Flirting with Disaster

CHAPTER SIX

ISABELLE SLIPPED ON FLIP-FLOPS, tugged on her gloves and glared menacingly at her messy kitchen. “It is on,” she growled, trying to pump herself up as she held the yellow latex gloves high in the air like a surgeon prepping for an operation.

She paused and frowned. “Music,” she muttered, looking around. She needed music first. Slipping off the gloves, she went in search of her phone and the stereo connector.

Thirty minutes later, she’d finally gotten the music hooked up, tracked down the gloves she’d set down somewhere during the search for the auxiliary cable, and she was poised in front of her kitchen again. “Let’s do this.”

Lauren had called with the news that afternoon. Sophie had just ridden into town and girls’ night in was a go for the next day. It was time to catch up and get drunk, not necessarily in that order. But drinking or not, no one wanted to look at the week-old macaroni noodles stuck to her stove burner. Isabelle didn’t want to look at them, either, which was why she’d been ignoring them this whole week.

But the loud music got her dancing and singing and sipping beer as she worked, and before long the kitchen was gleaming.

She moved on to the living room, tossing out magazines she’d been hoarding for months and scaring Bear out of the corner, making him hiss in fury before he disappeared into a back room. “You’re the one leaving fur everywhere!” she yelled after him. He didn’t deign to reply.

It was a good thing he’d taken off, though. She had to vacuum the rug, and if she dared to do that near him, he’d disappear for a week. They were too much alike, she and Bear.

She was feeling good tonight, though. Really good. That chaotic scene at the courthouse had actually soothed her fears. This whole thing with the judge truly was a big deal. Tom hadn’t lied about why he was sneaking around the neighborhood and knocking on doors. This had nothing to do with her, and her relief was bubbling over into giddiness. She danced around with the vacuum, singing along to Elvis Costello at the top of her lungs.

It took her only a few minutes to vacuum, but after she brought in wood from the porch and piled it next to the fireplace, she had to vacuum again. Before she was done with the second pass, Bear was screeching. Loudly. She glanced over to see him stretched up on his tiptoes, clawing at the front door. She shook her head. He kept clawing.

“Stop that!” she yelled over the vacuum. He ignored her then yowled louder when she switched off the vacuum.

“You know it’s dangerous out there,” she scolded. “There are coyotes. Mountain lions. Foxes.”

He shot her a nasty look. Yeah. He could probably take a fox. And maybe a coyote.

“There are cars sometimes,” she tried. He didn’t relent. “All right, Bear, but please come home. Don’t get lost. Okay?”

He paced in front of the door until she opened it, then shot through the narrow space, his massive body forcing its way through. “Rude,” she snapped then lunged back in shock when she saw the dark shadow looming above her.

“God!” she screamed, reaching toward the door to push it closed again.

* * *

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ask who it is before you answer,” Tom said as she caught the door at the last minute and glared at him.

The terror on Isabelle’s face quickly narrowed into irritation. “Yeah, no shit!” She snapped on the outside light. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Sorry. I knocked.”

She waved weakly toward the living room. “I had a lot of stuff going on.”

“I noticed.” He’d noticed when he’d pulled up and seen her dancing in the living room window, both with the vacuum and without it. Between the warm light shining around her in the dark and the tight orange tank top clinging to her breasts, she’d been a fucking vision. He’d watched for only a minute, though. Then he’d started to feel like a creep.

By the time he’d gotten to the porch, there’d been shouting and feline howling, plus the loud music, and all of it roaring over the vacuum.

“Elvis Costello,” he said as she closed the door behind him. “Nice.”

“He’s great to clean to. You want a beer?”

“Not today. Too much going on.”

“Well, I need something cold. I’m hot as hell.”

Yeah, he’d noticed that, too. Her cheeks were pink, and there was the faintest hint of moisture glinting off her cleavage when she moved. Jesus. He tried to look away, but then she raised her arms to pull her hair off her neck and twist it up. Her breasts rose with the movement. His eyes didn’t.

