In Cahoots with the Prickly Pear Posse (A Jackrabbit Junction Mystery--Book 5)

the police, the K-9 crew sniffed them out. But they had a little help.”
“What sort of help?” Claire took his money and crammed it in the register.
“A pool of blood under the trunk.” Chester leaned his elbow on the counter, his bristly hair matching his unshaven cheeks. “Ten bucks says those poor guys were left in pieces like the last victim.”

Chapter Five
A few minutes later …
Claire wasted no time trying to rationalize the news about the diamond killer’s latest hit and rocketed straight into panic mode. She raced to the kitchen, grabbed Mac in the midst of eating his bacon, and dragged him down to Ruby’s basement office. She locked the door behind them, her breath coming fast. Stars dotted the edge of her vision. In her hands, she clutched the rolled-up newspaper with the article about the dead night watchmen in Tucson.
“I have …” she said in between gasps, “… a last request.”
Mac looked at her as if a beanstalk was growing out of the top of her head. “I’m not taking last requests anymore this morning. You missed the window of opportunity.” He sat on the edge of the antique, mahogany Queen Anne–style partners desk that had belonged to Joe back before he’d eaten his last greasy potato chip and stroked into the grave. “Unless this request involves sex, then I’m all ears.”
Claire bent over to keep from passing out from a lack of oxygen to her brain. She scowled down at the olive shag carpet. “You’ve had sex on the brain since we woke up.”
“No, I’ve had you on the brain since I woke up and found you leaning over me in all of your lovely nakedness.”
That was his fault for looking so tempting in the soft morning light with his beard scruff, long lashes, and sexy lips. Not to mention the rigid topography she’d explored under the covers.
When she looked up at him, he was frowning at her with his head cocked to the side. “Are you okay, Slugger?”
“Probably not, but I’ll live. For now. But we’d better get my last request down on paper to be safe.”
“What’s the request?”
She stood upright and blew out a breath. “I want you to dress up like the grim reaper at my funeral.”
One of his eyebrows rose. “Hood and all?”
“Yes, and I want you to stand there with everyone else and not say a single word the whole time.”
The other eyebrow inched upward. “Can I hold a scythe, too?”
“Well, yeah. The costume isn’t the same without one.”
“Can I point the blade at your mother menacingly while I breathe like Darth Vader?”
She scowled, joining him at the desk. “You’re not taking this seriously, Mac.”
“Of course I’m not.” He grabbed her by the hem of her sweatshirt, tugging her closer. “What’s with all of this happy talk about the grim reaper this morning?”
She shoved the newspaper at his chest. “The diamond killer has struck again.”
He stilled. “Are you serious?”
“Two night watchmen at the police auction yard in Tucson are dead. From what Ronnie and I can figure, Jackrabbit Junction is the next stop on his slice-’em-and-dice-’em tour.”
Mac took the newspaper and spread it out on the desktop, bending over to read the article Claire pointed out. When he finished, he cursed under his breath.
“Now is probably as good a time as any to work on my last will and testament along with my burial-with-the-mermaids wishes, don’t you think?”
He pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the crown of her head. “Come home to Tucson with me.”
Tucson wasn’t home, not for her anyway. Not anymore. There were too many people there and not enough wide-open desert. But she didn’t know how to tell him that without making him mad, so she burrowed into the collar of his soft flannel shirt instead, breathing in the scent of him. Mac always smelled like the desert—fresh air, warm sunshine, and hints of sage, mesquite, and something spicy she couldn’t put her finger on. Maybe it was just Mac’s skin, pure and simple. She wrapped her arms around his waist, wanting to stay down here in the basement with him until the boogeyman went away.
He leaned back and lifted her chin, his hazel eyes searching her face. “Please, Claire. Forget about building Ruby’s back porch for now and let me take you somewhere safe. You and Ronnie both need to lay low until the FBI or Grady catch this son of a bitch.”
“If I go with you, I leave Ronnie here alone. I can’t do that and you know it. Besides, what am I going to do in Tucson? Hide in your house 24/7?”
They both knew she’d start climbing the walls in three days. Tops. As much as she loved Mac and his beautiful house, she needed to be at the RV park, where there were things to do to keep her hands and mind busy.
“Our house,” he corrected. “I can protect you there.”
“Maybe, maybe not. This killer is no fool. It’s been six weeks since his last kill. That time lapse tells me he’s a planner, not the shoot-from-the-hip type.”
“Have you considered that it’s all part of a game to keep the police guessing when he’ll strike next?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Claire, you don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman at this point. How can you be so sure of the reason behind the pause between murders?”
“Fine, you’re right, but I do know that leaving the RV park is not the solution. Not with Ronnie and my family here.”
He cursed, sitting on the edge of the desk again. “Okay, no Tucson. But if you’re staying here, then you have to let me try to protect you.”
“I hope you stopped at the army surplus store on your way out of the city last night and picked up an invisibility suit.”
“They were all out of their winter collection of desert camouflage, sweetheart,” he shot back with a grin. “How do you feel about carrying a gun?”
“Not happening.”
“Come on,