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Tony Aquilon. Where had she heard the name?
She sighed. “I don’t know anything about ancient artifacts or any finds in Chaco Canyon or anywhere else. The couple needed money and asked me to take the pots to town. I said I would since they live over an hour from here and had just had their first child. He needed to stay with the mother and baby. It was the cutest little boy—”
A snort from the younger detective cut her off.
Okay, so she did love babies and tended to go on and on about them. But they were so sweet and trusting, something she hadn’t been in a long time.
Not since she was ten years old.
At that time two men had broken into her home and raped and killed her mom. She’d come home from school and found the horrible crime scene. Since that day, her father had made sure she and her two brothers learned self-defense, sending them to more advanced courses each year until they’d passed them all. Lots of noise and surprise tactics were the keys to escaping an enemy.
Her training hadn’t stopped her captor from arresting her, though. Recalling the strength in his embrace as he’d locked her in his arms, she was somewhat stunned as she realized he’d been incredibly gentle with her, not hurting her at all during the struggle.
She examined her wrist. Not a mark on it, not even a bruise from the handcuffs. Studying the special investigator covertly, she had to admit he was an enigma—a man who applied his strength with care instead of brute force.
“If you’re innocent, why did you run?” the special investigator demanded. He gingerly felt his nose.
“Because that’s what a normal person does when a stranger tries to nab you,” she informed him. “You need to put ice on that. It’ll stop the swelling.”
He gave her a narrow look, considered, then headed out of the room. “I should take a bath in the damn stuff,” she heard him mutter just before the door closed behind him.
“I think you bruised his pride,” the older detective said in a kind manner. “Who was it you said we should call?”
“Chief Windover. I have a number for him.” She gave the man the information. Once they checked her credentials, they would realize they had made a mistake and she would be free to go home.
The older man nodded. “Okay. I’ll see if we can’t get this straightened out.”
After he left, Julianne slumped into the chair. While she hadn’t been injured, she felt sore and just plain beat. Well, no wonder, after all that running and then wrestling around with the superhero.
Okay, so he was a special investigator with the National Park Service and the other cops obviously knew and respected him. That he was also an expert on ancient artifacts and a hunk was rather intriguing.
So?
So she didn’t know, except he made her feel…funny. Studying her wrist, she conceded he’d used no more force than necessary to subdue her, while she’d used every evasive maneuver she knew.
“Ohh,” she groaned, recalling all she’d done to get away. The judge would probably lock her up forever for breaking his nose.
Which he deserved for scaring the devil out of her by yanking out those handcuffs and trying to clamp them on her without warning. If he’d explained himself, then she could have explained her part in the supposed crime and all would have been resolved.
She was still frowning when he returned, holding an ice pack to his nose. Seeing it made her feel somewhat guilty for being the cause. But only a little bit, she added, since it was his fault in the first place.
“Chief Windover is gone for the weekend,” he said.
“Oh, that’s right. He’s taken his family camping and fishing at Many Farms Lake.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s where I heard of you.”
“I haven’t been to Many Farms Lake, wherever that is.”
“Arizona, near Canyon De Chelly. However, it was while I was in the chief’s office that I heard of you. He got a call from the park service. Your name was mentioned. He said he would alert the tribal police. I assumed you were an escaped convict.”
“I let the authorities know I was investigating a case and would be on the reservation at times. I needed a counterpart with their law enforcement department to work with me.”
“Like Officer Diaz with the state police here?”
“Yeah, like Chuck.”
“Well, that explains everything,” she said, standing. “I’m glad we had this chat. Now I need to get home and—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he informed her.
She tried for calm. “Now that you know who I am and that I’m not guilty of anything, aren’t you going to let me go?”
“No way.”
“Why not?” It came out a belligerent snarl.
“Until we contact the chief, we have no one to vouch for you.”
“That is the stupidest thing I ever heard. You have my driver’s license and address. You can call anyone on the council or one of the clinical staff. Surely that’s enough to check out my identity.”
