Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) (22 page)

“What did you want to tell me?” Garret asked.

“Um.” She flicked a piece of hair out of her eyes. “Can we go to my condo first?”

• • •

After the music stopped and everyone had bailed, Chayton was left alone in his club. He tied the trash and pulled the bag from its canister, slung it to the floor, and wrestled with another, all the while attempting to quell the thoughts in his head.

He was an idiot, dwelling over a woman who obviously didn’t want him. Naomi was gone, didn’t even have the decency to tell him goodbye, good to meet you, see you soon, or never see you again you asshole.

She was a fucking wardrobe stylist, entertaining models, actors, and Christian Bale look-alikes. Never mind he’d been compared to Christian Bale a time or two.

He could never compete. And why in the hell should he want to? He barely liked Naomi anyway. She was feminine, sexy, sultry, just like Hollywood should be, yet she could probably climb higher, ski faster, and work harder than he ever thought possible.

He hadn’t meant for the eulogy to be depressing but couldn’t prevent the gloom from lodging deep in his throat. Saying goodbye to Chris had been hard. Being alone only worsened his mood.

On a night like tonight, it’d be easy to hand the reins over to someone else and let them worry about two-o’clock-in-the-morning-cleaning. Most guys had either gone home with their woman or a strange face they wouldn’t remember in the morning. He had no one to go home to.

He’d never minded staying late before. After all, plenty of women didn’t mind staying with the bartender while he locked up and cleaned. He could remember several times in his wilder days when he’d got it on behind the bar.

He’d put his heart into Air Dog, though it wasn’t the only business he owned. It was the only business he truly loved. He’d never been the kind of man who needed someone. He could do what he wanted when he wanted. Sleep until two
P.M.
if he wanted, ski until midnight. He didn’t have to answer to any woman, and he didn’t want to.

But tonight, he’d like to be in the arms of a woman who loved and appreciated him, someone who would allow him to feel sad over his friend’s death and would comfort him the way nobody else could.

Naomi wasn’t that woman and unfortunately for him, no other woman would do.

As he stepped outside with the trash, the wind blew, whipping the trees against the roof. The waste receptacle rattled and crashed to the ground. Snowflakes swirled in the air like specters, mingling with the lights from the buildings and creating odd-shaped phantoms.

Something felt off tonight. The eulogy had darkened his mood, but something else heavy filled the air.

Suddenly, he heard a grunt, a louder screech, what sounded like a struggle. Only the wind. He stopped, hesitated, thought he saw a dark figure recede into the background until it disappeared.

Was he seeing ghosts now?

He cautiously approached the trash dump, the ice crunching under his feet with the tenor of a foghorn. The weatherman had predicted a blizzard-type storm by tomorrow morning. Righting the receptacle, he froze. Blood-red stains in the snow, a boot protruding from the corner.

A dead man.

“Oh shit.” His heart raced, pelting him with an antagonizing flutter of nerves. He took a step back, scanned the area, and dropped the bag of trash to land with a thump on the pavement.

He considered running, but his father had taught him better than that. Instead, he kneeled, searching for ways to help the guy. First, check for a pulse, though the man’s throat had been slit from one side to another, eyes staring vacantly ahead.

Whoever he was, he wasn’t a local. Chayton didn’t recognize him.

Chayton leapt up and stumbled backward, reaching for his phone. He called the police, then raced into the darkness where he’d seen the figure retreat.

He stopped, his blood pulsing with heavy anticipation. Running would not be cool. Whoever did this could be standing in the shadows, watching, waiting. Chayton wasn’t sure how well he could defend himself if he didn’t know what to expect. He slithered along the sidewalls of the buildings, every nerve taut and alert, tense and aware.

While he hid in the shadows, he punched in Garret’s number and listened to it ring in his ear like fingers grating against a chalkboard. Garret didn’t answer, and Chayton left a cryptic message. The sonofabitch was probably with Reagan, which wouldn’t have bothered him so much if Garret wasn’t such a jackass. His brother would never admit he was falling for the woman. Chayton could tell, it was written all over Garret like the blood in the snow, fresh and unspoiled yet with the likelihood of doom.

