by Jory Strong
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Roping Savannah
ISBN # 1-4199-0645-3
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Roping Savannah Copyright© 2006 Jory Strong
Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication: May 2006
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Warning:
The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).
S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.
E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.
X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.
Fallon Mates:
Roping Savannah
Jory Strong
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Advil: Boots Company PLS
Beamer (BMW): Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft
Chevy: General Motors Corporation
Formica: The Diller Corporation
iPod: Apple Computer, Inc.
Kool-Aid: Kraft Foods
Lincoln Town Car: Ford Motor Company
The Twilight Zone: CBS Inc.
Viagra: Pfizer Inc
Victoria’s Secret: Victoria’s Secret
Prologue
Draigon d’Amato of the Baraqijal stood at the window of his clan’s house. In the distance were desolate red mountains, a place of gorges and danger. Of death. A place as inhospitable as the miles of gold-yielding-to-red desert that separated Shiksa from the mountains, and past them, from the jungles of Belizair.
His body might be on his world, but his mind was on Earth. His thoughts on Adan, a childhood friend, a fellow bounty hunter, a law-keeper, an Amato who had done what Draigon had yet to bring himself to do. Accept not only a human female as a mate, but a Vesti as a co-mate.
Even though Adan’s female was actually a match to Lyan, any who knew the two men knew the outcome would be the same, regardless of which man had Council law behind them when it came to claiming the human. If Krista Thomas of Earth had been Adan’s mate, it would still be Lyan and Adan bonding with her.
No doubt the Council members were beside themselves that Lyan, one who had so often found himself at risk of being sanctioned, now had the benefit of their law and blessing. That in fact, his success was important to all of them.
Tension made Draigon roll his shoulders and stretch his white, feathered wings. Their veins and edges a fiery red interlaced with gold, the coloring a match to his hair, a reflection of the coal-hot knot that burned in his gut.
He was the oldest son and he knew why his father had asked him to return home when his assignment on Sinnett was completed. He had seen it in his mother’s eyes when she greeted him. He had seen it in the face of his cousin Zantara. And as always, her plight had ripped into Draigon’s heart and soul. Made him curse the Hotalings for their virus. Made him curse the Araqiel clan-house of the Vesti for bringing it to Belizair where it had wrought unparalleled devastation. Where it still might lead to the extinction of both the Vesti and the Amato.
His stomach churned. Long ago the Vesti and the Amato had warred and nearly destroyed themselves. Even before the Hotaling virus, pockets of distrust and long-held memories, hidden hostilities remained between the two races. Now the situation on Belizair threatened to pierce the wall keeping those prejudices contained even as it required the two races to work together to avoid extinction. Required unmated males to form alliances and share a mate.
Draigon sighed as he heard his father’s voice in another part of the house. It would not be long now.
He had thought when the time came to settle and raise a family that he would share a mate with the brother closest to him in age. Or perhaps be part of a foursome if their female wanted a second to join with them. The Amato had always bonded in whatever arrangement was agreeable to those involved. But to pursue that vision of the future now meant there would be no children.
Draigon rubbed his chest even as he knew nothing would remove the tightness there. If only one of his younger brothers had been matched…
Like many of the unmated males on Belizair, when news of the first successful pregnancies spread across their world, his brothers had gone to the Council scientists and provided a sample of their DNA. Draigon had not gone. Had never intended to go. But as his father’s footsteps drew nearer, Draigon mentally prepared himself for the inevitability of his fate. The desolate and harsh scene in front of him mirroring the reality of the path laid out for him. A Vesti co-mate. A human female. He would do what was required of him.
Chapter One
Savannah Holden grimaced as she opened her locker and started stripping out of her uniform. Her ears were already starting to burn, her skin starting to chafe in anticipation of the captain catching up with her before she could get out of the building. She knew he’d be looking for her now that he was back from his conference, but that didn’t mean she intended to make it easy for him to find her. She was in for a lecture again, about passing on whatever tips she came across and then letting others—in this case, the guys in Vice—take it from there.
Damn. The captain just didn’t get it. Or if he did then he was doing a fine job of ignoring it.
When she joined the police force, she’d actually had visions of taking down the bad guys. Yeah, she took them down all right. But if she’d wanted to wrestle drunk and disorderlies to the ground every day as part of her job description, then she’d have found a job as a bouncer at a bar, or chaperoned rowdy ranch hands on their days off.
She wanted to be a detective. She wanted to use her brain to solve crime. Not that she thought being a beat cop was a lowly profession. No way. But… She’d always been great at puzzles and she was a killer at board games. A mind like that should be put to use, right? She was more than just a warm body filling a uniform, right?
