The Edge

by Aliyah Burke

All the Meyers siblings had returned. And stayed. Joe and Jennifer, the twins, had taken over the daily operations of running the farm and had gotten it out of the red in a short time. Most credit was because of his sister’s killer acumen. She’d have given Midas a run for his money.

  He flipped on the siren and lights before rolling out of his parking spot after the gray vehicle. He pulled up behind it and waited for the driver to slide over onto the shoulder. Looking up at the droplets slamming his windshield, he sighed and climbed out, rain immediately streaming off the brim of his hat. A cold rain too.

  The driver lowered the window and he almost took two steps back from the electricity that slammed him. Raisin-brown eyes.

  “Ma’am,” he said, knowing she wasn’t from any of the surrounding towns either. They just didn’t have black people living around this area. They would drive up from the cities and larger towns to get fruit but not stay here on a permanent basis. At least not that he knew of.

  “What’s wrong?” Her rasped question was like striking a match and putting it to dry kindling.

  Her nose was puffy, and her eyes were a bit bloodshot.

  Drunk. Or high and buzzed. Either way, not someone who should be behind the wheel. Especially when driving conditions were less than optimal.

  “I’m going to need you to shut off your car and step out, please.”

  Suspicion flared in her eyes. “Why?”

  He opened the door. “Ma’am? Please.”

  Killing the engine with a frustrated flick, she then unbuckled her belt and slowly stepped out into the rain. Water shoved her clothes against her, highlighting the curves of her upper body, the long-sleeved shirt hiding nothing. Including the pointed nipples and the outline of a belly button ring.

  He shoved the intrusive and unneeded thoughts of being beneath a shower spray with this stranger to the back of his mind and focused on issuing a breathalyzer test.

  When he saw the result, he ushered her to the back seat of his Bronco.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You’re showing above the legal limit. I can’t let you drive.”

  She shivered and shook her head. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not drunk.”

  “Trust me, ma’am. Being belligerent isn’t going to go in your favor.” Her teeth began chattering. He tossed her a blanket and waited until she’d drawn it around her shoulders. “Don’t give me any hassle. I’ll get your things.”

  He stepped back into the rain, he grabbed her purse and the suitcase from the passenger seat.

  Once in, he radioed Chuck for a tow, said where it was and turned up the heat before pulling back onto the deserted road. He stared at his passenger. Prisoner.

  Her eyes spat not just flames but also shards of ice.

  “Where are you going?”

  She tightened her grip on the blanket.

  “I see your suitcase. Where’s your end destination?”

  “Now? Jail,” she seethed before succumbing to a coughing fit.

  He left it alone. Pulling into the station, he parked in front of the small building. The jail wasn’t that big. Three cells up top and four down below that were seldom used. Hustling her in, he handed her the suitcase and said, “Change into something dry.”

  Her plucked eyebrow rose slightly. “Want me to strip right here by the desk or is there anywhere a bit more private?”

  He’d meant to tell her where the bathroom was. He’d forgotten. Embarrassed and frustrated, he pointed.

  “There.”

  She sneezed then walked off. As she changed, he opened the last cell to give her a bit more privacy. Not that he expected a lot of traffic through here on a Thursday night.

  The desk phone rang and he bent to snag it.

  “Sheriff’s office.”

  “Pat, it’s Mary. You coming out tonight for dinner?”

  “Sorry, no can do.”

  “Why not?” His baby sister had an edge to her tone. They were pushing family time in a big way.

  “I have a prisoner. Can’t leave her alone.”

  “Her? Did you say her? Who is it?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Tell me who it is.”

  “Goodbye, Mary.” He hung up as the newest—and most beautiful by far—guest he’d had while he’d worn the badge for this town walked into view.

  She had her wet clothes balled up in one hand and the suitcase in the other.

  “Follow me,” he ordered, not understanding why he was so drawn to her. Why all he could think about was removing her clothes and seeing how soft her dark skin was beneath his tongue.

