MM01 - Valley of Fire (3 page)

He was going to enjoy this case, all right. If he lived through it. The enterprising beauty in his arms had already lied about her name, her wealth, and her marital status. What else was she lying about? As her mouth continued to move under his, he knew that finding out was going to be one of the most exciting things he'd done in a long, long time. And probably one of the most dangerous too. Just being in the same corner of the earth with a woman who kissed the way she did was dangerous.

Rick McGill loved danger. He courted it a moment longer before letting her go; then he pulled back and smiled down at her.

“Just as I thought,” he said.

“What?”

“This lady is not a lady after all.”

The beauty mark above her lip looked fetching on her flushed face. He saw no reason to resist bending over to kiss it. So he didn't.

“Stop doing that,” she said.

“When you stop liking it, I will.” Grinning, he patted her bottom again. Then he picked up his suitcase and started toward the red Corvette parked beside the curb. “Let's go, sweetheart. I can tell you need that husband of yours.”

What she needed was to have her head examined, Martha Ann thought as she picked up her own bag and followed him. Only her great loyalty to her sister kept her from turning around and going back to Fulton.

She watched as he tossed their bags into his car. She'd lied to herself, of course. It wasn't her great loyalty that drove her on: It was Fate. Here was an unscrupulous man who admitted that he was no gentleman and who'd proven it by kissing a married woman. Well, she wasn't really married, but that didn't count. Rick McGill was cut from the same cloth as Marcus Grimes and Bradley Lomax, the con man she'd dated last year. Dangerous men, all of them.

And she was fascinated.

 o0o

Rick McGill drove his Corvette the way he did everything else, with reckless abandon. They whizzed through the streets of Tupelo so fast, Martha Ann didn't have much thinking time. It was just as well.

She'd already spent a night worrying about going up in a plane. All that time she should have been worrying about being alone with Rick McGill, wife chaser. And she couldn't pretend to herself that she hadn't liked that kiss. She had. Too much. Maybe she should tell him she was pregnant.

She just about resolved to add that lie to her charade when they arrived at the airport. The plane was every bit as bad as she had thought it would be. Sitting on the tarmac it looked too fragile to carry a flea across the country, let alone a scared woman and her unscrupulous companion.

“There she is.” Rick gallantly opened her door and helped her from the car. His latent good manners hardly registered with her. “Isn't she a beauty?”

“I don't care if she's beautiful or not. What I want to know is will she stay in the air?”

His gaze swung from the plane to her. “You're not afraid, are you?”

“Who? Me?” She tossed her hair and jutted out her chin. “I'm not afraid of the devil.”

His suppressed his grin. Her face was pale, and her blue eyes were wide with fright. He secretly admired the way she lied. “I didn't think so. Let's go.”

Martha Ann climbed bravely into the cockpit and glanced out the window. The ground was still down there where it was supposed to be, and she wasn't doing anything to disgrace herself, like hyperventilating. But she'd packed a paper bag in her purse just in case.

She knew her fear of flying was ridiculous. And it was all Bud Jones's fault. Bud had been her college sweetheart, a good-looking ne'er-do-well whose passion had been stunt flying. One sunny day in April he'd persuaded Martha Ann to go up in his plane and witness his stunts firsthand. It hadn't taken much persuasion. In those days, flying hadn't bothered her, nor had anything else for that matter. She'd try anything.

She'd enjoyed having an up-close view of Bud doing his loops and rolls and dives. But suddenly the plane had stalled and gone into a spin. The earth had come toward them at a terrifying rate. All she'd thought of was how the choir would sound singing “Amazing Grace” at her funeral.

Bud had gotten them out of the spin somehow. But she'd never gone up in another plane. Until now.

She shut her eyes as the airplane engine roared to life.

“We're cleared for takeoff, Martha Ann. Here we go.”

With her eyes still shut, she reached out blindly, clasped his arm, and nodded. She was obviously with a nut. Anybody who could be that cheerful when facing his own death had to be crazy.

Rick glanced down at the hand clutching his sleeve. The fingers were long and slim and tapered, the nails polished a pearly pink. He imagined how that hand would look on his bare chest, like a beautiful rose petal. He could hardly wait.

