by Avery Flynn
Drew watched for a few beats before wrapping an arm around her waist and swaying to the music with her as they both sang along. Heat pooled between her legs as her breasts brushed against his chest, his fingers drifted lower on her ass, and that magic something between them took ahold of both of them. Before she knew it, he'd maneuvered them so that her back was against the wall in the one blind corner of the bar by the storage door. No one could see them here.
"I'm glad," he said, his lust-hooded gaze dropping to her mouth. He took another small step forward and pulled her hard against him, his hand now cupping her ass completely
Her pulse sped up and her panties all but went up in flames. "About what?"
A new song came on the jukebox. This one was about the boy who'd gotten away. She refused to read too much into that and instead gave in to the way Drew made her feel when he wasn't breaking her heart.
"You and Gray. I'd hate to have to pound his face in." With one of his legs planted firmly between hers so she couldn't help but grind against his thigh, he moved to the song's slow but relentless beat.
"Are you jealous?" she asked, going for light, but ending up more breathy than anything else.
She was about to tease him with another snarky remark but the dark, brooding look in his eyes made her breath catch. This wasn't a dance anymore. It wasn't a teasing encounter. This was more. What exactly that was she had no frickin' clue but it couldn't be worse than last time he'd made her feel like this. She wouldn't let it. A man could only break her heart so many times before she learned her lesson.
"A little," he admitted grudgingly.
She cocked a brow and glanced up at him—well, as up as she could considering a ray of sunlight would have a hard time getting between them at the moment.
"Okay," he said, his voice rough. "A lot."
His mouth crashed down on hers, hard and demanding. That little admission had cost him and now he wanted to be paid back for it. That was okay. She liked the way he expected his debts to be paid. God, she was desperate for him to touch her but his hands stayed locked on her ass as he rocked her against his thigh. Opening under the weight of his kiss, she relished the way his tongue swept inside, taking her higher. This. This is what she ached for. Not just the touch. But the man. Drew. It was almost too much to process. Heat and desire and need built up like an electric ball in her core, throbbing and growing with every move. Then, he glided his lips down the sensitive column of her throat.
"Jesus, Drew," she panted, half surprised she could even form words. "You're killing me."
"What's wrong, Sweets." He nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Do you need some relief?"
"Yes." The sooner she could get him somewhere private and rip his clothes off, the better. "Let's get out of here."
"Don't worry," he said, one hand slipping between them and going straight to the button of her jeans. "I'll give you what you want, but it has to be here."
That's not good.
He popped the button open.
She stilled—her body so tuned into him that she almost missed the sound of people and beer bottles clinking in the main bar area.
"Someone could come in," she said, logic fighting through the haze of lust making her entire body buzz with anticipation.
"Yep, it's after work." He nodded and tugged down her zipper. "The town is filtering in so you'd better hurry because we're not moving away from this wall until you come."
Not here. She tried to form the words, but nothing came out. He slid his fingers underneath the elastic waist of her lace panties and brushed against the swollen tip of her clit. Oh. My. God. Forget everything else. Yes.
"Oh, you are so soft and wet for me," he said, moving his fingers in a tight circle around her sensitive nub, the friction of her jeans against her plump, slick folds only intensifying the sensation. "Does this mean I should dance with you more often or are you always like this for me?"
She arched into his hand, her answer more of a breathy moan than anything else, "Always."
"Fuck. I love that."
His fingers moved faster as the heel of his palm pressed against the spot right above her pelvic bone, intensifying every sensation zinging through her. Her body tightened as she climbed higher and higher toward that moment of bliss.
Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut as the pressure mounted. "I'm so close."
"That's good, Sweets," he whispered in her ear. "The pool league meets here every Wednesday night. They'll be here any minute." His fingers went into overdrive against her clit. "Oh hell, Sweets, you just got more wet. You like the idea of maybe getting caught, don't you? Well, you're gonna get caught if you don't come all over my fingers right now."
His touch combined with the threat of discovery sent her over the edge and she came hard, biting her bottom lip to keep from calling out. Chest heaving, she tried not to melt into a puddle on the floor of The Grange's pool room. She didn't even have the wherewithal to get annoyed at Drew's knowing chuckle as he zipped and buttoned her pants for her. Cracking her eyes open, she watched as he sucked her juices off his fingers.
"Damn, you're sweet," he said with a wink.
Those three words were all it took to get her from zero to one hundred in a heartbeat. "Let's get out of here."
Nodding at the pool league regulars filtering in, they made it out of The Grange and into Drew's truck in record time. They were almost to his house when his phone rang.
"Yeah?" He listened for a minute, the vein in his temple pulsing faster and faster with each passing second. "I'll take care of it." Finally, he ended the call and turned into his driveway. "I have to go take care of something. Curtis has been tailing us from the bar. I'll let him know to stay here with you. Don't open the door to anyone but him or me and don't you dare go anywhere until I get back."
"Why," she asked, reaching across the bench seat to run her hands up the inside of his thigh and over the hard outline of his cock. "Would you spank me?"
