Apache Nights by Sheri Whitefeather Page B

her bed was soft and scented, with pastel sheets and a virginal quilt. He wished he were there, nuzzling her naked body. “Can I come over?”
    She blew out an annoyed breath. “No.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause I’m not giving in every time you have a sexual whim.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œKyle.”
    A slight laugh sounded in her voice, and he smiled. He liked making her laugh. He liked making love to her, too. But that wasn’t why he’d called. “I am starting to care about you, Joyce.”
    Silence. Then, “You are?”
    â€œOf course I am. I wouldn’t be spending all this time with you if I wasn’t.” He kicked away the covers. “Are you starting to care about me?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œEnough to let me come over?”
    She turned suspicious. “What for?”
    â€œTo talk.” His stomach jolted again, just a little, just enough to prove how she affected him. “Would it matter if I cared about you in the way West suggested?”
    â€œOf course it would.” Her voice perked up. “Are you offering to come clean? To discuss the Warrior Society?”
    He made a face, hoping he wasn’t going to regret this decision. That she wouldn’t turn on him like the cop she was. “Yes, but you have to promise to come clean, too. To talk about your personal problems.”
    She stalled, sighing into the phone. “I never expected you to strike a bargain.”
    â€œToo bad. Take it or leave it.”
    Another sigh. “That’s going to be difficult for me.”
    â€œAnd me opening up to a detective isn’t?” Once he spilled his guts, she could hang him out to dry. Screw him over but good. “I’m not giving you something for nothing. Either we trust each other or we don’t.”
    â€œThis is scary,” she said.
    No kidding, he thought. “Are you game?”
    When she cleared her throat and said, “Yes,” he reached for his clothes and told her he would be over in about an hour. The drive would take him at least that long.
    Kyle arrived at Joyce’s apartment wearing a pair of jeans, an old sweatshirt and the moccasins he’d made. His hair was loose and getting in his eyes. He noticed the skeleton on the door was no longer blindfolded. The fabric was tied around its head instead.
    Joyce opened the door before Kyle could knock or ring the bell.
    â€œHi,” she said.
    â€œHi.” He entered her living room. She was wearing her ugly robe and a nightgown beneath it. He’d assumed that she slept naked when she was alone, but apparently he was wrong. It didn’t matter, he supposed. He liked the satiny nightgown, even if he couldn’t see all of it.
    They gazed at each other, and he hated how awkward this was.
    â€œWhere do you want to talk?” she asked.
    â€œIn bed. But we can keep our clothes on,” he added, reminding her that this wasn’t about sex.
    She agreed, and he followed her to her room.
    It looked as inviting as he remembered. The lights burned low, and the perfume bottles on her vanity table glinted with cut-glass allure, the shapes and see-through colors catching his eye. Her gun was there, too. Just like last time.
    He turned to look at her, and she tucked her hair behind her ears. She seemed nervous, but he knew this was more intimate than sex. More revealing. They’d just agreed to confide in each other, to unearth their secrets.
    Kyle waited for her to shed her robe and climb into bed. Once she did, he removed his moccasins and took the spot next to her.
    By now, it was nearly four in the morning.
    â€œI’m glad you don’t have to work tomorrow,” he said, wondering if the nature of her job ever chilled her in the middle of the night, if she saw murder victims in her sleep. “It’s good that you have time off.”
    Her eyes locked onto his. “It’s turning into a strange