Silent Storm. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ couldn’t, of course, but heat washed over Marly’s cheeks just the same. To cover her embarrassment, she gave him a piercing glare. “Do you always enter private residences without an invitation, Mr. Cage?”

      “The front door was open. Besides, when I saw the police car out front, I was afraid something might have happened to Morales.”

      “Like what?”

      He shrugged. “An accident maybe.”

      The way he stared down at her was very unnerving.

      It’s like he knows me, Marly thought with a shiver.

      Taking a steadying breath, she tried to disregard the icy tingles shooting through her veins. “I’ll need to see some identification.”

      She tensed when he started to lower his arms.

      “I have to get my wallet from my back pocket,” he explained.

      “Just don’t make any sudden moves,” she warned.

      He fished out his wallet and slowly handed it to her. He was being very cooperative. Nothing in the least threatening about his attitude. So why did she feel so vulnerable? Marly wondered. So…exposed?

      She scrutinized the picture on his California driver’s license, noting his age, address and physical description. To her dismay, her hand trembled as she folded the wallet and gave it back to him. “You’re a long way from home, Mr. Cage.”

      “No law against that, is there?”

      Marly ignored the question. “I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”

      “Why? Has something happened to Morales?”

      “Just step outside, Mr. Cage.”

      Something flickered in his eyes, a darkness that made Marly realize how alone they were in the house.

      You have a gun on him. No way he can hurt you.

      But when he made a slight move toward her, Marly jumped back like a nervous cat.

      “I wouldn’t try that,” she warned.

      “I’m not going to hurt you.”

      “Damn straight you’re not.” She clutched the gun.

      He backed off, lifting his hands in acquiescence. “Look, I just want to know what happened here—”

      A sound from the living room stopped him cold, and he seemed to grow very tense. “We’ve got company,” he said in that hair-raising voice of his.

      Thank God, Marly thought. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take being alone with him. He was a very intimidating man although she had no idea why she felt that way. He hadn’t threatened her. Hadn’t so much as said anything out of line to her. And yet her instincts told her he was dangerous. In more ways than she could possibly imagine.

      Lifting her chin slightly, she tried to peer around him. “Who’s there?” she called out. “Identify yourself!”

      A slight hesitation, then a male voice responded, “Tony Navarro. Jessop, is that you?”

      The stranger jerked around at the sound of Navarro’s voice, and he stared down the hall for just a split second before he slowly turned back to face Marly. She caught her breath at the look on his face. If she’d thought him dangerous before, there was no doubt in her mind now. None at all.

      What the hell was going on here? she wondered desperately. Who was he? And why was she so afraid of him?

      There was something about him, something…not quite of this world. Not with those eyes. That voice…

      Marly sucked in a sharp breath as she finally put a name to her fear. He was temptation.

      She glanced toward the end of the hallway where Police Chief Tony Navarro had appeared. It might have been Marly’s imagination, but she could have sworn the testosterone level in the immediate area shot to a very perilous level.

      Even under such grim circumstances, the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She hadn’t had a date in almost a year, and now all of a sudden she found herself in the company of two tall, dark, dangerously attractive men. The chances of that happening in Mission Creek were slim to none, and just her luck, there was a corpse in the next room.

      Chief Navarro was taller than Deacon Cage, but not by much. An inch or two only. His shoulders were a little broader, his hair a little darker, longer, just brushing his collar. He might have had a few years on Cage, too, but in a fair fight, Marly would be hard-pressed to predict a winner. The only sure bet was that both men would battle to the finish.

      All this flashed through her mind in the blink of an eye, and in the next instant, when she saw Navarro’s hand ease toward his gun, she rushed to say, “It’s okay, Chief. Everything’s under control here.” Quickly she holstered her own weapon.

      “What’s going on?” He pinned the stranger with a piercing gaze. “Who are you?”

      “Deacon Cage.” That dark, liquidlike voice sent a fresh tremor through Marly.

      She cleared her throat. “Uh, he says he works with Ricky Morales and he came here looking for him—”

      “That’s not what I said.” Deacon’s gaze challenged hers. “I said Morales’s boss sent me over here to check up on him.”

      Marly frowned. “I just assumed—”

      “First rule of policework,” Navarro said slowly, as he started down the hallway toward them. “Never assume anything. You know that as well as I do, Deputy.”

      Marly’s face flamed at her blunder, and she wondered if Deacon Cage had deliberately tried to make her look bad in front of Navarro.

      Lifting her chin, she tried to rescue her dignity. “I was just asking Mr. Cage to wait outside, Chief.”

      Navarro gave the man a curt nod. “Sounds like a good idea. But don’t go too far,” he advised. “We may have some questions for you.”

      Deacon Cage hesitated as his gaze traveled from Marly to Navarro and then back to Marly. Lifting a speculative brow, he turned and strode down the hall without a word.

      THE FIRST THING DEACON noticed when he stepped outside was that the rain had slackened to a sprinkle. He stood on the porch, listening to the steady drip-drip through the trees as he wondered what was going on inside Ricky Morales’s house. What kind of scene had Deputy Jessop stumbled upon that had left her looking so pale and shaken?

      Deacon had a pretty good idea. After all, he was not unfamiliar with the scent of death. He’d smelled it before, more times than he cared to remember. One might even say he had an intimate relationship with the Grim Reaper.

      He toyed with the idea of coming clean with the local authorities, telling them who he was and why he was in Mission Creek. But he quickly dismissed the notion as hasty and foolish. No one would believe him anyway. He would have to find that СКАЧАТЬ