“Come on,” she said, turning away and breaking the spell. She grabbed something metal off a table as they passed and stuck it into the knot she’d made of her hair.

“The place looks nice,” he said, following the sway of her hips to the kitchen and trying to keep his mind off her curves and on the real reason he’d come.

“Thanks. I’m having a little girls’ party tomorrow.”

“I heard.”

Her head popped up over the open fridge door. “Did Jill invite you?” She didn’t sound exactly pleased.

“To girls’ night? No. But we got word from Veronica Chandler that she’d like to come.”

“Oh, that’s right. Lauren told me she was going to invite her. Are you okay with it?”

He nodded. He was more than okay with it, because it would give him an excuse to poke around this place some more. To solve this mystery. The longer he knew her, the more he thought she was hiding from something, and the more he wanted to help. “We’ll have to send a couple of agents along with her, though. We’ll try to stay out of your way.”

Her eyes narrowed a little. “I don’t want strangers in my house.”

“I’ll do it myself, if you’re more comfortable. And my second-in-command is a woman. I could bring her.”

She shrugged one shoulder and opened a beer. “I suppose that would be all right. Veronica probably needs to get out of the house if she has a bunch of you people underfoot all the time.” Isabelle took a long draw of the beer then shivered a little as she wiped the bottle over her brow. Her nipples tightened. He watched, despite that his brain was screaming at him to look away. Look away! But God, they were...perfect.

“Are you staring at my breasts, Marshal Duncan?”

He jumped as if he’d been touched with a live wire. He couldn’t deny it, and he couldn’t excuse it. “Shit. Um. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged again, and to his complete shock, she smiled. “It’s all right. If you were standing there in workout shorts, I’d stare at your ass. I guarantee it. Your thighs, too.” Her gaze slid down his body to the aforementioned area, and Tom’s face flamed. He hoped to God the enthusiasm he could feel swelling his dick wasn’t enough to be noticeable.

“Plus...” Her gaze rose slowly back up until it met his. “I’ve got nice tits.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. She didn’t look coyly away. She watched him as though she wasn’t even flirting; she was only letting him know because it was true.

But she was flirting. Clearly. And Tom fucking liked it. He liked it more than he’d liked anything in a long while.

Isabelle wasn’t beautiful in some striking way, but there was something gorgeous about the way she held herself, the way she moved. As if she didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. You could accept her or you could move on, but either way, she’d still be here, in her place. This was where she belonged. Tom was the interloper, and it felt like an honor to be let in.

He looked at her hazel eyes, tight at the corners with amusement, and her too-strong nose, and that wide mouth, tipping up just a little at the edges. She was daring him. Tom knew he shouldn’t; he had a hundred reasons not to, but he still stepped forward and slowly raised a hand to her jaw. His fingers slid along her warm skin, tracing her, feeling the way her head tipped ever so slightly into his touch.

She rose to meet his mouth, and though he meant to keep it careful, she wasn’t interested in care. Her lips immediately softened against his, parting slightly, teasing him with her hot breath. Her tongue touched his mouth, one little lick of fire.

He couldn’t help his sound of surprise. Not surprise that she’d licked him, but that the heat of it shot through his body. Isabelle smiled against his mouth, and then she laughed. That was how he kissed her, taking a taste, touching his tongue against hers until her laugh turned to a groan, and she kissed him back.

Whoever she’d gone home with the night before hadn’t satisfied her, because she pushed up to take more of his mouth, more of his tongue. Her hand, cold from the beer, sneaked up his neck and into his hair, as if she’d hold him in place if he wanted to leave.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Slanting his mouth over hers, he gave her what she wanted with a deep, slow kiss. Their tongues slid against each other with a rhythm that had him rock hard in no time flat. He must have moved closer, because she eased back until her hips were caught by the kitchen counter.

He held her there, his hands sliding over those sexy hips, feeling the fascinating curve of her body from ass to waist. That primal geometry told his hands and cock and brain that this was right and good. Yes, they urged him, this was the best part of life. This curve and heat and her mouth open and taking him.

