Dangerous Flirt

by Avery Flynn

  “I'm Sheriff Hank Layton from Dry Creek, Nebraska,” he said in the same tone he used with skittish animals. “I've apprehended a suspect who broke into my hotel room.”

  “I said, hands up!”

  He did not want to let go, but there wasn't much of a way around it. Putting his full weight into the knee grinding into the goon’s spinal cord, he unwrapped one finger at a time from around the man's arm and held his breath.

  The asshole didn't move a muscle beyond letting his arm fall to the ground like dead weight.

  Okay, this might work out. More confident, Hank raised his arms. “I have identification in my wallet. I'm going to reach around—”

  He didn't get any further before the bathroom door flew open and Beth rushed out with a war cry.

  Cop number one pivoted and fired in the same motion.

  The room went silent except for the thump of Beth's body hitting the floor and a half second later, the sickening thud of what must have been her head bouncing off the tile.

  “You fucking idiot! You just shot the victim!” Fear spiked so fast, bile rose in Hank's throat.

  Taking advantage of the moment, the suspect jumped up and sprinted toward the door.

  Hank didn't have time to process what had happened. Bounding up, he barreled toward the suspect, acting only on instinct and adrenaline.

  Faced with a wall of blue in front of the open bathroom door, the man hesitated a foot outside of the uniformed officers' reach.

  Just the opportunity Hank needed. He wrapped his arms around the man, taking him down hard, grinding his face into the carpet's brown fibers. “God dammit, put some fucking cuffs on him.”

  One of the officers hurried forward and clamped the metal closed around the suspect's wrists. The officer who fired stood in the doorway, a deer-in-the-headlights look in his dark eyes.

  Blood rushed so loudly in Hank's ear, he almost missed hearing his name. It came like a soft breeze from the recesses of the bathroom and sent chills down his spine. Not bothering to get up, he crossed the three feet to the doorway on his hands and knees.

  She lay so still, he couldn't stop thinking the worst had happened. “Beth?”

  Her quiet moan sounded like a roar in the unnatural quiet around them.

  “Darlin’, I'm right here.” He stroked her soft hair, continuing down to her shoulder, hoping to comfort her, but when he brought up his hand, a warm liquid covered it. Blood. Panic grabbed him by the throat. “Call an ambulance,” he screamed, fear tight in his voice.

  “It's on the way,” the officer said.

  Beth lay on her back, her thick, dark hair like a curtain across her face. Brushing it back, he sought the source of the blood. Though her eyes were closed and her face contorted with pain, he couldn't find a scratch. Drawing his gaze downward, he spotted the quickly widening circle of blood seeping through her suit jacket sleeve.

  He grabbed a fluffy white towel from a shelf and pressed it against her right arm to staunch the blood flow.

  She yelped and her eyes popped open, agony and confusion clear in their dark-brown depths.

  “Help's coming. You got shot in the arm. I know it hurts like hell, but you'll be okay.” God, he hoped so. He needed to say the words almost as much as she needed to hear them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Beth grazed her fingers over the goose egg on the back of her head. Testing, she pushed. A sharp pain made her gasp for breath. If she'd been a cartoon character, that's when colored stars would have started circling her head.

  “I always wondered if you pushed hard enough on a knot like that, if the swelling would pop out somewhere else.” Chris Layton's head poked through the olive-green curtains surrounding her bed in the emergency room. He had a goofy grin, but serious eyes. “Just wait until I tell Hank I saw you without your shirt. His head will explode.”

  Automatically, her hands went to her chest, pressing the thin gown to her skin. At least it tied in the back. The EMTs had cut off her dress and bra right there in front of God and everyone in the bathroom. Not her best moment. What a weird thing to be concerned with considering, she’d just been shot. Must be the medicine they'd given her for the pain.

  “Chris, you're a tease.” Kidding him helped to cover her disappointment at it being Chris and not Hank. At least she hoped it did.

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “I know, Mom says it's all part of my charm.”