Chayton emerged when red and blue lights flickered across the buildings and into the snow. He raised his arms so the cops wouldn’t shoot him, and let them down when he recognized Allen and was sure the officer recognized him.

A faint glimmer in the snow near his feet caught his attention. The huge slice of diamonds flared against the lights of the patrol car.

Chayton bent down but didn’t touch.

“Allen.” He waved the cop over and they both studied the gems.

A torn necklace. Incomplete. The exquisite diamond chain couldn’t compare to the intriguing reddish purple rock lying underneath.

It was obvious why the man died tonight, but nothing else was obvious. Like who did it, where the jewels came from, why it happened here. But if the man who got away had dropped these trinkets, he’d be back.

Allen was the first to speak. “I better call for backup.”

• • •

Garret sat under the abrasive lights of the police department’s conference room, cursing the day he’d ever joined the FBI and became a top-ranking bureaucrat for gem identification.

This was the necklace. The necklace that killed his partner. The necklace that haunted his dreams. And here it was, in Tanyon.

This was the necklace the FBI had been searching for, the one they suspected the Mass brothers possessed. One of many, but one that could make or break their case. Now it was only a fraction of its true beauty.

He shifted the jewels with his gloved fingers, studying it. The gems sparkled. Even broken, this necklace was worth more than Garret could ever make in a lifetime.

He’d like to believe in coincidence. That his last assignment followed him and his dead partner taunted him, accusing him of not finishing the job. But here was this necklace, in Tanyon. And so was Reagan. A woman possibly involved.

He could no longer deny her involvement.

“Did you get a glimpse of the suspect?” Garret asked his brother.

“I already told you no. It was dark, snowy. Hell, I didn’t know anyone was there until I heard the crash, but by then it was too late.”

Police officers now scoped the area for more clues and gems. They’d hounded Garret until he came to investigate since he was the only one who knew how to operate along this scope.

After all, it was his specialty.

As soon as he walked into the room and saw this necklace wrapped in an evidence bag, he’d nearly collapsed. He’d never, ever expected this.

His brother had been taking out the trash when he was almost a witness to a murder. By the time Chayton had come upon the Dumpster, the guy had fled and another man lay in a pool of blood, his throat slit, with untold millions worth of gems surrounding him.

It was a wonder Chayton had come along when he did. It was a wonder Chayton hadn’t been killed. Some would think his life was worth less than the gem he’d found, even if it was only a partial.

“Dammit,” Garret said, throwing his hand against the table. “Can’t a guy get a break?”

“I’m so sorry to pull you away from your slumber,” Chayton said sarcastically. “Or should I say Reagan’s bed?”

Garret cut his gaze toward Chayton, his frown hacking its way into his forehead and aggravating his headache. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I wasn’t in Reagan’s bed. I don’t sleep with women who won’t remember the next morning.”

Chayton didn’t appear as if the revelation made him feel any better, but Garret didn’t give a damn right now. Why did it bother Chayton if he was in Reagan’s bed?

Garret notched his elbows on the table and knit his fingers through his hair, letting out a low breath of exhaustion and uncertainty. His fingers remained in his hair as he rested his palms on his forehead, trying to ease the dull pain behind his eyes.

Reagan’s admission that Ray was her brother, the ambiguity of her relationship with the Mass family, and now these jewels. It was all becoming more than he could take. And as much as he didn’t want another agent to get involved, he knew Buchanan would have his hide, possibly take him out of the loop, if he didn’t report this.

Chayton drummed his fingers on the table as he and the other cops watched him, waiting for his signal, for his word, for something he couldn’t quite give them.

None of them had a clue the scope of this necklace, this investigation. Feds would be swarming their cozy little town by morning.

Chapter Sixteen

Slivers of sunlight sketched the strands of Reagan’s hair, shaping the outline of her neck. She’d removed her shirt, bra, and shoes last night but never made it to her jeans. A blanket covered her breasts but the dotting of freckles along the tops of her shoulders didn’t escape Garret’s notice.

