Showdown in West Texas Page 6

  “Good night.”

  Grace stood in the doorway and watched him stride across the station. There was much to like about the man, she decided. Even aside from Charlie’s glowing recommendation, Dale Walsh had the kind of quiet confidence and innate strength that Grace had always preferred over the in-your-face bravado of some of her male compatriots. He hadn’t wavered once in the face of the border crisis she’d described, nor had he so much as blinked when she asked if he had a problem working for a woman.

  All that was a definite plus. During her time at the TBI, Grace had seen her share of pandering, condescension and resentment, all solely because of her gender. So, it was refreshing to meet a man who had a healthy sense of himself and was not threatened by a female associate, let alone a superior.

  And he seemed to be just a genuinely likable guy.

  Of course, her initial assessment of him could always change. She’d been fooled before, unfortunately.

  Closing her office door, Grace moved over to the window that looked out on the parking lot. Walsh had been heading toward his car, but he stopped suddenly, glanced over his shoulder, then slowly turned back to the station.

  Grace wondered if he might have forgotten something else, but he made no move toward the building. Instead, he stood there for several seconds as if in deep contemplation—or conflict.

  Then he seemed to shrug off whatever had held him immobile, and continued on his way across the parking lot.

  But as Grace watched him climb into his car and drive off, she couldn’t help wondering about those odd little moments of hesitation.

  Was Dale Walsh really as open and direct as he’d led her to believe?

  Chapter Six

  When Cage left the station, he still wasn’t sure what he aimed to do about the briefcase. Now that he’d met the target in person, he was having a harder time just walking away.

  But he knew he was in no condition to reasonably assess the situation. He was tired, hungry and in pain. What he needed was a shower, some food and a safe place to hole up where he could do some serious thinking and planning.

  Stopping by a discount store, he bought a change of clothing, underwear, socks and the essential toiletries he would need to make himself feel human again. He asked the clerk who checked him out for a motel recommendation, and a little while later—after a quick bite at a drive-thru—he found himself at a rooms-for-rent place called Miss Nelda’s, which was run, appropriately enough, by a woman named Nelda Van Horn and her sister, Georgina.

  The gingerbread-trimmed house was a rambling two-story with a wraparound front porch and a long balcony on the second floor where guests could enjoy panoramic views of the mountains and the spectacular West Texas sunsets.

  The sisters looked to be in their seventies, one still a determined blonde, the other an improbable redhead, and neither the least bit shy about giving Cage a long scrutiny that was anything but subtle. They watched him sign the registry, then took a deposit in cash without blinking an eye. Next, they pointed him up the stairs to his room on the second floor.

  The first order of business—once Cage had secured both the hallway and balcony doors—was to hide the briefcase behind an old steam radiator. Then he called his sister in Dallas and Andy in El Paso with the excuse that he’d broken down on the road and was spending the night in a town several miles to the east of Jericho Pass so they wouldn’t call the police when he didn’t turn up. Finally, he stripped off his dusty clothes and climbed into the shower.

  After scrubbing the grime of the desert out of his hair and off his skin, Cage braced himself with his hands against the tile wall and leaned into the water, letting it sluice over his head and down his body until the temperature started to cool. Then he climbed out, dried off and sprawled on the bed, folding his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

  Grace Steele’s suggestion that he stick around town for a few days, however impractical or ill-advised, was starting to have some appeal. If Dale Walsh had been, in fact, both a cop and a hired gun, Cage was now in a unique position to find the sheriff’s would-be killer. In all likelihood, the conspirator would contact him the moment he—or she—learned that Walsh had hit town.

  On the other hand, the man Cage had met out on the highway might well have been an impostor. In which case, the real Dale Walsh was still out there somewhere, and dead or alive, he was bound to turn up sooner or later.

  Cage knew what he should do. He should get the heck out of town while the getting was good.

  But he couldn’t deny the situation he suddenly found himself in was more than a little exhilarating. The prospect of immersing himself in real police work again gave him the kind of adrenaline buzz he hadn’t experienced since he’d left the team.

  Could be that he’d been looking at this all wrong, he mused. Maybe everything that had happened to him in the last several hours wasn’t divine retribution, but divine intervention. Maybe someone upstairs was trying to throw him a bone.

  And as to those men from San Miguel who were after him—if they hadn’t yet identified him, it wouldn’t be long until they did. For all he knew, they could already have colleagues in Dallas looking for him.

  Maybe hiding here, right under their noses, was his smartest move. They were hunting Cage Nichols, not a guy named Dale Walsh.

  Rolling onto his side, Cage closed his eyes. For the time being at least, he decided to ignore that little niggling voice warning him that Grace Steele’s dark, soulful eyes might be playing hell with his judgment.

  THE FEATHER BED at Miss Nelda’s was a little too soft for Grace’s liking. She’d tossed and turned for hours, her thoughts ping-ponging back and forth between the terrible doubts she’d had earlier about her own sister and then that lusty little flutter she’d felt for Dale Walsh.