  Someone she couldn't see cleared his throat behind the curtain. Chris rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion and swung open the curtain to reveal Hank's other brother, Sam.

  Behind them, nurses, doctors and orderlies buzzed around the busy emergency room. Beeps and squeaks from gurneys punctuated the constant murmur of people talking in hushed tones. The whole scene looked like something from TV, except when she watched Hospital 911 in her living room, she couldn't smell the antiseptic.

  “Pardon my idiot brother, the home training didn't take.” Sam held out a white plastic bag from a drugstore. “I understand you, um, lost your dress. I picked up something for you to wear. Hope they fit.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. Even though she was just their little sister's best friend, the Laytons had always watched out for her. “Thank you.”

  “It's nothing great. Just a tacky hoodie and sweat-pant shorts.”

  “I wanted to get the hot-pink shirt that said ‘topless showgirl in training’, but Mr. No Sense of Humor vetoed it.”

  Sam's jaw tightened. The two had been like this for as long as she could remember. Probably since birth.

  “Thank you for that, Sam.” She didn't want to even imagine having to wear that on the plane ride home.

  “The doctors released you?”

  “Yeah, I’m free to go.”

  Chris stepped farther into her curtained-off area and peered at her head. “Wow, that is some bump. How's the arm?”

  “The doctor said it went straight through, he just had to stitch me up. No sling or anything.” Just talking about her gunshot wound made it throb.

  “What were you thinking?” Chris asked. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were Claire, going off all full-on banshee like that.”

  Chris put his question out there bluntly, but it wasn't as though the thought hadn't gone through her head a million times since she’d opened her eyes to find Hank's worried face inches from hers. A few months ago, a killer had targeted Claire, and when he set her Jeep on fire, she'd chased him down like a woman possessed—and that wasn’t the worst of it. She and Claire had been best friends forever, but Beth was the reserved one. Attacking someone was not her style.

  It turned out gunshot wounds weren't all that unusual in Las Vegas, so she’d had plenty of time to ponder after the triage nurse declared her several rungs down the priority ladder.

  The fact was she hadn't thought first. She'd been huddled in the bathroom, hearing all sorts of grunts, bangs and harsh words. Everything had quieted, but when she heard a new voice, she'd known Hank was outnumbered. Her Hank. She couldn't leave him to face that on his own; as long as there was breath in her body, she'd fight for him.

  So she'd flung open the door and got herself shot.

  Not that she'd tell Hank's brothers that.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “You hang out with Claire too much if you've started thinking like that.” Sam delivered the line dryly, but the undertone of love for his sister couldn't be missed.

  That was the Laytons for you. Always in each other’s business and giving each other a hard time, but she couldn't imagine their family working any other way.

  Family. The word made her gut twitch. She'd always known how important having his own family was to Hank, but having him confirm it solidified her decision to keep her distance.

  “So, where's Hank?”

  “Still at the police department.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Did you talk to the cops?”

  “Yeah.” Her mouth dried at the memory. She'd told the investigators
about the threats, being drugged and everything else that had led up to today. When she'd told them her suspicions about Sarah Jane, she couldn't get over how surreal the whole thing was. From scrapbooking to murder-for-hire? It didn't seem real.

  “What did they say?” Chris asked.

  “That the guy who busted into Hank's room had confessed, but he swore he didn’t know the name of the person behind it all. The detective confirmed Sarah Jane had checked out of the hotel, bought a ticket to Mexico and, hopefully, is gone forever.” She couldn't stop herself from shivering.

  Sam closed the gap between them and stiffly patted her on the shoulder. “I still can't believe that part.”

  “You and me both.”

  “Well, at least we know she's not here. Consider me your beefy and handsome bodyguard. Sam can tag along too.” Chris looked down at the release papers on the bed. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I'm sure you'll feel better when you get home.” Sam dropped the plastic bag onto the bed and grabbed Chris' arm. “We'll give you some privacy to change.”

  Both men walked out of the curtained area.

