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Though she’d been frightened until he’d shown her his badge, their struggle had been oddly exciting, too, she decided after she thought it over while sitting here in the cell. Other than her father and brothers, she knew she had a problem with trust of the male half of the population.
The fact was that men always expected more than she was willing to give at the moment. Just when she was starting to feel comfortable with the guy and with kisses and caresses, then, well, things moved too fast, becoming too demanding. One date had accused her of holding out.
She’d been left feeling humiliated and in the wrong for reasons she didn’t know. It certainly hadn’t increased her comfort level with the opposite sex.
Glancing at her captor’s hands as he linked them together between his knees, his gaze on the floor as if deep in thought, she realized that no matter what defensive move she’d made, he’d countered with only enough force to halt it, but not once had he bruised her in any way.
When he’d folded her into his arms and pulled her against him, it was as if she’d been wrapped in a protective cocoon and all he’d wanted to do was keep her from getting hurt. It was such an odd thought….
Staring at the dull green wall, she admitted she was mystified by his visit, by their shared laughter, by the intriguing currents that ran between them that were almost as disturbing as her arrest.
“It’s late,” he said. “I should leave and let you get some rest.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep very much tonight.”
He nodded. “I was still wound up after the day’s excitement, too.”
“I’d have thought arresting people was old hat to a special investigator for the National Park Service.” Her tone was mildly sarcastic.
He grinned, then winced and touched his nose. She was at once sorry she’d been so rough, even though it was his fault for scaring her.
“Hardly,” he said. “Mostly I authenticate archeological finds for the department and set up security, especially on ancient sites like the dig up at the canyon. I investigate thefts and other problems at various national parks. They send me wherever they need some help.”
“I see.”
Regaining her equilibrium, she decided his work sounded like an easy job to her, nothing that called for springing handcuffs on innocent people without warning.
Gazing at his nose, which was noticeably swollen, she forgot her indignation over the arrest and advised, “You should ice your bruises for forty-eight hours, then switch to four minutes of heat followed by one minute of ice three or four times a day after that for two or three days.”
“I kept an ice pack on it most of the afternoon.”
“Good.” After observing him for a moment when he made no move to leave, she asked quietly, seriously, “What are you really doing here? I think you came because you want something from me.”
Before answering, he drank the last of the coffee. He crushed the paper cup and tossed it in a waste-basket near the door, then studied her for several seconds. “I want you to take me to the guy you said gave you the pottery.”
“Tonight?” she asked incredulously as disappointment hit her. She realized the cake, the kindness and the easy laughter had been a method of softening her up before he made the request.
“No, but soon. I don’t want him to get word that something funny went on at the store.”
Leaning against the wall behind the cot, she took a drink of coffee and noticed he was dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt informally open at the neck and well-shined loafers. She’d already noticed his aftershave, the fragrance familiar to her from their earlier encounter.
So, he’d cleaned up before coming to the jail. Was that part of the ploy to win her confidence and encourage a sense of camaraderie between them?
Tired and discouraged, she regretted letting herself drift into familiarity, especially the sharing of her past. It was something she rarely talked about, but he’d seemed truly concerned, as if he already knew that she’d been injured by events of long ago.
“How far is his place from town?” he continued.
“Over fifty miles, off Standing Rock Road.”
“I’ll be here around eight in the morning to pick you up.”
“Will they let me out of jail?”
“You’ll be released into my custody.” His tone implied it would be no problem.
“If we find Josiah and he confirms my story, will I then be free?”
He hesitated, then said, “I’ll talk to the district attorney on your behalf. He’s the one who’ll decide whether to charge you with a crime or let you off if you cooperate.”
“I’ll cooperate,” she assured him coldly. “I want to clear my name as soon as possible and put this experience behind me.”
And you, she added silently. She wanted him out of her life. He was a threat, although she couldn’t say how.
When he rose, she, too, stood. He rattled the doorknob, the buzzer sounded and he walked out, leaving her standing behind the metal bars of the tiny cell. She immediately experienced the sense of abandonment again, as if he was her only savior in a world she no longer knew.