“Comfortable?” he shouted.

“Ummmhmmm.”

He patted her hand, but she didn't even notice.

“Let me know if you need anything. Food, water, bathroom. I can set this baby down on a dime.”

“I sincerely hope you don't have to.”

He looked at her face. It was pale but gorgeous. The eyelashes were long and sooty, fanning down on cheeks he knew were soft as a soap bubble. Why was she so afraid of flying? Of course, it was best not to worry about her fears. All he wanted to do was to find her sister's husband, collect his fee, and have a whale of a good time along the way. And from the small taste he'd had of Martha Ann Riley, she would certainly provide some first-class entertainment.

He chuckled as he thought of how easily he'd discovered her charade. It seemed that Lucky O'Grady wasn't that lucky after all. He'd been in enough gambling scrapes to be listed in the police computer. Nothing serious, just fines and plenty of aggravation for his family—Evelyn Riley O'Grady, his wife, five feet two, light brown hair, twenty-seven, owner of O'Grady's Dress Shop in Pontotoc; and his wife's sister, Martha Ann Riley, Ph.D., divorced, thirty-seven, five feet nine, hair as dark as a raven's wing, eyes the color of the sky at high noon, history professor at Itawamba Community College. The computer hadn't had all that about the raven hair and sky-blue eyes. He'd added those details himself.

His gaze raked over her body. There were plenty of other details he planned to add. But that would have to wait until they landed.

He turned his attention back to flying.

“Look, there's the Mississippi River,” he said.

“Do I have to?”

“You're missing some beautiful sights.”

“I can survive without seeing the world from ten thousand feet in the air.”

“We're higher than that.”

“Don't tell me. I don't want to know.”

Martha Ann didn't know how she survived as far as Dallas, but she did. She even began to relax after they were on the ground again and having what Rick called a snack. He ordered a sixteen-ounce rib eye steak, rare, but she didn't complain. She'd willingly pay for champagne and caviar if that's what it took to keep him content until he got her safely on the ground in Las Vegas.

Back in the plane, she assumed her vigil with her eyes shut. Sometime later, when he remarked that they were flying over the Grand Canyon, she reached into her purse and felt for her rosary. Her lips began to move.

“What are you doing?” Rick asked.

“Saying my hail Marys.”

“You're Catholic?”

“When the occasion calls for it.” She prayed from the Grand Canyon all the way to Lake Mead.

“Hoover Dam,” Rick shouted.

“I don't want to know.”

The desert stretched below them, wild and vast and beautiful. It was the kind of scene that made Rick aware of his own mortality. The rocks below them were millions of years old. What was the life of a man compared to the life of a mountain? His petty strivings seemed insignificant compared to the magnificent grandeur of the land.

Suddenly, alarm rang through Rick's senses. Something was not right. The sounds and smells of the plane were out of kilter. He saw the plume of smoke at the same time he smelled the acrid scent of burning. His left engine was on fire. He shut off the fuel to that engine and scanned the ground below for a landing spot.

“Hang tight, Martha Ann. We're going in for an emergency landing.”

Her eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Plane's on fire.”

Her throat constricted, and her chest grew tight.

For an awful moment she thought she was going to faint. Then she looked at the man beside her. Rick McGill was as cool and in command as if he were strolling through the park on a Sunday afternoon. The sight of him miraculously calmed her down. For the first time since they'd begun the flight, she felt normal.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“As soon as we land, get out as fast as you can. Hit the ground running. Don't stop for anything.” He turned to give her a thumbs-up sign. “We're going to make it, kiddo.”

“You bet we will. Martha Ann... O'Grady never loses.”

There was a valley coming up. He scanned the area, looking for the best spot. There it was, a long smooth canyon between two flat-topped bluffs. It looked wide enough. And long enough. Not a cloud in the sky. It was perfect, too perfect. The skin on the back of his neck prickled.

He felt the jolt when his wheels hit the rough terrain. The plane wobbled, its crippled engine trailing smoke; then it taxied to a stop.

