Don't Mess with Texas

by Christie Craig

  “So you’re a PI?” she asked.

  “Yup.”

  “What do you do, chase cops around to get cases?”

  He grinned. “Actually, I was having dinner with the detective when the call came in. We were at the restaurant next door.”

  “So you know each other.”

  “Yeah, I’d say that.”

  The room became quiet again. Her stomach fluttered. Not the nausea kind of flutter, but the kind she’d been almost hoping to feel when she saw Jack. The kind fueled by either hormones or emotion, the kind that stemmed from either love or lust.

  Since she didn’t know diddly-squat about this blue-eyed devil, love wasn’t in the picture.

  That left lust. Oh hell.

  The flutter hit again and her heart did a little dance to the theme song from Jaws. Sure, she’d known that sooner or later her ability to feel something for the opposite sex would return. And in another year or so, Nikki might even have been able to open herself to the possibility.

  But today? Was the universe screwing with her on purpose?

  Didn’t she have enough on her plate being accused of killing her ex-husband and possibly being poisoned, not to mention the guilt of telling Nana her cable would be nixed and informing Ellen her part-time job was over?

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What, what?” She looked up at him, and fought the need to cry.

  “You said ‘shit.’ I wondered what’s wrong.”

  “I said that aloud?” She bit down on her lip as a morsel of panic stirred. Surely, she hadn’t mentioned anything about lust or sex… had she? “That’s all I said, right?”

  He looked confused, but grinned. “What else did you think you said?”

  “Nothing.” She sat up straighter then, realizing “eventually” had finally come and the nausea had passed. She placed the pink tub on the bedside table. “Here’s the deal. I appreciate what you’ve done. But…”

  “Appreciate what?” His lips didn’t show it, but his eyes smiled. “Are we talking about my retainer again?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “I was thinking more along the lines of standing up for me to the cop.”

  “Oh. Yeah, it’s nice to have someone in your corner, isn’t it?”

  Something about the sincerity in his eyes, said he’d been there, done that, and wore the T-shirt. “Yeah. It sucks.”

  He casually crossed his arms and leaned against the one real wall in the three-sided curtained cubical. And dang blast it, if he didn’t have leaning down to an art form. He looked really good leaning—the pose made his shoulders appear like a solid lean-on-me wall of strength, the blue shirt pulled a bit tighter across his chest and hard torso, and, in the slightly slanted position, his biceps appeared flexed.

  Her fingers itched for a pad and paper to sketch him. He’d make a great painting. Lots of body language that said, “bad boy” but at the same time whispered, “hero.” While his features were completely different, his presence reminded her of the old images of James Dean, a movie star her grandmother swore had been the best-looking man alive.

  Realizing she was staring, she spoke up. “Like I said, I appreciate it, but… I don’t need a PI. I’m innocent.”

  He pushed away from the wall and tucked one hand into his jeans pocket—causing more flexing in his right forearm. For some totally illogical reason, she wondered what it would feel like to be held in those arms. In the last twelve months, she’d nursed her broken heart and damaged self-esteem. Plus, she’d managed to fall out of love and lust with a man who at one time she thought hung the moon and—truth be told—she hadn’t missed sex a whole heck of lot. What she’d missed was having someone, a male someone, hold her. Dallas looked down at her. “Sometimes being innocent doesn’t mean a hill of beans.”

  “I’m sure Detective O’Connor will figure it out. He’s being a big jerk right now—don’t tell him I said that—but… I trust justice will prevail.”

  All traces of his earlier smile vanished and he looked serious—even coplike. “You don’t really believe in prevailing justice, do you?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m trying hard to. And you’re not helping.” She nipped at her lip then decided to be completely honest. “Okay, here’s the thing. I’m having a cash flow problem. I can’t afford you.”

  “You don’t know how much I charge.”

  “Does flat broke mean anything to you?” she asked.

  She expected him to nod, wish her good luck and walk out. He didn’t.

  “Not an issue. I do payment plans.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t do payment plans. Not when the financial future looks bleak.”

  His blue eyes met hers and held. He didn’t just stare, he searched… studied.

  She clutched her hands together, feeling naked under the heat of his gaze. She sat up higher. Her unsupported girls swayed against the thin cotton.