“Maybe, but the law doesn’t work that way. Your being a nurse doesn’t mean anything. There are serious charges against you. Transporting stolen goods for one. Selling priceless artifacts, for another. You also resisted arrest, which I could have added to the list but didn’t,” he stated as if he’d done her a huge favor, his thick eyebrows drawn into a severe frown above the ice bag.
“If you’d shown me your badge first and told me what was happening, we could have talked it over without all that, uh, hassle.”
“Hassle?” he said. “You bruised my nose and stomped my foot. That was just the beginning. Once I caught you, you tried to choke me with the cuffs, not to mention the attempt to poke me in the eyes. Hassle? It was assault and battery in my book.” He waved an arm expansively.
“That was self-defense,” she told him hotly. “It’s very frightening to a woman to be grabbed by a strange man. Keep that ice pack on your nose.”
He clamped the bag back on his face and winced in pain. “Anyway,” he continued, “you’ll have to stay here until we can check out your story.”
“Here, as in jail?”
“Yeah.”
She couldn’t believe this. It was just too, too absurd for words. It belatedly occurred to her that she might actually need some professional help. “I want to call my brother. He’s an attorney. He’ll tell you who I am.”
“You’ll have to ask the D.A. if you can have another call.” He started for the door.
“I haven’t had the first one yet.”
“Chief Windover. That was who you asked for.”
“I demand to see somebody. Where is this district attorney?”
He shrugged. “The office is closed for the weekend. You’ll have to wait until Monday to talk to him. Also,” he added when she started to protest, “the courthouse is closed, too. There’s no judge to listen to your case and set bail. Not that I would recommend bail. You’re a prime candidate to flee, in my opinion.”
“Which you would just have to give, wouldn’t you?”
His smile was barely visible under the ice pack. “It would be my civic duty.”
With that, he left her alone in the narrow ugly room with its scarred table and three chairs, one of which had a broken leg. The anger, sarcasm and just plain disbelief faded. She blinked back unexpected tears, feeling as abandoned as a two-year-old lost in a department store.
Not that she considered him a savior. The handsome, albeit unreasonable, detective was the one who’d gotten her into this mess. Well, Josiah, too. She had a thing or two to say to that innocent-acting young man.
The grizzled sergeant stuck his head in the door. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Am I free?” she asked in surprised relief.
He gave her a look that said she wasn’t.
“What about my car? It isn’t locked. Someone could steal it.”
“After it was searched, it was towed in.”
“Searched? Towed?” she repeated indignantly.
The officer wouldn’t be drawn into further conversation. He shrugged off her questions, took her to a cell and locked the door after she was inside.
She was a prisoner.
Chapter Two
After canceling his date, Tony drove home, staring at the road while the late-afternoon sun began its glide into the evening. He examined the swelling across his nose and under his eyes. On the way to his temporary home, a room in the local park headquarters barracks, his thoughts strayed to the jail. He wondered what the captive was doing at this moment. Probably giving an earful to whoever happened to be handy about her wrongful arrest.
She’d probably sue him if she was innocent.
At the long, low residence barracks, he parked in front of his unit, which was one big room with a bed, sitting area and kitchen consisting of an under-thecounter fridge, a two-burner hot plate, a sink and a microwave, and went inside. He had his own bathroom here, unlike some hostels he’d stayed at during his college years while working for the park service.
All the comforts of home.
The nosebleed returned when he took a shower. Ten minutes later, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he held a new batch of ice cubes to his nose while he studied the contents of the cabinets.
As usual, his choices ran to cereal, sandwiches or soup. Not exactly a gourmet selection, but better than the food the suspect would likely get in jail.
He suddenly wished he could confide the happenings of the day to his foster uncle. Jefferson Aquilon—his mom had once been married to Uncle Jeff’s brother, so the older man was sort of a stepuncle—had always treated him and his sister, Krista, as if they were his own flesh and blood, the same as Jeremy, a nephew who was also an orphan and their stepcousin. Uncle Jeff was a good listener.
