“Sebastian, you have to stop this. It’s going to drive you insane.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Except Julie’s coming back. She is. Do you want to be here when she does? Or in the nuthouse?”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Remember when we were in Houston at that rodeo? The one where you got the wild bull—what the hell was his name?”
“Goliath?”
“Yeah. Goliath. And I told you to change your gloves?”
Sebastian nodded. “I didn’t listen.”
“And the gloves tore.”
“The rope ripped my hand to shreds.”
“Well, like I knew about the rope, I know about Julie.”
“You are one weird bastard, you know that, Garrett?”
Dylan nodded. “Why else would I hang out with you?”
Sebastian smiled. And for the first time since Julie’s disappearance, Dylan felt it was real. But it was gone all too soon, and the cloud of darkness resettled over his best friend.
“I want to go over everything again.” Dylan got a small notepad from his back pocket. “Step by step.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Then tell me again.”
Sebastian sighed. Closed his eyes. And started from the beginning.
CHAPTER FOUR
LILY SLOWED the car as she drove up Cole Bishop’s drive. The two-story ranch house reminded her of her cousin Ted’s in Waco. The wide front porch had room for a swing or a rocking chair, but it was bare. Painted white, the house itself seemed relatively new, a plain canvas with nothing to distinguish itself.
The lawn was the same. Rye grass, green even in this heat. No flower beds, no hedges. A big oak saved the view from being nondescript.
She wondered if she shouldn’t just write him a letter. It wasn’t easy to admit, but the conversation from the diner had her a little spooked.
Of course, her dilemma might be solved with a knock on the door. He probably wasn’t home. She hoped he wasn’t home.
As soon as she opened her car door, she could hear cattle lowing in the distance. It was a familiar sound, one she’d lived around her whole life. Some people would comment on the odor, but she didn’t mind it. Folks from cattle country were exposed early to the downside of ranching. It was only the city folk who balked.
She got out, shut the door behind her and opened her purse. After a fresh coat of lipstick, she ran a brush through her hair and popped a mint in her mouth.
As she turned toward the front door, something else familiar, a feeling, not a scent, hit her in the solar plexus. Ever since she’d joined the FBI she’d learned about the combination of fear and excitement that came with a new case. She felt in no personal danger. It wasn’t like some of her assignments in the Bureau. But there were high stakes, and she’d have to be alert and aware of everything. Cole Bishop was an unknown, and from the descriptions she’d heard in the diner, he could be anything from Wild Bill Hickok to Hannibal Lecter.
Well, she could be as macho as the next ex-FBI agent. After one last look at her car and safety, she headed toward the porch. No boards squeaked, another sign that they hadn’t been here long.
She rang the doorbell and waited, taking calming breaths as she did so. A moment later, the door swung open and Cole Bishop stood before her. It had to be him.
He was on a cell phone, and after giving her a quick once-over, he waved her inside. As she walked past him she was instantly aware of the man’s size. And something more. He wasn’t just tall, he was powerful. Her gaze went to his biceps, and even beneath his white shirt she could see his arms were thick and corded. Not like a bodybuilder’s, though. Like a man at the peak of physical perfection.
He didn’t smell half bad, either.
She walked into a sparse living room. Bare white walls, hardwood floor, a leather couch and matching club chairs. The coffee table didn’t even have a magazine on it. It was odd, as if Bishop rented the place.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
His voice startled her and she whirled around, wondering what she’d done wrong. But he wasn’t talking to her. Still on the phone, he paced across the floor in his cowboy boots, worn button-fly jeans, his white shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. Power. In the way he strode, in his posture, in the way his voice flowed deep and smooth as fine whiskey. She felt a little shiver as he eyed her before turning back to his conversation.
Ginny had said he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen in the flesh, and Lily concurred. Over six feet tall, he had to weigh almost two hundred pounds, all muscle. His tousled brown hair hung over his collar, and when he stepped in front of the window she could see streaks of sun-dyed blond. He had the face of a Marlboro Man, a real cowboy, tough and masculine from the inside out. Even his ocean-blue eyes had a hint of steel in them.
Her gaze moved to his chest and she wondered how he’d look without his shirt on. It took her a moment to realize he’d finished his conversation and put the phone down.
He narrowed his focus to her and only her. Unabashed and brazen as hell, he looked her over from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, taking a little extra time when he got to the chest area. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, he walked behind her.
She tried to swing around, but his hand on her arm stopped her still. Her natural instinct was to jerk away, to defend herself, but she held back. She didn’t want to blow this in the first five minutes. But if he didn’t let her go in about two seconds, she was going to make sure he understood what gelding was all about.
“How old are you?”
“Pardon me?”
“I said, how old are you?”
That’s when it dawned on her that he must have assumed she was here about the position. The job, whatever it might be. In that split second she decided to play along, at least for now. At least until she figured out if he was truly dangerous. “I’m thirty.”
“Bit old to start having children, isn’t it?”
Having children? “No, I don’t think so.” Her voice sounded normal, she felt sure. Well, almost normal.
“What about illnesses. You have any?”
“None.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“What about your hand?”
She touched
