Close Proximity (9 page)

Her mind began churning over all that he'd said. “But the premise you pose has a hole in it. A big one. If someone meant to contaminate the water of Crooked Arrow, how come no one from the reservation has become sick? The DMBE showed up in Hopechest's water, and a small amount has been detected in the town water.”

“It has to do with the aquifer flow.”

He sighed, his face taking on a curious masked expression.

“I'm a rancher, Libby. My livelihood depends on the land, the water, the very air. My animals need plenty of fresh water to drink. Fresh green grass to eat. I know the land.” He looked away for a moment, then leveled his eyes on her once again. “The rez land wasn't contaminated, but it
was
the target. You'll have to trust me on this.”

Trust him? Why should she trust him? He hadn't trusted her with all this information before now.

But suddenly the tension in her neck and shoulders relaxed. She did trust him. She didn't have a clue how he knew what he knew; she was only certain that she had faith in his knowledge.

“We should tell someone about this.”

Rafe only shook his head. “It looks bad for David. He came to Crooked Arrow to ask for land. His request was denied….”

She finished for him. “And now the land's been contaminated and Springer is helping the authorities to convict my father for the crime.” Her exhalation was soulful. “You're right. Oh, Rafe, it looks very bad.”

“O
kay, that's it.”

At the sound of Libby's voice, Rafe looked up from the papers he was reading. She tossed a pen onto the table.

“I'm tired, I'm starved and if I don't get out into the fresh air soon, I think I'm going to mummify.”

He looked at the clock, his eyes widening in surprise. “I can't believe we worked through dinner. No wonder you're starved. It's late.”

They had plowed through another box of evidence. They had found some office memorandums from Springer that mentioned the meeting David had had with the Mokee-kittuun Elders. The inter-office notes had depressed Libby as she had begun to understand that the lawyers who meant to prosecute her father really might have a plausible case to present. Rafe had been determined to keep reading through the evidence until they found something—
any
thing
—that pointed to David's innocence. So far, however, that hadn't happened.

“You know,” Libby told him, “I never did get my burger from Jake's. I wrecked my car nearly a week ago, but I never got my sirloin burger. I say we hop in the car, buy a couple of burgers with the works and drive around while we eat. Let's let the wind blow through our hair a bit. We just might benefit from having the cobwebs puffed from our brains. What do you say?”

Rafe chuckled. “I don't mind going out to eat. But, Libby, if you haven't noticed, it's chilly.”

Lord, but she was beautiful when she laughed. Her teeth gleamed, her whole face lit up.

“Okay, okay. So we keep the windows up. And if you're nice to me—” she grinned at him “—I'll even let you turn on the heater.”

The magic that constantly hovered between them glittered and sparkled like so many stars in a velvet night sky.

“You've got a deal.”

The night was nippy and thick with fog. Perfectly normal weather for March in northern California when half the annual precipitation fell. This close to the ocean, snow was almost unheard of. So residents just lived with the cold misty rain and viscous fog that came with winter.

“Isn't it a beautiful night?” Libby turned onto the main road connecting Crooked Arrow and Prosperino.

Rafe had to laugh. “Woman, you
have
been cooped up in the house too long.”

It wasn't long before the tires of Libby's rental car crunched over the gravel-covered parking lot of Jake's. The rental car agency had hesitated about handing the keys of a replacement after what had happened to the other auto, but in the end they relented. She pulled the car to a halt among the rows of parked autos in the ill-lit lot.

“I'll go in,” he told her.

“No way. You've been feeding me for days. Dinner's on me tonight.” She cut the engine and took the keys from the ignition. “Sit tight. I'll be right back.”

He watched her go inside and then let his back muscles melt against the seat back. Another car arrived, and three people, laughing and joking, made their way into the small bar and grill. Judging from the look of the full lot, Rafe decided he was in for a wait. But surprisingly Libby exited the building not long after, and he easily identified her even in the fog as the distorted light shining from over the front door of Jake's made her wild array of curls glow a soft copper.

“That was quick,” he murmured to himself.

Glancing down between the seat and the door, he wrestled with the buckle of the seat belt that had become twisted when he'd disconnected it. He pulled the belt across his chest and fastened it with a
click.

