Get A Clue, Page 31

  Dante looked at his watch and raised a brow. “You plan on doing that before dark, you’d better get moving. And don’t get lost.”

  Breanne gulped.

  “Patrick is riding on one,” Cooper told Breanne. “We’re on the other. We’ll be fine.”

  Dante lifted a shoulder as if to say hope so.

  Cooper began to pull Breanne out of the hallway, then turned back to Dante. “Don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone. At least, nothing more stupid than admitting to a murder you didn’t commit.”

  Dante’s face was granite.

  “I mean it,” Cooper said. “No one goes into the cellar. No one. Got it?”

  “I think I know the definition of stupid.”

  “Make sure that you do.”

  Twenty-eight

  Among the great lines of all time:

  1. This won’t hurt a bit.

  2. The check’s in the mail.

  3. I swear I won’t come in your mouth.

  And . . . the granddaddy of them all (in my humble opinion):

  4. I love you (this is the most troublesome).

  —Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

  Cooper had ridden motorcycles all his life, so he figured riding a snowmobile would just come to him. Luckily, it did. It was an awesome feeling, gliding along the thick, powdery snow, beneath towering pines instead of crowded freeways. So was the sensation of Breanne snugged to the back of him, her chest pressed into his spine, her legs straddled around his.

  That he could get used to. But it was cold, at somewhere around zero, far colder than he was used to. Being out here for longer than they had to be was a bad idea.

  They followed Patrick, and Cooper was grateful the snow had stopped, because he had no idea where they were or which direction to go in. There were two colors; azure blue sky, and stark white landscape. The snow had thoroughly and completely wiped out any of the landmarks he might have remembered on the drive here—like roads. He figured if something happened and they were separated from Patrick, he could at least follow the tracks back to the house. Or so he hoped, because he really did not want to be a “lost in the Sierras” statistic.

  Patrick led them straight for a few hundred yards, and then they veered right through a clearing, heading up over a hill. “We’re still on the road,” Patrick yelled back through his helmet. “Things are good so far.”

  “How do you know?” Cooper yelled back.

  “Truthfully?” He craned his neck and lifted a shoulder. “I’m just guessing.”

  Great. Terrific. Perfect.

  “The snow has never risen above the street poles before,” Patrick yelled. “I’m estimating where they are by the slight indentations every ten yards or so. See?”

  Cooper saw the indentations, and since they were at regular intervals, he could only assume Patrick was right.

  Ahead, Patrick slowed, pointing to a steep incline that definitely was not the road.

  “Should be able to get phone reception up there,” he yelled, and with that, revved his snowmobile, let out a loud “Woo-hoo,” and took off at a high speed, bouncing over unknown dips and curves.

  Cooper’s stomach sank. “Patrick—” Damn it. “He’s going to get stuck—”

  As soon as the words were out of Cooper’s mouth, Patrick’s machine took a nosedive between two dips and bogged. The engine died.

  Patrick straightened, shot them an oops look, and tried to restart.

  “He’s going to have to dig out first,” Cooper said with a sigh.

  Sure enough, the motor wouldn’t start, and as the snowmobile’s entire front end was buried, there was no getting to the engine compartment without digging.

  Patrick got off the snowmobile and sank up to his chest in the fresh powder. “Shit.”

  They dug for a few minutes and got nowhere. They were losing precious daylight.

  “You go ahead,” Patrick finally said. “Get to the top where you can use the cell. I’ll keep digging.”

  Cooper didn’t like the idea of separating, but it was going to take a good, long time to get Patrick’s snowmobile running again. He’d feel better about spending that time if they could just get the police notified and on their way here.

  He took it slower and smarter than Patrick, or so he hoped. They made it through the trees and ended up along a ridge, looking down onto a breathtaking landscape of crystal-clear lakes, pristine forests, and abundant wildlife.

  “Wow,” Breanne breathed in his ear when a wild rabbit dashed right across their trail.

  Cooper turned off the snowmobile and pulled out his cell phone, pausing first to enjoy the feel of her up against him, her arms around his waist, her cheek resting on his shoulder.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “No reception?”

  “There’s reception.” He closed his eyes and tried to soak up the moment so he’d remember, so he’d always remember this.

