Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite)

by Jodi Linton

  Yep, we were special, we were.

  Gunner whipped into a spot outside the station. He kicked his door open and got out. I followed suit, easing my sore muscles down from the Yukon. Hot, dry air immediately attempted to suck the life out of me. I adjusted my sunglasses and strutted to the front of the SUV.

  “I see the window got fixed,” I said, lowering my sunglasses down my nose.

  Gunner locked his door and dropped me a charming smile. “The boss doesn’t like his Rangers driving pieces of shit. C’mon.” He grabbed my hand and tugged me across the lot. When we reached the station’s door, he stepped aside and pulled it open, waiting for me to pass through.

  Inside, there was a funk in the air. A single desk sat in front of a boxed fan. To the back was a vending machine loaded with a variety of Tom’s products—crisp chips, salty snacks, and tasty pastries. Gunner raised an eyebrow at me.

  “I think Pistol Rock might be faring better when it comes to law enforcement facilities,” he said.

  “Let’s get this over with.” I left his side and walked to the back by the file cabinets.

  A man with an ass that looked like two pigs fighting in a potato sack hacked and dipped his head deeper into a file drawer. I tapped him on the back. He lurched up and hit his head on an open drawer, smoothed down the three unruly white hairs on his scalp and turned around. “Can I help you?” he asked, displeased.

  It took me a second to answer. I wanted to be polite but found myself struck temporarily dumb at the sight of his one milky, dead eye.

  “Texas Ranger Gunner Wilson,” Gunner told him. He tipped his hat at me and smiled. “And this here is Deputy Laney Briggs from over in Pistol Rock. We came on a hunch that you might have some information pertaining to a case we’re working concerning some Special K.”

  The heavy set man coughed and cleared his throat, wiped his hands on his pants, and offered a hand. “Sheriff Bob Neal, pleasure to meet you both.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said and gingerly shook his sticky hand, hoping like all hell the stickiness was nothing more than sweat or donut glaze.

  Sheriff Bob nodded. “Special K, you said?” He rustled the key ring at his waistband and said, “Give me a minute.” He headed toward a door on the other side of the office, returning in a couple of minutes to toss a stack of papers onto the desk. He sighed and fell back in his chair.

  “This is all we have. You’re welcome to look through it.” He fanned the pages then pushed them across the desk. “There’s not much, I know, but Mrs. Adams snapped a photo of a guy over at Bristol Mills we believe was slinging the drugs.”

  Bristol Mills was the county brothel. Kenny Perkins owned it but was smart enough to keep the place operating under a legal premise.

  “Who’s Mrs. Adams?” I asked, reaching for a file.

  Sheriff Bob frowned. “The minister’s wife over at Calvary Fellowship. Patty suspects her husband of dropping his pants in places he shouldn’t.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Gunner. He ignored me and snatched the file out my hands. Quickly, he scanned the documents then pushed the papers back at Bob. “Where’s the photo?” He scattered the papers, making a mess on the desk. “This is all shit we already have.”

  “It’s not exactly here,” Sheriff Bob said, picking at a piece of food between his teeth. “See that dang photo. It’s blurred. Mrs. Adam’s ain’t the best photo snapper around. She has a shaky hand.” He rocked back in his chair. “I sent it off to Austin—been waiting to see if they can clean it up for the past three weeks.”

  Gunner crouched over the desk. “Do you think we could get our hands on it when it comes in?”

  Sheriff Bob snorted and flicked the food scrap in the trash. “Don’t bother me a bit. I heard about Bosley Conrad getting capped.” He eyed us. “You two don’t think he had something do with all this?”

  “People get killed in a drive by, there’s usually a reason,” I said.

  “I hear ya,” the sheriff agreed, scrabbling together the contents of the file Gunner had scattered and stuffing it in his desk.

  Straightening, Gunner paced around to sit on the desk, leaning toward Bob confidentially. I couldn’t help but admire the way his black T-shirt tugged at his massive biceps, but it also really had me questioning if I should seek out professional help. I was about ready to find a phone and do just that when he slid a business card at Bob.

