by Jodi Linton
“Everyone take a seat, court is in session,” Judge Major soothed in his church choir singsong voice. Then he turned to the stand that housed one hunky Texas Ranger. “Please state your name for the record.”
Gunner shot forward in the chair, mouth inches away from the mic, face a hard line of I’m-cop-and-I-play-by-the-rules. He’d burn in hell. This guy of mine was going down. Well, first I needed to learn not to drop panties just by glancing at his handsome, chiseled face. Take last night for instance—just another horrible mistake to notch on my belt buckle. I narrowed my eyes and squared my shoulders, sitting up straighter in the pew. For a moment, Gunner stared into space, emotionless and stiff. Finally, our eyes locked into that old I-thought-you-understood-I’m-a-sorry-asshole standoff. Shit. He gulped, the swallow taking a nose dive into the hollow pit of his manly chest. He and I both knew how to the play game. There was no doubt in my mind. Gunner was just better at the shit-talking.
He pulled a half-cocked smile, then diverted his gaze to the judge. “Texas Ranger Gunner Wilson,” he calmly obliged, slapping his cowboy hat on the stand as he inched closer to the mic.
“Prosecutor Adams, you may proceed.” Judge Major gestured at the prosecution.
Adams rounded the front of the stand and in good ol’ boy fashion made a big show of drawling out his question. “Ranger Wilson, why don’t you please tell the court what you told the prosecution about your connection with Mr. Bennett.” His voice whistled, sending a chill down my spine.
Gunner leaned in, chin cocked at Wyatt, stating in that firm cop voice that held the capability to render me speechless, “Mr. Bennett was working as an informant for the rangers on the Willie King case.”
Adams turned to the court, arms outstretched, soaking up the media attention for all that it was worth. “So, Ranger Wilson”—he whirled around on him—“Mr. Bennett didn’t get a pass due to being related to your girlfriend, Deputy Briggs?”
Well, hell. I’d seen that look on Gunner’s face before, and damn, he was in no mood to play Mr. Nice Guy.
“Counselor, if you are implying Wyatt Bennett got a deal because Deputy Briggs and I are in a relationship”—he snorted—“I’d suggest you reel that one in fast.”
The counselor rounded back on Gunner, slapping a file on the podium. “So you’re telling me you aren’t close with the defendant in question, Mr. Wilson?” Prosecutor Adams crunched knuckles, getting all up in my boyfriend’s face. “These pictures beg to differ.”
“What the hell is all this?” Gunner’s voice dropped in a whisper. “Yeah, I’m close with the defendant. He’s my girlfriend’s cousin.” Feet shuffled to a stop, and then Gunner continued. “But that has nothing to do with why he’s on trial for gun-smuggling charges.”
Tugging at his tie, Adams smiled, full of mock amusement. “It all makes perfect sense,” the counselor said as he addressed the courtroom. “There are numerous documentations of you being written up by your boss for going against protocol. I have a sinking feeling you flashed that shiny ranger badge around and got Mr. Bennett out of those murder charges he so easily escaped two weeks ago.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gunner grunted.
A hushed silence fell upon the court as the prosecution presented a new piece of evidence. “The state would like to file exhibit A into court documents,” Adams coldly stated, “photographs of Mr. Bennett making drug exchanges with the swinger party victims.”
Judge Major waved both counselors to his podium. The entire courtroom grew quiet as he looked over the newly produced evidence before addressing everyone. “I’ll allow the evidence into court.”
“This is fucking bullshit!” Wyatt leaped out of his chair, shouting.
That’s when all hell broke loose. The judge pounded the podium, shouting, “Order in the court,” and two armed guards rushed to the defense attorney’s table, trying to corral the idiocy that had broken out in the middle of the arraignment.
When Wyatt wouldn’t calm down and started hobbling around the table, shackled ankles and all, like a chicken with his head cut off, Judge Major jolted upright and screamed, “That’s it. Guards, escort Mr. Bennett from the courtroom.” His eyes narrowed, ready for attack. “As of now, Mr. Bennett will be held without bail on charges of gun and drug possession until further notice.” He slammed the gavel on the podium. “Court adjourned.”
