But Hunter, he didn’t seem to be one of the desperate people or one of the bad guys, either. Hunter had a virtually sterling record, first as a sheriff’s deputy and then as an agent with ICE for the past decade. The only tarnish on the man’s otherwise shiny profile was a drug deal that went bad while he was working undercover. Hunter had been seriously wounded and ended up in the hospital for a good month, and the perp got away with the dope. Internal Affairs had performed a thorough investigation, but Hunter had come up clean.
His frown deepening, Clay continued on down to the next name.
Guerrero. Brogan had written, “This bastard is six kinds of dirty,” on the sheet above the printed facts. No record, just a long list of suspected activities, contacts, and off-the-books dealings. ICE and the DEA had files on him, and so did the FBI. Interestingly enough, though, there didn’t seem to be any shift in the business patterns of the drug lord’s car dealerships or cash movements in the last two months. Maybe the asshole actually wasn’t involved in the thefts.
Wade Larson came next. Several tickets for speeding, and he’d been thrown in the Douglas City Jail once, after a drunken brawl where the local tavern had been trashed. Larson had come through for Clay when his own deputy had to be brought down, but he was well known to be a bit of a hothead and vigilante, taking matters into his own hands when it came to keeping UDAs— undocumented aliens—off his property. But the man had never been noted to use extreme measures and had not been cited for anything other than the brawl and tickets. Sometimes, jerks were just jerks, Clay knew. Still, he felt a moment of disappointment. Wade had been a good pick for something like this, stirring up the locals against UDAs, maybe to lobby for even stricter laws and restrictions.
Clay stroked his fingers over his mustache as he brought up the next suspect... and then his blood boiled.
When Levi Thorn was nineteen, he had beat the crap out of a kid who’d apparently tried to force Rylie to have sex in the backseat of his car at the drive-in. According to the police report, Levi had heard that Reggie Parker had been bragging he was going to “do the bitch.”
Levi tracked them down and found Rylie trying to fight off the boy. Levi jerked the boy off of his sister, then punched the living daylights out of Parker, who’d ended up with stitches, a lost tooth, and a busted jaw. Because Levi had been nineteen, and Parker seventeen, Levi had been charged as an adult for assaulting a minor. The charges were cleared when the situation came to light.
Clay gritted his teeth. He hoped to hell that Levi had done some damage to that SOB who’d tried to rape Rylie. As far as Clay was concerned, he owed Levi for that one. Too damned bad it happened so long ago. This day and age, Reggie Parker would have been charged with attempted rape instead of being let go with an admonition to keep his urges under better control.
He read on, finding almost nothing of note that he didn’t already know. Levi Thorn co-owned the Thorn Ranch with Rylie, and had been operating in the red for the past few years. He’d spent some time in the hospital a few years back for a spinal cord injury that took him out of the U.S. Marshals, but with therapy he was back on his feet. Bank records showed normal fluctuations in the ranch and personal accounts until a sudden influx of cash: ten grand deposited last week, then another ten grand a day ago.
Clay gave a low whistle. That was two good chunks of change for a rancher whose only known source of income was a spread running in the red.
Clay narrowed his eyes.
What had Levi gotten himself into? Even if Clay continued to let himself believe he wasn’t involved in stealing trucks, he sure as hell was involved in something.
Clay looked up from his documents and glanced out his door at the deputies in the main area. Blalock, Garrison, Quinn. He should have them all checked out after what happened with his former employee, Gary Woods, a gambler who got behind a cattle-rustling scheme. Lightning really could strike the same spot twice.
He swapped his screen view to a window and brought up some normal venues for checking records. Half an hour later, he knew that Blalock and Garrison had nothing but a few juvie beefs for intoxication and being out after curfew. Quinn—now that was interesting. Hazard Quinn had a few reprimands for not being in his assigned location a couple of times and, like Gary Woods, the former deputy now serving hard time, Quinn had filed for Chapter 13 bankruptcy protection the previous fall. Bad investments and an upside-down mortgage.
