longer the skinny teenager, Paul was six feet, four inches tall and built like a linebacker. For the past seven years, he’d been an Eagle County deputy sheriff. After his divorce, he was raising two little girls on his own; he carried a lot of responsibility on those big shoulders.
He lumbered across the creaky wood floor like a St. Bernard coming to the rescue of a stranded skier. His huge arms enveloped Mac in a hug that caused a poignant ache in his wounded shoulder.
“That’s enough,” Mac said.
Paul backed away quickly. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“I’m fine.”
“I can’t believe you got shot in the line of duty. You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
“Not this time.”
After a round of hellos to the other men in the bar who remembered Mac or at least pretended they did, they went into the back room where liquor wasn’t served. There were a handful of teenagers back here, eating burgers and giggling.
Paul rolled a cue ball across the green felt of one of the pool tables. “Do you feel up to a game?”
“Bring it on,” Mac said. “I can still beat you with one hand tied behind my back.”
As Paul racked up the balls, he said, “Tell me about the shooting.”
“We heard the call for an officer in need of assistance. Me and my partner, Sheila—”
“You have a woman partner? How’s that?”
“I like female partners. They’re usually smarter than the men and know the rules. It’s never been a problem.”
Not until Sheila came along. A lot of what happened at the warehouse had been her fault. First, she’d yelled and provoked the bad guys before sufficient backup was in place. Then, she’d gotten herself in the line of fire.
Mac had downplayed her incompetence when he talked to the I.A. investigators; it wasn’t right to rat out your partner. But Sheila had made two dumb moves. That was nearly enough to put her in the same classification as that high-maintenance blonde at the safe house.
The thought of Vanessa brought an unexpected grin. All her prancing and posing made an amusing diversion, especially after she gave up on seducing him and dropped the sex-bomb act. During dinner, she’d rattled on about this and that. At one point, she’d given them a hilarious rendition of her act as a Las Vegas showgirl balancing a wineglass on her cleavage. He had a sense that she was more intelligent than she let on. Street smart, anyway.
Mac picked a cue from the wall rack and tested it. “We’re playing eight ball. I’ll break.”
“Fine with me.” Paul leaned on his cue. “So how’d you get shot?”
“I’m not proud of what happened.” Mac stretched himself across the pool table, testing different positions that wouldn’t strain his left arm and shoulder. He zeroed in on the cue ball and fired. The balls scattered across the table. He sank the seven. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“It happens.”
“Tell me about you,” Mac said. “How are the girls?”
“Too smart for their own good. Apparently, at age seven and nine, they know everything. And I’m an idiot.”
“I could have told them that.” Mac sank another ball. “How about sports? Are they skiing?”
“Skating,” Paul muttered. “Figure skating with the fancy outfits and the show tunes.”
Mac bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the thought of his big, husky friend shepherding around his two little princesses.
Mac missed his next shot and stepped back from the table in time to see their friend, Jess Isler, stroll through the door. Mac wasn’t the only one who noticed. The teenaged girls in the room stopped talking when Jess appeared.
It had been that way all through high school. Jess was a good-looking man. He was on the ski patrol and lived in nearby Vail.
After enduring another hug, Mac punched Jess on the shoulder. “Are you still dating that movie star?”
“We moved on. It was too much attention. You know, the paparazzi.”
“Oh, yeah.” Mac rolled his eyes. “Those paparazzi can be a real pain.”
Paul stood between them. “It’s been a long time since the three of us got together.”
“It was your mom’s funeral, Mac.” Jess shrugged. “Four years ago.”
“She was a good woman,” Paul said.
Jess nodded.
Mac said nothing. His feelings about his mother were ambivalent. Sure, he had loved her. Kathryn Granger was beautiful and fun, always laughing. But he knew something about Kathryn that nobody else was aware of. She had betrayed the family.
That was one of the reasons he had left town when he graduated high school. It was also one of the reasons he knew never to trust a woman; they would only break your heart.
Speaking of which…he looked up and saw Vanessa strolling toward the pool table. What the hell was she doing here?
“Hi there,” she said in a breathy little voice. “Mac? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“This is a private conversation.”
Undeterred, she moved toward Paul. When she grasped his huge hand, he had no alternative but to shake. “I’m Vanessa,” she said. “And you are?”
“Paul Hemmings.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “How do you know Mac?”
“We’re both staying at the same little resort.”
“I wanted to ask about that place,” Paul said. “Why is it called Last’s Resort?”
“The woman who runs it is Julia Last,” Mac said. Though Paul was his friend and a deputy, he wouldn’t betray the true purpose of the safe house. “Nice place. Real quiet. A friend recommended it to me.”
“You could have stayed with me,” Paul said.
“Or me,” Jess put in.
“Thanks, guys.” Mac knew his lieutenant had arranged his stay at the safe house for a reason. “But I’m supposed to rest and recuperate. I can’t do that with the little girls at your place, Paul. Or with the big girls who are always hanging out with Jess.”
Vanessa had picked up a cue. “Whose shot?”
“Mine.” Mac stared down at the table. Paul’s last shot had left him behind the eight ball. There wasn’t much he could do.
“I’ll play the winner,” Vanessa said.
Though