Hell yeah!
She pulled on her jeans and checked her watch. Plenty of time to get to The Dive.
Savannah grinned. Yeah, that place brought back a lot of memories. Most of them involving Krista Thomas. They were more like sisters than friends. Months could pass, even years, but whenever they saw each other, it was like no time had passed at all.
The theme music from The Twilight Zone moved through Savannah’s head and she laughed softly. She’d been thinking more and more about Krista lately. Which meant she’d be seeing her soon. It had always been like that, some kind
of weird sixth sense letting her pick up on things that couldn’t be explained. Too bad that sixth sense couldn’t lead her to a detective’s title. Detective Savannah Holden. Yeah, she liked the sound of that.
Definitely better than Rancher Savannah Holden. Or Rancher’s Wife Savannah Holden. Not that she didn’t know ranching from planting the corn to shoveling the shit that came out of the cow further along toward the end of the food chain cycle. She’d been born and raised on the Bar None Ranch so she knew for a fact that ranching was hard work, with longer hours than a cop put in and only slightly less danger.
But the rancher’s life didn’t call to her, and besides, despite the fact she could ride, rope, doctor livestock and castrate bulls just as well as any of her brothers, they didn’t really need her. And there it is in a nutshell, she admitted to herself. She wanted her work to have meaning. She wanted her life to have meaning. She wanted to be needed.
Savannah checked her watch again. Plenty of time to meet The Ferret. Damn. She had to try and remember his real name. Dale? Or was it Ricky? Crap. She was terrible with real names. She’d given him a nickname and never thought of him any other way afterward.
Her thoughts ranged over the phone conversation she’d had with him earlier. “I’ve got a tip for you,” he’d said.
“I’m listening.”
“Not here. It’s too big to talk about over the phone. You break it wide open, the brass will be kissing your ass and begging you to take a detective shield.”
“Where?”
“You know a place called The Dive?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll see you there.” And they’d agreed on a time.
Savannah’s cell phone rang. She laughed when she answered it and heard Krista’s voice, The Twilight Zone theme song returning to play briefly in her mind as soon as Krista told her she was nearing Reno. “Do you remember where that hole-in-the-wall place called The Dive is?” Savannah asked.
Krista laughed. “You know I do. That’s the only place in town that used to let us in with our obviously fake IDs when we were sixteen.”
“I’ll take the fifth on that. Why don’t you meet me at The Dive? It’s a safe enough place these days and as soon as I change clothes I’m heading there anyway. I’m supposed to meet a snitch but my business with him shouldn’t take too long.”
“Okay, see you there.”
Savannah put the phone in the holder on her belt and quickly changed her shirt, then bent over and slipped on her tennis shoes, a good choice over her usual cowboy boots because she was feeling an intense urge to bolt before the captain could catch up to her.
“Hey, Holden, wait up,” a male voice said as she left the locker room.
Savannah cringed in reaction before her brain processed who was calling her. She turned, watching as Fowler, the golden boy of Vice, closed the distance between them and put a companionable arm around her shoulders.
“You got a career death wish?” Fowler asked.
She grimaced. “It probably looks that way. You sure you want to be seen with me?”
He laughed. An infectious sound that was impossible to resist. Then again, he was GQ material. The embodiment of every secretarial fantasy and quite a few officer fantasies—hers included—since he’d transferred in from Vegas.
They began walking down the hall, his arm still slung around her shoulder. Savannah tried to keep it in perspective. He’d never hit on her. Never given her reason to think he was interested. And even if he was… Dating a cop was a bad idea. She’d tried it a couple of times and sworn off it.
They turned a corner and Savannah cursed silently at the sight of the two cops walking in their direction. Fowler gave her shoulder a little squeeze in silent support. “Hey, Creech, Mastrin,” he said as they passed.
“You sure you don’t have a career death wish?” Savannah joked a minute later. “Creech and Mastrin are not part of my fan club. It was their case I just interfered with.”
She hadn’t meant to get tangled up in a Vice operation. And in her defense, she had passed on the tip she got about a couple of underage prostitutes. If someone had just said, We’re on it or Back off, it’s part of an active investigation, then she’d have been happy to leave it to them. She wasn’t interested in working Vice.
But instead of a satisfying response to her tip, all she’d gotten was a vague okay. And she couldn’t leave it alone. Not after she’d done a drive-by and seen one of the girls hanging out in front of the residential hotel. The kid hadn’t been openly soliciting, so Savannah hadn’t been able to act—then.