  Finally, she managed to dismiss the first concern. No matter what Lily’s grievances might be, she would never deliberately set out to hurt anyone, let alone her own sister. They’d grown apart over the years, but Grace knew that somewhere beneath that hard, jaded exterior was still the same caring, sensitive person who had once rescued every stray animal that had wandered onto the ranch.

  But if Lily hadn’t been at the top of those stairs, then who had Grace seen?

  She wanted to believe the whole episode was just an unfortunate accident. Maybe she really had tripped on the rug.

  But how to explain the sound that drew her attention on the landing? The glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye? The feel of a hand on her back a split second before she went tumbling?

  Could she have imagined all that?

  Grace had always prided herself on having a level head on her shoulders, but she couldn’t deny the house where her parents had been murdered still wreaked havoc on her nerves.

  She’d never told anyone, but she’d once suffered a severe panic attack when she’d found herself alone at the ranch. For what seemed an eternity, she’d remained paralyzed in her bedroom, unable to move, unable even to breathe. And then just like that, the spell ended and she’d never experienced anything like it again.

  But maybe something similar had happened to her earlier. A different kind of panic attack. It made about as much sense as her sister—or anyone else—trying to kill her.

  And as for her attraction to Dale Walsh, she could look to her more immediate past to explain her overreaction. Daniel Costa’s betrayal had really done a number on her confidence. As a deputy director, he’d been responsible for bringing Grace into the TBI where she’d quickly become one of the hottest young agents in the Bureau. Her meteoric rise, at least in part, could be traced directly back to the strings she’d allowed Daniel to pull on her behalf.

  Once their relationship turned personal, Grace had been a little too willing to ignore her persistent doubts about Daniel’s integrity because a man in his position often had to make tough decisions. At least that was how she tried to justify turning a blind eye.

  And then Daniel had thrown her under the b
us, apparently without a moment’s hesitation in order to save his own hide. That had stung. A lot. He’d wounded her pride, embarrassed her in front of her peers and derailed a very promising career. But worst of all, he’d made Grace doubt herself. How could a woman with a future as bright as hers have been so blindly stupid?

  Grace had learned a hard lesson from that unseemly mess, and now she was determined to keep the stain of misconduct and bad judgment from touching her current position. She had a chance to start over here in Jericho Pass. It might be her only chance. She wasn’t about to blow it.

  So she was attracted to Dale Walsh. Big deal. Why make a mountain out of a molehill? It had been Grace’s experience that the initial spark usually fizzled out pretty quickly after spending time in a man’s company. She doubted Walsh would be an exception.

  And if she couldn’t manage to keep her personal life separate from her professional one after everything she’d been through in Austin, well, then, she had no business wearing a badge anyway.

  Grace fluffed her pillow, rolled over and decided she was going to fall asleep right then and there if it killed her. She’d just drifted off when the creaking of the windmill awakened her.

  Except…she wasn’t at the ranch.

  Her eyes flew open, but she remained still as she listened again for the sound.

  There it was!

  The creak came, not from a windmill, she realized, but from the settling of a floorboard beneath a stealthy footfall.

  Grace was facing the balcony, and she saw a shadow outside the glass door. Sliding open the nightstand drawer, she removed her gun as she climbed out of bed and slipped quietly across the room. But by the time she got to the door, the shadow had moved on.

  She put her ear to the glass and listened for footsteps. After a moment, she could pick out the steady creak of the floorboards as someone walked away from her room.

  Twisting the latch, she eased back the door and stepped out on the balcony. Even in the dim lighting, she could easily pick out the silhouette of a man two rooms down from hers. He had his hand on the doorknob.

  He must have sensed her presence because his other hand went behind him, as if he were reaching for a weapon.

  Grace drew a bead. “Freeze!”

  His hand stilled, but his head slowly rotated to face her. “It’s Dale Walsh, Sheriff.”

  He moved out of the shadows then and Grace caught her breath. He had on nothing but a pair of jeans and he carried nothing in his hands but an ice bucket.

  Quickly, she dropped her weapon to her side. “Sorry. I heard a noise and came out to investigate.”

  He held up the ice bucket. “Just getting some ice. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m not usually so jumpy. Strange bed and all that…” She trailed off awkwardly.

  For a moment, neither of them said anything else, and the waiting silence strangely excited Grace. She tried not to stare, but there he was right in front of her, all sunburned skin and blazing blue eyes. She couldn’t help noticing that her earlier assessment had been right on the money. Despite his lean build, Dale Walsh did have some serious guns.

  “I didn’t know you were staying here,” she finally said.

  “I didn’t know you were staying here, either.”

  As he propped a hand on the wall beside her, Grace suddenly became aware of her own bedtime attire—cotton pajama bottoms and a thin knit tank top that, even in the dimmest of lighting, would clearly reveal the outline of her breasts.

  Hardly the outfit she would have favored for her second meeting with Dale Walsh.

  She resisted the urge to cover herself with her arms, which of course would only call more attention to the area she wished to hide. “I only moved in today. I’ve been staying out at my family’s ranch since I got back to town, but that didn’t work out so well.”