He clamped his hand over hers and curled her fingers around as much of his dick as the position allowed. "Sweets, I'm gonna do that anyway."
Forget her panties. Her jeans were soaked now too. "I thought you were off duty."
"The mayor's war against his neighbor's cat is a different story," he said, shaking his hand.
"That is so Catfish Creek."
"No kidding."
With a final squeeze of his cock and a hot kiss that curled her toes, Drew walked her inside the house, did a quick walk through to make sure no one was there, insisted she lock the door behind him, and then headed out to fight the cat scoundrels of Catfish Creek. Watching him drive away gave her a sense of deja vu of that summer, but this time was different. This time he wasn't leaving for Fort Worth without even a goodbye. This time he was coming back, which meant more to her than she wanted to admit to herself.
7
Drew
The scene at the mayor's house wasn't chaos, but it was pretty damn close. The local librarian, Maisy Aucoin, was in the middle of Beauford Lynch's front yard armed with a cast iron frying pan and a cat that looked like it had gone through at least eight of its nine lives in the past hour. The distinct stench of burnt fur carried on the early evening air. Beauford and his wife, Betty Sue, stood on their wraparound porch each armed with matching shotguns with Mr. Right and Mrs. Always Right etched onto the barrels in decorative script.
It was almost eight o'clock before Drew and two deputies got everyone back on their own property and unarmed. Another half hour and he had Maisy Aucoin's statement and was sitting in the most uncomfortable chair ever in the Lynch's front room trying not to lose his temper at the mayor, who was one windstorm away from having his brain's screen door knocked loose.
Drew pinched the bridge of his nose, let out a slow breath, and tried again. "Beauford, you lobbed a firecracker at Miss Maisy's cat—and it was a cherry bomb. Beyond being illegal, it was very dangerous." Not to mention idiotic, but mentioning that part w
asn't going to make anyone's life any better.
Beauford's fingers played a nervous drum solo on the arm of the couch he was sitting on. "It just slipped out of my hand."
Of all the bullshit answers, that one was as lame as it was a bald-face lie. A lit illegal firework just happened to slip out of the old man's hand and fly thirty feet across his backyard in the general direction of the fleeing tabby cat. The only thing that had saved the fur ball was the fact that at seventy-six, Beauford's aim sucked and he'd missed his mortal enemy by at least three feet.
"This is Texas," the mayor blustered. "A man's allowed to protect himself and his property."
From a ten pound cat?
Shaking his head, Drew took out the citation booklet he'd grabbed from his truck's glove box and flipped it open. "Cherry bombs are illegal under federal law."
"Well, whoop-de-friggin-do," the mayor said, his tone more than a might snarly.
Drew glanced up. The stubborn old goat was sitting with his chin cocked and his arms crossed with the certainty of privilege wrapped around him like a blanket. Any other day and Drew would have just written the ticket, done his duty, and made sure everything looked good just like he'd been taught all his life. However, tonight, he found that he didn't give a shit about how things looked. Let the town of Catfish Creek chatter, he was done taking shit from this man.
"Sir." Drew stood, closing his citation booklet. "I'm gonna have to take you in."
"On what charges?" Betty Sue asked, already reaching for her phone—no doubt to call their attorney.
"Possession of illegal fireworks and cruelty to animals for a start." Too bad general dumbassery and being a pain in the ass were constitutionally protected.
Beauford shot off the couch, faster than his arthritic knees probably appreciated. "You can't do that, I'm the mayor!"
There it was, the same veiled threat he'd heard a million times since he'd become sheriff. Friday couldn't come soon enough. He was sick and tired of the Groundhog Day his life had become.
He shrugged and grabbed the handcuffs hooked to his belt, not that he would use them on an old man but he couldn't wait to see Beauford's reaction. "What are you gonna do, have my job?"
"I know about Fort Worth, boy. Put those things on me and you can kiss that job goodbye right now."
Okay, now he was gonna put the bracelets on a seventy-six-year-old man. It might not be his proudest moment, but was going to be one he'd remember fondly for the rest of his life.
He let the joy of that fill his face. "Guess that means I'll just have to shake things up a bit then."
Maybe he'd even look into getting a winter coat and a pair of snow boots.
Leah
Leah had just settled in on the couch to binge watch some trashy reality TV when someone knocked on the door. That was Catfish Creek, mid-sized city with a small town feel. It was probably a recently divorced neighbor with a casserole for the single sheriff or a group from a local church here to save his soul—either way, they were bound to be disappointed when he failed to answer.
Remembering the promise she made to Drew, she tiptoed up to the door and peered through the peephole. Curtis stood on the front porch in his now slightly wrinkled suit. His sunglasses were cockeyed and, judging by the tension in his jaw, he wasn't too happy about it.
"You know when you do that, the peephole goes dark," Curtis said. "Let me in."
Busted.
She cracked open the door, keeping one foot planted behind it. "What's up?"
"Nothing, just need to do a house check." He took a step forward, jerking to an awkward stop and narrowing his eyes at her when she didn't open the door wider to let him in.