Her scream ripped through the night, freezing the blood in his veins. She wrestled with someone in the murky haze just beyond the muted light thrown by the fixture above the door. Adrenaline pumped through Rafe's body. Precious seconds seemed to lumber by as he fumbled with the clasp of the seat belt. He cursed silently. Finally, the latch released and he shoved open the passenger side door, a thought floating somewhere in the back of his brain that he'd probably chipped the paint of the neighboring car.

“Libby!”

He moved toward the building, scanning the lot. He heard the scuffling of shoes on gravel, but wasn't able to pinpoint her exact location.

“F-fire, fire,
f-fire!
”

Another scream, more scuffling, and Rafe sprinted forward, darting between the cars, following the sound of
Libby's voice, the sound of shoes on loose stone. The back of the dark cloaked figure was to him, and clamping his hands on the man's shoulders, Rafe twisted with all his might. The man turned, sweeping his arm wide. Steel glinted dully in the mist and Rafe instinctively jerked back. But the move was not fast enough. Pain burned in his side.

With one hand still on Libby, the man shoved her to the ground and raced away between the cars, disappearing behind the building.

“You okay?” He helped her to her feet.

“Y-yes,” she told him. “M-my knees are like j-jelly, though. I was scared to death. I was sure that creep was going to run off with my purse.”

All he wanted to do was hold her against his chest, give thanks to The Great One that she was safe. Instead, he said, “Go inside and call the police. I'm going after him.”

She pinched his sleeve. “N-n-no!” Then looked down the length of him. Her eyes widened. She lifted her gaze to his. “You're hurt.”

“I didn't realize he had a knife,” Rafe murmured, “until it was too late.” He looked in the direction the man disappeared. “I'm going after him, Libby.”

“You are n-not.”

Her tone was emphatic, her grip on his jacket tightening.

“W-we're going to the hospital.”

“Libby, the guy tried to hurt you. He's getting away.”

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, seeming to shut out everything for a moment or two. Rafe perceived that she was attempting to calm herself.

“Let him get away,” she finally said. Then using both hands, she parted the facings of his jacket. “I want to know how badly you're hurt.”

She enunciated every word carefully and the oddness of it should have dawned on him. But the concern in her
voice touched his heart. And the oh-so-gentle manner in which she took hold of the fabric made him give up on the idea of catching her attacker.

She attempted to tug the ruined T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans.

He winced.

“I'm sorry, Rafe.” Bending down, she snatched up her purse. “Come on. Let's get to the E.R.”

When he balked, her frowning gaze met his.

“I'm not going to the hospital. I have plenty of bandages and salves at home.”

“But you haven't even seen the cut. It might need stitches.”

“If that's the case, then I'll see a doctor on the rez.”

“Oh.”

She seemed at a loss for words, which he found amazing and amusing.

They started toward Libby's car.

“So,” he began lightly, “what was that ‘fire, fire' business all about?”

“The firm I work for in San Francisco invited a speaker to come in and talk about self-defense,” she told him. “The man said that when most people hear someone scream for help, they turn their heads, not wanting to get involved. But if they hear the word fire, then their first thought is, ‘Hey, I might be in danger here.' So, they get up and see what the commotion is all about.”

“I see.” Suddenly he felt giddy. He suspected the silliness churning in his gut was a result of the huge relief he felt knowing that Libby was safe and sound.

Evidently she saw the humor glittering in his eyes, and she glared. “If you weren't hurt right now, I'd slug you for laughing at me. Now get in the car before I leave you standing here.”

“But I'm not laugh—”

Her glare had him saluting.

“Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say, ma'am.” Pulling open the car door, he gingerly slid into the passenger seat.

 

The air seemed…strange. Charged.
Electrified.

During the drive back to Rafe's house, the atmosphere between them had thickened. The humming current had grown stronger…more potent with each passing moment.

Libby couldn't say if it was the ever-present attraction that caused this amazing and startling phenomenon or the aftermath of the acute threat they had faced together.

Probably both, she surmised.

The bathroom was small, and Libby's hip was pressed against the porcelain counter while she bent over to clean and dress Rafe's cut. The wound had turned out to be quite superficial, a long, angry-looking scratch. But it had bled enough to stain his T-shirt. So Libby washed the area with soap and water, and used a fresh towel to pat his skin dry.

His stomach was taut, the muscles beneath the bronzed skin hard and rippled. She'd dreamed about running her fingers over the hills and valleys of the corded sinew so many times since she'd met this man. So many times. In the deepest hours of the night. And in the wide-awake hours of the day.

