Mountain Darkness (Wild Mountain Men Book 1) Page 2

  “I have a deputy at Erin’s house keeping an eye on things.”

  “You mean keeping an eye out for the Mills family going in and tossing Kit’s stuff to the curb for the trash pick-up.”

  I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. “That, too,” I practically growled.

  The Mills family was one of the richest in town with a house that looked like a Swiss ski lodge that could house thirty. It was nestled on a bluff with only the best view their money could buy. The Mills were founding members of the town back in the silver rush. Besides the McMansion, they owned a huge ranch outside of town, plus a few buildings on Main Street… including the one where Erin’s office was located. A Mills had been mayor back in the eighties. Hell, the family had even donated money for the cancer wing at the hospital.

  I went to school with Erin’s older brother, Lucas, so I knew both of them had trust funds from their grandparents. Knowing Lucas, no one would think he had money, but Erin? Her fancy house was something I’d never be able to afford on a detective’s salary, even if I won the lottery. Not that I aspired to something so… big or blatant.

  Giving Mr. and Mrs. Mills the news their daughter had been murdered—her skull bashed in by a glass Volunteer of the Year award… fuck, it had been bad. Not only were they distraught, but they were pissed. Out for blood. I had no doubt they’d rounded up their lawyers and began an investigation of their own because they doubted my abilities. I was born on the same side of the tracks as Kit. It didn’t matter I had a degree in criminology or years of experience.

  I also had no doubt if they found the killer before the police did, they wouldn’t let the courts decide the case. They’d dish up some vigilante justice. This was Montana, after all.

  Keith and Ellen Mills’ comments today when I’d told them the news only confirmed what I’d already known. They didn’t like Kit Lancaster. Never had. They believed she wasn’t good enough for their daughter, a “bad influence” because of her crazy mother. I didn’t doubt they’d railroad her for the crime.

  Donovan had known Kit as long as I had. Middle school. Had wanted her just as long, too. Yeah, two twelve-year-olds eyeing the cute girl in braces. Total puppy love. We hadn’t done anything with her in high school though, not when our hormones were running wild and we got hard-ons just seeing her smile. She hadn’t given us the time of day. Not that she’d had any time. She’d gone to class and worked as a waitress at the local diner to make ends meet while dealing with her mom’s mental illness. After, she’d gone to the local community college, but both Donovan and I had left Cutthroat for the state school in Missoula. I’d heard she’d been dating Erin’s brother, Lucas.

  Unlike his parents, he was a decent guy. Didn’t give a shit about being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I hadn’t worried about him not being good to Kit, but I’d wished it had been me instead. I’d been away at college and couldn’t blame either one of them.

  But they’d broken up when he’d gone into the National Guard. Been deployed. When he finally returned, he hadn’t joined the family’s real estate empire like his father wanted. He’d done his own thing and returned to Cutthroat to run a non-profit, using his money to help others, but he and Kit hadn’t gotten back together.

  I’d returned after graduation, got a job as a cop, but Donovan had stayed for law school. Only after he passed the bar did he return. Then, we started stopping into the diner to see her. We’d go together and on our own, sit in her section, talk her up.

  We’d finally connected working together on the planning committee for the Policemen’s Ball. I hadn’t been thrilled with the task since a dance of any kind wasn’t my thing, but it had been a fundraiser, the event supporting families of officers who had died or been injured in the line of duty. We’d gotten to know Kit, hoping she’d warm up to the idea of two men wanting her. Until she’d fled town without any notice.

  Maybe we shouldn’t have been so subtle. Or so slow.

  Now she was back, and I wasn’t losing the opportunity again, even with a fucking murder investigation in the middle of it all. Her mother was no support at all. The one friend we knew she had in town was dead. For someone so fucking sweet, she had enemies in the Mills, and that meant people all over town would hate her. Kit needed both of us now. And we weren’t taking it slow any longer. We were letting her know how we felt. Tonight. Right fucking now.