Wyatt took off, but barely made a step before a guard body slammed him in the back, and he hit the tile floor face-first.
Moments later, I lounged next to a water fountain in the courthouse corridor, head hung low, waiting for the elevator and pondering my next line of attack when a firm hand wrapped around my arm. I jerked forward to find myself being pulled around the corner and my back pressing into the cold tile wall.
Well, hell. It was like the punches just wouldn’t stop swinging. I poised myself for attack when a roughed, callused thumb gently yet aggressively tapped beneath my chin. My head snapped up and my eyes found a new home on one pissed-off Texas Ranger. But holy hell, trouble had me barricaded between a pair of Wranglers and one stunningly handsome black cowboy hat, which might I add, was butting mine and inadvertently caused a tantalizing heat to rush through my entire body.
“Shit, cowboy!” I scowled, spitting mad. “I’d never taken you for the stalker type.”
One corner of his mouth turned up. He nudged a knee between my legs, effectively pushing them farther apart and making a nice little spot for that shitty zipper fly against my stomach. The way that denim-covered dick caressed and rubbed at my belly button sort of threw a bucket of cold water on my bitchy stance.
One problem at a time.
He tipped his hat up, then tossed me one of his infamous boot-scooting winks. “You really are hardheaded,” Gunner Wilson drawled. His hand tightened around my elbow as his thumb played a little game of tic-tac-toe across the top of my arm, sending my already charging pulse racing ninety to nothing. “Damn it, Laney.” He moved a stepped closer, allowing his lips enough space to brush within licking distance of mine, pulling away just in time before I could grab a delicious sample. Not that I desired a taste. Such a rotten predicament.
On instinct alone, I moaned at the deepening pressure of his hand circling my arm. Crap, he’d pinned me down. Gunner’s grin widened at that slipup. “I sure do enjoy every minute of chasing your sweet tail around,” he whispered as he hunched forward, bracing himself with a muscular tan arm. Sure enough, he’d slung his right arm directly next to my face, securing me against the hard planes of his rock-hard chest. Life and this cowboy had made a mess of me. My eyes shot to his right forearm. I’d never been a shy gal. If I wanted something I took it without a second thought. But hell, it was a damn sucker punch to the gut how quickly that deadly black rattlesnake tattoo gained my attention. I felt my throat grow thick and dry.
I tore my eyes away from him. If I was gonna prove to my boyfriend that I was a force to be reckoned with…well, I couldn’t get swallowed up by a hunky Texas Ranger again. I alleviated my pent-up sexual frustration by setting my sights on the bland beige wall ahead. Sucking down a harsh swallow, I decided to woman up and look the sinful man dead-on. “I might’ve gotten caught up in the moment last night,” I told him flat out.
“You’ve got to be joking.” Gunner laughed. “You and I both know last night was not a fucking mistake.”
“Hey, I have the right, like anyone else, to second-guess my choices.”
He put his mouth to my ear. “But you know what they say about how the third time’s the charm, right?”
“It can sting like a bitch.”
A playful smile danced across his chiseled face. “You’re known to have a bite.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe,” I conceded. “Why don’t you just get to the point as to why you’re pinning my back up against a wall?”
His mouth formed a hard line. “I wanted to see if you’d like to go grab a drink.”
“Company can be so overrated.
”
Gunner wrapped a proprietary arm around my waist and secured me at his side. “What if I said you’d be able to nail a couple of bad guys while knocking down a few cold ones?” He arched a brow playfully.
My interest was piqued. “Keep talking, cowboy.”
He winked. “Come on. Our ride is waiting out back. I put in a call for backup.” Then he hustled the two of us toward the elevator and through the soundproof door before I had chance to come back with one of my snippy replies.
