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“To spare you from seeing him.”

“After I saw him anyway, why did you try to hustle me out?”

“If Spence was lurking around, it wasn’t safe.”

“Spence. Spence, who’s miraculously been resurrected.” She waved her arms in the air. “Praise the Lord.”

Gray felt his jaw tightening. “Would it make you feel better if I said, ‘Okay, I confess. I sliced open the toady’s throat’?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“What are you bellyaching about anyway? You should be hopping up and down with glee. I’m surprised you didn’t call for video as soon as you hung up from 911. You were the first reporter on the scene of a grisly murder. That’s right up your alley, isn’t it? Isn’t that what turns you on? That, and jumping into the sack with any man who might give you a juicy story in exchange.”

“That’s enough, Bondurant,” Daily interjected.

Gray paid no attention to the reprimand. He was focused exclusively on Barrie. “I don’t have to defend myself, to you or to anybody. Beli

eve what you want. I really don’t give a shit.”

He turned his back to her, but had taken only a few steps when she charged after him, much as she had that first morning in his house. “If Spence is alive, why would he seek out Howie and kill him?”

“Hell if I know,” he said, shaking off her hand. “Maybe he knew Howie was leaking us information he didn’t want leaked.”

“How would he know?”

He gave a cynical snort. “You’ve got to stop assuming these men play by any rules. They don’t. There are no restrictions placed on them. Not moral, political, or emotional. They see something that needs doing, they do it, and they don’t care how. They have no conscience. Until that sinks in, they’ve got you whipped, because you do play by the rules.”

Having said that, he looked at Daily. “You want me to leave now, I’ll leave.”

Sighing heavily, Daily came to his feet. “Every time the two of you get me out of bed in the middle of the night, it’s bad news.” That’s all he said before shuffling off to his bedroom.

Gray gave Barrie a hard, challenging look, but she said nothing, just turned away and followed Daily down the hall.

Cursing beneath his breath, Gray removed his boots and shirt and lay down on the sofa. It was too short for him; he had to prop his feet on the armrest. He could sleep just about anywhere, under any circumstances. He’d trained himself to fall asleep at will. He’d learned how to drop off instantly and sleep deeply, while leaving one portion of his subconscious awake and alert to danger.

But tonight his training failed him. He was too angry to sleep. Angry and… Hurt? Was that the word? “Christ.” He placed his forearm across his eyes. Hurt? Over what? Her inane accusation? Over her suspicion that he was a murderer? What an asinine, sophomoric emotion to be nursing.

Believe what you want. I really don’t give a shit. Hell of it was, he did. He didn’t know exactly how he wanted Barrie to think of him, but it sure as hell wasn’t as a cold-blooded killer. He couldn’t think of a single reason why her opinion should matter to him, but it did.

She was a smart-ass. Too impulsive for her own good. She had a stinging, sarcastic sense of humor that she used to cover fear and disappointment. But she wasn’t a coward, and courage was a trait that Gray admired. Her mind was razor sharp. Perhaps she was too inventive to be an objective journalist, but that creative bent only enhanced her intelligence. She’d suffered rejection, and he could sympathize, even empathize to some degree.

She also had a hell of a lot of integrity. It was a cheap shot to accuse her of using seduction to get a sound bite. He hadn’t meant it that morning in Jackson Hole, and he didn’t now. He didn’t even believe it.

She probably couldn’t explain that predawn orgy at his house any more than he could, and he couldn’t even come close to explaining it. He’d chalked it up to spontaneous, all-consuming, inexplicable lust, and let it go at that. It was safer not to overanalyze such intense sexual encounters. Best to blame it on the animalistic aspects of man, and forget it. Or try to.

Despite his snide comments to the contrary, he’d known the minute he touched her that morning that she was no femme fatale. Her reactions were too honest, her responses too undisciplined.

He didn’t want to think about her undisciplined responses. Not tonight, when he was furious with her. But recollections crept from their hiding places at the edges of his mind and taunted him. Thoughts crowded his otherwise compartmentalized mind, thoughts of breasts that were small but full, of nipples that seemed never to be completely relaxed, of her whispers in the darkness in that voice that alone could arouse him.

“Gray?”

He lowered his arm and sprang into a sitting position in one sudden motion. He hadn’t heard her approach, so he was surprised to see her standing only a few feet from the sofa. He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Were you asleep?”

“Getting there,” he lied.

“I’ve figured out what we should do next.”