Liar, Liar

by Winter Austin

  The crack and hiss of a can opening made her turn. She left the living room and returned to the hall, examining the picture frames hanging on the walls as she inched along. They were mostly photos of Shane when he was younger with a man who Shane favored in looks and height and a woman who smiled adoringly at both men. His parents. What had it felt like to have two people who loved you unconditionally always there for you? Liza stared at a picture of the couple with their arms wrapped around a beaming Shane holding an enormous belt buckle.

  The whisper of movement and the clink of ice against glass pulled her gaze from the photo. Shane held out the drink.

  With a smile of thanks, she took it and sipped. The bubbles tickled her nose. Ahhh, the sweetness of Dr. Pepper, a cola like no other. She tipped her glass at the picture she’d been studying. “What was that all about?”

  Shane tilted his head to get a better look at what she was pointing at and then stepped back. “I won the saddle bronc event that sent me to the NFR.” He chuckled at her frown. “You don’t know what that is?”

  “It’s all foreign to me.”

  “Saddle bronc riding is when I ride a bucking horse in a saddle and a special halter with only a rope attached to it. I have to stay on for eight seconds. NFR stands for National Finals Rodeo—it’s like the Super Bowl of rodeo.”

  “Ahh.” Liza sipped more of the soda. “How long did you do that before you decided to be a law officer?”

  Cupping the back of his neck, he massaged the thick cord of muscle and sinew. “Most of my younger years. I retired before I was too torn up to walk.”

  “So, you became a cop and then sheriff?”

  A darkness shrouded his eyes. He avoided her gaze, turning to return to the kitchen. “What were you thinking about doing for supper?”

  Liza’s brain felt like it had slammed into a brick wall at high speed. What was he hiding? Her gaze swept over the remaining pictures on the wall as she followed him into the kitchen. Nothing stood out, just more of the same kind of photos of him or his parents.

  “I don’t know,” she said as she entered the room.

  He stood at a cramped counter, facing the wall, and fiddled with something near the knife block.

  The kitchen was small and functional, with a round table sitting in the middle of the floor and four chairs circled around it. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted the bathroom across from the kitchen. Then the remaining doors at the end of the hall should be bedrooms. One of those rooms was where he slept and dreamed . . . an electrified zap ran through the center of her body.

  Shane ceased his fiddling and faced her. “Mind if I grill some steaks? And we can have baked potatoes with them.”

  Her mouth watered at the mention of grilled steak. “Sounds wonderful.”

  He moved closer, hesitating between her and the table. Liza peered up at him looming over her, her chest constricting at his nearness. His gaze flicked down and then jerked back up. He was close, so, so close. Would he kiss her? Oh, would he just do it. She had to know if her wild daydreams were anywhere close to reality.

  “Excuse me.”

  She stumbled back, allowing him to continue on his path to the fridge. Turning, Liza rolled her eyes at her stupidity. She was reading too much into his actions. Everything he did had a purpose, and it sure as hell wasn’t about seducing her.

  Positioning herself next to the doorway, out of his way, she leaned against the wall. While sipping the Dr. Pepper, she watched him work his way around the kitchen. The sight was a novelty for her. Growing up in one foster home after another, Liza had never witnessed any man in any home, even Michael Bartholomew, cooking. Half of them wouldn’t have known where a frying pan was located.

  Shane glanced at her over his shoulder and then looked at her. “What?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing? You were staring at me like you were witnessing a miracle.”

  “Maybe I was.”

  “Agent Bartholomew, a man in the kitchen isn’t a new phenomenon.”

  “Where I grew up it is. And look at you, using high-falutin’ words like phenomenon.”

  He stilled at that and gradually turned to face her. “Because I’m a cowboy from a small town in the middle of nowhere in Iowa, you automatically assume I’m uneducated?”

  Shit! That was not even a million miles close to what she meant. “No. Sorry. I . . . You know what, I put my foot in my mouth. That’s not what I meant.”

