Too Sexy for his Stetson (4 page)

Once a fresh target was in place, Brandy fired a quick round of six shots. A tight cluster of hits dead center in the target’s forehead. For someone who was hesitant to shoot at a breathing target, she sure knew how to place a bullet.

“So, what’s going on? You were really uptight during simi training.”

She shrugged and fired off a couple more perfect shots.

“You’re good with a pistol in your hands.”

Her head flipped around.

Whoops. Too late, he realized the innuendo and mentally cringed, even as heat surged to his groin. A reaction that was becoming habitual around her. Stutter–stepping for solid ground, he said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean…” He cleared his throat and tried for professionalism. “Listen, Wilcox, it’s my job to see that you get the best training possible. I’ll try not to be a prick about it.”

A comment that dredged up a roll of her eyes.

“Seriously, when we’re working an assignment, we’re equals. I’ll respect you and your judgment as long as you prove you’re worthy.”

“Really?” Her brows lifted in surprise.

He measured her reaction by the sparkle in her eyes and the grin she was unable to suppress.

“Absolutely. Your partner is your lifeline. We have to depend on each other.”

“You know, your predecessor, Hank Bresten, was one of the good ol’ boys. He barely tolerated the dreaded chore of training a woman. I never got the impression he depended on me.”

Blade found her directness refreshing. “Well, I don’t have anything against women. And the way you can shoot tells me I’ll be in good hands.”

She grinned, and Blade’s stomach fluttered. He zeroed in on the targets. “You’re good, but don’t let it go to your head. Remember, in high–stress situations, accuracy goes down. And using deadly force isn’t an easy choice.”

Bam–bam, bam–bam, bam–bam.
He got off six shots. “Two to the chest, two to the head, two to the groin.”

Her top teeth sank into her tempting bottom lip—pink, plump lip that reminded him of some kind of exotic fruit.

“I’m the best damn shot in the department. So why do I suck when it comes to decentralizing a human target?”

“You’re cautious. That’s not bad. Taking a human life is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do.”

Christiansen approached, waving a computer printout. “Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you might like to see this, Lieutenant. Sheriff Noble’s doubling the patrol units in the Elk Ridge section. The supremacist contingency started peddling their hate propaganda down at the Scuppernong Indian Reservation, trying to run them out of Idaho. Typical white supremacist crap.”

After reading the message, Blade stared across the valley at the road that snaked into the Coeur d’Alene Forest. “We’re looking for a bunch of pricks in a haystack the size of Idaho’s panhandle.”

Christiansen’s glance slid to Brandy, then back to Blade. “Enough heat around here to smoke ‘em out.” He sauntered away.

What the hell? Was the chemistry between him and the rookie that obvious? They were co–workers. Period.

Brandy glanced up, her gaze stalling on his. Like windswept fire, heat licked at Blade’s willpower. Maybe the freaking non–fraternizing rules would save him from getting burned.

CHAPTER FOUR

“W
hat’s with Christiansen?” Brandy asked.

“He and I go way back. Went to academy together. He likes to jerk my chain.” Blade made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Who the hell ever heard of violet eyes?

Gazillions of corkscrew curls struggled against a restraining elastic band, while a few stray ringlets rioted and tumbled across her cheeks, across the smooth skin at the back of her neck. Though loose–fitting, the department T–shirt struggled to camouflage a couple of her better attributes—attributes that might be the death of him yet. His thoughts resurrected an image of the Redneck Woman T–shirt, which had hid nothing.

“If I didn’t say so before, I’m sorry I led you on yesterday. You were right. I should have identified myself right away.” He massaged the back of his neck and tried to erase the lecherous thoughts that had bombarded him every time her
attributes
had brushed against him during scenario training.

“You’re forgiven since you promised not to blab about my arrest tactics.” Purple eyes held him captive, and the scent of spring wildflowers wafted over him.

No law against a man admiring.

Inappropriate, hell yeah.

He tried not to. Admire. And failed.

Nothing but a coworker.

Yeah, right.
The rifle–toting blonde who’d held him at gunpoint yesterday had a way of revving up his fantasies. “Bottom line, you got the job done.”

“Yeah, I arrested my FTO.”

