His Texas Touch

Chapter 3

Avra checked her wristwatch. James Purdy was always ready and waiting with her car door open and engine idling when she called down to let him know she was on her way out. Unless the man was sick, which didn’t happen often, he was at his post.

That day, however, her car door wasn’t open and the engine wasn’t idling. In fact, the Lexus coupe wasn’t there at all. James Purdy stood just outside the entrance to the parking staff office. He appeared to be in fine health and spirits as he talked, laughed and shared a bag of potato chips with Sam Melendez. When James caught sight of Avra, though, he straightened from his leaning stance along the brick wall leading into the parking deck.

“Afternoon, Miss A.” James tipped the brim of his navy blue cap.

“James.” She cast a pointed look across her shoulder. “This is a first. Should I pick my car up someplace else?”

“Oh, uh…” Uncertainty crept into the man’s kind dark eyes as though he were slowly realizing something was amiss. “Well, Mr. M. …” He glanced back at Samson. “He said you wouldn’t be needing it tonight.”

“Oh, did he?” The expression Avra turned on Sam was nowhere near as polite as the one she’d given James.

Sam brushed crumbs from his hands while bracing off the wall. “Thanks for the chips, Jay.” He pressed the nearly empty bag to James’s chest as he walked past to take Avra’s upper arm.

“Ah, ah, ah…” he urged when she stiffened in response to his thumb brushing the bare flesh beneath the cap sleeve of her blouse. “Don’t make a scene now.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Avra’s voice was as tight as the phony smile she wore for James’s benefit while Sam escorted her from the parking deck to the smaller lot, which sat catty-corner from the

Review’s main entrance.

He gave her a slight tug when she tried to quicken her steps. “I’m taking you to my sister’s party.”

“Told you I have my own ride.”

“And I told you that I’m tryin’ to turn over a new leaf.” He gave her a wink when she glared at him. “Leavin’ a little thing like you to make your way out to my ranch all by your lonesome just didn’t seem like the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Only you could make the gentlemanly thing to do sound self-serving and suspicious.” Her voice was still tight as their steps carried them into the lot.

Sam pressed a hand to the center of his broad chest and turned her to him when they approached his truck.

“Will you ever think better of me, Avra Ross?”

“Highly unlikely.”

Soon after voicing the statement, Avra felt the unyielding metal of the passenger-side door behind her back. Crowded against the truck and Samson’s equally unyielding frame, she was kissed—and thoroughly. Soft moans gathered instantly at the back of her throat and Avra didn’t care how loudly they sounded. She moved to her toes, positioning herself more comfortably against him, and thrust her tongue hungrily against his.

Sam had released his hold on her arms the second he crushed her mouth beneath his. He kept his hands sprawled on either side of her along the door of the F-150. Somehow, and he couldn’t fathom a guess as to how, he managed not to touch her except to kiss her.

Avra tunneled her hands into his hair, shivering as the soft mass brushed her fingers. She scraped her nails along the onyx whiskers that darkened his copper-toned face and toyed with the buttons along the short-sleeved shirt hanging outside his dark denims. When he at last showed mercy and broke the kiss in midstroke of his tongue, she let her head fall to his shoulder. Desperately she worked to slow her breathing and shivered anew when he nuzzled his nose against her ear.

“Guess I’ll have to keep trying, huh?” He looked down into her face, frowning slightly as he studied her ever more intently.

Avra could only press her lips together in response to his query. Sam appeared satisfied and eventually stepped back to open the passenger door and wave her inside.

* * *

“What are you doing?” she asked when they arrived at her building and he shut down the truck’s smooth engine.

“I’m going in.”

“Why?”

“Are you packed?”

“Yes, and I only have to grab my bag and I’ll be right out.”

A smile tugged the shamefully sensual curve of his wide mouth. “You’re lying,” he said after studying her for a beat.

Avra rolled her eyes past the windshield. “So what’d you ask me for, then?”

“To see what kind of lie you’d come up with.”

Avra opened the door and left the truck cab in a huff.

Sam chuckled and left the vehicle with ease.

Of course the guards knew Sam. Almost everyone in Houston worked for or knew someone who worked for Machine Melendez.

“Evenin’, Miss Avra,” Claude Bevins greeted and tipped his cap before grinning broadly at Sam and extending his hand for a shake.