She rubbed her wrists, but there were no purple marks from fingers digging too harshly into her flesh. She remembered how careful he’d been when examining the priceless pottery and the way he’d stared into her eyes as if looking directly into her soul. She’d never felt that before. For the briefest moment, she wondered what it would be like to have him wrap her in his arms again, to feel his lips on hers…
She blinked, appalled at the strange path her mind had taken. Pressing her hands against her eyes, she felt dismay, anger, exasperation and other feelings too tangled to comprehend.
Glancing around the cell, she made up her mind to fight fire with fire. She had to smile. She knew just who she needed to get in touch with. Special Investigator Aquilon might be a force to be reckoned with, but she wasn’t without resources of her own.
“Sergeant,” she yelled. “Sergeant, I need to talk to you.”
Chapter Three
Tony hit the snooze alarm twice before he could drag himself out of bed and into Sunday morning. After washing up and dressing, he wandered into the kitchen and poured a cup of fresh coffee, which was ready thanks to the modern marvel of a timer on the coffeemaker.
What the heck was he doing up at six-thirty when this was the one day of the week he could catch up on his sleep?
Oh, yeah, the prisoner. He had work to do today.
He thought about going over and taking her to breakfast before they went searching for the man who gave her the pottery to deliver. If there was such a person, he added, frowning at his tendency to believe her story without any corroborating evidence.
Except for the earnestness of her gaze when she’d looked him directly in the eye. And the set of her mouth, which turned up at the corners in the most alluring way, when she’d stated she wanted to clear her name.
He groaned under his breath as his body went into full alert. Last night his dreams had been so hot it was a wonder the bed hadn’t caught fire. Without having to think about crimes and arrests, his subconscious had been free to consider other delightful things a man and woman could do when they were in such close proximity.
A cold—very cold—shower helped get things calmed down. After a quick breakfast, he headed for the station house. While she was technically his prisoner, there were papers to fill out before he could whisk her out of jail.
One of the problems with his line of work was jurisdiction. When it came to ancient artifacts, who was the authority—the park service? The tribal police? The local state and/or county officials? It was always a pain to sort through and often only a very fine, blurry line separated the legal powers. In this case, because Chuck had been in on the arrest and the Hopi claimed all artifacts as part of their culture, it made the question even more contentious.
However, he’d found he could usually work through the system with a little diplomacy. Since Julianne was cooperating, he didn’t see any reason to keep her in jail.
Neither did a lot of other people.
Bedlam reigned when he arrived at the state police headquarters. He had to push his way through a mob to get to the desk.
“What’s going on?” he asked the detail sergeant from the previous day when he and Chuck had brought in the suspect. At that moment he noticed Julianne standing to one side, her purse in her hand. “Who let her out?” he demanded. “Who authorized it?”
“The county judge,” the sarge replied. “Apparently her brother called the chief of the tribal council. The chief called the tribal attorney, who called the county judge. The judge’s assistant came in with a release order this morning, along with about fifty members of the Native American Women’s Advisory Council and one of the tribal elders. She posted bail, so she’s free.”
Tony turned to Julianne, whose innocent smile would have melted the heart of an iceberg.
“How did your brother get word?” he asked, giving her a narrow-eyed scowl.
“Last night after you left, the sergeant let me use my cell phone to call him…after I explained the governor would hear about my arrest and false imprisonment as soon as Chief Windover returned.”
The tribal elder, wearing a traditional Hopi braid and two eagle feathers, stepped forward. He looked old enough and wizened enough to be an artifact from the dig.
“The tribe has jurisdiction in the case,” he informed Tony. “The council had an emergency meeting last night and decided Julianne was to be freed.”
“Well,” Julianne said. “I’m ready to go. Since I have my car, I can lead you to the spot, then return home while you arrest everybody,” she said brightly.
“You’ll ride with me.” It was time for him to take charge. “I have authority in this case,” he told the elder and the two older women lined up beside him. “I was planning on releasing her this morning. She’s cooperating in the investigation.”
“Of course she is,” one of the women said. “She’s a wonderful person. She saved my grandson’s life when he stopped breathing shortly after he was born.” Her glare dared him to contradict her statement.
He sighed and turned to the desk sergeant. “Give me the custody papers. I’m taking charge of her.” He doggedly filled out the papers in spite of protests from the NAWAC. “She’ll be free to go home as long as she doesn’t leave the state,” he told them.
“It’s okay,” Julianne spoke up when the women looked as if they might attack. “He and I are working together on this. Thank you so much for coming down and helping me out. I really appreciate it.”
