by Barb Han
“I see your points and I agree with you wholeheartedly,” she said. Observing the detective standing there, leaning a slender hip against her vehicle, brought emotions to the surface that Deacon had no desire to deal with. Again, he reminded himself that any woman with a kid was off-limits. Losing two people he loved—albeit in very different ways—was one of those no-recover situations. Trust him.
Deacon shoved those thoughts down deep. A sense of pride hit him in the chest that she respected his thinking. That’s as far as he could let it go. “What’s next?”
“You met the lead detective on the case.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and the natural red blush was even more attractive.
Way to keep those feelings in check, Deacon.
“Does he think he’s already arrested his man?” Charles Dougherty was a bull in a china shop. There was no way he would change his mind on a case once it was set. Deacon had dealt with that type of person before.
“That’s my impression.” She hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “He’s not a hundred percent jerk and he’s not a bad detective.”
“He’s just not especially thrilled that you don’t trust his judgment,” he finished for her. “Us going to the coroner made it clear to him that we have questions about the case and the suspect.”
“That’s my trail. I jog there every night at about that same time. I can’t—won’t!—look over my shoulder every time I put on my jogging shoes.” She said that last part so emphatically that it could only mean there was a story there.
Her gaze locked on to his and he could see fire in her eyes. He saw something else, too, and it was dangerous as hell because he was barely containing his attraction as it was.
She took a step toward him, eyes on him as though asking permission or maybe it was just hope that she wouldn’t be denied.
There was no way he could turn her down. If she started something, he would finish it. It was already taking all his willpower not to haul her against his chest and capture that little freckle a fraction of an inch above her top lip in the corner.
“Deacon. Would it be a bad idea to get any closer?” She never broke eye contact. Her voice was a little deeper, a little sexier.
“Yep.”
She brought her hands up to his chest where she splayed her fingers. He could feel her hands trembling with the same need welling up inside of him. Electricity pulsed as he dropped his hands to either side of her hips. He didn’t pull her toward him and he didn’t push her away. Logically, he knew he should take a step back but his body didn’t listen to reason. He brought his hands up to her shoulders and then he caressed the back of her neck.
Even with a foot and a half of space between them, he could feel heat radiating from her. She fisted his shirt, her knuckles against his chest now. Her pulse raced, thumping against his thumb at the base. The tempo was a pretty darn close match to his.
“Kiss me, Deacon,” was all she said, was all she needed to say as she looped her arms around his neck and tunneled her fingers in his hair.
Deacon took in a slow breath. There was a point when he could have stopped himself from moving forward, from doing what they both knew would take them down a path neither seemed ready to take.
But then she looked up at him and her eyes were all glittery with desire. There was something else there, too. Fear? Was she afraid that he wasn’t attracted to her?
Deacon took a step toward her, dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers. The taste of dark roast coffee still on her lips. He took in a deep breath, heady with the scent that was her, a mix of citrus and flowers and fresh-from-a-spring-rain clean.
She parted her lips, an invitation to deepen the kiss.
Deacon thrust his tongue inside her mouth and swallowed her mewl. He dropped his hands to loop around her waist and she pressed her body flush with his.
In the space of a few seconds, they’d gone from reasonable restraint to hands touching, mouths fusing and bodies pressed together. He could feel her generous breasts against his chest and all blood flew south. He was hit with a thunderclap of need—a feeling so out of the blue it was like lightning striking on a sunny beach day with not a cloud in the sky.
Okay, sure, he’d been attracted to the smart and beautiful detective from the get-go. There was no denying that. He wanted to believe it was his sense of chivalry that had him making sure she was all right after the scare the other night. But if he were being honest, it was something much more primal than that.
Leah Cordon was no pushover but she awakened protective instincts he’d long since believed were dead.
The only thing he could think about now was how amazing she felt pressed up against him. Her soft curves to his hard body. Her hands dropped to his shoulders and she dug her fingers in. If kissing her was this all-consuming, he could only imagine what sex would be like...
Hold on, right there. He needed to stop this right now. The detective was most likely in a vulnerable state and needed reassurance that life would still go on. She’d been traumatized, whether she’d admit it or not, by Jillian Mitchell’s murder.
Deacon almost had himself talked into pulling back when she did it for them. Her eyes were wild and her lips so damn inviting. Her breathing was as ragged as his.
“We can’t do that again,” she said.
“I know.” Well, hell. If they agreed this couldn’t happen again, he might as well enjoy it for right now. He brought his hand up and tilted her head for better access. “Just so we’re clear, this is the last time.”
She cracked a smile.
“Agreed.”
This time, he kissed her so thoroughly he couldn’t be sure how long they stood there in the parking lot making out. But he was certain that he’d never experienced a kiss like the ones they were sharing.
When they broke apart, she leaned into him like she was listening to his rapid heartbeat through his rib cage. And he held her, reminding his heart that this was a temporary situation.
