Bad to the Bone (Night Fall Book 10)

by Delilah Devlin

  But things were looking bleak. She considered pulling to the side of the road at the first rest stop, if she ever found one, or at a widening of the road’s shoulder and sleeping in her car until the morning. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  David D was giving her a headache, so she glanced down to eject the CD.

  When she looked back up, something large and black darted into the road in front of her then stood there, caught in the headlights.

  A scream lodged in her throat. She slammed on her brakes, causing her car to swerve onto the soft shoulder. Her tires caught the edge of the road and sank. Before she could compensate, her car left the road, crashing into the ditch. Water splashed up the hood and drowned her windshield in the wet onslaught and long grass.

  Seconds later, the engine sputtered to a halt. The headlights dimmed. Then water seeped through the floorboard.

  DiDi lifted her feet, clutched the steering wheel hard and closed her eyes. Just for a moment, just long enough to still the thoughts racing too fast through her mind to process.

  The car was stuck. But the water wasn’t deep enough to drown her. She had time to react.

  She flicked her ignition, but the starter sputtered. Using the battery alone, she lowered her window. Bending to her right, she reached toward the floor and swung her hand around until she caught the handle of her purse. Straightening, she clutched both sides of her window and climbed out.

  She stepped into stagnant, swampy water that filled her shoes and soaked her jeans to the knees. “Shit. I hope the alligators won’t like the taste of me,” she muttered. “Or that whatever jumped in the road isn’t looking for dinner.”

  In the distance, she heard the roar of an engine. Rescue. So she slung her purse over her shoulder, grabbed handfuls of the grass at the side of the ditch and crawled up to the road.

  Headlights blinded her for a moment, but she lifted her hand, praying she wasn’t flagging down a serial killer. If she was, she hoped he’d spare her life long enough for him to tell her his story. Her mouth formed a grim smile as she straightened,

  A car pulled alongside her, the passenger window whirred downward.

  An emblem on the side of the car had her sighing with relief. A police car had halted beside her.

  “Ma’am, do you need help?”

  The soft southern inflections in the deep, rasping voice soothed her fears. She leaned down and braced her hands on the open passenger window to peer inside. “My car’s in the ditch,” she said, eyeing the large shadow of the man behind the wheel.

  “I can see that,” he said calm as could be. “Need a lift?”

  “I need a tow. And probably repairs. The engine took on water.”

  “Get in. I’m heading into Bayou Noir. Henri’s gas station isn’t open this late, but you can get a room at the motel for the night and figure things out in the mornin’.”

  She nodded, hesitated for a second, hoping he wasn’t a rapist posing as a cop, and then opened the door to slide onto the bench seat. When she closed the door, she turned to get a better look at her savior. Her mouth dried in an instant.

  Even shadowed, she could tell he was handsome. Strong, rugged features, a blunt nose and square chin. A full head of dark hair, cut short and with a slight curl.

  Probably married. Nothing that delicious wouldn’t have been wrestled to the altar long ago.

  He studied her while she stared back, his dark gaze flicking over her hair, and she lifted her hand to comb through it, suddenly self-conscious. Then her mind began to click as she inventoried the person beside her, thinking she couldn’t have found a better hero for her next novel. “I’m DiDi Devereux,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Sheriff Mason Breaux.” He gave her a quick, impersonal clasp. “Anything you need from your car?”

  Her palm burned from the handshake. Not a flicker of recognition had glinted in his eyes at the mention of her name. Good. “Um…my suitcase. It’s in the trunk.”

  He put the squad car in park. “Give me your keys, and I’ll get it for you.”

  Handsome and a gentleman. Mmmm. “I left them in the ignition.”

  He nodded, let himself out of the car.

  Leaning into the window opening, she watched as he plunged down the bank. Things were indeed looking up. Already her fingers were itching to tap on keys and capture her first impressions of her backwoods cop. Her mind leapt back to the cause of her current dilemma—the large animal that had stood defiantly in the center of the road.