Only a minute ago he’d been mortified that she might notice her physical effect on him. Now he wanted her to feel it. He wanted to press his hips to hers and ease some of the ache in his cock. He wanted her to know what he needed, what she’d done.

But fuck... He lifted his head. “Fuck,” he murmured, hands still clutching her hips.

Her throaty laugh chased over his jaw. “Yeah. I agree. That was very nice.”

His laugh was a little more pained than hers. Then again, it’d been longer than a day since he’d done this. More like eight months. Not that he was counting.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek then his chin, and then her teeth closed gently over his bottom lip. “Mmm,” she murmured before letting him go. “Let’s do it again.”

“I can’t,” he said, but he kissed her anyway. He could control himself, no question. It was just that he didn’t want to. Not when she’d tugged him a little closer, so that those gorgeous breasts were pressed against him, and her mouth drew him deeper, and if he just pressed his hips a little tighter...

He groaned into the kiss as he eased away. “I can’t get distracted right now. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Am I distracting you?” Her smile told him she knew the answer, even before she pulled his hips into hers.

“You know you are.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure until just now.” She pressed snug against him.

Tom laughed, loving her boldness and the challenge in her eyes. “Thank God you’re not still uncertain.”

“No,” she said, pressing her hips tighter. “Not at all.” She raised one hand to slide it up his stomach to his chest, watching her hand explore until it disappeared beneath his suit jacket. “You feel really good.”

It had been a slow build before, starting with the sight of her, then her teasing, her taste, her curves. But this...this frank appreciation for his body? His heart thundered in his chest, and his cock was suddenly painfully hard. He wanted that hand of hers to slide lower. He wanted it to unzip his pants and curl around him and tighten. And he wanted her telling him how good it all was. So damn good.

“Isabelle,” he said, and just that, just her name, reminded him that he shouldn’t do this. “Stop trying to make me crazy.”

That husky laugh burst from her, and she gave him a friendly shove. “Fine. But only because you’re being cute.”

He didn’t feel cute. He felt bereft and a little betrayed that she wasn’t keeping his cock warm anymore. But that was what he’d requested, wasn’t it?

“As you can see,” she said as if normal conversation wasn’t difficult after that kiss, “everything around here is fine. You can get back to work.”

He frowned and looked around in confusion for a moment, not quite recalling what he’d meant to do. “I know how you are about your privacy, but if Veronica is going to be here for a few hours, would you let me take a closer look? Windows, doors, that sort of thing? There was a threat against the family. In fact—” he rubbed a hand over his face “—maybe it’d be better if you disinvited her.”

“No way,” Isabelle said immediately. “That girl needs a night out. Look at whatever you need to.” Her eyes narrowed just a little. “I don’t have anything to hide, Marshal.”

Damned if she didn’t lie almost as well as she kissed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HE STILL SEEMED slightly out of sorts. She liked that look on him. The big, tall lawman confused by a simple little kiss.

Okay, so it hadn’t been little. Or simple. She’d been turned on before he’d even pressed his mouth to hers. And judging by the lovely size of his cock, he’d been pretty excited, too.

She’d found him attractive before, but now she knew how firm that stomach was and how his hard chest curved up so nicely into his shoulders. She looked him up and down, and her mouth watered.

“Stop it,” he muttered, taking another step back.

God, he really was adorable. “You don’t have to stand here and let me ogle you. Go on. Look around.”

He glanced past her toward the studio doors. “I’d rather you come with me.”

“You’re not seriously scared of my paintings, are you?”

“No, I’m scared of the photographs.”

It took her a moment to recognize the dry humor in his voice. “I’ll protect you. Try to think of them as part of a case file.”

“I want you to come with me because I know your privacy is important to you.”

She drew back a little in surprise that he even cared. “Okay,” she agreed and followed him back to the living room, where he spent a lot of time checking her window locks.

“Living here alone, you might want to invest in some pin locks. They slide into the frame of the window.”

“I’m too isolated to worry much about that. Anyone who wants in can just break the glass. Even Jill wouldn’t hear that.”

