by Nicole Snow
Pickett’s greyish blue eyes go a shade darker and those long, snake-like fingers on one hand coil into a fist.
For a second, I wonder if I’m about to hear an angry rattle. He looks at his lawyer, beaming him an obvious do something, jackass.
“Gentleman, I believe my client prefers not to be badgered over minor details of routine business operations without his records in front of him. That’s beyond the scope of this entirely voluntary sit-down in good faith, and you’ve produced no reason to detain my client,” Tweedy says in typical lawyer-speak, adjusting his spectacles. “We’re awful thankful for your time, but since there’s no warrant issued by a judge, I think we’ll conclude this effort to settle any—”
“You done with these jackoffs? Let’s fucking go,” Pickett snaps, ripping his chair back and standing to his full intimidating height.
Again, I’m staring up at a man-eating giant, and every instinct I have tells me this won’t be the last I’ll ever see of him.
I’m also a little pissed because I knew they’d cut and run if we dropped that question on their heads up front. Sure, we’ll be going right for that warrant next to make Jake Pickett’s next Q&A less than voluntary, but fuck.
What was Goode thinking?
For what it’s worth, he’s slumped in his chair, his mustache twitching, this hangdog look like he knows he messed up.
I stay riveted to my seat, glaring silently as Tweedy gathers up his folder of strong-arm legalese meant to protect human trash.
Jake leers at me with those pale-blue eyes as he rounds the table with his lawyer, no doubt wishing he could burn me down to ash with nothing more than a nasty look.
Fuck him. We’ve still got something up our sleeve no judge will balk at—a criminal witness.
His woman.
She’s been making noise about talking to us, but I’m afraid for her if she does, so that’s one reason I tried to trap this overgrown rat into slipping up.
If only I’d tried harder.
Because less than a week later, I’d be seeing the freak again, this time with bullets flying.
And at our next meeting, those long, savage fingers of his would rip my world to shreds.
Present
I throw down a rumpled twenty to pay Grady for the beers in front of me, Ridge, and Drake.
They’ve all been helping me look for Marvin, local hands on deck I can trust in case my old contacts at the Bureau don’t come through with solid intel.
I’d barely even asked the boys. They’d just stepped up and volunteered the second I hinted at trouble, without asking questions.
Damn. I hate pulling anybody else into this hell, but since Tory’s already been dragged in the muck, I’ll accept their help without complaint.
“I installed a camera at Granny Coffey’s place for good measure,” Drake says while setting up the remote camera app on my phone for viewing. “I’m labeling it Granny’s.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. How’d she take it?”
Drake chuckles, his blue eyes shining under a crop of dark-blond hair. “You think I’d risk her finding out? I made sure she wasn’t around to see me do the installation. Waited until she took off on that bike built for two with Tory.”
“How the hell does that old lady have the stamina to ride that thing all over town?” Ridge asks with a grin. “She has to be pushing seventy.”
“That’s just Granny,” I tell him. “She’s always acted half her age.”
“She looks like it too,” Ridge answers. “For a senior, she’s fit as a fiddle. Shit, if I ever need a sassy old ballbuster in one of my films, I’d consider casting her.”
I can’t help laughing at the thought. Since he’s back in Hollywood part time for what he swears will be his last big acting run, I think he might be serious.
“That might bring you more trouble than it’s worth. Her brain’s still sharp as a tack. She tells it like she sees it and doesn’t worry about the bruises.”
We all get a chuckle out of that, some of the truest words ever spoken in this bar.
Then Grady’s expression flattens behind his dark beard. “So you’re convinced this Heckles prick is some kind of spy? He’s looking to sell info on you to Bat Pickett?”
I nod. “That’s the only reason for him to have come here asking, and then snooping around Dean Coffey’s place. You said that beat-up truck was here a couple times.”
Grady nods. “Can’t forget that shit. Thing left a pile of rust I had to sweep up from the lot.”
