Dirty (35 page)

“Oh yeah.
 
He wanted to know what you were up to.
 
The bastard...” He swallowed hard as I dragged the other stocking down my leg then tossed it onto the bed.
 
“He wasn’t very happy when you locked in on that warrant before I could find out what case you were working on.”
 
He groaned savagely when my fingers closed around his hard cock through his boxers.

“Enough talk,” I said, not actually meaning it of course.

He groaned then smiled drunkenly.
 
“Can you keep the stilettos on?
 
Please?”

“Whatever makes you happy, honey,” I murmured, then stepped back into the lethally high heels.

Time to speed this up.
 
I straddled him, pressed the heat between my thighs firmly against his primed body.
 
As hard as I fought it, a groan welled in my throat.
 
Memories of the hot, frantic moments we’d spent in this bed that one other time flared like a camera flashing over and over in my head.

I drove the pictures away...forced myself to concentrate.
 
Make him weaker...make him desperate.

“Oh, Jesus.
 
You need...to be careful, Jackie,” he said brokenly.

At first I thought he meant be careful with the dagger-like heels and I felt like saying, well you asked for it, buster, but then he said more.
 
“Brooks has a hard-on for you, baby.”

I kept pushing his buttons, needed him to tell me more.

“Oh, God,” he muttered when I leaned down and started to lick and suckle his ultra sensitive nipples again.
 
He really did love that.

He jerked at his restraints.
 
“I need to touch you.”

I lifted my bottom away from him and eased my face closer to his.
 
“But what if Brooks finds out we’re back together?” I asked, my own respiration coming in shallow little pants.
 
“He could make life difficult for you.”

“Don’t worry I won’t let him find out...”
 
Willis gasped when I rubbed against him in that lap dance fashion that had him right where I wanted him.
 
Almost had me there as well.

I kissed the jaw Dawson had damaged, teased the edge of his mouth with my tongue.
 
“I’m not worried,” I murmured.
 
“Honey, I’m going to take him down.”
 
Then I sat back, allowing my full weight to rest on his pulsing pecker.
 
The look of pleasure-pain on his face as well as the feel of him beneath me had my heart hammering against my ribcage despite my intention to stay as unaffected as humanly possible.
 
I had known from the beginning that would be a problem.

“Jesus, Jackie!”
 
He groaned some more.
 
“Stop torturing me.
 
I need you
now
.”

I tugged at the laces of my top.
 
This was about as far as I could take him.
 
Much more and he’d see through me.
 
“Whatever you say, baby.”

He watched, his nostrils flaring, as I revealed more of my breasts, dragged my fingertips over the naked flesh.
 
“Just be careful, Jackie,” he warned, then growled savagely before adding, “He’s still watching you.
 
Maybe he knows you’re after him too.”

I leaned down once more, teased his lips with my tongue.
 
“But you see, I know what he did.”

Willis laughed.
 
“Damn, woman, you are relentless.”

Whether he knew it or not, the curtain had just gone down.
 
I swung off him like a rider dismounting a horse.
 
Grabbed my bag and walked out.
 
I had accomplished my mission.

“Where’re you going?”

The desperate cry followed me into the hall but I kept walking.

“What the hell is this, Jackie?
 
Wait!”

I slammed the front door behind me.

“Elvis has left the building,” I muttered.

I threw my shit into my Jeep and drove away.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sometimes a woman had to revisit the past to get better acquainted with the present.

So here I sat at the White Horse Saloon, letting the too loud country music strum through me and occupying the same Naugahyde covered barstool I’d camped on ten years ago.
 
I tapped my tumbler and the bartender immediately refilled it while gifting me with a sexy smile that promised he could make me a happy woman if I’d only give him a chance.

He was cute, no denying that.
 
It would be easy as hell to take him up on his unspoken offer.
 
I never could resist a man that handsome.
 
I’d long ago decided that the good Lord wouldn’t have made temptation so damned attractive if He hadn’t expected us to give in every now and then.

When the bartender lingered I said, “Not tonight, darling, but—” I doubled his tip and gave him one of those looks that made a promise of its own “—I’d love a rain check.”

“You got it.”
 
He winked and headed off to fill the next empty glass.
 
I leaned forward and checked out his ass.
 
Oh, yeah, Mr. Barkeep had it going on.

I relaxed, absorbed the ambiance as well as the smell of cigarette smoke and Brute (guys who spent long days in saddles—or liked to pretend they did—seemed to prefer that brand).
 
The place hadn’t changed much.
 
Cowboy memorabilia hung on the walls and ornate statues of horses held prominent positions near the entrance and the stage.
 
Murals of herds of horses running through the desert, with a white stallion in the lead, completed the décor that may or may not (the owner still argued that he’d come up with the theme first) be a copy of a similar honky-tonk in Nashville.
 

The bar spanned the entire length of the building, clusters of tables scattered around the rest of the place, leaving room in the center for a big ass dance floor where couples were two-stepping to a classic, Dwight Yoakam’s
A Thousand Miles From Nowhere
.
 
I took a long swallow of Jack Daniels and wondered if Warren Rayburn had felt half as lonely that night as I had.
 
Or had he simply been a man on a mission?
 
It hadn’t felt like a mere mission...it felt like desperation...need.
 
If I closed my eyes I could still summon the feel and taste of his lips...

I emptied my head of the memories from that night, couldn’t get too caught up in it.

I thought about my uncle and what he could possibly be hiding.
 
Why hadn’t Rayburn mentioned my uncle’s name to his partner?
 
Did that omission mean something?
 
