by J. D. Faver
Cassie stopped breathing as Javier turned to her.
His beautiful, dark eyes shone with emotion as he grinned at her. “Cassidy Danforth, in front of God and in front of my priest, my family and yours; in front of the people who have known me as a boy and as a man, I’m declaring that I love you with my whole heart and I’m asking you to marry me and be my wife. I promise to love you and cherish you and honor and protect you as long as I live. Will you marry me?”
Tears pooled in Cassie’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks in twin rivulets. Javier stood waiting while she tried to find the words to respond to his eloquent speech. She nodded her head and whispered, “Yes.”
Javier grinned, his dimples flashing as he picked her up and swung her around in a circle. The entire church applauded; most rising to their feet as he kissed her.
He took a ring out of his pocket and reached for her hand.
“Oh, Javi,” she gasped.
He slipped it on her finger and kissed her again. “Will you get a white dress and meet me on this very spot in three weeks to become my bride?”
“Three weeks?” she squeaked out.
“I booked the church. I can’t wait any longer, Cassie. Let’s get married.”
She glanced at Sky, who was wiping tears from her own face. She flashed a grin at Cassie and nodded.
“I’ll meet you here in three weeks.” She grinned at him. “I’ll be the one in the white dress.”
~*~
About the author:
J.D. Faver lives near Houston, Texas with two spoiled, rotten cats, Emily and Daisy, and a rescue dog, affectionately called Heart of Darkness, Horrible/Adorable, or Minx for short. She writes humorous contemporary romance and romantic suspense, both seasoned with plenty of steamy passion. Even the darkest murder/suspense is riddled with numerous snarky sentiments. She is actively involved in several writer"s organizations, including National RWA and three of its local chapters, West Houston RWA, Houston Bay Area RWA and Northwest Houston RWA. She loves to spend time with family and friends. She writes daily but has time for other interests including painting, cooking and gardening.
She Tweets. http://twitter.com/#!/JDFaverauthor
She FaceBooks. https://www.facebook.com/pages/JD-Faver-Author/
She loves to hear from readers. http://www.jdfaver.com
~*~
Other books by J.D. Faver
BAD MEDICINE~The Borderlands-Book One
http://www.amazon.com/Bad-Medicine-Romantic-Thriller-ebook/dp/B007H5IUQ2/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_3
ON ICE
http://www.amazon.com/Ice-Contemporary-Romantic-Thriller-ebook/dp/B00758KQ22/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_1
KILL SHOT
http://www.amazon.com/Kill-Shot-Romantic-Suspense-ebook/dp/B005LDJVRE/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_4
BAD HABIT
http://www.amazon.com/Habit-Contemporary-Romantic-Suspense-ebook/dp/B0054HKQDK/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_5
BADLANDS
http://www.amazon.com/Badlands-Contemporary-Romantic-Suspense-ebook/dp/B005341WX2/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_7
BAD GIRL!
http://www.amazon.com/Bad-Girl-Romantic-Thriller-ebook/dp/B00655TZ28/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_2
A TWIST OF FATE
http://www.amazon.com/Twist-Fate-Contemporary-Romance-ebook/dp/B005BYP8VG/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_6
PAINTED LADY
http://www.amazon.com/Painted-Lady-Contemporary-Romance-ebook/dp/B004Z82NMG/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_8
Take a peek at the first chapter of BAD VIBES, available soon:
BAD VIBES
The Borderlands~Book Three
J.D. Faver
CHAPTER ONE
Blown Away!
“She’s going to blow me...” Mike glanced over his shoulder. He lowered his voice, aware that he’d been shouting into his cell phone.
“No way, man. That little red-headed deputy isn’t going to blow you.”
“My cover.” He ducked behind the concrete piling. “She’s going to blow my cover. She’s patrolling around the bar and docks. Keeps telling me to move along.” He felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. “I’m in too deep to be compromised now. I’m staying in position, Freddy. Get her reassigned, or something. Fix it!”
