Wife Most Wanted Read online

  “No.”

  “I’m going to call my attorney.” Dana sighed. “That was brilliant, Dana. I am my attorney.”

  “You’re a lawyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you ought to know that what I’m doing by subpoenaing you and requiring you to stay put is perfectly legal.”

  “I’m a corporate attorney. I probably covered nonsense like this in a class in college, but if I did, I don’t remember.”

  “Well, trust me, I’m operating within the law.” Kurt lifted the receiver to the telephone. “I’ll see if there’s a room available at the Amity Boardinghouse. That’s a nice place.”

  Trust me, Dana’s mind echoed, as she tuned out Kurt’s conversation on the telephone. She didn’t have the luxury of trusting Kurt Noble. The only people she had any faith in at the moment were Todd Gunderson, back in her Chicago office, and the detective she’d hired. She had to view everyone else as a potential enemy.

  Dana shifted her gaze to Kurt, who was doodling on a piece of paper as he talked on the telephone.

  Trust him? she thought. Not a chance. He was a badge-carrying officer of the law. Not only that, but after the strange sensual spell he’d cast over her for those passion-laden moments, she’d do well to not trust herself around Kurt Noble. The man was potent, had caused desire to flash through her like a brushfire.

  If she actually had to stay in Whitehorn—and it appeared she had no choice in the matter—she wasn’t going within ten feet of Detective Noble for the duration. He was trouble in a six-foot masculine package, and she had enough on her plate to deal with.

  “Okay,” Kurt said, replacing the receiver and snapping Dana back to attention. “The Amity is having the rooms painted, so I’ve booked you into the Whitehorn Motel, on the edge of town. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean.” He got to his feet. “Let’s go. I’ll get you settled in.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of settling in on my own, thank you,” Dana said stiffly.

  Kurt smiled. “It’s all part of the service, ma’am. We aim to please here in Whitehorn.”

  Kurt Noble, Dana thought, getting to her feet, should not be allowed to smile. Why didn’t they make that against the law? It would be just as ridiculous as the legality that was keeping her here against her will, like a crummy common criminal.

  Oh, Lord, she thought in the next instant. There were a whole slew of people in Chicago who believed that was exactly the title she deserved to have.

  The Whitehorn Motel was old and, despite a fairly recent coat of bright yellow paint, looked its age. It consisted of an office and a long single row of fifteen rooms, edged at the end by woods.

  Kurt had made reservations for Dana in the last room, telling her it would afford her privacy and quiet.

  “Whatever,” she said, as he unlocked the door to the room.

  Dana placed her suitcase on the double bed and glanced around.

  It was no better, or worse, than the places she’d been staying in since she fled Chicago, she thought.

  The room held an odor of cleaning solvent, the furnishings were basically green, including faded carpet and a wash-worn bedspread. There was a small television bolted to the top of a dresser, as well as a minuscule chair and table and one lamp.

  Kurt peered into the bathroom.

  “Spit-shined and pretty,” he said.

  Dana sank onto the edge of the bed with a sigh as a wave of utter exhaustion swept over her.

  She was so tired, she thought. Of everything. This incident in Whitehorn was the crowning blow, was threatening to be the straw that would topple her fragile tower of courage.

  Somehow, somehow, she had to reach within herself even deeper than before, for the determination to keep going, to not rest, not cry, until she’d proved her innocence.

  But, oh, God, it was all so frightening, and she was so terribly alone.

  Kurt frowned as he stared at Dana. Her head was bent, and her hands were clutched tightly in her lap.

  She seemed to have forgotten he was there, Kurt thought. It was as though she were beginning to crumble, was hanging on by a thread.

  Dana Bailey was a mystery waiting to be unraveled. Either she was a very private person, who refused to share her personal business with a stranger, or she had something to hide.

  Why wouldn’t she tell him where she was headed and why she was going there? What was the big secret?

  No, now wait a minute. That was the detective in him mentally squinting his eyes at Dana’s unwillingness to be forthcoming with information. If he forgot the badge and viewed her simply as a man, he’d have to admit it was none of his business what she was doing this far from Illinois.

