Jenna Ryan - Cold Case Cowboy

He shot her a quick look, and she wished she’d at least had time to brush her hair.

“I’ve met a few.”

“Most of them were probably planting trees and couldn’t tell you what day of the week it was.” Sasha took a long drink of the juice. “Skye wants us to stay at the lodge while we’re here.”

He moved closer, and she fought an urge to sidestep. “We? As in you and who?”

“Me and Max, I imagine. Not me and a serial killer, I shouldn’t think.”

Nick took the bottle from her hand, set it down. Catching her arms, he brought her forward. “The problem is, Sasha, you need to think all the time. You’re not doing that.”

“I just woke up, Nick. I’m not used to being so defensive this early in the day.”

There were flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. And a night’s worth of stubble on his face. Marveling at the beauty of his features, she touched a finger to his chin. “You haven’t shaved. And you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday. You haven’t been to bed, have you?”

“I grabbed an hour of downtime at the jail.”

She blinked in surprise. “You slept in a jail cell? That is devotion.”

“We discovered traces of blood on the globe.”

Because he was still gripping her arms, she refused to shiver. “Hers or his?”

“Not hers. We don’t know yet if it’s his. There was blood at the scene, as well.”

“Lovely.” A thought struck her. “Should you be telling me this?”

“Why, are you planning on running to the local newspaper with your scoop? You have a right to know certain aspects of the case.”

“And you think because the killer messed up, he’ll want to fix his mistake…Oh, hell.” She released a breath. “That’s exactly what you think, isn’t it, and what he might be thinking, too.”

With his thumbs, Nick stroked circles on her upper arms. “Tell me Denver’s starting to sound good to you.”

“It is.” She raised her head, firmly defiant. “But I’m not going back. Come on, Nick,” she said, at the flicker of vexation on his face. “Would it matter if I did? If he wants to kill me—” this time she did shiver “—he’ll simply follow me and do it wherever. In an alley, or a park, or someone’s front yard. Snow’s snow, and he’s murdered women in several different cities and towns.”

“You’re missing the point, Sasha.”

“No, I’m getting it loud and clear. Look, would you mind letting me go? Thanks,” she said, when he dropped his hands.

He didn’t move away, and Sasha was so intrigued by her response to him that she didn’t, either.

“Why did you come to my room, Nick, at six in the morning?”

“I thought about coming at two. Better?”

For some reason, the faint spark of humor in his eyes settled her.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll only go up to the building site during the day, and I’ll come back to the hotel before it gets dark. I’ll make sure Max is with me, and I won’t talk to strangers, either here or there. Does that work for you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You could arrest me.”

“Love to. Why don’t you assault me, and we’ll go from there?”

“Handcuffs and everything? You’re kinky as well as mysterious, Detective. I love it.”

“I had a feeling you would.”

“If that’s a comment on my character, I’ll caution you to reserve judgment. I’m not usually a flirt, but my mother preached what she practiced, and as much as I hate to admit it, one or two of her bad habits stuck.”

He placed his hands on Sasha’s arms again. This time, however, he simply slid them up and down to draw her in.

Captivated as much by his gaze as his touch, she offered no resistance. She let him ease her hips against his, and shifted her attention from his eyes to his mouth.

Although her immunity to most men’s charms was unparalleled, she suspected Nick would be a different story. As if to verify that fear, alarm bells began to clamor in her head. She planted her palms on his chest. “No, Nick, wait.”

He stopped with his mouth a tantalizing inch above hers. “What am I waiting for, Sasha?”

She realized the fist she had wrapped in his shirt was hauling him toward her rather than pushing him away. “I have no idea.” And, smiling, she yanked his mouth onto hers.

“A SERIAL KILLER? Here? In Painter’s Bluff?” An agitated Max raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t believe it. People said a woman died up at Painter’s Rock. No one mentioned the word murder . Sasha, we need to—”

“Drive up to the site and do the job Skye hired us to do,” Sasha finished for him. She tossed her pack in the back of the Land Rover. “You can ride with me if you want to.”

“Not a chance. Two vehicles are better. I’ve heard Smoking Gun Pass is tricky.”

“And steep,” Sasha recalled. “Skye said to use chains.”

A man in a navy-blue parka began making his way across the street. Sasha spied the badge and wondered what obstacle he was going to place in her path.

“You Sasha Myer?”

She nodded, slammed the door. “You must be Sheriff Pyle. Dana mentioned you last night.”

“I’ll bet he did. You seen Nick today?”

Seen, argued with and kissed. “He checked my room for intruders at the crack of dawn. Didn’t find any.”

“Give us time.” The sheriff’s surprisingly astute gaze shifted to the man at her side. “You’d be Skye’s engineer, then.”

“Max Macallum.” He held the hair out of his eyes with a gloved hand. “Is it true you’re looking for a serial killer?”

“Just a murderer at this point. We’ll get to the serial part later.” The sheriff’s smile had a wolfish edge. “You sure are pretty, Ms. Myer.”

“Sasha, and thank you.” She glanced past his shoulder. “Where’s Nick?”

“Questioning out-of-towners. He wants one of my deputies to keep an eye on you.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I decided to do it myself.”

She’d half expected this would happen, but it was still worth a protest. “I have a rifle, Sheriff. It’s licensed and in good working order. Nick doesn’t seem to grasp the fact that I don’t need anyone riding shotgun for me. I can take care of myself perfectly well.”

Pyle made a sign of negation. “Nick and I agreed. It was either me or Dana, and I won the toss.” He moved closer. “This is one mean dude we got here. It’s possible he’s killed eight women so far, and if he has, there’s no reason to think he’ll stop. You look a lot like the last victim. This is a small town. I’m willing to bet he’s taken notice.”

“I feel so reassured.” Sasha felt eyes boring into her head and, without turning, said, “Stop gaping, Max. It’s a long story that involves blond hair and Scandinavian ancestry. He won’t come after you.”

Max cleared his throat. “Should we maybe try to contact Skye and explain the situation?”

The wind kicked up, lifting Sasha’s hair beneath the ice-blue hat her grandmother had knitted for her last Christmas. “I’ve tried to call Skye four times this morning. Her service says she’s out of range. Let’s do our jobs and let Sheriff Pyle and Nick do theirs.”

Max opened his mouth, then closed it and slumped. “I’ll get my keys.”

He looked so miserable that Sasha gave his back an encouraging pat as he trudged past. “It’ll be fine.”

The sheriff emitted a grunt that might have been a chuckle. “You want reassurance, talk to our cold case investigator. The Snow Globe Killer only goes for women. Like the lady said, you’re safe enough.”

“Unless his aim’s off,” Nick remarked, coming up behind them.

“I’ll be back,” Max promised Sasha, edging away. “Phone Skye again while I’m gone, okay? She won’t expect you to risk your life for the sake of a resort.”