Damn, even now she couldn’t get the kid out of her mind. The haunted, disillusioned eyes in a small pixie-face.
Fowler pulled his arm from Savannah’s shoulder. “Look, you want to work Vice, I’ll put in a word for you.”
“I don’t think I’m cut out for Vice.”
“You kidding me? People talk to you. That’s a big part of the equation. Take those girls you hauled in, somebody came to you with the information. Right?”
“Right,” Savannah said, though it wasn’t exactly the truth. She’d gone to the information source—for fried chicken and a side of coleslaw—rather than the information source coming to her.
“See what I mean?” He laughed and cut her a hopeful look. “Want to share the snitch?”
Savannah grinned. “I think it’s safe to say this was a one-time deal. The guy heard rumors and he’s got young daughters of his own.”
Fowler winked and flashed a smile that could melt stone. “Okay, okay. You don’t want to share, that’s fine.” He fished a small notebook and a pen out of his pocket, wrote something and then tore off the sheet, handing it to Savannah. “This is my cell number. You get another tip and want someone to take it seriously, call me.”
She stuffed the paper in her back pocket. He started to put the notebook away then hesitated. “You got a cell number?” Savannah gave it to him. He shoved the notebook and pen in his pocket. “I’ve got to get going. But I’m serious, you ever want to try Vice, I’ll do what I can to help you. Just let me know.”
“Thanks,” she said, and he peeled away, heading back in the direction of the locker rooms as she turned the corner and came face-to-face with the captain. Great! What was this, happy hour in the halls of the police station?
“Holden. Any reason you think the guys in Vice can’t handle their job? Any reason why you’ve got to take it on yourself to do a stakeout while you’re off the clock?”
She grimaced. “No, Captain, but—”
He held up his hand and she thought his face had turned an unhealthy shade of red. “Stop while you’re ahead, Holden. I know you grew up listening to your grandfather’s outrageous tales and watching westerns where the guy in the white hat charged in and saved the day, shooting up the place in the process and being made sheriff. But we don’t work that way here. You pay your dues, maybe kiss a little ass even if it sours you, and you wait your time. You’ll get your detective’s shield—maybe—if you can keep from pissing off the higher-ups and stepping on other people’s toes.”
Savannah ducked her head, knowing what the captain was saying was right. The trouble was, she’d always been a little…impetuous. A little unrestrained. But hell, how could she be any different after growing up with rowdy, hell-raising brothers and ranch hands who worked hard and played equally hard? It was keep up or get left behind, and she wasn’t about to miss the action.
The captain glanced at his watch, signaling the end of his lecture. Savannah breathed a sigh of relief—until his eyes locked on hers and he said, “Try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the day, Holden.”
Her thoughts flashed to The Ferret and she had to work hard at controlling her expression so she wouldn’t look as guilty as she suddenly felt. She knew the captain was trying to help her, and for a second, the temptation to tell him about The Ferret’s call hovered at the tip of her tongue.
She suppressed it, taking the edge off her conscience by promisi
ng herself that if the tip was a good one, she’d try to rein in her impulsiveness. She’d try to work the system, maybe even go to the captain and get his advice. “I’ll try,” she muttered and felt the captain’s gaze on her back until she rounded the corner and escaped the building.
Krista was already at The Dive when she got there. “Sorry I’m late,” Savannah said as she hugged her friend. “The captain had to give me my weekly dressing-down about investigating while off-duty.”
Krista laughed. “As in meeting a snitch tonight?”
Savannah rolled her eyes. “Don’t even go there! With any luck the captain won’t find out about it.” Unless it pans out. She looked around. “We might as well go in. The Ferret will know where to find me.”
“The Ferret?”
“Looks like a weasel, smells like a weasel and acts like a weasel—so I call him The Ferret, though I think his real name is something like Dale or Ricky.”
Damn. She’d memorized his address but she kept blanking on his legal name. She’d intended to pull The Ferret’s rap sheet before meeting him, but after encountering the captain she didn’t have any choice but to get out of the building and do nothing suspicious. Shit. The captain meant well, so it was hard to be mad at him, but… Savannah shrugged it off as she and Krista took a back booth.
“What were you investigating that got you in trouble?” Krista asked.
“I got a tip about a couple of underage girls involved in prostitution. My source didn’t know who was running them, but he gave me an address and a description of the girls. I did a drive-by then passed the information on, but…I just couldn’t get one of the girls out of my mind. Holland.” Savannah looked at Krista and realized that part of the reason the kid had gotten to her was because Holland reminded her of Krista and she’d been thinking about Krista more often lately.