But hell, that was half the country.
And the poor man drove an ancient Gremlin for his personal car. Damned thing looked like it was held together with spit and rubber bands. If he was stealing trucks, he’d likely allow himself the luxury of a decent ride from the profits.
Clay’s eyes drifted back to Levi Thorn’s name, and he muttered, “Nothing for it, I guess. You and I need to talk.”
***
“Oh, yes.” Rylie sighed with pleasure as she eased into the old- fashioned footed tub and luxuriated in the warm bathwater. “That’s more like it.”
After a long, tiring Monday from hell, it was heaven to take a bubble bath. First she’d gotten into an argument with Levi because the big jerk refused to tell her where he’d gotten the money for the water heater; then one of the heifers had apparently eaten some locoweed and had to be put down; she’d ripped another good pair of jeans when she repaired the barbed-wire fence that had been cut again; and on top of that, the Bar One about fifteen miles down the road had lost a truck. The man watching it had been sent to the hospital for a concussion, and the hands had heard shots fired.
These assholes really weren’t messing around.
Insurance had already agreed to send replacement funds for Thorn Ranch trucks, but she hated the idea of putting her ranch hands at risk guarding them. She needed a security system. Cameras, maybe alarms—but that was all too expensive to even contemplate. This crap needed to stop, and it needed to stop now.
“Not going to think about any of that right now.” Rylie grabbed a loofah sponge from the soap tray and squirted her favorite vanilla musk gel on it. With energetic strokes, she scrubbed her skin until her body tingled.
It had been so long since they’d had hot water that she’d forgotten how wonderful it felt to relax in the tub after a hard day of ranch work. Even though Levi was keeping his trap shut on where he’d gotten the funds, she could almost forgive him for springing for the luxury of a new water heater. Almost.
Taking a deep breath of the vanilla-scented bubbles, she closed her eyes and leaned against the back of the old-fashioned footed tub, enjoying the silky feel of warm water against her skin. The sensual sensation made her think about Clay.
Everything made her think about Clay.
She wished she had his muscular body pressed into hers right this second, his breath hot against her neck, his hands busy with pleasing.
But for once, her own touch and mental fantasies failed to satisfy her. It was Clay that she wanted... She needed to have the man’s hands on her body. She’d had the real thing, and now her imagination just wouldn’t do. At least till she got the man out of her system.
“Enough.” With a frown she opened her eyes and scooted up in the tub. It really was starting to tick her off that she couldn’t get him out of her mind. What the hell was the matter with her? He was just a man, nothing special.
Yeah, right.
Instead of enjoying a nice, leisurely bath, Rylie ended up rushing through the rest of it. She kept trying to shove Clay out of her thoughts, but the bastard kept returning, not leaving her alone.
When she’d toweled off, she threw on her old cotton robe, yanked a comb through her wet hair, and marched into her bedroom. She was pissed and obsessed, not a good combination. She’d put Clay off until Friday night and it was only Monday. How the hell was she going to make it until Friday without seeing him?
But at the same time, she wondered how he’d managed to convince her to attend a dinner with the mayor. The mayor, for crying out loud.
The piercing ring of
her cell phone was like a screech through Rylie’s mind. She checked the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the number, and no name was shown. Rylie snatched up the phone, ready to take out her pent-up sexual frustration on the telemarketer who dared to interrupt her mental tirade. “Thorn.”
“Yes. You are,” Clay’s deep voice rumbled over the phone. “Right in my side.”
“Clay.” Warmth flushed over Rylie, heating every cell, every pore on her body. “I’m what?” Why did her brain always take a hike around him?
“I can’t quit thinking about you. I can’t quit imagining you... in bed and out.” His tone was throbbing with sensuality, stirring her in ways she hadn’t thought possible over the phone. God, did he ever make her hot. “Sure you won’t change your mind about dinner before Friday?”