  I pulled into a parking spot, cut the engine of my police SUV, rubbed my eyes. “So far, she’s the prime suspect.”

  “If it’s not a crime of passion, next up on the list of usual suspects is family.”

  “I’m not telling Keith or Ellen Mills they’re prime suspects,” I told him, practically shuddering at the thought. “I’d be fired by morning. We’ll investigate them, but I’ll let Miranski deal with them as much as possible.” The other detective on the force hadn’t grown up in Cutthroat and didn’t know the players like I did. She could deal.

  “Smart. You don’t fucking think Kit did it, do you?”

  I was insulted he even asked.

  “Fuck, no. I doubt she had the strength to dent a skull like that.”

  The memory of Erin’s skull bashed in would stick with me forever.

  “Erin was almost a foot taller than Kit. Unless Erin was sitting on the floor or Kit stood on the coffee table to hit her, the angle is all wrong.”

  I’d been on murder scenes before, but it was hard to handle it objectively when it was someone I’d known most of my life. I hadn’t been friends with her, but being Lucas’s sister, we’d all pretty much grown up together. Cutthroat was small enough.

  “It’s your job to find someone else.”

  I sighed because he was stating the obvious. It was my job to find and collect evidence, discover motive and means, then find a fucking killer. It was his job to see they were found guilty and spent the rest of their life behind bars. The case was in my hands now, but would—hopefully—be in his soon. He was the one with the pressure of having the mayor for a father. I was content for my dad to be a plumber.

  Climbing from the vehicle, I took the phone off speaker. “Getting there. First, I’ve got to get our girl, keep her safe. I’m out front of her office now.” I looked up at the second-floor windows. “Light’s on.”

  “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” he said.

  “I want to put a ring on Kit’s finger and get her in my bed. Get her between us. The way it’s looking”—I ran my free hand over the back of my neck—“I might have to put cuffs on her and stick her in a jail cell.”

  “As you said, fuck no. She’s got us now. I want to put the cuffs on her and secure her to my bed.”

  Abso-fucking-lutely.

  3

  KIT

  Everyone in Cutthroat had heard about Erin. With twenty thousand people, it was big enough that I didn’t know everybody, but everybody knew Erin Mills, or at least the Mills family. Word traveled like a wildfire in a summer drought. Everyone was trying to get the inside scoop, the gossip. From me. They didn’t care that it was gruesome, that Erin was my friend, that she’d had her head bashed in.

  After I’d been cleared from the hospital and taken to my car—with the stern instructions not to leave town until the detective was able to take my official statement—I’d gone to the office.

  I had nowhere else to go. Living with Erin had been temporary. I’d wanted to save up a little money, since almost every penny I had would go to a deposit and first month’s rent. I didn’t have much stuff; my mother’s hoarding nature had taught me to be the opposite, keeping only what was vital. I had a TV and couch, even a bed, but they were in a storage unit until I found my own place. That wasn’t going to happen now, at least not anything halfway decent or safe.

  “It’s all over the news.” Mom was anxious and that was not good. Her voice, usually wound up, had a shrill quality to it through the phone.

  “Yes, I know,” I replied, pacing the space as I let her talk. I’d called to let
her know I was fine, that she shouldn’t worry. Oh, she worried, but not about me.

  “You don’t think they’ll come here, do you?”

  I frowned. “Who? The murderer?”

  She gasped. Shit, wrong thing to say. “I hadn’t thought of that. I am alone.”

  I rolled my eyes. She was intentionally alone. Her mental illness didn’t allow for anything else. Her meds were balanced, but like a teeter totter, one tip in the wrong direction and she’d be in trouble. Her hoarding had gotten to the extreme where no one would even attempt to harm her since there was barely any way for someone to get to her. I didn’t worry about a crazed lunatic bent to bash her head in. I worried about fire.

  “You’re safe. Really. It had to be someone who knew Erin and they had a fight.”

  That’s what I was hoping for.

  “The police won’t come here, right?”

  “They have no reason to.”

  “But you were there, you said.”

