Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite)

by Jodi Linton

  I eyed Gunner, wishing he wasn’t so pretty and I didn’t still want him and wasn’t so…well, needy. “Shall we?” I asked, trying to keep it light when the charge between us was anything but.

  “I guess.” Gunner eyed me wistfully. “Laney…”

  Feeling like a rabbit caught in the stare of that rattlesnake tattoo, I shook my head. “Bad timing, Gunner,” I said, wishing it wasn’t.

  …

  Dobbs had moved his plushy body behind a desk. There were huge heaps of files laid out on top. Elroy was sitting next him, clicking his tongue. “Take a seat,” he ordered, hardening his mouth.

  He shuffled around a couple of files before shoving two in front of the both of us. I flipped one open. Nothing new, mostly pictures of the dead cows from Bosley’s land and Pacey Monroe’s body. I fanned through the rest and stopped on the last page. It was a recent clipping from the Harper Ridge’s Gazette, another small town not far from Pistol Rock. Dumbfounded, I read the article about Special K popping up in the town. It stated that a known drug addict and a prostitute had been found dead in their homes. Cause of death: a lethal dose of Special K.

  I ordered myself not to gag at the disgusting pictures. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  Dobbs shook his head and took a seat. I pushed the file in front of Gunner. He flipped through the contents.

  “Here’s the deal,” Dobbs said roughly, “I think this thing is bigger than we thought.”

  “No shit,” I blurted, clapping a hand over my mouth after the fact.

  Dobbs ignored me when Gunner flapped the file in his face. “Where did you get this?” Gunner demanded, agitated. “The Federal office hasn’t even gotten wind of this.”

  “Just came in today.” Dobbs got to his feet.

  Gunner slammed the file onto the desk. “I don’t believe you, old man.”

  The sheriff dusted his palms on the legs of his trousers. “Believe whatever you want, Gunner. It doesn’t matter.” He made shooing motions at the Texas Ranger. “I’m still sending Laney out there tomorrow.”

  “The hell you are,” Gunner lashed back. “Not without backup.”

  Dobbs chuckled at Gunner’s hotheadedness. “She doesn’t work for you,” he said and waddled off to the bathroom.

  When the door shut and the toilet lid crashed back, Gunner moved in front of me, stuffed his hands into his back pockets, and rocked forward in his boots. “I don’t want you going.”

  I pushed my chair back and came to a stand. “Like Dobbs said, it’s my job.”

  Gunner looked annoyed. “Do you even care that you could get killed—hell, that someone’s been trying to kill you since you caught this case?”

  I swallowed hard, but eyed him steadily. “What do you want me to do?” I asked him furiously, limping over to push the station door open. “Runaway and hide every time something bad happens like you did?” It was a cheap shot, but I didn’t care. I was sick of him trying to tell me what to do and how to do it when he didn’t even live here anymore because he couldn’t face up to me miscarrying our baby five years ago. “You’re the reason I’m not a kindergarten teacher anymore, which makes you the reason I took this job in the first place. Get over it, and get out of my way.”

  Swinging the door shut behind me, I wobbled down the sidewalk to my pickup, scooted my ass behind the wheel, and closed the door. As I was sticking the keys in the ignition, a hand lightly tapped on my window. Gunner’s expression was full of thunderclouds, but when I rolled the window down, stopping it right below his nose, all he said was, “You want to grab some lunch?” Staring straight ahead, I shook my head. “Nope. Can’t do.”

  “And why’s that?” he asked, ducking to get a better look at my face. “Afraid I might want to talk about what happened?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind, but I got babysitting duties.”

  Gunner laughed harshly. “Who in their right mind would hire you to babysit?”

  I rolled my eyes at him and started the engine. “Boomer Copley,” I answered and backed away from the curb.

  …

  Boomer was knee deep in dirt and hunched over in my garden when I cruised up the drive. He had a rake in one hand and a beer in the other. Always the reliable drunk. He looked up and waved. I parked the truck and got out.

  “You got a package,” Boomer said.

  “Thanks,” I called back and slowly hit the porch steps.

