Guts & Glory: Hunter (In the Shadows Security Book 3)

by Jeanne St. James

Her eyes narrowed and they stared at each other for a few seconds before her expression got hard and she began to push the mower back and forth in rows along the driveway and in front of the porch. The lot was tiny and mowing it shouldn’t take long.

  Though Hunter knew he was made, he couldn’t just drive away like he should.

  No. Because fool that he was, he and his dick were enjoying the scenery way too much.

  Those bright white shorts that clung perfectly to her generous ass, hips and thighs, made her skin tone appear a bit darker than his and he was half Puerto Rican. Maybe she just liked to worship the sun. Suddenly he was very jealous of the sun.

  Of suntan lotion. And that bikini top.

  She disappeared around back for about five minutes, then came around the corner of the detached garage, the mower now quiet.

  She was done. Even though it hadn’t taken long to mow what little lawn there was, her skin glistened with perspiration.

  Maybe she’d get out the hose next to cool off.

  With a grin, Hunter shifted in his driver’s seat at that imagery.

  He was watching her push the mower back into the dark interior of the garage when his cell phone pinged.

  Grabbing it out of the console, he hit the power button to read the message from Diesel.

  However, as he was reading, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. And that something was moving fast.

  His spine snapped straight as he began to turn his head, but he was too late.

  Whatever she was carrying shattered his driver’s side window.

  Before he could open his door, he realized it might not be smart to do so since she was swinging a wooden bat like a Major League baller and now taking it to his windshield and hood.

  “What the fuck!” he shouted.

  She, of course, didn’t hear him because she was doing some yelling of her own. She was screaming at the top of her lungs as the end of her bat made dents in his hood.

  “Fuck!” He would just have to take a risk and get the fuck out of his Rover since she was now smashing out his headlights, her hair partially falling out of her top knot and strands of it were flying everywhere, reminding him of Medusa.

  Her eyes were wide and wild, and she still screamed nothing that made any fucking sense.

  This woman was bat-shit crazy.

  Literally. Bat. Shit. Crazy.

  But then most hot ones were. “Great in bed, crazy in the head,” was a saying that he’d heard all too often in the Army and, fuck him, he found that to be true.

  Especially right now.

  He kicked open his door and unfolded himself out, making sure to keep his eyes on her. She was now on the other side of his Rover, decorating his right front fender.

  Fuck me.

  But as soon as he moved, she hesitated with her arms raised, double-fisting and white-knuckling the bat as her eyes came to him.

  Dark eyes like her hair. A dark, dark brown surrounded by very thick, black eyelashes. The strands of hair that had escaped were long, like he suspected. They swept over her chest, which was heaving.

  Somebody was pissed.

  As he looked at the damage to his vehicle, it was starting to be him.

  No, not starting. He was already there.

  She was the kind of woman who was difficult to deal with because they acted first, asked questions later.

  He had a couple of those in his past. But that’s why they had remained in his past. Because who the fuck wanted to walk in the door only to duck flying objects not even knowing why.

  No one that he knew of.

  He hadn’t been fond of ambushes during his tours in the Army, and he definitely wasn’t fond of them from pussy who should be greeting him with a kiss, a beer and a fucking blow job.

  She blinked. He blinked.

  And then it was on.

  With a warrior yell, she came at him, bat raised over her head and her tits bouncing dangerously in the scraps of fabric that could barely contain them.

  Bat, Hunter, not tits. Eyes on what will kill you. The rest is just attached to the one that will kill you.

  He caught the widening of her eyes as he moved forward instead of retreating like she expected him to do. Because the normal thought process would be get the fuck out of range of a long, heavy item made of wood with a crazy woman swinging it.

  But then, he was tired of this already. That meant he was going to end it.

  Her step stuttered as he met her halfway and snagged the bat with one hand as she swung it down and clotheslined her with his other arm.

  He heard a gurgle and watched her collapse on the pavement at his feet, hands to her throat.

