Lethal Balance Read online

  He didn’t approve of brooding.

  Dammit. His mood had been off ever since Gabe had fallen for his pretty librarian.

  The two were good together. Audrey soothed Gabe’s spirit, and his brother supported her, helped her. He was needed. Years ago, with Carmen, Caz had known that feeling of being needed. Of partnering with a woman. Not shoulder-to-shoulder as he had with his brothers, but more…entwined. With Carmen, he’d felt as if their spirits merged in the same way their bodies had. Dios, he still felt the ache from losing her. He lifted his glass in a silent toast. May her spirit be happy wherever it had flown.

  If only he’d been there to protect her.

  Last summer, Mako’s psychologist friend had asked Caz if he intended to move on with his own life. No, Zachary, this is my life. Grief was only a small part of the problem. What stopped him completely was the simple fact that he couldn’t protect a woman. Women and children were just too fragile.

  No, he’d never again get emotionally entangled.

  Footsteps caught his attention, and to his annoyance, a woman set a glass and a plate of chicken strips onto the low table in front of the fireplace. She curled up onto the wide loveseat next to the chair where he sat. Eyes closed, she leaned her head against the back cushions.

  His displeasure at the intrusion disappeared. He doubted she even realized he was there. His tall wingback chair concealed him from the rest of the room; it was why he’d chosen it.

  Interesting appearance. Her hair was a mess of red-brown curls stopping a couple of inches above her shoulders. She had a strong face, narrow, with a pointed chin and a wide mouth. No makeup. Freckles were scattered across her cheeks and nose. Damn, he liked freckles.

  Her brows were slightly darker than her hair. She wore a no-nonsense navy button-up shirt. Although loose cut, it fit well enough to show she had a sturdy body with straight shoulders and small, high breasts. Her cheekbones were sharp, her wrist bones slightly protruding; she was perhaps a bit underweight.

  No fingernail polish. No rings. No jewelry at all, in fact. She wasn’t the type who usually visited this expensive resort bar—although he wouldn’t have been surprised to see her here with a husband for fishing.

  Her eyes opened. A striking blue-green. Seeing him, she sat up and started to stand. “Oh. Excuse me, I didn’t realize—”

  “Relax. It’s all right.” She really was distressed, so he kept his voice to a soothing murmur. “I do not own the chairs or the location—and the fire is very pleasant. I would welcome the company.”

  Rather surprised at that truth, he motioned for her to resume her seat. And was pleased when she did.

  “Well. Thank you.” She leaned forward and picked up a chicken strip. “Would you like some chicken? I have more than I can eat.”

  A generous person. A sociable one. Worry lingered in her face, letting him know she would feel more comfortable if he joined her. “Thank you.” He took a chicken strip and watched the tension slide out of her.

  She finished her bite and took another piece with surprising enthusiasm for something so bland. Of course, the food here was excellent. Even Bull approved—and had wisely left McNally’s, the high-end restaurant market, while his roadhouse concentrated on burgers and comfort foods.

  “Are you here for a week of fishing or hunting or something?” she asked. He realized she was exerting herself to be polite. Not flirting—not even a little—but just making conversation. It was surprisingly…pleasant.

  “No, I’m only here for tonight,” Caz said.

  “Me, too. I go back to Nevada tomorrow.”

  “You’re a long way from home. Did you enjoy Alaska?” Caz took a drink of his beer.

  “The mountains are spectacular—even more amazing up close than from the plane.” She drank about half the liquid in the tall glass, choked slightly, and stared at the glass as if it had bitten her. “What did she put in this?”

  “Is the drink not to your liking?”

  “That is not iced tea.” Her eyes narrowed. Firm jaw, eyebrows drawn together. The hint of toughness was interesting.

  “May I?” Caz asked. The bartender was a sweetheart. He’d hate to see her in trouble with a tourist complaint.

  The woman pushed the drink toward him.

  He took a sip from the other side of the glass. “It tastes like a Long Island iced tea, but maybe with something added…”

  Her eyes rounded. “A Long Island iced tea? That’s…that’s a cocktail.”