  “Will you call us when that photo comes in?” he asked, tapping the card.

  Sheriff Bob took the card, gave it a quick glance, and nodded at Gunner. “Not a problem,” he said and tucked the card in his shirt pocket.

  “Thanks. Your help is appreciated.” Gunner stood up and turned to me. “Laney, we should get going.”

  I gave the Harper’s Ridge sheriff a pasted on smile. “Have a good day.”

  “You too, doll.” Bob winked and stretched back in his chair. “And give old Dobbs a hello for me.”

  I hustled out the door and strolled across the parking lot. Gunner leaned against the Yukon’s bumper, head down, lost in thought. He looked up when I approached.

  “Well, that was a dead end,” he stepped forward, frowning. “Where to now?” his gaze dropped to my chest. “Have you had lunch?”

  I shuffled in my boots and stared back. Probably, it was best to head home to get my cruiser. If I spent any more time being carted around by the likes of Gunner—or my mother for that matter—I’d pee my pants. “Could you drop me off at my place so I can get the cruiser?”

  “Sure.” He opened my door. I slid down into my seat and aimed the air at my face, then closed my eyes. “Are you okay?” Gunner asked, turning the car on.

  “I’m just exhausted. And I want to make sure Boomer hasn’t left the stovetop’s pilot light on. ”

  “Working a case like this can do that to you.”

  I cracked open an eye. His smile was so damn unnerving that I quickly closed my eye again. I couldn’t stand it anymore. By kissing me senseless at Nathan’s this morning, he’d probably screwed up not only my relationship with my fiancé, but my impending nuptials as well—and I hadn’t done anything to stop him.

  I hadn’t really wanted to stop him. But now…

  The stroking of his rough hand along my knee got my attention. I shot up in my seat and coldly glared back at the bullheaded man. “What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped and attempted to push his hand off my leg. “I told you to keep your damn hands off.”

  His dark eyes were soft and mischievous. “Laney, we could just run away. No wedding. No note.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “The old Laney would have jumped at the offer.”

  I grunted. “You’re right. She would’ve.”

  “What happened to that Laney?”

  “She grew up.”

  Sadly, he looked out the window and backed up to pull out of the lot and head for the highway. “Haven’t we all, sweetheart…”

  We flew down the old, two-lane country road and breezed past the city mile marker welcoming us both back into Pistol Rock. The hard right turn down FM 167 threw me forward in my seat. I caught the dashboard as Gunner hauled the Yukon over the railroad tracks and hooked the corner to my house.

  “I need your phone. I forgot to grab mine before leaving Nathan’s.” I waved for him to place it in my hand.

  Gunner huffed as he struggled with the seatbelt then handed it over. “Am I allowed to ask why?”

  “I should check in with Nathan,” I said.

  He looked annoyed. “So, he’s keeping tabs on you now.”

  “No, I’m just the sweet girlfriend he caught you dragging down to your lying, cheating, sneaking level this morning by kissing me in his driveway.”

  I don’t think I’d ever seen Gunner shocked before, but shaken by that statement, he was. The big, arrogant cowboy gaped at me for a moment, then turned eyes front to stare out the windshield at the road, hurt.

  “Damn, Laney,” he mumbled. “That was low.�
�

  “As low as you thinking it’s a game trying to sabotage the only steady relationship I’ve had since you screwed Wynona Berkley in our bed?”

  “Aw, Laney…”

  “No, Gunner.” I shook my head as I dialed the clinic. “The fact is that as limp as your kisses might make me, I don’t trust you anymore. My heart doesn’t trust you. Doesn’t matter what you say about Nathan. He’s solid and steady and trustworthy, and you’re just Good Time Gunner, same as you were back in school.”

  Not waiting to see how he might respond to that, I turned my attention back to the phone as the line rang twice then picked up.

  “This is Nathan Prescott,” he answered in a monotone voice.

  I sighed, wishing there was a way to avoid this conversation, knowing there wasn’t. “It’s Laney, just wanted to check in and see how your day was going.”

