Page 38 of Lone Star Showdown

Yeah, Rachel was likely shedding some tears over that. And plotting to try to figure out how she could put an end to this. That meant she was thinking hard about using herself as bait.

And Jericho was considering it, too.

Every scenario he managed to come up with was risky. Except one. Using someone to stand in for Rachel so that she wasn’t anywhere near wherever the trap was set. He was waiting to hear from Ruby whether or not that could be done. If the operative Jericho wanted was available, they might be able to set things in motion in a couple of hours.

For now though, they waited.

And Rachel grieved for a man who’d been killed solely to get back at her.

He checked the temp on the bottle of champagne he’d stuck down in a bucket of ice. It was cold, and it was the good stuff, too. A pricey bottle that a client had given him. Jericho had found it stashed in his pantry, and it was now ready for the cork to be popped.

Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to come up with dinner to go along with the champagne since they’d already had a proper meal.

Well sort of.

After they’d left the police station, Jericho had picked up four bags of takeout that he’d phone-ordered from the town’s diner. Pasta, pizza, sandwiches, and even a couple of salads. Rachel had nibbled at the pasta before going in to take her bath.

It had taken a lot of willpower for Jericho not to go in there with her. But she hadn’t needed him in that moment. She had needed solitude, time to try to process what had happened. The processing would suck, no doubts about that, but he had wanted to give her that space. Time though, was lagging on and on.

That’s why he’d iced the champagne.

It was a favorite of hers, and while he wasn’t a fan of either the bubbly or using alcohol to soothe, he thought it was a good idea in this situation. He snagged two glasses from the cupboard, popped the cork, and headed to the bathroom.

“It’s me,” he called out from the door that was slightly ajar. “How much of a peepshow will I get if I come in now and serve you some champagne?”

Silence. For a few snail-crawling moments. It was possible she’d nix the whole soothing attempt.

But she didn’t.

“You’ll get a full peepshow,” she finally said. “Come in.”

His body reacted to the invitation. Man, did it. And Jericho had to remind that brainless part of him behind the zipper of his jeans that this was a TLC mission. This wasn’t about sex.

He stepped in and had to do another reminder when he saw Rachel. Yep, she was slumped down, her head resting on the rim of the tub, and her hands anchored on the sides. The room was misty and warm.

And she was naked.

Of course, the jets were causing the water to swirl over her, but Jericho couldn’t help but see her breasts. The rest of her, too.

She looked up at him, her face dewy from the warmth. Her eyes clear. For now, anyway. But he could see traces of red to confirm that she had indeed been crying.

“Thanks,” she said when he handed her the glass of champagne. “I want to catch the sonofabitch who’s been murdering all these people.”

It didn’t surprise him that particular thought had been front and center in her mind. “I’m working on it. I might have a plan soon.”

That put a light in her eyes, and she sat up. Her breasts were no longer covered by the water so no peepshow. This was a variation of the Full Monty.

“Once I get the okay, I’ll fill you in,” he added, “but Ruby is helping. Maybe another Maverick Ops operative, too. If all goes well, we could have the killer by morning.”

Rachel studied his face as if trying to suss out if that was BS. It wasn’t. And she must have seen that because she released a long breath and had an equally long sip of her champagne. Really long. As in she drained the glass and then held it out to him for a refill.

Jericho obliged, watched her tilt back the glass as if she intended to drain that one, too, but she stopped.

“I need to be sober for this plan,” she insisted.

Not technically, since Jericho had no intentions of Rachel playing a big part in it. Heck, or playing any part at all. But he didn’t want her drunk either since that wasn’t going to help.

“We can talk this out,” he offered. “Maybe a trip down memory lane where you recount all the good things about Chase. I’ll keep my jealousy marginally intact.”

---