  “Yes. What did you order?”

  “A Texas iced tea.”

  He pulled out his phone and checked. “Google says that’s a Long Island iced tea with the addition of bourbon.”

  “Oh, just shoot me now.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m an idiot. I thought I was getting a normal sweet tea—not something alcoholic.”

  From the amount she’d just sucked down, he’d bet she was getting a good buzz already. Long Islands were deadly, and the bartender made strong drinks. Nevada must’ve been thirsty. His lips twitched. “Have some more chicken.”

  She picked up a strip and frowned. “You’re laughing.”

  “No, no, I would never be so rude.”

  Grinning, she pointed a piece of chicken at him. “You totally are.”

  After finishing the strip, she sampled the drink again. “It’s really good. It doesn’t taste that strong, but I can feel it.”

  He chuckled. If she’d been driving, he’d have asked for her keys.

  * * *

  Embarrassment stung as JJ looked at the man. First, she’d butted in on his secluded sitting area then slugged down a potent drink. Damn, she already felt the alcohol humming in her veins. The guy must think she was a real idiot.

  Even worse, he was intimidatingly good-looking.

  Not a fancy meat-market gorgeous though. His clothing was an understated casual—black jeans, black boots, long-sleeved, button-up shirt. He looked Latino. Fairly tall, closing in on six feet. And his build wasn’t bulky like a power-lifter, but sheer streamlined muscles. The rolled-up sleeves on his hunter green shirt revealed corded forearms.

  His black hair was short, with a few strands falling over his forehead, and his eyes, so dark a brown as to match his hair. His skin was a beautiful light brown, the tone she often longed for since her skin was all freckles. A dark beard shadow gave him a dangerous edgy look.

  But handsome men reminded her of Nash. Sad as it was to admit, males, ugly or not, no longer interested her. Not after all the harassment of the last year.

  Unconcerned at her perusal, he sipped his beer and looked her over in turn. “Do you have a name you would share, Nevada?”

  She smiled at the polite phrasing. “Jayden. JJ.”

  “Jayden. A beautiful name.”

  “It sounds even better the way you say it.” His Spanish accent softened the J, giving it an even more musical sound. Truly, he had an amazing voice. She didn’t want a man, any man, but she’d be happy to listen to this guy read the phone book.

  And then she blinked and glanced at the bar, remembering Kiki’s comment about a man with an accent. “‘Keem-bear-ly, I told you, did I not, that we would enjoy one night together and one night only.’”

  This was the notorious Cazador.

  Following her gaze, he looked around the back of his chair and spotted the three women at the bar. His eyebrows lifted. “My name is Cazador—but, perhaps, you already know it?”

  She had a feeling her cheeks had turned the dark red of the loveseat. “I…yes. I heard them talking about you.”

  He didn’t appear offended. Or gratified. Simply slightly amused and somewhat indifferent. As if he didn’t particularly care what others’ opinions were.

  Envy stabbed her. “They sounded as if they come here often?” He’d obviously been around this place before. Maybe she could learn something about the area so as not to sound like a total idiot at the interview tomorrow. She might even learn if she’d want to live here.

  “McNally is clo
se enough to Anchorage that women come to enjoy the mountains and be pampered. The spa is gaining a good reputation.” He gestured toward the group of men at a table. “Not every fisherman wants to spend the night in a sleeping bag. Some prefer to be picked up in the lobby and driven to the boat. After a day of fishing they’re brought back while their salmon is cleaned, iced, and packed to take home.”

  She studied the men. “I pretty much thought of fishing as a grungy tent or RV sort of activity, but the resort’s method would be nice.” Cazador was probably from Anchorage, too. A city guy, if Anchorage could be called a city. She settled into her chair, feeling more comfortable. Her hunger was assuaged, and her brain had a pleasant fizzing sensation going on, thanks to the drink.

  Even better, she had someone to talk with. A man who wasn’t putting moves on her but was interested in conversation.