Her hands trembled as she smeared an antibiotic cream over the cut. Then she took the bandage he offered and gently pressed it into place.

He sucked in his breath.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Stings a bit, is all.”

It was then that she made her fatal error. Tipping up her chin, she lifted her gaze to his.

There was concentrated power in his intense mahogany
eyes. Power that held her captive. Power that mesmerized her. Power she found fascinating. Enthralling.

The expression on his face told her in no uncertain terms that he was relieved and more than a little thankful that nothing bad had happened to her in that dark parking lot tonight.

But how could anything bad have happened to her? With Rafe to protect her, she was safe. Completely safe.

Safe.

The word echoed through her head. She hadn't felt safe with a man in a very long time. Libby felt her whole body relax.

The attraction that had throbbed between them from the very start, that had haunted the two of them like some ghostly wraith, had been nearly unbearable, impossible to deny. But she'd had very good reasons for ignoring the feelings and desires that Rafe stirred in her. And she'd felt that she'd done an excellent job of discounting what was between them.

Until this moment.

What would it hurt to trace her fingers along his firm stomach? Why should she continue to deny herself—and him—the pleasure that awaited them both?

Rafe was an honorable man. A man she could trust. He'd proved that over and over. He'd probably saved her life tonight. She hadn't known the purse snatcher had wielded a knife when she'd fought him. That thieving creep could very well have used that knife on her had Rafe not come to her rescue so quickly, if he hadn't been so willing to put himself between her and the danger she'd faced.

He'd stood by her side since she'd arrived in Prosperino.

And he'd wanted her all that time. Just as she'd wanted him.

She knew it. And she knew he knew it.

His abdomen was warm under her fingertips, the muscle rock-hard. He sucked in his breath, and for a split second, she panicked, thinking that she'd hurt him. But she read surprise in his handsome, hawklike features, and her mouth tightened with a smile. She liked the idea that she could shock him. Liked it very much, indeed.

Boldly, she let her eyes rove down his torso. Slowly. An open invitation.

She stopped when her gaze lit on his belly button. For some reason, she found the sight of it more sexy than she could stand.

Her heartbeat thrummed. Her blood raced.

Libby leaned in and kissed the smooth skin just above it. He smelled luscious. Woodsy, like warm cedar. Parting her lips, she tasted him, dragging a languorous tongue over his velvet flesh. Hearing him inhale a long, ragged breath, she smiled against his skin, feeling triumphant.

With nimble fingers, she was able to unfasten the buckle of his belt, but then his quelling hands covered hers. He cradled her face, guiding her away from his delicious body. She straightened her spine then, tipped up her chin so she was standing face to face with him.

“Do you know what you're doing?”

His voice resonated with emotion so profound, so soul-shattering that it nearly stole her breath away.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she was so affected by him, by what was happening between them, that no words would flow forth. Finally, determined to make him see that she was lucid, fully conscious of the moment, she forced herself to whisper, “I know exactly what I'm doing.”

Sure of what she wanted, she flashed her eyes at him,
flirtatious and saucy. “I also know exactly what we're about to do.”

His hesitation lasted but one heartbeat, then his mouth crushed down on hers.

His kiss was rough, brutal. Just what her pent-up desire had been yearning for for oh-so long.

His teeth raked her lips, his tongue plunged deeply into the soft recesses of her mouth. And she opened herself to his forceful plundering, her pulse thumping, her passions igniting.

He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and she tilted her head, offering him the full length of her throat for the taking. And take he did. Libby felt ravaged. She felt wonderful. She felt
delirious.

Desire coursed through her body like molten magma. She drove her fingers into his hair, combing through the length of it, reveling in the cool, silky texture that was so at odds with the scorch of his mouth against her skin.

Impatiently, Rafe tugged at her top, tugged it up over her bra, up over her head, and it tumbled to the tiled floor of the bathroom.

With his hands, his mouth, his tongue, he made his tender attack on her breasts, and she felt she would die from the sheer glory of the assault. Her nipples tightened into hard buds under his fingertips and tongue. He kissed and tasted and touched until she was gasping for breath.

She kissed the hardness of his biceps, the smooth roundness of his shoulder, the corded curve of his neck. She pinched the lobe of his ear between her front teeth. Curling her fingers, she ran her nails lightly up his chest, and she was rewarded by his groan.