Too Sexy for his Stetson (23 page)

“There are a couple of holes in your story.”

“It’s my story, so I get to spin it any way I want.” To be fair, she knew every male on the planet wasn’t like Jeremy. But the other main man in her younger years, Skip, had betrayed her mother, and then he’d testified against her and cinched the state’s case against her.

Blade’s different.

And she was playing with emotional fire. Getting too close. She wanted to trust him, but trust could lead to surrendering her heart, which was ridiculous because that’s not what either of them wanted. Blade had made it perfectly clear from the beginning. He wasn’t interested in a relationship.

Just like she wasn’t. Interested. In a relationship.

Tonight had simply been sex, and if they had a brain between them, they had better make sure it was a one–night stand.

Nothing more than sex.

Damn good sex.

Off–limits sex with her training officer.

Congratulations, Ace Rookie of the Century. How many more department rules do you intend to break?

In spite of her stupidity for fraternizing with Blade, she couldn’t deny there was a connection between them, almost as if they were kindred souls.

“You’re zoning out again, darlin’.”

“I was just thinking that we’re a lot alike in some ways.”

He chuckled and coddled her breast. “I like the ways we’re not alike.”

“Ummm…” She cradled her hand round his fingers, savoring his touch. “We’re both products of lost innocence. You didn’t exactly have a normal childhood either.” He still suffered from hang–ups his absent father had caused. Her heart went out to him. “Tell me about your dad.”

Same as the last time she’d brought up the subject, he tensed. He forced a laugh, his tension palpable, his heartbeat slamming like a tom–tom against her back. She should have known she was treading treacherous water.

“Darlin’, you sure know how to put a damper on a party.”

“I thought we were… um… sharing.”

No response.

“I’m sure you’re nothing like him.”

“How would you know if I’m like him or not?”

She twisted to face him. “Because you said he was pretty much a bastard, and you’re pretty much not.”

“You think you know me. You don’t.”

“Blade, you’ll never convince me the heart beating in your chest belongs to anyone other than the man I’ve come to know. A man of integrity, a dedicated officer. It shows in everything you do. You’d never do anything—”

“You don’t know—Brandy.”

“What? You think you’re suddenly going to change? Turn into a monster?”

“A demon’s blood runs through my veins.”

“Your veins are filled with hero’s blood. You’re a hero because you choose to be. Thank God your mother got you away from your father’s influence at a young age. And don’t forget, half of you comes from your mother.”

Even as he gently moved her away, an iron gate fell between them.

“I don’t even know who I am, so how can you?” His voice clogged.

“I know you’re kind–hearted enough to force down a plate of awful food to keep from hurting my feelings. I know you’re fair and don’t make snap judgments. And that you care about people strongly enough to put your life on the line for your community.”

He swallowed. “The water’s getting cool. Come on, let’s get out.” He grabbed towels, tossed her one, and stepped over the tiled edge onto the floor. “Maybe I’m not the guy you think I am. In here.” He fisted a hand to his chest then busied himself scrubbing water off his body like it was the plague.

Yes, you are. You’re exactly who I think you are.

After untold minutes of silence, he straightened and broke the bomb–detonating intensity of the moment. “And how did this conversation get so far off track?”

“Beats me.” She smiled because she thought someone should.

For a person who appeared to be comfortable in his own skin, Blade sure wasn’t. And the man hidden beneath the façade tugged at Brandy’s heart.

“Sorry.” The last thing she had intended was to spoil the magic of this once–in–a–lifetime evening. But euphoria couldn’t last forever, and what she really longed for didn’t exist.

They’d had sex. A physical, biological release.

Nothing more.

Her heart squeezed.

It was time to make that all–important clean break before their indiscretions cost one or both of them their job. God, she couldn’t lose her job, and even worse, she’d never forgive herself if she caused Blade to lose his.

She wrapped the towel around her chest and backed toward the door. “Thanks, Blade. This evening was… great.”
Don’t worry. I’m not looking for more than a one–night fling.
“No strings.” She stared into his face, the emotional distance between them expanding so rapidly it could have caused a sonic boom.