Tony needed some advice on his own confusing reactions to the suspect. The fact that he halfway believed her story probably meant he was ready for the loony bin.
Strangest of all, he regretted that she would have to spend the weekend in jail and wondered if he should call the D.A. and judge at home to see what they thought should be done with her.
Man, what was he thinking? After what she did to him, she didn’t deserve any special treatment. No way.
He selected a can of soup and made a ham sandwich, then settled in front of the television to catch the news while he ate the solitary meal. With the summer help gone from the barracks and the information office closed, he had the place to himself.
The world news didn’t distract his thoughts from the prisoner, he found. It was probably scary to be locked in jail. Especially if she was as innocent as she proclaimed.
Not that he was considering taking her side. He wasn’t that gullible to her charms, although she’d felt pretty good nestled against him. As if she belonged there.
Shaking his head at the fantasy, he finished the meal and cut a huge slice from a chocolate cake he’d bought at the grocery that morning. It seemed an age since he’d blithely gotten up, done the shopping and gone down to open the souvenir store at nine o’clock.
And arrested one of the most fascinating suspects he’d ever met after a tussle that lingered in his mind with as much stubborn determination as she’d displayed in her attempts to escape.
Taking the last bite of cake, he savored the chocolate flavor, then wondered if prisoners got dessert.
Twenty minutes later, after a change of clothing, Tony pulled up in front of the state patrol building. He was still arguing with himself about the wisdom of being here when he went inside. He’d decided to use the treat to soften up the suspect and get some info out of her about her contacts with the gang of thieves looting the Chaco sites, assuming there was a gang and the thefts over the past year were related.
“I, uh, brought the nurse something,” he said to the sergeant at the desk. It wasn’t the same one as earlier in the day.
“What nurse?”
“The suspect I brought in this afternoon. I figured she might need some nourishment after having dinner in here.”
“Hey, we have the meals catered,” the night-duty officer declared.
“Yeah, right.”
After a chuckle, the man said, “I’ll have to check what’s in the bag.”
Tony waited, feeling more and more foolish as the cop opened the bag, examined a plastic fork, then the napkin and removed the top from the plastic bowl. “Man, that looks good,” he said.
“Sorry, I didn’t bring any extra,” Tony told the sarge with a sardonic smile. “Got any fresh coffee?”
“Yeah, I made a pot when I came on duty less than an hour ago. Want me to bring you some?”
“That would be great.”
The officer repacked the treat. “I’ll buzz you in. She’s in cell number one.”
The television set mounted on the wall outside the cell was turned on, but Julianne wasn’t listening to the news. She was still wound up from the ordeal with the police.
In spite of being dead tired, she couldn’t get into the mood to sleep. If she’d been at home, she would have tried aromatherapy. Lavender was supposed to be soothing when steeped in hot water. Chamomile tea was a sleep aid, but she doubted the jailer had any on hand.
A loud buzz startled her. The door to the cell block opened and a man walked in. Her heart knotted up in alarm, then relaxed as she realized who he was.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. She rose from the hard bunk. Glaring between the bars on the door, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”
Her nemesis from the tourist shop stopped in front of her. “I brought you a present.”
He held out a brown paper bag. She eyed it as if it might explode any second.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s cake.”
“Cake,” she repeated suspiciously.
He gave her a quick but thorough perusal as he slipped the bag between the bars. “It’s safe,” he added with an ironic grin before grimacing and touching his swollen nose.
Twin bruises under his eyes gave him the masked look of a raccoon. She frowned at the pang of guilt that assailed her and reminded herself she’d acted in self-defense.
“Look,” he said, “I felt kind of bad about the hassle we had earlier, I thought about the jail food, so I, uh, brought you some dessert. Chocolate cake.”