Which worked right until the point she tugged at his shirt and looked up at him with eyes that said she wanted him.
* * *
DEACON STOPPED THE next kiss before Leah was ready. But she also knew he’d made the right call. She leaned into him until her head rested against him. She could hear his heart pound under his ribs; the rhythm matched her staccato tempo. All her senses were heightened.
It was oddly comforting to listen, so she stood there. It should have felt awkward to kiss a practical stranger, but it hadn’t. There was no way she could let her feelings run away from her with Deacon. Seeing Charles at the diner was a stark reminder of how a relationship could deteriorate in an instant, and of the consequences when it did. With Charles, she was now uncomfortable at work. He had a higher rank than her and could make her life miserable. A fact he seemed to realize and acted on.
The feeling she had with Deacon was different than that. The scale was off. There was something about Deacon that made her think she wouldn’t survive losing him. It was odd because, again, they’d barely just met. Although, the shot she had taken to the heart made her realize instantly that there was something different about Deacon Kent.
Besides, he’d be a good ally to have and one she couldn’t afford to lose because of overwrought hormones. Amazing sex with a man she deeply cared about was something she’d never experienced.
“What happened in your past that makes you so afraid?” he asked quietly in her ear, so quietly it wasn’t more than a breeze.
Part of her wanted to open up and tell him the horror she’d lived since losing her best friend, the sadness she felt in her parents turning their backs on her. And then the loss she felt when her husband, Wyatt, had died. But that’s where she stopped. What good would come from talking about any of those things? Feeling good came when she could give answers to families, real answers to what had happened in a loved one’
s last hours. That’s all she could let herself think about.
“Jillian Mitchell’s family deserves to know the truth about what happened to her. She has a mother and father, a brother. They deserve to know who took her from them or they’ll never recover.” She thought about Millie. Leah wondered how much of that fateful night caused her parents to shut down on her. Never knowing what had actually happened to her best friend had changed Leah. Had it changed them, too?
Everyone dealt with grief differently. Did they realize how easily that could’ve been her out that night? Did they know how close she’d come to meeting up with her best friend? If she hadn’t been studying for finals so hard and then fell asleep on her desk, waiting for the meet-up time, she might’ve saved her best friend’s life.
Her parents had never understood that. The self-blame. The grief. When she couldn’t buck up a year later, they had seemed to give up on her ever trying.
But those were things she didn’t talk about with anyone. Surprisingly, she wanted to tell Deacon. It was too much, too soon and they had another case to focus on. Find the answers to the Mitchell murder and then she’d tell him.
Leah’s cell buzzed.
She avoided eye contact with Deacon. She knew better than to look at him when she was feeling so vulnerable—a state she didn’t normally visit and sure as hell didn’t wallow in.
“It’s from Charles.” She stared at the text on the screen.
Deacon’s muscles tensed and she wondered if it was because he realized Charles was having a hard time letting go or if he just didn’t like the man.
Either way, he wasn’t going to be thrilled with the message on her screen. Deacon Kent’s fingerprints have been lifted from the crime scene.
Chapter Nine
Leah tilted her phone’s screen toward Deacon. He read the message. “Why would they go back and check for prints at the crime scene?”
“Great question,” she said, looking at him sympathetically. “And especially since you had on gloves.”
“I took those off.”
“Right.”
Deacon saw through Charles Dougherty. He and Leah had obviously been in a serious relationship and the man was a sore loser. The breakup had to have been recent for him to still be licking his wounds. Deacon had to ask an important question. Could being with Leah jeopardize his getting information about the crime?
The next text that came read, Bring him in to talk to the chief and then keep clear of him if you care about your career.
Based on Leah’s expression as she read the text, the warning was about as welcome as fire ants overrunning a picnic.
“I’m sorry he’s making this personal.” There was sincerity in her serious eyes as she blinked up at him. “It’s probably best if you go in to the station on your own and explain your side of the story to Chief Dillinger. He won’t like the fact that you visited the crime scene or spoke to Henry but he’s reasonable and it’s understandable what you’re doing to solve the crimes against your animals. I won’t tell you to lie about going to the morgue. I signed in but left your name off any paperwork.”
“I believe in telling the truth,” he said. For some reason he cared that she knew he was an honest man.
“Being with me is going to make you Charles’s target.” That much was certain.
“I don’t back down from bullies.” He took her hand in his. “What’s your next move?”
“Explain myself to my boss and hope for the best,” she admitted. “Charles is being a jerk and he’s trying to back me down.”
Deacon didn’t want to say his impression of Charles out loud. It involved a few choice words. If Deacon could face off with Charles one-on-one, he wouldn’t hesitate. The fact that Charles had gone behind their backs and spoken to someone in charge in order to get her in trouble for her association with Deacon said all he needed to know about the man’s character.
“Seems to me we should head to the station right away. The longer the chief has to let his imagination run wild, the worse it’ll be for you.” Deacon put his hand on the small of her back and walked her to the driver’s side of her vehicle.