Rick kicked open his door and literally dragged Martha Ann through. He didn't trust her to get out of the plane on her own. But she proved to be a trooper. She hit the ground running, just as he had instructed.

Holding her hand, he raced over the rocky canyon floor. She kept up with him, her long legs stretching out in a sprint.

They didn't stop until they reached a huge outcrop of rock that formed a natural cave. Pulling her with him, Rick ducked inside just as the explosion rocketed through the canyon.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Her face was pale. “Your plane...”

“It's insured.” Her teeth began to chatter. “Hey, it's all right. We're safe now.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She continued to shiver. “It's okay, baby. It's okay.” He rubbed her back and began to rock her in a soothing motion. “Don't go into shock on me now, sweetheart. It's all over.” She made a hiccuping sound against his shoulder. “Are you crying? Hey, don't cry. I'm here. I’ll take care of you.”

“I'm... not... cry... ing,” she said between hiccups. “I always... do... this... when I'm... scared.”

“There's a cure for hiccups.” He tipped her face up with one finger and took possession of her lips.

This kiss was different from the first one, Martha Ann thought. There was a gentleness in his lips, a sweet tenderness that made her want to cuddle up to him forever. She responded by stepping closer and winding her arms around his neck. She rationalized her behavior by telling herself that the only way to cure her hiccups was to do it right.

Her hands crept up and tangled in the hair at the back of his neck. It was crisp and very masculine, yet wonderfully soft. She felt as if she had a handful of sunshine.

Rick dragged her closer, cupping her hips and moving them into his own. The kiss had long since ceased to be a cure for hiccups. He was kissing her for pure pleasure now. No need to kid himself. The woman in his arms was female dynamite, a seductive vamp who set his blood boiling.

Bending her over backward, he plunged his tongue between her teeth. The inside of her mouth was warm and silky and inviting. He explored it with the joy of a sailor on shore leave.

When it was obvious to both of them that they couldn't keep kissing in the name of hiccups, they pulled apart.

Rick gave her a grin that was almost sheepish. “All cured now?”

“I think so.”

“You only think so?” He reached for her. “In that case, we should continue the cure.”

She backed out of his reach and held up her hand. “Please. I'm a married woman.”

“How could I forget?” His chuckle echoed off the rock walls of the cave. “What do you say we explore our surroundings and figure a way out of our dilemma, Mrs. Lucky O'Grady?”

Chapter Three

“We're in the Valley of Fire.”

Rick turned from his contemplation of the endless red bluffs and studied Martha Ann. They had been walking for ten minutes, and as far as he could tell there was nothing to distinguish this canyon from any other in the Southwest.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“I lived in this area once.” She turned and pointed to a large section of sandstone atop an ancient bluff. “See that rock. What does it remind you of?”

“By George, it looks like a turtle.”

“This entire valley is filled with such whimsical creatures. Nature's artwork. The result of millions of years of erosion cutting into the soft interbeds of the rock. And over there—” She pointed to a flat-faced rock that looked as if it had been varnished, shadings of blue and purple over red. Rick could barely make out the symbols carved into the rock. “Petroglyphs,” she explained. “Carvings of the Ancient Ones who once lived in this valley.”

Rick was fascinated—as much by her as by his surroundings. She was a born teacher. It showed in the way her eyes lit up when she talked, the way her arms moved to encompass the valley, the animated lilt of her voice.

He smiled. For the moment, Martha Ann Riley had forgotten she was supposed to be a wealthy aloof married woman. He liked the real Martha Ann.

“How far are we from Las Vegas?”

“About fifty miles.” Martha Ann lifted her face toward the sky. “It will be dark soon. We'd be foolish to try to walk out of the desert at night.”

“I agree. We can surely find a shelter around here.”

“Perferably one that isn't already occupied by a sidewinder.”

“There are other things I'd rather cuddle up to.”

Martha Ann thought of the cold desert night ahead with no blankets and no sleeping bags. She'd have only Rick McGill to keep her warm. As she watched him striding up the canyon, checking for a likely spot to sleep, she had plenty of time to fully appreciate her companion. He was lean and rangy and powerful. She'd be willing to bet that the kisses they'd exchanged were just a mere taste of the raw power of the man.