by Nicole Helm
“Thanks,” she offered, offering the cigarette back to Hank.
He shook his head, tapping another cigarette out of the package he held. “Keep it. Had a rough day myself.”
Laurel smiled understandingly. “They must really be going around, huh?”
“Yeah.” His gaze moved down her body and back up, a kind of subtle checkout she probably wouldn’t have caught if she wasn’t looking for clues for a murder case.
“What’s your sob story?” he asked.
“Just your average ‘lost my job, boyfriend kicked me out’ type thing. You?” she asked, sounding awfully casual if she did say so herself.
He shrugged and stared off into the dark, taking a deep drag of his cigarette before he replied. “Friend died.”
“That’s awful. Was he sick?”
Hank shook his head, and no matter how badly Laurel wanted to press, she knew that would only look weird coming from a stranger.
He looked her up and down again. “Why’d your boyfriend kick you out?”
“Oh.” Laurel worked up her best sheepish smile. She was playing a very strange game here, but if it got her any information, did it matter? The important thing was if Hank thought she was available and interested he might tell her more about what he knew of his dead friend.
She had no other leads and a town whispering about murder and Delaneys and Carsons, so, sometimes the end justified the means.
“I may have kissed another guy,” she said quietly, conspiratorially. “We’d been together a few years, and it just got boring, you know?”
Hank’s mouth curved a little bit. “Wouldn’t know. I must get bored before a few weeks is up.”
Laurel laughed right along with him.
“You want to go back inside? I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Your friend died. I feel like I should buy you a drink.”
Hank smiled. “Okay. I’ll let you.”
Grady wouldn’t like that, Laurel knew. He’d think she was being stupid or something. But she couldn’t care what Grady would like. She couldn’t care what kind of lines she was tiptoeing on either side of right now.
If she had a drink with Hank, he might say something that could be a lead. Sometimes strangers were the best people to confide in. It wasn’t as though he was the murderer. This morning he clearly hadn’t known Jason was dead. But that didn’t mean he might not know how or why.
Hank finished off his cigarette and flicked it into the street. Trying to hide how little she’d smoked, Laurel slipped hers into the ashtray canister on top of a trash can.
“Hank,” he offered, holding out his hand to shake.
Laurel smiled and ordered herself not to panic at how many lies she was weaving. “Sarah,” she offered, shaking his hand in return.
“You’re not from Bent.”
“No. Fremont. Well, that’s where I lived with my boyfriend, but now I need a place to crash. So, I came to Bent to stay with my cousin for a bit.”
“Oh, yeah? Maybe I know her. What’s her name?”
Laurel fiddled with her clutch, trying to look like she was doing something purposeful while she tried to come up with the best lie. “Dylan Delaney.” She figured using her brother’s name was better than using that of any of her female relatives. And she couldn’t use a Carson name. God knew they’d never back her up.
“Don’t you know the Delaneys aren’t supposed to be in Carson bars?” Hank asked with a grin.
Laurel smiled as flirtatiously as she could possibly manage. “I’ve never been very good at doing what I’m supposed to do.” What a laugh.
“Well, then let’s head inside and let you buy me a drink.”
Laurel nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned toward the door.
Which burst open—and hit her square in the face.
* * *
GRADY SLAMMED HIS palms against the outward-swinging door, but instead of a satisfying, loud swing there was only a thump followed by a squeak.
It was not possible that he’d...
Gingerly, he pushed the out door again, this time meeting with no resistance, but when he stepped onto the well-lit boardwalk in front of his saloon, blonde Laurel was standing there holding her nose.
Again. For the second time in as many days.
Dark eyes met his, flashing all-too-enticing gold fury. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded.
“Me? I wasn’t the one standing on the other side of the out door, sweetheart. That’s why we have big signs that say Out and In, so people don’t get knocked into unless they’re drunk or stupid.” No matter how acidic his voice was, his chest pinched painfully. Which was beyond stupid. She’d been the idiot standing on the wrong side of the wrong door.
Hank handed Laurel a bandanna from his back pocket, which she put to her bleeding nose.
“I think you owe her a drink on the house, man,” Hank said, a little too cheerfully.
Grady raised one eyebrow at Hank and didn’t move another inch of his body. Just stared down the little prick. “You think so?”
Hank wilted and looked away. Coward.
“Come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up,” Grady ordered Laurel.
“No, thank you,” she replied, biting off each word.
“You should let him clean you up, Sarah. Get some ice and we’ll get our free drinks. Okay?” Hank patted Laurel on the shoulder, seeming a little too jovial for the situation.
“Shall we... Sarah?” Grady offered, gesturing at the door. Specifically the In side of the door.
She tried to smile. He could tell she really, really tried. And if she didn’t have a handkerchief pressed to her nose, he might have found it all funny. As it was, he took her arm far too gently for his own liking and pulled her inside and through the loud, crowded bar.
