Ladies Love Lawmen: When It's A Matter of The Heart or Death...

by D'Ann Lindun

  “Do you think there’s any connection to Monique’s disappearance?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I could see.”

  He leafed through a stack of blank computer paper, a line between his eyes. What was he thinking? Had she missed something? Overlooked a clue he would have spotted in an instant?

  He looked up with a frown. “Are you going back?”

  “I’m not completely welcome,” she said. “I asked to join the coven and Miss Devlin asked me to leave.”

  To her surprise, he chuckled. The sound shocked her. She’d never heard his laugh before, and it warmed her in ways it shouldn’t.

  “Not surprising. From what I know of the witchy set they’re a bit cliquey. Kind of like high school cheerleaders.”

  “Cheerleaders?”

  “Yeah. Picky about who joins the club.” Something hot flashed in his eyes before he hid it.

  “I was far from a cheerleader. I spent my time following my daddy around, trying to be half the roper he was.”

  “And were you?” At her curious look, he elaborated. “The roper you aimed to be?”

  She snorted. “Nope. Never could master it like he did. I’m not that talented.”

  “I don’t know about your roping, but you’re skilled in other ways.” His plain statement touched her more than a bunch of flowery platitudes could have.

  “I need to go.” She stood.

  “Me, too.”

  He escorted her to her pickup and waited until she started her engine and pulled away. When she checked her rearview mirror, he was still watching her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Austin stood in the parking lot until Jamie was out of sight, before going back inside the building. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his home office. His boss, Brooke DeWitte, answered on the third ring.

  “Austin? Is that you? Everything okay?”

  “I need out of here.”

  “Why? What happened? Are you in trouble?” Like him, she remembered all too well what happened to Marisol when her true identity was discovered by Las Carnales.

  Not the kind of trouble she meant. That he wanted to fuck his very young co-worker senseless? That using his strongest restraint had kept him from kissing her? Yeah, he was in deep shit. “No. I just think someone else might be a better fit.”

  She blew out a breath. “Why?”

  He sounded lame and he knew it. Telling Brooke he’d kissed Jamie wouldn’t make her any happier than if he had tried to kiss her. He winced thinking of it. Brooke would probably draw her Glock and shoot him on the spot.

  “You’ve only been there a few days. We agreed on a month.”

  From her tone he knew there was no arguing. “Okay. I agree with Sheriff English that there’s a serial killer targeting this town.”

  She drew a sharp breath, audible over the phone. “Any evidence?”

  “I’m not seeing any tracks,” Austin said, “or smelling any shit, but the sheriff was shot in the head in his own driveway and four women have vanished with no explanation.” He went on to fill her in on the unexplained circumstances.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “Run some background checks, see if anything pops.” He rattled off the girls’ names. “One of Jamie, er, Sheriff English’s deputies is supposed to be doing it, but I doubt he knows how to do a thorough search. Check him out, too, will you? Tad Carver.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Brooke promised. “Be careful.”

  “Will do.” Austin hung up.

  Well, hell. That had gone about like he expected. Without a concrete reason for leaving, he had to stick it out. Brooke was right to expect nothing less of him. He would expect nothing less of anyone else. Because he had a raging hard-on for a woman he couldn’t have was no reason to walk out on his responsibilities.

  He just had to concentrate on business and shake off this crazy urge to get closer to Jamie.

  ~*~

  Austin found Tad Carver hunched over a beer at The Moon. The bar smelled a little better tonight. The stench of cigarettes wasn’t as strong, although the stale odor of last night’s party remained.

  Mark Boyd—Tattoo Boy—was nowhere in sight. Another man, this one short with close-cropped hair and of average build nodded when Austin slid onto the stool next to the deputy. “What can I get you?”

  “A longneck.”

  At the sound of his voice, Carver jumped and looked his direction. “What do you want, Varner?”

  Austin took a sip of the cold beer the barkeep placed in front of him, then set it on the bar. “Just a word.”

  He took a swig, then burped. “I’m off the clock.”

  “I don’t care if you’re on the clock or not. What I have to say doesn’t need to be on office time.” Austin waited until the younger man looked at him. “From now on, you want to get your rocks off by watching girls getting down and dirty on the computer, you do it at home.”

  Carver glared at him. “Or what?”

  “Auntie or not, I’ll go straight to the town trustees and spell out exactly how you like to spend your spare time. Bet your Aunt Betty wouldn’t be too happy to share with her sewing circle what a pervert her favorite nephew is.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You’re not my type.” Austin ignored the younger man’s belligerence. “You touch Sheriff English again and I’ll tear your balls off and feed them to you. We clear?”

  “What’s it to you? You got a hard-on for her?”

  “She’s your boss. You respect her as such.” Austin lifted his beer and drank again, watching Carver over the rim. He puffed up like a porcupine about to strike. Austin wished he’d try it.

  Carver snorted. “Like hell.”

  “I’m not saying it twice,” Austin said. “Consider yourself warned.”

  Spinning his barstool toward Austin, Carver leaned close. His breath smelled of beer. “That bitch deserves what she gets. She’s nothing but a slut. Not even married and has a kid by Lance Hartwig. The dirt bag. And proud of it.”