  He whipped the bat across the street with all his fury and it thumped unsatisfactorily onto the grass of her yard.

  Before she could get up, he dropped to his knee and planted it on her chest to pin her down. The only problem was, her legs were flailing. She was trying to kick him, knee him, scratch him, all the while screaming again. But this time it included words. “Who are you? What the fuck are you doing here? What do you want with me?”

  He snagged both of her wrists and held onto them tightly. She jerked and struggled, but he was a lot stronger than her.

  Then he shifted his weight until he straddled her thighs so she couldn’t kick him. But even so, she did her best to try to buck him off.

  Only her best wasn’t good enough.

  Thank fuck.

  Because if she was any stronger than she was, he’d have two eyes scratched out, his jugular ripped out by her teeth and his nuts drop-kicked into the cavity of his body.

  He kind of liked all his body parts where they were.

  Her teeth were bared, and she was practically snapping at him like an annoyed leopard seal.

  “Calm the fuck down.”

  “Fuck you!” she screamed, her face flushed.

  Yep, her eyes were dark brown, almost black. And in her fight, her bikini top had shifted enough that he noticed she didn’t have tan lines. Which meant she either sunbathed topless or that was her natural skin tone.

  He was guessing with her hair and eye color, and, her name—if she was Sucely Hernandez—that she was of some sort of Hispanic descent.

  Her temper was another good indicator. While Latinas could be feisty, they could also be dangerous if you simply looked at them the wrong way.

  And stupid him had been ogling her as she mowed the fucking grass.

  His mistake.

  “You done?” he asked as he felt her weaken. She was running out of steam and probably going to crash after that burst of adrenaline.

  “I want to know who you are!”

  “All you had to do was ask instead of fucking up my SUV.”

  “Self-defense.”

  He raised his brows. “Of what?”

  “Of whatever you’re here to do to me.”

  “I’m not here to do anything to you.”

  “Let me up!”

  “Not until you calm the fuck down.” His head tilted as the sound of sirens infiltrated his brain. He gritted his teeth. Someone had called the fucking cops.

  Great.

  One black and white cruiser came to a screeching halt, diagonally blocking the street in front of the Rover. While another came from the opposite direction and did the same behind. He was now boxed in.

  The driver’s doors both opened and the cop to his right, who was taking cover behind his door, had a semi-automatic pointed straight at him. The uniformed officer started barking commands.

  He glanced down at the woman trapped beneath him. “Now look what you’ve done.”

  She sneered and spat at him, luckily missing. “Good, asshole. You’re going to jail.”

  “Doubt that,” he grumbled. “And if you spit at me again, you’ll regret it.”

  The cop barked out more commands, which they tended to do as a habit, and Hunter sighed. Releasing her wrists, he lifted his hands in the air and pushed himself to his feet. As soon as he did t
hat, the woman scrambled to hers and rushed him.

  He heard “Oh, shit,” in stereo from both cops, at the same time he heard it in his own head. They holstered their weapons quickly and rushed toward him, too.

  He just had enough time to protect his balls as her knee came up and smashed into his fingers. He heard a loud groan, also in stereo from both cops.

  Before he could react, one of them had her hooked around the waist and was dragging her away, though she wasn’t going willingly. No surprise there.

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he heard the tall, dark-haired cop ask.

  He glanced at the other one who now stood in front of him, hands planted on his duty belt, shaking his head. Actually, both cops kind of looked alike.

  “She do that damage?” the officer with the name tag BRYSON asked him.

  “I sure as fuck didn’t do it.”

  The cop’s lips almost twitched as he pulled a worn notepad out of his back pocket and a pen from the front shirt pocket of his uniform. He clicked the pen and then tilted his head as he studied Hunter with intense blue eyes.

  Then he dropped that gaze. Which was a farce, cause that cop had a way of watching Hunter without appearing to do so. Hunter knew that game. He also knew how to play it.