She took the treat and sat on the cot. “You’re weird,” she told him. “I know it’s a slow night since there’s no one else in jail, but I’d have thought you could find something more interesting to do on a Saturday evening than hang out at the jail.”
He snorted. “You’re in the women’s cell block. There are several inmates in the men’s section.” He glanced at the two empty cells. “I guess they don’t get many woman criminals around here.”
She ignored the anger that demanded she refute his calling her a criminal. Instead, she gave him a fulminating glance, then opened the brown bag and removed the container.
The fury receded somewhat when she saw the contents. Chocolate was one of her favorite things. She wisely decided not to throw the cake in his face.
When the night-duty officer brought in two cups of coffee, she accepted one of those, too, and thanked the man. Taking a bite of the dessert, she closed her eyes, savoring the rich flavor.
“I have a question,” her captor said, pulling a chair closer to the bars and taking a seat. “Who taught you how to take defensive action?”
For a second she remembered being ten and coming home from school, excited because she’d gotten a perfect score on her math test, then going into the house and finding her mother.
It wasn’t until she’d been in nurses’ training and a rape victim had been brought into the emergency room during her rotation there that she’d realized what her mother must have gone through that terrible afternoon.
Julianne locked the memory away as ancient pain careened around her chest, but it was still a moment before she could speak. “My father sent me and my two brothers to self-defense classes while we were growing up.”
She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he considered the information. Earlier in the day, when she’d given her personal information, she’d reported her father as her next of kin and her mother as deceased.
“Was there any particular reason he thought you needed them?” he asked.
Replacing the bowl and fork in the bag, she faced him without allowing any expression in her tone. “Our home was broken into when I was ten. My mother was killed.”
For a second his face took on the fierce expression of a warrior who would defend his tribe to his last breath, then it softened and she recognized other emotions—a certain kindness for those who’d been hurt, a touch of sympathy, maybe pity.
Pity was something she didn’t want and didn’t know how to handle when it was offered. She usually mumbled something about life going on and changed the subject, but now her throat closed and she couldn’t say a word. Old emotions, heightened by the events of the day, threatened to overcome her. She swallowed hard and refused to give in to them.
“Were you there when it happened?”
She shook her head.
“Did they find whoever did it?”
Again she indicated the negative.
“Crimes by total strangers are not often solved,” he told her, his tone gentle as if she were still that hurt child of long ago. “There’s no connection or motive for police to follow as there is with husbands or boyfriends.”
“Yes, that’s what the detective said who handled the case.” She returned the bag to him, having eaten three or four bites of the treat. She took a drink of coffee and noted that it was much better than the brew Chuck had given her earlier. The warmth eased the cold spot in her chest, and she relaxed once more. “Thank you for the cake. That was thoughtful. Now I have a question. Why did you bring it?”
“Well,” he drawled, “I know that jail food comes from the lowest bidder.”
That made her laugh. “It wasn’t so bad. We had spaghetti and rolls and a piece of lettuce with a sliver of carrot that was supposed to be a salad, I think.”
After that they talked about the worst meals they’d ever had as if they were acquaintances who were fast becoming friends. He told her the three kids in his family had to take turns preparing meals once a week. He had her cracking up over his description of recipes made with green stuff like lime gelatin or broccoli. His cousin Jeremy would clutch his throat and accuse him of trying to poison them.
“Your family sounds like mine,” she told him. “I took nutrition classes in college, but I could never convince my brothers that green, leafy vegetables were really good for them. They now send me magazine clippings that extol the value of blueberries.”
“Ah, smart men,” he said.
Laughing, she glanced at him, then away. Then, pulled by unexpected forces stronger than her will, she met his gaze through the dull glint of the steel bars. Their eyes locked. The laughter faded.
Something was happening to her. She felt it as a primal shift somewhere in her soul. He felt it, too, she thought. His chest lifted and fell in a slow, careful breath as if he, too, were on shaky ground.
She looked away, wondering how they could have gone from laughter to something profound and infinitely challenging in a heartbeat.