  His attention lowered for a fraction of a second to her unintentional bounce. “I’m not opposed to bartering.”

  Her breath caught. Okay, she’d misread the hero image. “I don’t do that, either.”

  “Don’t do…?” His eyes crinkled at the corners with suppressed laughter. He let go of a light chuckle. “I’m honored your mind took you there.”

  “My mind didn’t take me anywhere. You did.”

  His grin didn’t waver. “I don’t see how, because I was talking about your paintings.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT HAD BEEN a while since Dallas had seen a woman blush. While he’d never thought of it as sexy, he was having second thoughts. Maybe even a few thirds. He found her… refreshing. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Perhaps because her emotions were so readable… or maybe it was her frankness, her unpretentiousness. Though, after you upchucked on someone, he supposed it was hard to be pretentious.

  “My paintings?” Her big blue eyes seemed bluer when she blushed.

  “You’re an artist, right?”

  She nodded.

  Sensing he’d made her uncomfortable, he pulled back his smile.

  She tugged at the sheet around her waist. “How did you know I was an artist?”

  “I excel at my job.” He hesitated. “I had one of my partners Google you.”

  She half-grinned. “Of course.” She stared at her hands and, when she glanced back up, he spotted a determined glint in her expression. Then she squared her shoulders and her chin inched up.

  She was planning to tell him no. And here he thought he’d spotted some intelligence in those baby blues. What a shame.

  “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I… I don’t think I need a PI. It’s like you said, the waiter is going to confirm my story. When the detective talks to the waiter—”

  “That’s exactly why I think you need me.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t mention this to the detective, but the waiter was more than eager to tell me that you told him you were planning to kill your ex.”

  “But—”

  “No, let me continue.” He moved closer. He couldn’t force her to accept his help, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t tell her the facts. And no matter how refreshing she came off, he wouldn’t sugarcoat it. “First, because nine times out of ten a person is murdered by someone they know, the cops always suspect the victim’s spouse or ex. And statistics prove them right. Oh, and in this case, the victim’s ex is…” He pointed at her. “You.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Let me finish.” He stepped closer, and lost his train of thought when the hospital gown slipped down her shoulder, exposing what he knew would be very soft, feminine skin. So okay, in addition to refreshing, he found her sexy as hell but it meant nothing and he pushed those thoughts aside. “Then the cops always look hard at the last person who is known to have seen the victim alive.” He looked directly at her. “And, that would be… you.”

  She started to speak again and he held up his hand. “Another thing the pol
ice look at is where the body is found. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it found in the trunk of your car?”

  “I didn’t kill him.” She tugged her gown up. The concern in her voice sent an ounce of relief to his gut. “And you found his keys. That will explain how he got in there.”

  “That’s going to help. However, innocent people are seldom caught driving around with a dead body in their trunks.”

  Those big angel eyes blinked. “Do you get a kick out of scaring people?” she asked, showing a little spunk behind her softer appearance.

  “I do if the person is too stupid to realize she needs to be scared.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Did you just call me stupid?”

  “Depends. Did you change your mind about accepting my help?”

  “Are you always so arrogant?” she came back, her spunk level up another notch.

  “It comes and goes. But it mostly happens when I know I’m right.”

  She didn’t reply, and he hoped that was because she knew he was right, too. But something about the tilt of her chin said she hadn’t completely thrown in the towel, so he continued. “The only suspect that might trump one of those other situations is the person who was heard making physical threats to the victim. And damn, I think you were heard not once, but twice saying you wanted to kill him.”

  “I didn’t mean it. I would never…” She pressed her palms against her eye sockets and moaned. “I use live mousetraps. I can’t even kill a rodent.”

  “Really? By damn, make sure you tell that to the police,” he said, and cut his eyes upward.

  Her shoulders dropped in what he hoped was resignation.

  “I already did.” She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her sheet-covered legs. “He wasn’t too impressed.”

  Dallas almost laughed, imagining his brother’s reaction. Especially because if there was one thing Tony hated, it was mice.

  “I’m not a killer,” she said. “Was I mad at my ex? Yes. And not just about him leaving me to pay the bill, but about… other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?”

  She hesitated.

  “It’s all going to come out sooner or later,” he insisted.

  She let go of a breath. “A year ago, I caught him having sex with my part-time help on my office sofa.” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

  “Ouch. What did you do?”

