Kylie Brant - The Last Warrior

The women’s voices were coming closer. He tore the items free of the tape and flipped through them. A savings account at a Flagstaff bank showed that Niyol Lee had deposited sums of five thousand dollars almost monthly for the last three years. Dropping the bankbook on the bed, he opened the notebook, which seemed to be a combination of jotted initials and dates. It was the first of the initials that caught Joe’s eye, though. B.G.

He resecured both books behind the dresser a second before the two women appeared in the doorway, but his mind continued to race. B.G.

Brant Graywolf?

“I don’t understand the connection.”

It had been late when Joe appeared on Delaney’s step, but she hadn’t been asleep. She suspected he knew that; that he understood sleep didn’t come easily to her. And she appreciated the fact that he didn’t comment on it.

“I don’t know the connection yet,” Joe admitted. He picked up his plate and took it to the sink, rinsing it off, and the hominess of the gesture almost succeeded in distracting her. She’d made him eggs, one of the few meals she could manage without burning and he’d eaten with a single-minded intensity that told her better than words how long it had been since he’d last eaten.

He turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. “But Graywolf is linked to Quintero. Quintero might be linked to those three kids who were murdered three weeks ago.” She shuddered, remembering the short succinct description he’d given her of the scene. “And Lee is linked to you, because we’re pretty sure he’s the one who fired those shots a few days ago. Now it’s looking like he might also be linked to Graywolf.”

“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.”

“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.”