Chapter 18

TAOS

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

DAN PUT ANOTHER SHEET ON THE GLASS BED OF THE SCANNER, PUNCHED THE BUTTON, and waited for the machine to do its magic. From overhead came the sounds of paper being delivered or supplies being moved. Cold air settled down the stairway; the cellar door had been opened to remind the employees working on the first floor that there was a big hole next to the door. The chill made his leg ache.

He knew he should just forget about getting anything useful done and go back to his rental to read the latest dispatches from the geopolitical train wreck. His body, not his brain, was on medical leave. His boss was waiting for an assessment on the political situation in Colombia, where drug money had transformed some warlords into politicians and financed private armies. Colombia wasn't the only nation lurching closer to becoming a failed state, which was a polite description of the kind of anarchy that meant rape, murder, disease, and ruin for anyone who couldn't get out.

It had happened before. It would happen again. Bang-bang and skeletal babies for the TV minicams, the roll call of global disasters that fed the public's "right to know."

So what else is new?

The scanner flashed and transformed another piece of the past into electrons sandwiched between microscopically thin slices of silicon.

I really should get back to work.

Yet the thought of the small adobe house, its leaky plumbing, and its relentless stream of documents to be digested, annotated, and directed to somebody who cared didn't appeal to Dan. But then, nothing did. He'd awakened restless, irritated, and out of sorts. An hour of rehab exercises hadn't made a dent in his bad temper. Neither had ten miles of jogging and walking.

He saw Carly in every bit of sunlight, heard her laughter in the breeze, and ached every step of the way. It pissed him off almost as much as it worried him.

"I'm too old for wet dreams," he muttered, turning the paper sideways.

"Excuse me?"

Dan whipped around, his whole body poised, ready to fight or flee. "Now who's sneaking up?"

Carly froze at the foot of the stairs and told herself she wouldn't back up no matter how fierce Dan looked. "Sorry. The door up there was open because they needed paper and Gus told me you were in the archives so I thought it would be all right if I went through more microfilm."

Dan sorted through the tumble of words. "Go ahead. Is Winifred feeling better?"

"I guess so."

"Haven't you seen her today?"

"Yes. This morning." Carly hesitated. She wanted to talk to someone about Governor Quintrell's threat-promise, actually-but didn't know if Dan was the one.

Then there was the phone call. She didn't want to talk about that. Her stomach pitched even thinking about it.

"What's wrong?" Dan said, coming toward her quickly. "Another dead rat?"

"What? Oh. Um, no, not exactly." A screaming phone call isn't a dead rat, is it?

"How close to exactly was it?" he asked.

She grimaced. "Someone called in the middle of the night."

Dan went still. "And?"

"Breathing, screaming, sobbing, and an invitation to get out of town before I joined the chorus."

"Not good. Male or female?"

She shrugged. "Whispers and screams and sobs aren't real gender-specific."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"To whisper, sob, and scream?" Her smile was as pale as her skin. She didn't like remembering the screams. She really didn't like to think about what might have caused them.

"That room doesn't have a lock on it," he said grimly. "You should have called."

"I shoved a chair under the door."

He let out a breath. "Well, you aren't entirely naive."

"Gee, thanks, but if getting used to threats and gory rats passes for sophistication in your circles, then I'll be as naive as I can for as long as I can."

He smiled slightly and touched the strand of hair she was winding around her index finger. "Did you get the number of your admirer?"

She let go of her hair as if it had burned her. "Automatically recording an incoming number isn't on that phone's agenda. It doesn't even have numbers on it. Incoming calls only."

He shook his head. "Keep your cell phone handy."

"I always do." Her hand crept back up to the strand of hair and started winding it again.

"What else happened?"

She blinked. "Am I that transparent?"

Dan didn't want a conversation about how he arrived at conclusions when other people were still wondering what hit them, so he just waited.

"Can you think of any reason Governor Quintrell wouldn't want a family history published?" Carly asked after a few moments.

Dan laughed without humor. "Oh, yeah. I can think of a few beauts."

"Are we talking statute of limitations here, legal issues?"

"Best estimate? Yes."

"The Senator?"

"His life was a scandalmonger's dream, but that's old news. He's dead."

"That's what I was wondering," she admitted. "You can't, uh, slander or libel a dead man, can you? Even a public figure?"

"Nope. Especially a public figure."

"What about a living public figure?"

"That's a lot trickier."

"I was afraid of that. Well, damn."

Dan waited for Carly to tell him what was wrong. Instead, she stopped twisting the strand of hair, went to the microfilm files, selected a roll, and walked to the reader. As much as he enjoyed watching the sway of her denim-clad hips beneath the hem of her Chimayo jacket, he'd rather she kept talking.

He knew trouble was coming down on one Carolina May. He just didn't know what or where or when.

And sometime during his long, restless night, he'd realized that he wasn't going to let her face it alone. When it started raining shit, he'd be there to help her. He didn't like that fact, but he knew himself well enough to stop struggling and make the best of a situation he'd never asked for.

The temptation of finally doing some of the things with her that he'd stayed awake thinking about had helped make up his mind to aid her. Or at least sweetened the prospects quite a bit. Which meant a change of tactics was in order.

"So the governor told you to back off," Dan said.

Her head snapped up. "How did you know?"

"Your questions and body language, the combination of anger and worry in those beautiful, smoky gold eyes."

Carly wondered if her chin hit the desk or if it just felt like it. The words and the caressing tone of his voice shocked her as much as it made her heart beat faster. "Now I know how the stories about alien body-stealing start."

Dan smiled.

The contrast between harsh black beard stubble and the beauty of his unexpected grin squeezed her heart. He was his mother's son, with a smile that could light up winter.

"God, don't do that," Carly said huskily. "I'll drool and embarrass myself."

"Don't do what?"

"Smile. You have to know you're gorgeous when you smile."

The corners of his mouth curved up. "Nobody ever mentioned it before now."

She shook her head sharply, like she was throwing off cold water. Red stained her cheeks. She fell as much as lowered herself onto a chair. "Right. Pardon me while I sit down and take both feet out of my mouth."

Dan came over, sat on his heels in front of her, and said, "Need any help?"

She laughed despite her embarrassment.

He touched her flushed cheek with a tenderness that made her breath fill her throat.

"It's okay," he said. "I don't mind knowing that I'm attractive to you. In fact, I like it."

"Oh, come on," she said, looking at his jade green eyes and the dark thickness of his hair. Her hands itched from wanting to feel that hair between her fingers. As for his mouth.. .no, don V go there. "You have to be used to women tripping you and beating you to the floor."