  “Yes, I was.” I dropped onto the couch, tried not to let the image of Erin dead on the floor fill my mind. “Mom, nothing for you has changed, or will change.”

  “Did you get my lottery ticket? What about the electricity bill?”

  I blew out a breath as silently as possible. “Yes, to both. I’ve got to go. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” I ended the call, dropped my phone on the cushion beside me. Wondered how I was going to pay mom’s light bill without a job.

  Obviously, I couldn’t stay with my mom. It hadn’t been an option since just after high school. Her anxiety was too great to have me in the house, and her hoarding had buried my bedroom in junk. I couldn’t risk setting her off. If a murder didn’t bring out her motherly instincts to have me stay at the house, then nothing would.

  Reaching into the desk, I found a hair tie and pulled my hair back into a ponytail, sighed. Hell, would someone even rent to me? I hadn’t been questioned more than the few minutes with Nix at the house, but it was coming. I’d been just down the hall when she’d been killed. Why hadn’t I heard anything?

  The ER had taken samples from me for DNA. Photos taken. I’d been looked over to ensure I really hadn’t been hurt beneath all the blood, then a kind nurse had led me to a shower and given me clean clothes. I looked down at the basic white t-shirt, sweats and flip flops. It wasn’t stylish, but it was blood free.

  The office phone had been ringing all day. At first, I’d worried one of our events was in trouble, but quickly discovered it was everyone from Erin’s hair stylist to the city paper’s crime desk trying to get the salacious details.

  After that, I’d left the phone off the hook and had myself a good cry. I was used to being alone, but this… god, it was a whole new level.

  I’d crash here tonight, the leather sofa was comfortable enough—Erin wouldn’t have bought something that wasn’t comfortable—and figure out the rest tomorrow. I’d have to salvage what was left of the events we had on the books. If people still wanted to work with us.

  Not us. Me.

  Fuck. Erin was dead. It was her company.

  I jumped a foot at the knock on the door.

  “Kit, it’s Nix.”

  My heart skipped a beat and I climbed from the couch, flipped the lock and let him in. He looked the same as this morning, his gaze still shrewd and assessing. Still handsome in that tall, broad and gorgeous sort of way. He had whiskers now on his square jaw and I wondered if they were soft or rough. God, how would they feel brushing against my thighs?

  “You doing okay?” he asked, closing the door behind him. He looked me over, probably saw that I looked like total crap, that I’d been crying. At least I wasn’t covered in blood.

  I laughed, partially from thinking about him going down on me, and partly because after the day I’d had, I was anything but okay. I sighed. “My friend is dead. I have no place to live. My paycheck is probably tied up in probate, and I’m definitely out of a job. The only way to make it worse is if you’re here to arrest me.”

  His dark gaze held mine but he didn’t say anything.

  “God, you are here to arrest me.” I licked my lips. Started to panic. While I’d been thinking about him going down on me, he’d been planning to—

  “I’m not arresting you. But I’m not going to lie. You’re a suspect right now.”

  I wanted to cry again, but I swallowed it down. No. “You’re here to take me in for questioning?” My voice was small, nervous. I didn’t have money for a lawyer.

  He shook his head. “Tomorrow.”

  “So no leads? No smoking gun?”

  “Nope. Here. I brought you some of your clothes.” I recognized my small overnight bag he held out toward me. “I found this on the floor of your closet. I wasn’t sure exactly what you needed. This should hold you until the house is released and you can get everything.”

  The thought of him digging around in my closet, god, in my panty drawer, had me blushing. Those big hands pawing through my silk and lace. None of it was fancy, and I always bought from the clearance rack, but I did like cute underthings.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m also here to take you home.”

  “I can just stay here. I’ve napped on the couch before. It’s comfortable.”

  His shrewd gaze took in the space. “It’s not a crime scene, but we’ll be in here tomorrow working the case.”

  I glanced around. “Oh.” Right. Of course. They had to investigate all aspects of Erin’s life. Her computer was here. Paperwork. It probably wasn’t good that I stayed here. It could only make things worse for me. Now what was I going to do?

