheriff, T. J. McCall had to see such things often, and probably far worse. Tess had seen the expression in his eyes as he'd stood at the window. Now she knew what had put it there.

She closed the desk drawer and then wrapped the leftover food in plastic that Mae had left that afternoon.

Behind her the door creaked. “Nothing major seems to be damaged, I'm glad to say.”

Tess didn't turn. She was fighting to keep her emotions under control. At one glance, he would read her face, and she knew he wouldn't thank her for probing into his work or his personal response to it.

“Sun's almost down.” Wind rattled at the window. “It will be dark soon.”

Tess still didn't turn.

“Something's wrong.”

She shook her head mutely, bending down to stack the leftovers in the picnic basket that Mae had provided.

T.J. crossed behind her. In the silence, Tess could hear leaves shift against the windows like strange, dry whispers.

“You saw the pictures, didn't you?”

Tess swallowed. “I didn't mean to. They were in your desk, and the drawer was open.”

She drew a long breath. “How do you deal with things like that? How do you put the images out of your mind afterward?”

He was right behind her now, but made no move to touch her.

“We just do,” he said after a long time. “It gets easier.”

“I don't believe you.”

“You'd do better worrying about yourself.” Wind skittered up the street, tossing pebbles against the windows.

“Why? What do you mean?”

T.J.'s voice hardened. “I spoke to Andrew while I was out. He said that several people have been calling your office in Boston, trying to track you down.”

Tess tried to ignore a flutter in her stomach. “You mean clients?”

“Afraid not. They never leave their names or any return number.”

Tess felt fear sink in with sharp little claws. “You think it's them? Now that they've found out where I work, you think they'll be coming after me?”

“I think it's damned likely.”

Tess spun around. “If these people can find out where I work, they can also find out where I live.”

“It's likely.”

She locked her fingers tightly. “My building is filled with elderly people. Most of them live alone. They wouldn't be able to protect themselves if someone came looking for me.” Her breath caught at the awful image of sprawled bodies and fragile broken bones. “What if one of them were hurt because of me?”

“Now, hold on to your saddle. Your brother says
there have been no disturbances at your apartment so far.”

“So far?” Tess shook her head. “One of those nice old people could be shoved down the stairs or pushed under the elevator. Maybe worse,” she whispered.

“Stop looking for shadows,” T.J. said grimly. “Your brother has someone watching your apartment right now, ready to report anything unusual.”

Tess stared at him, desperate to believe he was telling the truth. “You think so?”

He drew a hard breath. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Mrs. Spinelli is eighty-two. She has a bad ankle.” Tess closed her eyes, trying to escape the terrible images. “Mr. McBride across the hall lives with two cats. He doesn't hear so well now. He probably wouldn't notice if someone crept up behind him and pulled him into the laundry room so he could—”

“Forget Mr. McBride and Mrs. Spinelli,” TJ. said harshly. “It's you they want, not your elderly neighbors.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

“Chances are, no one has tracked you here yet. If they do, only a jackass would go up against me. And that's what it will take,” McCall added grimly.

She let her hands fall, suddenly aware that he was mere inches from her, and of the faint hint of soap and sage that clung to his skin.

She cleared her throat as she looked across the street and saw at least five people staring avidly from the cafe. “I think we're making news.”

“Not surprised to hear it.” He made no move to step away.

Tess cleared her throat. “This might just be giving people the wrong impression.”

Twilight shadowed his hard face, making his expression impossible to read.

Before Tess could answer, she heard footsteps on the stairs outside. “Sheriff, that you?”

“Right here, Martinez.”

A tall man with ebony hair pushed open the door, wiping his face with a bandanna. “Sorry I'm late. A bunch of heifers got loose on the road over by Table Wash. I had to stay and help round them up.”

“No problem.” T.J. took a step away from Tess. “I finished the duty entries. If anyone calls about that hostage situation in Brinkley, put them through to me. No media contacts without my personal permission, is that understood?”

“Sure enough, Sheriff.”

Tess saw the man grinning at her.

“Tom Martinez,” he said, sticking out his hand.

“Tess O'Mara.”

“Ms. O'Mara is visiting for a few days,” T.J. explained. “She's doing research about the Southwest.”

“You don't say. About time someone came out here and got the facts straight. We're not all dust and cacti.” Martinez scratched his jaw. “Grady said to remind you to have a look at the old jail. Yesterday, those new hinges got stuck and some nervous tourist ended up locked inside all through lunch hour. The man swore he was going to sue when he got back to California.”

T.J, sighed. “I'd better check it out.” He looked outside as thunder rumbled in the distance. “We might have a blow tonight. Better check on that construction site behind the school. Sometimes the workers forget to put their equipment away. Wouldn't want everything to get washed away if there's a flood.”

“I'll take care of it, Sheriff.” The deputy's grin widened. “I guess you and Ms. O'Mara will be pretty busy tonight. Resting, that is.”

“Not the way you're thinking. Ms. O'Mara wants to ask me some questions about local law enforcement here in Arizona. It's for her—research.”

