Resonable Doubt

  "You don't think it's possible?"

  "Of course I don't think it's possible." He flashed her a smile. "Come on now, loosen up. Counterfeiting?"

  She found herself laughing with him. "I guess it is sort of far out, at that."

  "Like clear into the twilight zone. Where's a good place to rent a metal detector? You know of one?"

  Breanna cleared her mind, focusing on Grants Pass. "Well, probably most any equipment rental place carries them."

  Twenty-five minutes later, Tyler pulled the Honda into her driveway. As he brought the car to a stop, she grew rigid in her seat. A dim glow of light flashed within the old barn.

  "Tyler, did you see that?"

  "Did I see what?"

  "There were lights in the barn."

  "Nah, it was just the reflection of our headlights."

  "It wasn't, I tell you." She shifted in her seat to look at him. "Someone's in the barn."

  "Honey, if there is someone in there, it's probably kids from town."

  "You think so?"

  "I know so, and you're not going in there looking for trouble. You're going directly inside and straight to bed. We've both had about all the excitement our nerves can take for one day."

  They climbed out of the car and walked up to the house. Tyler unlocked the door and stepped aside, holding it open for her. She waited in the living room while he lit the lan­tern on the mantle. He rasped a match and golden light sprang onto the walls. It cast his sharply carved features into shadow.

  "I think I'll take Coaly out for a short run," he said, turning from the hearth. "Why don't you hit the sack?"

  "I think I will. I must be more tired than I realize."

  Breanna went to the bedroom and slipped from her dress into her nightgown. Sighing, she pulled back the bed­clothes and sank onto the mattress, thinking of Dane and his strange behavior. Was she overreacting? Or was Tyler mak­ing light of something serious?

  The cabin door was dragged open and she heard Coaly's nails tapping on the floor. Tyler parted the curtain, step­ping to the foot of the bed to remove his shoes. When he stretched out beside her, still fully clothed, she smiled and turned to him. "I have a new bedmate, too, hmm?"

  He drew the covers over them. "Just to sleep. You're so nerved up, I thought you might like a little company." He curled an arm around her, pressing a kiss on her forehead. "Want me to leave?"

  "No," she whispered drowsily.

  His hand traced light circles on her back. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better come morning."

  For a long while she lay there awake, listening to Tyler's even breathing. Then, at last, her eyes grew heavy and she snuggled close, drifting off into slumber.

  Tyler slid on his belly through the brush, stretching out beside Mike Jackson in the blind. Mike slipped off his headphones, smiling. "Hey, man, I didn't expect you here."

  "Yeah, well there's been a new development. The Van Patten woman is definitely clean. I need to see Jack. Call him and tell him to get down here. I can't make a move without his say-so, and time's running out. I want her out of here, yesterday if not sooner."

  "Gotcha." Mike reached for his handset, keying the mike. "You got your ears on, Jones? This is The Deer Hunter calling Indiana Jones."

  Tyler closed his eyes, not sharing Mike's enthusiasm for the silly call names everyone was using in case someone broke in on their frequency. This was no game of intrigue. Breanna's safety was at stake. Losing patience, he grabbed the handset from the younger man, keying the mike him­self. "Jones, this is urgent. Get down here, stat."

  Jack's voice rasped back, broken with static. "Gotcha. I'll—b—down—about—ten—minu—''

  Tyler swore. "Make it five, Jones. Five, not a second longer. I don't have time to wait."

  It seemed to Breanna that she'd only been asleep a few seconds when Coaly's whining and scratching at the door woke her. She sighed and reached for Tyler. He wasn't there. His pillow felt cold to the touch, so she knew he had left some time ago. She sat up, listening for movement inside the cabin. The only sounds came from Coaly and, if his anxious crying was any indication, Tyler had gone out­side.

  Throwing back the covers, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed through the curtained doorway. "Tyler?"

