At first she was so stunned she didn’t move. When she realized what was happening, she placed both her fists firmly against his chest. She tried to turn her head aside, but he trapped her jaw in one hand and held it still. His lips expertly rubbed hers apart, then he thrust his tongue between them. He kissed her thoroughly, sweeping her mouth with his tongue and making stabbing motions toward the back of her throat. His lips were chapped. She felt their roughness against hers as well as the thrilling contrast of their sleek lining.
She might have uttered a small whimper of surprise and need. Her body might have become pliant enough to conform to his. He might have made a low, hungry, growling sound deep in his throat. Then again, she might have imagined it all.
But she didn’t imagine the feathering sensation between her thighs, or the tingling in her breasts, or the heat spreading through her middle like melting butter. She didn’t mistake the rare and wonderful taste of his mouth, or the scent of wind and sunlight that clung to his hair and clothing.
He raised his head and looked into her dazed eyes. His own mirrored her bewilderment. But the smile that lifted one corner of his mouth was sardonic. “Just so you don’t feel cheated,” he murmured.
He pecked a series of soft, quick kisses across her damp lips, then ran his tongue over them lightly and teasingly. He probed the corner of her lips with the tip of his tongue, and the suggestive caress caused a ribbon of sensation in her belly to slowly uncurl.
Then he sealed his open mouth upon hers again. His tongue sank into it, as invasive as her response was involuntary. He stroked her mouth with deeply satisfying leisure while his hands moved over her back, then up her sides to her breasts. He rubbed them softly with the heels of his hands, creating a hunger inside her for him to touch their crests.
Instead, he slid his hands down to her bottom, cupped it, and tilted her hips forward against his. He matched the motions of his tongue with his hips, an ebb and flow that whetted her appetite for fulfillment and eroded her resistance.
Before she could submit to the delicious weakness stealing through her, he abruptly released her. His face still close, he whispered, “Curious to know what I usually do next?”
Alex stepped back, mortified over how close she had come to total capitulation. She wiped his kiss off her lips with the back of her hand. He merely smirked. “No, I didn’t think so.”
He put on his sunglasses and hat, giving the brim a tug that pulled it low over his eyes. “From now on, Counselor, I suggest you save your cross-examination for the courtroom. It’s much safer.”
The Derrick Lounge was far worse than the Last Chance. Alex approached it from the south, so when she rounded the corner of the building and saw a battered, rusty, red pickup parked there, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d already made up her mind that if the eyewitness wasn’t there, she wasn’t going to hang around waiting on him.
When she had left the Westerner Motel, she’d made certain she wasn’t followed. She felt ridiculous playing such cat-and-mouse games, but she was willing to go to any lengths to speak to this man who claimed to be an eyewitness to her mother’s murder. If this meeting produced nothing but a telephone prankster looking for new thrills, it would be the crowning touch to a perfectly horrible day.
The longest horseback ride in history had been the one she’d made with Reede back to the practice track where she’d left her car. “Have a nice day,” he had called mockingly after she slid from the saddle.
“Go to hell,” had been her angry response. As he wheeled his horse around, she could hear him chuckling.
“Arrogant bastard,” she whispered to herself now as she got out of her car and moved toward the pickup. She could see the driver sitting behind the steering wheel, and although she was glad he had shown up, she wondered how she would feel if he cited Reede as the man who had killed her mother. It was a disquieting possibility.
She went around the hood of the truck, her shoes crunching noisily in the loose gravel. The Derrick Lounge hadn’t spent any money on outdoor lighting, so it was dark at the side of the building. No other vehicles were parked nearby.
Alex entertained a moment’s trepidation as she reached for the door handle. Forcibly quelling her uneasiness, she slid inside and pulled the door closed behind her.
Her eyewitness was an ugly little man. He had stark, Indianlike cheekbones with pockmarked craters scooped out beneath them. He was unkempt, and smelled like he didn’t shower frequently. He was scrawny and wrinkled and grizzled.
He was also dead.
Chapter 17
When it registered why he just sat there staring at her with a vacuous, unfocused, and somewhat surprised expression, Alex tried to scream, but nothing came out. Her mouth had turned to cotton. Reaching behind her, she tried to open the pickup door. It stubbornly resisted.
After frantically tugging on the handle, she gave it her shoulder. It swung open so suddenly that she almost fell out. In her scrambling haste to put distance between her and the bloody corpse, the toe of her shoe got caught in the gravel. She stumbled and fell, landing hard on the heels of her hands and scraping her knees.
She cried out in pain and fear and tried to stand. Plunging headlong into the darkness, she was suddenly blinded by a pair of headlights and petrified by the blasting of a horn.
Reflexively, she raised her hand to shield her eyes. Against the backdrop of brilliant light, she made out the outline of a man approaching her. Before she could run or utter a peep, he said, “You get around, don’t you?”
“Reede!” she cried in a mix of relief and terror.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He didn’t sound at all sympathetic. That enraged her. “I could ask you the same question. That man,” she said, pointing a shaky finger toward the pickup, “is dead.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You know?”
“His name is, uh, was Pasty Hickam. He’s a ranch hand who used to work for Angus