  There was a long silence on his end of the line. Then I heard a snort and the sound of a fist slamming down on the desk.

  “I saw that son of a bitch kiss you. I want you to stay away from him, do you hear me?” he yelled, angrier than I’d ever heard him.

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Damn it, Laney. I want you home now.”

  “Tonight,” I repeated and disconnected our bittersweet conversation before either of us said something we’d regret, and handed Gunner his phone.

  “That didn’t sound pleasant,” Gunner said, tossing the phone into the console.

  I stared straight ahead. “You think?”

  We cruised up the driveway, flying past my mailbox faster than necessary. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing my fiancé tonight. I was a chicken when it came to confrontations in my personal relationships, and I had a sinking feeling that before tonight was over, I’d be in the middle of one hell of a bitter fight.

  The tires screeched as Gunner planted a foot on the brake. He threw the Yukon into park and scowled at me. “Were you expecting company?”

  I looked out the window. Luke Wagner lounged against the driver’s door of his silver Ford pickup that he’d parked on top of my weed infested front lawn.

  “Shit!”

  Gunner cracked his knuckles, pulled his hat past his eyes, and stepped out. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, stalking over to Luke.

  Luke played with the toothpick between his lips and smiled as he pushed it to the corner of his mouth. “I could ask you the same thing.” He kicked forward and headed toward us, wearing that shit-eating grin of his, his wild blond hair casually tucked under his cowboy hat. He pinched the brim nodding back at me.

  I swallowed hard and stepped out of the car. Speaking of confrontations I didn’t want to have… Between the daisies taking up space on my kitchen table and the note that suggested he knew what happened to the guy who’d attacked me the other night, the conversation I needed to have with him might well end up with him in handcuffs down at the jail. Almost made me glad Gunner was with me.

  Almost.

  “We need to talk,” I told Luke.

  A slow smile slipped across his face. “You see that, Gunner”—he cut an eye in the Texas Ranger’s direction—“Laney was expecting me.”

  As though I’d never said anything to him earlier about keeping his hands to himself, Gunner slung an arm around my waist. “Talk,” he snarled and tugged me closer.

  I punched him in the shoulder as hard as I could and tugged out of his proprietary embrace. Time I did more than try to tell him anything. “Talk,” I told Luke even as Gunner attempted to step between us. I dodged around him, coming to a halt toe-to-toe with Mitch Wagner’s son. “What the hell do you know about the guy Gunner arrested outside of Rusty’s, and if you had anything to do with killing my dog—”

  “Whoa-whoa!” Luke held up his hands in a pacifying manner and backed up a pace, spitting his ever present toothpick to the ground. “I just heard about Hank and wanted to pay my respects.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said, sounding anything but even to myself, “Now tell me what the hell you meant when you wrote about taking care of my little problem in that note.”

  “Shit, Laney.” He started backpedaling as fast as he could when I stepped forward into his face again. “Nothin’, I meant nothin’ by it.”

  “Nothin’, Luke?” Gunner tried to grab my arm, but I shook him off, popped a hand to Luke’s chest, and shoved. He stumbled backward and sat down on his ass, hard. I leaned over and stuck my face in his. “Nothing, Luke?”

  “Christ Almighty, Laney.” He put a hand over his heart, held the other high. “Hand to God, I swear. I had nothing to do with Hank.”

  “Then what was that note about? What did you do with that guy Gunner beat up outside the sheriff’s station? Did you manage to talk Elroy into releasing him to you or something?” If he had, I was going to kick that sorry excuse for a deputy’s ass all up and down Center Street then lock him up for a month.

  Gunner swaggered forward and moved me bodily out of the way to drag Luke up off his butt by the shirt collar. “What note?” he asked, deceptively calm. “And what about the guy who beat up Laney?”

  Luke shook his head and looked at me as he peeled Gunner’s hand away from his shirt. “Really, I am sorry about old Hank.”

  I stepped toward him again. “Damn it, Luke! What’d you do?”

  He started to reach out to cup my face, but Gunner slapped his hand away. Luke grimaced and shrugged at me. “Cutie, if I tell you, then you might have to arrest me.”

