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NASH CURSED TO HIMSELF as he sought a comfortable position. It was as if all his training, all his instincts, had vanished like shadows at nightfall.
If she’d known how much he’d wanted to grab her, pull her face to his, turn that brush of her lips against his forehead into a full-blown kiss—he wasn’t going there. Sure, she wasn’t a principal in the usual sense, but he knew better than to allow her to distract him. He might not know why she was someone’s target, but slashed tires and a firebomb made it clear enough she was. He should have helped her on her way as soon as she’d revealed herself and been done with it.
Nash recalled T-Bone’s words. A woman in distress. Right up his alley. T-Bone had him pegged. Danika needed help and Nash couldn’t turn his back.
*****
WHEN THEY STRODE INTO the café in Deer Ridge the next morning, Nash automatically scanned the room, looking for a table where he could keep an eye on the door. The place was doing a brisk business, and most of the tables were filled.
A young woman, brunette, a wolf tattoo on her forearm, greeted them. “Menu’s on the board. Order at the counter. Today’s special is a ham, bacon, and spinach quiche.”
Nash and Danika ordered, and Nash guided Danika to the table he’d chosen. The way she accepted his touch at the small of her back had his emotions at war again.
So why did you touch her? She didn’t need help getting to the table.
Because he wanted to touch her, and that was the most appropriate way to do it, given the circumstances.
She hadn’t quickened her pace or squirmed away to avoid his touch. She’d slowed. Had she pressed harder into his hand, or was that wishful thinking?
Meanwhile, his secondary brain was letting him know it wanted more.
A server brought Nash’s scone with a side of fresh berries and Danika’s quiche. Danika forked up a mouthful, washed it down with coffee, then gave Nash the quizzical look he’d come to associate with a personal question on the way.
He speared a strawberry and let the sweetness fill his mouth while he waited.
“Can I ask a personal question?” she said. “It doesn’t fall into the honesty category we talked about last night, but I’m curious.”
“Ask away.”
She gestured to his plate. “Are you on a special diet for your kidney? I mean, if we’re going to shop for food, I don’t want to get things you can’t eat.” Her cheeks went rosy.
“Fair enough question. Low protein, watch the salt. I had plenty of chicken in last night’s soup, so I’m cutting back today.”
“Are there any foods you wish you could still eat?”
Nash thought about food on Blackthorne ops—if you could call lizards, snakes, and whatever you scrounged in the field food—and the MREs he’d eaten in the army. Even a restricted diet was better.
“Hasn’t been long,” he said. “I’m grateful not to be eating hospital food.”
“How long have you been out of the hospital?”
“About three weeks.”
Her eyes rounded. “That’s not long.”
He nibbled on a corner of his scone. Pre-surgery, he’d have ordered sausage, eggs, and hash browns.
A woman, not their server, approached their table. Nash tensed. If he’d learned anything growing up, it was not to make assumptions based on gender. Or size. This woman was five-three, he estimated, after subtracting a couple inches for her shoes and the twist of honey-brown hair atop her head, secured by a plastic clip that looked like a spider with butterfly wings. Her smile seemed genuine, but he lowered his hand to his weapon.
Get a grip. You’re in Deer Ridge. In a public restaurant.
“How is everything?” the woman asked. “I’m Elizabeth Parker, the café manager.”
Nash moved his hand from his weapon to his lap. Grinch hadn’t given them Elizabeth’s last name, but two Elizabeths working in the same restaurant in a place as small as Deer Ridge would be a stretch. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “I’m Nash Hanley.”
“Grinch said you two were staying at the place on Cottonwood. I lived there for a while when I first moved to Deer Ridge.”
Danika swallowed the bite she was eating and wiped her mouth. “I’m Danika. This is delicious. Thanks so much for the care package. That cake was out of this world. Do you share recipes?”