  I went inside and headed into the kitchen, almost losing my footing at the smell. Clean. The aroma of fresh lemons and thyme lingered in the air. All the dishes were done and a clean dish towel was hung over the oven door. Who would have ever thought Boomer was domesticated? In the middle of my kitchen table sat a clay pot filled with daisies. I picked up the envelope and slid a thumbnail under the fold, slicing it open.

  I hope you’re feeling better, cutie. Took care of your little problem. Don’t hesitate to call.

  It was signed Luke Wagner.

  Damn. Gunner had been right, it did sound like Luke had turned my attacker loose. The question was, why—and how? I was especially uncomfortable over that last thought. But hey, the daisies were a nice touch. I took a sniff, then turned the wilting side closer to the sun and hobbled upstairs. It seemed to be easier to move around than it had this morning, but I had no doubt I’d stiffen up again tonight. I stripped out of my jeans, pulled on a pair of khaki shorts, then stepped back into my cowboy boots. I grabbed the Rangers ball cap off of my dresser and unhooked Hank’s leash from the closet. Maybe a walk would help my sore muscles and bruises to loosen up even more.

  Hank was sun bathing under the porch swing. He popped open an eyelid at the clunking of my boots. I knelt down and stroked his back, then swung the leash into his view. “Ready for some exercise?”

  He grunted and rolled his head to the other side, away from me.

  “You’re not getting off that easy.” I pulled his collar and latched the leash. “Just look at me.” I waved a hand at myself. “I don’t think you’d last a day with these kinds of injuries.”

  Hank snorted and wobbled up on all fours. I watched him stretch his back and pop his head forward, then shake his butt down the stairs.

  “I’m going for a walk,” I told Boomer.

  He stuck his head up from the garden. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You know with the injuries and all.”

  “Ha. I’m tough as nails.”

  Boomer rubbed a hand at his cheek, smearing a line of dirt across it. “Just keep telling yourself that honey.”

  I gave him a finger wave and headed down the dirt path, letting Hank take the lead.

  Hank pressed his snout into the dried mud and pushed us past a pile of brush out into the open field that overlooked my property. The weeds were high at this time of year and dried yellow. I maneuvered past a stalk of over grown scrubs, kicking them with the tip of my boot. The leaves scraped against my bare legs and left a thin, pink mark down my calf. On occasions I found the silence deafening, but this afternoon it was a welcome respite from the chaotic past couple of days. Nathan was right to be worried about Gunner’s return. I sure was. These old, romantic feelings were becoming harder and harder to hide from. The way I felt around Gunner was also making me question the way I didn’t feel around my fiancé. I rubbed my left hand, twirling the one carat diamond around my finger. It fit nicely, was never too big, my finger didn’t swell too much for me to wear it even in the dead heat of summer.

  Hank plugged along, suddenly picking up speed, and pulling at my arm. He started to sprint, tugging me along, and I was beginning to regret my idea of a walk when Hank came to an abrupt stop. He stood there, growling, his body tensed with his tail hiked straight up into the air.

  “What is it boy?” I asked crouching next to him.

  Hank started panting. I patted his belly trying to calm him. It didn’t work. He stepped forward, I instinctively tugged him back, and Hank snapped the leash, taking off before I was able to latch on to his collar. He spread the brush
with his body, and I ran after him in a dead heat, ignoring the pain that screamed through me. When I reached the outer edge of the high weeds, I bent over, gasping for air. When I was finally able to wipe the sweat from eyes and look up, Hank had vanished.

  “Hank,” I hollered. “Come on boy.” Nothing, except the rustling of grass blowing in the wind. “Damn it,” I huffed.

  I straightened, bunched the leash in my hand, and headed for home. Hank and I had our differences. There’d been a couple of times I’d wanted to kick him to the curb for his middle- of-the-night howls. Normally, I wouldn’t have been bothered by Hank spreading his wings, but with all the chaos circling me like vultures settling in on their prey, it made me sick to leave the field without him. Hank was all I had left of my former connection with Gunner Wilson. I cherished our moments together on the front porch swing—they brought back memories of a happier time between Gunner and me.

