Naked Edge (17 page)

Chills shivered down her spine.

Was someone claiming responsibility for killing him? Or was the caller threatening her?

Report it to the police.

That's what she needed to do. But not the Boulder police. She didn't want to have to deal with Daniels again. She'd wait to report it till she was home in Denver. She drew a breath and glanced around her but saw no one.

What did you expect to see, Kat? Some thug in a ski mask watching you?

Feeling silly, she stuck her key in the ignition and started the engine.

She'd just pulled out of the parking space when her cell phone rang again. Her foot slammed on the brake, and for a moment she froze. Then slowly she reached over and picked up the phone--relief rushing through her when she saw Gabe's name on the LCD display.

She answered. "This is Kat."

"Hey, it's me, Gabe. I need to see you. I need to talk to you." His words were slightly slurred, and there was an edge to his voice that she hadn't heard before. Was he drunk? "Can we meet someplace? I just really need to see you."

"Where are you?" It sounded like there was a party in the background.

"At the West End Tavern. Been here since they opened. It's happy hour, but they won't serve me another drink. I guess they figure I'm happy enough."

So he was drunk.

"I'm in Boulder." She didn't tell him she was in the middle of the street in front of his house. "Stay there, and I'll meet you in a few minutes, okay?"

"You're coming here?" The surprise in his voice made him sound boyish and strangely vulnerable.

"I'll be there in about ten minutes." She took her foot off the brake and pressed on the gas. "And Gabe?"

"Yeah, honey?"

She'd be lying if she said that hearing him call her honey had no affect on her. "Ask the bartender for a glass of water."

"HERE WE ARE." Her arm around his waist, Kat leaned Gabe against the brick wall just outside his own front door, having maneuvered him out of her truck and up the walk--no easy task when he was almost a foot taller than she and outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. Not only did the extra weight hurt her right leg, but she was afraid she'd slip and they'd both fall. "Do you have your keys?"

"In my pocket." He made no move to get them, but ducked down and nuzzled her cheek, then buried his nose in her hair, breathing deep. "Mmm. God, you smell good--sweet and clean and good enough to eat. Do you know that?"

"Um ..." Kat tried to stay focused on what she was doing, not what she was feeling, her skin burning where his lips had touched her. She reached inside his coat pockets but found no keys. "Are you sure you didn't leave your keys at the bar?"

"Back pocket." He shifted, drew her against him, almost tottering them both to the concrete as he nibbled her earlobe. "God, I want you! I want to kiss you until you can't think. I want to kiss those perfect breasts. I want to taste you everywhere. I want to fuck you so damn bad. You don't even know what I mean, do you?"

Kat was forced to press herself against him to reach his back pocket, her hand sliding over the worn denim of his jeans, only butter-soft fabric between her palm and the disturbingly hard muscles of his butt. "I ... I think I do know what you mean."

He groaned, his breath hot, his hips flexing against her, giving away his erection, his tongue seeking and teasing the whorl of her ear. "You might know what I mean, but you can't really know what I mean. You're extra virgin, honey."

She retrieved the keys, twisting to her left so that she could unlock the door. She tried to change the subject, this one far too unsettling, especially when he nibbled the sensitive skin below her ear. "D-do you like your coffee black?"

"You have no idea what it'd feel like to have my mouth between your legs. I'd suck on your clit till you came. Then I'd slide my cock inside you, and you'd be so wet and so tight." He nipped her throat with his teeth, his big hand sliding up from her waist to cup her breast, the contact scorching even through her sweater and bra. "I'd make you come. I'd make the dignified Katherine James scream. Mmm, yeah."

His words drove the breath from her lungs, heat rushing into her cheeks. It took her a moment to realize she had no idea which key opened the door. She held the keys up with a shaking hand. "Which key ... Which key is it, Gabe? Can you help me?"

"Have you ever had an orgasm? But you don't want ... And I can't ..." He dropped his forehead head against her shoulder, the hand that had touched her breast now balled into a fist as he drew it away. "Get a grip, Rossiter, you stupid fuck."

"Gabe?" If he passed out, they would both land in the snow. "Which key?"

GABE WOKE UP naked in his own bed, certain he was an inch from death. His head throbbed. His mouth was as dry as sand and thick with the sour aftertaste of single malt. And his stomach ...

Oh, God!

His skull seeming to shatter, he sat, felt his stomach revolt, and made a staggering, stumbling dash to the bathroom, where he spent the next ten minutes puking his guts out like a frat boy. When he was reasonably certain it was over, he flushed and rested his cheek against the porcelain rim.

"Do you feel better now?" a feminine voice asked softly.

Kat?

What the hell was she doing here?

He opened one eye, saw her standing in the doorway. And then he remembered. He'd called her from the bar. She'd come for him, driven him home, and ...

I'd make you come. I'd make the dignified Katherine James scream.

He closed his one eye, groaned.

You're lucky she didn't drop you on the concrete, dickhead!

Now, he was sprawled naked on his bathroom floor using the toilet as a pillow.

Yeah, well, if that didn't turn her on, nothing would.

He heard the sound of running water, and then she was there, kneeling beside him, wiping his face with a cool, damp cloth. "Oh, you poor, silly goat!"

Silly goat?

He sat up, wincing as his skull exploded, then felt her press a glass of cold water and two pills--Christ, he hoped they were aspirin!--into his hands. He opened both eyes and almost wept for joy when he recognized them as Excedrin. Then he popped the pills and washed them down with gulps of cold, wonderful water. "More."