  View her simply as a man, Kurt’s mind echoed. The man was seeing a woman who looked so exhausted, vulnerable and forlorn, it was enough to make his gut ache.

  The man was seeing a lovely woman, so damn pretty in a natural way, without benefit of gobs of makeup.

  The man was seeing a woman who had caused desire to coil hot and low in his body during that eerie moment in his office.

  “Look,” Kurt said, “why don’t you get some rest? You’re beat, which is certainly understandable, considering what you’ve been through this morning.”

  Dana nodded, but continued to stare at her hands.

  “I know that Judd—the sheriff—will push for a trial to be held as quickly as possible,” Kurt went on. “We’ll do everything within our power to get you on your way as fast as we can.”

  Dana nodded again.

  “Whitehorn is a nice little town, with friendly people. You just might enjoy your stay here, if you give it a chance, and… Hell.”

  Kurt looked up at the ceiling for a long moment before redirecting his attention to Dana.

  “Dana, I know this stinks, and I’m sorry. You’re one of the good guys, and you’re being treated like one of the bad guys. Maybe you can find some comfort in the fact that folks around here are going to be very grateful that your testimony will convict the slime that shot Clem. As my niece, Chloe, would say, you should have warm fuzzies about what you’re doing.”

  Kurt muttered an earthy expletive.

  “Noble,” he said, “that was one of the dumbest things you’ve ever said.”

  Dana raised her head slowly and met Kurt’s gaze, causing him to nearly groan aloud when he saw the bleak expression on her face and the fatigue in her big blue eyes.

  “Ah, Dana…”

  Before he realized he’d moved, Kurt closed the distance between them, gripped Dana’s upper arms gently and drew her up into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, and she encircled his back with her own arms, leaning her head on his shoulder.

  Kurt inhaled Dana’s aroma of soap and fresh air, and savored the sensation of her silky hair whispering against his cheek. He was acutely aware of her lush breasts pressing against his chest, and the fact that she fit the contours of his body as though she’d been custom-made just for him.

  “My sister, Leigh,” he said, his voice slightly gritty, “says a hug can solve a multitude of things. She has two kids, who are six and eight years old, and sometimes she says to Max or Chloe, ‘You look like someone who needs a hug.’ Whichever one it is goes flying right into her arms, and I swear they feel better for it. I’ve seen it work.”

  Kurt tightened his hold on Dana.

  “Dana Bailey,” he said, “you look like someone who needs a hug, so that’s what I’m doing.”

  Dana closed her eyes, blanked her mind and allowed the wondrous warm comfort of Kurt’s strong arms and tall, solid body to suffuse her. She was giving herself permission to lean on him, both physically and emotionally, just for a minute. And, oh, dear heaven, it felt so good.

  For this stolen tick of time, she wasn’t frightened, because she was held in the safe cocoon of Kurt Noble’s arms. Nor was she alone, because Kurt was there.

  He smelled so good, she thought rather hazily, like fresh air, and sunshine and man. His chest was a hard wall, hi
s arms were powerful, yet tempered with gentleness.

  This was a cop with a gun, who was also a man who knew about warm fuzzies and comforting hugs.

  She’d remember this moment, draw strength from this moment, and she was now going to thank Kurt from the bottom of her heart for this moment.

  Dana raised her head to express her gratitude to Kurt for his kindness and caring, but no words came as her breath caught.

  Her lips were only inches from his. He was close, so close, and was looking directly into her eyes, his own radiating desire in its purest form.

  Dana, step away, her mind screamed. Kurt was going to kiss her, she knew he was, and she mustn’t allow that to happen.

  Dana didn’t move.

  Don’t do it, Noble, Kurt ordered himself. He was going to release his hold on Dana right now, and erase the image in his mind of his lips capturing her enticing lips. Yes, he was going to let her go. Right now.

  Kurt didn’t move.

  And his mouth melted over Dana’s.