“Need us to have your truck parked, man?” Joel Henries asked after he’d shaken hands with Sam, as well.

Grinning, Sam waited for Avra’s coffee-brown eyes to come to his dark ones. “Thanks, guys, but we won’t be long. Ms. Ross is spending the night at my place.”

The look she sent his way should have reduced Sam to a pool of waste on the lobby floor. It had had a similar effect on others. Sam’s grin merely broadened when she left him standing with the guards.

“Better head on up before she changes her mind, boys.” He clapped Joel’s shoulder and slanted a wink toward Claude and sprinted off.

Avra didn’t bother holding open the elevator door. She was only intent on closing out the sound of Sam’s laughter with the guards. The cherrywood doors were almost sealed when a hand slid between them. Sam eased inside the car a few seconds later. Avra slapped him as soon as the doors closed at his back.

“High school was never my favorite game to play, Sam.”

“What?” He raised both hands in an innocent move that mocked the grin on his face. He sidestepped her in the small confines of the car, when she moved to hit him again.

“You are spending the night at my place, right?”

“Oh, please.”

“What?”

“You jackass, you know that’s not what you wanted them to think.”

Taking the risk of being hit again, Sam stepped close. “What is it you think I wanted them to think? Ahh…” Enviously long lashes shielded his eyes then. “That you’re going to my place to have sex with me…”

Avra snorted. “That’ll never happen.”

“Is that right?” He slammed a fist against the elevator’s stop button without looking toward the control panel. “Never?” he probed.

There wasn’t much space to retreat. Correction: there was no space to retreat when one shared an elevator with the likes of Samson Melendez. Avra cleared her throat but refused to show any other trace of unease.

“Is this crowding supposed to intimidate me or have me panting like an idiot and hoping you’ll do something I didn’t know I wanted?”

The unexpected challenging inquiry softened Sam’s

copper-kissed features with thoughtfulness instead of humor.

“Have you put much consideration into me doing something like that, Av?”

She rolled her eyes, edging away from him in one cool move. “Is this your way of making me change my opinion of you?”

Sam leaned on the opposite wall of the car and raked his pitch stare down the rigid line of her back, which she’d turned his way. “What’s the point in tryin’ to better myself when you’ve already told me it’s pointless?” He studied the lines in his palms and waited for her answer.

Avra looked up at the floor number, which had lit up when Sam stopped the car. “I’d never tell you it’s pointless to better yourself, Sam.” She turned her head a fraction. “It’s only pointless to think bettering yourself will get me in your bed.” She didn’t need to turn around. She could feel his wide frame less than an inch away.

“I never said it had to be my bed.”

His words preceded touch. Avra bit her upper lip and swallowed when one of his big hands smothered a small yet full breast. Not long after, he’d worked the nipple into a firm nub beneath her shirt and eased it past the barrier of her bra.

Avra didn’t try resisting. She already knew she couldn’t. Instead she moved against the subtle, pleasurable massage. Barely there, breathy sounds slipped past her mouth as she pressed her nipple deeper into his palm. She was moments from turning to him when she snapped to.

Sam had hit the elevator’s stop button again. The car continued its ascent. He put space between them, giving Avra time to fix her clothes and collect herself. She kept her back turned for the duration of the trip. Once the doors whispered open, she bolted from the car.

Alone then, Sam allowed his smug playfulness to vanish. Pressing a thumb to the corner of his eye, he sighed heavily. “Nice, Sam, nice…” he muttered.

He left the car reluctantly and was more than a little surprised to find Avra holding open the door when he arrived at the condo. He crossed the threshold as reluctantly as he’d left the elevator. His dark gaze was astute, alert as he observed his surroundings in the event that an anvil or some other destructive device might come crashing down on his head. He moved no farther than the foyer.

“Drink?” Avra slammed the door and moved past him and into the condominium.

Sam continued to tread slowly. Hands in his pockets, the alertness in his eyes transitioned into something more akin to curiosity. He watched her kick off the chocolate pumps that complemented the mocha and tan of her blouse and accentuated her shapely long legs beneath the flaring hem of her wrap skirt.

Avra prepared a gin tonic, took a sip then wiggled her glass in silent inquiry to Sam.

“Got any Jack?” he asked, relaxing just a smidge.

