by Jana DeLeon
And now she was standing in front of him.
The pure, molten-lava lust that shot through his gut nearly knocked him off his feet. And aggravated the hell out of him. He’d spent considerable time suppressing his physical needs so they wouldn’t blindside him like this.
“Howdy,” she said with a happy, peppy grin that smoothed out the little crease in her full bottom lip. She had a great mouth, crease or no crease. Made a man think about his lips on hers and going lower.
He narrowed his eyes. Then he pushed by her with a dark look, keeping his face and body language discouraging. Who the hell was she to upset his hard-achieved balance?
He strode up to the counter and paid with cash because he didn’t want to waste time punching buttons on the card reader. He didn’t want to spend another second in a place where he could be ambushed like this. The awareness of her back somewhere among the rows of books still tingled all across his skin.
“I’m sorry.” The elderly man behind the counter handed back the twenty-dollar bill. “I can’t take this.” He flashed an apologetic smile as he pushed up his horn-rimmed glasses, then tugged down his denim shirt in a nervous gesture. “The scanner kicked it back.”
“I just got it from the bank across the street,” Jamie argued, not in the mood for delay.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Everything okay, Fred?” The woman he’d tried to pretend didn’t exist came up behind Jamie.
Her voice was as smooth as the kind of top-shelf whiskey the Yellow Armadillo couldn’t afford to carry. Its sexy timbre tickled something behind his breastbone. He kept his back to her, against enormous temptation to turn, hoping she’d get the hint to mind her own business.
Then he had to turn, anyway, because next thing he knew she was talking to him.
“I’d be happy to help. How about we go next door and I’ll help you figure this out?”
The police station stood next door. All he wanted was to go home and see if he could catch a few winks before his next shift. “I don’t think so.” He peeled off another twenty, which went through the scanner without trouble. Next thing he knew, Fred was handing back his change.
“I really think we should,” the woman insisted.
Apparently, she had trouble with the concept of minding her own business. He shot her a look of disapproval, hoping she’d take the hint.
He tried to look at nothing but her eyes, but all that sparkling blue was doing things to him. Hell, another minute, and if she asked him to eat the damned twenty, he would have probably done it. He caught that thought, pushed back hard.
“Who the hell are you?” He kept his tone at a level of surly that had taken years to perfect.
The cheerleader smile never even wavered as she pulled her badge from her pocket and flashed it at him. “Brianna Tridle. Deputy sheriff.”
Oh, hell.
He looked her over more thoroughly: the sexy snakeskin boots, the hip-hugging jeans, the checkered shirt open at the neck, giving a hint of the top curve of her breasts. His palms itched for a feel. If there was such a thing as physical perfection, she was it.
Any guy who had two brain cells to rub together would have gone absolutely anywhere with her.
Except Jamie Cassidy.
“I’m in a hurry.”
“Won’t take but a minute.” She tilted her head, exposing the creamy skin of her neck just enough to bamboozle him. “I’ve been having a hard time with counterfeit bills turning up in town lately. I’d really appreciate the help. I’ll keep it as quick as possible, I promise.” The smile widened enough to reveal some pearly white teeth.
Teeth a man wouldn’t have minded running his tongue along before kissing her silly.
Another man.
Certainly not Jamie.
Okay, so she was the deputy sheriff. The sheriff, Kenny Davis, had been killed recently. He’d been part of the smuggling operation Jamie’s team was investigating. A major player, actually.
After that, Ryder McKay, Jamie’s team leader, had looked pretty closely at the Pebble Creek police department. The rest of them came up squeaky clean. A shame, really. Jamie definitely felt like his world would be safer with Brianna Tridle locked away somewhere far from him.
She was too chirpy by half.
He didn’t like chirpy.
But if she wasn’t a suspect, she could be an ally—if he played his cards right. Although poker wasn’t the first thing to spring to mind when he thought about playing with her. He could no longer feel the air-conditioning. In fact, it seemed the AC might have broken since he’d come in. The place felt warm suddenly. Hot, even.
He loosened the neck of his shirt. “Fine. Five minutes.”
He held the door for her, regretting it as she flashed another gut punch of a smile. She better not read anything into that basic courtesy. He’d been raised right, that was all. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t falling for her charms, no way, he thought as she walked in front of him, hips swinging.
The gentle sway held him mesmerized for a minute. Then he blinked hard as he finally focused on one specific spot. Was that a small firearm tucked under her waistband, covered by her shirt? Hard to tell with his eyes trying to slide lower.
He looked more carefully. Damn if the slight bulge wasn’t a weapon. She’d been armed the entire time and he’d never noticed. He was seriously losing it.
He drew in a slow breath as they walked into the station. On second thought, forget developing her as an asset. Working with her would probably be more trouble than it was worth.
He was going to tell Brianna Tridle where, when and exactly how he’d come into possession of the stupid twenty-dollar bill in question. Then he was walking out and not looking back. If he had even a smidgen of luck coming to him, he’d never see her again.
* * *
“I REALLY APPRECIATE this.” Bree measured up the cowboy with the bad attitude.