Swallowing against the softball–sized lump in her throat, she formed a smile, her heart pounding so hard against her ribs it seemed the bones would shatter. No need to reiterate, but the silence was deafening, so she rambled on, “As great as this was, we both know it can’t happen again.”
Right?

“Right.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

F
or a second, Blade was shell shocked as Brandy stared him down, her words cutting him to the quick.
We both know this can’t happen again.

He knew she was right, and they were supposedly intelligent people. So the intelligent answer was right. But anguish swamped every cell in his body.

Blade, you’ll never convince me the heart beating in your chest belongs to anyone other than a man I’ve come to know. A man of integrity, a dedicated officer. It shows in everything you do.
Could she possibly be right? How could he let a woman who believed in him so unconditionally get away? A woman like her could convince a man he deserved her.

Jesus.
She stood with her back to the door, and Blade had to turn away so he wouldn’t grab her and take her again, and then beg her to stay in his arms, in his house, in his life forever.

What the hell was wrong with him? He had to get his head screwed on right. He was the training officer. He was supposed to be setting the example. How had he let a woman spin him on his ass like this?

But Brandy wasn’t just any woman.

And she wasn’t looking for anything more than a one–night stand. Well, neither was he.

She was right. This could
never
happen again.

But somehow she had gotten to him. She’d worked her way past his defenses like an addictive drug, and he wanted more. So how did he keep her out of his every conscious thought? Out of his… heart? With one freaking mistake, he’d allowed an emotion he refused to possess consume him.

He wasn’t just falling for Brandy, he’d gone over the cliff. And landed on a street called Dead End. The professional repercussions paled in comparison to the disaster that would result from hoping for the brass ring. Permanency. A family. Love. Even if he could ignore the damn rules, he could never get close to her the way he wanted. Never. Because a monster’s blood ran through his veins.

Or could he?

You’re your own man, Blade, not the man who fathered you.

The damn fool woman believed in him, too much. Next thing she’d have him believing that those elusive dreams could materialize for him.

Suddenly, Rambo growled. Fiercely. The sound of danger kicked Blade in the head. That was not an indication of his dog’s jealousy.

Blade lunged for his jeans and hop–stepped into them.

“Brandy, get dressed.” He nearly choked on the harshness of his command. “Leave the lights out, and stay away from the windows.” He retrieved his Glock from the floor and stuffed it into his waistband.

She nodded and ran toward the spare bedroom.

Downstairs, Blade hand–signaled Rambo, holding his left arm to the side parallel to the floor then moved it forward and touched his right shoulder.
Come.
He slid his bare feet into the cowboy boots waiting next to the door and curved his hand around the Glock’s grip, setting his index finger along the barrel.

He carefully, quietly, opened the door and slipped outside, Rambo beside him. Hovering next to the door in the shadows, he willed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Silhouetted scrub trees teased his imagination. Shadow ghosts played tricks with his eyes. He scanned the perimeter of the property left to right, then back again. Rambo stood at silent alert.

The stillness caused the hair at the back of Blade’s neck to stand at attention. He circled the house and crept to the electric meter. The toe of his boot connected with something hard. He kneeled down. It was a pair of heavy–duty wire cutters. His heart thumped. He didn’t touch them. He’d wait until he could bag them without disturbing fingerprints.

His skin crawled when he thought about an intruder snooping, maybe watching Brandy and him. Hiding in the veil of night, he eased forward, the rasping of his jeans the only sound as he continued to make rounds. A car engine revved and splintered the quiet, the sound coming from the east, beyond the hill, maybe beyond the final curve of his rutted gravel excuse for a drive.

The blast of a rifle resounded.

More shots.

Blade stiffened but didn’t move for a second.

All the rounds came from out near the road.

The muscles in his arms bunched. His finger, still in safety position, twitched alongside the barrel of his pistol. He took off, running full tilt around the house, angling toward the Jeep, Rambo beside him.

