No Ordinary Sheriff

by Mary Sullivan

  She patted the purse she’d slung across her chest messenger style and drew confidence from the bulge of her Glock as she walked around the building to the front door.

  Cops advised women not to carry guns in their purses. A purse could be taken away from a woman too easily and the gun used against her. But Shannon was no amateur. She knew what she was doing.

  A group of bikers wreathed in smoke and wearing enough black leather to keep the ranchers of Montana in business for years blocked the entrance.

  She struggled with her nerves. She didn’t want just the dealer, she reminded herself. She had no choice, she needed to do this if she wanted to nab the creep who was making the stuff.

  When she stepped forward and got the bikers’ full attention, the competition and posturing started. She planned to use it to her advantage.

  “Hey,” she said. “Where can a girl get a drink around here?”

  “Right here, babe.”

  “I got it.”

  “Hey, lady. I’m buying.”

  Cologne swirled around her, mingling with a whiff of sweat from one of the bikers.

  One man went through the door and the rest parted long enough for her to enter the bar, then closed around her after, blocking her exit. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

  Her heart rate kicked in hard. Easy. Don’t panic. Panic is the worst way to handle this. Jammed in the middle of too many oversize bodies, she forced herself to wrestle her fear under control. She could do this.

  She wiped her upper lip.

  She had extensive martial arts training. She had a gun and a cell phone. Two cop cars were a one-minute drive away.

  The man in front of her stepped aside and she got a good look at the bar.

  A stripper gyrated onstage to the throbbing beat of a rock song so loud the bass echoed in Shannon’s pulse.

  The place was packed. More than a few glances flicked her way.

  Lights flashed onstage while the rest of the bar was dimly lit, no doubt covering up all manner of illegal activity. She glanced at every corner, assessing the situation.

  She’d gone through Awareness Training when training to be a cop. There were five levels of Awareness, all color-coded. At the moment she’d bypassed Condition Yellow—attentive, but relaxed, and had shot straight to Condition Orange—focus directed and watching for potential threat.

  Any one of these jokers could become a potential threat in a flash.

  Perfect. She was exactly where she needed to be. If she couldn’t find the answer here, the cause was lost. Determination stilled her panic and her sense of purpose returned. She could do this.

  Her biggest challenge would be keeping maximum awareness of her surroundings without looking like a cop.

  She chose a seat at the bar with her back to a door she was fairly certain opened to the back parking lot.

  She’d done as much as she could to keep herself safe. She knew from experience, though, how things could go from safe to shit in a matter of seconds.

  * * *

  FRIDAY NIGHT IN Ordinary, Montana, was small-town quiet. The shop windows were dark and only a few couples strolled toward Chester’s Bar and Grill for dinner.

  As he’d done every Friday for the past year, Cash drove to Austin’s trailer to pick him up and take him to a movie.

  Austin’s mother answered on the first knock, ready and waiting for Cash. He hated this part. Connie was about the neediest woman he’d ever met. Her most pitiful aspect was the way she looked at him—as though he were her hero, or savior.

  He might be trying to save her son, but he wasn’t rescuing her. That was beyond his limited powers.

  He’d done his time with Mom until another man had come along and married her. He loved his mom, and he would come running the second she needed him, but his duty with needy women was done.

  He wasn’t taking on Connie.

  “Austin ready?” he asked.

  Austin appeared behind Connie, but she raised her arm and leaned on the doorframe so the boy couldn’t pass.

  “How’ve you been, Cash?” She smiled, probably thought she looked sexy, but all he sensed was loneliness pouring from her in waves. He wished he could help—he really did—but what she wanted, he wasn’t prepared to give. The only thing he could do was try to save her son.

  That old claustrophobia he used to feel when his mom needed him too much crept around him, choking him. He needed to get away.

  Austin scooted under her arm, thank goodness, and out the door, more than ready for his few hours of freedom.

  Connie saw Cash start to turn away and she frowned.

  “Austin,” she called, “don’t forget to stop at the Lucky Seven and pick up food. There’s nothing in the fridge.”

  Cash’s anger flared. It was a mother’s job to take care of the kid, not the other way around.

  He wanted to shake Connie, to yell at her, “For God’s sake, woman, develop a backbone and do right by your boy,” but he was caught in a familiar bind. If he yelled or criticized, he would hurt a woman too weak to defend herself no matter how mildly he expressed it. He remembered how easily Mom used to cry. His anger and frustration had nowhere to go.

  He bit his tongue, holding it all in. He left her standing there and climbed into the truck.

  “Harry Potter is playing tonight. That okay with you?”

  “Yeah,” Austin said, his low voice barely audible.

  Was the giant step Austin had taken away from his Big Brother normal I’m-almost-a-teenager-stuff? Or was there something more sinister going on?

  At the edge of Monroe, on the way to the Five Points Cinema, they passed Sassy’s Bar. The transient biker population of the next county hung out there, and the parking lot looked jammed full of chrome and bikes.

  When they got to the theater, they settled in with popcorn and pop and watched the movie.

  Afterward, Cash waited while Austin went to the washroom.