  Very carefully, Austin set his beer on the bar. Then he struck. One lightning-fast blow to Carver’s chin that sent the overweight man reeling backward off the barstool onto the floor. He bounced like a big rubber ball, once. Then he lay still.

  And moaned a curse.

  With no remorse, Austin stood and took a bill from his wallet. He laid it on the bar and said to the wide-eyed bartender. “This should take care of it.”

  Stepping over the prone man, he walked to the door, opened it and stepped through.

  ~*~

  Even before Austin reached the only motel in town, he sensed something wrong. His fears were confirmed when he turned into the parking lot of the Six Ponies. The door to his room, the last one of the one-level log structure, stood wide open.

  He parked a few doors down and drew his Glock from his holster. Approaching cautiously, he paused at the door to his room. “Come out with your hands up.”

  No response from inside.

  Nothing moved.

  Carefully, he reached inside and flipped on the light switch. No one shot at him, or moved, and he drew a deep breath before stepping across the threshold.

  “Damn.”

  Somebody had trashed the room, turning it upside down. The bed had been turned over, the dresser drawers emptied of his clothes, the curtains ripped from the rods. Two cheap chairs had been upended.

  He crossed to the bathroom.

  The shower curtain had been torn off its hanger, his toiletries splashed across the floor. The spicy scent of his aftershave was too much in a small space, and he backed up.

  Luckily, his cell phone, gun and laptop were all with him. His wallet was in his back pocket.

  Other than cosmetic, no real damage had been done.

  Still, it pissed him off that someone had violated his space. His first bet would be Tad Carver, but Austin didn’t think the guy had time to get to his room, tear it up and be sitting nonchalantly drinking
beer in the time Austin had spent with Jamie.

  Who else?

  Austin didn’t think he’d made any enemies in the short time he’d been in town.

  Except Carver.

  None of the other cops seemed to have a bone to pick with him.

  Mark Boyd? The bartender? Did he have an axe to grind? A reason to run Austin off? Maybe. But that didn’t seem to fit either. The guy had seemed too much of a pacifist to tangle.

  Random?

  He shook that thought off immediately. No, this had been done with malice. Briefly he considered the possibility that one of Las Carnales had tracked him here. No, they would kill him on the spot, but not trash a motel room. Maybe shoot him and then trash his room…but not the other way around.

  A woman?

  He hadn’t been here long enough to piss off a local.

  The last woman he’d been involved with had been murdered by the Mexican drug cartel she’d infiltrated. None before her had cared enough to track him down and destroy his motel room.

  He’d almost kissed Jamie. Their lips had brushed before he came to his senses and backed away. That might make a woman mad enough to find a way to get even.

  Not Jamie.

  She wasn’t made that way. If she got mad, she’d likely just punch him in the nose. Not do something underhanded like this.

  Not sure how he knew, since they’d only been acquainted a short time, he just knew. He stuffed his revolver back in its holster and began stuffing his clothes in his duffle bag. He hoped the front desk had an empty room and would be understanding enough about this one to rent him another.

  With a last look around, he headed to the office.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tad rubbed his aching chin with one hand and answered his untraceable track phone with the other. “What?”

  “Is that any way to greet me?”

  “Sorry,” Tad muttered. “What do you need?”

  “You know what I want,” the man said. “I’m getting impatient.”

  “It’s not as easy this time. Lucky for us, Big Jim English is in a coma and obviously didn’t tell anyone what he saw, but our new sheriff brought in an CBI agent and he’s nosing around all the time.”

  “Excuses, Deputy?” The accented voice on the other end turned cold. “You were all too eager to get on board when I approached you. You’ve done a good job so far. Our friend is quite pleased with the product you provided. But he requires more. You know what the target is.”

  “I’ve been lucky so far, but everyone is on high alert now, especially the women.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” the voice said.

  “We have another problem.” Tad continued to rub his chin. That son-of-a-bitch Varner had hit him like a freight train. “I need another kilo.”

  A heavy silence came through the phone. “So soon?”

  “Yeah. Our contact said we’d be cut off if we didn’t deliver.”

  “Did you speak to this person yourself?”

  Suddenly chilled, Tad swallowed hard. “Yeah. On the phone, like always.”

  “You’re sure no one has seen your face, compadre?”

  “Positive. Never. And I disguise my voice.” He suddenly wondered if the bandana he’d held over the receiver was enough.

  “Good, good.” Another long silence. “Where is the drop to be made?”

  “At the edge of the White Forest, where her ranch ends and BLM land begins. There’s a crooked fence post that I place it in.”

  “I’m going to make this drop myself,” the man said. “You better get moving on your end. We won’t wait forever to take delivery.”

  “I’m working on it.” Tad hung up. Cold sweat ran down his back. He’d made a deal with the devil and the time had come to ante up.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Kate Hollenbreck stepped off her roan gelding and wrapped the reins around the top strand of barbed wire. The morning sun blinded her and she blinked against the glare, glad for the old Stetson halfway shading her eyes. Nothing but a lone hawk circled in the sky. From this corner of her property, she could see the rooftop of her barn and the road zigzagging away from it, but not much else except rolling cedar and sage brush covered hills. Behind her, they climbed into pine and aspen covered mountains. There were so many of the white trunked trees that this area was called the White Forest. She squatted down and drew a stick figure in the dust.