  He didn't answer her. Coaly pawed excitedly at the door, but Breanna ignored him, leaving him inside when she stepped out onto the porch. Tyler had probably just gone to the outhouse, which wasn't a bad idea. The moon was bright, so she could see quite well from her position on the top step; it gave her a clear view of the upper orchard and the front of the barn.

  Proceeding down the pebbled walk, she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill air. As she approached the second flight of stairs, a movement caught her eye and she turned to look at the bam. A man stood at the top of the ramp, cast in shadow by the doorway. He bent low, as if to lift something, straightened, then disappeared into the cor­ridor.

  Remembering the light that she had seen earlier and Ty­ler's explanation for it, Breanna's first thought was that the teenagers were still inside and something awful had hap­pened. The loft was high and enclosed on only three sides.

  A fall from the ladder could have seriously injured some­one.

  Hurrying down the retaining wall steps, she struck off for the barn, not even thinking about the nettles in the field grass until she stepped on some. She hated to go clear back for her shoes, so she plucked the stickers out of her soles, then wove her way more carefully, trying to stay on trod­den ground.

  A humming noise greeted her as she slipped inside the barn, so low and indistinct she couldn't identify it. An en­gine of some sort? Perhaps an airplane overhead or a car on the road?

  She braced her hands against the wails, groping her way down the dark corridor. The humming noise grew louder with each step. Horrible pictures flashed through her mind of Tyler carrying an injured youngster out the back exit to a waiting vehicle.

  "Tyler?" she yelled. "Tyler, it's me, Breanna. Where are you?"

  She had scarcely finished speaking when the humming noise stopped abruptly. Total silence fell around her. Freez­ing where she stood, she peered into the black abyss that yawned ahead of her, listening for the sound of a vehicle driving away.

  "Tyler?" she squeaked.

  What if it hadn't been Tyler she had seen coming into the barn? Her heart tripped a beat. Just the thought of meet­ing Chuck out here made her blood run cold. Don't even think that way, Breanna. Of course it was Tyler you saw. He's out here someplace. It stands to reason it was him. He probably went out the back door as you came in the front, that's all.

  It was so dark that she couldn't be certain exactly where she stood, but she knew she had walked at least halfway down the passage. There were rooms in front of her and behind her. Inching backward, she held her breath, her ears straining to hear above the pounding of her pulse. Her palms rasped against the splintery boards and the planked flooring beneath her creaked with each footstep. She tensed, ready to run. Dear God, what if it wasn't Tyler?

  Right on the heels of that thought, hands clamped down on her shoulders like steel vises.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Tyler spoke her name, Breanna's knees turned to jelly and she sagged in his grasp, so relieved that a sob of laugh­ter escaped her lips. "Tyler."

  He clamped an arm around her waist, hurrying her to the doorway. His heart was slamming every bit as hard as hers. "What the hell are you doing in here? I was in the blind when I spotted you heading for the barn."

  "I saw you go in and I was afraid something had hap­pened. You must have gone out the back as I went in the front. What were you doing out here? When I found you gone, it scared me."

  He guided her to the cabin, never breaking stride. His fingers bit into her waist, hard, relentless. "I was out tak­ing pictures. I just stepped in there to make sure those kids had left. No sense in sitting forever in a blind, just to have someone spook the animals."

  "In the dark? Where's your
camera?"

  "I have infrared lenses," he informed her. "I dropped everything when I saw you. I'll go get it all come morn­ing."

  She could feel some of his camera equipment jabbing her in the shoulder as they walked. He seemed upset. Had her hollering spoiled his photo session?

  "Did you get any good shots?" she ventured.

  "Mmm-hmm, a couple."

  "What of?"

  "A mother raccoon and her babies."

  He propelled her up the steps to the porch and threw open the door. Coaly tried to run outside, but Tyler nabbed him by the ruff. He pushed Breanna into the entry and pulled the dog along, none too gentle with either of them. Coaly yelped.

  Breanna spun on her heel, hugging herself while he lit the lantern. When the white glow illuminated the room, she leaned back her head to gaze up at his taut features. His eyes met hers, glassy and expressionless. He looked pale and beads of perspiration glistened on his brow.