Not a real Texas cowboy, actually. He was missing the Texas twang, his general accent making it difficult to pin down from where he hailed. And he wore combat boots with his jeans. It threw off his cowboy swagger. He had shadows all around him, his aura a mixture of dangerous and sexy. He was hot enough to give women heart palpitations on his worst day.
Not that that sort of thing affected her. She was a seasoned law enforcement officer. “And your name is?”
“Jamie Cassidy.” He didn’t offer his hand, or even a hint of a smile as he scanned the station.
She’d bet good money he didn’t miss many details. Fine. She was proud of the place, clean and organized. The dozen people working there were the finest in South Texas. She would trust each and every one of them to have her back.
While he examined her station, she examined him.
He stood tall, well built, his dirty-blond hair slightly mussed as he took his hat off. When he ran his fingers through it in an impatient gesture, Bree’s own fingertips tingled.
He had the face of a tortured angel, all angles and masculine beauty. His chocolate-brown eyes seemed permanently narrowed and displeased. Especially as he took in the metal detectors she’d had installed just last week.
Lena, the rookie officer manning the scanner, held out a gray plastic tray for him.
Bree offered a smile. “We just upped our security. If you could hand over anything metal in your pockets and walk through, I’d appreciate it.”
She was in charge of the station until the new sheriff was elected. They’d had an incident recently with a drunk housewife who’d come in to file a complaint against her husband, then ended up shooting a full clip into the ceiling to make sure they believed her when she said she would shoot the bastard if he came into her new double-wide one more time with muddy boots.
She’d been a bundle of booze and wild emotions—the very opposite of Jamie
Cassidy, who seemed the epitome of cold and measured.
He scowled as he dropped his cell phone, handful of change and car keys into the small plastic tray. “I’m going to set the alarm off.” He tapped his leg. “Prosthesis.”
That was it, then, Bree thought as she watched him. The reason why his walk had been off a smidgen. “Not a problem, Lena,” she told the rookie, who was staring at him with dreamy eyes. “I’ll pat him down.”
“No.” His face darkened as his gaze cut to hers.
They did a long moment of the staring-each-other-down thing. Then his lips narrowed as he fished around in his shirt pocket and pulled out a CBP badge.
Customs and Border Protection. And the plot thickens. She tilted her head as she considered him. Why not show the badge sooner?
Maybe it was a fake. She’d worked pretty closely with CBP for the past couple of years. She’d never seen him before. If she had, she would have definitely remembered him.
She widened her smile. Defusing tension in a bad situation always worked better than escalating it. “I need to check you just the same. New procedure. Sorry.”
For a second he looked like he might refuse and simply walk away from her. She kept her hand near her firearm at her back, ready to stop him. She preferred to do things the easy way, but she could do it the hard way if needed. Up to him.
But then he seemed to change his mind and held out his arms to the side. She wondered if he knew that his smoldering look of resentment only made him look sexier.
“It’ll only take a second.” She ran her fingers along his arms first, lightly. Plenty of muscle. If he did change his mind and began causing trouble, she would definitely need her service weapon.
She moved her hands to his torso and found more impressive muscles there. She could feel the heat of his body through his shirt and went faster when her fingertips began to tingle again, a first for her during pat down. What on earth was wrong with her today? She tried to focus on what she was doing. Okay, no shoulder holster, no sidearm here.
“Almost done.” She squatted as she moved down his legs, pausing at the sharp transition where the living flesh gave way to rigid metal. Both of his legs were missing. Her gaze flew up to his.
He looked back down at her with something close to hate—a proud man who didn’t like his weaknesses seen.
“Enough.” He stepped back.
But she stepped after him. “One more second.”
Awareness tingled down her spine as she pulled up and reached around his waist, almost as if she were hugging him. And there, tucked behind his belt, she found a small, concealed weapon.
She removed the firearm carefully, pointing it down, making sure her fingers didn’t come near the trigger. “When were you going to tell me about this?” She checked the safety. On. Okay.
“I’m so used to carrying, I forgot,” he lied to her face.
Which ticked her off a little.
She dropped the weapon into the gray plastic tray Lena was holding. “You can claim these on your way out.” If she let him leave. “This way.”
They went through the detector, which did go off, as he’d promised. Curiosity, wariness and even some unwanted attraction warred inside her as she led him into interview room A at the end of the hallway. He was not your average Joe. This man had a story. She wanted to know what it was.
“How about I get us something cold to drink?”
He didn’t look impressed with her hospitality as he scanned the small white room. “I’m in a hurry.”
She left him anyway, and swung by Lena on her way to the vending machine. “Let me see that.” She took his weapon, grabbed two sodas then stopped by her office and ran the gun.
Unregistered firearm. On a hunch, she called her friend Gina at the local CBP office. “Hey, you got someone over there by the name of Jamie Cassidy?”
“Not that I know off the top of my head. Why? Anything to do with the counterfeiting thing you’re working?”
“Don’t know yet. Might be nothing. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up and walked by Lena again, looking at Jamie Cassidy’s car keys in the plastic tray.