It took all her resolve not to beg him to come over. Instead, she somehow managed to keep her voice light and teasing. “It’s a busy week, cowboy.”
“What are you doing right now?”
A spark of mischief skittered through her belly. She grinned and perched on the edge of her bed. “I’m lying in my bed... absolutely naked.”
Clay sucked in his breath, and it was a good heartbeat before he responded. “You’d better be careful, little wildcat. I’ll be there faster than you can make yourself happy.”
Rylie pulled at the tie of her robe, his words giving her an idea. “Have you ever had phone sex?”
“Uh, no.”
“Ah.” She slid off the robe and settled against the pillows on her bed. “So you’re a phone-sex virgin.”
Clay gave a soft chuckle. “Been a long time since I was called that.”
“Well, it’s time you lose that cherry.” Rylie cupped one of her breasts with her free hand. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m playing with my nipples, imagining that you’re sucking them.”
“Damn, woman.” Clay groaned, and she could visualize the raging desire in his expression. “I can picture your body, sleek and ready, just for me.”
“Oh, yeah.” Moisture flooded her core and cool air brushed her as she spread her legs. “Where are you right now?”
“In my study,” he said, like he was gritting his teeth. “With a hard-on the size of Texas.”
Rylie laughed. “Well, then. We need to do something about that.”
“You coming over here, or am I going there?”
“Neither.” She rubbed her hand up and down her flat belly. “Take off your clothes, cowboy.”
A pause, and then he said, “Honey, I don’t know what you do to me, but I can’t believe I’m actually considering it.”
“Just take off your clothes, big guy.”
“Hold on.” Clay grunted and she heard the rustle of fabric, the faint thump of boots on tile.
While she waited, Rylie closed her eyes and tweaked first one nipple, then the next as she pictured his hard-muscled body, naked and waiting for her. A part of her wanted to give in and meet with him before Friday. But she couldn’t take the chance of starting to like the man too much, or give him the wrong idea—that they were anything more than friends and occasional lovers.
“Ready.” Clay’s voice interrupted her train of thought. “I need you here.”
“Mmmmm.” She squirmed on the bed, dying for the feel of him inside her. “Grab yourself and imagine that my tongue is licking over you, just like you’re a supersized ice cream cone.”
“And woman, do you ever have a talented tongue,” he murmured. “My turn. I’m putting my fingers where they’ll do the most good.” Clay paused; she dipped her fingers into her slick folds. He lowered his voice and added, “Now taste yourself for me.”
A small gasp escaped Rylie’s throat at what he suggested and she hesitated. She’d smelled her own musk on her hand, and tasted herself on Clay’s tongue, but lick her own fingers?
“Come on, honey.” His groan was low and primal.
“All right, just for you.” She smiled and brought her forefinger to her mouth and sucked on it with a smack loud enough for him to hear over the phone. “Mmmm. It’s like tasting myself on you.”
“Damn, but you make me hot.” Clay’s breathing was growing harsh. “I want you. I want you more than anything.”
A thrill coursed through her, a heady feeling of power. The knowledge that she could turn this man on as much as he turned her on was addicting, like the most potent of drugs.
“Are you touching yourself?” Her fingers found her hot center and resumed the familiar motion that made her feel so good. “I’m touching myself, Clay.”
“Yeah. I’d rather be the one doing that.”
“That’s good. So good.” She clenched the phone tighter as her arousal grew. Her own breathing became more labored as her fingers worked harder, faster. “I’m picturing you. You’re sliding into me, hard and fast.”
“What if I took you from behind?” Clay murmured. “Would you like that?”
A wild moaned slipped through her lips at the thought of having him in total control, deciding her pleasure, making her ache. Her fingers stroked and stroked, bringing her closer to the peak.
“I can think of a lot of things you might like, Rylie.” His tone was gruff. “Can you?”
