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He frowned. “Did you really just try to insult me?”
Of course she did. Tico looked like the same type of hard-edged criminal she’d busted dozens of times over the years. The worse ones to handle were the dudes with attitude because they had sex appeal. Those Romeos thought their shit didn’t stink. She was sure that Tico fell into that camp. But there was something compelling about him. Attitude had its allure.
The fact that Tico was one of the good guys now made him a curiosity. One she had no time or inclination to explore, though, dammit all, her curiosity egged her on. She felt stupid when her heart thumped as she watched him stand there all arrogant and hot in his tight black shirt and jeans.
She spotted the rattlesnake tattoo immediately and used all her cop training not to stare. Given the many run-ins she’d had with rattlers in the desert, Butler’s lifelike tat, which curled around his forearm with the head and forked tongue resting just above his wrist, unsettled her right down to her toes. She honored nature in all its forms, especially with what she’d learned living closely with the Judumi, but she wasn’t a fan of snakes. Even more, she wasn’t one for tattoos. But that lean, golden brown rattler circling Tico’s forearm downright suited him.
She gestured to his tat. “Didn’t know you had a pet.”
He took a drag on his cigar and exhaled the smoke while watching her, but said nothing. The ash on the cigar between his fingers burned orange in the dark.
If he thought he was intimidating her, he was dead wrong. Meg swung from the saddle and looped the horse’s reins around the porch rail. Why did this guy bring out the worst in her?
Tico pointed to the horse’s reins. “Do you really believe a single loop will keep her from bolting?”
“She’s my horse. She won’t go anywhere.”
“Like mine obeyed me so well this morning?”
Meg thought it prudent not to comment on his horse abilities this time. “He wasn’t really yours. I’ve had Whisper since she was a filly. If you had a dog you raised from a pup, wouldn’t he stay by your side without a leash?”
Tico shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. Never had a dog.”
A boy and no dog? She couldn’t imagine. “Guess city living doesn’t make it easy for a dog.”
“My grandmother had a Chihuahua, but that’s not a dog.”
She laughed. “My roommate has one. He’s rather charming.”
“Charming is not how I’d describe a dog.” He waved her up the one step to the porch. “Have a seat. Do you mind if I smoke?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s a stupid question. You already are.”
He stuck the cigar back in his mouth. “Just being polite, ma’am.”
Meg took the one step to meet him square on. Crossing into his territory seemed appropriate under the circumstances.
“Polite would be for you to back away from the investigation.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. No can do.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Are you here to take my job?”
He bit down on the cigar. “Do you want the party-line response, or my true intentions?”
“I want to know why the hell you’re in my way.”
He leaned back on the railing and tugged the cigar from his mouth. “I am here because I plan on stopping some sewer rats from stealing and destroying innocent women. Drugs and human trafficking are disgusting, and I can help with the investigation.”
“That sounds like the party line.”
His gaze slid to a point over her right shoulder. A momentary frown creased his brow. “Despite what you may think of me or my motives, I came to get a job done.”
“What I think of you doesn’t matter at all. What did my father offer you?”
“I’m not going to discuss your father.”
“Then tell me about yours.”
A short, amused laugh escaped him. “Not a chance.” He cocked a brow. “What are you fishing for?”
She stared a long moment, growing uncomfortable as those restless Judumi eyes focused on her mouth, then her neck, before dropping slowly along the flower-embroidered neckline of her Mexican blouse. The scrutiny of men was nothing new to Meg, but Butler’s attention irritated her. No, she was wrong. His attention intrigued her.
Was that why she stood her ground in the dead of night, knowing she’d get his attention? Was her intention to do battle with the enemy—or to entice him so she would get her way? Her chin rose higher when his gaze slid down to her hips and trailed the length of her faded denims, stopping at the hole above her knee. She released a breath when his gaze finally fell to her well-worn but cherished tooled boots, then snapped back to hers.
He puffed on his cigar, just one small, easy draw. From behind the veil of smoke she caught his grin as he said, “Nice boots.”
She tapped her foot. “I’m not here for your amusement.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To tell you to go home. I have a damned good team, and we know what we’re doing. Despite what others may think, we can break this case.”
Tico used thumb and forefinger to take a piece a tobacco from the tip of his tongue. Did she see regret in his eyes?
“You obviously don’t get it. I was hired to come here. This is my job. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then stay out of my way.”
“Look, Detective. Why don’t we make an effort to unroll this investigation by working together? I see no threat here. The problem is yours.”
Meg actually snorted. “Clearly you are not familiar with small towns, Detective.” She exaggerated his title to make her point. “I know my father. I know Eric Longwood. Eric would never have let you question my credibility in front of my team if the three of you didn’t have a plan that’s been kept from me.”