  Five minutes later, Austin came out looking pale, with his shoulders hunched up around his ears, setting off alarms in Cash.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Austin mumbled while he kept his face averted. Something seemed fishy.

  “Hold up,” Cash said. “I think I’d better use the washroom, too.”

  He slipped into the men’s room and scouted around. Nothing looked out of place. There was a pair of feet under the closed door of one stall. Did someone just sell Austin something? Marijuana? Drugs? Or had someone said something off-color or insulting? Something about his mom? Cash’s cop instincts went into overdrive. Why had Austin come out of here so secretive and embarrassed?

  He used the urinal and washed his hands, taking his time so he could find out whose feet those were. The toilet flushed and Brad McCloskey walked out. He nodded when he saw Cash.

  “Hey, Cash,” he said.

  Brad owned the only pharmacy in Ordinary. He was a father of four boys, and his wife, Mary Lou, volunteered at church. They attended services every Sunday.

  Brad was one of the good guys.

  So why had Austin come out of here with a bad case of something going on, with Brad the only other person here?

  Had Austin picked up something that had already been stashed in here? They came to the theater every Friday. Had Austin pre-arranged something? No way could Cash go out and search Austin’s pockets, though. It would break the fragile trust he had worked so hard to build.

  Besides, he didn’t have a shred of proof that Austin was doing drugs other than those few puffs of marijuana this morning. All he had was a healthy suspicion of trouble, and trouble didn’t necessarily mean drugs.

  He left the washroom no wiser than when he’d entered it, his frustration racing double time.

  One thing he would do was
put his cop skills to use by taking a closer look at Brad. Was there a wolf hiding inside his mild-mannered sheep’s clothing?

  Cash pulled into the Lucky Seven parking lot, the only convenience store and gas station in the county open twenty-four hours.

  “You have money to get groceries?” he asked.

  Austin blushed and shook his head. So, Connie was using Cash for…cash.

  That anger flared again. It had nothing to do with being stingy. He enjoyed helping people, but Connie needed to find a way to support herself.

  Resigned, he said, “Come on,” and stepped out of the truck.

  * * *

  SHANNON HAD BEEN in Sassy’s for an hour already, surrounded by more bikers than she could count, and still knew nothing. She had five drinks in front of her and hadn’t done more than mime drinking them. She wouldn’t put it past one of these jokers to try to slip her a roofie.

  She finally asked what needed to be asked, interrupting some guy’s story about a battle they’d pitched somewhere with a rival gang.

  “Where can I get something to take home with me?”

  “Something or someone?”

  They all laughed.

  “What do you want?” the closest guy asked. He was hulking and ugly and determined to keep her for the night. Not a chance. “Mary Jane?”

  “Something stronger. Glass.”

  “I can get it for you,” a biker said.

  “Does anyone here have any with them?” No way was she leaving the bar with one of these guys.

  “Don’t know if there’s any here tonight.”

  “Can you ask around?”

  A couple of them left to make inquiries. Shannon watched as they approached table after table. Drugs were brought out of pockets, but obviously not meth.

  “I’ve got some at the farm,” another biker said, running his hand up her thigh. She ignored the creep factor. “We can party at my place.”

  “Yeah? Right now?” She just had to determine where it was.

  “Uh-huh. Come on.”

  “Where to?” A new song blared and she leaned close. She needed to know where the farm was.

  “She’s not going anywhere with you, Rogers,” the ugly biker said, the air suddenly electric. Shannon turned to tell the idiot to butt out.

  Even as she did so, the hair on her neck stood on end and she felt for the purse she still wore. The heft of her weapon reassured her.

  Before she had a chance to say anything, punches were thrown, the sound of glasses shattering filled the bar and all hell broke loose. Somehow she had to get out of this alive without letting these guys know she could fight. She needed them to see her as a sexy but needy female, not someone who could hold her own.

  On the other hand, Tae Kwan Do and kickboxing would only take her so far among so many tough characters. Her pulse rate kicked up.

  Someone fisted a hand in her hair. When he went down, so did she. Her forehead hit the floor hard and she saw Stars and Stripes. After that, nothing.

  * * *

  CASH LEFT THE convenience store carrying a bag crammed with milk, bread and canned goods. He’d forced an apple on Austin. Probably wasn’t often the kid got fresh fruit. Cash wondered if Connie had ever cooked a vegetable in the boy’s life.

  He amended that thought. Connie had been fine while her husband Mel had still been alive. Once Mel died, though, Austin’s life had deteriorated.

  Just as Cash pulled level with Sassy’s, the building emptied out, bikers streaming from the bar and taking off on their hogs in waves.

  Police cruisers with flashing lights crowded the lot. Monroe’s police chief would be calling any second. Cash pulled onto the shoulder opposite the parking lot and waited.

  His phone rang. Bingo.

  “Cash? It’s Mike Gage from Monroe. We got trouble at Sassy’s and need everyone out here.”

  “I’m outside. Be right in.”

  Cash turned to Austin. “Don’t get out of this truck for any reason, got it?”