  With pen to paper, Bryson asked, “Name?”

  “Hunter.”

  “Hunter what?”

  “Just Hunter.”

  The cop glanced up with a frown. “ID.”

  Hunter pulled his wallet from his back pocket, flipped it open and snagged his license, holding it out to the cop between his index and middle fingers. The officer seized his ID and studied it. “Funny how the name Hunter isn’t on your license anywhere,” he grumbled as he scribbled down the info.

  Hunter’s gaze slid toward the woman’s driveway, where the other officer was questioning her. He looked irritated and she looked equally annoyed with her hands on her hips, throwing attitude. Hunter also noticed that the man had remarkable self-control because he was actually looking at her face as they talked and no lower. Yep, willpower of steel because it was hard to miss those tits in those two turquoise triangles. Hunter brought his attention back to the man before him, who was now tapping the end of his pen on the notepad with impatience.

  “Name I earned in the Army.”

  The officer stared at him for a moment before his body visibly relaxed, and he muttered, “Marines.”

  Hunter guessed they were now comparing dick sizes. He lifted a brow. “Special forces?”

  “No. You?”

  “Green Beret.”

  “Honorable discharge?”

  That shouldn’t matter but the man was a cop, maybe he thought he could trust a fellow veteran who was honorably discharged over one who wasn’t. “Depends what you consider honorable. The Army and I had two different definitions.”

  The cop relaxed even more. “Had that problem myself.”

  Interesting. “So now that we’re best buds, need to be a bit transparent here so there are no misunderstandings.”

  Bryson’s spine straightened and he dropped the notepad to his side and jerked his chin up.

  Hunter took that as a “go.” “Got a Sig .40 in a holster. Small of my back.”

  The cop’s eyes narrowed as he assessed Hunter’s person as if he had X-ray eyes. “Got a permit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anything else since you’re being transparent?”

  “Tactical knife. Right calf.”

  “Size?”

  “Four.”

  “You planning on pulling it?”

  “Not if I don’t have a reason to.”

  Bryson pursed his lips and nodded again. “Why are you here?”

  “Looking for someone.”

  Every muscle in that cop’s body tensed once again and his gaze became laser focused. “Who?”

  “A biker by the name of Brandon Bussard. Goes by Taz.”

  Bryson’s nostrils flared. Only slightly, but Hunter caught it. “Tasmanian Devil.”

  Hunter managed to hide his surprise, but barely. “Yeah.”

  His eyes slid back to the woman speaking with the other officer when Bryson said, “She’s got a protection order against Mr. Bussard.”

  So she was who he was looking for. “She Sucely Hernandez?”

  Bryson contemplated the question for longer than Hunter liked. “Was. Little advice, don’t call her that. He knew her by that name, so she had it changed. She’s buried that name and doesn’t like when it resurfaces.”

  No wonder why it had been hard to find her. He had been searching for a woman with a different name. Smart on her part. A pain in the ass on his. “He been around?”

  “We haven’t run into him, but he’s bad news.”

  “No shit.”

  “Why are you looking for him? You a bounty hunter?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Licensed?”

  “Just doing a favor for a friend. One of your fellow Marines.” He figured he’d throw that in to make the cop a little more friendly and agreeable. Sometimes shit like that worked, sometimes it didn’t.

  In this case, it did.

  “He’s got a warrant. Hasn’t met with his parole officer since his release.”

  Hunter wasn’t going to admit he already knew that. “Maybe he’s doing time somewhere other than PA,” Hunter suggested, wondering how much these local cops knew. Though, Hunter knew no one by Taz’s real name was incarcerated.

  “Could be.” Bryson scratched his chin. “So, again, why are you here since Bussard isn’t?”

  “She’s one of his victims.”

  “Of?”

  “You know what of. You know she’s got a PFA. You guys probably have his mugshot hanging up in your patrol room. You know her real name. I’m not stupid and neither are you,” he finished.

  “Okay then, why are you visiting one of his victims?”