FIVE MINUTES LATER, he'd traded slumping buck naked against the toilet to slumping over the kitchen table in a pair of jeans, a jackhammer pounding inside his cranium. The only thing he could say for himself in that moment was that he'd at least gotten off the floor, gotten his ass in pants, brushed his teeth, and made his way into the kitchen without her help. He raised his head enough to look at the clock and saw it was almost midnight. Had she been here this entire time?

Then he remembered seeing documents spread out on the living room floor just now--it seemed like an hour ago--and he guessed she'd had.

"Here." She came up behind him and draped something--the blanket from his bed--around his shoulders. "I'll make you some coffee."

"Thanks." An almost forgotten sense of warmth grew inside Gabe's chest. It had been a long time since anyone had shown this kind of concern for him. Then again it had been a long time since he'd let anyone get close to him. "Sorry about this."

"You've rescued me a few times, so I figure it's alright if I rescue you." She had her back to him, her hands busy measuring out coffee grounds.

It was then he noticed. She'd cut her hair, the dark strands hanging to just below her shoulder blades. He was about to say something about it when he remembered that it was a sign of mourning in some American Indian cultures.

She's grieving the death of someone she loved, but instead of being home, she's rescuing you--from a bottle of scotch. Could you be any more pathetic, Rossiter?

"So ..." He wasn't sure how to ask this. "Did you undress me?"

He sure as hell hadn't left the bar naked.

She shook her head. "You ... um ... took off your clothes when we got inside. Then you got a glass of water from the kitchen, walked off to your bedroom, and passed out. I did pull the covers over you, though."

He wasn't body shy in the least, but if he was going to bare it all in front of her, why couldn't he have done it under more flattering circumstances? "I haven't been that wasted since I was in college."

"Do you want to talk about it?" She set the filter in the coffeemaker and then turned to the sink to fill the coffeepot with water.

"About what?"

"About whatever drove you into the bar in the middle of the day."

"Not particularly."

She got two clean mugs out of the cupboard but said nothing.

His brain must have still been pickled in booze, because the next thing he knew his mouth opened and he found himself telling her how Webb had saved his ass when the city attorney had threatened to fire him today.

"Ira Feinman?" She set a cup of coffee in front of him.

He took a sip, almost groaned. "Yeah. You know him? The guy is a serious asshole. He wanted me to withdraw my complaint against Daniels. Then he told me that if he found out I was giving you information, he'd fire me."

She sat across from him, coffee mug in her hands, a troubled look on her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to cause problems for you."

"It's not your fault." Gabe reached across the table and took her hand, surprised by the current of awareness that passed between them.

She looked away--but she didn't withdraw her hand. "I had a confrontation with Mr. Feinman today, too. I went to the city manager's office and refused to leave until they gave me the files on Mesa Butte or the city manager himself explained why I haven't yet received them. He threatened to have me arrested if--"

On the other side of the wall, her cell phone rang.

She went rigid, her face suddenly pale.

"Kat?"

She stood, walked almost hesitantly into the living room. When she spoke, there was genuine fear in her voice. "Who are you? What do you want?"

When she returned moments later, phone in hand, he could tell she was shaken.

Instinct got him on his feet, the pain in his head forgotten. "What is it?"

"Would you mind if I stayed here tonight?"

KAT WATCHED GABE slam the magazine into his handgun and rack the slide, that same feeling of unreality she'd felt off and on since they'd found Grandpa Red Crow's body settling over her again. The moment she'd told him about the calls, he'd walked off to set the alarm system on his house, a grim look on his face. It both unsettled her--and made her feel strangely pleased. She wasn't used to men being protective of her.

"Do you know how to use a gun?" He turned to her, weapon pointed at the floor.

She nodded. "A shotgun. My grandmother made sure all of us knew how to fire it so we could protect the sheep."

He raised an eyebrow. "Ever actually point it at anything?"

"No."

He laid the gun flat across his palm, the barrel pointed to the side. "All you have to know with a Glock is not to put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to fire. The safety is built into the trigger. See? When you pull on the trigger, you compress it, and the weapon is then able to fire. It's simple. Point and shoot."

Point and shoot?

"Don't you think you're overreacting?" Talking about shooting people wasn't making Kat feel one bit safer. Instead, the idea terrified her and added weight to her own misgivings about the calls. "It was just a few prank calls."

He tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. "Those weren't crank calls, honey. Those were death threats--and five is more than a few."

"Whoever it is probably just wants to scare me." That's what she'd told herself as her phone had kept ringing and Gabe had slept off the worst of his drinking binge. "Most of the time, people who make threats don't carry them out."

He settled his hands gently on her shoulders and drew her into his embrace. "Not to frighten you, but it sounds to me that this bastard is trying to take credit for killing Red Crow. If he's killed once, he's capable of killing again. I understand why you don't want to report the calls to the Boulder police, but promise me you'll call the cops as soon as you get back to Denver tomorrow. I don't want you to get hurt."

Kat nodded, her stomach sinking as Gabe's conclusions about the calls reinforced what her intuition had been trying to tell her.

One little Indian dead.

He stepped back from her, dropped his gaze to the floor, a troubled frown on his face. "You know, it might not be a bad idea to call your buddy Marc and have him come get you. I'd take you to his place myself, but I'm pretty sure I'm still over the legal limit. Besides, I think my truck is still downtown, isn't it?"

"You ... You don't want me here?" Her stomach sank even farther.

"No, it's not that. It's just that ... I'm a park ranger. He's a Special Forces veteran, a SWAT sniper, and an ex-con. If he can't shoot this guy, he can beat the shit out of him in a hundred dirty ways you and I can't imagine. You'd probably be safer if you stayed with him."

The expression on Gabe's face told her it hadn't been easy for him as a man to say this. He was trying his best to keep her safe, even if that meant sending her away. How could she tell him that she was still here because she wanted to be here, because she wanted to be with him?