  She marched by to the open cell, head held high, rigidity in each step. Hell, she even smelled sexy.

  “You’ll have some privacy here.”

  “I shouldn’t be here. I wasn’t drinking!” Forceful but not shrieky.

  “Do you want to see what you blew?”

  She whipped back to glare at him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t give a damn what it showed. I could blow it five more times and I will still swear I wasn’t drinking.”

  His retort was swallowed up by her full lips forming the word ‘blow’ and the image it gave him. He could see them around his cock as he slipped back and forth.

  “I need to process you.”

  He prayed that sounded like process and not possess, as it did in his mind.

  “Never should have come here,” she groused, sitting on the bed before wrapping up in one of the blankets prior to facing away from him so he could only see her back. “Never.”

  He closed and locked the cell, trying hard to ignore her jerk at the loud sound. Her purse sat on his desk and he reached in to pull out her wallet. He brushed his fingers over several unopened condoms as well as a box of them.

  “Right, not drunk.” It bothered him seeing those prophylactics. Pulling out the sleek black wallet, he found her license. Ainsley Milne.

  He put it back hand locked up her purse in a filing cabinet then did her report. Once he finished, he called Chuck to ask about the tow. It had been taken care of.

  Nothing left for him to do but sleep. It was a Thursday night so he wasn’t expecting any major trouble. After sneaking another peek at his guest, he reclaimed his chair and leaned back to stretch out. When was the last time he’d had a good night’s rest? Longer than he cared to remember.

  Same went for sex.

  Right, because he needed that reminder, said no man ever. And a good bout of sex was even farther away than his nightmare-ridden, so-called rests.

  He glanced to the far cell and frowned over the instant twitch of his cock. There was something about her.

  “Not doing this. I’m not about to hit on a woman I just put behind bars.”

  His brain and libido were not in agreement there.

  It was going to be long night.

  * * * *

  Ainsley felt like shit. Every inch of her hurt. Even her eyelashes. She was sure they would be voicing a complaint if they had the ability to do so. At least she was warm. While it might have been to do with her hot, erotic dream of a man with dark brown hair and cerulean-blue eyes. Her pleasure lingered, although the dream had ended.

  This wasn’t her bed. No way did she have a bed this uncomfortable. This was more like the one-inch mattress—foam to be more accurate—she’d slept on in the Navy for her four years of service. She didn’t want to wake up all the way.

  “The worst dream before the good one,” she whispered. “I have got to stop taking whatever I did before bed. I don’t need more of these dreams where I end up in a jail cell.”

  “Breakfast.”

  Whoo boy, that voice rang identical to her dream lover’s timbre. She yawned and opened her eyes to spy a man unlocking the door to her cell and stepping through, holding a tray of something.

  “You,” she spat.

  “Sheriff Patrick Meyers,” he corrected. “I know who you are, Ainsley Milne.”

  “I know who I am.” She sighed and tried to convince herself
she wasn’t so attracted to this man. “I thought it was a dream,” she said, gripping the blanket tighter around her. No way she could lower it now—her diamond-hard nipples were ready to cut through the fabric of her shirt. “Apparently, it was a nightmare.”

  He put the tray down by her leg, those blue eyes seeing far too much.

  “I think I’m going to sue you.”

  Hottie Sheriff Patrick Meyers stood there and cocked a brow without moving away. “Why?”

  “False arrest. You never even Mirandized me.”

  “Know all about that, do you?”

  Damn it all, he smelled amazing. I wonder, if I kiss him will I be kept here longer for assaulting an officer?

  He leaned closer. “Try it and see,” he dared her.

  Ainsley released the blanket, too aroused to care her thought had been verbalized. She leaned in, drawn by something primal she’d only experienced once before. Flicking her tongue out, she skimmed it along the seam of his lips. He opened under the slight pressure and she pushed into his mouth.

  A dark, heady taste flooded her, taking her back to a sweaty night on the Chicago Pier with a man who’d turned her world upside down.

