High Stakes, page 13
“Do you mind? I’ve always wanted—”
“Whatever you want, Nella,” I tell her, my voice strangled as I keep myself from taking charge.
Then I get her eyes, hot and intense, as she carefully guides me inside her. I grind my teeth when she sinks down on me and suddenly freezes.
“You feel incredible,” I mumble digging my fingers in her hips. “But you’re gonna kill me if you don’t move.”
I groan when she finally does. Tentatively at first, but once she finds her rhythm, she seems to shed every inhibition and rides me wild. I’ve never seen a woman smile when she comes, but Nella is smiling as she cries out her release.
Fucking magnificent.
Sixteen
Nella
* * *
I’m not going to lie and say I’m not concerned.
Learning over an early dinner we slapped together last night—after a mind-blowing afternoon in my bed—two people may have lost their lives at the hands of the same thieves who stole my sister’s motorhome, sent shivers down my spine. And not the good kind.
The problem is, I’m not ready to give up my search yet. Not after talking to the nice couple whose thirty-eight-foot Class-A was stolen from—according to Lorna and Jim Carmichael—the loveliest spot along the Kootenay River, just a few miles north of the Libby Dam, where Lake Koocanusa flows back into the Kootenay River on the US side of the border.
I got the names from the editor at the Libby Press, who had written the few short pieces I found on the thefts. In one of the articles she’d described the Carmichaels as a retired couple from Spruce Grove, Alberta—a small town just west of Edmonton—so they weren’t too hard to find.
Jim and his wife were quite willing to talk to me, especially after I mentioned what happened to my sister. They shared they’d stayed a few nights at Timberlane, the same campground I discovered Pippa stayed at, except the Carmichaels were there back in early July.
Still, it was a bit of a coincidence and I’d intended to see if I could connect with one of the other victims yesterday afternoon but got a little distracted.
I can’t stop the smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as I look at Fletch’s back standing at my stove, cooking us breakfast. He was already cooking when I walked out of the bedroom five minutes ago.
He’d stayed the night.
Other than that one time in college when my then boyfriend and I had fallen asleep after a night of too much drinking, I’ve never had a man sleep over. My choice, I never wanted the commitments that would inevitably follow. My life was balanced and predictable, which is the way I preferred it.
I never met a man I was willing to rock the boat for. Until now, I guess. In part because of Fletch, but perhaps a little more so because I’m starting to like who I am without the boundaries I set myself years ago. I certainly let go yesterday.
“What’s the smile for?”
He’s looking at me over his shoulder.
“Nothing in particular.”
He grunts, but despite the scowl on his face, I notice his eyes are dancing.
“That smells good. I’m getting hungry.”
My attempt to redirect the conversation proves successful when he turns back to the stove.
“It’s about done.”
Two minutes later he slides breakfast in front of me: a fluffy cheese, mushroom, and bacon omelet topped with thinly sliced tomatoes. I take my first bite as he returns with the coffeepot and tops me up before he sits down across from me at the tiny kitchen table.
“Tastes even better.”
He looks up and one corner of his mouth tilts up. “Good.” Then he digs into his own.
We eat in companionable silence until I catch the time on the stove clock. It’s already after eight.
“You don’t have to work?”
“Not until Thursday, unless something comes up. Why?”
I put down my fork and lean my elbows on the table.
“I want to visit Pippa this morning, but I was wondering if you’d want to go on a drive in the country with me after?”
He’d been very adamant last night, after telling me about the sheriff’s caution, I leave the investigating to the experts, but I’d really like to explore if this connection to Timberlane may prove to be a lead. I’ll happily hand it over to the authorities if I can tie a third stolen vehicle to the campground. Only two could just be coincidence, but three makes a pattern.
Fletch narrows his eyes at me.
“Where are you suggesting we go?”
Lying has never been my strong suit, and clearly the whole ‘drive in the country’ ploy didn’t fly, so I opt for the truth instead. I mentioned my visit to the newspaper and the phone call with the Carmichaels to him last night.
“I’d like to stop by Timberlane Campground. I’m hoping the manager remembers if Janice Laszlo was ever there.”
That was the second name the editor at the paper had passed on to me. The only problem is no one answered the contact number she gave me when I tried calling yesterday and I wasn’t able to leave a message because the mailbox was full. Janice’s twenty-eight-foot travel trailer was actually stolen from a site not far from where the dead couple was found.
“Nella…” he growls.
“Well, what do you expect me to do; twiddle my thumbs? I have to do something, Fletcher. I want to help Pippa get her memory back. All her belongings are in that motorhome, maybe something will trigger her recollection. That’s not going to be a priority for the sheriff, especially now he has two bodies to worry about.”
He blows out a breath through pursed lips.
“Dammit, Nella.”
“Does that mean you have plans already?” I ask innocently, to which he scowls even harder.
“It means I should’ve known you wouldn’t give up.”
“I’m persistent.”
“You mean stubborn,” he grumbles.
Thirty minutes later I get into Fletch’s truck, grinning.
Fletch
* * *
I don’t like the guy.
