Against the Tide (11 page)

“You're wrong.” She tipped up her chin, feeling vulnerable as she huddled naked beneath the sheet. “You fucked me, and now we're done.”

One of his dark eyebrows went up. “You think talking tough is going to work? You want me to come over there and prove I'm right?” He took a step toward her and she shot backward in the bed, dragging the sheet along with her.

“Or would you rather get dressed,” he said mildly, “so we can go out and try to find the bastard who murdered Scott Ferris?”

Some of the tension left her body. He was letting her off the hook, putting things back on an even keel. Because both of them knew if he came over there and started kissing her, pressed her into the mattress beneath his big hard body, she would want him all over again.

“Okay. That . . . that sounds good.”

He opened the closet door and grabbed her robe, tossed it onto the bed.

“I'll be downstairs when you're ready to go. I've got one hell of an appetite this morning.” Rafe winked at her and then he was gone.

Liv just sat there. What in God's name had she done? But deep down that little demon inside was doing handstands. Rafe wanted more of her. And the simple truth was, Liv wanted a whole lot more of him.

Chapter Thirteen

Rafe sat in one of the blue vinyl booths in the café, sipping a cup of coffee and eating a plate of bacon and eggs. He glanced over at the woman working behind the breakfast counter. After leaving her apartment, he'd gone home, showered, and changed, left the Expedition in the garage, and driven his Ford F-150 back to the restaurant. Once the snow stopped falling, the pickup was great for hauling gear.

He watched Olivia working. She'd mellowed a little since he'd left her. Liv wanted to catch Scotty's killer or prove Chip Reed was guilty as much as Rafe did, though he had a suspicion her motives went deeper than just being Scott and Cassie's friend.

He wasn't the least surprised by her hostile greeting this morning. The woman had kept to herself since her arrival in Valdez. No one knew where she came from or anything about her. Nell had told him the story of her dead husband and her inheritance. He figured it might be true, might not. Until last night, he hadn't really cared. People had a right to their privacy—as long as it didn't pose a problem for him.

Last night had changed things. Every fantasy he'd ever had about Olivia turned out to be mild in comparison to the real thing. Sex with Liv was ten times better than any dream he'd ever had. A hundred times better.

They were good together in any number of ways and perfectly suited in bed. Liv liked a man who took control. Maybe because she was so in control of herself at all times. Maybe once in a while it felt good to give up the reins, let a man take charge.

Rafe enjoyed a woman who responded to that control but wasn't afraid to take the lead herself. He'd told Liv the truth. He'd never wanted a woman the way he wanted her, and he still did.

Whether she admitted it or not, Liv had surrendered to him last night, and that wasn't something a woman as strong as Olivia did lightly. She'd surrendered, and that made her his.

At least for as long as it lasted.

Thinking of her, Rafe picked up the last crisp piece of bacon on his plate and crunched it down, wiped his hands on a powder-blue napkin, and stretched his long legs out under the table.

Nell walked over to pick up his empty plate and refill his coffee cup. “Everything okay?” she asked, pouring the mug to the brim.

He didn't pretend not to understand. “It will be. Might take a little time for the lady to get used to the way things are now.”

Nell's hand went to her heart. “Oh, dear Lord, I don't like the sound of that. And to think I encouraged her. You listen to me, Rafe Brodie. You hurt her and you'll answer to me.”

He smiled. “She looks like a pretty tough lady. You don't think she can handle me?”

Nell eyed him sharply. “If anyone can, it's Liv. But tough? Liv's exactly the opposite. Under that protective shield she's built around herself, she's so vulnerable, sometimes it scares me.”

He'd had the same thought. It was the reason she had avoided him for so long. She was afraid of what might happen if she let down her guard, let him see the woman she was inside.

“I know that, Nell,” he said softly.

“You just mind my words, you hear? You hurt her and you'll answer to me.”

He chuckled, glad Olivia had a friend like Nell. “Yes, ma'am.”

He watched the older woman's hips sway as she walked away, then opened the newspaper he'd found on the table when he'd sat down, the
Valdez Star.
As he read the headlines, he sat up a little straighter.