“Clue us in, Faulk. Who’s this Bat Pickett dude, anyway?” Ridge asks, taking a long pull off his beer.
As soon as he heard I’d asked Drake to put up cameras at Dean’s place, Ridge called and said whatever it was, he was in.
The man can’t help returning a favor. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Fine.
I’d done my job enlisting the Feds to help him with some demons chasing down his wife and father-in-law.
It’s been a few days, and there hasn’t been hide nor hair of Marvin Heckles anywhere in Dallas.
Carolina didn’t know shit, either. She shrugged off my questions, and the minute she started trying to pull down her leopard top to flash those fake-as-hell tits, I was done.
What else is new?
All I got was the fact that she’d picked him up at a dive bar out by the interstate, a couple towns over, before they came back to the Bobcat.
“Bart Pickett, aka Bat, is a good-for-nothing drug dealer rotting in an Oklahoma prison,” I say, angrily inhaling my beer. “Trouble is, he’s got bad money buying good lawyers who’ll sweet-talk their way to parole. He won’t stay locked up forever.”
“You put him there?” Ridge asks, sitting up taller.
“No.” I take another swig of beer. Anything to do with the witness protection program is technically classified, but I can tell them the gist of the story. “I made the bust that put away his brother, Jake Pickett, about three years ago.”
My gut churns hellfire at the memory.
The deaths that shit caused.
The sacrifice.
Justin Franklin was the best partner I’d ever had, and telling his widow he’d been shot and killed gutted me. I would’ve rather been garroted ten times than rip her heart out, but somebody had to deliver the bad news.
I tip my beer and let it pour down my throat, hoping to wash away memories so bitter they make my eyes burn.
“You okay, man?” Grady grunts out.
“Yeah. Jake was killed less than a year after he went to prison. Drowned in a dirty sink by a rival drug gang while they were doing laundry,” I tell them. “No easy task. They build those things real shallow to prevent that sort of shit.”
I shudder just picturing it, remembering how freakishly tall the Picketts are. It must’ve taken half a dozen men built like bulldozers to hold him down in a basin hardly any deeper than a mixing bowl.
“Bat was the younger brother. He took over their meth trade after Jake went to jail. He was a little smarter, a little better at hiding his street operation. He abandoned his brother’s shady repair business. Nobody could get him on logistics, but he orchestrated a complex prison hit on the men who murdered Jake. Bat got himself arrested after an investigation found a link to him bribing those dudes to take out his brother’s killers.”
“Fuck, that’s intense,” Drake growls, his blue eyes flashing. “But the man’s locked up. That’s good news, right?”
Just like all of us here, he’s seen his fair share of violence.
“It won’t stay that way. Plus, Bat looked up to Jake like he hung the stars from everything I’ve heard. He won’t forget anybody who had a hand in getting his brother murdered, even indirectly. He won’t give up on revenge. Once he’s out, he’s coming straight for me.”
“When’s he up?” Grady asks, slurping that dark ale with a cold brew coffee concentrate that’s always his go-to.
I shake my head. “His records are sealed. Don�
��t know how or why. Some things I’m not privy to since I turned in my badge, even with my friends still on the inside. There were rumors all along the Picketts had somebody on the inside, but it could be their wizard lawyers locking down the records, too. No one else I’ve asked can find out. Since Bat’s got men fishing after me, he must be up soon. Could be a month from now, or maybe a year.”
“Sounds like he’s so shady he doesn’t cast a shadow,” Drake says, stretching his tattooed arms out in front of him. “Why’s he called Bat? Don’t tell me he drinks blood too?”
“Same dick-waving fuckery behind every street name,” I tell him. “He only operates at night and his men like to string people up. They’re good at cutting just the right places and letting the blood drain out, leaving the empty body as a message. Oh, and of course he has a big shitty tattoo across his back of some rat with wings baring its teeth.”
“Jesus.” Ridge groans into his hand. “Makes that Grendal freak I dealt with seem normal.”