Chuck Yates is a sleazeball.
I don’t trust the middle-aged, pot-bellied campground manager with the greasy ponytail on sight. For one thing, I don’t like the way he looks at Nella, but what really sticks in my craw is how he pushes her for information on her sister. His interest is as fake as a three-dollar bill. Luckily Nella isn’t buying it either.
“Feel free to write her a note and I’ll be happy to deliver it to her.”
“I’d like to send her flowers,” he responds, trying to sway her with a saccharine smile.
“That’s very kind of you, but I assure you, not necessary.” Her smile is tight and is gone in a flash. “But that’s not the reason I’m here. Does the name Janice Laszlo ring a bell?”
“I don’t believe it does.” He darts a look my way and then shakes his head as if he’s contemplating the question. “No, it’s not familiar.”
“She would’ve stayed here probably late June?” Nella pushes.
He shakes his head again. “I’ve got so many people staying here over the summer, it’s impossible to remember names.”
I’ve had enough of whatever fucking game the guy is playing and speak up for the first time.
“You don’t keep a registry? I thought that was mandatory?” I pull out my phone. “Never mind. I’m sure my buddy, Wayne Ewing, can answer that question.”
Everybody in Lincoln County knows that name. Wayne was just reelected last year for his third term in the Sheriff’s Office. Obviously, Chuck does as well.
“No, no, you don’t have to do that.” He holds out a hand to stop me. “I’ll have a quick look.”
He ducks inside the tiny office as Nella sidles up to me.
“Did you just threaten him?” she whispers, her eyes sparkling.
“Technically, no. And only someone with something to hide would take it as one.”
It doesn’t take long for Chuck to reappear, waving a piece of paper.
“June twenty-second through twenty-ninth,” he announces, handing me the note.
It lists the name, the make of Janice Laszlo’s trailer, the license plate number, and a phone number. I show the latter to Nella. “Same number you’ve been trying?”
“Yes.”
“I remember her now,” Chuck volunteers. “Pretty girl.”
“That all you remember?”
My tone is purposely sarcastic, but the idiot doesn’t even seem to clue in.
“She had a dog. One of those little ones. Bit of a yapper if I recall correctly. Oh, and I remember she had some problems with her fridge. She came by to pick up bags of ice and I gave her a few names of reputable places that might be able to help her with that.”
I put question marks by the label of reputable from Chuck’s mouth, but he does open up another possibility to pursue. Nella comes to the same conclusion and beats me to it.
“Which places would that be?”
“A buddy of mine owns an RV dealership in town. Rick’s RVs? He does repairs too. Advanced Truck and RV services just south of town would’ve been another one. And Mobilife in Happys Inn.”
I watch Nella pull out her phone and make a note of those names. Not that I’ll let her do anything other than pass those names on to Ewing. I intend to hold her to her promise.
“Did my sister ever mention needing repairs?”
Chuck seems to think a moment before shaking his head.
“Not to me.” Then a lewd smile forms on his face. “If she had I would definitely have remembered.”
I can almost feel Nella bristle beside me, but neither of us have a chance to react when an older lady walks up.
“Back already, Betsy?” the manager greets her.
“Too many idiot yahoos at Kootenai River.”
“Hunting season, Bets. Could’a told you that.”
The woman grumbles something and darts a glance at me before focusing on Nella.
“You’re the one from last week. Looking for your sister?”
“That was me. Hi, Betsy, how have you been?” Nella replies politely.
“Weather’s gettin’ colder so the arthritis gets worse. Old age sucks and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. So, your sister was found? A miracle, that is. Not many who could survive bein’ out there as long as she had. How is she?”
“Well, she was in rough shape and it was touch and go for a while, but it looks like she’ll pull through.”
“Lucky girl, walking away unscathed.”
“Not quite,” Nella volunteers. “Unfortunately, she’s suffering from some kind of amnesia. We hope it’ll just be temporary though.”
I keep a close eye on Chuck during the exchange, and I’m not a fan of how closely he’s listening in.
“We should go,” I announce, putting a hand on Nella’s elbow.
“It was nice seeing you again.” She holds out her hand to Betsy.
“You too. I reckon you’ll be taking your sister home soon?”
The old woman’s question startles me, although I guess it would make sense. I hadn’t really thought about it much, but enough to know I don’t like that idea at all. I focus all my attention on Nella, eagerly waiting for her response.
“She’s still in the hospital so it depends on when she’ll be released.” She darts a quick glance my way. “And what she wants to do.”
It’s on my lips to ask Nella what she wants. But it’s way too fucking early to be talking about shit like that, even after spending the night with my nose buried in her hair with the claw marks of her unexpected passion still marking my back. Not something I want to discuss in front of these two either. So I swallow it down.
“Motel must be getting expensive,” Chuck observes. “If you need a cheaper place to stay, I have a rental trailer on site 114, full services, I can give you for a steal. It’s the least I can do.”
“Like hell—” I start but Nella grabs my arm, digging her fingers in deep.
“I appreciate the offer,” she interrupts. “But there’s no need. I’ve been offered temporary lodging at High Meadow Ranch. Everyone’s been very kind.”
