by Emmy Grace
Emphasis on the luck.
Focus, Lucky, focus!
My basest instinct is to flee. Or hide. But I have an instinct that rivals, or even supersedes that—fight. That’s why, rather than taking my very woundable body farther from the possible object of my destruction, I scramble toward it.
I try to keep my feet out of the way as I circle the guys. The last thing I need is for one of them to inadvertently sweep my legs, and me crack my head and die from a basilar skull fracture or something bizarre like that.
They look like a clutch of snakes, squirming and writhing, all limbs and long bodies. It’s a little strange to behold. If they were both half-naked and sweaty, they’d look like two wrestlers in a Roman cathedral a bazillion years ago. Ancient Gladiators.
I put that thought out of my head the instant it arrives. The last thing I need to be doing right now is picturing Liam shirtless with muscles bulging underneath all that skin.
I turn my attention to the wiggling mass, narrowing my eyes as I try to identify Liam. I see flashes of him, then flashes of Trenton.
But then the tide turns. I think Liam sees me, and in that second, he loses his advantage. Trenton rolls on top of him. He has the upper hand, but Liam isn’t giving up that easily. They still struggle for control of the gun.
With my heart beating like a stampede of horses in my chest, I glance around frantically for something, anything I can use as a weapon. There is only one thing I can think of quickly. And it just so happens to be close.
I bend my knee and snatch my low pump off my foot. I turn it in my hand and wield it like a hatchet. And as Trenton Gibb raises his upper body, I make my move.
With a sound that’s somewhere between a Tarzan holler and a wobbly yodel, I raise my hand, pump heel pointed out, and I jump onto Trenton’s back and start hitting him in the head with my shoe.
Okay, granted, it’s probably not the most effective weapon. I’m pretty sure all I’m doing is giving him a couple of lumps and maybe a black eye on his right side, but it’s enough. Enough to knock Trenton off balance, distract him, and give Liam the half-second pause he needs to take control.
And take control he does.
With a feral roar that would make Mufasa proud, Liam jabs his elbow into Trenton’s throat as he reaches up and around for the gun. He wrenches Trenton’s wrist sharply and takes the weapon from him with what seems like very little effort.
I let go and fall backward, away from the men as Liam rolls a howling Trenton onto his back, then flips him onto his stomach to put a knee right between Trenton’s shoulder blades.
When Liam glances back at me, his face is so calm. He doesn’t even sound out of breath when he says, “And that’s how it’s done.”
I balk. “I wondered where all that FBI training was. Why didn’t you do that to start with?”
“You broke my wrist,” Trenton grumbles, giving one last struggle to free himself.
Liam leans in harder to his back. “Stop you’re whining. It isn’t broken. You’re lucky she was here and I didn’t do worse.”
All I hear after that is a wheezy, labored breathing from the ground.
“So? Why wait to pull out the moves?”
“Because I told somebody to clear out of here and she didn’t. I couldn’t risk him getting off a shot and hitting you by accident.”
“I wasn’t about to leave you.” My tone is incensed because I was trying to help.
“I can handle myself, Lucky. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Which is, of course, a bald-faced lie. “If he shot you, he could’ve gotten away, and I couldn’t let the man who killed Serena Flowers get away.”
“Uh-huh,” Liam mutters. “Give me that belt thing around your dress.”
I glance down at the swatch of material that winds around the waist of my dress. “It’s attached,” I tell him as I work my finger underneath it.
“Then tear it. Just give it to me.”
“Why? I love this dress. And it’s not even mine. It’s Regina’s. She’ll—”
“I’ll buy her another one,” he bites through gritted teeth. “I need to use it to restrain his hands. Unless you want to go hunt down a zip tie.”
“Oh.” I can’t really justify not messing up the pretty dress now. Plus, it’s been in a dumpster. It probably needs to be burned.
Twice.
I tear away the cloth and hand it to Liam. He winds and winds and winds it around Trenton’s wrists, all the while Trenton howls because one of those wrists is probably severely bruised, and then ties it off. Liam comes easily to his feet and yanks Trenton up after him.
He’s pushing him toward the door when a shadow appears in the opening. It’s cowboy Clive, looking mighty pleased.
“Good job, son. If you ever decide to come out of retirement, I’ve got a place for you if you’ll have it.”
“No, thanks, Clive. I’m fine with my farm.”
“Doesn’t look like it. You do more law enforcing than me and Petey put together.”
“Actually, I’m just keeping this one out of trouble.” He tips his head in my direction.
“That’s looking like a full-time job.” Clive gives a raspy laugh and slaps the side of his leg in his mirth.
“Ha. Ha. You two are very funny.”
For real, though, I do stay in trouble. I can’t even argue. I don’t have a leg to stand on. Sniffing out messes is as much of a talent as detecting is.
“This is why you don’t need a gun,” Liam says. “You tried to brain a man with a shoe.”
“It was the only weapon I could find.”
Liam shakes his head. I think I see a smile curve his lips.
Maybe.
Clive urges us on. “Let’s get him down to the station and get this thing sewn up tight. The mayor’s been nagging me half to death over it.”