He grunted, not looking pleased. “You’ve got a dead bolt on the door, at least.”

“It was here when I moved in.”

“Any weapons?” he asked.

She hesitated long enough for him to stop his inspection of the door and look at her. “Yes. I’ve got a 9 millimeter.”

“Legal?” he asked, clearly wondering if that was why she’d hesitated.

“Yes.” But the Luger wasn’t. Tom didn’t need to know anything about that. Her father had given it to her. She didn’t even have ammunition for it. Still, she assumed it was illegal in more ways than one.

“Well,” he finally said, “don’t shoot any of my people if you see them poking around on girls’ night.”

“Deal.”

His eyes swept over the living room one more time before he moved on to the garage and laundry room and finally the kitchen.

“You don’t have any family?” he asked as he did a quick check of the window above her kitchen sink. She hesitated again. She could feel herself doing it and couldn’t stop it.

“I don’t see any photos,” he added.

“They’re all gone,” she said, and that was true enough. Her father was gone for good, whether he was alive or not.

“No pictures, even though they’re gone? I guess you weren’t close?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yeah?” he pressed.

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t want to talk about your family.”

She set her jaw, preparing to lie or tell him off for prying or...something. She should never have kissed him. This was not a man whose curiosity could be easily brushed aside. But while she was chastising herself, he became distracted, staring down the double doors to her studio as if he were steeling himself.

“Come on,” she said. “The easel lights are off. It’s not so bad.”

He rolled his eyes as if he hadn’t been watching the doors as if they’d burst open and zombies would come shuffling out. She noticed he waited for her to open them.

“Don’t you have nightmares?” he asked as soon as he stepped in.

“Of course not.” Not because of her work, anyway.

He took a breath and moved quickly past the first few easels to the two-story wall of windows. “This is the weakest point in your security,” he said, testing the lock on the French doors that led out to a small deck. “But at least you have a slide lock here.”

He engaged the lock at the top of the door, pushing it into the frame. “Where does this lead?” he asked, flipping the light switch next to the door. Nothing happened.

“Sorry. It’s burnt out.”

“Could you replace the bulb tomorrow?”

“Sure. There’s a deck out there.”

He pressed his hand to the glass to see past the lights of the room. “Stairs?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s—” Something slammed against the glass. Before Isabelle could even yelp, Tom had shoved her behind his back and drawn his weapon. “Out of the room!”

“It’s just Bear!” she cried.

Tom was backing up and forcing her toward the door. “What?”

“It’s the cat.”

Bear batted at the glass slightly more gently this time. His big paw pressed against the window, the pink pads splaying out on the glass.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tom barked. “That goddamn cat.”

“He just wants in.”

“Well, let him in.”

Isabelle rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension that had latched in like claws. “He won’t come in here. He doesn’t like this room.”

“I’m not surprised!”

“It’s the smell of the paint, not the carnage. You should see what he can do to a rabbit.”

Bear hit the door harder this time, and Tom jumped even as he put the gun away. “Why is he banging on the glass if he won’t come in?”

“Because he wants me to open the door so he can stare at me while I get exasperated. Haven’t you ever had a cat?”

“I’ve missed out on that joy,” he said drily.

“They have their benefits.”

“Like?”

She smiled. “He’s really warm on a cold night when I’m alone.”

He slanted her a look as he ran a hand over a windowsill. “How often are you alone?”

“Marshal Duncan, that’s a very forward question.”

He sneaked another look over his shoulder. “That was a very forward kiss.”

She couldn’t stop her grin. “I’m not attached to anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“Why?” she asked slyly. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

He looked gratifyingly pained by the question. “I can’t. I need to get back to my assignment. Plus, we barely know each other.”

She realized her laughter was a little impolite, but she couldn’t help it. “And we’re not going to get to know each other. You live on the other side of the state. But we can still kiss.”

He finished checking the windows and turned to her, his mouth flat. “Come on. Cheyenne isn’t that far away. Tell me something about yourself.”