“Yes, dammit.” She had to force the words out as she began to climax. “With you, yes.” The orgasm took hold of her body, her muscles clenching from head to toe. “Clay!” she shouted as she came. Her fingers continued, drawing out her orgasm, while her body shuddered and trembled.
Through the rush of blood in her ears she heard Clay’s groan of release, his heavy breathing, and then his husky laugh.
“You’re amazing.” He sounded sated, but as if he could go another round or two. “No other woman on the face of God’s green earth could make me do that on the telephone.”
Laughter and pleasure filled Rylie. “Thanks for the great phone sex, cowboy,” she murmured. And then she hung up on him.
Chapter 10
Rylie put on a pair of small gold hoop earrings, spritzed on her vanilla musk perfume, and then checked her appearance in the mirror. She rarely wore makeup, but wondered if today she should make an exception considering how she looked—like she was nervous or something. Her cheeks were so pale it made her freckles stand out across her nose.
What the hell, she might as well go for it. She settled for dusting a bronze blush on her cheekbones, a light coat of brown mascara, and lipstick in a burnt-cinnamon shade. And, why not?—a little sable liner along her lashes, just like the Avon lady had shown her.
Frowning at her reflection, Rylie smoothed the skirt of the strapless black dress that came to mid-thigh. It wasn’t an expensive dress, but it had a classic look that supposedly made it appropriate for any occasion. Truth be told, she didn’t give a damn about that—she just hoped that it would make Clay so out of his mind with lust that he’d want her as soon as he saw her.
It had been almost a week since she’d seen Clay, and she was regretting agreeing to go with him to the mayor’s dinner. She wanted him so badly she didn’t think she could wait until the dinner was over.
Her frown turned into a grin as she thought about how much fun it would be to find a secluded corner in the mayor’s house, and tease Clay right there. With all their dirty talk on the phone every night this week, she was so hot for him she’d probably jump him the moment he arrived. She almost wished that tomorrow she didn’t have to go to Skylar and Zack’s reception. Clay had agreed to go with her, but right now she wanted him all to herself so that she could enjoy his body.
Rylie grabbed her black beaded handbag, tossed in the lipstick, and walked through the quiet house, wondering where it was that Levi had been going off to every night. He must have started working some kind of side job that he wasn’t telling her about. How else could he have afforded the water heater? And why would he be so secretive about what he was doing?
When she reached the window that looked out onto the front yard, she pushed the curtain aside and peered through the cloude
d pane and into the night. A pair of headlights cut through the darkness, and headed up the dirt road to her ranch house. Her hand automatically went to her ear and she pulled at the gold earring.
Clay. Rylie held her purse tight to her belly with one hand, as if it could calm the sudden flutter there, and stepped back from the window. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
He’s just a man. Nothing special.
The roar of a truck’s engine came closer. She remained still, almost unable to move while she listened to the sound of gravel crunching under big tires... the engine cutting off... the slam of a door... and then the sound of heavy boots on her porch steps.
What’s the matter with me?
The screen door creaked and then a loud knock sounded. Rylie’s eyes flew open and she stared at the door. Why did it feel like everything would change if she walked through that door and into Clay’s arms tonight?
Stop being so damn stupid!
Another knock jolted Rylie into action, and she moved forward and reached for the worn brass knob. When she opened the door, she almost forgot to breathe.
Clay was dressed in a black suit, his mouth curved into a sensual smile and his green eyes positively smoldering. He looked like he could have stepped out of the pages of some high-fashioned men’s magazine.
“You’re so gorgeous, honey.” He reached for her, slid his fingers into her hair, and cupped the back of her head. “Damn, but I’ve missed you.”
“Hey, sexy,” was all she had a chance to say before he brought his mouth to hers. He moved his lips over hers in a soft and sensuous kiss that stole every bit of her remaining breath. A moan rose up within Rylie, and she barely realized she had wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him tighter to her.
Clay: Armed and Dangerous Page 10