  A smile crept along his mouth. “That was too easy.”

  The creep. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much, Sheriff. Tease all you want, but I’ll repay in kind.”

  He winked. “Looking forward to it.” He resumed his food dinner prep.

  Liza couldn’t recall seeing this side of Shane Hamilton in her previous visit. He’d been serious, no nonsense, and in charge, all with military precision. Teasing and joking didn’t seem part of his vocabulary. How wrong she’d been.

  “Do your parents live nearby?” she asked.

  “No, they passed on some years back.”

  “What about other family?”

  He shook his head. “Nobody left except me.”

  “That has to be . . . lonely.”

  Shrugging, he wrapped the potatoes in aluminum foil. “It’s not bad. I’ve got friends and my job.”

  Yet there was a hint of sadness in his voice. Friends and jobs weren’t enough, as she knew from firsthand experience. If it wasn’t for Kurt and Quinn, Liza would have no one to keep her sane. She rarely saw her adoptive parents, though she chatted over the phone with them on a weekly basis. It wasn’t the same.

  Kurt needed help, she was capable of helping, but she’d tossed his concerns and needs out the window in lieu of closing the most difficult case of her career. The longer she kept at this impossible quest to bring Ripley to justice, the more she was beginning to second-guess her decision to stay with the FBI to see this case through to the end.

  “There’s the bull again,” Shane said.

  “What bull?”

  “The bull that seems to drag you into some deep, deep thoughts.” Shane picked up a metal tray with two thick slabs of T-bones, the two potatoes, and a pair of metal tongs. “You hanging here or coming with me?”

  “Don’t you need to start the grill?”

  He beckoned with the tray. “Follow me.”

  Follow she did, right outside to a beautiful deck, stained a rich, dark-red varnish. In the center was a stone fireplace with smoldering coals. A grill rack balanced on the circle of rock. It was like he expected her to agree to a steak dinner.

  “What would you have done if I said I wanted to go out to eat?”

  Shane shoved the foil-wrapped potatoes onto some of the coals. “Convinced you otherwise. I had a good feeling you preferred the home-style approach.”

  “Oh, you did, did you?”

  His smile warmed her. How could he possibly guess about her preferences and be right, and she still couldn’t crack his shell?

  Taking her half-empty glass of soda, she settled on one of the deck chairs and studied the landscape. Off in the distance she spotted a small herd of horses, grazing on the lush grass spread across the hillside. To the left of the house, she could just make out the edge of what must be a barn. It was peaceful out here. Far enough away from the town limits to avoid the bustle and noise, but close enough for Shane to respond in a hurry for an emergency.

  Once he had the steaks sizzling, he padded over to a chair set close to the pit. “What was the meeting time, again?”

  “Nine-thirty.”

  “We should get there more than an hour earlier. Give you a chance to scope out the place.”

  “Me a chance, or you?”

  He gave a nonchalant shrug, like a roguish Matthew McConaughey. It made her breath hitch. “Both.”

  A horse whinnied, drawing her attention to the herd. Had they moved closer?

  “How many horses do you have out there?” Hopefully the distraction and chang
e of subject would keep her mind off her reaction to him.

  Shane twisted in his chair, the action tightening his shirt and revealing a taut network of muscles along his torso. So not helping.

  “There’s five out there,” he pointed at the group that wandered down the hill. “I have another pasture past this one with fifteen mares and foals.”

  “Twenty horses. How do you ride them all?”

  “I don’t.” He untwisted his body to look at her. “Hell, I hope no one does. They’re mostly bucking stock. I’ve got one of the top bucking mares in the nation under my care.”

  The shell had a crack. I’ll be damned. I better exploit it as long as I can. “If they’re used for rodeos, how do you get them there?”

  “I only breed them. I’ve got some strong connections to contractors who come test out what I’ve got and buy what they want. If the new blood won’t buck, they’re sold for riding and working purposes.”