  Beth's arm burned. When she squeezed her eyes shut, she pictured the spray-painted walls of her grandparents' trashed house.

  The detective told her not to worry, but she knew Sarah Jane was out there. Waiting.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, she threw off the covers and changed. Time to do what she always did. Move forward.

  Beth slid across the red vinyl booth seat at The Lucky Seven Diner. She fiddled with the dice-shaped salt and pepper shakers while Sam and Chris studied the menu as if it were the Holy Grail. Still nauseous from the pain medication, she had no intention of topping off the day by puking at the table.

  “So, what'll you have?”

  Hypnotized by the nutty scent of coffee wafting from the waitress' silver carafe, Beth almost missed the flush that turned Sam's cheeks ruddy. Flabbergasted, she didn't even pretend not to stare. Not that he noticed. A parade of showgirls wearing pasties and feathers could have danced by and he wouldn't have blinked. Looking beyond the coffee in the waitress' grasp, Beth studied the woman who'd captured Claire's buttoned-up brother's attention.

  Wow.

  The woman had a good two inches on Beth, making her about five feet, eleven inches tall in black high-top tennis shoes. Bright platinum-blonde hair fell in layers of riotous curls to her pointy chin. A tattoo in a rainbow of colors peeked out from the short sleeve of her black T-shirt, but not enough for Beth to determine if it was an animal or an intricate design. A pair of painted-on jeans and cherry-red lipstick completed the look. The waitress looked as shell shocked as Sam.

  “Hey! I know you.” Chris broke the silence. “You were one of the waitresses at our poker game. That jerk sure did deserve it.”

  “Uh, thanks.” Her husky voice acknowledged Chris but her gray eyes never left Sam.

  Chris put his elbows on the table and leaned around Sam to get closer to Beth. “It was awesome. This asshole…” He glanced up at the waitress. “Sorry about that. This jerk grabbed her tits…” He smiled an apology toward the other woman. “Sorry. This jerk grabs her…breasts during the poker game. So, she takes this ginormous silver tray that she'd been using to carry the drinks and whacks him over the head with it. It was a sight to behold.”

  He relaxed back, a goofy grin on his face. For his part, Sam had gone perfectly still. Interesting. She couldn't wait to tell Claire about her brother's very atypical behavior.

  Beth flipped up her heavy ceramic mug. “May I have some?”

  The waitress—Josie, according to her name tag—blinked a few times as if trying to remember why she was here. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Josie.” Sam's low voice rumbled.

  A tight smile pinched Josie's cheeks tight and her eyes darkened to the color of hardened steel. With a jut of her hip, the straightening of her spine and the tilt of her jaw, her body morphed from that of a friendly waitress to a hard-ass chick who just might steal someone's lunch money. “Do I know you?” She cocked her head to one side sending her curls bouncing. “Oh yeah, you were at the poker game too, right? Scotch, neat, if I remember correctly.”

  “I—”

  “You're hungry? Well, you came to the right place. Let me get your orders.” Holding her pen at the ready, she turned toward Chris. “What can I get you?”

  After writing down the brothers' orders, Josie hurried back to the counter. There, she whispered with another waitress before disappearing into the kitchen.

  “What in the hell was that all about?” Chris prodded.

  “None of your business.” Sam snapped his menu closed and shoved it into the menu holder in the middle of the circular table.

  “Oh really, well—”

  “Drop it.”

  Chris held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, whatever you say big brother… So you don't mind if I try to get her number?”

  Sam's shoulders tensed and he got right into his brother's face until their noses nearly touched. “I don't care what you do. Go for it.”

  “Hey there folks, here are your drinks, two waters and a Coke.” A middle-aged waitress with mousy brown hair carefully placed the glasses on the Formica table. “Josie went on break, so I'll be taking care of you from now on. Your orders will be right up.” With a curt nod, she strode off.

  Fixing Chris with a glare, Sam gulped down half of his water before slamming it down. “Don't say a word, Chris, not one single word.”

  Chris opened his mouth then, thinking better of it, clamped it shut.