  Ten minutes later, I was home. A lite breeze had picked up, and dust coated my view of the mid-afternoon sky. I was beat. I dragged myself across the gravel driveway and plopped my exhausted ass on the bottom porch step. Letting out a shrill whistle, I called, “Hank, you out there boy?”

  Crickets chirped above the bustling wind, a diesel truck flew by the country road lining my property, and then complete silence. The storm door creaked open. Boomer staggered out, my lace apron slung around his beer gut and a bottle of Merlot dangling from his hand. He put the bottle to his lips and guzzled some down.

  “You look miserable.” He burped and wiped his wine-stained lips clean.

  “Hank took off through the pasture,” I said, shaking the empty leash.

  He smiled, wobbled to his other foot, and took another drink. Before dessert, Boomer would be passed out under the kitchen table. I had a lot to look forward to for the evening. “Don’t worry, Laney,” he slurred and fell back into the storm door. “I bet Hank sniffed himself out a jack rabbit and will be back before I’ve finished my wine.”

  My gut screamed otherwise, but it was sort of useless to argue with a drunk—even one who could clean my house the way he had. “You’re probably right,” I conceded.

  We went back inside. Boomer had laid out all the trappings of a scrumptious dinner. Steaks, corn on the cob, and baked potatoes sat on the table. I was starting to think this drunk might be a keeper—breakfast and now tonight’s dinner were the best meals I’d had in a while. I took a seat and folded my napkin across my lap. Boomer got two beers from the fridge and handed me one.

  He popped the cap and took a drink, then sat down. “Heard from Nathan lately?” he asked.

  I looked up at him. He was stuffing a hunk of steak into his mouth. I took a long drink of beer. I hadn’t, and Nathan usually checked in with me every night when he was away on business. “It’s been two days,” I said and took a bite of the mouthwatering steak before continuing, “He’s probably busy with work, you know, and it sort of slipped his mind to check in.”

  Boomer gnawed at his corn on the cob. He pulled the corn away from his mouth and slowly wiped his chin. “When did he say he’d be home?”

  “Told me he’d be back by the weekend, but I’m hoping sooner,” I lifted an eyebrow, “if you catch my drift?”

  “Mmhmm,” he answered, buttering his potato. “But I saw who sent you those flowers. Just promise me you’ll stay away from Luke.”

  I paused, looking at Boomer for a moment, and wondered what he might know. I’d already lost one former classmate to whatever was happening around here, I wasn’t in the mood to lose another. Refusing to give in to that line of thought, I made myself roll my eyes. “And why’s that?”

  “He’s a snake. Cold blooded and known to strike when you least expect it.”

  “Finally, we agree on something,” I said and poked my fork into the potato.

  …

  I offered to do the dishes, and Boomer bolted out the front door with a bottle of Jack and a copy of Field and Stream for a little nightcap inside my barn. As I washed up, I found myself glancing continually out the kitchen window to see if Hank might be coming back home across the pasture. He wasn’t, so, once the last dish was clean, I snagged a beer out of the fridge and made my way into the living room. Most of the time I liked to be alone, sprawled back on the couch with a beer in hand and the television blaring through the room. I usually considered my life simple. It’s hard to lead a glamorous life out in the sticks. I took a sip of my beer and leaned back into the armrest. Boy, had my life turned into a mess.

  A brick soared through the front window, snapping me out of my moment of self-pity. I ducked and threw myself to the floor, got on all fours, and hauled ass to the front door. My heart was pounding at my chest, my breathing heavy and frantic. As I began to reach for the doorknob, I could hear someone chanting “Here, here, little pussy.” Instead of opening the door, I scooted my back along the wall, slipped beneath the window, and took a look outside. A black pickup was making a hell of a dust storm on my brittle lawn. It stopped short, then reversed and backed up, clipping the open tailgate on the porch railing. A pair of lanky legs dangled off the tailgate.

  “Now don’t make me wait all night, sweetheart. All I want to do is play a little game of show and tell,” the owner of the legs heckled.

  Damn it, I thought, half wishing Gunner would show up again to save my ass. But maybe it was time for me to act like the law enforcement officer I was and take matters into my own hands. Last night, whoever owned these guys had sent someone to assault me. In my capacity as an Ector County deputy sheriff, I grabbed the shotgun next to the staircase and kicked the front door open. Adrenaline surged through my blood—nobody was going to come on my turf and try to intimidate me. I eyed the sorry bastard down then lined up the shotgun’s sight bead with his head.