  If she hadn’t known the situation was impossible, she would have sworn the animal was a panther. A black panther. But they didn’t exist in North America outside of folktales, and tawny Florida panthers no longer roamed this part of the south.

  No, what she’d spied was far more likely a large dog. Her imagination had simply traded one prosaic image for the fantasy her artist’s soul craved. She angled her head on the padded rest. But what would be the harm in creating a story, wrapped around the tale of a stranded tourist who found a strange enchanted land deep in a Louisiana bayou where black panthers roamed?

  Mason cursed as his boots sank into muck. Damn tourists. The sooner he dropped her at the motel, the better.

  He hadn’t liked how his body had reacted to the stranger—pulled, his groin heavy and surging. Almost like the instant, inevitable attraction between two soul mates. Not that he believed that old wives’ tale.

  Likely he’d just been drawn by all that gold hair, curling wildly around her head. By the wide blue eyes that had stared avidly at him. She didn’t act like most women who hid their curiosity beneath the coy sweep of lowered eyelashes. Her gaze had scoured him from his head to where his legs disappeared into the shadows.

  He wondered if she’d be that curious, that meticulous, when studying a naked man’s body. A snort escaped. Not that he’d ever get the chance to know.

  She was just passing through. And it was a good thing too. The full moon was only a couple of days away. Outsiders weren’t welcome in Bayou Noir during a full moon. Add a lunar eclipse, and he and his deputy would have their hands full keeping order in their sleepy little town.

  He inserted the key into the trunk lock and twisted it. The latch popped. Inside, he found her suitcase and a smaller computer bag. He hoisted up both, slammed down the trunk, and scrambled up the bank.

  He opened the passenger back door, slid the larger case across the seat, and then started to place the smaller one on the floor.

  “Could I have that one please?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  That sexy, husky voice raked right down his spine like the claws of she-cat. “Sure,” he muttered, annoyed with his inappropriate attraction.

  And he began to worry. Her car was indeed sunk deep in the mud. Henri might winch it up and tow it to his garage tomorrow, but Mason seriously doubted the mechanic could have it fixed before the full moon.

  He’d suggest that Henri haul it to Destiny, just down the road a safe distance from the insanity that was poised to explode in his own little parish. Henri might bemoan the loss of revenue, but no one would want a single human female here. Not the way she smelled.

  Ripe, musky, spicy.

  He ground his teeth, handed her the bag and walked around the car, hoping like hell she hadn’t noticed the erection thickening alongside his thigh.

  Once inside, he slammed the car into gear and pressed on the gas, taking it a little fast, but he knew the road. The cats knew the sound of his engine. No one would burst out to see who was coming.

  He had no doubt who was responsible for DiDi’s mishap. Cats rarely ventured this far from the center of the parish for fear of a night hunter’s spotlight. Bobby Sonnier was careless, reckless, and if he’d gotten a whiff of this little blonde chatte, it was going to be hell keeping him away while she waited for her car to be repaired.

  Add another worry to the list of things Mason had on his mind.

  “I’m sorry to be an inconvenience,” she said quietly.

&nb
sp; “You’re not,” he bit out.

  “Sure,” she said, but she didn’t sound sarcastic.

  When he turned to gauge her expression, he saw she was still staring, and grinned when he caught her at it. She was bold. Ridiculously unafraid. But then she had no clue she’d entered a lion’s den.

  They pulled into Bayou Noir, driving down Main Street, the only street. He signaled to turn, even though there wasn’t a single other motorist on the road. Light blazed from the motel office. The neon sign above the door announced “Vacancy”—in two days that would change whether or not any rooms were available to let.

  They climbed out of the car. She entered the office while he waited outside, watching her and growing more curious by the minute. She gave the clerk that same avid stare, signed for a room, and received the key.

  So her interest hadn’t been for him alone. He felt a niggle of disappointment but reminded himself that fact was just as well.

  When she returned, she held up the key and smiled. “All set.”

  “I’ll get your case,” he mumbled.