  “I hear that. An hour or two at a time is about all I can take of my sister’s constant chatter, and you don’t even want to get me started on my mother.”

  “I’ll take your sister’s chatter over my sister’s cold shoulder any day of the week,” Grace said.

  “Silence is golden,” he said with a devastating grin. “I’ll take that deal. Of course, I should warn you that my sister comes with strings attached. Namely, the jerk she’s married to.”

  “Still sounds like a fair exchange to me.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Right now it is. But…that’s a subject for another day,” Grace tried to say lightly. “It’s late, and your ass is melting.”

  “My what?”

  “Ice. Your ice is melting.”

  “So it is.” He straightened, but he made no move to leave.

  Instead, he just stood there looking down at her, making her feel as if she had all the poise of a thirteen-year-old. Grace couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so flustered and self-conscious. Even the review board hadn’t torpedoed her composure this badly.

  “Well…I guess I should go in and try to get some sleep before the alarm goes off,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning at nine, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Nine o’clock sharp.”

  She stepped through the door and turned the lock. Leaning a shoulder against the frame, she listened for Dale Walsh’s retreating footsteps.

  It took a moment, but finally she heard the telltale creak of the floorboards as he moved away from her room.

  And then Grace let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

  Holy moly, she thought.

  Chapter Seven

  Cage felt like a new man the next morning. Amazing what a little sleep could do for the morale.

  The pain in his knee had eased up, too. He’d iced it the night before, and now, after another quick shower, he wrapped it with a pressure bandage he’d bought at the discount store.

  After slipping on his new jeans and shirt—a white western cut with pearl snaps that he thought would help him blend in better, he tugged on his boots, grabbed his wallet and headed out to find some food.

  Miss Nelda—or was the blonde Miss Georgina?—was cleaning shadow boxes with a feather duster when he came downstairs.

  “Well, good morning,” she said with a bright smile. “My, aren’t you looking chipper? How did you sleep last night?”

  “Not too bad,” he said. “That poofy thing is like sleeping on a cloud.”

  “You do look mighty rested,” she observed.

  “And mighty hungry.”

  “We’ve put out fresh fruit and pastries in the dining room, but if you’re looking for something a little more substantial, there’s a diner across the street. And don’t worry about hurting our feelings. Our nephew, Billy Don, owns the place and that poor boy needs all the help he can get. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you get my drift.”

  Cage picked up a newspaper from a nearby chair. “Mind if I take this with me?”

  “Not at all. Ask for the special,” she said. “It’s the best value on the menu.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Oh, any time, dear.” She turned back to her dusting. “So, how long do you expect to be with us?”

  Cage paused at the door. “I guess it all depends.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “On whether or not you hit it off with Grace?”

  “Excuse me?”

  She smiled at his surprise. “Oh, we all know why you’re here. This is a small town, Mr. Walsh. Or should I call you Detective? Word travels fast so I hope you don’t have any deep, dark secrets.” Her coy expression suggested that she might be actually hoping for the opposite.

  “Nothing too terrible,” he murmured.

  “I’m not so sure I believe you, young man. You have a certain…je ne sais quoi, shall we call it?”

  “Je ne sais quoi. That’s a new one,” Cage said, grinning.

  “My first beau had that same mysterious air.” She fluttered her hand in front of her as if trying to conjure that unnamed someth
ing. “I suppose that’s why my father never trusted him. That, and the fact that he was a thief, a liar and a first-class scoundrel. Ran off with my dowry on our wedding day.”

  “If you ask me, ma’am, he must have been a first-class fool.”

  “Oh, my.” She fanned herself with the feather duster. “You do have that certain something, don’t you? I hope poor Grace knows what she’s letting herself in for.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Cage said. “She hasn’t offered me the job, yet.”

  Miss Nelda peered at him over the feathers. “Who says I was talking about a job?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know what else you’d be talking about, Miss Nelda.”

  She smiled appreciatively at the use of her name, and Cage was glad he’d gotten it right. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. Just as I’m sure it escaped your attention how pretty our new sheriff is.”

  “Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Of course, I much preferred her hair the way she used to wear it, but Grace has the kind of face that can overcome an unfortunate style. All the Steele girls are just lovely. It’s such a shame that none of them has ever married. Unless you count Grace’s elopement with that Nance boy, but that ended so quickly, hardly anyone around here even remembers it anymore.”

  There was an elopement in Sheriff Steele’s past? Now that surprised Cage. Spontaneous and romantic weren’t exactly the words that came to mind when he thought of her. She’d struck him as levelheaded and reserved, but then, the only thing he really knew about Grace Steele was that someone had put out a hit on her.

  “I’ve always wondered if it had something to do with what happened to their parents,” Miss Nelda mused.

  “What did?” Cage had flashed back to the previous night and lost track of the conversation.

  Now that Miss Nelda had brought up the subject of Grace Steele, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d looked out on that balcony, her eyes luminous in the dark and her hair all mussed and sexy. He liked the way her lips parted slightly when she smiled and the way she seemed so totally unaware of her hotness.