He chuckled. “You arrested a suspect in the act of breaking and entering, a real situation.
Real
aces a practice scenario any day… I was impressed.”

“Bull.”

“No, Ma’am, no B.S. I learned a lot about you from that incident.”

“Uh–oh.”

“I discovered I’d be working with a gutsy recruit who shows signs of becoming a top–notch deputy.”

Her pretty mouth curved in a you’re–so–full–of–it grin. A pretty mouth that pulled his thoughts exactly where they didn’t belong. “Are you serious? You really think I’ll make a good deputy?”

“Absolutely.” He holstered his weapon. “Your academic records are exemplary. Physical strength and agility tests—top of the charts. And sharpshooting?” He gestured to the target. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

“Told you so yesterday.”

While she obviously struggled to hold back a smug smile, his heart chugged.

“Tomorrow we’ll be doing night–firing. Any good in the dark, Deputy?”
Jesus…
but, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m good at everything, Lieutenant.”

Blade cursed the unforgiving knit material of his workout sweats as his groin tightened. He angled away.
Focus.
“The drill entails everything
but
standing still and aiming at a stationary target in optimum light.”

She pushed her ear protectors in place, turned to the target, and carved out a circle of holes dead center. Blade followed suit, and placed a close cluster of shots in his target’s sternum. But not quite as tight as Brandy’s. Damn.

“Not bad.” She pulled off her ear protection.

“No, not bad. But you’re something else, Rookie. You could be sharpshooter material, you know that?”

****

Really?
Her spirits soared for a minute. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek before responding. “Have you ever had anyone wash out because they couldn’t do it, couldn’t shoot to kill?”

“It happens. Some people can’t handle the pressure.”

“You’d think it would be a no–brainer… if there’s an imminent threat—”

“If
is the sticky part. Don’t beat yourself up over leaning toward caution. I know you’ve heard this before, but don’t forget: if you take someone down, you damn well better have made the right choice. Meanwhile, your weapon will be confiscated, and IA will investigate.”

“The thought never leaves my mind.”

“But by the same token, if IA proves your actions were justified, the law’s on your side. Bottom line, you’ve signed on to serve and protect. At some point, you may have to use lethal force.”

“I’ve never wanted to be anything except a law enforcer. I’ll work it out.”

“I’m sure you will. That’s what scenario training and simulator classes are for. You’ve got five months to master Defensive Arrest Tactics.”

Brandy knew all too well how IA investigations and the judicial branch of law enforcement worked. Neither had helped her mother. Not something she was willing to share with Blade. She released the magazine from her Glock and let the subject drop.

“Did I mention my partner back in Boise got shot?” Blade holstered his weapon and started gathering the supplies. “Not killed, but the injury forced an early retirement. We were together five years. Twenty–four seven.”

“Twenty–four seven?” She quick–glanced his left hand.
Obvious much?
Her cheeks flushed. She knew he wasn’t wearing a ring, but she checked for the telltale white strip on his left ring finger. There wasn’t one. Even so, twenty–four seven. If they’d been together constantly, it must have been more than a professional relationship. “Boise doesn’t have rules against personal relationships between partners?”

“Not in this case. My partner’s retirement was part of the reason I decided to transfer to Little Chute. We came here together. Great place to spend an early retirement.”

So he was still in a relationship.
Her lungs deflated and left her chest heavy. She tried to hide her disappointment, which hit harder than it should have.

“I couldn’t leave him behind,” he said.

Him? She was sure her head–jerking double–take left her cheeks as red as cherries ready to be plucked.
Damn, why were the cutest ones always…
She concentrated on checking her Glock even though she’d already unloaded it. “Just so you know, I don’t have anything against…” She cleared her throat and looked up.

“My partner’s name is Rambo.” He chuckled. “He was the other half of my K9 unit in Boise. I’m not into guys, Brandy.”

“What?” Heat flashed up her neck and stalled on her already hot cheeks. She bunched her hand into a fist and punched his solid bicep, which resulted in a zing spiraling along the bones connecting her wrist and elbow.

“Ouch.” Rubbing his arm, he grinned. “But nice right hook, Deputy.”

“You bet I’ve got a nice right hook. And you’ve got a great knack for B.S.”

