2000 Kisses (34 page)

“All right, I won't.” She brushed his jaw, then gave him a push. “Go do your work, Sheriff. I'll leave some coffee in the kitchen, and then I'll vanish like the fog.”

Drake looked tired and edgy, a state TJ. was beginning to know well. “Sorry to track you down here at the ranch.” He pulled off his battered gray Stetson and rubbed his forehead. “I hear you and your visitor had some problems yesterday.” His keen eyes were troubled. “A shot was fired.”

“No one was hurt, and that's what counts. Ms. O'Hara took a tumble from the cliff, but Doc Felton says she'll be fine.”

“How is the doc? Still as ornery as ever?”

“Hasn't changed a bit. Still gives orders to everybody.” T.J. crossed his arms over his chest, measuring his oldest friend. “Care for some coffee?” TJ. asked as he headed for the kitchen.

“Not if you made it—no offense intended,” Drake called.

“No, you'll like this coffee.” TJ. emerged with a steaming cup of coffee topped by white froth. “Ms. O'Mara has a way with caffeine.”

“So I hear.” One brow rose as Drake took a sip. “Mighty fine. I hear she's got a way with a certain sheriff, too.”

“You ought to know not to listen to gossip, Drake.”

“There's gossip … and then there's gossip. Folks tell me the lady is a real looker. From Boston, isn't she?”

TJ. rocked back on his heels. “Any problem with that?”

“I guess that depends on you. A woman like that can ruin a fine career before a man knows what hit him.”

T.J. and Drake had enough history between them for TJ. not to bridle at the warning. “I appreciate your concern, Drake, but I don't figure you came all the way to Almost to coach me on my love life.”

The tanned officer studied his dusty boot. “I'd be about the last person to give advice on how to handle a woman.” He fingered his holster, his eyes unreadable. “I came to warn you that some hotshot journalist from DC has been sniffing around Brinkley, trying to put together a story about that hostage situation. He got your name from the mayor and now he's pulling in some details about your stint of protection duty in Washington. My sense is that he wants to paint a picture of a flawed man whose judgment was off.”

Drake made an angry motion with his hand. “If he'd listened to what I told him, he'd know that was a load of horse manure, but the man has a mission and he isn't about to let a little thing like the truth get in his way.”

TJ, shook his head. “So what else is new?”

“Only that he is headed for Almost. You've got a nice sociable town here, but you might tell folks to watch what they say around this hothead. I hear he's already talked to the kidnapper's family and is taking the position that the man was just bluffing.”

“Tell that to the people he was holding hostage inside the bank,” TJ. said harshly.

The last thing he wanted was to see his prior career and personal life emblazoned on the front page of a national newspaper, especially considering the danger of Tess's current situation.

“I know you did everything by the book,” Drake said. “So does this reporter, but you're a former security man for high government officials and that makes you fair game. Next thing he'll want to do is give you a break in his story if you'll give him some juicy secrets about the powers that be. Just thought you should know.” Drake turned with a frown, staring out into the courtyard. “That looks like quite a woman pacing out in your garden. Is she going to be staying long?”

“No. She's—just passing through.” He met his friend's gaze head-on. “You have a problem with that?”

“Not a bit. I'm just remembering a few nights we spent getting good and drunk after that lady friend of yours went back to California.”

“This is different.”

“Sure it is.” Drake finished his coffee and set the cup on the table. “You know I always wanted to ask why you left the service. It wasn't because of what happened in Atlanta, was it? That wasn't your fault, McCall. No one expected that boy to break out of the police barriers. He was damned lucky that you were there to stop him.”

TJ. felt a sudden wrenching at Ms chest, and it was all there, as if it had been yesterday. The crowds. The noise. The sour taste of adrenaline in his mouth. The security teams on full alert after a death threat against a member of the Cabinet.

The boy, gangly but no more than fifteen, broke from behind a police barrier and fell to the ground in what could have been a simple misstep.

Or what could have been a sniper stance.

It had happened on Agent MeCall's watch and in his line of fife. Them had been only a split second for him to analyze thousands of disparate bits of data and then make a decision—whether to fire or not to fire.

McCall always wondered what had kept his finger from the trigger. At the time it was raw instinct that made him leap over a low stone fence, sprint across an alley, and throw himself on the boy, blocking his weapon.

It had taken only seconds to discover that the boy's weapon was a toy made out of plastic. He'd been convinced he was visiting a movie set, where he could pretend to be a government agent.

All of it made sense, given that the “assailant” had the mental capacities of a child of six.

After his shift ended, T.J. had turned in his weapon and walked away. He'd decided that playing God, meting out life or death, was not to his liking. He still did not care to explain his decision, even to an old friend like Drake. “I made the call. It was fortunate for everyone that I was right and that boy was no threat. But it was time for me to leave. Atlanta only made it happen a little sooner.”

