Cold Case Cowboy. Jenna Ryan
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Sasha lifted her face from the pillow and tried to remember if April had mentioned any construction work in the hotel.
The hammering became a series of thumps, and she realized someone was banging on her door. That was never a good thing in the middle of the night.
“Okay, I’m coming.” She pushed herself upright. “Stop pounding holes in my door.” Her robe had slipped to the floor. She had to search for it in the dark because she couldn’t remember where the light switches were.
The pounding stopped when she twisted the knob and yanked. “What?” she demanded. Then groaned. “Oh, God, not you. No offense, Detective Law, but go away.”
He brushed past her and began to prowl the room. “Don’t you use your viewer?”
“My what?” She turned, noticed the small peephole in the door. “If I had, I’d have added the security chain, not opened up. Why are you here?” She hunted for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Six o’clock.”
Not as early as she’d thought. Combing her fingers through her hair, she forced her mind into function mode. “There’s no one under my bed or in the bathroom, as you can see. I had the dead bolt on all night, and I didn’t hear a thing.”
He paused by the window, surveyed the building across the street. “Do you always sleep with the curtains open?”
Not usually, but she’d been too exhausted to notice. She ignored his piercing gaze and tightened the belt of her white terry robe. She needed coffee badly. However, since there was only a mini fridge in the room, she settled for orange juice.
“Look, Nick, I know who you’re searching for, but why are you doing it in my room?”
He left the window. “The murder didn’t go according to plan, Sasha. We found the snow globe.”
So things were going from bad to worse. “Where?”
“Behind Annie’s Barn. It was broken.”
“And that means…?”
“Something screwed up.”
“Mostly for Kristiana Felgard, as far as I can see. Maybe she fought him and broke the globe.”
“I doubt it.” His gaze swept the room from corner to corner, halted on her leather backpack. “Is that all the luggage you brought?”
Even half-asleep and lacking caffeine, she could laugh. “No wonder you’re not married anymore. How many women do you know who travel with only a single backpack?”
He shot her a quick look, and she wished she’d at least had time to brush her hair.
“I’ve met a few.”
“Most of them were probably planting trees and couldn’t tell you what day of the week it was.” Sasha took a long drink of the juice. “Skye wants us to stay at the lodge while we’re here.”
He moved closer, and she fought an urge to sidestep. “We? As in you and who?”
“Me and Max, I imagine. Not me and a serial killer, I shouldn’t think.”
Nick took the bottle from her hand, set it down. Catching her arms, he brought her forward. “The problem is, Sasha, you need to think all the time. You’re not doing that.”
“I just woke up, Nick. I’m not used to being so defensive this early in the day.”
There were flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. And a night’s worth of stubble on his face. Marveling at the beauty of his features, she touched a finger to his chin. “You haven’t shaved. And you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday. You haven’t been to bed, have you?”
“I grabbed an hour of downtime at the jail.”
She blinked in surprise. “You slept in a jail cell? That is devotion.”
“We discovered traces of blood on the globe.”
Because he was still gripping her arms, she refused to shiver. “Hers or his?”
“Not hers. We don’t know yet if it’s his. There was blood at the scene, as well.”
“Lovely.” A thought struck her. “Should you be telling me this?”
“Why, are you planning on running to the local newspaper with your scoop? You have a right to know certain aspects of the case.”
“And you think because the killer messed up, he’ll want to fix his mistake…Oh, hell.” She released a breath. “That’s exactly what you think, isn’t it, and what he might be thinking, too.”
With his thumbs, Nick stroked circles on her upper arms. “Tell me Denver’s starting to sound good to you.”
“It is.” She raised her head, firmly defiant. “But I’m not going back. Come on, Nick,” she said, at the flicker of vexation on his face. “Would it matter if I did? If he wants to kill me—” this time she did shiver “—he’ll simply follow me and do it wherever. In an alley, or a park, or someone’s front yard. Snow’s snow, and he’s murdered women in several different cities and towns.”
“You’re missing the point, Sasha.”
“No, I’m getting it loud and clear. Look, would you mind letting me go? Thanks,” she said, when he dropped his hands.
He didn’t move away, and Sasha was so intrigued by her response to him that she didn’t, either.
“Why did you come to my room, Nick, at six in the morning?”
“I thought about coming at two. Better?”
For some reason, the faint spark of humor in his eyes settled her.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll only go up to the building site during the day, and I’ll come back to the hotel before it gets dark. I’ll make sure Max is with me, and I won’t talk to strangers, either here or there. Does that work for you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You could arrest me.”
“Love to. Why don’t you assault me, and we’ll go from there?”
“Handcuffs and everything? You’re kinky as well as mysterious, Detective. I love it.”
“I had a feeling you would.”
“If that’s a comment on my character, I’ll caution you to reserve judgment. I’m not usually a flirt, but my mother preached what she practiced, and as much as I hate to admit it, one or two of her bad habits stuck.”
He placed his hands on Sasha’s arms again. This time, however, he simply slid them up and down to draw her in.
Captivated as much by his gaze as his touch, she offered no resistance. She let him ease her hips against his, and shifted her attention from his eyes to his mouth.
Although her immunity to most men’s charms was unparalleled, she suspected Nick would be a different story. As if to verify that fear, alarm bells began to clamor in her head. She planted her palms on his chest. “No, Nick, wait.”
He stopped with his mouth a tantalizing inch above hers. “What am I waiting for, Sasha?”
She realized the fist she had wrapped in his shirt was hauling him toward her rather than pushing him away. “I have no idea.” And, smiling, she yanked his mouth onto hers.
“A SERIAL KILLER? Here? In Painter’s Bluff?” An agitated Max raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t believe it. People said a woman died up at Painter’s Rock. No one mentioned the word murder. Sasha, we need to—”
“Drive up to the site and do the job Skye hired us to do,” Sasha finished for him. She tossed her pack in the back of the Land Rover. “You can ride