Was there anyway in hell we could ever hope to know what really happened ten years ago?
 
Or had the powers that be done too good a job of covering up?
 
Apparently no one, not HPD, DEA, or FBI wanted the truth about Disposable unearthed.

And if I did finally get to the truth, what would I find?
 
Would it be something I didn’t want to know?
 
Like the idea that Hank had participated in the cover up?
 
Or that my own father, as well as Hank, had allowed a man to die for breaking protocol and saving my life?

I took a deep breath and wrestled away the overpowering emotions.

And then there was that other little detail.
 
Whatever we found, when this was over Dawson would be out of here.
 
He’d come to Texas for one purpose.
 
To learn what really happened to his brother.
 
I was the way into that past...nothing more.
 
His old life waited back home, and, who knew, maybe he and the supermodel would get back together.

But isn’t that I wanted?

Dawson would be gone.
 
Life would return to normal.
 
Everyone would be happy.
 
Well, except maybe for Hobbs.

I ignored the traitorous feelings that welled in me at the idea.
 
I conquered thoughts of Dawson by inclining my head to watch the cute bartender show off Tom Cruise
Cocktail
style for his female customers.
 
There was way too little time and far too many men to waste any energy fretting over the one I couldn’t have.
 
Hadn’t I learned anything from my divorce?

“You are one busy lady, Mercer.”

If the voice hadn’t tipped me off, the cologne would have.

I met his gaze in the mirror behind the bar.
 
“Hello, Brooks.
 
What kept you?”

“I’ve been here for a while, enjoying the view,” he said before glancing down at my legs and then taking a polite sip of his beer.

I had to smile.
 
He even drank like a Fed.

“You find something amusing?”
 
That gray gaze pressed in on mine, even if I was looking at just the reflection.

“It’s an inside joke, Brooks.
 
You wouldn’t get it.”

He’d been following me.
 
No surprise there.
 
I wondered if Willis had contacted him already.
 
If so he’d gotten loose faster than I would have given him credit.
 
Since Brooks appeared to enjoy looking at my legs tonight maybe the skirt had been worth the two hundred bucks I’d charged on my credit card.

He set the longneck bottle of beer on the counter and leaned close to me.
 
“You’re getting deeper than you know.”

I barely resisted a shiver as his breath whispered across my ear.
 
Deciding to give him the same treatment, I turned my face toward his and looked square into that unyielding gaze.

“You know, Brooks, I am going to find out what really happened,” I warned, then I wet my lips just to watch him watch.

He lifted his eyes back to mine and laughed softly.
 
“You know, Mercer, I’m beginning to think you just might.”

He picked up his beer and walked away.
 
I watched him go.
 
He wore his usual expensive, tailored suit but he’d traded in his loafers for boots.
 
Maybe I was rubbing off on the Fed.

He didn’t go far.
 
Mr. Fed took a seat at a table across the dance floor where he could keep an eye on me or my legs.

My cell phone rang.
 
I wouldn’t have in a million years have heard it had my purse not been sitting on the bar.
 
(I was still carrying Shorty.
 
Don’t worry, this is Texas, everybody carries a gun and most folks don’t mind.)

“Mercer,” I said over the music.

“He’s watching you.”

Dawson.

I looked in the mirror behind the bar and zeroed in on the table Brooks occupied.
 
Still there.
 
“Yeah, I noticed.”

I should have known Dawson would still be following me around.
 
Even after I’d told him to back off.

“Do me a favor, Dawson.”

“I thought I was fired.”

“We had that deal, remember?
 
Now listen up, smartass, call Hobbs and tell him where I am and that I need an extraction.
 
He’ll know what to do.”

A beat of silence.

“Got it,” that deep, sensual voice echoed.

I studied the bartender a moment as a distraction and tried my level best not to be affected by the idea that Dawson was somewhere in the room watching me.
 
It didn’t work.

“You do me a favor,” he countered.

“What’s that?”
 
I should have known before I asked that it was a mistake.

“Stay away from Willis.”

I closed the phone and threw it back into my purse.
 
Jerk.
 
Why couldn’t he just let the whole Willis thing go?
 
The bartender strolled back over and refilled my half empty tumbler.
 
I propped my elbow on the counter and decided to lose myself observing his smooth moves until my extraction arrived.

I’d just about decided to check out firsthand how good the bartender could be with those clever hands when my way out of this joint without Brooks on my tail arrived.

Several cowboys sitting along the bar swiveled on their stools to stare, as did a number of couples on this side of the dance floor.
 
But then it wasn’t everyday a gay man waltzed into clearly designated cowboy territory.

I’m sorry, murder investigation or no and despite the fact that Brooks watched from across the room or that half a dozen cowboys had stopped guzzling booze and gawked didn’t detract from Jerry Gill’s (no relation to the country singer Vince) entrance—I had to take a moment to admire the gorgeous guy and his fabulous outfit.

Simple but crisply starched khaki trousers with a white button-down shirt open at the throat revealing a glittering gold chain and set off by a navy sweater hanging around his shoulders, sleeves tied in front.
 
The guy looked as if he’d just stepped off the pages of
Vanity Fair
.

Very chic...very cool.

I sighed.
 
What a waste.

But he definitely did not belong in here.

“Jackie,” he said, reaching for me as he neared.

I hugged him and lifted my cheek for the requite smooch.
 
“Thanks for coming, Jerry.”

He pressed a hand to his chest.
 
“Are you kidding?
 
And pass up on a chance to work with the infamous Jackie Mercer?”

I glanced around the club, noted the natives were growing a little restless.
 
“Maybe we’d better dance.”