She dutifully prepared the drink and then crossed the room while sipping her gin. She handed him a beaded glass and waited for him to drink.

“Why is my dad protecting yours?” she asked when he nodded his approval of the liquor.

Samson blinked deliberately, his attempt at ease sailing right into oblivion. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Right.” Avra shook her head. “I see your dad shares about as much as mine does.” She demurely sipped more of her drink.

Sam downed the rest of the Jack Daniel’s. “I’m still confused, Av.”

“My dad called a meeting today and basically threatened to fire his reporters if they so much as sniffed at the Melendez story. Why would he do that? Protect MM that way?”

Sam was twirling the empty beaded glass in his hands. “I haven’t got one damn clue, Av.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“Darlin’—” he grinned wearily “—I sure as hell would if I knew where to start. All I have are bits and pieces of junk that may or may not be anything.”

Avra believed him. Especially since her own luck at finding answers had proven to be just as dismal. She was certainly in no position to share what she had,

either.

“I’ll get my stuff packed,” she said and set her glass on an end table before scooping up the shoes she’d kicked off. “Won’t be long,” she called over her shoulder.

Alone in the living room, Sam went to help himself to another drink. He scanned the room and looked thoughtfully toward the mound of files and papers lying on the coffee table.

* * *

“What the hell is this?” Brad Crest’s tanned face was a study in frustration and confusion. One of his men had just set the last of eight boxes on the counter in his office at the precinct.

“Boxes contain things taken from Martino Viejo’s home,” Detective Gregory Roth explained.

Brad straightened on the sofa at the mention of the latest Machine Melendez murder victim. “What do you mean things?”

Greg shrugged, his low brow crinkling with agitation. “Just that—a bunch of stuff that could mean nothin’, but given the fact that we’re leavin’ no stone unturned and the nature of some of this stuff…”

Brad braced his elbows to his knees, his mouth curved downward as he considered Greg’s point. “Show me what you got.” He shrugged.

Greg motioned to the other man in the room, and together they brought four of the boxes to the coffee table set before the long sofa in Brad’s office. Dutifully, Greg passed his boss a box of latex gloves and waited on Brad to put them in place.

Mild surprise mixed with curiosity soon claimed Brad’s face. Despite the latex gloves, he seemed hesitant about touching the photo he stared down at. “Is that…?”

Greg was already nodding. “Senator Herbert Willins.”

Carefully, Brad picked up the plastic-sleeved photograph. Willins and Martino Viejo were both grinning broadly, arms linked about one another’s shoulders. A luxury yacht had been captured in the background of the picture.

“I knew this guy’s job put him in the company of some pretty influential folks, but…” Brad’s voice trailed off into silence as he studied other photos of Martino Viejo looking chummy with other influential types.

“Dawson’s son?” Brad took a closer look at the picture of Viejo and the lieutenant governor’s oldest son.

Greg tugged on his earlobe. “The man himself’s in a few, as well,” he said in reference to Lieutenant Governor Logan Dawson.

Brad whistled. “Impressive list.” He tossed the photo back to the coffee table. “Makes it even more pressin’ for us to find out who’s behind this ASAP.”

“We’re just now finishing up documenting all the photos,” Greg explained, grimacing toward the evidence boxes. “They’ll be on the way to the lab soon, but there’s more here than snapshots, boss. With your permission, I’d like to request extra help to go through it all.”

“Well, what else have you found?”

“Boxes of journals from his garage.” Greg scratched at the thinning hair at the crown of his head. “A lot of water-rotted crap. It’ll be a tedious task pullin’ anything off those pages—may take a while.”

“I understand. All right, then, pick your people and I’ll sign off on it.” Brad leaned back on the sofa, his eyes narrowed toward his second in command. “Somethin’ else on your mind, Captain?”

Greg gave a jerky nod to the other detective in the room. “Bring Floyd and Cooper in here,” he instructed and then went to sit in the chair opposite Brad. “Boxes on the counter are filled with CDs and dictated cassette tapes. We haven’t listened in and they still need to be dusted, but given the circles this guy runs in, there may be stuff that needs to be handled delicately…”

“And?” Brad nodded when Greg watched him expectantly.

“Well, sir, I, um. Maybe you’d want to handle it yourself, given…”

“Given my friendship with the Melendez family.” Brad grimaced.