Tico began to speak, but she stopped him with a raised hand. “I worked my ass off to get where I am today. I’ve chewed up and spit out men with far more brass than yours. Your brash attitude and stupid stunts don’t fool me.” She repeated her words. “Stay. Out. Of. My. Way.”
She’d gone so far as to poke his chest with a pointed finger to emphasize her words and met with sheer solid muscle. Without warning, he grabbed her hand, the snake on his arm flexing with his action. His grip was firm, his long fingers and wide palm warm—and surprisingly soft. A shiver ran along her spine. Damn. Damn. Damn.
“You’ve got this scenario all wrong, my dear.”
My dear? “Let go of my hand.”
He grinned again, and she wanted to slap his face. God, how he riled her! She wrenched her hand away just as he let go, and she lost her balance.
Again, with unexpected speed, he gripped her waist to keep her from falling. He took a moment to push a lock of her hair from her shoulder and dusted off her sleeve as if she’d fallen. When he spoke to her again, his tone was low and dangerous. “The mayor brought me in for this job. If you think you have enough influence with him, why don’t you have me sent home? Until then, I’m working with or without you.”
He pointed from her to himself. “The way I see it, we have a tough job ahead of us. So, it’s in your best interest to be nice to me.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Oh, no. You’d recognize a threat, Meg.”
She hated the sound of her name on his lips. “I should have known better than to try to reason with you. And I’m Detective Flores.”
She climbed onto Whisper, her heart racing. The horse sensed her tension and tossed her head. Meg shifted her weight in the saddle, and with a flick of the reins, Whisper turned back toward home. Reining her in, Meg stole one last look at the outsider watching her from the porch of her father’s cabin.
Tico held up a hand. “Do cowboy cops eat donuts? I’ll bring some to the meeting tomorrow.”
“Rot in hell, Butler.”
Meg kicked the horse’s flanks. Whisper bolted, but not before she heard him grumble, “I’m already there, lady.”
* * *
TICO DROPPED THE cigar into the ashtray, disgusted. He’d let Meg goad him into another argument, the last thing he wanted with her. Damn it all. They had a very serious and very dangerous case to crack, and now they were in a pissing match. If she couldn’t get her emotions under control, she would have to step aside. He’d read the reports. She and her team had done everything right. All he wanted to do was advise them. Why did she have such a hornet in her hat over his arrival? He’d come a long way to help.
He’d done a lot of self-talk the entire ride from New York to convince himself he could blend with this group. Having team members bucking him was the norm. He was comfortable with that. Yet, for some reason, he didn’t like crossing swords with this woman. He’d done his research. He understood how Detective Flores had poured her heart and soul into a law enforcement career despite only grudging approval from her demanding father. And now, Don Francisco was withdrawing his support because he was afraid.
When all was said and done, Tico was a loner, but he wanted to work with Meg. Curiosity more than anything had him wanting to spend more time in her company, and damn it all, if she blew this case, her career could tank. That would devastate her. Which was why she was attacking him now. He understood that. But he wasn’t the enemy. How to make her believe that?
Earlier, while watching her with hands on hips, hair tossed back, chin high, he’d noticed that she’d traded her work clothes for faded blue second-skin jeans and a Mexican shirt that could bring an angel to tears. He imagined her on the back of his Harley, arms wrapped around him. When he’d saved her from losing her balance, he’d had an urge to slide one arm around that tight little waist of hers and pull her against him so she could read his lips when he answered her challenge. Instead, he’d stood there and they fought.
What did he care? This place was doing strange things to his very set, very comfortable convictions. He had to get out of here as soon as possible.
In the silence, a coyote howl rose from the foothills. Farther away another howl echoed in response. It was as if the pack was calling to gather. Overhead, the stars still held their ground. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket to check the time. Nine-thirty. Damn. It was going to be a long night.
* * *
MEG SLAMMED HER heavy front door. She was still so damned frustrated from getting nowhere with Tico Butler. The smell of popcorn invaded her senses. Her roommate, Penny Riggs, appeared from the kitchen, bowl in hand. Bruno, her Chihuahua, scurried around her feet, focused on the bowl of popcorn. Behind her the television was on, volume muted.
Penny frowned. “I waited for you to start the movie, but from the look on your face, you’re in no mood for watching a romance.”
A mocking laugh rose in Meg’s throat as she reached down to pet the dog. “A murder mystery would be better.”
“Your detective didn’t cooperate, I take it?”
“Nothing but aggravation.” Meg turned in a circle out of sheer frustration, fists clenched. “I could just scream!”
Where Meg had curves to her athletic, lithe figure and long hair, Penny’s petite frame was lean and trim like a ballerina’s. Tonight she’d gelled her short platinum hair into spikes. Gleaming silver hoops dangled from her ears, complementing her turquoise camisole and brown gypsy skirt. Penny had been blessed with green eyes that usually held mirth. She offered her hand and led her friend into the den. Glass doors opened to the night, warming the room decorated with Indian pottery, overstuffed furniture and woven rugs.