While the two women chatted about food and cooking at altitude, Nash ground away at what Elizabeth had said. She’d moved into the house when she’d come to Deer Ridge. The house was a Blackthorne property. Did Elizabeth have Blackthorne connections? He made a mental note to ask Grinch, because if Elizabeth knew about Blackthorne, she might suspect that Nash and Danika were more than casual renters.
Elizabeth pushed her blazer sleeve up and tapped her watch, addressing Danika. “I have to get to a Chamber of Commerce meeting. If there’s anything I can help with—like where to shop, where not to shop—feel free to give me a call.” She shifted her attention to Nash. “Grinch is a flight instructor, so he’s out of reach a lot, but he’s home by late afternoon to pick up the kids.”
Elizabeth spun toward the register and plucked a business card from the holder. She returned, added something to the back and handed it to Danika. “Those are the numbers to our house and my cell.”
Nash tried to read Elizabeth’s expression as she spoke to Danika, but since he’d never seen the woman before, he couldn’t be sure if that was her normal friendly face, or a we have something in common face. He’d definitely have to touch base with Grinch.
Elizabeth insisted their meal be comped. “First time here is on me. A kind word on Yelp would be payment enough.”
“Done.” Danika shot him a narrow-eyed stare. “Assuming Nash will let me borrow his tablet long enough to post one.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Nash left a few bills on the table for the server.
*****
THEY BOUGHT ENOUGH food for a week, Nash thought, although he hoped they wouldn’t be at the house that long. Or did he?
Danika had asked Nash’s opinion on every item before putting it in the cart, reading labels, making sure it fit his dietary restrictions.
“Anything is fine,” he kept saying. “I can moderate my portions.”
A warm glow spread through him at her concern.
Five days ago, you hated anyone asking about your health.
Five days ago, he hadn’t met Danika.
At the house, groceries put away, Nash brought his tablet to the dining table.
Danika’s attitude did a rapid switch from concern to demanding he share everything he’d found last night.
“You looked up my mother. Did you find something to indicate I’d make a ransom target? How do you explain torching the cabin? I can get the slashed tires—to keep me where they could find me—but don’t kidnappers need their kidnapees alive?” Alarm spread across her face. “Unless you think it was a Dead or Alive kind of thing, and dead was good enough for them.”
Nash raised his hands and held back a grin. Danika’s mind bounced around like the Space Ball he’d had as a kid. “I didn’t find anything—bearing in mind that I don’t have access to fancy databases. I asked Grinch to follow up with his people to make sure, but as far as a basic public search goes, Alexandra Sullivan never had a child.”
She smirked. “I told you.” The smirk disappeared, and her eyes lost their light.
“The people who took care of you must have known who your mother was,” he said. “They might be holding a grudge, or need money.”
“I can’t imagine any of my nannies, or tutors, or anyone else pulling those kinds of stunts after so much time.”
“I’d agree, but I had to ask. Let’s look at your stories. Where do you want to start?”
“Here.” She crossed behind him, reached over his shoulder and closed the tablet onto its keyboard.
“Huh?” He turned.
She cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips against his. With tongue.
*****
AT NASH’S GASP OF SURPRISE, Danika teased his lips apart further. She’d banished the little voice telling her this was a stupid move. Maybe it was—okay, of course it was—but she needed this, needed to feel less like a victim and more like a human being. A female human being with wants and needs.
Right now she wanted and needed to lose herself, and kissing Nash seemed a lot better than time with Hercule Poirot’s little gray cells.
Nash didn’t protest. Didn’t pull away. His tongue met hers, toyed with her, teased her.
Standing behind him wasn’t a comfortable position. She moved and stood beside him, their lips still connected. He turned so he was facing her and pulled her to his lap.
She straddled him, deepening the kiss, enjoying the heat. She threaded her fingers through his hair, relishing its silky texture, the way it tickled her hands. Why had she suggested he cut it?
Thoughts stopped. There was nothing but sensation. He tasted of coffee and sweet berries. He smelled like soap. Tiny moans reverberated between them. Hers? His? Both? Didn’t matter. Tingles shot from her breasts to her core, as if a live electric wire connected them. His erection was apparent.