 

M
AN
K
ILLED
IN
A
CCIDENT
AT
P
IPELINE
T
ERMINAL

 

The article went on to say that sometime after midnight last night, one of the workers had been killed when he'd fallen off a big oil storage tank at the facility. At the time the paper went to press, it hadn't been determined whether the man had committed suicide or if the fall was an accident.

Rafe finished reading the article and set the paper aside as Olivia walked out of the kitchen into the dining room. She was wearing another pair of those stretchy black jeans. When she turned to say something to Nell, he noticed the hot pink roses embroidered on her hip pockets.

His mind shot back to the little pink thong she'd been wearing last night, the way she'd torn it off so he could have her. His body clenched at the memory and desire washed hotly through his veins. He wondered if Olivia realized the effect she had on him, but Rafe didn't think Liv completely understood her sexuality. He planned to make the exploration one of his top priorities.

“You hungry?” he asked, rising as she arrived at the table.

She shook her head. He didn't miss the wary expression in those big gray eyes.

“Everything's gonna be okay, darlin'. You're going to have to trust me a little on that.”

She didn't answer. Rafe was pretty sure she didn't trust anyone, particularly him.

She was wearing a pair of hiking boots, her hair pulled into a ponytail that came out through the hole in a black baseball cap. This one said BADASS in bright red letters outlined in yellow.

He almost smiled. She was putting her wall back up. Didn't matter. Soon as he got her back in bed, he'd just tear it down again.

As she slid into the booth across from him, she happened to glance at the headlines on the paper lying across the table. “Oh no. It looks like someone else died this week.”

“It happens up here.”

“Alaska's a hard place to live. It didn't take long for me to figure that out. People freeze to death or drown or get attacked by bears.”

“So why'd you move here then?”

Her glance strayed out the window. “In a different way, the city's far worse. They've got robberies and shootings, rape and murder.” She looked back at him. “At least here you have clean air to breathe and you don't feel trapped the way you do in a city.”

“You got that right.” Pulling out his wallet, he left enough cash for the bill and a tip, then guided her to the door and outside onto the patio.

“You were talking about life in the city,” he said. “Sounded like you were speaking from experience.”

She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I've lived in a few different places.”

“With your husband?”

“Umm . . . yes.” She shook out the lightweight jacket she was carrying, shoved her arms into the sleeves. “What are we doing first?”

“As of last night, the police haven't found the primary crime scene. We're going to give them a hand, see if we can come up with something. We'll cover every route Scotty might have taken from the motel back to his house. Maybe we can find something the cops missed.”

“The police claim the bat belongs to Chip. Unless someone stole it out of his apartment, he must have had it with him that night. Chip mentioned driving to the card game, so it could have been in his pickup, like Cassie said. If the bat was in his truck and he left the doors unlocked, the killer could have taken it out of the truck and used it to kill Scotty.”

“Or Chip could have.”

“Cassie doesn't think so.”

“Maybe the bat was in the bed of the truck instead of inside,” Rafe said. “The killer spotted it there, grabbed it and hit Scott in the head.”

“Makes sense. Either way, the murder would likely have happened near where the truck was parked.”

“According to Rusty Donovan, they searched the area around the motel the next morning, but it was raining hard the night of the murder. The water would have washed away most of the blood or any sign of footprints. Unless the police got lucky, finding the actual spot where it happened would have been nearly impossible.”

“The ground's dried up since then,” Liv said. “The motel is the best place for us to start looking.”

Rafe nodded. “I brought my pickup. It's over there.” He pointed toward the silver Ford he drove this time of year. “Easier to haul equipment once the snow is gone.”

Rafe led her in that direction. “I'd rather have brought my Razor,” he said. “A UTV would be perfect for this kind of thing, but off-road vehicles can't be made street legal up here.”

“UTV? That's one of those all-terrain things where you sit side by side?”

He chuckled. “That's right. You've never driven one?”

“No, but I've always thought it would be fun.”

“First chance we get, we'll take Khan and go out riding.”

She hesitated, searching, he figured, for a way to politely say no.

“Come on.” He caught her hand and tugged her over to the truck. “We need to get moving.”