  He parted her lips to slip his tongue into the sweet darkness of her mouth, and she met his tongue boldly with her own, stroking, dueling.

  Desire exploded within them, hot and swirling, then pulsing low in an ever-increasing tempo. Their hearts raced wildly, and their labored breathing echoed in the stark, quiet room.

  Kurt lifted his head a fraction of an inch to draw a rough breath, then slanted his mouth in the other direction as he reclaimed the lips eagerly seeking his.

  It was ecstasy.

  It was torment.

  It was a kiss that held a promise of more, of bodies meshing into one entity, of bursting upon the place where exquisite release waited to welcome them.

  Noble, a niggling little voice in Kurt’s mind said, this woman may very well have secrets, should not be automatically trusted. You should not be kissing Dana Bailey.

  Kurt broke the kiss and stepped back so abruptly that Dana teetered, then plunked down on the bed. She pressed one hand to her racing heart, then looked up at Kurt, startled to see that he appeared angry.

  “That was a mistake,” he said, his voice thick with lingering passion. He pointed a finger at Dana. “That will not happen again.”

  Dana narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care for your tone of voice, Detective Noble, nor for your accusing finger in front of my face. You seem to be insinuating that what just happened between us was entirely my fault.”

  Kurt swept his coat back and planted his hands on his narrow hips—a gesture so blatantly male that Dana felt a warm flush of lingering heat stain her cheeks.

  “You didn’t exactly push me away,” Kurt said, his voice rising. “You returned my kisses, Ms. Bailey, with a great deal of enthusiasm.”

  “I don’t deny that. I also agree that it was a mistake and will not happen again. However, you’re as much to blame here as I am.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, raking one hand through his hair.

  “Fine. Then we’re in agreement, due to communicating on the subject matter. We were equal partners in an…an episode that was executed by poor judgment and won’t be repeated.”

  “You sound really snooty when you get in your attorney mode, do you know that?”

  Dana jumped to her feet. “And you sound like a character in a bad movie when you use jargon like perp. I’m talking really corny. Perp. Jeez.”

  They stood there glowering at each other, and then a slow smile began to inch across Kurt’s lips until it grew into a full-blown grin.

  “Well,” he said, starting toward the door, “snooty lawyer or not, you sure are one hell of a fine kisser.”

  “You’re not too shabby yourself,” Dana said, laughing, “Sergeant Friday.”

  Kurt stopped, his hand on the doorknob. The flicker of merriment was gone as quickly as it had come.

  “I’ll check in with you later,” he said quietly, not one hint of the smile remaining on his face. “Kimberly ought to have your statement ready sometime today, even as slow as she types. I’ll bring it out here for you to sign. If you need anything, you know where I am.”

  Dana wrapped her hands around her elbows. “Yes. Fine. Thank you.”

  Kurt strode back across the room and scribbled on a pad of paper by the telephone.

  “That’s my home phone number,” he said.

  Dana nodded.

  Kurt started toward the door again, stopped, then returned to stand in front of Dana. He framed her face in his hands, dipped his head and kissed her; it was a toe-curling, breath-stealing kiss.

  When he finally released her, Dana stared at him with wide eyes.

  “What—?” She drew much-needed air into her lungs. “What on earth was that for?”

  “That,” Kurt said, his brows knit in a frown, “was because kisses like the ones we’ve shared shouldn’t be analyzed and talked to death the way we did. Because kisses like those don’t come waltzing down the pike every day of the week.”

  “Oh. Well, I—”

  “Shh. Leave that last kiss alone.” He nodded decisively. “Just leave it be. I’ll see you later on, Dana.”

  Kurt spun around and left the room. Dana stared at the door he’d closed behind him. It was several minutes before she realized that the fingertips of one hand had floated up to rest on her tingling lips, which held the lingering taste of Kurt Noble.

  Kurt drove at a crawl, not wishing to return immediately to the noise and confusion at the police station. He turned onto a quiet side street, still keeping well below the speed limit.