“Sir, this thing already stinks to high heaven.” Greg leaned forward, mimicking Brad, who sat with his elbows on his knees. “Who knows what we’ll find in that stuff?” He gave another jerky nod to the counter.

“Thank you for caring, son.” Brad fixed Greg with an earnest look. “Friendships are the last things I’m tryin’ to preserve just now. Grab anybody you can spare from other cases and put ’em on this, all right?”

Greg nodded once and stood. “I’ll send someone in for this stuff.”

Alone in the office, Brad flexed his hands still encased in the latex. He tilted his head at an odd angle when he noticed Martino Viejo in pictures with Dan Melendez and board chairman Lucas Anton.

Turning his gaze toward the boxes on the counter, Brad groaned and fell back against the sofa.

* * *

Avra waited quietly, watching Sam at the coffee table browsing her file on Wade Cornelius. “See anything interesting?” she asked when he looked her way.

“You’ve been busy,” he commended.

Avra set down the bag she’d packed. “Aren’t you the one always telling me I have no life except for being a slave driver to my staff and giving you a hard time?” She tugged at the long, lightweight scarf around her neck and shrugged. “Guess that leaves me lots of time for conducting homegrown investigations into unsolved crimes.”

“But Wade Cornelius died of natural causes.”

“Did he, now?”

“These papers tell you otherwise?” Sam shook some of the pages in question.

“Don’t know.” Avra batted the fringes of the scarf back and forth against her palms. “So far they’ve only served to give me a massive headache. Wade’s notes were all over the place.”

“Yeah.” Sam’s sleek brows drew close in mild criticism as he scanned the journalist’s haphazard method of note taking. “Probably a writer’s thing,” he reasoned.

“Humph.” Avra eased her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Maybe that’s why I was always so bad at it.”

Grinning easily, Sam’s gaze slid back to the page he held. His eyes narrowed, and after a moment, he tilted his head and drew the sheet closer.

“You find something?” Avra pulled her hands from her pockets and moved to the sofa in order to peer across his shoulder.

“Do you know what this is?” Sam was brushing his index finger across a number.

“Uh-uh, but I’ve come across it more than once in his notes.” She sat on the back of the sofa. “I feel like I should know what it is, though.”

Sam nodded while massaging his jaw. “Me, too,” he said.

Chapter 4

Samson wore a frown when he walked into the kitchen bright and early the next morning.

Setha looked up from sweetening her coffee to fix her brother with a dazzling smile that matched the sparkle in her eyes. “Well, my, my, I didn’t think you got up before noon on Saturdays.”

“Where is she?” Sam grunted.

Setha’s beaming smile brightened, if that were possible. “Don’t worry. She’s sleeping like a baby. I think this place calms her—almost like she belongs here.” Setha practically sang the words.

Sam groaned. “Please don’t start with that stuff, Set.”

“What?” Setha’s voice raised an octave higher. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Right.” Sam’s frown darkened.

“Oh, please.” She waved him off and sprinted to the refrigerator for cream. “I dare you to deny that her being here is why you rushed—”

“I never rush.”

“All right—” Setha waved her hands in an accommodating fashion “—arrived downstairs on a Saturday way earlier than usual.”

“Goin’ for a ride.” Sam’s mumbled words were almost inaudible.

“Want some company?” Setha hooked a thumb in a belt loop on her denim cutoffs.

Sam rolled his eyes and went to look for the key to the barn that housed his prized stallions. “Not if this is all you’re gonna talk about.”

“Nope, you’ve told me all I need to know.” She sipped her coffee happily.

Again, Sam rolled his eyes and left the kitchen without another word. Setha downed another hearty gulp of her coffee and ran after her brother.

* * *

Avra had awakened a half an hour earlier. Instead of heading down to the kitchen, she took up residence at the calico-cushioned window seat. There she enjoyed the rear view of the S. Melendez Ranch. It was a magnificent spread.

As magnificent as the owner?

“Stop,” she ordered with a shake of her head and an angry rub across the bridge of her nose. She glanced toward the night table to read the clock that said 8:35 a.m.

“Go back to sleep.” She tugged the peach terry robe about her slender form but made no move to leave the seat. “Lord knows the bed was a dream,” she said amid a yawn.

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