“Hey, I had no idea you were jumping to
that
conclusion.”

“Of course not.”

He shrugged so innocently she almost believed him.

“Of all the FTOs in the world I had to get stuck with you.” Stuck with a man whose electric blue eyes sent quivers up and down her spine. A man who wasn’t in a relationship or gay.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, Wilcox.

“Luck of the draw, Sweetheart.”

“That’s twice you’ve led me on, Beringer. Be forewarned. I don’t get mad. I get even.” Imagine, an FTO she could kid around with and who wasn’t dead serious all the time.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“No, you won’t.”

His grin argued the point. “Anyway, Rambo’s a Belgian Malinois.”

“So that part of your story’s true. You really did bring your dog with you?”

“You’ll meet him one of these days.”

“And he got shot? In the line of duty?”

“In pursuit of an Internet stalker, a creep who grabbed a twelve–year–old girl. When we tracked him down, the pervert pulled out a .45. Rambo charged and stopped the guy from taking me out.”

“And Rambo took a bullet.”

“Yeah… dog’s worth his weight in gold. They retired him after that. He had an illustrious career, though. Brought down enough drug runners to pay for himself a hundred–fold. He hardly even limps anymore.” Blade walked to the targets, ripped them down, and started rolling them up. “I got first dibs before they put him up for adoption.”

“K9 unit, that’s something I’ve considered. I’m sure I could depend on a dog more than any human I’ve ever met.”

“Ouch… I didn’t see that one coming.”

“I wasn’t referring to you. It’s just a fact of my life.” She held out her hand. “Mind if I keep my targets? I wallpaper my bedroom with them.”

He laughed at the wallpaper comment but pursued her trust issue like a dog after fresh meat. “That’s pretty cynical. Don’t you ever trust anyone?”

“No.”

“Hey, I’m no shrink, and I’m not extremely intuitive when it comes to other people’s problems, but…” His voice softened. “Who did a number on you, Brandy?”

She shrugged. “Who didn’t?”

That magnificent strong chin of his tightened, his eyes filling with concern. Either he was a good actor or he genuinely cared.

“You know, in this job, you have to learn to trust. To depend on your partner and vice–versa. If you can’t do that, you might as well get out right now.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t learn to trust. I know I can do it professionally.” It was just personal relationships she had a problem with. Long seconds passed while she fidgeted and forced herself to change the subject. “So, can we use Rambo to sniff out the whities?”

“Probably not.”

“Why?”

“He’s not part of the system any more, and he can be aggressive when he needs to be. The department’s not going to take responsibility for injuries caused by a dog who’s not on the payroll.”

“How about using him for search and rescue? Half the calls we get around here are requests to assist with searching for missing persons.”

“I’m working on SAR. Looks like that might be a go.”

Her stomach intruded with a growl. She glanced at her watch.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“It’s after twelve.”

“We’ve got patrol duty this afternoon. How about we change into uniform, grab some take–out, and eat lunch out by the dam?”

****

Blade parked the Tahoe at the pull–off closest to the dam. They pulled out their sandwiches and ate in the vehicle with the AC blasting.

“Ready to get to work? I hear the view of Quicksilver Falls is great from the dam.” He offered her a bag of Spicy Tai chips, wadded up the wrapper from his sub sandwich, and stuffed it into the trash bag hooked over the light bar lever between the two front seats.

Brandy polished off the last of her sandwich and nodded. “You’ve never seen it? It’s spectacular. The water stampedes like wild horses over a series of jagged rocky cliffs and then falls down a flat chute and ends up in a rock holler, foaming like a giant bubble bath.”

“You should work for the state tourism board.”

She grinned.

His uptight rookie had disappeared. She tipped the bag of chips and emptied the contents into her mouth. Luscious mouth that it was.

“Ummm… I love these things.” Mid–swallow, she halted. “Sorry, did you want any more?”

Shaking his head, he simply took pleasure in watching her enjoy every last crumb.

After lunch, they climbed out of the SUV and carefully scoped the surroundings before heading for the path to the overlook. Today, they were prepared for Neo Nazi extremists, armed and geared to the hilt, wearing lightweight bulletproof vests and belts weighted down with cuffs, Glocks, spare ammo, radios—you name it.