  Shock slammed her and she jerked back, eyes wide to find a similar expression in his face. Whatever was going to be said was halted by the front door opening. Her keeper stood and walked out, leaving her along with raging hormones and a tray piled high with a huge breakfast.

  Waffles, eggs, toast, fruit and more. Since he’d left the door open, she headed out to use the same bathroom from before. He was perched on the edge of a desk as she came back out to return to her cell. As if he was aware of her observation, he turned his head and lasered those amazing eyes on her.

  The idling heat rushed back up through her. What’s wrong with me?

  The breakfast was amazing and not how she’d imagined jail food to be. Perhaps it wouldn’t as bad here. All she had to do was get her one phone call.

  The station was empty when she carried her tray out to where he sat. With a plunk, she dropped it on the scarred wood desk. Only a tiny bit of guilt hit when the syrupy fork bounced off onto his papers.

  Those blue eyes narrowed. “Something you needed?” He picked up the fork with disdain and returned it to the tray.

  “My things? My freedom? An apology?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Your badge?”

  His low laugh was felt as if he’d reached down her pants, brushed aside her panties and pushed two thick fingers deep within her pussy as he swiped his thumb over her clit.

  “Something amusing?” Cripes, her voice was low and graveled.

  He dropped his gaze to her nipples—pressed tight to her shirt—before moving his slow and pointed stare back up to her face. “The thought of you getting my badge is amusing.”

  “You threw me in jail like a common criminal. I’ve had no phone call and I don’t even know where my car is.”

  “I didn’t throw you in jail. Hell, you’re walking around now as if you own the place. I put you there because you were drunk and you could sleep it off.”

  “I. Was. Not. Drunk!”

  “Shall we go back to the blowing thing?”

  She couldn’t deny the devil riding her shoulder. Lowering her gaze to the top of the desk, hiding his cock, she lifted her lips in a slight smile. “I’m very good at it, not that it’s any concern of yours. Either way, I still wasn’t drunk.”

  He leaned forward. “Gonna blame me for the kiss too?”

  This time her grin came full force. “That explains your disposition.” She backed away.

  He rose and followed. “Explain.”

  She turned her back and returned to her cell. “Why you’re such a grouch. Disposition, the—”

  “I know what it means. You know what I meant.”

  “It means, if that’s what you consider a kiss, it’s no wonder you scowl. I don’t consider it a kiss, but no, I won’t put that on you.” She drew the door shut, putting the bars back between them. “I want my phone call.”

  “Patrick. Patrick!”

  A panicked woman’s voice came in. Somewhat familiar to her.

  “What?”

  “I need you to go look for someone for me.”

  “Jenn. I’m not your personal retriever.”

  Ainsley snorted and he shot a look in her direction.

  “This is important.”

  “Get your boy toy to do it. I have a prisoner.”

  “He’s not a boy toy, damn it. And I don’t give a damn if you do have one. This is important. My friend was supposed to be here yesterday. She’s never late and for her to not have called means something is wrong.”

  Ainsley turned her head, trying to lay eyes on the speaker. Seriously? Is that her brother?

  “Jenn,” he said, sounding like a long-suffering sibling would.

  “What is so important you can’t at least go check for me?”

  “I am,” Ainsley called out.

  “Ainsley?” Jenn ran into view. “What the hell are you doing in there?” She whipped back to her brother. “Why is she in there? Release her!” The order cracked like a whip.

  “That’s your friend?” Patrick rose, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know my sister?”

  Jenn snatched the keys and ran to the cell, opening it. “Hell, it’s not even locked.” She stepped in and grabbed Ainsley in a huge hug that just about took her breath away. “I was so worried something horrid happened to you.” She turned so she was facing her brother. “What is she doing behind bars?”

  “Under the influence.”

  Jenn leveled a stare at him, switched to her, then returned it to her brother. “No way.” She gripped Ainsley’s arm and led her from the cell.

  “She failed the breathalyzer, Jenn.”

  “Cough syrup.” Ainsley one-hundred-percent enjoyed the look of discomfort on Patrick’s face.