Furious, Special Agent Michael Burke snapped his phone closed, returning it to the pocket under his carefully concealed holster. He’d spent the last two weeks investigating reports of human trafficking along the border. He’d been hand picked for the deep cover assignment because of his uncanny ability to blend into any environment and for his competence on the water.
On his arrival at South Padre Island, the lush Texas resort located on the Intracoastal Waterway, he’d boarded a charter boat with fishing rod in hand, and spent the day chatting with the captain. The captain was a local old-timer who kept up a non-stop discourse on fishing and when he found he had a willing audience, he spilled a lot of local gossip. Although Mike had kept the old man going with an occasional nod or grunt to indicate interest, he had in fact, been checking out the boats in the bay, noting their comings and goings. After that, he’d rented a cabin cruiser, and taken it offshore for more reconnoitering.
He’d wanted to get a closer look at the local boats for hire, but the little red-head was making his task impossible.
His short-cropped hair had the stamp of a former Marine, but with a cap pulled down over his ears and a weeks worth of beard he could pass for a dock rat.
He’d selected his wardrobe from the Salvation Army and then dragged it behind his car down a dirt road. He hadn’t bathed in days and could barely stand himself.
Damn! Here she comes again. He crouched down beside one of the concrete pilings supporting a local waterside bar. He closed his eyes just as she turned the corner.
Deputy Darla Calhoun kicked his shoe. “Come on, bud. Don’t make me take you in. You can’t sleep here. This is private property.” She squatted down on her haunches to get a better look at him.
He hoped his aroma would keep her from looking too close.
Big brown Bambi eyes, long auburn lashes and a dusting of freckles. She should have been cute, but she was beautiful.
Mike swallowed hard as he focused on the heart-shaped face before him. “Ah, lady, give a guy a break. I ain’t botherin’ nobody. I ain’t had a decent meal in a week.”
She cocked her head to one side. “You’re hungry?”
“Damned right I’m hungry.” He squinted at her.
She sighed. “I suppose I can get you some food.”
Mike did an internal eye-roll. Great! She’s springing for lunch.
In a graceful movement, she rose and disappeared around the corner. Her footsteps reverberated on the wide wooden planks that formed the stairs of the Bait Camp Bar overhead.
He sighed and leaned back against the piling upon which the structure had been built to resist storm surges. The sound of choppy water slapping the docks mingled with the scream of a gull stirred memories of his boyhood in coastal Maine. There the Atlantic had pounded the shore with more aggression, but it smelled the same.
In a few minutes, the deputy returned. She extended a paper bag toward him. “Here’s a hamburger and fries. Eat up, but then you’ll have to leave this area.”
“Thanks, lady.” His gaze fell on her slender hand where the simple gold wedding band denoted her off-limits status. He should have known that such a pretty little thing would have a husband, but what kind of a man would allow his wife to work in such a dangerous job?
True, she had a Glock on her hip and when she turned, he spotted a Smith and Wesson .38 clipped to the back of her utility belt. It was nestled in the curve of her waist, just above that fine little ass of hers.
A sharp glance over her shoulder. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes and you’d better be gone.”
He nodded, making a guttural sound while he pushed food into his face. As she walked away, his trained eye noticed the ankle holster under her uniform pants.
Armed and dangerous. Maybe the little babe can take care of herself.
~*~
Darla walked to the end of the pier and inhaled deeply. She let the offshore breeze clear the filthy homeless man’s stench from her lungs.
She shouldn’t have gotten him food. He’d probably hang around now, expecting a handout all the time. She hoped he’d leave. If not, she’d have to put him in her patrol car and he’d stink it up during the short ride to the sheriff’s office.
Darla shivered, thinking how close she’d come to being homeless herself. Unconsciously, she twisted the wedding band on her finger and then stared down at her left hand. Her brother Calvin had told her it was time to take the ring off.