The doors pinged shut, and I stood trapped as I watched Gunner reach out and hit the button for ground level. Then he moved in next to me, his eyes never fading from my sight. When I was in closed, small spaces with Gunner, I always had the tendency to wind up on my back beneath him, panting and begging for release.
Definitely didn’t need security footage of my naked ass.
Needing to collect some sense of control around the only man who caused me to act like a college coed at a spring break party, I decided to speak up. “Are you gonna tell me who our third wheel is?”
His back slipped on the wall as he turned, throwing me that signature twat-twister wink. Such a clever cowboy. That wink alone had me seeing stars. Then his irresistible smile, the one that always made me want to drop to my knees and run my hands up and down those tight-ass Wranglers, squeezing and pinching his delicious backside before hooking my fingers around that massive bronze belt buckle, came back to haunt me. Okay, I had urges. Lately, I’d been losing sleep dreaming about barebacking my Texas Ranger.
Gunner licked and drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he held me prisoner with his heated gaze. “So, are you agreeing to that drink?” He lifted a hand, swooping a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Because your help today would be much appreciated. Not sure what I’d do without it.”
I looked up at him, wet lipped and hornier than a four-balled tomcat. Holy mother of pearl! Every single inch of the rugged hunk screamed I could fucking blow your mind all the way down to those sexy-as-fuck jeans. “Hmm…” My tongue felt like a tub of lard. “You sure are one smooth bastard.” I staggered backward, ass groping the steel handlebar in a missed attempt at gaining some much-needed distance between me and a guy who was going to have me turning and burning. And then my heart flipped when both of his big, strong hands gripped me at the waist. Yep, I was going to plunge head-on into the devil’s pond. He tugged me so close to his wide, sturdy chest, I could feel his heart beat in time with mine. Pick me, I silently jumped and screamed, spreading my legs farther apart and welcoming him home. I knew there would be no turning back once I’d allowed the rotten man to corral my heart. We were drowning, and I had no intention of coming up for air, well…not until the elevator dinged open. When I looked up, our eyes locked, and then he snaked his strong arms around my waist, pulling me close enough to cause my breasts to brush up against his starched black T-shirt. Hell, was I one fucked cowgirl. He gave me his megawatt I’ve-got-your-number playboy smile, and then he pressed his forehead to mine.
“Christ almighty, Laney,” Gunner sighed against my mouth. He stroked his hands up and down my arms. “No regrets.”
“No regrets.” I peered down at my dirt-stained jeans and scuffed-up boots. “Please tell me we aren’t going anywhere fancy.”
He shook his head and laughed. “I’ve got the perfect fix.”
The elevator doors slid wide open. We reached the exit door to the parking lot, and immediately my boots met a dead stall on the last step. There, standing in the dimly lit stairwell, I finally got my first glimpse at the worry marring his face. He appeared truly troubled. And it irked me in more ways than one that he still felt the need to keep his emotions bottled up inside. I moved a smidgen out of his embrace, and his hand slipped from the small of my back just enough so he could push the metal door open before returning it to the exact same spot. I took a single step forward but found myself in the crosshairs of one hard, rough hand smacking directly into my chest.
“Hold on a sec,” Gunner stated in that demanding ranger tone, the one that on more than one occasion held the power to shred a couple pairs of my panties. He hesitated, not like him, then stuck his head through the crack and scanned the parking lot. After further inspection, which consisted of him squeezing a muscular, toned thigh through the tiny sliver of light he’d let in by opening the door, he glanced over his shoulder at me, muttering under the brim of his hat to follow along.
“Are you going to keep acting all bent out of shape, Wilson?” I asked, pretty put off with his lack of filling me in on what the hell was going on at the moment. I mean, I just had a not-so-heart-to-heart meeting with my cousin standing trial. Not to mention my boyfriend put Luke Wagner, the key witness, under the protection of Colt Larsen. And if Colt Larsen was watching Luke’s back, they’d either banged every whore housed in all three trailers or opted for a three-way.
Yeah, to say that my life was peachy keen would be the understatement of the year.