“No foolin’. And I’m not sure who he has on his payroll, either, besides that Marvin asshole,” I admit.
“Well, he’ll catch pure hell if he thinks you’re an easy target in this town. Everybody here right now plus plenty more have your back, Faulk. Dallas is your home,” Ridge says, hoisting his bottle. The grin he flashes looks like it could shoot in my defense.
“You know it.” Grady lifts his beer in a salute.
“Me three,” Drake says, raising his bottle. “Just because I wear a police badge now doesn’t mean I’m above fucking anybody up who screws with you, brother.”
I have no choice but to raise mine and clink it against all of theirs.
“Thanks, guys. I really do appreciate y’all helping with surveillance.” I stop there, but the truth is, if it comes to an armed stand-off with Bat, I don’t want them around.
Drake and Ridge are married men. New fathers. Happy lives and happy families.
As for Grady, he’s got his two older girls to look after, a single dad who never gets to stop and breathe. I feel just as bad risking his neck.
I’ll be damned if I’ll ever be the cause of another woman losing her husband, much less kids being orphaned.
We spend the next hour or so talking strategies and fallback plans before Drake chugs the last of his second beer and sets down the empty bottle.
“Gotta get home. Edison has to be at the fairgrounds by five to practice for the opening ceremony at the rodeo,” he tells us.
“Wouldn’t be opening night without Edison!” Ridge says with a laugh. “Is Bella riding him?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Drake winks. “My wife and that horse are practically connected at the hip. He’s too old to ride real proper, but he’ll tolerate it for a half hour or so, just long enough for the opener.”
I shake my head. “Edison must be as old as Granny Coffey in horse years.”
“At least,” Drake answers with a grin. “But when it comes to Bella, he’s a spring chicken.” He shakes his head.
“Still can’t believe you inherited old man Reed’s horse,” I say.
“And his daughter. They’ve both done me a ton of good. For real, though, guys, there are times when I’m jealous of that big old beast.” Drake frowns for added effect.
Ridge laughs. “At least Edison is a horse, man. I’m jealous of a frigging rooster. Cornelius is so stuck on Grace for giving him treats that every time I convince her to have some fun in the barn, I have to shut us in the tack room. Otherwise that peckerhead will spur me right in the ass!”
We all get a gut-busting laugh out of that image.
“Say, you’re bringing Tory to the rodeo, aren’t you, Faulk?” Drake asks, casting me a knowing look. “Bella’s been hoping to see her again. She remembers playing back when you were kids and Bella spent summers here with her granddad.”
Finishing my beer, I set down the bottle.
“Eh, I wasn’t planning on it. Honestly, I’m not even sure I’ll make it myself with everything going on between the old house and now this Pickett shit.”
I’m not just feeding them a story.
I’ve worked hard—damn hard—the last few days to stay away from Tory and do some real work. The schedule I’d gotten from Dean lets me keep an eye on her from afar, without her knowing it.
Another strange hell.
Seeing her, but not talking to her.
Not touching her.
Not catching her smile.
Not since that day at Carolina’s.
It’s torturous.
Almost as bad as how I’d looked into her eyes, feeling drawn to her lips, hating how I had to settle for my hand grazing her chin. If it was any other rainy day with both of us shut in the truck, I swear to all that’s holy I would’ve—
“Dude, you have to come to the rodeo and bring your girl too,” Ridge says, interrupting my thoughts as he sets his empty bottle down with a frustrated thump. “Grace has been itching like mad to meet her. She was disappointed she didn’t get a chance while the goats were at our place, but with the kiddo and wrapping up my last film, we had to send out Tobin.” He shakes his head at me. “I don’t like my wife being disappointed.”
I grin. “How’s that my problem again?”
Ridge lifts a brow and gives me his award-winning dead-eyed outlaw look. “It will be if you don’t bring Tory to the rodeo and enjoy a few hours off.”
“This isn’t Hollywood and we’re not back in Afghanistan,” I tell him. “Your tough guy act doesn’t work here, buddy.”