He motioned Hank toward Ty. “Ty, get this man two drinks on the house.” Ty nodded and Hank walked up to the bar while Grady propelled Laurel toward the back. When he started leading her toward the stairs up to his apartment, she jerked out of his grasp.
“I’m not going to that stupid apartment of yours and you are not ruining this for me.” She pulled the handkerchief away from her nose. He didn’t think it was quite as bad as the last one, but there was a slight smudge of blood underneath.
She looked at the bandanna and shook her head. “How. How is it possible? Twice in one week you smash me in the nose.”
“Might I remind you that in the first instance, you ran into me. And in the second instance, I was going out the out side of the swinging doors. That’s why they have the signs on them. You don’t stand next to the out one, because people push out of them.”
She closed her eyes, standing still as she breathed in, and then out. In and then out. Clearly trying to calm herself. When she reopened her eyes, all of that fury had been smoothed out of her features. “Grady, why were you coming out at all?”
“Guess I just wanted to witness how far you were willing to go for a little information. Call it curiosity.”
“You are...” She shook her head. “I cannot work with you. I don’t know why I ever thought that would actually be beneficial. Stay out of my way. Stay out of this case.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I can’t include you in this if this is how you’re going to act. I need you to listen to me. I need to trust that I can do something without you swaggering in and breaking my nose.”
“It isn’t broken.” And he was behaving like a...like a contentious, surly teenager. “Stay here,” he grumbled before stalking back to the kitchen. He grabbed one of the ice packs they kept in the freezer for bar fight injuries.
When he returned, he held it out to her. She took it, and placed it on the bridge of her nose with a wince.
He hated what he knew had to come next. Hated it beyond measure, but he hadn’t go
tten through life without having to do a few things he hated. He had a strict moral code for himself, no matter how a Delaney might sneer her nose at it. It didn’t allow acting like a punk.
“I’m sorry.”
She blinked at him, and he wanted to rip that idiotic wig off her. “What did you say?”
“I said, I’m sorry,” he repeated, shoving his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t going to explain that he’d charged out of the saloon and pushed that door far harder than he’d needed to, but he would apologize for causing some harm.
“For what part?”
“The nose part.”
“Is that all you’re apologizing for?” she asked coolly.
“You’re right that’s all. We’re in this together, and I wasn’t about to let you get dragged off in the dark by some—”
“We aren’t in this together. This is not an equal partners thing. I am the detective. You’re an informant at best. I need you to act like one instead of the over-the-top, makes-trouble Starsky to my Hutch.”
“I’m sorry... Did you just make a Starsky and Hutch reference? What thirty-year-old makes a Starsky and Hutch reference?”
She all but growled in frustration. “I’m going back to Hank. You are not going to interrupt me. You are not... Is it me?” she demanded.
“Is what you?”
“That people think I can’t hack it at my job. All of a sudden I have a real case and people are worried about me and think I can’t handle myself. That I need help or protection or whatever. So, based on you and my sister’s actions today I’m wondering, is it me? What kind of vibe am I putting off that makes you think I am incapable of handling myself?”
She flung her arms up in the air, clearly exasperated and pissed and maybe even a little hurt, and why could he see all that in the set of her mouth and the lines in her forehead? As if he knew what she was feeling just by looking at her. As if he’d spent a lifetime memorizing every emotion that flitted across her face.
Bull.
“Speaking from your sister’s standpoint, she cares about you. I think if she were in some sort of dangerous situation, no matter how well-equipped she might be, you would worry about her, too. And express that worry. I believe that’s called family love and devotion.”
“Okay. Fine. Maybe you’re even right. What’s your excuse? Don’t you think a woman can hack it?”
“Vanessa is my sister. Believe me, I know what women can hack.”
“Then what? Why is it that you can’t stand down and let me do my job? I’m a Delaney? You think I’m soft? You—”
“Maybe I don’t like watching you smile and flirt with a stranger.” Which shut her up. And was the only reason he said it. Not because it was true.
Her eyebrows drew together and he didn’t know how a woman who was clearly intelligent and yes, fantastic at her job, could be so completely dense.
“Why would that bother you?” she asked as if there was no reasonable answer.
“Maybe, on occasion, I’d like it if you smiled at me.” Which in fairness to Laurel wasn’t a reasonable answer.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she persisted.
“Why not?” he demanded, leaning closer. Closer and closer, making her eyes widen and the air between them crackle with electricity. It was an electricity he’d avoided his entire adult life out of duty, out of a healthy belief in the history of Carsons and Delaneys and Bent and destruction.
But Laurel stood there staring at him, her eyes a shade of dark, unfathomable brown, and no matter that she had that wig on, and makeup making her lips redder and her eyes smokier, she was so wholly Laurel.
“You’re a Carson,” she said on a whisper.
He stared at her for something like a full minute, and then he laughed. Because Ms. Doesn’t Believe In The Feud thought he couldn’t want her to smile at him. All because of his last name and hers.
He supposed he had two choices here in this little back room, empty since everyone working was up front at the bar. He could let her go back to Hank, find out whatever information she’d hoped to find, and wash his hands of messing with her or her investigation.
