Evidence of Trust (Colorado Trust 1)

The barest hint of a smile curved his lips. “Good.”

Then he brought his hands to her face, threaded his fingers in her hair, and tilted her head for a full-on, passion-infused kiss that scrambled her brain and left her aching for all of him. Confusion was incinerated by desire and any thought of resisting went up in smoke.

She wound her arms around his neck, reveling in the hot glide of his tongue against hers. He lowered one arm to slip beneath her unzipped jacket and drew her tight against the hard length of his body. Even with the layers of clothing between them, his heat warmed her to the core. He smelled like the mountains, and tasted better than her favorite chocolate dessert. Yes, kissing him was definitely better than dessert.

Their labored breath sounded extraordinarily loud in the quiet night, joined only by the soft nicker of a horse directly to her left. Nobel. Joel pulled back just enough to lean his forehead against hers, one hand still cupping the back of her neck. She opened her eyes to see his were still closed.

“Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,” he whispered.

For a moment, they simply breathed. Quick, shallow breaths barely filled her oxygen-starved lungs. Her inhale matched his exhale, moving their bodies together as one as she contemplated his statement. His grip tightened on her neck and he dipped down for one last, too-brief taste. This time, when he pulled away, she lost the heat of his entire body.

All he said before he swung into the saddle was, “Tell Fuller I changed my mind.”

Britt raised a hand to her throbbing lips as he rode off into the night.

Good God that man could kiss. He made her forget everything except what she felt at the exact moment his mouth was on hers.

Unfortunately, he was right—it hadn’t been a good idea at all. Because like each of his kisses, all it did was leave her wanting another.

She took a couple deep breaths, willing her pulse to return to normal. Two steps toward the parking lot, she remembered her camera. When she turned around to search for the bag, she saw the glow of a cigarette in the dark, near the side of the barn.

Her stride faltered. Her heart lodged in her throat. A picture of the dead, bloody sheep flashed in her head. “W-who’s there?”

The cigarette arched through the air to land on the ground. A booted foot distinguished the glowing ember before Kelly Stevens stepped into the meager light cast from the bulb outside the barn door behind her. Her apprehension did not ease at the sight of his tall form.

“What are you doing here?”

He bent to snag the strap of her camera bag from the ground. “Saw you ride in earlier, that’s all.”

Meaning he’d been standing there the whole time. Listening. Watching.

When she realized he’d seen Joel kiss her, her stomach flipped over, until she reminded herself she owed him no explanation.

Lifting her chin, she forced herself to step forward to take the bag from his outstretched hand. Then she walked backward as she said, “I’d suggest you pick up your garbage, you know Mark doesn’t allow smoking by the barns.”

She waited only long enough to see him pick up his cigarette butt, then swung around and didn’t slow her stride until she reached her truck. Kelly Stevens seriously gave her the creeps.

Chapter 17

Joel sat in his office and tried not to watch the clock. Tried not to look up every time he heard the outer door open. It was a Sunday, for crissakes. He should have taken the day off, not spent the whole day sitting at the station, waiting for her to show up.

Thinking about that kiss.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea was the frickin’ understatement of his life.

The taste and feel of Brittany in his arms had kept him up half the night. He’d finally fallen asleep about three, only to wake up from the most vivid dream, aching and hard as if he were still a teenager anticipating losing his virginity.

Now he sat there imagining he could smell the faint scent of apples while he snooped through the photos on her SD card. He needed to get her out of his head, not study pictures that had absolutely nothing to do with his case. With effort, he turned his attention to the investigation files in front of him.

Based on the time cards and schedules, there had been no rangers in the area of Highlands’ camp anytime during the past week. He debated reassigning a couple patrols to cover the area, hoping at some point any one of them would catch a lucky break that would help his case. Studying the topographical map of the entire park and the surrounding national forests hanging behind his desk, he sighed while running a hand through his hair.

There was a lot of land and not nearly enough men to cover it all. As Casey had pointed out, the budget didn’t allow for extra rangers, and the ones they had were already pulling double duty. As he assessed how to rearrange the patrols, Casey’s other comment echoed in his head, about rangers and chopper pilots probably being the few people who might know about the alpine meadow. He didn’t want to consider the killer could be a fellow ranger, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

Hmm. He skimmed the sheets in front of him again. Casey’s schedule had checked out not only with the timeline for this last kill, but the previous two as well. As much as he’d made an issue of not discounting anyone, after their conversation last night, he truly believed he could trust the guy and no longer considered him a suspect.

A brief knock at his open door made his heart skip a beat until he jerked his head up to see Randy Gifford standing there holding a steaming cup in each hand.

“Benson just made a fresh pot of coffee, you want some?”