"Drew already did that."
Curtis shrugged and put his hand on the door, not pushing against it but letting his intentions be known. "It's standard procedure."
The little hairs on the back of her neck tingled. Something was off. "I'm gonna call Drew."
She reached for the phone in the back pocket of her jeans at the same time as she started to shut the door. Curtis jabbed one of his scuffed-up size-twelve dress shoes into the opening.
"That's not how this is going to work." The door came flying open, sending Leah stumbling back. "Mr. Law wants his diamond."
Oh fuck.
Adrenaline shot through her veins making her twice as fast as she sprinted toward the bedroom and the locked door that could give her the extra five seconds she needed to call 911. Curtis roared his displeasure and thundered after her. She made it as far as the hall closet when Curtis fisted her ponytail and she went flying backward.
"You're not going anywhere but with me, bitch."
She landed with a hard thunk against the floor. The phone bobbled in her grip as she fought to hold on to it before it went flying. Blood pounding in her ears, her fight response took over. Curtis had a hundred pounds and actual training going for him but she was out of fucks to give. She knew going with him meant only bad things. She came up screaming, putting everything into her punch. Her knuckles crashed into Curtis's nose. The bone cracked and blood streamed down over his lips that were curled into a grimace.
"Fucking bitch," he yelled and backhanded her hard.
Pain exploded in her cheekbone, rocking her back on her heels. She gripped her phone, her fingers connecting with her contacts list. Curtis’s follow up punch landed just under her chin. The world was going dark before her head bounced against the floor. The last thing she heard before everything went dark was Tamara's voice, but it sounded a million miles away.
"B-Squad Investigations and Security, how can I help you?"
Drew
Drew couldn't stop smiling, not even when he was filling out arrest paperwork in the sheriff's office long after Beauford had posted bond, thanks to an expedited hearing courtesy of the mayor's poker buddy, Judge Harper. It would be decades before he ever forgot the look on the old man's face when he clicked the handcuffs around his wrists—if even then. Today was definitely a win.
"Sheriff, your cell keeps ringing," Deputy Lance Pepper called out.
Glancing out his office door, he saw the lanky new recruit walking toward him holding up Drew's cell. Damn. He'd forgotten it on the intake desk when he'd brought in Beauford. If it was one of the FBI agents calling to let him know Leah had slipped the nest, he was going to have to knock heads.
He took the cell from Pepper and swiped accept call. "Jackson here."
"Tell me she's with you," a woman said.
It took half a second to place the voice. It was Leah's B-Squad friend, Lexie. His gut clenched. "What's wrong?"
"Just answer the question dammit."
He grabbed his keys and headed for the door, leaving the half-finished paperwork laying on his desk. "She's at my house. The place is secured and there's an FBI agent parked out front."
"Tell me it's not Curtis."
Icy dread made him quicken his step. "What in the fuck is going on?"
"God, how to put this in laymen's terms," she said with a groan. "Okay, I used my skills to put a kind of secret Google alert on the systems I accessed so they'd alert when anyone connected with the diamond was mentioned. It went off right before we got the call from Leah's cell. Curtis is dirty. He's under investigation and he's gone dark."
He was out of the sheriff's office and halfway to his truck before she'd gotten to the last word. "What do you mean got the call? What did she say?"
"Nothing."
He yanked his truck door open and vaulted inside. "What do you mean nothing?"
"No one was there. Everyone but Isaac and Tamara blew it off as a butt dial even though she didn't answer when Isaac called back. I just figured you two were getting it on like crazy sex monkeys."
He sped out of the lot, tires squealing. "When did this happen?"
"An hour ago," Lexie said in that calm voice only used by people who were scared shitless and refusing to acknowledge it. "Isaac and Tamara are in the chopper now. They'll be there in thirty minutes."
Forcing himself to release the breath he'd been holding, if not the fear gripping his gut, he slid into cop mode. "I'll call with an update as soon as I evaluate the scene at the house."
"Gotcha," Lexie paused, "and Drew?"
"Yeah?"
"It's gonna be alright. Leah's a fighter."
He was counting on it.
Confirmation of just how much of a fighter she was came ten minutes later when he walked through the banged up front door to his house. His living room looked like the saloon in an old Western after a bar fight. Furniture was turned over. Pictures that had been on the shelves were on the floor in pieces. Shit was tossed everywhere. Worst of all, Leah's Doc Marten boots were abandoned in the middle of the mess. The woman herself was nowhere to be found. What was in his house was a bright yellow Post-it note stuck to his TV that read: 555-438-6821.
He grabbed his phone, but instead of dialing that number he called the B-Squad office and had Lexie patch him through to Isaac.
"They have her," he said by way of greeting.
"Motherfuckers," Isaac yelled over the sound of the helicopter. "So what's the plan?"
Drew took another look at that Post-it note and certainty settled over him as tangible as armor. "I'm going to make sure they live to regret this and if even a single hair on Leah's head is hurt, I'm not gonna concern myself with the living part."