Maybe arresting people did that, although it wasn’t what she would call a bonding event. Recalling his arousal as they struggled, she felt heat creep up her neck. That had certainly been a new and different experience for her.
He could have hurt her, but he hadn’t. Instead of fury, she’d seen self-mocking humor in his eyes when he’d told her to quit thrashing about.
Though she’d been frightened until he’d shown her his badge, their struggle had been oddly exciting, too, she decided after she thought it over while sitting here in the cell. Other than her father and brothers, she knew she had a problem with trust of the male half of the population.
The fact was that men always expected more than she was willing to give at the moment. Just when she was starting to feel comfortable with the guy and with kisses and caresses, then, well, things moved too fast, becoming too demanding. One date had accused her of holding out.
She’d been left feeling humiliated and in the wrong for reasons she didn’t know. It certainly hadn’t increased her comfort level with the opposite sex.
Glancing at her captor’s hands as he linked them together between his knees, his gaze on the floor as if deep in thought, she realized that no matter what defensive move she’d made, he’d countered with only enough force to halt it, but not once had he bruised her in any way.
When he’d folded her into his arms and pulled her against him, it was as if she’d been wrapped in a protective cocoon and all he’d wanted to do was keep her from getting hurt. It was such an odd thought….
Staring at the dull green wall, she admitted she was mystified by his visit, by their shared laughter, by the intriguing currents that ran between them that were almost as disturbing as her arrest.
“It’s late,” he said. “I should leave and let you get some rest.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep very much tonight.”
He nodded. “I was still wound up after the day’s excitement, too.”
“I’d have thought arresting people was old hat to a special investigator for the National Park Service.” Her tone was mildly sarcastic.
He grinned, then winced and touched his nose. She was at once sorry she’d been so rough, even though it was his fault for scaring her.
“Hardly,” he said. “Mostly I authenticate archeological finds for the department and set up security, especially on ancient sites like the dig up at the canyon. I investigate thefts and other problems at various national parks. They send me wherever they need some help.”
“I see.”
Regaining her equilibrium, she decided his work sounded like an easy job to her, nothing that called for springing handcuffs on innocent people without warning.
Gazing at his nose, which was noticeably swollen, she forgot her indignation over the arrest and advised, “You should ice your bruises for forty-eight hours, then switch to four minutes of heat followed by one minute of ice three or four times a day after that for two or three days.”
“I kept an ice pack on it most of the afternoon.”
“Good.” After observing him for a moment when he made no move to leave, she asked quietly, seriously, “What are you really doing here? I think you came because you want something from me.”
Before answering, he drank the last of the coffee. He crushed the paper cup and tossed it in a waste-basket near the door, then studied her for several seconds. “I want you to take me to the guy you said gave you the pottery.”
“Tonight?” she asked incredulously as disappointment hit her. She realized the cake, the kindness and the easy laughter had been a method of softening her up before he made the request.
“No, but soon. I don’t want him to get word that something funny went on at the store.”
Leaning against the wall behind the cot, she took a drink of coffee and noticed he was dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt informally open at the neck and well-shined loafers. She’d already noticed his aftershave, the fragrance familiar to her from their earlier encounter.
So, he’d cleaned up before coming to the jail. Was that part of the ploy to win her confidence and encourage a sense of camaraderie between them?
Tired and discouraged, she regretted letting herself drift into familiarity, especially the sharing of her past. It was something she rarely talked about, but he’d seemed truly concerned, as if he already knew that she’d been injured by events of long ago.
“How far is his place from town?” he continued.
“Over fifty miles, off Standing Rock Road.”
“I’ll be here around eight in the morning to pick you up.”
“Will they let me out of jail?”
“You’ll be released into my custody.” His tone implied it would be no problem.
“If we find Josiah and he confirms my story, will I then be free?”
He hesitated, then said, “I’ll talk to the district attorney on your behalf. He’s the one who’ll decide whether to charge you with a crime or let you off if you cooperate.”