  Breanne ran a gloved hand up his chest, settling it right over his heart. “I was wrong before, Cooper.”

  He twisted around to see her. “Wrong about what?”

  “To let you think I wanted this to be over when we get out of here.” She pulled off her helmet, waiting while he did the same. Then she pressed her mouth to his neck, his ear, and when he turned his body, she kissed him, long and sweet. “I was scared,” she said when they pulled apart. “Still am,” she admitted softly. “I know it sounds silly, but thinking about what I could grow to feel for you churns me up more than finding Edward. More than being in the dark for the past two days. More than—”

  “I get it,” he said dryly, stroking a finger over her temple along her hairline as a gust of wind hit, sprinkling a dusting of sparkling snow over them. “I scare you.”

  “Yes.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “But you also make me feel. I mean really feel, and it’s just so good, it might be worth the pain.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said through an aching throat. “No pain, Breanne.”

  “You say that now, but you don’t really know all my faults.”

  “They can’t be that bad.”

  She laughed, then pressed her forehead to his. “I can’t even tell you.”

  “I could tell you mine first, if that would help.”

  “You could?”

  He shifted more fully around, facing her now, putting his hands on her thighs. “I let work fuck with my head.”

  “I know.” Everything within Breanne softened as he let her see the things he usually kept hidden: frustration, anger, even shame, and if she’d managed to hold back her heart at all, it tumbled hard in that moment. “Anyone would have after what you went through.” She rubbed her cheek to his, feeling her soul follow suit and tangle with his. “That you do what you do, day in and day out—”

  “I walked away, remember?”

  “But you’re going back.”

  He looked down into her face. Slowly shook his head in amazement. “You seem so sure.”

  “I believe in you, Cooper.”

  “Even when I don’t.” He seemed unbearably touched at that. “You should know, being a cop in a relationship hasn’t worked out for me in the past.”

  “Then maybe I’m not the only one who’s made poor choices.”

  He laughed softly. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “I guess I am going back. Is that going to affect your seeing me in the real world?”

  “Why would it, if being a cop is who you are?”

  His eyes were misty, his voice a little hoarse. “I have other faults, too,” he warned.

  “Please don’t say that you like to hum Elvis tunes.”

  “I don’t hum Elvis tunes.”

  “Thank God. Give me your worst, then. I know you put the seat down, and you don’t snore.”

  “No.” He was smiling. “But I don’t fold my clothes. Hell, I don’t even own an iron.”

  “But you like me in sweats. You get bonus points for that.” She kissed him then, gliding her tongue to hi
s until she lost her train of thought. “I bet you never have problems deciding what to wear. Maybe you’ll rub off on me.”

  “Tell you what.” He stroked his thumbs along her jaw. “I’ll rub you and you can rub me. Any time.”

  She laughed. “Stop it. You don’t know how bad my faults are yet.”

  “Name one.”

  “My Visa is always hovering at the maxed-out limit, even though my closet is overflowing with more shoes than all of San Francisco could wear.”

  “I don’t care what your closet looks like, but I’m rather fond of those lace-up boots. You have any more like those?”

  “Stop it. I’m being sincere here. I’m a bed hog—”

  “Now that I already know,” he said, wiping snowflakes from her cheek. “And I’m here to tell you, you can hog my bed any day of the week.”

  “I also like to get my way,” she warned.

  “Well, Princess, so do I. Maybe we could take turns.”

  She stared at him, her throat burning. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

  “Baby, I’m serious as a heart attack. I don’t give a shit if you steal all the blankets and can’t afford anything but macaroni and cheese. Just so happens I have a closet full of blankets, and a savings account. Not a big one, but it could probably handle anything that comes up, Nordstrom sales notwithstanding.”

  “The good stuff rarely goes on sale.”

  “Give me a real reason we can’t see each other.”

  She swallowed hard, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. “Because I like you.”

  He looked as if maybe he didn’t see the problem.

  “I really like you,” she said. “And that has never worked out for me before.”

  “Does this feel like any of those other times?”

  She blinked, and thought about that. “No. No, it doesn’t. Actually . . . this feels much different.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “Real,” she admitted.