“You know plenty about me already. It’s your turn. Do you have family?”

“Yes. Mom and Dad, and a sister who has a family of her own.”

“Are they all in Wyoming?”

“Yes,” he answered as he led the way out of the room.

“Do you get along with them?”

“We get along fine,” he said, as if that meant anything at all. Before she could press, he asked her a question. “How did you end up here?”

“I came through on a road trip, and I liked it.” Another truth. She was getting almost comfortable with it. “Why aren’t you married?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I travel too much.”

“Oh? So US Marshals don’t get married?”

“Fine. I never met the right woman. I don’t want kids, so that complicates things, or so I’ve been told.” He didn’t look to see if she was following him toward her bedroom.

“Now we’re getting interesting. Why don’t you want kids?”

“Why don’t you? You’re, what...midthirties? Why aren’t you married?”

Ha. She could answer that. “I’m thirty-six. And I’m too mean.”

He stopped and turned toward her. “You’re not mean.”

“Oh, really? Am I nice?”

His head cocked, and he studied her for a moment. “You’re not nice, exactly.”

She laughed so hard she had to press a hand to her stomach to try to control it. “I like your honesty,” she managed to say past her gasps. “You’re pretty cool.”

“Now, that’s something I haven’t heard in a really long time.”

“Then we’re even.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Tom shook his head. “Shit, I want to kiss you.”

“Do it,” she dared him, her insides already tightening at the idea.

But his gaze slid to her bed, and he shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Afraid I’ll lure you into my bed and steal your virtue?”

“If you can find my virtue, you can have it. And if that’s a euphemism, even better. But what I’m afraid of is having to leave in twenty minutes. Not very memorable. And...” He held up a hand as if reminding himself. “I really shouldn’t get involved when I’m in your house on official business. Now tell me why you’re not married.”

“Tell me why you don’t want kids.”

That shut him up, and Isabelle was free to watch him work for the next five minutes until he left with a warning about locking the door. And with no goodbye kiss.

But that was okay. She could wait. He’d give in before long. And in the meantime, she could fantasize about exactly how it would happen.

* * *

DAMN. TOM WAS in deep trouble. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. It would’ve been a bad idea even without the extra complication that he was looking into her on the side. He had Veronica Chandler to protect, and he couldn’t mess around with Isabelle when he was on duty.

More than that was the trouble of Isabelle herself. Tom had been thirty-one before he’d realized he couldn’t trust himself with women. Not because he had a roaming eye or a callous heart or a cruel streak, but because he didn’t. He’d been a sucker for the damsel in distress. The soft girl who couldn’t quite figure life out. He’d been smart enough not to fall for any hard cases, but that had only made it worse. When a girl was hot and helpless and nice, it was really hard to break things off when you finally realized you needed to.

Isabelle wasn’t like that, of course. He’d finally aged out of those immature attractions. Isabelle was capable and tough and smart as hell. But she was still in some sort of trouble. He couldn’t add sex to the mix, especially when he could tell just how good it was going to be. He couldn’t do that when he was still checking into her past.

“Damn it,” he growled as he drove carefully down her snow-packed driveway and eased onto the road.

All he wanted to do was turn around, bang on her door and spend the next few hours in her bed. But he couldn’t.

Despite his misgivings, he might not have had the willpower to make it out of there, but then she’d said she liked his honesty. When the only reason he’d asked her to stay close in her house was so he could probe her about her past.

He should drop it, but he couldn’t. What if she was in danger? Worse yet, what if she was a criminal and he didn’t do his job because he would rather have sex with her?

He shook his head. Dropping it wasn’t an option. He couldn’t ignore his gut at this point. The most he could do was keep his suspicions quiet until he found out the truth.

You didn’t just ignore trouble. He’d learned that the hard way at a young age. Those were the kind of lessons you got when your older brother was a drug addict. When the choice came down to honesty or tricking someone into getting help, you dropped honesty every time.

If Isabelle needed help, she’d never admit it. And if she’d done something wrong, he couldn’t ignore it.