She stopped at the opened door, took his hand and tugged him toward her without saying a word.
He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her one more time, swearing it was the last. This time, he captured that freckle after she bit down on his bottom lip. His blood got going again, heating as it fired through his veins. The detective was sexy. Her intelligence skyrocketed her to a whole new level of attraction.
She has a kid. Deacon would remind himself of the fact a hundred times an hour if he had to in order to keep his attraction in check.
On the ride to the station, Deacon must’ve repeated that mantra four dozen times. He also called his friend, Mayor Shield, to give him a heads-up on the situation. Deacon parked next to her vehicle and exited his.
With a look of fortitude and a deep breath, she led him into the brick one-story. There were twin glass doors up the set of stairs leading into the lobby area. Leah badged them inside after greeting the officer at the front desk.
The chief’s office was at the back of the old schoolhouse-looking building. There was more glass but his office also had mini blinds in order to shut everyone out, which seemed odd. Why build a glass office if the blinds were going to be closed most of the time?
The slats were open enough to see the chief sitting at his desk, staring at his computer screen.
Leah knocked.
The chief looked to be in his early fifties and in peak physical fitness. He glanced up and frowned as he waved them inside.
“Sir, this is Deacon Kent,” Leah said, stepping aside as though presenting Deacon.
Recognition of the last name flashed behind the middle-aged man’s serious blue eyes. His hair was mostly gray but there were remnants of the blond streaks from his younger days. He wore the expression of a man who had the world on his shoulders. He was a buttoned-up guy.
Deacon stepped forward and stretched out his hand. The chief took the offering in a vigorous shake. The job was political in many ways and Deacon wondered if the handshake was natural to Dillinger or if he’d learned it for the job. None of which mattered if the guy was actually good at what he did.
Assessing the situation, Deacon figured going in throwing his weight around wouldn’t get the results he wanted from this meeting and could end up getting Leah in more trouble.
“I apologize for any inconvenience, Chief,” Deacon started.
Dillinger nodded. “You want to have a seat?”
The chief was either being polite or figured this was going to take a while. Or maybe he was just feeling Deacon out.
“I’m okay standing,” Deacon said, making it clear he didn’t intend to be there for long. The chief reported to the mayor and Mayor Shield was a longtime family friend of the Kent family. Dillinger most likely knew this.
“Would you like to explain why your prints were found at my crime scene?” Dillinger got straight to the point.
“As a matter of fact, I would. I visited the scene the night after the murder.” Deacon paused out of respect for Jillian Mitchell. He lowered his voice. “My deepest sympathy goes to the Mitchell family.”
The chief acknowledged the moment of silence. “Can I ask what you thought you’d find?”
“Are you aware of the killings on my family’s ranch?” Deacon asked.
“The mayor briefed me a few minutes ago.” The chief’s voice was steady. If he’d been intimidated or offended, he didn’t show it. But then in a city the size of Fort Worth, the man had probably seen and heard almost everything. A chief in a city with that many residents would also know the political aspects of the job.
Deacon owed Shield a thank-you call because he had a feeling this meeting would be going a lot differently if the mayor hadn’t intervened.
“My fear is that the killer could be escalating. From what I read in the news the other morning, this case seemed like exactly that was happening. I wanted to help,” Deacon said.
“Why not call my office?”
It was a reasonable question. “I wasn’t sure I had anything to say yet.”
“And now?” This got the chief’s attention.
“I’m convinced it’s not the same guy.”
Dillinger looked startled. “How so?”
“Our guy hacks the left hoof and then leaves the heifer to bleed out, like he’s taunting us. Jillian Mitchell’s right foot was cut clean off.”
“I have a suspect behind bars,” the chief said.
He couldn’t share the part about his knowing there was no murder weapon recovered. “How strong is the case?”
The chief didn’t respond, which meant he knew he’d have to release Henry.
“You have a scared man with a rap sheet in lockup who didn’t commit the crime,” Deacon said.
“Are you interfering with my investigation?” The chief’s chest practically puffed out. Politics or no, he wouldn’t appreciate someone from the outside interfering in his territory.
“I spoke to Henry to see if there was a connection. I’m a concerned citizen, trying to stop a man from butchering cattle or worse, women. It was never my intention to get in the way of any of your people. But can I ask you this? Why would a detective return to a crime scene and look for prints after he’d already done so?” It was worth putting out there.
* * *
LEAH STOOD THERE, head bowed, giving nothing away of her reaction to the exchange between Deacon and the chief. She knew better.
The chief was a reasonable man. He’d see the logic.
“I don’t discuss ongoing murder investigations with citizens no matter how much influence he or she might have,” the chief said after a moment of contemplation.
“Then this meeting is over.” Deacon stood his ground and part of Leah wanted to clap. “Unless I need an attorney, in which case—”