Ask Me Why (13 page)

Silence was her answer.

He drove through the midnight streets silver with rain. “You've checked up on me before.” It wasn't a question. All the times he thought he could still smell her, or thought he saw a shadow that looked like her, came tumbling back.

“I hate you,” he said calmly.

“I know,” she answered as if they were talking about the weather and not their lives. “I can live with that as long as you're safe.”

He slowed to turn onto the dirt road next to the veterinary clinic. “I don't need you watching over me.” Rick, who rarely got irritated, much less mad, was furious. He thought about swearing or yelling at her or even hitting her. Only he'd never been one to swear or yell, and if he hit Trace, she'd probably strike back and kill him with one punch to the throat. Then his mother would dig him up and double murder him for hitting a lady.

He saw no winner in this battle, so he concentrated on where he might be needed. “I'm checking on my cousin, and then we're going to have a talk. If you're going to break into my room at night, I want you in my bed.”

He climbed out of the car and slammed the door a heartbeat later than she did.

She frowned across the hood at him. “Fine.”

“Really?” All the anger vanished. “Really?” He smiled. “We'll talk about this later and work out the details.”

“Fine,” she repeated with only slightly less fury in her voice. “Only first we have to know why someone is trying to kill you
again
.”

“Agreed,” he said as he moved toward the walkway to his cousin's house.

Neither seemed to care that they were getting wet from a misty rain, but Rick did notice that the muddy road he'd maneuvered several hours ago when he brought Lizzie home was turning into a river. He had to know Lizzie was all right, and then he planned to have a long talk with Trace. Someone was shooting at him, his cousin might be hurt, and the security system he'd paid for at his place didn't work. But on the bright side, he thought he could hear his heart beating again.

RICK BANGED ON
the door of his cousin's adobe house. The place was so overgrown with flowers and ivy, he feared nature might take it back before fall froze out the Jack-and-the-beanstalk look. Though this house Lizzie had bought when she came home from college was nicer, with foot-thick walls that could withstand any tornado and a low fence tiled as if it belonged in Santa Fe, it still reminded him of Lizzie's grandmother's place. Granny's house had been a cheap wood-frame place, poorly built in the forties, but she'd always had flowers, even in the cracks of the walk.

“It's almost one in the morning, Matheson.” Trace simply stated the fact. She'd made no attempt to stop him. “If she's drunk, she might not even hear you banging loud enough to wake any neighbors within a mile.”

“I don't care.” He started pounding as if nailing each of his words to the door. “I'm going to keep it up until she answers if it takes all night.” He stopped long enough to swear, then continued, “It's my fault she's wounded. Someone's probably trying to kill me. I'm the one digging into old cases. I'm the . . .”

The lock clicked. Someone from inside turned the knob and the door opened.

“Thank God, Lizzie,” he said as he shoved his way in. “I thought . . .”

Trace Adams stared up at him. Somehow she'd got inside. She'd let him in like she wasn't the burglar.
And
she was the one smiling at him as if she'd just discovered an idiot on Lizzie's porch.

“How'd you get in?” he snapped. “Oh, never mind.” He could feel the night breeze from the window off the front porch. “Why didn't you say something? If I'd known you were busy breaking in, I might have counseled you against it.”

“I saw it more as saving the door. I tried to talk, but you seemed so determined. My dad always said never interfere with a man on a mission.”

Rick frowned. “That the same Dad who named you Trace after trace evidence?”

“Yep.” She flipped on the hallway light. “No one's in the house, Matheson. I don't know where your cousin is, but she's not home.”

He stood in the center of the entry, realizing he could see into all four rooms. They were big and airy with bookshelves lining every wall and color exploding everywhere. Painting supplies were scattered over old coffee tables like colorful Easter eggs, and well-worn easels accented every corner.

“I had time to look around while you were pounding.” Trace leaned against one of the shelves.

“What'd you learn?”

“Looks like all she paints is animals.”

“I didn't know that piece of worthless information.” He fought down his anger and frustration by baiting Trace. “Wonder how she started?” he said without any hint of surprise. Nothing Lizzie did would surprise him.

“Probably with kittens.” Trace's slow smile drew him, and he forgot what they were talking about.