  “Have you seen your horses in action?”

  “Plenty of times. We’ve got professional rodeo stops in a few towns around here.”

  “And you have nothing to ride yourself? You don’t strike me as a man who doesn’t have a horse or two to ride.”

  “I’ve got three out there to ride. And I have two studs for breeding.” Shane rose from his chair, a little slower this time, and flipped the steaks.

  “And in all of that you find time to be a sheriff.”

  “Don’t sound so amazed.” He returned to his chair.

  A comfortable silence settled between them. Liza gazed into her glass. She could use a refill, but she loathed disturbing their peace.

  “Who’s Kurt?”

  The out-of-the-blue question threw her into a tailspin. Like a car chase scene in a Dwayne Johnson movie, Liza’s brain sped through a hundred different variations of “how the hell did he find out about Kurt?”

  “Wow, you have that same expression you get when you have some deep thoughts.” One eyebrow peaked. “I’m beginning to think a thoughtful Liza is correlated to this Kurt.”

  The only way Shane could have learned about Kurt was overhearing her argument with him while she was in Shane’s office. Or Doc Drummond had said something—after he, too, eavesdropped. Setting her glass down with a thunk, Liza scooted forward in her seat. “You had no right.”

  Any lightheartedness in him evaporated. “No, I didn’t, and I won’t make excuses. However, you weren’t exactly quiet, either.”

  “Then you should have continued pretending you heard nothing.”

  “I might have, if I hadn’t noticed how this Kurt fellow, and Quinn, seem to be affecting your capabilities as an LEO.”

  “You, of all people, should know that in our line of work, keeping our private lives private is paramount. Especially in my job. I don’t need criminals finding out the names of my loved ones so they can use them as leverage against me.”

  They stared at each other. Unable to take the scrutiny, Liza hoisted herself out of the chair and headed back inside the house. This was a mistake. A monumental one. She should have known her personal life would spill over into this case. Having Shane call her out on it was bad form. And damn it, he was right.

  The sliding patio door was her only warning.

  “Liza, I wasn’t pushing for a fight.”

  Turning, she crossed her arms and glared. “Then explain to me what you were trying to do.”

  “Understand. I was trying to understand.”

  “There’s nothing to understand. My personal life is that, personal. That means you have no right to pry or convince me otherwise.”

  Shane didn’t have a comeback, though his intense stare had a lot to say. Her backlash and insistence on shutting him out had triggered . . . what? His suspicion? Great, she hadn’t deterred him one iota, and if memory served her right, she’d given him a damn good reason to get nosy. And if he ever got the itch to call her SAC, Montrose could reveal more than Liza wanted.

  How could she have ever thought any of this was a good idea? She should not be going to Riker’s Club with him. Taking along one of his seasoned, younger deputies would have been the better choice. Liza put a clamp down on her scattered thoughts and raging hormones. She had a job to do, and it wasn’t getting done. Shane had been right about one thing: she was letting her personal life get in the way of her job. And it wasn’t only Kurt and Quinn distracting her.

  “You might want to attend to our food before it burns.”

  “You say that as if you’re not planning on leaving.”

  With a tilt of her chin, she eyed him. “I should, but I’ve come this far, might as well finish it. We did agree to go to this club together, and I don’t back out of a commitment.”

  He seemed to consider her reasons, gave a slight nod, and then headed for the patio door. Pausing, he looked back. “You don’t have to hide away in here on account of my prying. There is more to discuss before we leave.”

  Yes, there was more. She wanted a solid plan in place with this mysterious meet-up. This whole setup had the potential to end badly, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.

  “I’ll be out in a moment. I need a refill on my soda.”

  He pointed at the fridge. “Help yourself.” With that, he slipped outside.