  "Tyler, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired, that's all."

  "Being tired excuses you for being cranky with the dog?"

  As if a hand had passed over his face, his expression changed. He sighed and ran trembling fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, Bree, I didn't mean to hurt your dog. You just gave me a scare, that's all. When I heard you calling for me, I was afraid you'd been hurt."

  He seemed so sincere that Breanna's anger faded, and she glided across the room to put her arms around him. He stepped back abruptly and caught her hands before she could slip them beneath his jacket. "Let me get out of this shirt. I got into some foxtails and I'm itching to death. I wouldn't want you getting them all over you. Why don't you put some coffee on for us?"

  ‘‘At this time of night?''

  "Make it weak."

  As she went to the kitchen, she saw him stop at the end of the sofa and shove something down behind it before he proceeded into the bedroom. A moment later, he reap­peared, donning a fresh yellow shirt. She couldn't help wondering what he had slipped out of sight behind the couch. Curiosity bubbled up within her.

  "You sure do something for flannel," he told her warmly.

  Breanna lit the burner and moved the pot onto the flame.

  "Bree?" He touched her hair as he said her name and his tone was such that she lifted her chin to look at him. The tenderness in his eyes warmed her clear through. His fin­gers sifted through her hair, sandpapery and warm on the nape of her neck as he drew her against him. He encircled her with both arms, drawing her close to rest his chin atop her head. They stood like that for minutes on end, saying nothing.

  The coffeepot hissed over the flame and he reached to turn it down, then propped his back against the warming oven, spreading his booted feet so she could lean against him. "You look like a little girl in that nightgown with your hair all tumbling down," he whispered.

  "Do you speak from experience? Do you have a little girl?"

  He ran his hand down her back. "My wife didn't want children."

  "Why?" Breanna loved youngsters so much that it was incomprehensible to her that anyone could dislike them.

  "My work. It was so demanding that our family life suf­fered." He laughed humorlessly. "I finally changed fields, but it was already too late. She was in love with another man—a nice, boring accountant with hay fever."

  "Oh, Tyler, I'm so sorry."

  He smiled. "It happened years ago. No need to be sorry."

  The coffee began to perk. He checked his watch to time it. When it was finished, they broke apart to sit at the table.

  "What kind of work did you do then?"

  He took a sip of coffee before answering her. "System­atic inquiries. It took me into the field a lot."

  Breanna had no idea what he meant by systematic in­quiries, but she imagined him going into offices, reorga­nizing their operations to make them more efficient. "And your wife missed you?"

  His eyes filled with laughter. "Not too much. I was find­ing wads of tissues around the house a long time before I caught the sniffler who was leaving them." He shrugged. "To be fair to Karen, I have to say she hung in there a long time. She just wasn't the type to be alone. No career, no in­terests. Her life revolved around me. I'm not saying that's bad, but—" He flashed her a smile. "Enough of that. It's past history."

  Lifting her mug, she suggested, "To the future?"

  As he raised his cup to hers, she noticed how exhausted he looked. Had he been losing sleep a lot lately, doing night photography? Before meeting her, he had probably slept in the daytime if he worked at night.

  "Let's go back to bed," she proposed, reaching to shut off the lantern.

  He nodded, shoving away his half-emptied mug and yawning. The grin he flashed her fell short of being con­vincing. "I've never turned down a proposition like that yet."

  "I think you need an eight-hour battery charge, Mr. Ross."

  "Amen. I'm beat."

  Breanna pulled him to his feet and led him to the adjoin­ing room, drifting apart from him at the foot of the bed. The lantern glow was fading, obscuring him in shadow. She heard the thunk of his boots, the rustle of his shirt. Then the mattress sank beneath his weight.

  Breanna curled on her side, gazing at his profile. She saw his lashes drift closed, heard his breathing change almost as soon as he grew still. Minutes passed. She tried to relax, but it was no use. The coffee, she reflected.