Keys. Sprinting inside, he grabbed the key ring from the kitchen counter and yelled up the stairs to Brandy, “Stay here and call in a Code 2. Give dispatch my address. I’m going to check out those shots.” He didn’t wait for her to answer.

He scrambled back outside. Before he reached the Jeep, he caught sight of a barely discernible silhouette jogging down the drive toward the house. Frozen in place, Rambo beside him, Blade waited for the single cloud that shrouded the moon to drift past. He strained to see. His finger slid over the trigger.

The black–gray puff in the sky scuttled away and revealed a fat crescent moon, but a canopy of aspen shadowed the midsection of the drive. Filtered light poked through the pattern of black lace and glinted off what had to be the barrel of a rifle in the intruder’s hands.

His finger settled more firmly over the trigger.

“Blade, it’s me.”

His blood froze, turning to sludge at the sight of Brandy’s golden curls haloed by moonbeams when she stepped from the shadows. He stifled a groan. Relaxed his trigger finger.

“Hope you don’t mind. I used your rifle. Tried to hit the guy’s tires or the gas tank.” She strode closer. “But his lights were off, and there was cloud cover—”

“Always identify yourself when you approach another officer,” he growled.

“I just did.”

“God, not soon enough!” His hands shook. He could have killed her!

She stopped short and lifted her head to meet his gaze, then nodded and shouldered past him. “Won’t happen again, FTO.” She was almost to the door when he caught up with her and latched onto her upper arm. She faced him, looking him square on.

He realized if it had been anyone other than Brandy, he wouldn’t have been as harsh in his reprimand, wouldn’t have felt the fist of fear in his stomach quite as fiercely as when he’d envisioned himself almost shooting her.

Brandy
had
called out to him, and he hadn’t shot.

But what if he had reacted too quickly? He was far from perfect. In an effort to temper his anxiety, he said, “I understand. You were trying to back me up, Deputy.” His attempt to make amends came out lamely. Damn it. He cared too much. He released his grasp on her arm, and she disappeared inside.

Ten minutes later, when he brought Rambo inside, he found Brandy at the kitchen sink rinsing dishes. Holding the wire cutters by the pointed end with a gloved hand, Blade scrounged for a plastic bag.

Brandy faced him. “Wire cutters? Do you think it could have been the logger guy coming to finish us off?”

“It very well could have been. Did you catch the make or model of the car?”

“No, it was too dark.”

He heaved a breath and ran his hand across the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Brandy. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know.” The woman to whom he’d made love a short time ago wiped her hands on the legs of the jeans she’d changed into. Jeans that clung to her curves like the skin on a grape. A grape he already wanted to peel again.

Focus, Lieutenant.

“Blade, since Morrisey’s now our number one suspect in the Secada homicide, and he attacked me, doesn’t it stand to reason he could have been driving the logging truck? And we know he was one of the guards at the encampment. And Skip visited the encampment. Isn’t that the perfect piece of the puzzle—”

“I met with Skip today. He
is
working an undercover entrapment operation.”
Thank God.

“He is?”

“He wants to nail these guys as much as we do, Brandy. He’d never try to kill me. I’m sure he didn’t have anything to do with the logging truck incident.”

“He’s working undercover?” she repeated.

“Yes, he’s on our side.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Think about how much you believe in your mother. That’s how much I believe in Skip.”

****

Brandy awoke to the smell of bacon and fresh brewed coffee. And aching ribs.

Last night, she’d been suddenly unable to speak when Blade had told her about Skip Coogan.
Skip is working an undercover op.
She’d felt like she’d been dropped into a vat of ice water. Her world had turned upside down. She would have bet all she was worth that Coogan was involved with the NNFF.

He’d never try to kill me.
Blade’s words.

Blade believed in Skip Coogan.

There was no evidence connecting Coogan to Secada’s murder.

What if everything she’d ever assumed about the Marilyn Abbot murder was wrong? Like a deflating balloon, every ounce of drive slowly leaked out of her. Where did she go from here?