Luke couldn’t believe his eyes. He wasn’t an expert, but this was a cultural artifact anyone could recognize.
It was an arrowhead, knapped from black obsidian.
His mind raced with possibilities. He didn’t believe an Indian had left the spear point here any more than he believed one of his people had scalped Bull Ryan.
So what the hell was going on?
The sound of running water in the restroom brought him up short. He drew his weapon, staying low and cursing himself for a fool. There were no cars outside, other than the one Shay left in the parking lot this morning, and he hadn’t bothered to do a thorough sweep.
It was a stupid, careless mistake.
Moving fast, he approached the door to the women’s restroom and stood beside it, his pulse pounding with adrenaline.
He had his gun to her head and his arm clamped around her waist as soon as she came out. With her body flush against his, he could smell her hair and that tantalizing herbal scent. Luke recognized Shay with all of his senses.
Horrified, he released her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
She whirled around to look at him, her eyes wide with fear. “What the fuck are
He holstered his revolver, noting that his hands were shaking. “I could have killed you,” he said, chilled by the thought.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“You promised you would stay in the hospital,” he said through clenched teeth, struggling to get a grip on his emotions. “Instead I find you here, traipsing around my crime scene like nothing happened. All but begging for someone to come in and finish the job they started this morning!”
Her face paled. “You didn’t have to put a gun to my head.”
“I didn’t know it was you.” He took a slow, agonizing breath, trying to recover. A moment ago, when he thought the perpetrator had returned to the scene, rage had flooded his system. He’d drawn his weapon, and for the first time in his life, he’d wanted to use it.
He still did. He would kill anyone who hurt her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She looked down at her tennis shoes, muttering something about him being quick on the draw.
It stung in more ways than one. “How did you get here?”
“A friend dropped me off.”
“I’m taking you back to the hospital right now.”
“The hell you are.”
He bit off another curse. “I don’t want you mixed up in this, Shay,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “I can’t stand the thought of you being in danger. And I hate the idea of you putting yourself at risk.”
Her gaze wandered over him, lingering on his disheveled hair and the star pinned to his front pocket before settling back on his face.
To his consternation, the corner of her mouth tilted up, as if the signs of his eminent breakdown pleased her. Reaching out, she threaded her own fingers through his hair, adding to the disarray. Her eyes burned into his, smoky blue, and what passed between them was hotter and stronger and scarier than anything he’d ever felt before.
He pressed her back against the wall, cupping his hand around her chin and rubbing his thumb across her soft lips. She parted them and bit him gently, her small white teeth sinking into the pad of his thumb. After soothing the mark with her tongue, she drew him into the heat of her mouth and sucked gently.
He felt an answering tug in the middle of his chest, below the belt, and all the way down to his toes.
Groaning, he withdrew his wet thumb and traced her lips once more before crushing his mouth over hers. There was no artistry to this kiss, no finesse, just hunger and longing and desperation. She responded in kind, tasting his passion and demanding her pleasure, as frank and sexual and unashamed as she’d ever been.
He wanted her more each day, with each passing moment. He wanted her more every time he had her. He wanted her right here, standing up against the wall.
But she took her hands from his hair and placed them on his chest, breaking the contact. “We can’t do this right now.”
“No,” he agreed, although his erection throbbed in protest.
She disentangled herself from his arms. “I have to find my brother.”
That brought back a shard of reality. She was supposed to be resting in a hospital bed. And he was supposed to be investigating her attempted murder. “Right,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, wrong. I’m going to find him. You’re-”
The radio on his belt sounded, emitting a hash of garbled words.
Luke snatched up his receiver.
Deputy Snell’s voice came over the wire, calm and crisp in a sea of static. “I’ve got Phillips in the back of my squad car. He was found in possession of a hunting knife.” He let out a sinister chuckle. “I think what we’ve got here is a slam dunk, Sheriff.”
Luke met Shay’s gaze, reading her fear and confusion.
“Don’t question him without me,” he warned, his pulse racing. “I’ll be at the station in a few minutes.”
“That’s affirmative,” Garrett said. “Over and out.”
The next ten minutes were the longest of her life. On the way to the hospital this morning, she’d imagined what would happen to Dylan if she died, and tears had sprung to her eyes.
Now she sat next to Luke in terrified silence, so worried she felt nauseous. She was furious with her brother for putting her through this kind of turmoil. Why was he so determined to throw his life away?
Luke didn’t say anything, but he seemed as tense as she was. He drove too fast on the bumpy dirt road, jostling them inside the cab. When they arrived at the sheriff’s station, she jumped out of his truck and hurried toward the front door, her heart pounding with anxiety and her hands clenched into fists.
Inside, her little brother was sitting at a desk across from Garrett Snell, his hands cuffed behind his back and his eyes brimming with defiance. Upon sight of his torn, dirty T-shirt, and the blood smeared across his chin, her anger didn’t evaporate.
It just transferred.
Garrett Snell’s uniform was also dirty, but his face was unmarred and his expression smug. He was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his barrel chest, a position that emphasized his considerable bulk.
Garrett was a bully as a kid, a husband, and a police officer. Shay couldn’t let him get away with it a second longer.
“You black-hearted bastard,” she said in a low growl, advancing on him. She didn’t slap at him wildly or unsheathe her claws; she just grabbed him by the shirt collar, drew back her fist, and punched him square in the mouth.
Pain exploded from her knuckles upon impact. Garrett shoved her backward, sending her flying across the room. Dylan rose to his feet and shouted in protest, almost knocking over the table in front of him. Luke caught her around the waist and held her still.
“How dare you put your hands on him!” she said to Garrett, struggling to break free.
Garrett touched his fingertips to his lips, finding blood there. “He was running,” he said in a cold voice. “I had to take him down.”
When she looked at Dylan, he nodded, corroborating the story. She felt some of the fight leave her body. “Why would you run?”
“Because I’m guilty. Why else?”
“Oh, Dylan,” she said, her disbelief tinged with defeat. Luke’s grip on her changed, supporting rather than restraining her.
“Keep that crazy bitch away from me,” Garrett warned, rubbing his jaw. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Except grind your knee into my fucking neck,” Dylan said.
Shay’s vision narrowed, and she made another fist.