Gunner let go of me and pulled off his hat, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “For once in your life, can you not be so stubborn, sweetheart? And yes, I do plan on saying my piece, but just not yet.” The lines of his face hardened. “Please.” He paused to scan my face. “Our ride should be here soon.”
We both turned, taking in a red Jeep Wrangler barreling into the garage. It stopped, and then a Stetson poked out the driver’s side window.
“Where’s Luke?” Gunner asked.
“Wagner was sort of preoccupied.” Colt directed the statement at Gunner. “He sent me in his place.” Both gray eyes smiled at me as the cocky smirk turned upward. “Heard someone might be in the market for a wardrobe change.” That rotten gaze slid up and down my body. “Yep. You’re not looking too hot, Briggs.”
I edged around Gunner and slung my hands on my hips. “Wasn’t sure if you bailed on me or not,” I said to Colt. “Explain the Jeep?”
“Enterprise gave me a sweet deal.” He chuckled deeply.
“Might’ve been better to go this alone,” Gunner called out after me as he rushed forward to open the Jeep door.
“I can’t look that bad.” I gave myself a once-over and decided he was just having a temperamental moment.
Gunner slid into the backseat, grumbling. “What’s this?” he asked, lifting a white box into view.
Colt laughed. “For our girl. Luke told me your size.” The inappropriate wink wasn’t lost on me. “I hope you like black, Laney Briggs.”
And just when I thought I had it all figured out, a damn cowboy had to go and buy me a present.
Chapter Eighteen
Gunner
If I was a dick, then Laney was the buoy signaling me home. And motherfucking honky-tonks were the ultimate great white shark. I just wanted to hop on a table and scream, “Yeah, assholes, the hot brunette is with me and don’t even fucking think about tapping that sweet behind of hers.” More than anything, I didn’t have future plans of spending fifty to life behind bars. But if the prick seated in the dimly lit booth didn’t stop eye-fucking Laney working her moves out on the dance floor, well, I’d gladly accept my sentence.
And fuck, did she really have to wear that damn short skirt? Hell, we were supposed to be running an investigation here, not proving we could pass as contestants on Dancing with the Stars. But Laney had me by the balls. And she loved it. Also, to be clear, the only reason I knew about the show was because Laney insisted on me watching it with her. A guy had to make his girl happy every so often.
I slung back another drink of beer. The shitty-ass maneuver to chase away the image of Laney grinding against a man who resembled Tootie Hamper—the pot dealer that looked like a two-by-four on stilts I’d arrested last week—hadn’t worked its magic.
“How about easing up on those drinks, Wilson?” Larsen interrupted the murder list I was compiling inside my head.
The bottle slammed down with a thud. “Not like I’m the one that gave her a pair of panties for a skirt.”
“Then why did you invite her along?”
Because, asshole, she was pissed at me for leaving her out of the loop when it came to dealings with the investigation.
Instead, I turned toward the marshal, making damn sure to keep one eye pinned on Laney, and replied, “Not much into spending the afternoon alone with a prick.”
Colt slid the beer closer. “Drink up. You’re gonna need it. That one just got a little bit more frisky.”
“Asshole.” My hand involuntarily grasped the bottle and drew it to my lips. When the beer touched my mouth, I understood just how much I’d screwed the pooch this time. Two-by-four and Laney were reenacting a hip-hop music video. This was a honky-tonk, for crying out loud. Tugging at the collar of my shirt, I downed the Miller in one long gulp, then shot to my boots. “Now that’s some shoddy investigative work.” I came across sounding like a wild boar, all pent up and full of rage.
A hand grabbed at my arm. “Give her a minute more. She might be close to finding out something.”
Like the guy’s cock.
Raising a hand, I said, “Beer.”
Only an hour ago, I’d stood outside a bathroom at the Pilot Flying J Truck Stop openmouthed and ready to haul Laney over a shoulder when she’d stepped out in a skirt that barely concealed the no-panty line. For a moment, the way those shapely legs swayed in my direction almost brought on a premature jizz. Then the jackass catcalling started, and I saw red.