“Oh. Okay, that explains it. It was a year before his next offense.”
“Anything major?”
“A lot of drunk and disorderly, a couple of assaults, four B &Es, only one of which stuck.”
“He ever shoot anybody?”
“No.”
“Stab anybody?”
“No.”
“Kill anybody?”
“No.”
“Assault anybody?”
“Not on record.”
“How's his income?”
“Shows a little bump in the summer. He's been on unemployment every winter but one for the last five years. He owns a boat.” Jim sounded surprised. “It's mortgaged to the hilt, and he misses about one payment a year, around April, but he makes it up, usually in July or August.”
“Does he own any vehicles?”
“Nnnnnope.”
“Not even a four-wheeler?”
“Let me check the tax records.” Click, click, click. “Nope. Although in the Bush, as you well know, it's a lot easier to hide real property from the tax assessor.”
“I know. I've got a vehicle number for you.” Liam read it off. “Can you tell me who it belongs to?”
“Hang on.” The feminine voice was back, breathing sweet nothings into Jim's and Liam's ears. That they were sweet nothings, Liam could tell only by intonation, as the words were in a tongue foreign to him.
Jim laughed. “In a minute, honey. Okay, Liam, got it. The owner's name is Dick Ford. Ah, lives in Newenham. Only have a P.O. box for an address.” Jim sounded sad that this was so.
“Thanks,” Liam couldn't resist saying, “I can get his street address from my local data bank.” Jim bristled at the idea that someone, anyone would have more information available than he did, and Liam was pleased to have gotten a rise out of him. “Thanks for the help, Jim. Who's the babe?”
“Who, Varinka?” More disgusting kissing sounds. “Varinka's visiting from Magadan. I met her on a wide-band frequency a year ago and invited her over.”
“Yeah, well, give her my best.”
Jim's voice dropped to a good-naturedly lecherous purr. “I'll give her mine.”
Jim was an avid ham operator, although Liam had once accused him of getting his license just so he could pick up girls in Kalgoorlie. Jim had looked wounded, but it was a fact that he dated globally, women parading into Alaska from as far away as Helsinki, lured on by Jim's siren song. On one halcyon occasion, Liam had been present when a beauty who said she was from Graaff Reinet, South Africa, showed up with a sister who was only marginally less stunning than she. Unfortunately, Liam had been married at the time.
Not that that had stopped him when he met Wy.
“Stop it,” he said out loud.
“Stop what?” said a voice from the doorway.
He looked up and saw Wy.
She let the door swing closed behind her and said again, “Stop what?”
“Nothing,” he said automatically, and then thought, the hell with it. “Stop feeling guilty about sleeping with you when I was married to Jenny.”
“Oh.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and then shook it forward again, a habit she had when she was nervous. “Do you think about it a lot?”
“Every day.”
She bit her lip. “Me, too.”
He turned off the computer and sat back. “What are you doing here, Wy?”
She took a deep breath. “I didn't-I… hell.” She squared her shoulders and looked him right in the eye. “Jo said something to me last night.”
“Oh great,” he said, remembering the last time he'd seen Jo, or rather she'd seen him, dancing around with his pants half off, in company with Diana Prince. “My new best friend, I'll bet.”
“She called me a martyr.”
“A what?” he said, startled. It wasn't what he'd been expecting.
“She said that three years ago I sacrificed my happiness for yours. She says it's become a habit, and that I'm afraid that a relationship with you wouldn't measure up to our affair, and that's why I won't… why I won't…” She made a vague gesture and lapsed into silence.
Liam digested this for a moment. “Is it true?” he said finally.
She blew out a breath. “I've been asking myself that over and over again. I don't know.”
He got up and came around the desk. “I can only speak for myself, Wy, but it's there, everything I ever felt for you. It's still there.”
She regarded the buttons of his shirt. “There's a lot you don't know about me, Liam. A lot I never told you. Some of it…” She hesitated. “Some of it could be hard for you to take.”
“I can hear it all. I want to hear it all.”
“You say that now. No, wait. Liam, I learned about catastrophe at an early age, and I've lived my life preparing for it to happen again.” She looked up at him. “I looked at you and I saw another catastrophe coming at me like a freight train. Maybe that's why I couldn't say the words you needed to hear. And maybe that's why you couldn't make the commitment I needed you to make.” She took a deep breath, met his gaze, held it. “Do you know what I wish?”
“What?”
“I wish that just one time I could kiss you on purpose. No, Liam, you know what I mean.”
Liam, in the act of reaching out, halted. “No. I don't.”
She made a frustrated sound. “Every time, it's like we jump on each other, a surprise attack, quick and dirty and then we're gone. Just once I'd like to kiss you and have started out meaning to kiss you.” She took a step forward. “Bend down a little. Put your hands on my waist.”
He obeyed. She was trembling, visibly, but she stood on tiptoe and brushed her cheek against his. He quivered at the feel of skin on skin but didn't make any moves. Her nose nuzzled his, she ran her chin along his jaw, her brow against his neck. Her lips came to rest against the pulse in his throat, which instantly accelerated. She raised her head and slid a hand behind his to urge it down. Her lips were full and soft, her breath light and warm. Her lips parted, her tongue flirted with his, her teeth nipped at his lower lip.
She pulled back and stood in the circle of his arms, staring up at him. It was late, and dim in the little office, but he could see her features clearly, her enlarged irises, the lovely flush of color in her cheeks, the quick rise and fall of her breast. “Like that,” she whispered.
He understood. They'd gone at each other like they were starving, like they could never eat enough to fill themselves up. He sat down on the small couch behind the door and pulled her into his lap. “We never had time to play,” he whispered back.
She put her head on his shoulder. “No.” His heart beat steadily, reassuringly beneath her cheek. He ran his hand slowly, lazily up and down her spine, such a fine, firm arc of flesh and bone, supple, strong, sexy. He was convinced he could recognize it out of a thousand different spines by touch alone.
She raised her head and smiled at him. “I'd better get home.”
“Me, too, damn it. I've got to get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day.”
“I know.” She lifted her face and kissed him again and he lost himself in it and in her.
He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Is it okay that I want more?”
She smiled, the smile of every temptress since Eve. “It's more than okay.”
They stood up and paused, both of them reluctant to say goodnight. “What next?” he said.
She looked thoughtful. “I could say, we start dating.”
“In principle,” Liam said, “I like the idea. In practice, though…”
She smiled. “I know. There really isn't anyplace to go on a date in Newenham.”
“We could drive out to the dump and watch the bears,” he offered.
She pretended to consider, and shook her head. “Too early in the season. There's still salmon in the streams.”
“Well, then, I could take you to dinner at Bill's.”
“We just did that.”
“Right, right.”
“I could take you on a flightseeing trip to Round Island,” she said.
“Round Island? Where's that?”
“It's a state game sanctuary fifty-plus miles south of Kulukak Bay. Walrus haul out there in big herds. It's quite a sight.” Her nose wrinkled. “And smell.”