“From what I hear, you were missed. But their loss was Arizona's gain, and I'm damned glad you're back.” Drake twisted his Stetson between his fingers. “If there's anything I can do, you let me know. I owe you for protecting my sister.”

“You don't owe me a thing,” T.J. said flatly. “I did my job and I'm glad I was able to help.” He rubbed his neck. “I do have one question for you. Have you had any unusual types over your way? Like drifters or those millennium cultists?”

“Unusual? Hell, we've got people who claim to have been abducted and others who claim to be representatives from the constellation Orion. We've got back-to-nature fanatics who say that electricity and running water are the work of evil. How unusual do you want?”

T.J. cracked a smile. “I'm not looking to the stars,
Drake. I've got my eye on a group of survivalists backed by a young millionaire from California who's bought about sixty acres up north. Seems titey wanted a self-contained community since they were dead certain the world was going to crash and bum January first.”

“I guess they were wrong,” Drake laughed dryly. “Some people are determined to see the worst, no matter how much goodis right in front of them.” Drake held out his hand. “Like I said, I owe you. If there's something you need, I want to know about it.”

They shook hands in silence, each remembering his own world of shadows as T.J. followed Drake out into the twilight and watched his friend drive down the gravel road back toward town.

T.J. was planning how best to thwart the interfering journalist, when he sensed a stirrings of air behind him, carrying a hint of Tess's perfume. Even that was enough to make every muscle clench, every nerve hum. He didn't turn, one hand tensed on the peeled wood beam. “I guess you heard that?”

She stepped up to him, her chest to his back, her arms circling his waist. “I heard enough to know he was worried about something. And to know that you had good reason to leave your security position in Washington.”

He turned slowly, studying hex face. The moonlight haloed her cheeks as she stared back at him, her eyes wide.

Dear God, he wanted her again. Beneath him. Against him. Legs entwined and bodies moving in reckless desire. Insanity, he thought.

But an inner voice whispered a different explanation. A single word that he refused to consider. The implications were too immense.

And there were things he had to explain. “It happened in Atlanta. I had to make a choice. Playing God was pat of the job, and I found I didn't like it.”

She brushed his jaw and his muscles tightened in response. “It wasn't so simple. I heard what your friend said. You saved that boy's life, and I'd say that makes you a hero.”

“It makes me a fool. I put people I was supposed to protect in danger. In the end I was right, but things might have gone differently. I don't regret what I did, but I don't intend to throw myself into that kind of situation again. I'll leave the life-and-death decisions to God. He's had a lot more experience than I have.”

Tess took his hands, threaded her fingers through his. Without a word she pulled him to the glider on the porch, then tugged him down beside her.

Together they watched, silent, hand-in-hand as the stars flickered into sight overhead—Sirius, Orion, Vega, and the moon like a pale curve of hammered silver against the velvet darkness. They heard the distant bark of a dog and the lazy whisper of the wind through the mesquite trees, and then the wild magic of the coyotes serenading the night from a distant ridge.

Somehow in that silent vigil of spirit, they found themselves linked. No questions were important and no explanations were necessary.

One more to kill.

He stared at the fresh new map with its red circled heart, then measured the dark road ahead.

Almost.
How many towns had a name like that? It had made his job almost too easy.

And when the woman was dead, he would be a billionaire sipping daiquiris from his yacht docked in the Seychelles—or anywhere else with soft breezes and docile females who knew their way around every inch of a man's body.

He laughed softly as he fingered the grainy photograph stolen from the apartment in Boston. It was the woman's eyes that held his attention—wide and full of curiosity.

But not for long.

Carefully, he slid the photo back into his wallet with all the others.

One more to kill

T
ess awoke to the whisper of the desert wind in the pink glow of dawn.

She gave a slow sigh of contentment, then turned to find that the bed was empty. She had a tiny bruise from his teeth at her shoulder, and her muscles ached delightfully. She flushed as she tried to sit up, feeling cramps in places that didn't even have names.

An antique gold pocket watch lay on the pillow beside her, probably a century old. Tess lifted the polished gold carefully, feeling the weight of long tradition. Had this belonged to T.J.'s grandfather, the lawman?

Watching the timepiece gleam in the sunlight, Tess read the worn inscription.

For honor.

The gold blurred beneath a haze of tears. Everyone had a different idea of honor, but she realized that TJ.'s was here in this wonderful little town. He was a deep part of life in Almost, bound with the town in a dozen ways. He could no more leave here than he could stop breathing.

But life went on and so would they. They'd make a few phone calls, maybe send cards at Christmas. He might even come to visit her in Boston once. She could
show him the harbor. They could take in a Celtics game, then head for Chinatown and—