  “God damn it, Luke. Are you completely insane?”

  “Laney, it’s not like I killed the bastard, just scared the shit out of him.” He grinned at me. “Son of a bitch pissed his pants at the sight of me. You should have seen it. It was priceless.”

  I gave him a noncommittal nod. “I bet. Just tell me… is he okay?”

  “If you mean the asshole will have to wear an icepack taped to his butt for the next month”—he raised a brow—“then yeah, he’s fine.”

  “Where is he?” Gunner thundered.

  He never had liked being left out of a conversation if he could take it over.

  Luke shook his head enigmatically and dusted off his pants. “Just thought you should know, Laney, my father took over Bosley’s land.”

  I eyed him for a minute then glanced at Gunner. We were back right where this started—with Mitch Wagner wanting to grab Bosley’s land, only now with Bosley Conrad conveniently dead, Mitch had apparently done it.

  Luke grinned. “Can you believe I miss bickering with the old fart?”

  “Sure,” I said sarcastically, “why not?”

  “Yep,” Luke said, stepping toward his truck, “I sure do.” He opened the Ford’s door and threw me an unsettling smile. “Do us all a favor and stay out trouble, Laney Briggs.”

  Then he jumped into the truck, fired it up, and backed out of my drive. What the hell was he up to? I wondered. It might be like him to come out here and try to make a pass at me by offering me condolences over my dog, but that random share about his father taking over Bosley’s spread reeked of more.

  Gunner tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped and turned to face him. “I guess that’s my cue.” He rattled his keys, looking me over. “What the hell,” he mumbled and leaned down to plant a wet one on my lips. “Like the man said, Laney Briggs, stay out of trouble.” He winked and headed for the Yukon, turning back with his hand on the door. “See you at Bosley’s funeral tomorrow,” he called.

  I stared after him, appalled at his audacity—but it still took me a second to stop daydreaming about his hands traveling all over my body as I watched the Yukon disappear. When it was gone, I went inside in search of my keys. A note taped to the fridge informed me Boomer had gone to the liquor store. Tapping it once, I grabbed my keys off the counter, took a last look around, locked the door, and left for Nathan’s.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So, you finally decided to come back to my place,” Nathan said, leaning against the frame of his front doo
r, arms folded over his chest.

  “Had some work to finish up,” I said and pushed past him through the door.

  His eyes dropped to my keys and then back to my face. “You really think I’m buying that shit?” He snatched the keys out of my hand and stuffed them in the back pocket of his jeans.

  “Hey!”

  Nathan frowned. “We need to talk,” he said and backed off the wall, closing in on me.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “How does taking my keys have anything to do with us talking?”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  I shook my head no. “No, I love you.”

  He stalked forward and jerked at my shoulders. “You do realize that’s my God damn ring on your finger.”

  I let out a hysterical laugh as I rubbed my diamond.

  “Uh, yeah. Who else would’ve given it to me?”

  “From the looks of it, I suspect you think Gunner Wilson did,” he snarled, digging his fingernails into my arms.

  “Ouch.” I jumped back and stiffened my arms at my side, scowling at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Nathan aggressively shoved me back into the wall. Even with a throbbing head and blurred vision, I could still taste the stench of dried beer on his cracked lips. His fingernails latched into my skin, and when he dug deeper into the flesh, I could feel the raw burn of tearing skin slicing down my arms. I stared back into his dead green eyes. Never had he lifted a hand to me. Never had he lost control, and now…well, now I wasn’t entirely certain what I was dealing with. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw his raised fist making a play for my face. I ducked to the side and heard his knuckles slam into the wall.

  “Holy shit!” I half whispered, half yelled, turning to look with astonishment and dread at the hole he’d put in the wall. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

  “Is this what you want?” he asked, eyeing me down and shaking out his hand. “You want me to take what’s mine?”

  “Nathan, what are you talking about?”

  “I love you. Do you understand that?” His stale voice bristled down my neck. “Laney, you’re mine and only mine.”