The Night Is Watching

He sobered only slightly. Jane was covered in dust; even her eyelashes were a smoky taupe shade. Her auburn hair was almost gray.



“Come on. You really should see yourself,” he said.



“Yep. And you really should see yourself!”



They both mounted up. “Let’s hope we don’t meet up with anyone!” Jane muttered.



“The trail rides don’t start until tomorrow, so we should be okay,” he said.



Johnny was waiting for them when they returned. He looked them both up and down.



“Nice. May I suggest showers? And you might want to hurry. Chet’s coming by with some reports from Detective Newsome at county.”



“Shall we?” he asked Jane.



“Yes, thanks, although my clothes will still be covered with this stuff. Remind me next time we’re going to crawl through tunnels not to wear a cotton suit.”



“I have a washer and dryer,” he told her. “We’ll be fine. Chet won’t stay, I’m sure, but I do have to get you back to town.”



They left Johnny whistling as he tended to the horses. “Strange,” he told Jane. “The other night, I was convinced someone was on my property. I didn’t find anything—but my place is the most direct route when you’re riding through to the trail. There’s that little gap between those rocky hills once you’re off the property line.”



“So you think whoever murdered Jay Berman went through your property?” she asked.



“The question is still why? Is someone selling illegal drugs? Smuggling illegal aliens? Trying to reopen the silver mine? Or—”



“Or maybe the gold from the heist was hidden in the mine.”



“I’d thought of that—except the mine wasn’t closed down until almost forty years later. So I can’t figure out what anyone’s doing in there. For one thing, it’s dangerous. The integrity of the caverns must have been destroyed when the entry was dynamited.”



Inside the house he directed her to the master suite. “Everything you need should be in there.”



“Oh?”



He grimaced. “Not to worry, Agent Everett. That suite was my grandfather’s, I never moved over from the other side of the house. Check in the closet. You’ll find soap, shampoo, towels, robes.”



“Prepared for guests, are you?” she asked tartly.



He grinned at that. “Not the way you seem to be thinking,” he said, catching the fire in her gold eyes. “We cleaned out his rooms when he died. Johnny would make someone a terrific mother, though. He thinks the house should always be well supplied. He lives in the eternal belief that I will one day continue the family line.”



“I see,” she said. “Well, then, I’ll be sure to thank Johnny.”



She walked down the hallway to the master suite; when the door was closed, Sloan saw Longman seated by the fire.



“Don’t let that one go,” Longman said.



“How can I hold on to something I don’t have?” Sloan asked.



Longman looked at him. “When did you stop going after what you wanted?”



“She’s a federal agent,” he said quietly. “Works out of Washington.”



“And you can be a sheriff anywhere.”



“This is my home.”



“Did you intend to stay here forever, then?” Longman asked him. “Home isn’t a place. Home is with the people who make your life.”



Sloan shook his head and walked to the other side of the house, where there were two bedrooms. Cougar was curled up on his bed. He didn’t bother to lift his head when Sloan came in. Apparently, it was one of the sixteen hours of the day the cat considered nap time.



Sloan stripped off his sand-encrusted clothing and stepped into the shower, scrubbing the grit from his hair and skin and simply indulging in the strong spray of water. Then he remembered that Chet was coming by and he emerged, dried and got dressed. The door to the master suite was still closed; he imagined that his federal agent was enjoying the heat and steam, just as he had....



He’d barely returned to the living room when he heard Chet’s car drive in. He opened the door as his young deputy entered the house, carrying a file. “So you found the whole body, huh?” Chet asked, and Sloan realized that as far as Chet knew, he’d spent most of the afternoon at the theater while the medical examiner removed the bones of Sage McCormick.



“Well, we’re assuming.” Of course, there was no proof yet, but the skeleton almost had to be hers....



“I think you can feel pretty sure,” Chet said cheerfully. “DNA testing will prove who she was—that she’s Sage McCormick, your ancestor.”



“Thanks, Chet. Anyone go through this?” Sloan asked, taking the file.