Simple enough, but he felt like biting someone’s head off by the time he got out of the car and stalked toward the judge’s house. He wanted to slam the door open and yell at everyone in sight, but it wasn’t his home, and his people hadn’t done anything wrong.

Mary was waiting for him as soon as he hit the basement stairs. “Did you really approve this night out for Veronica?” she snapped.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Her tone suggested he’d lost his mind, and she was about to help him find it.

“Veronica didn’t have to come here. We can’t keep her prisoner. And it’s not like she wants to go to the state fair. It’s a private residence within shouting distance of our base. It shouldn’t be difficult.”

Mary was about to argue with him. He could see that as clearly as if she’d said it, but eventually she closed her mouth and nodded. “Okay. Fine. Who are you sending over?”

“You.”

“Me?” she screeched.

“I’m going, too.”

“What the hell, Tom? We’ve got twelve additional people here now, and this is a job for a first-year deputy.”

He couldn’t tell her that the real reason was that he wanted to spy on Isabelle. He also couldn’t tell Mary that he wanted her to meet Jill. She’d dig in her heels and tell him to mind his own business. She was always telling him to mind his own business; he never did. “Those guys need all their attention on the courthouse. We know how to pace ourselves. You can sleep in the next day if you need to.”

“I don’t need to sleep in!” she growled before stomping up the stairs. That was the end of the discussion. Good.

They’d debriefed in the meeting room after court had adjourned, but that didn’t mean there weren’t twenty emails waiting for him. So far there’d been no activity at the judge’s place, and Stevenson hadn’t been spotted in Jackson or Boise or anywhere in between.

Tom wrote an update for his chief, laying out his plan to feed only the smallest bits of information to the press so as not to inspire any of the defendant’s sympathizers. Then he sent an email to his team with a few more specifics about tomorrow’s detail, requested an expedited review of the letter from the consulting psychiatrist and was finally ready to turn in at eleven.

But he had something else to look into.

He’d considered taking a long-range photo of Isabelle and feeding it into a reverse image search, but if she’d kept a low profile for the past fourteen years, it probably wouldn’t pan out. No point stepping that far over the line into invading her privacy. He’d also considered that he could’ve lifted some small piece of garbage from her trash to get her fingerprints, but that felt even more wrong. He really wanted to leave a moral pathway open to sleeping with her.

At this point, the best he could do without compromising his own convoluted sense of integrity was to do it the hard way. He knew she was thirty-six and that she was maybe from Cincinnati, but probably from Chicago if his ear was right, and it usually was. If there was news or an event or an arrest, it would be pre-2002. That was it, really. He cracked his knuckles and got to work.

He searched missing persons in Cincinnati first, but considering that was the location she’d given, he didn’t trust it. When he found nothing related to Isabelle, he moved on to the Chicago area. There weren’t any missing women in her age group that looked like Isabelle there, either. Next up were the fugitive lists. It didn’t take long to get through the FBI list, but the local Chicago lists were extensive and broken down by district. An hour later, his eyes swimming from all the scrolling he’d done, he sat back in his chair with a sigh.

She wasn’t a fugitive, as far as he could tell. Which meant, as a marshal, he should just drop it. But he’d never been very good at dropping things. And he had more than a professional interest now.

If she wasn’t a wanted fugitive, then she was running from something else. She had a gun, a fake identity, a Chicago accent and no pictures of her family, who she’d implied were dead.

Trying to ignore the clock screaming 12:15 at him, he searched for murders in the Chicago area for the five years previous to when Isabelle West’s name had appeared on the record. There were a lot of murders. He started filtering out the least likely scenarios, but by 1:00 a.m., he realized it was useless. There was too much crime in a place like Chicago, and he still couldn’t be sure he had the city right. Could be Milwaukee. Cleveland. Or any place in between.

He needed to sleep. And he needed not to care. And he really needed to drop this.

He fell asleep ten minutes later with theories about Isabelle West still spinning through his brain, but when he dreamed, it was all about that kiss.