Chuck’s eyes shoot an indecipherable look my way before turning back to Nella.
“Offer stands if you need it.”
“Thank you.” Then she slips her entire arm through mine. “We’d really best get going. Appreciate your help.” She gives Betsy a little wave with her free hand. “See you, Betsy. Thanks again.”
“Sheriff’s Office?” I prompt her when we get in my truck.
“Hospital first,” she returns.
The neurologist had been in with Pippa when we got there this morning. He wanted to have a few tests done so we weren’t able to visit with her and were asked to come back later.
“Sooner the sheriff has the information the faster he can do something with it.”
For a moment it looks like she’ll protest but instead she lets out a deep sigh.
“Fine. Sheriff first. I don’t trust Yates,” she adds. I can’t say I disagree. “It’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? That they all stayed at Timberlane?”
“Three of them,” I correct her.
I’m not sure how many of these thefts are connected but she’s right; three makes it worth looking into.
We just catch Ewing coming out of his office. He starts waving us off the moment he sees us.
“I’m sorry, folks. Don’t have time right now.”
“Five minutes, Wayne, then we’ll be out of your hair. It may be worth your while.”
He looks at me, before eyeing Nella with narrowed eyes.
“Been sleuthing again, Ms. Freling?”
Nella wisely keeps her mouth shut.
“Fine,” he continues. “Five minutes. Not a second more.”
Then he turns on his heel and leads us into his office.
“Pippa, the Carmichaels, and Janice Laszlo all stayed at Timberlane Campground in the days before their vehicles were stolen,” Nella lays out.
“What in the fresh hell? Where did you get those names?” Ewing barks at her.
She doesn’t seem too impressed and shrugs her shoulders.
“Research. It’s what I’m good at,” she says dryly.
“Your sister is in the hospital and I just had to notify a family over the phone their loved ones won’t be coming home because they’re on a cold slab in the morgue,” he snaps at her and my hackles go up.
“Hey,” I intervene. “Easy does it, Ewing.”
That gets his attention.
“Easy? These guys went from theft, to attempted murder, to murder, Boone. We have our hands full already, last thing we need is a civilian poking around stirring up more trouble.”
Then he turns back to Nella and wags his finger in her face.
“You’re playing a high stakes game, Ms. Freling.”
Seventeen
Nella
* * *
I’m still walking funny when I enter Pippa’s room.
Fletch kept me busy yesterday. I think he was making sure I had no time to go against the sheriff’s clear instruction, which basically was to butt out of his investigation.
He’d left me at my door the night before with a peck on the lips and a warning to get a good night’s sleep in because he’d have a surprise for me in the morning. I’ll admit, I was a bit disappointed but it did give me a chance to boot up my laptop and check out online ads for older model Jayco Redhawks. Sheriff Ewing said not to butt into the investigation, but he can hardly stop me from checking out previously owned motorhomes. I found a few promising listings; one in Eureka, and the other one near Sturgeon in neighboring Idaho and I planned to call yesterday morning, but I never got the chance.
It was barely eight in the morning when Fletch knocked on my door yesterday. My insides did a little squeeze at the sight of him leaning against my doorpost. The black Stetson he’s been wearing since he lost his old one in the creek, a white Henley under a loose plaid shirt, but the showstopper had to be the chaps encasing the legs of his threadbare jeans. It wasn’t so much what they covered, but rather how they framed what was left uncovered that got my full attention.
That was, until I heard snorting and looked beyond him to find two horses tied to the railing of my porch.
“No.”
“You can’t visit Montana and not go riding.”
He’s trying to sway me with that rare grin he flashes, but I’m not falling for it.
“Sure I can,” I fire back. “People fall off horses and break things. I’ve seen enough of Libby’s hospital, thank you very much.”
“Says the woman who took off into the wilderness by herself, faced off with a bear, spent the night in a cave, and dangled off the side of a mountain. Heck, you climbed on King with me, don’t tell me old Buttercup here scares you. She rides like a comfy chair.”
He points at the—admittedly—docile-looking chestnut standing next to his horse. She looks friendly enough but she’s almost as tall as King, and the thought of getting on the powerful animal by myself is a bit daunting.
“Fine,” I snap, unable to resist the challenge in his words. It should probably bother me he seems to know me well enough to recognize I wouldn’t be able to.
He’d been right, riding Buttercup was surprisingly comfortable. I had no trouble keeping up with him as he showed me the beauty of Montana from a new vantage point. He’d even packed sandwiches and water, which we had sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking Fisher River below.
It wasn’t until we got back to the barn—and I was starting to feel the effects of being in the saddle for an extended period—I realized Fletch had been quiet, even for him. I’d done most of the talking and he’d been listening but hadn’t really said much. There hadn’t been much touching either.
He came with me to the hospital for a visit, suggested a local bar and grill not far from the hospital for an elk burger and a piece of huckleberry pie after, and by the time we got back to the ranch it was dark outside. He dropped me at my door with a brush of his lips and announced he’d be back to work in the morning. That was it.