  Instead of cowering as he should have, he laughed and scooted to the edge of the tailgate. That pissed me off. I marched directly toward the truck and shouted, “Get the hell off my property, asshole!”

  “Well, well, Deputy Briggs. You finally decided to show your face,” the man taunted.

  Something about how he called me by name caught me off guard and caused me to stop walking. Something wasn’t right. I learned what when he rolled a brown knapsack to the end of the truck bed.

  “I wanted to give you a present”—he smiled, stretching the black ski mask covering his face—“but it didn’t seem polite to do it behind your back.”

  He flicked a cigarette lighter and torched the bundle, then pushed it off the tailgate to burn on my lawn. The night sky was set ablaze. Smoked filled the yard and then the porch, burning my eyes and clouding my vision. I cupped a hand over my mouth, tucked the shotgun under my arm, and stepped forward.

  “Enjoy your early Christmas present, bitch,” he called over the roar of the truck fleeing the scene.

  I dropped the shotgun and rushed over to the fire screaming, “Help! Boomer! Fire! Boomer!”

  The barn doors flew open, and Boomer sprinted out, a joint bobbling at his lips. For a second, he stood there, taking in the situation as if he couldn’t believe it. Then he loosed a strangled-sounding, “Holy shit,” and started toward me, tossing the whiskey bottle on the lawn as he came.

  I pointed at the shed. “Get the hose.”

  He dashed behind the shed and returned with the water hose. His gaze darted across the burning lawn, and then he twisted the nozzle, blasting water at the flames. I shielded my eyes, took a step back, and watched the water subdue the flames. When Boomer finally got the fire put out, and the smoke had cleared enough, I decided to check out the damage. I drew my shirt up over my nose and moved in on the charred remains.

  “Laney, stop,” Boomer ordered, dropping the hose.

  Like always, I ignored the warning and kicked a boot at the ashes. I immediately regretted not heeding his advice when I saw Hank’s dog charm. “Oh God!”

  I turned away and hurled up dinner.

  …

  I rested my head on the swing. I’d sto
pped crying when my pity party was overcome by the sudden rage at the thought of my case not only coming so close to home, but killing the dumb beast I loved. I’d had enough. It was obvious that someone was dead set on making me come unglued. Whoever this person was knew the right buttons to push. I wiped my snotty nose and slumped back into the swing. The screen door opened.

  “I called Gunner,” Boomer said. He placed a glass of whiskey in my hand. “Drink up.”

  I listened to the doctor’s orders and shot back the whiskey. The burn of it felt good. I looked at him; there was pity in his eyes. I was mess. He knew it, and I knew it. And now I was worrying that he’d called Gunner and not the sheriff to report the crime. My gaze dropped to the lawn. “He was just an innocent dog.”

  Boomer sat down and draped an arm around me, pulling me tight into his chest. “People do cruel things.”

  I closed my eyes and let the whispering sounds of the night drown out my crying. I awoke to the sound of tires crunching grass. The Dodge truck braked to a stop in the middle of my lawn. Nathan leaped out and looked the length of my yard.

  “Laney, are you okay?” he hollered as he rushed to the front porch.

  I jumped out of the swing and dove into his arms. “Someone killed Hank.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Smoke lingered in the night sky, leaving the air pungent. The bug zapper fried another mosquito. I looked through the haze at Hank’s charred remains. I was numb, but most of all, I was angry at myself for allowing those bastards to not only get to me, but my dog. What the hell had either of us done to them?

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Nathan said. Tenderly, he kissed me and swept me into his arms to carry me inside.

  “You always do,” I replied and buried my face at his tear-soaked shirt.

  My butt hit the couch, and I was too exhausted to even toss my legs over the armrest. Nathan gently let me go and tugged off my boots. For the first time tonight, I looked into his green eyes, cool, calm, and collected. I was a rotten woman. My heart was rotten, and my newly returned feelings for Gunner were rotten. Nathan was a good man and deserved a better fiancée.