Tony watched as she hugged the elder and his two primary sidekicks. After promising to kick butt if there was more trouble, the elder and the NAWAC departed.
“Are you ready?” he asked sardonically.
“Yes. Is it okay if I drop my car at my house?”
He nodded, feeling very gracious considering she was in his custody and had nearly gotten him staked out on an anthill by her defenders. He followed her out of town and onto Highway 666, which was where her house was located.
Hmm, 666. Wasn’t that the symbol of the devil?
Yeah, and it suited her to a tee.
He would have laughed but it hurt his nose to move his facial muscles that much.
Outside, Julianne flinched at the brightness of the sun on the eastern horizon. She was aware of the park service vehicle that stayed on her tail as she drove out of town.
Two miles up the highway, she turned into the driveway of an adobe two-bedroom cottage that was part of her work compensation. She was thinking of buying it if the council extended her contract. She parked under the lean-to carport and hopped out.
The morning air was like a magic elixir as she inhaled deeply. Freedom. She’d never take it for granted again. Although she felt like laughing and running before the breeze like a bird, she approached the SUV sedately. “Would you mind if I showered and changed clothes before we left?”
The chill of the night lingered on the desert. She rubbed the goose bumps from her arms while she waited for his decision. “I’ll make you breakfast,” she added when he didn’t answer right away.
“I’ve eaten. But I could use a cup of coffee while I wait.”
Her eyes widened with pleasure when she realized he’d given his approval. “Sure. Coming right up.” She rushed to the front door. “Uh, you can come in.”
After putting on a pot of coffee and showing him where the cups were, she dashed into her bedroom and closed the door. She took the fastest shower in history and returned to the kitchen in fresh slacks and a tank top with a matching overshirt. He stood at the back door that opened onto a covered patio and drank from a coffee mug, his eyes on the arroyo, dry now because there’d been no rain in over two weeks, that wended its way along the edge of the property.
“I’m ready to go, Special Investigator Aquilon,” she said, smiling.
He gave her a wary glance. “My name’s Anthony. Everyone calls me Tony.”
“I’m Julianne, Jules, rhymes with mules, to my smart-mouth brothers.” She hadn’t a clue as to why she’d added this bit of family information.
“One of those smart-mouth brothers got you out of jail.”
“Calhoon,” she told him. “Cal’s the oldest, I’m the middle and Sam’s the youngest in our family. Dad used to tease the boys, saying we three kids were like an Oreo and I was the sweet in the middle.”
Her guest carefully touched his nose, which she thought looked much better, hardly any swelling at all. “Yeah,” he said, “real sweet.”
When she laughed, he shook his head, but the corners of his mouth turned up a bit.
“Where does your family live?” he asked.
“Albuquerque, which is where I was born and raised. My brothers live there, too.” She filled a travel mug with coffee. “Well, I’m ready for the great adventure.”
He looked heavenward as if asking for patience.
“I’ve never arrested anyone before,” she explained.
“You’re not now. I’m the arresting officer.”
“Whatever,” she said blithely. Nothing could ruin her exuberance at being out of jail.
He led the way to the SUV and saw her inside before climbing in the driver’s side. “Which way?”
“North.” She watched his hands as he put the truck in gear and backed out.
She’d thought of him last night before she fell asleep, of the strength in his hands and how his body had felt against hers, pinning her in place against the dusty car. The long, hard ridge in his jeans had been unmistakable.
Like yesterday, a strange clamoring rose in her, as if a dormant part of her had awakened and demanded attention. She’d always been cautious, though, so this internal heat was surprising.
After they were on their way, she asked, “Are you still pressing charges against me? I was told I would have to report to a judge for a hearing.”
He flicked her a probing glance. The man had a way of looking a person over as if he could dig out the truth no matter how much she tried to hide it.
“If your alibi holds up, then we’ll see,” he said.
“What alibi?”
“If Josiah Pareo confirms your story, then the onus will be on him to come up with a good explanation for having those artifacts.”
“He will,” she said. “He and his wife. They were a nice young couple, very concerned about their new baby and its welfare. I’m sure he’ll straighten this out.”
“Hmm,” the special investigator said.
It was a cop’s duty to be skeptical, so she decided to forgive him for his doubts.