“You’ll need a warrant to look in his car,” Lena remarked, now sitting by her computer, answering citizen queries.
“Or his permission. Least I can do is try,” Bree said as she walked away.
Mike was coming from the evidence room. “What you up to?”
“Picked up someone with a fake twenty.”
“Need help?” He was a few weeks from retirement, but not the type to sit back and count off the days. He was always first to offer help and never said a word if he had to work late.
“Thanks. But I think I can handle him.” She hoped. She was ready to roll up the counterfeiting thing.
She was sick of the recent crime wave in her town lately: a rash of burglaries, several acts of unusual vandalism and sabotage, arson even, and then the counterfeit bills showing up suddenly. Whatever she had to do, she was going to put an end to it.
She grabbed her shoulder holster from the back of her chair, shrugged into the leather harness and stuck her weapon into the holster to keep it within easier reach. Time to figure out who Jamie Cassidy was and if he’d come to town to cause trouble.
She had a sudden premonition that prying that out of him wasn’t going to be easy. She’d been a cop long enough to know when somebody was lying, and the man waiting for her in interview room A definitely had his share of secrets.
* * *
HE WAS SITTING in an interrogation room, fully aroused. That was a first, Jamie thought wryly. Because, of course, she’d had to put her hands on him. At least she hadn’t noticed his condition; she’d been too focused on his weapon.
He leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair. The place was small, the cement brick walls freshly painted white, the old tile floor scuffed.
The metal door stood open, but the station was full of uniforms. He wouldn’t get far if he tried to walk out, not without violence, and he wanted to avoid that if possible. He watched as the deputy sheriff reappeared at the end of the hallway, her gaze immediately seeking out his.
And there it came again, that punch of heat in the gut.
“Stupid,” he said under his breath, to snap himself out of it.
He’d never been like this. Back when he’d been whole, he’d enjoyed the fairer sex as much as the next guy. Since he’d been crippled, he kept to himself. He was half machine, half human. Who the hell would want to touch that?
Yet she’d touched him and hadn’t flinched away. She’d felt his prosthetics and her face had registered surprise, but not pity. He pushed that thought aside. What would Miss Perfection know about physical deformity?
He watched as a uniformed cop, dragging a loud-mouthed drunk, headed her off halfway down the hall.
“No needles,” the drunk protested, then swore a blue streak, struggling against the man who held him, trying for a good swing, the movement nearly knocking him off his unsteady feet.
Brianna Tridle smiled sweetly.
Yeah, that was going to work. The man needed someone to put the fear of God into him. Jamie could have gotten the job done in three seconds flat. Possibly two. He relaxed and got ready to enjoy watching the deputy sheriff fail.
“Come on now, Pete.” She kept up the all-is-well-with-the-world, we’re-all-friends routine. “Big, tough guy like you. Remember when you had that wire snap at work and cut your leg open? You didn’t make a sound all the way to the hospital when I took you in. Pretty impressive.”
The drunk pulled himself together a little and gave her a sheepish look. “It’s just the needles. You know I can’t stand them, darlin’.”
“Tell you what. You do the blood test, I’ll drive you home. You won’t have to wait here until Linda gets off shift.”
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“Can’t give no blood.” He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m dizzy. Haven’t even eaten all day.”
“I bet Officer Roberts hasn’t had lunch yet, either. How about you swing by the drive-through and grab a couple of hamburgers? On me.”
The drunk went all googly-eyed. “You’ll always be a queen to me, darlin’,” he promised, and this time followed Officer Roberts obediently as he was led away.
Jamie stared. Enforcing the law with sweet talk.
What kind of monkey-circus police station was this? And then he stilled as he realized he was even now sitting in an interrogation room, where he’d had no intention of being. Hell, the woman had done it to him!
He glared at her with all the resentment he felt as she came in with a couple of drinks. He was out of here.
“Got the money out of the ATM at the bank across the street five minutes ago. You can check their security video.” He rose. “That’s all I know.”
She put a can of soda in front of him with that smile that seemed to have the ability to addle everyone’s brain around her. She sat, folding her long legs under her seat. “Just a few minutes. Please?” she asked very nicely. “As a favor from one law enforcement drone to another.”
Establishing common ground in thirty seconds flat. Nice work, he had to admit. He sat, but only because he was beginning to be intrigued.
“What do you do, exactly, at CBP?” She fitted her supremely kissable lips to the can as she drank, keeping an eye on him.
“I’m on a special team,” he said, more than a little distracted.
“Dealing with?”
“Special stuff.”
She laughed, the sound rippling right through him. He resented that thoroughly.
“Why do you carry an unregistered firearm instead of your service weapon?” she asked as pleasantly as if she was inquiring about his health.
She got that already, did she? A part of him was impressed, a little. Maybe she wasn’t just surface beauty.
“Took it off someone this morning. Haven’t had a chance yet to turn it in,” he lied through his teeth. He was in town as part of an undercover commando team. What they did and how they did it was none of her business.