Resigned, Liv followed him to the pickup and they climbed in. Liv buckled herself into the passenger side of the comfortable, upholstered bench seat.

“What about snowmobiles?” he asked as he started the engine. “Or a four-wheeler? Ever done that?”

“Never tried either. What, you've got those, too?”

“Sure, why not? In case you haven't noticed, we pretty much make our own fun up here.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what they say, the only difference between men and boys is the size of their—”

He cast her a bawdy glance.

“Toys,” she finished dryly.

Rafe grinned. “Well, that, too.”

The V-8 engine rumbled as he drove past Cassie's home, then continued slowly toward the motel, taking a route Scotty might have walked coming back. The windows were down, allowing them to lean out a little, feel the breeze drifting in off the sea. Both of them kept their eyes on the side of the road, looking for something. A scrap of paper, a piece of clothing. Anything.

But the rain that night had erased any footprints that might have been along the road and it only took a couple of stops that turned out to be nothing to realize they were on a fool's errand.

Hoping to have better luck closer to the motel, Rafe kept the pickup crawling along the edge of the road.

“So what do you do for fun in the winter?” he asked when he came to a stop sign.

“I used to ski,” Liv said wistfully. “I was pretty good, but I haven't done it in a while.”

“Why not?”

She made a frustrated sound in her throat. “I was busy trying to get the café up and running, okay? Are we doing this or not?”

He didn't press her, just stepped on the gas. He didn't want her clamming up on him, finding another excuse to push him away. After last night, he realized he wanted more from Olivia than just her beautiful dancer's body. He wanted to know her secrets. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted to be able to trust her.

A surprise waited for them when they reached the Seaside Motel. Three black-and-silver police SUVs were parked in the lot, and several uniformed officers prowled the grounds.

Rafe pulled into one of the spaces, and he and Liv climbed out of the pickup. He spotted Richard Scarborough, waved, and the lieutenant walked toward them.

“What's going on?” Rafe asked. He knew Scarborough some, not a lot. And they had spoken briefly during the arrest at Reed's place last night.

“We've located the primary crime scene,” the lieutenant said.

“I figured it was somewhere close by.”

“Once we positively identified the murder weapon as belonging to Reed, this became the most likely place to look.”

“So Reed's being cooperative?”

“He hasn't confessed to the murder, but he's answered our questions, admitted the bat was his. He left it in the bed of the truck that night. Reed says he drove to the card game and parked in front of the motel. The owner's unit, where the game was held, sits right behind the office. We initiated another search this morning, and now that the ground has dried up, we found the evidence we were looking for.”

“Which was?”

“Bone fragments. Ferris was killed just a few feet away from where Reed's truck was parked.”

Rafe glanced down at Liv, saw her face had gone deathly pale. Sliding a hand around her waist, he drew her closer, felt her lean slightly into him.

“Doesn't look good for Reed,” Rafe said.

“No, it doesn't.”

“Have they found anything in the truck? Blood or fabric evidence, anything like that?”

“Forensics is still working on it.”

“Anything on the security cameras?”

“There aren't any. This isn't exactly a five-star motel.”

“Not exactly,” Rafe agreed.

“What about Scott's cell phone?” Liv asked. “Did it ever show up? Anything show up on the GPS?”

“Apparently the phone was turned off or dumped in the ocean. Never got a thing. I pressed Friedman a little harder about the game that night. He admitted Reed and Ferris got into it over Ferris's fiancée. Reed made some innuendo about what a disappointment Ferris's girlfriend was in bed and Ferris got in his face, threatened to kick his ass. Reed was the second guy to leave the game. Next thing you know, Ferris is dead.”

Rafe nodded.

“That gives Reed means, motive, and opportunity,” Liv said, drawing the lieutenant's attention.

“She watches a lot of crime TV,” Rafe explained.

“She's right. We're still building a case, but Reed's our primary suspect. The district attorney's office in Palmer is filing formal charges today.”

“I appreciate you keeping us in the loop about this, Lieutenant.”

“Everyone in town knows how much you thought of Scotty. And how much he thought of you. I know how I'd feel if he'd been one of my friends.”