“Lead the way, Clive,” I tell him, crossing in front of Liam and Trenton when they pause at the door and Liam nods me through.
Even when he’s walking a perp, Liam is a gentleman. Maybe the grouch isn’t all bad.
At least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself. I can’t afford to admit how good he really is.
21
Regina and I are sitting on the couch, nursing our second glass of wine, when I hear the grumpy knock, i.e., Liam Dunning at my door.
I open it with a slight frown. “What are you doing here? Is someone else dead?”
“No, but I might ask you to shoot me in a few minutes.”
He pushes past me and I notice that he’s carrying a jambox, circa 1990.
“What the heck is that thing for?”
“It’s part of it.”
“Part of what?”
“Part of my payment.”
“Payment?”
I’m lost.
Liam strides into the living room, setting the stereo on the coffee table before turning back toward me. “Felonious.”
“Ah.” That’s all he needs to say. “This must be what I’m supposed to go along with.”
I’d almost forgotten about it. Probably because I didn’t have details on the task, so it was easy to put it out of my mind.
“Yep.” Liam pushes the coffee table out of the way, scattering Gumbo and Mr. Jingles as he does.
“Don’t get my animals stirred up,” I warn. “It’s late and I’m tired.”
It was in the wee hours when I got in from giving my statement at the station. Even though I slept in this morning, I still feel sluggish. Turns out, this sleepy little town can be exhausting.
Liam stretches his arms overhead, then flexes his neck from side to side. Then he levels a look at me. “Come here.”
“Come where?”
I don’t know why, but there are butterflies having a battle of the sexes in my stomach. I don’t know who’s wining, but the fighting is quite vigorous.
“Here.” He points to the spot right in front of him.
As I walk toward him, I see Regin
a draw her legs up on the couch, like she’s gearing up in anticipation. Her face is wreathed in a smile that’s so bright it might be dangerous to the retinas to look at it straight on. I need protective eye goggles.
Liam reaches back and presses play on the machine. I recognize the tune that comes on within three bars. The first line is etched into my memory forever. It was when I was a teenager, and it would’ve been even more so after my recent experience with this particular scene from Dirty Dancing.
But something tells me that, after tonight, it will take on a whole new meaning.
Liam snakes his hand around my waist and pulls me to him, just like in the movie. I can’t help grinning. It’s just so weird to see the big, burly, gruff guy I’ve come to know dance. But as he looks down into my eyes, it doesn’t take me long to forget my humor and get lost in the moment.
Every bit as fluidly as Cruz DiSpirito, Liam takes me through the moves, and when it comes time for the lift, I don’t hesitate to run across the living room floor and launch myself into his arms. I fly over his head with the security a girl can only have with a guy who’s had her back enough times to build trust.
A lot of trust.
He holds me up effortlessly, not a single tremor or quiver in his strong arms. And when he lowers me, it’s easy for me to laugh and throw my arms around his neck. Partly in character, but partly in just pure pleasure. What a fun thing, to see grumpy Liam Dunning cut loose a little.
His eyes are light as they stare down into mine. “That was the first part,” he informs, swaying me slowly from side to side.
“What’s the second part?”
“This,” he says, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger to hold my face still.
And then, in motion so slow I can barely breathe through it, Liam Dunning dips his head and he kisses me.
The world wobbles to a stop and I feel disaster lower around me like a great cloud of doom and gloom.
With a gasp, I jerk back, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Sweet Mary, what have you done?”
THE END
UNLESS…
You’re ready for Lucky and the Crushed Clown. If so, PREORDER BOOK 3, LUCKY AND THE CRUSHED CLOWN, HERE and read on for a chapter one sneak peek!
Lucky and the Crushed Clown
Book Description
Lucky Boucher never has to go looking for trouble. Trouble finds her just fine on its own.
What do a dead clown, an elephant, and a black cat have in common?
If you guessed me, you’re getting really good at this.
The circus has come to town, y’all, and I couldn’t be happier if I were twins. Unfortunately, because of a recent development with the grouchy ex-FBI agent that has become my shadow, I have to sit this one out. That is, until a clown is crushed by Lola the elephant, and not by accident. That’s when Miss Haddy, the oldest and most rambunctious resident in all of Salty Springs, calls me in to help find the killer.
As it turns out, circus folk aren’t very welcoming to outsiders, so there’s only one way to identify the culprit—go undercover. As a bona fide knife-throwing, cat-wielding performer. Sounds like a dream come true, right? Well, as with the majority of my endeavors, this exploit doesn’t exactly go off without a hitch. In fact, this time there are stitches involved. Not in good places. And not just for me.
But the big question remains: Do I catch the killer?
You’ll just have to brave the series of wild mishaps that is my life to find out.
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Lucky and the Crushed Clown
Chapter 1
My best friend, boss, and sometimes torturer, Regina is sitting on the edge of my bed looking radiant in a copper sweater. With Halloween approaching, it’s the perfect fall color and it sets off her warm Cajun features.
I love fall. The cooler weather, yes. The colors, definitely. But what I love most are the flavors that I associate with those vibrant colors. Fresh apples, steaming cider, pumpkin spice everything. Oh, fall, how I love thee! Get in my belly.