  Austin nodded, but he wasn’t fooled. What were the chances a twelve-year-old boy would do as he was told when there was so much happening around him?

  Cash stripped off his coat, jumped out of the truck and ran across the road, his adrenaline spiking.

  “Hey,” he called when Mike Gage came out of the bar escorting a woman none too gently beside him. “What do you need me for?”

  Mike had tied the woman’s wrists in front of her with a flexcuff, but she was putting up a good fight. Mike would charge her with resisting as well as whatever else he wanted to throw at her.

  She had a killer body that her skimpy clothing did everything to showcase.

  “Cash,” Mike called, “handle this woman for me so I can clear up the rest of this frigging circus.”

  Cash took the woman’s arm, distracted by the cleavage spilling from her low-cut tank top and plumped up by her hands cuffed in front of her. Her nipples hardened in the cold night air.

  “Seen enough yet, Sheriff?”

  Sheriff? He wasn’t in uniform. How did she know who he was?

  He prodded her into the light and got a good look at her face.

  No way.

  Shannon Wilson? Beneath a mass of teased up hair, a cake of eye-shadow and a half-inch of black eyeliner, Shannon stared at him. She looked like one of the sluttiest women he’d ever come across, showing just about everything she owned. In public. In this hellhole of a strip joint. In front of the raunchiest men in the state.

  If she’d had a jacket, it was long gone. She shivered, but he’d be damned if he cared when she had willingly put herself out here, half-naked and straight into danger.

  Mike led a rowdy biker out of the bar toward his cruiser. The guy tried to bust away and knocked Shannon into Cash. She cried out. Cash’s arms snapped around her and hauled her up against his chest, out of danger. While Mike collared the guy and took him away, Cash’s gaze swept to Shannon’s face. She watched him wide-eyed. A split second later, he realized why. Those hands cuffed in front of her pressed against him.

  Against his groin.

  He didn’t move, afraid that if he did, he would react like a randy boy.

  He stared at her. She stared at him.

  Move.

  He couldn’t.

  She stayed unnaturally, still then blinked.

  A breath whooshed out of him as one rushed into her and those breasts rose, filled out.

  Lord, kill me now.

  He wanted to drive to an abandoned hollow in someone’s—anyone’s—field and ravage the daylights out of her. He was furious she hadn’t left things to him to investigate, and instead had come here on her own looking for the meth dealers. Part of him wanted to leave her to her fate, but he’d be damned if he’d let Janey’s sister go to jail.

  He all but dragged her to his truck. He opened the passenger door. And swore. Where the hell was Austin?

  He didn’t need this. His days were twelve hours long, five days a week, and then he was on call on the weekend until the town hired more deputies.

  By Friday night Cash was beat and didn’t need to deal with either a disobedient kid or a woman he found too attractive.

  Immediately after he nudged her to get in, he realized she wasn’t going to manage it on her own, not in that skirt, in those shoes, with her hands cuffed.

  He put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the seat. A breast brushed his face and he heard her swift gasp. He felt her against his cheek and just about came on the spot.

  He swore again and shoved her into the middle of the seat.

  He needed to get out of here. Fast.

  “Don’t move an inch. Not one inch. Got it?”

  She glared but nodded. He slammed the door shut and walked away.


  More deputies arrived from Monroe. A minute later, Cash recognized a couple of cops from farther afield.

  He stepped into the bar. Looked like Mike and his deputies had everything under control.

  Pulling Mike aside, he said, “That woman you hauled out of here?”

  “What about her?” Mike’s gaze shot around the bar while he talked, making sure none of the fires he’d put out were in danger of re-ignition.

  “What are you charging her with?”

  “Taking a swing at me.”

  Cash choked. “What?”

  “Good thing she missed or I might have swung back.”

  “You’ve got your hands full. Let me take her back to Ordinary.”

  Mike turned and pierced him with a sharp look. “Why?”

  “She’s my friend’s sister. I’d rather not charge her. I’ll read her the riot act and throw her in jail for the night. Teach her a lesson.”

  “Put some clothes on her while you’re at it.”

  Cash winced. “You’ve got a lot of help here. I’ll head out.”

  Mike nodded, distracted by a mouthy biker on the far side of the bar.

  Cash left and glanced around the parking lot.

  He didn’t have to look far for Austin. The boy stood beside a bike, his hungry gaze chronicling every detail, every spot of chrome, every inch of leather. He stroked the seat.

  Cash softened. Austin had nothing and asked for so little. Must be hard to be poor. Cash’s parents had been difficult, each in their own way, but he’d always had food, a roof over his head and enough basic stuff to not be embarrassed in front of his friends.

  “Let’s go,” he said, keeping his tone even. Austin had enough to deal with without him jumping down his throat.

  “There’s a woman in the truck,” he said. “I’m driving her home.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s Shannon. You met her today. She’s Janey Wilson’s sister.”

  Austin perked up and ran to the truck.

  Cash grabbed his coat from his seat and threw it into the bed before climbing in. Austin walked around to the passenger door. When he saw Shannon, his jaw dropped open and his eyes widened.