We all laugh again before Ridge and Drake head out.
“Tell me the truth. You’re going to the rodeo with her, aren’t you, Faulk?” Grady asks, shoving the twenty I’d laid out when we got here on the counter back toward me. “Keep your money, it’s on the house.”
“Nope.” I slide the twenty back his way. “And big nope on the rodeo and Tory.”
“Aw, hell. William Selleck will be there. The Selleck bull’s the toughest one in the riding event. You remember what we talked about a few weeks ago?” he asks, his eyes dark and questioning.
Shit. I’d forgotten all about it after recent events.
Turns out, Joyce Selleck is a friend of Grady’s and she wants proof her husband’s been cheating on her for years with a former rodeo queen. Grady asked if I’d do it since snooping after missing persons and two-timing spouses are practically all I do anymore.
“Should be easy. A picture or two of his hands in the wrong—or right—place is all the proof Joyce needs for the prenup she made him sign to hold strong when she files for divorce. William’s been sucking money off her ever since she married him.” Grady shakes his head. “Why she ever married that prick is beyond anyone who knows her.”
I hold in a sigh, knowing I can’t say no.
Between raising two kids on his own and managing the best bar in town, Grady is one hell of a guy with a huge heart. When he makes a friend, it’s for life.
He’s befriended Joyce Selleck since she spends so much time looking after his kids while he’s working. And I’d already half agreed to get the scoop on her cheating husband, knowing Joyce would be out of town during the rodeo, leaving William plenty of chances to mess around with the other woman.
“I’d go and take them myself,” Grady tells me, “but most of my part-timers are going to the rodeo. Don’t need to tell you it’s the biggest bash of the summer in this little town after the Fourth. That means one good chance to give the bar a deep cleaning, and then run the girls over later for the fireworks they shoot off.”
“I’ll get the pictures as planned,” I say, giving him a nod. “Don’t worry. I don’t need Tory for that.”
“But having Tory along will make you blend in, just one of the crowd, Faulk,” Grady says, tossing the beer bottles in the recycling without picking up the twenty.
Damn him.
And damn him again for giving me a good reason to mingle yet again with the woman I can’t pry out of my head.
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br /> “We’ll see. I’ve done gigs like this without a hitch all by my lonesome before, but I’ll do it.” I stand and tap the bar with my knuckles. “See you later, man.”
Long after leaving the bar and driving into town, I’ve got three things on my mind.
Tory, Tory, and also Tory.
No thanks to the blaring 'encouragement' I don’t need from Drake, Ridge, and Grady.
This ain’t about the rodeo. Every last one of ’em wants to see me get some action, I think, if not downright hitched.
They know me too well, including how I’ve lived like a monk ever since I came back to Dallas, with next to no patience for hookups and even less for serious dates.
But they’re all helping me, too, just because they want to.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so stubborn and I should throw my friends a bone.
What’s one more night out with her when they all want it?
Ridge and Drake for their wives. Grady for his friend. All three of them for me.
Shit.
Looks like I’m taking Tory to the rodeo.
If she’ll even go with me.
For all I know, she might already have plans with someone else. Granny, maybe, or hell, any handsome single man looking for a sweet piece of arm candy.
How arrogant am I for thinking I’m the center of her whole universe here in Dallas?
Even so, that doesn’t sit well with me at all.
Hot jealousy pumps through my veins. A territorial image flashes through my mind: going to her door, throwing her over my shoulder, and carting her off to bed. All for a girl—a friend—I’ve got no right to.
Insanity.
I stop at my house just long enough for a quick shower and a shave.
Cranking the water to cold, I scrub furiously at my skin, wondering if it’ll magically scratch Tory out of my head.
Nope, it just makes it worse.
It’s like that whole don’t think of a pink elephant trick.
Only, in this case, I wish I had an annoying goddamn pachyderm stuck on my mind.
Instead, I’m thinking about Tory wearing those boots with the pink stitching and nothing else.