Or, he could do what he should have done fifteen years ago when he’d caught Laurel Delaney snooping around his room after a sleepover with his sister.
She dropped the ice pack from her nose, clearly still confused, and clearly ready to get back to cop mode.
“Grady, I—”
But he couldn’t stand it. He cupped his hand around her neck and pulled her mouth to his.
Chapter Eight
Grady Carson was kissing her.
On the mouth.
She was sure there was something she was supposed to do about that, but her brain was all crackling static while her body...took it. She absorbed the feel of those full lips on hers, the warmth of his rough hand on the back of her neck, holding her still and there as his mouth took hers like they’d been doing this for centuries. Like everything about this kiss was right exactly as it should be.
She knew, somewhere, that was all wrong, and yet sensation seemed to mute that knowledge. Sweep it away into some strange, distant part of her. So distant it didn’t seem weird to lean against him, to open her mouth to him, to press her palm against the hard, hot wall of his chest.
When he broke the kiss, slowly, so slowly, easing her body away from his, she had to tell herself to breathe, to open her eyes, to think. But all she saw was the vibrant blue of Grady’s gaze, and the only thoughts she could manage were in gibberish.
She tried to inhale but it was shaky, the exhale unsteady. Everything felt jittery and unstable, and somehow she was still leaning toward Grady, only his arms keeping her upright.
She shook her head, trying to find sense or reason or some grasp of what was happening. She managed to rock back on her heels, holding herself upright so Grady’s arms fell away.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. If it weren’t for that intense, heady gaze of his, she might have thought he was wholly unaffected. She wasn’t sure he was affected, but he wasn’t exactly...
Well, she didn’t know. He’d kissed her. She didn’t know why. She didn’t know why she’d kissed him back. She didn’t know, and that was her least favorite feeling in the world.
“I...I don’t know what that was.” She wasn’t even sure she knew her name.
Laurel Delaney. Delaney. Deputy Laurel Delaney, and if you recall, you have a murder to solve, not a Carson to kiss.
Kiss. Grady had kissed her. Kissed her with his mouth. His tongue. She could only stare at him because surely, surely no matter how...wow...that kiss was, he’d lost his mind.
His mouth curved in that infuriating way, except now she knew what that felt like against her mouth and she couldn’t muster irritation because she was just...jelly. Boneless, spineless, thoughtless jelly.
“In my world they call it a kiss.”
In her world it was something far more primitive than a kiss. Kisses were nice. Affectionate. Not a wild, all-encompassing thing.
“Go on back to your informant, smile some information out of him, and then...” He tilted his head, studying her with something in his expression she couldn’t read. It was like humor, but not mean. He wasn’t making fun of her, like she might have expected, but she certainly didn’t know what he felt, or what he saw when he looked at her.
“Then what?” she asked, feeling entranced no matter how much she told herself to come back to reality.
“We can finish this discussion.”
“I thought it was a kiss.”
“Oh, princess. It was both.”
Before she could make any sense out of that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the main room of the bar while she stood in this little back area by herself.
By herself. Which was good. She could jam her brain back into gear
by herself. She could think and plan and somehow compartmentalize, because she was here not to get even more confused about Grady. She was here to get information from Hank.
Hank, who was out there drinking a free drink and waiting for her. Hank, who certainly hadn’t killed Jason, but might know something. Or have some clue whether he knew it or not.
Her job was her life. Had been since she’d joined the police academy. When she’d made time for any kind of...man-woman thing, it had been a relationship. Not a surprise kiss in the back of a bar from a man she wasn’t even sure she liked.
It was all so complicated and confusing, and the point of being a cop was that it wasn’t those things. There was right and wrong, legal and illegal, and the blurring of lines was only ever to find justice or the truth.
Which was what she needed to focus on. Grady had left, was clearly just messing with her or something. Which might make sense if he’d laughed or teased her for kissing him back, but he’d only told her to do her job and come back later to talk.
Talk.
Did he really mean talk?
She could not be worried about that. She placed the ice pack to the bridge of her nose, willing the icy jolt to get her to focus. On Hank, murder and her job. With a stern nod to herself, she walked back into the noisy, crowded bar, repeating four very important words over and over in her head.
Don’t look at Grady. Don’t look at Grady.
She focused on Hank, who was now sitting on a barstool, two empty glasses in front of him as he watched the TV above the bar intently.
Laurel approached, keeping her gaze steady on Hank and Hank alone. There was a phone placed on the seat next to him.
Laurel swallowed and picked it up. “Saving this seat for me?” she asked in her best throaty tone.
Hank glanced over at her and smiled. “’Course. You’re my free drink ticket.” He winked as if it was a joke, but Laurel had to admit she wasn’t so sure it was.
Which was fine. Drinking a little too much might convince Hank to tell her what he might know. Something Jason was into. Someone who was bothering him.
She placed his phone on the bar and slid into the seat. Hank waved at Ty down at the other end of the bar, and Ty made no bones about ignoring him.