“Is that fact?” The tall deputy rocked back on his heels. “Sounds like a fascinating subject for a quiet night before the fire. Well, you two better git along before that storm breaks. Enjoy your research,” he added with a chuckle.

“I'm sure we will.” As T.J. held open the door, the wind spun, tossing twigs and fine gravel into the air.

Tess watched something trot past the next row of buildings. “Was that what I thought it was?”

“Probably,” T.J. said calmly.

“But that was—”

“A coyote,” T.J. finished as the creature ambled off into the shadows. “We get them every so often here in town.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Let's move. It's going to rain like hell before too long.” He set a brisk pace until they came to the old jail next to the courthouse. Through the windows Tess saw a single light burning from an old-fashioned dome fixture over the antique rolltop desk. While TJ. unlocked the door with a key on his ring, Tess looked in at the shadowed room. She had seen it that afternoon, full of sunlight and chattering people, but the mood was different at night. Now darkness filled the corners, heavy with history and something that might have been ghosts.

“Spooky, isn't it?” T.J. lit a small hurricane lamp on the old desk. “I've felt it ever since I was a boy staring
up at those old wanted posters on the wall. My greatgrandfather used to work here. He was a Texas Ranger before he wandered west. He shot a man down exactly where you're standing right now.”

Tess frowned. “You're just trying to scare me.”

“No, Ma'am. That's God's own truth. It was my great-grandfather's last gunfight. He took two bullets in the lungs and just managed to crawl to the doorway for help.” T.J.'s voice hardened. “They tell me he was a long time dying.”

Lightning forked through the sky overhead. The globe light flickered, then came back on.

“That's terrible,” Tess breathed.

“It happened often enough. Honest lawmen didn't usually last too long here in the Arizona Territory.”

Tess shivered, moving away from the shadows. “What's wrong with the jail door?”

“It's one of these new hinges, I think. This whole frame is so old there's no way to repair it without a lot of restoration money, which we don't have.” TJ. opened the door and examined it carefully. “Grady is fanatic about keeping things historically accurate, so he's built a new hinge from scratch. Unfortunately, there aren't many descriptions to work from.”

Another bolt of lightning streaked through the sky. The dome light flickered and didn't come back on, and the old jail took on an orange glow from the dim light of the hurricane lamp.

“Probably knocked out the fuses.” He cursed softly as the hinge grated to a halt. “It shouldn't be too hard to fix.” He dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flashlight.

Tess followed T.J. into the cell and bent closer. She
could see the hinge now, newly polished iron that stood out against the worn metal frame.

T.J. ran his fingers along the outside of the hinge. “The spring is loose. I can see it sticking out.” He pulled a Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and eased the blade along the metal fittings. “Here, hold the light.”

Tess bent sideways to make a better angle for the light, at the same time glancing uneasily into the deep shadows. There was something creepy about the place as thunder cracked menacingly in the distance.

“Are you about finished there?”

“Does the storm make you uncomfortable?” Thunder boomed overhead, rattling all the windows.

“Thunder doesn't frighten me.” But she inched closer to T.J.

“I'm glad to hear that, because the storm could go on for a while.” He worked the broken hinge carefully. “Grady must have put one of the prongs on upside down. All I have to do is—” His words were lost as lightning forked directly above them and struck something nearby. The force of the impact made Tess lurch and drop the flashlight.

In the wake of the bluish flare, she twisted sideways, searching for the fallen light. The front of her dress snagged the star on T.J.'s chest.

“Hold on,” he muttered. “You're caught against my shirt.”

“I know exactly where I'm caught,” Tess snapped. Her knee bumped his thigh and her stiletto heel rammed his ankle as she tried to pull free.

“Damn and blast.”

“It's not my fault. If you'd just stop dancing around—”

The weight of his body swung her sideways, sending
her onto one heel. Tess hit the adobe cell wall, wincing as her elbow struck the old cell door, and TJ.'s long, muscled body followed her down, captured by the star that held her dress.

Then the heavy metal door clanged shut behind them.

A
re you all right?”

TJ. pushed to one arm on the floor, his elbow jammed against her ribs.

“I've been better.” It took Tess a moment to catch her breath and squirm free. She peered through the near darkness. “Is this a bad dream or is that door really closed?”

“Nothing to worry about. Once I get this badge unhooked from your blasted dress, I'll take a look.”

TJ. took a sharp breath, then twisted to his elbow. As he worked his badge from side to side, struggling to free the soft fabric without ripping it, her perfume teased his senses.

Forget the damned perfume
, he thought in disgust. “Can't you stop moving?” he growled.

“I'm not moving.
You're
the one bobbing up and down like a motorized duck. And for your information, that's my rib you're stabbing with your elbow.”

“It would help if I could find the flashlight. I can't see what I'm doing.” TJ. wedged two fingers under the front of her dress. In the process he found himself palming the curve of her breast.

Being cross-eyed with lust wasn't going to help him get the job done, T J. thought in disgust. But he couldn't
think about anything else when she squirmed beneath him, one leg caught between his thighs and her breast wedged against his open palm. At this rate, a.357 cartridge to the forehead would be a mercy killing.