  Her shoulders weighed a ton. This burden was beginning to take a toll on her. She opened the door and located a fresh Dr. Pepper. Setting the can on a narrow counter next to the fridge, she started to crack open the tab when a small picture tucked in a corner caught her eye. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure her nosiness wasn’t about to be called out, she bent down and pulled the curling photo close. It was Shane, a buffer, dustier, grizzled, uniformed Shane. He stood next to a tan Humvee holding an M4. He was in the army? When the . . . Wait! What the hell was she doing? Hadn’t she just chewed him out for prying into her personal life? Shoving the picture back into its place, she grabbed the Dr. Pepper and made a beeline for the door.

  Erase what you saw from your memory. Yeah, like that was going to happen. The image of a battle-weary Shane was burned into her mind. Yet, it begged the question, why was that picture just lying around for her to see? And why did she get the sense that no one knew he’d served? From the way Cassy talked, Shane had been a cowboy and was now the sheriff, nothing in between.

  But there had been something between. Something huge. No one served in the military and didn’t get some kind of recognition for it. Did they?

  Liza Bartholomew, leave it alone. You have enough problems to worry about. Digging up Shane’s past is not one of them.

  Opening the patio door, she hesitated before stepping outside. Shane hovered near the firepit, his backside turned to her. The fading sunlight glinted off the silver chain hanging around his neck. He peered over his shoulder at her. Those dark brown eyes carried a weight she had seen in her own eyes after Ripley had burned the warehouse and killed those innocent people. It was guilt over a wrong that could never be made right. Whatever had sent him into the army was more than huge—It was something terrible. And it had shaped his every thought and move.

  Who are you, Shane Hamilton?

  Chapter Sixteen

  It had been a legit question and reason. So why did he feel like a huge hypocritical ass? Hadn’t he dodged one of her innocent questions about his personal life?

  Did it really matter? He shouldn’t be interested in her other than how to solve their adjoining case. Once they got what they wanted, she would be gone. Back to her FBI position and her Kurt and Quinn. Hell, for all Shane figured, Kurt was a boyfriend or husband and Quinn their child. She could have lied to him about being single—she was an FBI agent, for God’s sake. Just because she didn’t wear a ring didn’t mean she wasn’t married. A lot of law enforcement officials hid their married status as a precaution to protect their families from criminals exploiting them. It made perfect sense for her to keep it secret and to get flaming mad when he pushed it.

  Yet, the thought of her being married stabbed at hi
m like a pair of spurs. He spared a glance her way then returned his focus to the road ahead. Silence had ruled most of their ride, and for good reason. Gone was the easy camaraderie they’d developed in the last twenty-four hours. She drove with stiff, jerky movements, avoiding eye contact.

  He’d done pissed her off. The deathly silent meal was a big giveaway. Everything had been going fine, and he had to open his pie hole and ruin it all.

  It was for the best. Nothing could ever come of them. Ever. She had no place here in McIntire County. And he had no reason to even imagine any type of relationship with her outside of a professional one. He was a man past his prime and dedicated to a dead memory.

  “Up here, you’ll want to turn right at the stop sign,” he said softly.

  They’d chosen to take her car to Riker’s since it fit the type of vehicle a millennial would drive. Shane still couldn’t see how his looking less like a cowboy would hide the fact that he was a man about to turn fifty walking into a bar for twenty-somethings. Liza would have better luck walking in unnoticed. Although, after seeing her approach his home earlier in those form-fitting pants and the delicate blouse, he’d been unable to tear his gaze off her. She’d been a sight, and it had taken his breath. How would any virile buck be able to keep his eyes and mitts off her when she passed over Riker’s threshold?

  The old factory came into view; pulsing multicolored lights streamed through the windows. Liza directed the car into the full parking lot.

  “This place is busy.”

  He spotted a lone empty spot along the edge where the lot met the small grass patch. He pointed it out to Liza. “I warned you. Riker’s has a certain appeal to its preferred client base.” And he was about to regret every minute of this.