This sexy woman before him in her black leather and long midnight braid blinded him with her beauty. Maybe once in a lifetime a man meets his fantasy. He'd been attracted to other women, could've even loved them, but he'd found only one woman who was exactly what he dreamed of holding. Trace was that for him. He didn't care that they'd just broken into a house or that someone was trying to shoot him; all he wanted to do was touch her, hold her, make sure she was finally real and not just left over from a great dream.

Trace obviously read his mind. She moved out of his reach as she continued their pointless conversation. “Maybe she'll give you a picture if we ever find this cousin. Which we're never going to do if you don't concentrate. Do all lawyers have the attention span of rabbits, or were you just the top of the class? You've got a cousin probably bleeding. Forget the cat paintings and the break-in and get in the game, Matheson.”

Choking her came to mind, but then there was the fact that she'd kill him before she even worried about air.

Loving and hating were two sides of the same coin spinning in his mind. Like an out-of-control fire, she would burn him he knew, but he couldn't help moving closer. If he took in the full beauty of her much longer, it would only make the memories more painful when she walked away. And she would walk away. That just seemed to be what she did.

He must have blinked. Trace had vanished while he was thinking. If he ever did get her in bed again, he planned to tie her down or, better yet, tie himself to her. Then when she disappeared, he'd be dragged along for the ride.

It took him a few minutes to find Trace in the bathroom. She was holding the black dress Lizzie had worn to the family dinner. “Blood,” Trace whispered as she moved her hand over the dark material that now looked wet. “Maybe she went to the hospital?”

Rick shook his head. “No car. That's why the family usually drives her. Lizzie shouldn't even have a learner's permit when she's sober. She replaces cars like some women do shoes. Once I found her wandering around the mall parking lot because she'd forgotten what kind of car she'd bought the day before.”

Trace lifted her hand, now red with blood.

“What do we do?” he asked.

“We step outside and widen the search.” Trace moved past him to the porch. “Without a car, she must have walked to a neighbor's house or called someone to drive her to the hospital.”

As he followed the marshal off the porch, lights came on at the veterinary clinic, flooding the corrals and parking lot fifty yards away. It took Rick a minute to make out the broad-shouldered vet standing at his back door. What looked like a shotgun rested at the ready over one arm.

Rick wished he'd wake up from this nightmare. Things had been going downhill since he'd rolled out of bed this morning. He'd been late to church, he couldn't remember one word of the sermon, the family dinner was so boring he wanted to forget it altogether, then being shot at on the bridge and having Trace come back just to yell at him.

He should have kissed Trace first thing when he saw her—before even letting her ask questions. Now, the way his luck was running tonight, the vet would shoot him, and Trace would shoot the vet for shooting him, and his wounded cousin would bleed to death in one of the flower beds. Any way he looked at this, Rick decided he was destined to be the most-talked-about Matheson in history.

“Dr. McCall!” Rick yelled waving his arms hoping not to be ID'd as the target. “Sorry we woke you. I'm looking for my cousin. I'm worried she may be hurt.”

The doc didn't move, but Rick's petite cousin came around the big guy and leaned into the vet like she was comfortable there. “I'm fine, Rick. You didn't wake us. We were just watching the midnight Western.”

Dr. McCall set the rifle down just inside the door and put his arm over Lizzie's shoulders as if the rainy night was too cold for her. “Come on over, Matheson. I'll put on some coffee,” he said none-too-politely. “After all the banging you did, none of us are going to get any more sleep tonight.”

Lizzie laughed, turning her face against the vet's chest. “I thought all the noise was thunder. If the dogs hadn't started barking, we might not have gone to check.”

Rick started walking toward the clinic trying to keep his mumbling to himself. He couldn't believe he'd been worrying about poor Lizzie Lee being all alone when she was cuddling up to Dr. McCall. Rick had no idea where
his
date for the evening disaster party had disappeared. Keeping up with Trace was like taking the measurements of smoke.

A dog shot past the vet and ran directly toward a huge tree at the property line of Lizzie's house. The animal went nuts barking.

McCall lifted his rifle and took a few steps toward the tree. “We've had coyotes before, but usually in the winter. If an animal is treed, it could be a big cat come to bother the stock. They've been known to travel the canyon at night and can smell out wounded animals.” Halfway to the tree, he slapped his hand against his leg twice and the dog settled.