“Why do you have the doors open, Pen?”
Penny grinned. “Because there’s something you should see. Step outside.”
Penny led Meg to a cactus garden bordering the covered patio. The light from the den glowed softly on the cholla, barrel and fishhook cacti beneath the bottlebrush tree that was meant to shade the area during the hottest part of the day. In the center of the narrow garden, a hip-high, barren-looking, tangled and twiggy cactus of no real beauty held center stage.
Pen pointed to the small bulbs dotting the ends of the plant’s sticklike branches. “Look what happened today!”
Meg caught her breath, immediately forgetting her anger. “The Queen of the Night is going to bloom!”
The women grinned at each other. Penny said, “It’s been almost two years. The bulbs look ready. If we sit out here, we may witness it firsthand.”
Meg let out a breath. “That would be the first nice thing to happen all day.”
“It’s a beautiful night. I’ll pour us some wine, and we’ll wait and see if she opens.”
Penny put the bowl of popcorn on the table. Bruno followed her into the kitchen. Meg moved two of the patio chairs to the edge of the garden.
This particular cactus was a rarity in the desert. Meg had planted the Queen of the Night herself when she’d moved into the cabin six years ago. Back then the plant had been simply a round tuber root with a stick. It had grown and spread into this sparse, leggy plant. Unless you knew what it was, you’d think it was dead. When those buds opened, the beautiful blossoms were large and white with yellow centers. Their vanilla fragrance suffused the air like heaven. The flowers hadn’t appeared last year. Now more buds emerged on the plant than she’d ever seen.
Penny returned with two glasses of white wine and a camera hanging from her shoulder. She handed Meg her wine, then scooped up Bruno and dropped into the chair beside her. She rested the camera next to the chair. “This sure beats watching the movie.”
As she spoke the first bulb popped open. “Oh!” Meg leaned forward. The rest of the unfurling would be slower, but once one opened, the others would follow. It was as if the plant had some sort of communication system where all the buds waited for each other. She stood, not wanting to miss a moment of this precious event. “Look, they’re all opening.”
Pen grabbed her camera and began clicking photos of Meg smelling the blossoms. She shook her head. “I can’t believe they waited for you. Don’t they usually open after sunset?”
“They must have known I needed their magic.” She inhaled a deep, sweet breath, feeling as if her lungs were taking oxygen for the first time today. “How I missed this amazing fragrance.”
Pen leaned forward to breathe the flower’s essence. “Nothing like it in the world.”
Meg sat back in her chair, ready to let the conflict of the day fall away. She let her gaze roam into the distance where a few dim lights shone from her parents’ house on the other side of the lake. They’d disappointed her today beyond belief. They’d always known her line of work was dangerous, but had always had faith in her abilities to do her job. She’d simply have to stand her ground with them until they understood she wasn’t to be swayed.
Butler’s cabin wasn’t visible from where she sat, but she knew he was out there. She tried to push the thought of him from her mind. She wanted to relax, but he kept crowding her thoughts. Dammit. Returning her focus to the blossoms, she sipped her wine.
“How was work today, Penny?”
Pen ran a hand through her hair. “Busy.” She sat back down, but not before clicking another photo of Meg.
Meg shielded her face to stop Pen from taking any more. “You still like the job?”
“Oh, yeah. As a matter of fact, today was my six-month anniversary. Enrique finally gave me keys to the spa this morning.”
“Sounds like you passed the training period.”
“With flying colors, according to Enrique.”
Pen had always wanted to move from the small salon in town to the spa in the foothills that attended to the elite residents of the Quarry. With her friendly personality and keen fashion sense, Pen had a style and sassiness that made her a perfect match for the spa community.
She managed to hide the fact that she was a celebrity groupie. Nothing excited her more than primping the hair and nails of a movie or rock star, politician or business tycoon. Yet, to all outward appearances, she behaved with sophistication and the perfect touch of reserve around those who preferred anonymity at the Quarry.
Meg tapped Pen’s wineglass with her own. “Congratulations, girl. You’ve reached the top.”
Penny chuckled. “I can’t tell you how hard it was resisting the urge to ask Katrina Ripley for an autograph while prepping her for a pedi-wrap.”
Meg laughed out loud. Katrina Ripley was well known in the fashion world as the latest leggy, angel-faced model. She’d been discovered living on the streets in Berlin by a French photographer when documenting the city. That photographer had done an exclusive on Katrina with photos before and after he cleaned her up, which shot her to international fame.
Any clothes, accessories or jewelry she modeled sold out so quickly that one lingerie mega-store had nabbed her, offering an obscene annual salary to be their exclusive representative. She’d met and married Josh Ripley in a fast and furious love affair that had been plastered all over the tabloids for months. “Wow. Even I’m impressed.”
“I know! Katrina Ripley is amazing.”