But even better than fall food is circus food. I'm already mourning the treats I’ll be missing out on.
“You’re seriously not going to the circus?”
“No. Not this time.” I don’t have to pout with my face. My voice is doing a great job all on its own.
“Why not? It’s the land of exotic animals. It’s like your mother ship.”
“I have all the exotic animals I need right here.” I smile up at her from the folds of my comforter. Gumbo, the pig I stole from grumpy ex-FBI agent, Liam Dunning, is curled up in the bend of my knees, Lucy-fur, my mean black cat, is lying above my head on the pillow, and Mr. Jingles, my Frenchie, is spread out at the foot of the bed. Squishy, the parrot I rescued from being road kill, is half asleep on his perch in the corner of the room, and my hamster, Gator, is nibbling on food in his cage. I don’t have to look to know that Dory, Nemo, and Jaws, my fish, are all swimming lazily in their respective waters.
All is well here in the Boucher private circus.
“This isn’t exotic. It’s the wild kingdom.” Regina curls her lip as her eyes dart around the room at my critters. She’s not a fan. “But that’s not the point. Lucky, this isn’t like you. You’ve been hiding out for weeks.”
“Have not.”
“Have, too.”
I shrug. I can’t really argue beyond that, mainly because she’s right.
“Regina, you know what happens now. It’s Gator Cove all over again.” Gator Cove, Louisiana is our hometown. We left there less than a year ago to move to Salty Springs, South Carolina because of a stalker.
Well, actually three.
You see, I met my adopted grandmother, Beebee, when I was nine years old. She took me in and blessed me. Beebee believes that by laying her hands on me and pronouncing my comings and my goings to be blessed, that she affected my life. Most people wouldn’t argue because, in truth, I do have this extraordinary way of getting out of messes.
Too bad her blessing doesn’t keep me from getting into them.
Being blessed also seemed to affect the way men react to me. Regina calls it my “lucky charm.” Liam calls it “catnip.” Well, he calls me catnip.
It starts off as just attraction. Men are very attentive and nice and often flirtatious with me, which is no big deal. But I learned a few years ago that things turn ugly when I kiss them.
Ugly, as in stalker ugly.
Ugly as in my underwear drawer has been violated more times than Vivian in Pretty Woman.
But I left all that behind in Gator Cove. And since moving to Salty Springs, I’ve been careful not to get into the same situation. Heck, I haven’t gone on one single date, and it was all working out perfectly.
Until last month.
When Liam Dunning kissed me.
“You don’t know that Liam will react the same way the others did.”
“I don’t know that he won’t.”
“Would it be the worst thing in the world if he did?” Regina’s question is tentative.
I give my best friend my most offended look. “Of course it would! It would ruin everything.”
“You know what I mean. Liam is awesome. He’s Tasty Cakes, for Pete’s sake. He’s gorgeous and smart and capable, and I think he really likes you. Like likes you likes you.”
“We’ll never know now, will we?”
Even now, I get a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach just thinking about it.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not like he ever made any declarations or anything. Or asked me out. If he does now, how will I ever know that it wasn’t because of the kiss? This stupid blessing that Beebee gave me? It’s like a love potion. It’s not even real.”
I roll onto my belly, burying my face in a pillow before Regina can see how much this upsets me.
I feel her hand slide up my arm to shake my shoulder. “Hey.” When I don’t roll face up, she shakes harder. “Hey, look at me.”
Grudgingly, I do. I try to keep my distress hidden, but it’s hard to hide much of anything from my best friend. We’re like sisters. We practically have telepathy. Like right now, I think she’s contemplating my utter lack of makeup and whether or not I’ve showered today.
It’s nearly six PM and the answer is no, I haven’t showered.
I may need to get a grip.
“What?”
“You can’t stay here in your little carriage house forever and worry about what may be happening. That’s nuts. The only way you’ll know what’s up is to take the plunge and go talk to Liam. See how he acts. You’re already prepared for the worst, so whatever you find out will either just confirm it or make you feel better.”
I sigh heavily. “I guess.”
“So you’ll come with me tonight? It’s the circus, Lucky. Come on. I bet they’ll even have an elephant.” She nods and smiles. She knows that animals are the way to my heart, but elephants are a weakness of mine. If I could figure out how to sneak one in and hide it in the back yard, I’d adopt one in a heartbeat. But something tells me my landlady, Mrs. Stephanolpoulos (or Mrs. Snuffleupagus, as Regina and I call her since her nose is long and wiggly and trunk like) would notice a three-ton animal wandering around the premises.
“No. I don’t think so. I’m still not feeling that…jolly.”
“This will help.”
“No, it will just ruin my love of le cirque.”
Regina sniggers. “Does it make you feel classy to say it like that?”
I grin up at her. “Maybe.”
“See? You’re feeling better already. Good enough to get back to work for sure.”
I test new consumer products for a living. Regina is a boss in Consumer Global, the company that doles out the methods of torture. Some of the products are good ones, harmless even, but most of the things I get tasked with testing are questionable. It didn’t take long for my uncanny ability to survive things to make its way to the higher-ups, which forever influenced the products that get sent my way.