“You can’t be sure those initials are his.”
“No,” Joe admitted. “But all initials and dates in that book seemed to correlate to the dates of the deposits made in Lee’s bank account.” He unbuckled his holster, wrapped the straps around the sheathed weapon. “Lee’s mother said he only stayed there some of the time when he was in the area, so maybe he’s got another place to hide. But something tells me the three of them-the guy shooting at you, Graywolf and Quintero-are all connected.”
“Why would someone keep records that could incriminate them?” She trailed after him as he left the kitchen and walked into her bedroom, where he set the gun on the dresser. He sat on the edge of the bed, and starting pulling off his boots.
Delaney’s stomach jittered oddly at the sight. He shrank the space when he was in it. Heck, he stamped the whole house with his presence. And it all seemed too much, too soon. The familiarity of his showing up here. Her feeding him. Even talking about the case. It all seemed so…domestic.
The term had her mouth drying out. She didn’t do domestic and she certainly didn’t do long-term. Just the thought had anxiety skating along her nerves. She was used to being the outsider, always looking in, always observing. There was a certain distance necessary to see all angles of the story.
It had never bothered her before, it was just something that was, like her hair or eye color. It wasn’t until she’d finished her last project and allowed herself to go home, her nerves in shreds, nightmares and alcohol sharing a viselike grip on her psyche, that she realized the truth-she didn’t belong anywhere anymore. She could go home but she couldn’t be at home there. And the sincere love and support her family had tried to offer had, at times, felt as smothering as the flashbacks that dragged her back into the past.
She wasn’t sure why that fact struck her now, except that she’d never seen a man with a stronger sense of belonging than Joe Youngblood. His ties to his culture, to his family were so much a part of him that one couldn’t be separated from the other. And knowing that filled her with a sort of wistfulness, as if he had something she didn’t want. Didn’t need. But recognized all the same as something she’d never have.
He was staring at her and she realized with a start that he’d been speaking. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said Lee might be keeping it to incriminate someone else. It might be insurance in case he gets caught at whatever the hell he’s doing, so he has something to trade.” His T-shirt came off next and the sight of that wide expanse of hard bronzed flesh had all doubts and distractions receding. She looked away, the blood in her pulse turning slow and heavy.
The silence in the room went thick.
“Delaney.”
She swallowed, struggled to tuck away the unfamiliar tide of emotion that threatened to flood her. It was so much easier not to feel at all, to avoid feelings that brought pain more often than anything else. How had she forgotten that? And why?
Slowly, she met his gaze.
“I can go.”
It’d be better if he did. Better if they both had time to recall all the reasons this was to be kept casual. Emotionless.
But the thought of sending him out that door, alone, didn’t leave her feeling casual or emotionless. Whatever the cost, she realized, she’d made her choice the first night she’d slept with him. All she could do was hope that the cost wouldn’t be too great. “I want you to stay.”
His dark gaze searched hers, but when she went to him, smoothed her hands over the bunched muscles in his shoulders, the tension seemed to seep away.
He pulled her closer, spread one large palm on her bottom while his other hand slipped under her shirt. “You sure?”
Already desire was trumping doubt. A thousand tiny flames flickered to life beneath the skin where he touched her. She pressed her lips against his and whispered, “No. But I’m willing to be convinced.”
Chapter 10
“I told you before, I’m done talking to you.” Mary Barlow raised her chin mutinously, but her gaze kept darting beyond Joe to the street in front of her motel.
“And I told you I know you were lying about not being aware of Oree’s activities. You were there when many of his drug transactions went down. I’ve got people who will testify to that. Makes you an accessory, Mary. I can charge you with that.”
She licked her lips, and for a moment he almost felt sorry for her. The days since he’d last seen her had not been kind to the woman. She looked as if she hadn’t slept, and it was obvious someone had used her for a punching bag. Her lip was split and there was a multi-colored bruise beneath one eye.
“Do what you gotta do.” Her attempt at bravado fell flat. “I don’t believe you can get anyone to testify. They’re all just as scared as I am.”
Interest piqued he leaned forward. “Who are they afraid of, Mary? The same person who did that to your face?”
“I ran into a door,” she muttered.
“Must have had a fist attached to it. You could file a report, you know. Whoever did that could be brought in and charged.”
She made a derisive sound. “As if you guys could get anything to stick to him. His daddy’s money would have him on the street in an hour and an hour after that I’d be dead.”
Stunned, Joe just stared at her for a moment. “Are you saying Graywolf did that to you?”
“I’m done talking. Didn’t have anything to say to you last time, but that didn’t stop me from getting this.” She fingered the bruise beneath her eye.
Adrenaline spiked through him. “If you’ve got information about Brant Graywolf we can protect you. If you just tell me what you know, I can make sure…”
“No one can be protected from Brant.” A car driving by seemed to spook her, and she bolted by him, heading for her vehicle. “If you don’t believe me, ask those three kids they found a few weeks back.” She yanked open her door but before she got inside she sent him a bitter smile. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t. They’re dead.”
“They’re waiting for you in the captain’s office.”
Joe looked from Vicki Smith to the area she indicated, but the blinds covering the office window were closed. “Any idea what’s going on?”
Vicki shook her head, the action sending her brunette bob swaying. “All I know is someone from Border Patrol walked in asking for you, and five minutes later Captain was telling me to get on the radio, and get you in here.”
Border Patrol? Joe immediately thought of Bernie Silversmith, and his step quickened. Maybe he’d discovered something about the tread he’d faxed him.
But the man with Tapahe wasn’t Bernie Silversmith. He was a white man, short, balding and stocky, with a permanently rosy complexion. Ruddy skin met pale in a horizontal dissection across his broad forehead, where constant hat-wearing had protected his scalp.
“Joe.” Tapahe greeted him. “This is Border Patrol Supervisor Clint Dawson.” Dawson rose. He had a white man’s handshake, firm, held a trifle too long, as opposed to the Navajo preferred manner of only a light touching of the hands. “I spoke to Bernie Silversmith about you. He says you’re a good cop.”
Joe lifted a shoulder. “He has to say that. He still owes me money from the last time we played poker.”
Dawson smiled briefly. “I’ll remind him of that the next time I see him.” He reseated himself. “Bernie posted that tread you’d faxed him on an interagency Web bulletin board and it drew some immediate interest. I was just telling your captain here that we’ve run across that same tread a couple dozen times in the last few years.”