  “I’m visiting all of them.”

  “Pattern and path,” came the murmur.

  Hunter didn’t answer.

  Bryson tilted his head. “Think she’s going to talk to you after what happened?”

  “She’s not going to have a choice.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You haven’t asked me the most important question yet. Whether I’m going to press charges against her for the destruction of my property.”

  Something behind the cop’s eyes changed. “I’m going to assume no, as long as she pays restitution. And making amends might not be in the form of money.”

  “Said you weren’t stupid, and I was right.”

  Bryson’s gaze slid over Hunter’s Range Rover. “That’s a lot of restitution.”

  “Sure is.”

  “She might not be happy about that.”

  “Better than handcuffs and a record.” Unless those handcuffs were hooked to his headboard.

  “Got that right. She can’t afford to fight a charge.”

  “Then she can’t afford to fix my SUV.”

  Bryson snorted. “Hell, I can’t afford to fix your SUV.” He sobered. “She’ll have to agree with that kind of restitution.”

  “She doesn’t seem the agreeable type.”

  “She’s got a temper,” Bryson murmured.

  “She sting you with it?” Did this cop have something for Hernandez?

  “Nope, got my own woman at home. She helps keep me on an even keel.”

  “Best kind to have.”

  Bryson’s eyes slid to the dark-haired woman, who’d most likely make a man’s psyche choppy as fuck. “Damn straight.” The cop held out his hand and Hunter took it, giving it a firm shake. “Matt Bryson.” He lifted his chin to the other officer. “Adam Bryson.”

  “Brothers?”

  “Cousins. He’s also a jarhead.”

  “Runs in the family?”

  Bryson snorted. “You have no fucking idea. Grandfather, father, my other two older brothers. All did their time in the Marines, then Manning Grove PD.
”

  “Served your country, then your community.”

  “It’s in our blood.”

  “Either deeply dedicated or fucking foolish.”

  “A little of both.”

  Hunter grinned. He liked this cop. And he couldn’t say that about many who’d crossed his path. This one wasn’t easily offended.

  “How long will you be in town?” Matt Bryson asked.

  “Guess as long as I need to be until I can get her to cooperate and at least fix the headlights on my Rover. Don’t want a country bumpkin cop giving me a citation for them.” Finding replacement headlights in this area for a Range Rover probably wasn’t going to be easy.

  Again, Bryson didn’t take offense to the tease. “Good fucking luck with both of those.”

  Hunter was going to need it.

  Chapter Four

  “What’s going on, Frankie?”

  “He was watching me.”

  Officer Adam Bryson jerked up his dark brows. “Maybe because you’re wearing a bikini top while you’re mowing the lawn. I told you before, you’re going to give Mr. Duffy a heart attack.”

  “It shouldn’t matter what I wear.”

  “And while that’s true, you know some men are going to be tempted to look at you.” He lifted his hand. “Look, I’m gay and I think you look smoking hot dressed like that. You’ve got the body to pull it off.”

  One corner of Frankie’s lips turned up. “Thanks, Adam.” Her smile fell flat as she contemplated the subject of their conversation. “But I have no idea who he is. He’s not from around here.”

  “And Matt’ll find out why he’s here. But you need to keep your temper in check. That’s an expensive vehicle you smashed up. I’d hate to have to cuff you if he wants to press charges.”

  “He was spying on me.”

  “It’s not a crime to look, but it is to take a bat to a ninety-thousand-dollar Range Rover.”

  The blood rushed from Frankie’s face. “What?” she whispered, panic bubbling up at that cost. “I was just protecting myself.”

  “From?”

  “From whatever he’s here for. He looks sketchy.”

  Adam’s eyes slid to the man that Matt had pulled to the side and back to Frankie. “Him watching you mow the lawn could be a little suspect, but he doesn’t look sketchy. If Matt was catching those vibes, I’d be able to tell. Matt, of all people, is looking at ease right now.”