Garret shouldn’t be here, he damn sure shouldn’t be here when she woke, but he couldn’t help himself. He rocked in the chair near her bed, watching her sleep, trying to forget the images of last night.

Jewels were supposed to be a beautiful part of the earth, but they possessed an evil unlike anything else. The power to make men kill, for the color, the clarity, or the possession, no one knew for sure why.

Garret wanted to savor the sweet innocence of the sleeping smile on Reagan’s lips. Her hair wisped across her forehead and eyes.

Why didn’t he leave? She’d only be embarrassed to see him here when she woke. He’d have to explain what happened last night because he doubted she’d remember.

He worried about her. Though he’d convinced her it was the cat in her condo, he wasn’t entirely sure. Now someone was dead. Someone with a necklace the Mass brothers had been after for years. Was the necklace stolen from her, or had she given it to the man who was killed? Did she know how dangerous it was to possess it? Or was she an innocent pawn in a twisted game that wouldn’t end well?

Reality was that people died everyday over inconsequential things. People killed over a diamond, an ounce of marijuana, a woman.

And it was Garret’s job, in some of those cases, to find out why and how, when he only wanted to escape reality himself.

Reagan moaned, stirred, stretched. He tensed, waiting her to come fully awake. His lower extremities ached, straggling all the way to his legs. He shifted, adjusted himself, and watched her. It wouldn’t do for her to open her eyes while he tried to get comfortable with the upsurge in his jeans.

She opened her eyes.

He jerked his hand away.

Her brown eyes, cloudy with sleep, took a moment to take in her surroundings. She glanced around, back at him, and righted herself on the bed of pillows.

“What?” she asked sleepily.

His jeans narrowed even more.

She skimmed the bed, at the clothing on the floor, and back at him, her cheeks reddening.

“Oh God,” she said. As if just noticing her display, she tightened the sheet around her breasts.

Garret gulped and clenched his teeth.

“Morning,” he said, his voice guttural.

She glanced down as if to check to make certain she was covered, which she was, and he jerked his gaze back to hers.

He liked that her eyes were an earthy brown. There was no jewel on earth that compared to the beauty, and they didn’t remind him of any cursed jewel he’d ever had to deal with. When he looked into her eyes, he could convince himself she was solid and pure, just like the earthiness of her eyes.

She fell on the pillows and covered her head. “What happened last night?”

“Would you like coffee?” he asked. He’d already brewed some and chugged a few cups himself.

“What happened last night?” she repeated.

“You danced on the table, took off your clothes, and passed out.”

“What?” She glanced under the covers, shading him from her topless torso. She chewed her lip and tightened the covers around her. Unless she’d woken up and removed the rest of her clothing while Garret was away last night, she still wore her jeans. They’d be unbuttoned. “Where did I dance on the table?”

“Oh, you saved that for when you got here. No worries, I’m the only one who saw you. Nice panties, by the way.”

Her cheeks flamed an enticing shade of red. “How did you see my … my panties?”

He loved the way she stuttered, as if embarrassed by the intimate word choice. “When you were dancing on the table and started to unbutton your jeans.”

“Well, why are my jeans still on?”

“Because you didn’t finish removing them.” He didn’t mention it was because he didn’t let her.

He’d deposited his hands on her hips to stop her from swaying, but her hips kept swaying and his hands had gone along for the ride. He had stopped her when she went for the button and zipper of her jeans, but her hips kept swaying as she unbuttoned them. His skin sizzled and tingled, but she finally moved away from him and zeroed in on her shirt.

For a brief moment, as she’d stood on top of the coffee table, her waist only inches from his face, he wanted to lose control. He could have stroked her where he most wanted to touch. He could have camped his lips against her lower abdomen and inhaled her sweet scent of woman.

“What about my shirt?” she asked, jerking him back to reality, the constraint in his jeans now utterly painful.

The shirt had been the hardest part of last night. When he’d placed his hands on hers to keep her from unzipping her jeans, she’d immediately gone to her shirt, unbuttoning it, throwing off her bra, dancing like a wild woman. He’d taken her down, her breasts inches from his lips, and he shook as he sat her on the bed and covered her. Not for her, but for him.