Sliding the plain gold band from her finger, she weighed it in her palm, remembering when Kenny had placed it there. They’d been so young...so filled with dreams. How could everything have fallen apart?
Their sons, Kip and Tad, appeared to be adjusting to being fatherless, but how could she tell? The twins would be having their fifth birthday in a just over a week. How would they remember this year? “When we were four, our daddy shot himself.”
Angry tears formed in Darla’s eyes. How could you do this to us? Her jaw tightened as she threw the small gold band as far out into the bay as she could. She watched it arc and then fall into the water without even making a splash.
Calvin was right. It was time to move on. Only she had no idea which direction to take. She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort.
Better go roust my bum.
~*~
“What’s the charge?” A woman in an electric wheelchair slued around at her L-shaped desk as the little deputy brought Mike in. She looked him over carefully. He felt as though she had X-ray vision, so thorough was her scrutiny.
The deputy pushed him forward, and sighed. “Let’s start with vagrancy, public nuisance, carrying a concealed weapon and polluting the environment.”
The woman raised her brows. “Polluting the environment?”
The deputy made a growling noise. “He pissed in public.”
The wheelchair woman gave him a little smile over the top of her glasses. “Naughty boy. Let’s call that public lewdness.”
Although Mike had remained hidden until he’d seen the deputy drive away, she’d returned to surprise him as he was checking out a boat. Urinating off the pier had been the first thing he could think of to cover his real intent.
Mike stood beside the petite deputy, somewhat in awe of her abilities. She’d gotten him to his feet and handcuffed, although he was a foot taller and had eighty pounds on her. She’d patted him down and disarmed him in nothing flat.
Of course, he could have resisted, but where was the fun in that?
“Name?” The woman behind the desk gazed at him solemnly over her red cat’s eye glasses.
“Ralph Waite,” he answered.
“Wrong. That’s the name of the actor who played the father on The Waltons. What is your real name?”
“Ralph Kramden.”
She made a hissing sound, like a tire losing air. “John Doe it is.” Her fingers flew over the keys.
Mike stood stoically, failing to comment further. His red-head removed his cap and photographed him. Then, standing beside him, she’d rolled his hands over a scanner and recorded his fingerprints.
A tall, Hispanic man in uniform emerged from an inner office and looked him over. Mike judged him to be around his own height, easily six-foot-four. He had light olive skin with dark hair and eyes, but he spoke without any trace of an accent. He leaned over the handicapped woman, peering down at her monitor. “What do we have here, Ida?” He straightened and gave Mike another penetrating gaze. “He was carrying a concealed weapon?”
“A Sig Sauer. Darla logged it in.”
Mike averted his eyes as the little red-head led him toward the back of the building. She ushered him inside a shower room.
“Take off all your clothes and put them in this bag.” She extended a large paper sack to him. “The sheriff is going to monitor your shower.”
Mike had to chuckle at the offhand manner she assumed. “Do men always strip for you on command?”
She gazed up at him solemnly. “Only when they smell like you do.”
Mike wanted to tell her how hard he’d worked to achieve his stench. He gave her another long look before starting to remove the layers of clothing disguising his lean, muscled body. She stood by the door and opened it a crack. He noted with some satisfaction that she appeared a bit nervous when he stripped off his undershirt and stood before her in his briefs.
The tall Hispanic officer stepped through the doorway and spoke to the deputy. “Thanks, Deputy Calhoun. You’re relieved now.”
Mike stifled a smirk when he read the relief evident on her face. Too cute.
The male officer pointed to his briefs. “Those too.” He held out the paper bag.
Mike glanced up to see the pretty deputy stride toward the door. He stepped out of his last item of clothing just as she swept him with her gaze. She colored prettily before averting her eyes and rushing out. He tried not to laugh as he deposited his briefs in the bag with the rest of his garments.