  She finally gave up on sleeping and slipped quietly from the bed. Tyler wasn't the only one who could work in the middle of the night. Now would be as good a time as any to do some proofreading.

  As she stepped through the curtained doorway, her eyes dropped to the shadowy outline of the sofa and she remem­bered Tyler shoving something behind it. Hunkering down, she groped along the wall until her fingers bumped into smooth leather. Running her hand over the bulky shape, she recognized what it was. Tyler's camera case. She could feel his Leica inside it. He couldn't have been taking pictures with infrared lenses. He had lied to her. . . .

  The realization washed over her like ice water. Her mind stumbled, then stopped short. If he hadn't been taking pic­tures, then what had poked her in the shoulder when they were walking? She turned to peer through the curtain. Her knees cracked when she stood, and the sound startled her. She suddenly knew what had been under Tyler's jacket. If her conclusion was correct, the last thing she wanted to do was wake him.

  Creeping back to the bedroom, she found his jacket and shirt discarded in a corner. There was nothing wrapped in them and no sign of foxtails, either. She knew he wouldn't have hidden anything in her open shelving. There was only one other place to look. She stared at the sleeping man on the bed, listening to his breathing, not knowing what she'd do if he woke up and caught her.

  Dropping to her knees, she inched her way to the bed and fanned her arm under it. Her fingers bumped into cold metal and leather. She traced the shape, then recoiled. A gun. Oh, God! Now she knew why he hadn't let her hug him earlier. The story about foxtails in his shirt had only been an excuse to keep her away from him until he could hide the revolver.

  "Bree?"

  Tyler's voice jarred her so much that she gasped and brought her head up, cracking it on the metal bed frame. The springs groaned above her. Large hands encircled her waist. A sudden, breathtaking fear flooded through her.

  Tyler must have sensed it, for he lifted her to her feet and wrapped both arms around her. "Breanna...I'd never hurt you. Don't you know that?"

  She had so many doubts racing in her mind that nothing seemed certain to her right then.

  "You found the gun, didn't you?" he asked.

  Should she admit that she had? Breanna drew away from him. "Why? Why do you need a gun?"

  "I always carry a gun when I'm working at night. You never know when you'll run into a snake."

  Her chest constricted. He hadn't been working. His cam­era behind the sofa testified to that, unless his work was something entirely different from what he'd been pretend­ing. In the m
oonlight, his face was a shadowy caricature of the one she knew; harsh, frightening, his features etched black against the bronzed planes of skin.

  "You found my camera, too, didn't you." It was more a statement than a question. He motioned her to sit on the bed and when she stood there, frozen in place, he pressed her down onto the mattress, lowering himself beside her. "Okay. Let's talk."

  'Talk?"

  He leaned forward studying her, his eyes silver, penetrat­ing.

  "What's going on around here?" she demanded. "Why are you wandering my property at night carrying a weapon? Tyler, answer me, or I'm going straight to the police."

  "That would be a very bad idea," he said softly.

  She stared at him, her stomach churning. The set of his mouth told her he was prepared to use force to stop her. The true Tyler Ross had just stood up to take a bow.

  "There are things I'm not at liberty to explain to you," he said gently. "I have commitments that I can't walk away from, as much as I might like to, commitments that I made before I met you. That's all that I can say."

  "What kind of commitments? I detest guns, Tyler. I re­fuse to have one in my house."

  "Then I'll leave it unloaded."

  "You said you were working! You weren't taking pic­tures out there. So what were you doing? That's all I want to know."

  "I can't tell you that."

  His tone rang with finality. A slow rage boiled up inside her. Had it been Tyler she had seen running in the brush that night, after all? Whatever it was Chuck had been doing in her barn, Tyler had been in on it. Oh, he had been clever, convincing her it had been poachers or treasure hunters. What a fool she had been! And ever since that day he had pretended an interest in her, keeping her occupied, trying to get her involved in treasure hunts, covering for his friends so she wouldn't find out what they were doing. Oh, God, he even made love to me! The truth hit her like a rush of cold air. Tyler had been using her.