  He carried it through the door of her room and gazed around, thinking the shabby surroundings couldn’t be what she was used to. But she didn’t turn up her nose. The room was clean however thin the carpeting or natty the bedspread.

  He placed the case on the bed and turned to leave, but he hadn’t realized she stood so close behind him.

  They bumped, and he reached down to clasp her hips to steady her. He should have dropped his hands the moment she looked up, but he couldn’t.

  Again, that same unwanted attraction held him as he stared into her blue eyes.

  Color flooded her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “Thanks for everything,” she whispered.

  His thumbs smoothed up and down on her hips bones. She was slender but sturdy. He liked her height. Her head would rest over his heart if he pulled her closer.

  She cleared her throat.

  He took the hint, dropping his hands. He stepped around her, embarrassed now that he’d betrayed his interest.

  “Sheriff?”

  “Mason,” he ground out, although he questioned why he wanted to be on a first-name basis.

  “Mason, is there anywhere around here to get a bite to eat?”

  He bit back a curse. That he wanted to get as far away from her as possible wasn’t her fault. “Grab your purse. I’ll take you to the LeChat. It’s the only restaurant. But noisy. It’s honkytonk, too.”

  “That’d be fine,” she said, breathlessly. “I’d like to take in a bit of the local flavor, seeing as how I might be here a while.”

  He forced his mouth into a faint grin. “We’ll see about gettin’ you back on the road tomorrow.”

  “No hurry. I’m not travelling much farther anyway.”

  Something about the way she said it, or perhaps because she looked away for once, alerted him he wouldn’t like what she said. He lifted an eyebrow.

  She cleared her throat. “I inherited property nearby. I was on my way there when I ran off the road.”

  “Where exactly are you headed?”

  “The Gauthier House. I guess it goes by that name?”

  His back stiffened, and he schooled his expression into an implacable mask. Oh hell, no. The woman couldn’t be related to Ondine Gauthier. And she couldn’t take possession of the house. The building sat in the center of sacred ground.

  “Your purse?” He bit out.

  He’d see her to dinner. And hope like hell one of the clan leaders was there to discuss this disaster. Something had to be done quickly to dissuade her from staying. That or they had to figure out a way to keep her away from the house and occupied during the full moon.

  She slung her handbag over her shoulder and gave him a curious glance. “I say something wrong? Or do you know the place?”

  “I know it. Do you want to change?” No way did he want to wait outside while all he could do was think about her stripping, but he had to ask.

  To her credit, she glanced down her length and then shrugged. “We both look like hell. I don’t care if you don’t.”

  He almost cracked a smile. “Let’s go.”

  DiDi sat beside Mason as he pulled out of the parking lot. He’d stiffened when she’d mentioned the house. He hadn’t liked her mentioning it. Was it because he had a natural dislike for strangers, or did he have a personal interest in the property?

  “My lawyer said the house is in pretty bad shape,” she murmured, fishing for more information.

  “It’s fallin’ down,” he said bluntly. “You really should consider sellin’.”

  “I’m not afraid of a challenge.”

  “Miss Ondine was a recluse. She hoarded cats and junk. You’ll have to get a bulldozer in there to clear the rooms.”

  DiDi wrinkled her nose, imagining the disgusting mess she might face. “Oh my. Maybe I could hire some locals to help.”

  He stayed silent, not looking her way. He’d given her a hot once-over when she’d first entered his car, but must not have liked what he saw. She stifled her disappointment.

  Maybe he could be the villain of her next story. The local sheriff with a secret past and bodies buried in his back yard.

  In less than a minute, they reached the restaurant, which was really more of shack on stilts. But the smells emanating through the screen door made her belly rumble. The music drifting out was pure Cajun—guitars, accordion, and a tinny voice.

  Mason held open the door, this time not touching her. Inside, the place looked like something dreamed up by a Hollywood set designer who wanted to create the quintessential redneck beer joint. The floors were bare wood and scuffed. The walls were plastered, but unevenly so, with large holes where the plaster had given up the ghost and dropped away. A string of Christmas lights was tacked along the edge of the bar, several bulbs missing.