Rick walked near enough that he didn't have to yell. “It's not coyotes, Doc, or a cat. You mind if I bring a date for coffee?” He raised his hand toward the tree.

Trace dropped gracefully to the ground and looped her arm in his as if they'd just been out for a stroll when she'd decided to climb a tree.

The vet must have seen some strange things in his life because having a woman in leather drop out of a tree didn't even earn a raised eyebrow. But, come to think of it, he had lived next to Lizzie for four years. He'd known her to have birthday parties for her cats.

The sudden brush of Trace's body against his almost took Rick to his knees. He considered making up a lie for the vet, but with her so close he didn't have enough blood left in his brain to think. Maybe he should just stick with the truth. Since it looked like Lizzie was wearing one of the doc's shirts, Rick guessed the man already knew that she'd been shot tonight. The only question left was why.

When Rick reached the door, he introduced Trace as a federal marshal, then he hugged Lizzie. He could feel the bandage on her side. “Are you all right, Cousin?”

“I'm fine. It was just a scratch.” She smiled at him, really smiled. Something he hadn't seen her do in years.

Rick saw a light in her green eyes that he'd never seen before. Maybe for the first time, Lizzie was happy, and he had a feeling it had nothing to do with being shot. When the backyard lights sparkled in the green streaks of her hair, Rick didn't even mind.
Lizzie looks pretty,
he thought,
really pretty.

The four of them sat down at the doc's kitchen table and went through every fact. Trace asked most of the questions. Rick didn't miss how McCall brushed his hand over Lizzie's when his cousin told about how much it had hurt and how she hadn't wanted to tell anyone.

“There are too many questions I don't have answers for.” Lizzie didn't have to mention the times she'd been hurt or wrecked her car and half the town whispered that it might be a suicide attempt. “I don't want folks jumping to the wrong conclusion. It was just a stray shot, right?” Her big eyes moved from one to the other of them; she wanted her theory to be true.

“Maybe,” Rick finally said, but he had the feeling neither the doc nor the marshal bought into the idea.

When the coffeepot was empty, Rick stood and offered his hand to Trace. He wasn't surprised when she didn't take it. First, she didn't need help, and second, she didn't seem like the handholding type.

She did say she would check things out to see if she could learn anything about the one shot. Maybe someone spotted a stranger in town. Maybe they'd get lucky and find a shell casing, but everyone knew the odds were against them.

Dr. McCall and Lizzie walked them to the front door, and McCall promised he'd keep an eye on Lizzie. Which Rick didn't think would be much trouble, because his cousin didn't look like she was going anywhere.

Leaning down to Lizzie, Rick kissed her cheek for the first time ever. “I'm sorry I got you involved in this.”

“It could have been just a stray shot,” she said for the third time. “Don't make trouble out of an accident.”

Rick nodded.

Trace didn't say anything when he opened the car door and waited for her to climb in. She slid into the seat without looking up at him, and he fought the urge to touch her. She'd haunted every dream he'd had since the day she rode away more than two years ago. Her absence had changed him, hardened him, but not for one moment had he stopped wanting her, loving her.

He half-expected her to jump from the car and vanish again, but she simply leaned back and closed her eyes. When he pulled into his parking spot and cut the engine, he turned toward her. His mind told him she was here next to him. He could see her, feel her, hear her breathing, but still a part of him couldn't believe it. He'd wanted her near for so long.

Her eyes were still closed, but he knew she wasn't asleep. Slowly he leaned over and brushed his lips over hers as he whispered, “Come up with me, Trace. We'll sleep after we make love.” He didn't give her time to argue; his mouth closed down on hers in the kind of wild kiss he knew she loved.

After one long kiss, she broke free, bolted out of the car and ran for the stairs. He was right behind her.

A few steps from his door she stopped so suddenly, he bumped into her. Turning, she fisted his jacket and slammed him against the door. Leaning into him, she took back the kiss he'd just given her. Her body pinned him, and he made no move to escape or fight off her attack.

When she pulled away to breathe, he unlocked the door. She walked past him as if in control, but one brush of his hand over her hip made her shake with need.

He closed the door. “It's about time you came back to me, Trace.” He moved behind her, slowly pulling her to him. His hands moved over the leather of her jacket, learning every curve as he'd once known. He began undressing her, knowing that she could easily stop him if she had any objections.