“Which you deserved.”

“You’re right. I did. I said the thing about kissing only to provoke you.”

“It worked.”

At that, his stern expression relaxed. He almost smiled.

But still provoked, Kerra placed her hand on her hip, as if that stance would block him from entering the room if he was of a mind to. “What happened to you?” she asked. “You disappeared.”

“How long did it take you to notice?”

“I didn’t,” she lied. “The Major did,” she lied again.

Trapper seemed to know it. He gave a cynical snuffle. “Whatever. It didn’t look like you were returning to Fort Worth tonight, and choices of places to stay in Lodal are limited. This was the second place I checked, spotted your car in the parking lot, and had the desk clerk confirm that you had checked in.”

“He gave you my room number?”

“I’m a licensed PI, don’t forget.”

“That got you my room number?”

“That and a five-dollar bill.”

“Does anyone ever say no to you?”

He looked rueful and amused at the same time. “Yes. The people who really count.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that.

He looked beyond her, his gaze lighting on her open suitcase on the bed, her laptop being charged on the table, her personal belongings already on the dresser. “You came prepared to stay.”

“I was optimistic enough to pack a bag and bring it with me.”

“Must’ve gone well with The Major,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here and all …” His eyes scaled downward from her messy topknot all the way to her fuzzy slippers, taking in the flannel pajamas in between. “Settled in.”

She told herself that his languid survey had nothing to do with her folding her arms across her chest. “It went exceptionally well. That was my producer I was talking to on the phone. We do the interview live on Sunday evening from The Major’s house.”

“Can’t get any chummier than that. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Then for several moments they just looked at each other. Finally, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, cold air is getting in.”

“Sorry.” But rather than let her close the door on him as she’d intended, he shouldered past her and came into the room.

“Trapper—”

“Is he looking forward to it?”

Her mind had to backtrack to pick up the thread of their conversation. “The Major? Yes. He is. Surprisingly.” She told him about the preliminary meetings they’d scheduled. “He promised to cook me his famous chili.”

“That alone ought to send you back to Dallas.”

She laughed, asking, “Is it that bad?”

He nodded, but she wasn’t sure he was paying attention. Since coming into the room, he’d been prowling it. He’d peeked into the bathroom, slid the closet door open and shut, looked down into the rumpled contents of her open suitcase. Some articles she’d rather him not see, and those were the ones he seemed most interested in. She went over and flipped down the top of the suitcase.

“I need to finish unpacking, and my food will be here any minute, so—”

She was about to evict him, but the words got stoppered when he went over to the table near the window and opened her laptop. He looked at the screen, then over at her, then turned the laptop around where she could see what was on it, although she already knew: a newspaper article about him with an accompanying picture.

He cocked his eyebrow.

She said, “I was doing research for the interview.”

“You’re not interviewing me.”

“But you’re part of—”

“Nothing. Leave me out of it.”

“Relax, Trapper. You don’t have anything to worry about. The Major stipulated that his family is off limits. I was doing that”—she motioned toward the laptop—“strictly for background.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me what you wanted to know?”

“Because you wouldn’t tell me.”

“Depends on what you ask. Give it a shot.”

“All right. Tell me about your mother.”

“Name, Debra Jane. Date of birth—”

“I already know all that. Tell me what she was like.”

“Didn’t The Major cover that with you?”

“Some. Enough so that I got a sense of her personality. Is there anything you can contribute without getting your back up and looking for ulterior motives beyond my curiosity?”

He thought it over, then said, “She was a great lady. She didn’t sign on to be a celebrity’s wife, but when the role was thrust on her, she accepted it. Growing up, I was a handful and—”

“I can imagine.”

“—her husband was deployed twice overseas. One year in Kuwait during the Gulf War. When his tour was over and he retired from the army, she was grateful to have him home and out of military life. And then the Pegasus happened.”

He shrugged, but Kerra wasn’t convinced of the indifference it was meant to convey.

He said, “I suppose being an army wife had prepared her for being left alone a lot of the time to handle house and home and me by herself.”

“That’s almost word for word what The Major said about her.”

“God help me if I start sounding like him.”

“No chance of that. The Major doesn’t bite my head off when I ask a question he doesn’t like. He courteously told me ahead of time the topics I’m to avoid.”

“Me and what else?”

“Hunting.”

“Hunting?”

“I asked if he would consider removing the mounted trophies from his walls before the interview, and he said, ‘Hell, no.’ There are several subjects on which he and I have agreed to disagree.”

Sardonically, he repeated, “Me and what else?”

“Actually he and I are in total agreement about you. You’re sarcastic, defensive, and hostile.”

“You left out wicked.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call you wicked.”

“Somebody already did.”

“Who?”

“A cute redhead.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a dart of resentment. “What had you done?”

“Told her I wanted to marry her.”

Kerra laughed, although she halfway believed him, and his grin—which was decidedly wicked—said he knew that, too.

There was a knock on her door. This time she did check the peephole, and it was her pizza delivery. She paid the young man, closed the door against the wind, and nudged her laptop aside to allow room on the table for the box, from which heavenly aromas were wafting. “Want some?”

“No thanks. I’ll go and leave you to it.”

But rather than move toward the door, he went to the nightstand and bent over it. She couldn’t help but notice the ragged hole in the rear pocket of his jeans or the way the leather jacket stretched across his shoulders.

Using the stubby pencil provided by the motel, he scrawled something on the notepad beside the telephone. When he finished, he tore off the sheet and brought it over to her. She read, “Sheriff Glenn Addison.” He’d written a phone number under the name.

“The Major’s friend for life and all-around good guy,” he said. “After leaving The Major’s place, I went to see him, told him about you and the interview.” He held up a hand when she was about to interrupt. “I didn’t tell him everything. If he learns who you are in the context of the bombing, he’ll hear it from The Major, not me.”

“Initially you were certain The Major would turn me down, yet you went straight to the sheriff as though the interview were a sure thing.”

“At that point, it was. The photo made all the difference. I saw his reaction to it. His ego wouldn’t let him pass up the opportunity to be a hero.”

“He’s already a hero.”