  He picked up his beer and took a sip. “What do you like about living in Nevada, JJ? I’ve never been there.”

  “Nevada’s the only state with Area 51 and UFOs.”

  When he laughed, she grinned and continued. “Really, it’s a state of contrasts.” She told him about the quirks of Nevada—the gambling city of Las Vegas surrounded by gorgeous, wide-open land and wild horses. Desert, yet with snow-capped mountains and forested valleys. The Burning Man festival and Nevada Day. And, as she talked, homesickness swept over her. She loved her damn state. How could she move?

  Turning her gaze away, she pulled in a hard breath.

  “Ah, chica, you go home tomorrow.” His voice was soft. Sympathetic. As if he could tell her throat had clogged with homesickness, he took over the conversation, offering intriguing Alaska tidbits, as well as comparisons to South America, the Mideast, and Europe.

  Although the man had been everywhere, he wasn’t all about his adventures but asked her questions. Listened. Was obviously interested in her opinions. When she asked him about dangerous Alaska wildlife, he took out his phone and moved to sit beside her on the loveseat. He had amazing pictures: a moose with a baby, a moose walking through a downtown area, a moose attacking a car—that one widened her eyes.

  “What about other predators?” She flushed. “I mean, I know moose aren’t technically predators, but—”

  “But they’re more liable to charge a person than our lazy brown bears.”

  She was holding his phone, and rather than taking it back, he closed his hand around hers to pull up a different set of photos.

  “Oh, it’s Hagrid.” A second later, she realized he hadn’t released her hand. Their knees bumped.

  She tipped her head to look up at him, and they were too close, their faces only a few inches apart. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. His lips were sculptured, not puffy like a girl, but not thin. Just…perfect.

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

  She jerked back. “No.”

  “No?” Heat simmered in his so-very-dark eyes.

  Suddenly, she was far too conscious of how close he sat, how his shoulder brushed hers, the heat of his body. She pulled back. Dear God, she’d been staring at his mouth—of course, he’d thought she was flirting. “No.”

  “Ah, I misunderstood. Please forgive me.” All the heat and sexuality disappeared, and he politely moved a few inches from her. His expression showed honest regret—without anger. He wasn’t blaming her for giving mixed signals or himself for misreading her.

  Instead, he motioned to the phone she was still holding. To the shaggy bear on the display. “You said the bear reminded you of Hagrid. Is he a relative?”

  “Uh, no.” She shook her head in mock horror. “You don’t read Harry Potter?”

  “I fear he’s escaped my notice. Are those the books with a young wizard?”

  “Movies, too, yes.” She frowned. “You’re not a flat-earther, right? Tell me you’ve seen Star Wars.”

  “And Star Trek, as well.” When he grinned, she could see why numerous women had fallen for the man-ho. “So, who would you pick for your captain—Kirk, Picard, or Janeway?”

  Now that was a question she could hash over forever. She drained her drink and set it down. “There’s absolutely no question; the best one is Picard.”

  Their battles raged over starship captains, to white orcs that should have died the first time, to whether the Hulk could beat up Superman. She and her training officer, Gene, had enjoyed science fiction and fantasy discussions, but Cazador was even more fun. She pointed at him with a severe expression. “If Superman could—”

  “Last call.”

  The voice made her jump. She looked up. “What?”

  The bartender stood by the fireplace. “It’s last call, people. Bar’s closing shortly.”

  “Oh.” Time to leave.

  “Thank you for letting us know.” Cazador turned to JJ, and his grin flashed. “Did you want another sweet iced tea?”

  “Now that’s just mean.” She smiled at the bartender. “I’m through. Thank you.”

  “It was a pleasure, ma’am.” The bartender hesitated, looked from her to Cazador, then left.

  JJ frowned. “Did she seem…?” She shook her head, thinking how easy he was to talk with. As if they were friends rather than two people passing time in a bar.

  “She wanted to warn you that I enjoy women. Which is true.” He rose. “I need to be going. I hadn’t realized we’d talked so long.”