The male officer frowned at him. “Use the anti-bacterial soap and wash thoroughly. When you’re done, put this on.” He hung a towel, an orange jumpsuit and a pair of tightie-whities on a hook outside the shower stall.
Mike nodded and stepped under the stream of water wishing he could drag Deputy Calhoun into the shower with him.
~*~
After securing her prisoner in a cell, Darla emerged and perched on the edge of Ida’s desk. Her heart was beating a little faster. She felt alive for a change.
“God! You should have seen that guy! He’s built like a brick shithouse and he has an eagle, globe and anchor tattoo on the inside of his right forearm.”
Ida whirled around in the motorized chair. “You could have taken a picture for me,” she chortled. “I’ll add the Marine tattoo to his description. Any other distinguishing marks?”
Darla grinned. “Let’s just say that John Doe comes very well-equipped.” She made a fanning motion.
“You could have asked the sheriff to monitor the shower.”
Darla shrugged. “I did, but he took his time getting there. If I receive special treatment because I’m a woman, then I’m ineffective. I’m handicapped.”
Ida winked at her. “And we’re not handicapped, are we?”
Darla high-fived her. “Absolutely not!”
She dug some coins out of her pocket and hit the soda machine. It had been a long time since she’d felt such a rush of lust and never for a vagrant, but there was something about this guy. She chugged the cold cola, feeling it burn a path down her throat. Exhaling, she sought another mental image.
The John Doe had reminded her of a Weimaraner dog with his intelligent smoky-blue-gray eyes and silvery brown hair. He was probably in his mid-thirties and had earned the threads of silver in his short-cropped hair, but his body looked like that of a twenty-year-old athlete. Oh, Mama!
She finished the soft drink and rinsed the can. One of her nephews was saving aluminum for a Cub Scout recycling project. It was up to all the Baileys to do their part.
Darla was the only sister among the Bailey offspring. Her seven red-headed brothers had all stepped forward after Kenny’s suicide, offering support and encouragement. It was Calvin who’d bailed her out financially, saving the house from foreclosure.
Too late, she’d discovered that Kenny had developed a taste for on-line gambling, filling his time as a stay at home dad while Darla worked the day shift. Kenny had lost his job as an insurance adjuster when the twins were three. As a couple, they’d decided that it might be better for the children to have a parent as a caretaker, so he’d delayed looking for work, at least until the boys started school.
Bad decision, as it turned out.
Kenny had left a note, explaining that they were deeply in debt and that he had not paid bills with the money from Darla’s paycheck that was bein
g direct deposited into their joint account. Instead, he’d tried to make a big win online, borrowing against their snug little house as well as the modest sedan Darla had paid off. Unable to face her, he’d chosen the easy way out. Easy for him.
After dropping the twins at Darla’s parent’s, he’d returned home and called the 911 emergency line. He’d requested that Deputy Darla Calhoun not be sent to the scene and he’d pulled the trigger.
It had been her boss, Rafael Solis, who’d located her after the incident. She could still see his pained expression when he’d told her that her husband was dead. He’d held her as she screamed in denial. Catholic husbands did not commit suicide. Happily married fathers with beautiful twin boys did not do such a thing. A man who vows to love, honor, and cherish was not allowed to abandon the woman who kept those vows.
Now, she was alone. But, as a Bailey, she was alone in a crowd. Calvin and Andrew were married. Zachary, her next younger brother, was a newlywed, and both sets of twins remained single.
Sundays were the worst. The entire Bailey clan sat together in church and afterwards trooped to the Bailey patriarchal homestead for the weekly get-togethers. She could submerge the bitter loneliness while on duty, and afterwards, when she picked up the boys from either her mother, Millie, or Calvin’s wife, Trish. She could focus one-hundred per cent of her attention on her children and make sure they were happy and cared for.
But on Sundays, all the pain of her miserable state came pouring down on her, reminding her of how very alone she was, how she was bleeding from every pore, but no one seemed to notice. Darla was good at faking it...maybe too good.