  The roan lifted his head and stared toward the western horizon. Kate turned her gaze that way, too. Her contact would be here in a few minutes. She hated having to meet so far out, but the nature of their business dictated secrecy.

  As the lone rider grew closer, Kate frowned. She stood and placed a shaky hand on her gelding’s warm neck and the familiar warmth soothed the bunnies bouncing around in her stomach. For some reason the contact wanted to meet today. Usually he just left the product here.

  He drew up beside her and studied her through dark sunglasses. “Been waiting long?”

  “No.” She watched as he dismounted and tied his skinny horse next to hers. “You got the stuff?”

  His chuckle sent an icy finger skimming down her back. “So impatient.”

  “I’ve got cows to check,” she muttered. “Can’t stand around out here all day shooting the breeze.”

  “You have my money?”

  She swallowed. “About that…”

  His eyes narrowed into twin slits. “Yes?”

  Kate swiped her palms down her scarred chaps. “I just need a little more time. I’ll have it, and more, as soon as I sell the calves. We’re gathering next week. You’ll see.”

  He smiled without humor. “Do I look like someone who extends charity?”

  “I’m good for it.” Desperate, she reached for his arm and he jerked it away as if she had a disease.

  She did. Addiction.

  And he had the cure.

  “I let you cross my land,” she reminded him. “I could put a stop to that in a hurry.”

  “Threats?” His eyes looked feral. Like a starving coyote she’d once shot for fear of it being rabid.

  Her teeth seemed to stick together. Mute, she shook her head.

  “Good. Good.”

  “I’ll get it.” She fought tears. “Give me a little more and I’ll double what I owe you. I swear.”

  He ran a finger down her cheek. “Such a shame about your little problem.”

  “Please—”

  His hand circled her neck and lay there loosely. “Please what?”

  “Please give me the stuff.”

  “Maybe we could work something out.” He reached for the top button of her western blouse. “Make a trade.”

  “I can get the money. I swear.” To her own ears, she sounded pathetic. She’d never begged for anything in her life. But nothing ever owned her like this white demon. “I’ll do anything…” For a hit she could almost pretend she liked him. He was very handsome, just mean.

  He unsnapped another button. “Anything?”

  Numb, she watched as he opened her shirt. How had it come to this? A few drinks with friends one night, then someone suggested cocaine. Like a fool, she tried it. And again. Until she couldn’t get out of bed without snorting a few lines. When an acquaintance suggested she allow one of the mule trains carrying drugs out of Mexico to use her line cabin in trade for a few lines, she hadn’t seen the harm.

  Too quickly, her end of the deal hadn’t been enough to satisfy her usage and she owed more than she gave. Selling a kilo here and there seemed the answer to everything. Trouble was it all went up her nose.

  Kate closed her eyes as he pushed her shirt off her shoulders. His calloused fingers were surprisingly gentle as he bared her breasts. A slight breeze drifted across her skin and her nipples tightened.

  “Nice,” he said, before bending and taking most of her left breast into his mouth. His mouth was warm and damp.

  She closed her eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend she was with someone who mattered to her, not a c
ontact she had to fuck for cocaine.

  “Turn around.” When she hesitated, he took her by the shoulders and spun her around. Then he breathed close to her ear. “Unbutton your jeans.”

  With numb fingers, she undid the front closure of her chaps, then unsnapped the top button of her jeans and slid down the zipper. He took over then, sliding everything down past her hips, letting them pool around her boots.

  “Bend over.”

  Like the mindless animal she’d become, she obeyed. Leaning her arms on a wooden fence post, she buried her face in the crook of her elbows. With rough hands, he spread her legs as far apart as they could go with her ankles bound. She heard the rustle of foil. A condom? He’d come prepared for this?

  She shuddered as he entered her with one brutal thrust. A cry ripped out of her throat, drifting away on a silent wind. His fingers dug into her bony hips, anchoring him as he plunged in and out of her dry and unwilling body. The friction made her vagina burn. She dug her palms into the cedar fence post until she feared her wrists breaking.

  God, just let it stop.

  On and on he pounded into her.

  Let me die.

  She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood.

  I can’t take much more of this.

  Finally, he finished with a guttural cry. And collapsed against her back, pushing her into the strands of barbed wire strung from the post she used as a brace. With unblinking eyes, she watched as a thin red line appeared where the barbs pierced her—across her breasts, abdomen and thighs. She was too numb to care about the sting of the cuts.

  He lifted his weight off her and she heard the soft whispers of his clothes being replaced. “Get dressed.”

  With robot-like movements, she obeyed. The blood on her body ran in ruby streaks down her body, mingling into a crimson river flowing down her legs. She’d have to get a tetanus shot. Laughter bubbled up in her throat. She was worried about that right now?

  After buttoning her blouse, pulling up her jeans and chaps and fastening them, she turned around. Without looking at him, she demanded, “Give me my stuff now.”