  It really was late—and she’d had fun. “I need to head back to my room, too.”

  “Then, might I escort you to the elevator?” He held his hand out to help her to her feet.

  “Sure.” She let him pull her to her feet, and they walked out of the bar and across the hotel lobby. Only two front desk clerks remained. One smiled at her and nodded. The other one, a curvy blonde with big hair, frowned and turned her back.

  As she got in the elevator, she smiled at Cazador. “Thanks for the escort—and the conversation.”

  “It was my pleasure. Good night, Nevada.” With a smile and a nod, he walked toward the rear of the hotel.

  She shook her head. That was one amazing man…although she still felt a bit embarrassed about the aborted kiss. Just as well she’d never see him again.

  * * *

  Caz rubbed his neck as he headed toward the back parking lot. A pang of regret ran through him. He hadn’t wanted a woman tonight, and then JJ had arrived. Talking with her had been more fun than anything he’d enjoyed in a long, long time.

  How he’d misread her body language enough to offer a kiss was a bit disconcerting.

  Her lips had been soft…

  No. She hadn’t wanted anything other than someone to talk with, and he respected that…no matter his regret. He’d enjoyed getting to know her. Intriguing woman, the way she bounced from a tough confidence to hints of insecurity. She wasn’t afraid to laugh at herself. Didn’t trash talk other women. Looked him straight in the eyes.

  Although women were enchanting when dressed to kill, he appreciated just as much a woman who was comfortable with who she was—without the façade of makeup, jewelry, and fancy clothing.

  And one who liked science fiction and fantasy? A treasure.

  He’d have to get Audrey to dig through her library and find him the first Harry Potter book.

  Chapter Four

  If you’re gonna fight, fight like you’re the third monkey on the ramp to Noah’s Ark…and brother, it’s starting to rain. ~ Christopher Woods

  * * *

  Blinking gritty eyes, JJ drove down Rescue’s Main Street. Although nerves—and two cups of coffee—had her well wired, her body felt the lack of sleep. After leaving Cazador and returning to her room, she’d been wide-awake and stayed up reading.

  There was nothing like two cougar shifters courting a female Marine to settle a girl.

  JJ parked her rental car in front of Rescue’s municipal building and slid out. Standing beside the vehicle, she turned in a slow circle.

  This was Rescue? Gene had been right when he called it tiny. From Anchor
age, the Sterling and Seward Highways were paved, as was the Dall Road to the McNally Resort. But, once off the highways, the two blocks of downtown Rescue held the only other paving. The other streets were gravel.

  Yet the town was charming. Looking freshly painted, the two-story clapboard buildings were an interesting meld of rustic and Victorian styles. The rich colors—gold and dark green, tan and mahogany, brick red and pale yellow, green and white—livened up the boxy buildings. To the south was a glint of a lake and forests rising to dark mountain peaks with the white streaks of glaciers. So beautiful.

  Although she saw a few empty buildings, most businesses were open and showing the pride of ownership that was the hallmark of a good town.

  Okay then. She glanced at her watch. Showtime.

  She smoothed her dark blue pants and wiped off her clammy palms before twitching her dark blue jacket straight. Beneath the blazer, she wore a khaki-colored button-up shirt, because a clever applicant would wear the clothing colors of the job she wanted. The internet had provided a picture of the Chief of Police, Gabriel MacNair, in a khaki uniform shirt with dark blue jeans. Thus, her color scheme.

  Job interviews. Talk about torture. Even worse than getting a starting hand of two and seven in Texas Hold ’em. Or being on the receiving end…so to speak…of an alien rectal probe.

  She snorted. Those weren’t comparisons she’d share with her interviewer.

  After slinging her conservative black satchel over her shoulder, she walked briskly up the steps and through the glass-fronted doors into the big municipal building.

  In the wide lobby, an older blonde woman in her late forties sat behind a semi-circular receptionist desk. The nameplate on the desk said Regina Schroeder. The woman looked up with a polite smile. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

  “I’m Jayden Jenner, and I have an appointment with Chief MacNair.”