  “What?” they asked at the same time.

  “I had just taken my last swig of cough syrup when you’d pulled me over.”

  “You never said that,” he accused. Patrick moved toward them.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t even— How did you survive being a cop in Chicago?”

  Her pulse skittered out of control at the mention of that city.

  Jenn wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go. I’m taking her home, and hope to God you didn’t ruin her opinion of The Edge.”

  “He did a little bit,” she said. “I am still sick, but I suppose being out in the rain didn’t help.”

  “Oh, Patrick, I’m telling Mom. By the way, Ainsley, I love your hair. Let’s get you out of here.” Another glare to her brother. “Bring her things. And her car.”

  Ainsley added in a loud sniff as Jenn escorted her to the door. Had she been alone, she would have laughed at the pained expression on the man’s face.

  Chapter Two

  Patrick glared at his brother, who continued to laugh as he hooked up the wagon to the tractor.

  “Why are you still laughing?”

  Joe smiled. “Because it’s not ceased being amusing to me.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Proudly.” Joe leaned against the big wheel and propped his foot on the tongue of the wagon. “Why don’t you tell me what the real issue is? And help me with hay while you talk. The children will want their ride soon.”

  He grabbed the pitchfork, then stabbed a bunch of the sweet-smelling hay and shoved into the open wagon. “What makes you think something else is wrong?”

  “Because the last time I saw you like this, Susie Stonebry had just decided to go to the dance with Dickie Jr. instead of you.”

  “That was in middle school.”

  “Exactly my point.” He crossed his arms. “So who is she to you?”

  “Pain in my ass. She’s even got the old man against me for doing my job. My job!”

  More unwanted and unappreciated laughter.

  “Still not funny.”

  “Why don’t you ju
st go to her room and lay one on her? That is, of course, if Jenn lets you near her.”

  “Already have,” he admitted, launching more hay into the wagon. “I mean, it was in the jail cell and she more kissed me than anything.”

  “What?” Joe came around the corner of the wagon.

  “You heard me, in the jail.”

  “What’s going on with you? You’re rattled.”

  “I know and damn it, I don’t like it.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Fix the rattle.” He turned to go find Ainsley. Joe snagged his shirt, yanking him back. “What?”

  “Fix it later, I need your help.”

  The woman in question walked out with his old man, laughing and charming him each step of the way. For a moment, he watched them together as they slowly traversed the steps, her arms held by his father.

  The smile on his old man’s face was wonderful to see. His recovery had been at a turtle’s pace with more than a few setbacks. To see the man smiling again did his heart good. It did for all of them.

  “Work!”

  Flipping his brother off, he listened and soon the wagon was ready for the hay ride. Patrick returned the pitchfork then headed out from the barn toward the house. Ainsley and his father had been joined by Jenn and her boy toy, Tony, as well as Mary and her man, Ronald. As he put his feet on the steps, his mom and Joe’s fiancée came out.

  Family gathering.

  Two words that felt right rattling around in his mind. He kissed his mother and propped a shoulder against the support of the porch.

  “Ainsley was telling me she served in the Navy,” his father said proudly.

  Patrick had to know, that connection between them, too rare and too damn familiar. He relived it in his nights, sometimes during the days. “Were you ever stationed in Chicago?”

  Those brown eyes cut through him like a laser. “I was there for Fleet Week once, years ago.”

  His heart thundered in his chest. It was her. There wasn’t any doubt. He remembered every moment he’d spent during Fleet Week. To be specific, a couple hours with a woman he’d met in the dark. He had no doubt it was her. He only had to get her to admit it. Then they could go from there.

  People didn’t have that type of instant and powerful connection like he’d felt with her only to turn and walk away. Hell, he’d tried to find her after she had slipped out. But it wasn’t as if they’d shared information or anything like that. They’d both been buzzed, true, but his slight alcoholic effect had vanished the second they were chest to chest in that darkened space. It had been replaced by sheer need for another.