“Yes, sir. So far, they haven’t found the rental car. The bullet was pretty degraded because it went through the hard part of the skull, but it was .45 caliber. It’s a nightmare for the crime-scene guys, since dozens of people go through that tepee every day, so sorting anything out is going to be tough for them. They have some hair and some fibers, but...those could belong to the guides or to a bunch of tourists. No luck tracing anyone who knew anything about the man coming here. He hopes you’re having better luck.”



“Thanks, Chet. I’m going through the books the man bought. Hopefully, that will give us some clue.”



He couldn’t have said exactly why he wasn’t telling his own deputy that he’d been crawling around the mine. He trusted Chet and Betty and his entire department. But just for now, he wanted to investigate on his own. Or with Jane.



Maybe I shouldn’t even be investigating, he told himself.



Chet never knew that Jane was in the house; he was gone before she came out at last in one of his grandfather’s beautiful old Native American robes. It was too big for her but she’d tied it around her waist and she seemed comfortable, walking out in bare feet with her hair slick and clean and clinging to her face and neck. She carried her clothing, neatly folded. “Tell me where your laundry is, and I’ll manage to get the dust out of these before we head back.”



“It’s right off the kitchen.”



“Thanks.” She seemed at ease, but he realized he wasn’t. The thought that wouldn’t leave his mind was that she was naked beneath the robe.



He went into the kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator. Johnny had left him a meat loaf. There was a bowl of fruit to go with it, and a note about how long to nuke the food. He took it out and put it in the microwave.



Jane reappeared, smiling wryly as she watched him. “Do you like cooking?” she asked.



“I don’t mind it. Problem is, my hours are usually long. Johnny’s a decent cook, as well as the best property manager I’ve ever known. He’d been with my grandfather since I was a teenager, the best friend someone could have. We respect each other, we look after each other. It’s good.”



“It is good,” she agreed. She pointed at the folder he’d set on the counter. “So Chet came by?”



“Yes.”



“This is what Detective Newsome has?”



“Yep. Not much.”



“Aren’t you supposed to be sharing with him?”



“I intend to, as soon as I have something to share. You hungry?”



“Well, crawling around in abandoned mine shafts does whet the appetite,” she told him.



“It’s meat loaf, but don’t be too disheartened—Johnny makes a hell of a meat loaf.”



They ate, and she swore it was the best meat loaf she’d ever tasted. He explained that it was slightly different because of Johnny’s gift with seasoning and because it was made with pork and beefalo. “Emu is popular around here too,” he said. “I don’t think it ever caught on the way people hoped, but we still have some big ranches around here.”



When they’d finished eating, he found himself staring at her. He also saw her staring at him.



Her clothes must be ready by now. They’d eaten, and it had been a long day; he could take her back to town.



But he didn’t offer and she didn’t say she needed to go. Their silence should have grown uncomfortable. It didn’t. He wasn’t sure which of them smiled first, but then they both were and their smiles deepened.



“I guess I should ask if you’re in a relationship,” she said.



“Pretty obvious, I think. You see me living here alone.”



“Ah, but I saw the way Alice looked at you today. And then I noticed that Valerie got that touch of awe in her eyes. Of course, you came to her rescue when she discovered the skull, so...”



“I guess I’ve missed those looks.”



She glanced down and her lashes swept her cheeks for a moment. Then she raised her eyes again. “You didn’t ask me if I’m in a relationship.”



He shook his head. “No.”



“Is that because you don’t care?”



“It’s because I don’t believe you’d be here now, speaking to me like this, if you were,” he told her.



“That’s a compliment,” she said.



“And it’s true, although I’m sure you’ve noticed that many people look at you with appreciation,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with appreciation, of course—unless it turns obnoxious.”



“True.”



“Hmm. I’m going to suggest you were involved not too long ago.”



“It’s been a while now. Since I joined the Krewe,” she said.



“He was intimidated?”



“He was. And you?”



It was such an easy conversation. With every word he felt her voice as if it were a caress. He thought she could arouse him to a greater hunger with words than another woman, naked and twisting and writhing before him.



“It ended when I left Texas.”



“She wouldn’t move.”



“I don’t know. I didn’t ask her to. I was coming home to take care of someone who was dying. There are different kinds of intimacy. I guess we didn’t have enough of the right kind.”