  Holding my hands in front of me, I said, “I’m not going to my mother’s. I talked to her, calmed her down. She was worried if I stay with her, people will call or come over. She can’t handle that. You remember what she’s like.” I downplayed it a bit because I didn’t need any more pity where Mom was concerned.

  He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “She’s worse now. Her world’s a house of cards, or a house of old newspapers, online purchases and rooms stuffed to the gills with… stuff. One slight change in her routine and she falls apart. I’ve visited a few times since I’ve been back, but not more than a few minutes because it kicks in her anxiety. Our only interaction now is me paying her bills online and talking by phone.”

  I saw understanding more than sympathy in his eyes. School had been rough, kids picking on me because I had a crazy mom, a crazy house. Nix had never poked fun, not once. “Not your mom’s. You’ll come home with me.”

  I stared at him, mouth open. I’d have been less surprised if he’d said he was arresting me. “Home… with you?”

  He nodded.

  I frowned, then turned away, walked over to the window and looked down on Main Street. The world was going by, no problems, enjoying the summer evening, the restaurants and cute shops. The idea of going home with him… god, it had been a fantasy of mine for years. But no. No. I had to stop thinking about silly things like that or him eating me out. He didn’t want to go there not on me or any woman. There had to be a better explanation, one that made sense.

  “You’re worried I’m going to flee, is that it?”

  I heard him sigh. “The murderer is out there. I don’t want you here all alone.”

  I spun so fast, the world tilted for a moment. Met Nix’s dark gaze. “You think… you think the person was after me?” I set a hand on my chest. Holy shit.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “We have no reason to believe so, but you were there. Hell, maybe he went to the wrong house. Until we know more, I want to keep you safe.”

  He stepped close to me, too close, and tucked a stray lock of hair I’d missed capturing in my ponytail back behind my ear. A simple gesture, but not one a detective does to a suspect.

  The idea of Nix keeping me safe was so appealing, I practically ached. I didn’t want to do this all alone. I would, I always had. I’d taken care of my mom instead of the other way around. I still did. Bu
t having Nix help me? Hold me? God, keep me safe and take away these troubles?

  “Safe,” I repeated woodenly.

  No. That wasn’t going to happen. Nix was a fixer. He solved problems. Made things right. That was his job. As detective, I was his job. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want just that. I wanted more from him. So much more. I’d had a crush on him in high school, practically drooled over him whenever he came home from college. We’d gone out a few times to talk about the Policemen’s Ball. Dinner. Coffee. He’d never taken me to his place, never even made out in a car. A kiss on my cheek at my apartment door was as far as we’d ever gotten, but I’d given him my heart—although he’d never known that. Unrequited love, at least on my part.

  But I’d learned the truth, learned he’d never wanted me. I wasn’t his type and that had hurt. That had cut to the bone. Had pushed me to leave town.

  While I appreciated his concern—I doubted he invited every suspect to stay at his house—I couldn’t accept. My heart couldn’t handle it. A year away should have lessened my feelings for him, but no. Fuck no. I still wanted those big hands on me. I wanted to feel the play of those strong muscles beneath my hands. Wondered what those lips would feel like against mine, other places.

  Pure fantasy and I should have been over it by now. He didn’t want me. He didn’t want me—or any other woman—at all. I’d hoped the year away would fix my emotions, but no.

  Pulling my mind from the gutter, I said, “I’m fine here.” I held my arm out indicating the couch. Erin’s wealth showed in how she’d decorated the office. Shabby chic all in creams and soft pink. Modern glass mixed with the old brick walls and exposed wood beams. She even had a drink cart in the corner. High end, just like Erin.

  “Kit,” he said on a sigh, trying to reach for me again, but he must have seen something on my face because he let it drop. “That’s not the only reason I want you in my house. I—”

  “How’s Donovan?” I asked, stepping back, cutting him off.

  He frowned, clearly surprised by the question. “He’s fine.”