  But the smell of whatever was cooking behind the small window above the back of the bar was heavenly.

  “Mason,” the bartender called out, tossing the towel he’d been rubbing the counter with over his shoulder. He glanced at DiDi, and then his gaze lifted to Mason, a question in his eyes.

  Mason tilted his head toward DiDi, “She ran her car into a ditch.”

  The bartender’s eyes blinked, but then his expression warmed. “Don’t you worry none, Miss. Henri’ll get it out in da morning. Hungry?”

  DiDi relaxed. Nothing strange was going on. These locals weren’t communicating telepathically or wary about her arrival. They weren’t alien body snatchers hiding their existence from the human population. More’s the pity. “I’m starved. What’s on the menu?”

  The bartender laughed. “No menu, here, chère. Jus’ whatever Andy wants to cook.”

  “I’ll have whatever then,” she said smiling then she turned to Mason. “Would you like to join me? I’d like to buy you dinner for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

  She expected him to say no and hotfoot his way out the door, his duty by her done. But he motioned to an empty table and pulled out a chair.

  Maybe he was more interested than she’d thought. Maybe he just tended to hide behind his stern policeman face and had forgotten how to lighten up.

  Not that she minded the grim expression. Kind of turned her on. Made him more of a challenge as she tried to figure out how to crack him open. The man might have deep motivations for the way he acted—and they’d make for an interesting storyline.

  They’d both taken a seat when the door behind her opened again, the screen door slapping loudly.

  Mason’s eyes narrowed on the unlucky person who’d just entered, and she turned to find out who could get him to scowl like that.

  Her jaw fell. A man dressed in blue jeans and an unbuttoned plaid shirt walked in, sweat coating his hard-muscled abdomen, his chest heaving like he’d run for miles.

  His hair was thick and long, brushing the tops of his shoulders, and midnight black. Heavy brows shadowed dark eyes. His lips were full, but parted as he drew in deep breaths, g
iving her glimpses of even white teeth. The man was tall, although not as tall as the lawman at her table. He was well-built, maybe not as thickly muscled as her companion, but…perfect.

  His gaze swept the room and landed on her, pausing, then scrolled down her frame.

  Pulse racing, she shivered. She’d never been given a look like that. Like a man who wanted to eat her alive and savor the meal. Her mouth went dry, and she snapped her head around to stare at the table in front of her. For the first time in a long time, she was rattled by the appearance of a man.

  Where Sheriff Breaux made her want to dig deep into his psyche, this man oozed eroticism, made her wish for a night spent in cool sheets rubbing on his slick skin.

  Footsteps approached her table, and she lifted her gaze to Mason, who stared steadily at her.

  Was he jealous because she’d taken inventory of the other man? Or was he warning her?

  Mason tilted back his head. “Bobby, been huntin’?”

  Bobby’s full lips pulled away from his perfect white teeth when he smirked. “My quarry got away.”

  His head swiveled toward DiDi, and his gaze swept her hair, her mouth, and then slowly rose to lock with hers.

  DiDi shifted on her seat, felt heat flood her cheeks, and wondered what about him stripped away her self-possession.

  “You new to town?” Unlike Mason’s sexy rasp, Bobby Sonnier’s voice was a deep, rumbling purr.

  She wondered if he seduced the pants off every female he met with that honeyed voice. The thought had her stiffening in her chair. She wouldn’t be another easy conquest. Still, all that naked skin slathered in sweat, standing so close she could smell his wild, woodsy scent, unnerved her. “My car ran off the road. Your sheriff rescued me.”

  Bobby didn’t look to Mason. His smile curved. “No injuries. C’est bien.”

  “Two orders of Andy’s étouffée!”

  A plate dropped with a solid thud on the table in front of her, and she jumped.

  The bartender glared at Bobby, who smirked, tilted his head to DiDi, then walked away to take a stool in front of the bar.