  When he was shot, he thought with self-disgust, the doctors had somehow missed the fact that his brain had been damaged by the bullet that tore into his shoulder.

  What had taken place in that motel room with Dana Bailey was so insane, it was a crime. He had to be partially brain-dead to have done such an asinine thing.

  Dana was a witness to a crime, and he was the police officer in charge of the case. Everything should have been kept on a professional level, strictly business.

  Hadn’t he learned a damn thing from what happened in Seattle? Hadn’t he promised himself, once he realized he was going to live after hovering near death after being shot, that he would never again, never, allow his emotions to rule his actions? Oh, yeah, he’d made that vow, and meant every word of it.

  Kurt smacked the steering wheel with the heel of his left hand, then stifled a groan as pain radiated up his arm and across his chest.

  So what did he do, despite his sworn oath to himself? he mentally raged on. The very first time he encountered a woman who was connected to his job, a woman who tugged at his heart with her vulnerability and her sad blue eyes, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her socks off.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  And as if that weren’t bad enough in itself, Dana had secrets, was hiding something, continually danced wide circles around the truth of where she was going and why.

  In Seattle, he’d been suckered by a woman who was not who she appeared to be. She’d played him like a fiddle under her command, and he’d been jerked around to whatever tune she wished to hear at the moment. He’d been a fool in spades, and it had nearly cost him his life.

  Well, not this time, by damn. He was pulling back, regrouping, taking charge of his feeble brain. He was staying away, far away, from Dana.

  He’d send Kimberly to the motel to get Dana’s signature on the typed statement. Yes, that was a good idea. Kim, or even Judd, could then keep their star witness informed on the progress being made toward setting a trial date for the scum who had shot Clem.

  Okay, now he was cooking, was back in control. Dana would be out of sight, out of mind, just someone stashed in a motel on the edge of town until her testimony was required in court.

  Fine.

  Kurt frowned as he turned the vehicle around, with the intention of going back to the station.

  There was just one glitch in his master plan, he thought. How in the hell was he going to forget the way Dana had nestled perfectly against
him? How was he going to forget her aroma, the silky strands of her golden hair, the sweet taste of her lips as they’d responded in abandon to his own?

  How was he going to forget how much he wanted to make love with Dana Bailey?

  Four

  The citizens of Whitehorn and beyond woke the next morning to a chilly, steady rain that had begun to fall during the night. The heavy clouds in the heavens were gunmetal gray, without one hint of blue sky managing to peek through.

  J. D. Cade wore a yellow slicker as he rode fence on the Kincaid ranch, checking for any problems in the miles of barbed wire.

  Many ranch hands hated this chore, he knew. They found it tedious and boring, and far too isolated. But during the years he was a prisoner of war, he’d learned how to be totally and absolutely alone. He’d learned, because the alternative would have been to go out of his mind, to slip into the world of insanity.

  J.D. nudged his horse, urging it to go faster. He squinted and leaned forward in the saddle, attempting to determine exactly what he was seeing a hundred yards down the fence line.

  At the spot he’d been concentrating on, J.D. pulled on the reins to halt the horse, then swung out of the saddle. A deep frown knit his brows as he stared at the fence.

  There were six dead chickens hanging from the barbed wire, having been tied in place with strips of leather.

  J.D. swore under his breath.

  Who in the hell had done this? he wondered. Lord, he hated the idea of having to tell Rand Harding that there was another incident to report to the sheriff.

  The list of malicious pranks was growing larger, and J.D. was becoming angrier with every one that was added to the tally.

  Rand was having difficulty keeping hands on the payroll, as many of the drifters coming through came to believe the rumors that the Kincaid spread was haunted by ghosts.

  Dead chickens hanging from barbed wire were not going to help the unrest and edginess among the men.

  Why? J.D. thought, getting back on his horse. Why was someone doing all this rotten stuff? What did they hope to gain?

  Whoever was behind it was clever and methodical. There was nothing haphazard about the way those chickens were hung on the fence. They were spaced exactly the same distance apart, and the head of each was draped over the top wire.