Afraid to move, afraid of hurting him, she concentrated on the kiss, although every instinct said to grind against him.
His hands massaged the back of her neck, moved down her shoulder blades to her waist. He drew her closer.
Eventually, she needed air. Gasping, she broke the kiss. His gaze met hers, his pupils enlarged until his eyes seemed almost black.
“That was a mistake,” he said.
“Should I apologize?” she asked, her heart pounding.
“Not at all.”
“Then it wasn’t a mistake.”
He laughed—he laughed—and tapped her on the nose. “You are one unpredictable woman, Danika Payton.”
“Good.”
Nash slid out from under her. “Be right back.”
Danika savored the sound of Nash’s laugh and longed to have more of them. Until he’d laughed, she hadn’t realized how he kept part of himself hidden.
Was she part of the reason? Did he feel obligated to protect her, feel inadequate because of his injuries? She hoped the kiss had shown him she accepted him as he was.
Boy, did she accept him.
While Nash was gone, Danika found the website for Elizabeth’s café and left a glowing review on Yelp. He returned with a bottle of water, dragged a second chair next to her and sat.
“What first?” she asked, banishing the elephant in the room to a corner.
He glanced at the screen, open to Yelp. “You left the review?”
“Yes.” A flash of panic rocked her heart rate into kiss mode. “Did I screw up? I didn’t use my real name.”
“This tablet is secure.” He touched her leg. “In the future, though, ask before doing anything online.”
He didn’t seem angry, and she hadn’t entered snark territory. Things were getting better, although it was fun to push his buttons.
She rested her hand atop his. “I will. Now, should we start with my most recent assignment and move backward, or go back and move forward? How far back?”
Nash found the Gazette’s site and hit the Archives tab, clicked to her latest article, the one on xeriscaping. She’d interviewed seventy-seven-year-old Hiram Begay for the fiftieth anniversary of his landscape company.
“He’s a nice old man,” Danika said. “And was thrilled at the news coverage. He’s gung ho for xeriscaping, and unless he thought I was filling my yard with water-guzzling plants, I can’t see him holding any kind of a grudge.”
“Did you uncover anything in his past that might keep him on a suspect list?” Nash asked. “Begay is a Native American name. Could that have stirred up any controversy?”
“It’s Navajo, but the indigenous people are all for environmentalism. There’s a move for more xeriscaped golf courses in New Mexico. There are strong feelings on both sides, but I can’t see how that would make someone mad at me. They’d be protesting Hiram Begay’s company, or the golf courses, or the local water authorities. I understand we need to look at everything, that you don’t know what details will be important at the start, but I’d put Hiram at the bottom of my list.”
“Did you look into the man’s background?” Nash asked.
“Not deeply,” Danika said. “It was supposed to be an upbeat article about someone dedicating his life to the environment. Didn’t get any letters, positive or negative. At least none I was made aware of, or that made it to the paper, and I’m always—was always—copied on anything that involved one of my articles.”
“Let’s move on.” Nash clicked to the next article on the list.
They’d covered two months of her stories, including ones about a holistic medicine practitioner, a senior citizen’s group that set up a series of safe houses—with cookies—for kids walking home from school, and her article on vaccinations.
“That one’s the most controversial,” she said, “but my article presents both opinions.”
Nash took a moment to gaze at the screen. “The anti-vaxxers are an outspoken bunch,” he said. “But I agree, there’s nothing in here that should make someone come at you personally.”
“The speed bump discussion in one neighborhood got pretty animated,” Danika said, “but same thing. Why come after me?”
“What about the background research?” Nash asked. “You don’t print interviews verbatim.”
“I purged my laptop before I took off,” she said. “My notes are in a PO Box in Santa Fe and in the cloud. After I was laid off, I reviewed everything. Multiple times. Nothing looked like a reason to fire me, much less get me blacklisted.”
“Yet something must have.” Nash pushed the tablet in her direction. “Download your files.”