  He let out a rough sound of pleasure and hauled her across him, cradling her over his lap, pulling her close for a long, deep, and decidedly not sweet kiss. “You know,” he murmured when they came up for air, “I really thought life sucked. But then I saw you in that dark foyer, lighting the night with that pink vibrator.” He grinned when she smacked his chest, but then he took her hand and held it over his heart, his smile fading. “I’m falling for you, too, Breanne, and to walk away now, before we give it a shot, just doesn’t seem fair.”

  “So what do you suggest?” she asked shakily.

  “That we get the police here. Do what we can for the others—”

  “Oh, Cooper. You do care about them as much as I do.” Her eyes filled, and so did her heart. “Do you have any idea how lucky you’re going to get?” She kissed his throat, his jaw. “How very, very lucky?”

  He slid his hands down to her butt and snugged her closer. “Keep talking.”

  Leaning in, she bit his ear. “I’m thinking this seat is pretty cushy . . .”

  On his lap as she was, she felt his very satisfying reaction as he cleared his throat and pounded out 9-1-1 with shaking hands.

  She laughed. “And here I thought maybe you’d want to . . . you know. Right here.”

  “Princess, I love you, but I’m not risking frostbite to my favorite part of my anatomy. I have plans for that part, and plans for you—Hello,” he said when he got a dispatcher.

  Breanne just stared at him, stunned at what he’d just said to her, only half hearing as he gave the information, listened to the response, then disconnected.

  “They’re prioritizing their emergencies,” he said when he was done. “They’re overwhelmed, but thanks to Edward, we’re moving to the top of the list. I guess we can go help Patrick dig out and then get back to the house and prepare everyone. It’s not going to be easy straightening this whole mess out.”

  Breanne was still speechless by his declaration, her gaze locked on his face, her throat burning with emotions too big to hide. “You . . . love me?”

  “I do.” He put her helmet back on, smoothed back her hair and smiled into her face. “Hold on tight, ’kay?” He nudged her behind him again and pulled her arms around him. “Ready?”

  When she still didn’t—couldn’t—answer, he craned his neck and looked into her eyes. “Breanne?”

  “Yeah,” she said in a steady voice but with a very wobbly smile. “I guess the truth is, when it comes to you, I really am ready.”

  And God help her, but she was.

  By the time they dug Patrick out and got back to the house, two hours had passed.

  Everyone crowded into the foyer to greet them, looking anxious. Had they made the call?

  Patrick nodded the answer.

  “It’s done, then,” Lariana said quietly, as everyone seemed to deflate. “Someone’s going to jail.”

  Dante looked stoic about that, but then Shelly burst into tears into her apron and his cool façade crumpled as he pulled her close. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured into her hair.

  “No.” She pulled free. “No, it’s not.” Turning away, she moved out of the foyer.

  Breanne went after her, and everyone else followed them to the great room.

  Stacy was in front of the fire, staring into the flames, holding her hands out. “So pretty.”

  “Don’t touch,” Shelly reminded her, trying to sound normal.

  Stacy giggled and pulled back. “I know, silly. It’s hot.”

  “Hot,” Shelly agreed, and ruffled her sister’s hair, her expression crumbling when Stacy’s face turned away. Breanne hugged Shelly, wishing she could do more.

  Cooper moved to the fire, squeezing Shelly’s shoulder before crouching beside Stacy. “The police are coming,” he told her. “Do you understand what that means?”

  “They’re coming for Edward.”

  “Yes,” he said gently, and Breanne fell for him all over again. “And they’re going to want to know what happened to him.”

  Stacy’s smile dissolved.

  “We told you what happened,” Dante said, face stoic. “It’s done.”

  “Yeah, you told me,” Cooper said dryly. “You told me you killed him.” He turned to Patrick. “And you told me you killed him.” He glanced at Lariana. “You said you did it.” He lifted a brow at Shelly. “You, too. Do I have it straight? You all killed him, then?”

  Everyone looked away. Cooper shot Breanne a helpless look and shook his head.

  “We’re trying to help,” Breanne told them. “Please help us help you. Just tell us what really happened.”

  Shelly looked at Dante. “It’s time—”