  Brothers. If they didn't love each other so much, they'd have killed each other long ago.

  A bell jingled when the front door swung wide. Hank sauntered in, worry lines visible from across the room. But as soon as his gaze met hers, those lines eased and his lips curled into a relieved smile. Her heart flipped and flopped in her chest. If she didn't get a handle on her feelings, she was doomed.

  “Hey.” He sat down and stroked a wide palm down her hair, stopping at her shoulder. His hand rested there and her nerves buzzed with awareness. “Are you okay?”

  No. Not as long as he touched her. Hell, not as long as he was in the same hemisphere.

  “Fine, thanks for asking.” She raised her injured arm, making it throb enough to distract her from Hank's touch, burning her like a branding. “A few stitches and I'm as good as new.”

  His hand slid up the column of her throat until he cupped her chin, tilting it upward. Her breath hitched and blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the clatter of silverware and shouts of “order up”. Of its own volition, her body arched forward and her lips parted. A taste. She only needed a taste of him and she'd walk away.

  The kiss scattered all thoughts of leaving. Her lips widened, welcoming his demanding tongue, and her own curled around it. A tingling started in the pit of her stomach and grew until she was on fire with wanting. Nipples hard and pussy wet, nothing else mattered but this moment, this kiss.

  Hank could have tossed her onto the table and fucked her senseless while the short-order cook flipped hamburgers in the background. She wouldn't have given a damn.

  “Okay then, I guess Sam and I will be taking our drinks over to the counter.” Chris coughed, a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  Dazed, Beth pulled away from Hank and licked her kiss-swollen lips. She should be embarrassed, but after all that had happened, she just didn't have the energy for it. Instead a languid sense of wellbeing had seeped into the marrow of her bones. A girl could get used to this.

  She sighed, half in defeat and half in contentment. If she didn't put a stop to it, she'd get so used to it that she'd wake up one day knowing she'd stolen Hank's dream of having his own family of Laytons. Because there was no denying it, he wanted her just as much as she needed him. For both of their sakes, she had to get back to neutral territory.

  “Ignore Chris, he's an idiot.” Hank didn't even bother to glance ove
r his shoulders at his retreating brothers. He scooted over, so close their legs touched from hip to knee.

  His nearness was doing a number on her resolve so she moved sideways. Her gaze followed his as it took in the two-inch gap between them, then slid back up.

  Desperate for something to fill the silence and break the sexual tension, she grabbed her coffee cup and inhaled its wonderful aroma. “So, what did the police say?”

  His smile indicated he knew exactly what she was up to, but he didn't call her on it. She released a breath and her shoulders relaxed.

  “That two-bit goon had Sarah Jane’s e-mail address and cellphone number programmed into his phone. That plus the information you got from Phil and what you'd dug up on Haverstan on your own creates a strong case against her.”

  “But why?”

  “Hell, I wish I knew. The mint to be made from owning the land around the road leading to the Lakota Reservation casino provides a great motive, but it just doesn't ring true. There's more to this than money. Once I track her down, I’ll find out exactly what that is.”

  “So you’re sure she’s gone?”

  “Yeah, there's a record of her checking into the flight to Mexico.”

  Apprehension inched across her skin and she couldn't stop the shiver of fear. “So what now?”

  He curled his fingers around hers still holding the mug. “We go home. I'll find Sarah Jane. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

  “Why?” Excitement and dread swirled around inside her, tensing every muscle in her body.

  He chuckled. “Well, we can't live in Vegas.”

  The lump in her throat grew to boulder proportions, but she had to know. “That's not what I mean.”

  “I know.” He shifted in his seat to fully face her.

  She drank in the sight of him. The scruffy beard covering his strong jaw. The way the flecks of green in his hazel eyes grew darker as his mood turned serious. How his gray shirt did a lousy job of hiding the breadth of his muscular chest and curve of his well-formed biceps. Needing to memorize the moment before it all went to hell, she closed her eyes and inhaled his musky scent.