“At ease, folks. We’ve cleared the outer perimeter, and we’ve got several officers chasing on foot. You won’t be staying here for the rest of the night, though.”
“Is, is Spencer okay?” Holden wrapped a firm arm around her shoulders and she shrugged it off. Whether she got sick or crumpled to the floor, she had to do it on her own. Holden wasn’t her personal support system.
“I’m good.” Spencer walked in from the backyard and stood next to Kerry. “You’re going to need a new kitchen door, sis.”
Chapter 22
Three days later, Holden and Bella arrived at the school together for what would be the last pageant practice. Against her wishes, Bella had to stay at different places each night after the break-in to thwart the killer. The assailant at her house had knocked the police offers out with tear gas, similar to what happened after the high school locker explosion. So they knew it was most likely the same person but exactly who was still a mystery. They couldn’t rule out Becky as a suspect, even with her admission of not wanting the pageant to end if the files were examined by a reporter or the police. It made Bella nervous, knowing Becky might try to hurt her mid-finale.
Holden had remained at her side the past few days, but like her, never crossed the romantic involvement line that they’d silently laid down before the killer injured two MVPD officers. Bella kept telling herself it was for the best; it would make the last time she saw Holden that much easier.
If only her heart dealt in logic.
“This is really heavy, and hot.” She wore body armor under the evening gown she’d chosen. The short-sleeved, round-neck navy blue dress was the simplest and most modest style she’d ever worn, but it did the job of hiding the Kevlar vest. And also made her look twenty pounds heavier, in her estimation, but she had no illusions of winning the pageant.
“You’ve got tonight and then the pageant tomorrow to sweat it out. After that you’ll be free.” Holden strode next to her, his looks heightened by the tuxedo that he wore. The pageant board and Selina in particular had requested everyone be in the same attire they’d wear for the actual pageant. Since the final event was being live streamed via the Mustang Valley Gabber’s website, Selina and the technical-production team wanted the optics and blocking to be perfect.
“When do you go back to Phoenix?” She bit her cheek as soon as she asked. So much for keeping it platonic and easy between them.
“As soon as I catch the killer.”
“What if you don’t?”
“It’s my job to. What I came here for.”
She caught the undercurrent. He hadn’t come here to meet her, get involved with his buddy’s sister. Irritation that had nothing to do with the Kevlar armor made her chin rise, her anger sharpen.
“As I came here to get my story. I’m still waiting for MVPD to turn the files over to me.” She’d tried to get them released sooner but Spencer had made it clear that his team had to go through them first. With the demands of the pageant security, plus chasing the assailant at her house to no avail, there hadn’t been time to read several decades’ worth of pageant files. Bella didn’t doubt Gio but she also had to face facts. Gio’s mind hadn’t been operating at one hundred percent near the end. Her memory could have been faulty, but again, Bella needed the files to verify her theories. She’d done further research on the women who’d come forward with their eating disorder and mental illness stories, and while they’d all competed in Ms. Mustang Valley, none of them blamed the pageant. To a fault. They all stated that they’d had a tendency toward mental illness or eating disorders before ever joining a pageant, and the sometimes frenetic activity and perceived pressure may have triggered their illnesses. But none would state that the pageants, or any one thing, had caused their disorders.
“Bella, do you have enough for your story?” Holden stopped short of the front steps. The lowering sun cast streaks of violet and fuchsia across the Arizona sky and reflected a light in his mahogany eyes and made her heart hurt. He’d had the same spark when he’d looked at her naked.
“Maybe. But not really, no. Not until I read the files.” A clump of hair fell in her eyes and she shoved it aside, ignoring the crackle of too much hairspray.
He chuckled. “You never did figure out how to get your hair to stay up, did you?”
“I like to wear it down. It’s not my fault the pageant requires more than one hairstyle throughout the night.” Straightening her spine, she squared off with him, ignored the devastating contrast between his skin and the white crispness of the tuxedo shirt. Or how the black jacket material made his eyes appear impossibly seductive.
“You haven’t answered my question.” Spoken as softly as the endearments he’d whispered in her ear before he made her come in full technicolor splendor. Yet the current of his dislike of her profession remained.
“I will have a story at the end of this, yes. It might not be what I’d hoped for or expected, but I don’t have a choice. If I want to go further with my career, become a bona fide investigative journalist, I need to produce. If this isn’t the story to move my career needle, there’ll be anoth
er.”
“Let me guess—you’ve finally found some dirt on Selina and the hold she has held over Payne Colton for years?”
Did he know his words were like an owl’s talons? Cutting deep, causing irreparable damage?
“Maybe.” She had no such thing, but wouldn’t admit it to him. Holden had gone back to being her adversary. “And just think, I didn’t have to pry it out of you with more sex.” Without further comment, she turned and bolted for the entrance. It was too agonizing to see if her words had landed anywhere as soft as his had.
Right in her heart.
* * *
Holden fought against pulling Bella up against him, holding her and kissing her until they both forgot why they had to throw down their respective gauntlets. Why they had to so effectively deny each other the pleasure they’d found in one another’s arms. And more—they’d found friendship, understanding, agreement between them. An intimacy he’d never experienced. And it wasn’t due to the intensity of this case, the constant threat of a methodical killer.
It was Bella.
He had no time or energy to spend on a failed relationship. She’d made her position clear. Bella had her entire life here in Mustang Valley, and would only ever leave for a new job. Judging from her diligence to meticulous research and the articles he’d read under her column in the Gabber and on its website, she’d receive offers from all over the country, if not the globe after her pageant story published. No matter what she chose to write about, Bella had a voice that demanded to be heard and stories that deserved the readership a major newspaper would bring.