  “Fired her. Divorced him. And got rid of the sofa.”

  He grinned. “Bet you miss the sofa.”

  “Actually, I do.” She frowned.

  Dropping her head on her knees, she stayed like that for several minutes.

  She finally raised her head. “I didn’t kill him,” she repeated.

  He held up his hand. “You don’t have to convince me, Nikki. I believe you.” The moment he said it, he realized it was true. He believed her. Just like he believed Nance was innocent. “But when the cops and the DA look at this, I’m not so sure they’ll see it my way. Not that their opinions are the end-all. The million-dollar question is: Do you think a jury of twelve of your peers will believe you?”

  She stared at him, and he could see the doubt building in her eyes. “I’m not going to wake up and find out this is all a dream, am I?”

  “Afraid not. This is a big mess you’ve got yourself into. The only thing that could make this case worse is if you’re the beneficiary of your ex-husband’s life insurance.”

  She blinked. “I think he changed that. Oh, hell, I don’t know if he did.”

  Dallas crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bed. “Boyfriend?”

  “Huh?” she asked.

  “Do you have a boyfriend who maybe wanted to get back at your ex?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Seriously?” He couldn’t see someone like her not having men at her doorstep.

  “Seriously.”

  “Lover?” he asked, not accepting that she didn’t have some guy warming her sheets at night.

  “I said I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “And I asked if you had a lover.”

  Her soft blond brows puckered ever so slightly. “And those are different, how?”

  Damn, she was one of those women who looked cute when they got their feathers ruffled. He opened his mouth to explain the difference between casual sex and a relationship, knowing it would ruffle her some more, but he stopped. No doubt, Nikki knew the difference. She just didn’t consider but one an option.

  And what a shame. He continued to stare at her. “You need me, Nikki.”

  “Because I don’t have a boyfriend?” she asked, her eyes tightening.

  “No, because you’re up to your pretty little eyebrows in trouble.”

  She let go of a deep breath and said, “How many paintings?”

  Relief brought his smile back. “Maybe we should wait and see how much time I have to put into the case.” In truth, he didn’t give a flying flip about her paintings. The only reason he’d suggested it was because he sensed she had too much pride to accept his help for free. She could be painting Elvis on velvet for all he knew.

  He let his gaze move over her briefly—gorgeous hair, expressive eyes, lips that could fuel wet dreams. Breasts—real breasts. Silicon didn’t shimmy and shake like hers. And the softest skin he’d ever felt.

  She wasn’t tall. He did like long legs, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t miss them if he got to check out the entire package hidden behind that hospital gown.

  The tightening low in his gut sent his moral compass to full alert. The woman was in the hospital for Christ’s sake—had been puking her guts out, and here he was getting hot for her. Telling his libido to take a hike, he ran a hand over his face and stared at the curtain to clear his head.

  “My paintings usually sell for between eight hundred and three thousand dollars.”

  Forcing himself to look at her, he kept his eyes above her neck. “We’ll work that out later.”

  She shook her head and the damn gown took another slip off her shoulder. His moral compass got skewed again. He watched her pull it up.

  “How much do your services run?” she asked.

  “We’ll work that out later, too.” Oh, hell. He’d rather have what she’d first assumed he’d wanted to barter for, some no-strings-attached sex. Then again, hadn’t he just come to the conclusion that Nikki Hunt didn’t have no-strings-attached sex? While less than an hour ago, he hadn’t known her well enough to say she didn’t take her clothes off for a living, now he felt all the wiser. Something about her screamed pillow talk, slow walks on the beach, stay-overs, and commitment. All the things he’d given one woman, and vowed to never give another.

  “So how do we proceed?” She nipped at her pouty bottom lip.

  Carefully. The one word bounced around his head as he tried not to think about how he would like to be the one nibbling on her bottom lip. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not I arrest you,” Tony answered, appearing at the curtained entrance. “Can I talk to you?” he asked Dallas. The clenched muscle in his brother’s jaw told Dallas that something had happened. “Now.”

  Dallas looked at Nikki. Panic, no doubt at the thought of being arrested, rounded her blue eyes. Seeing her look so vulnerable and scared kicked his protect and serve instinct into high gear—never mind that he didn’t carry the badge anymore.

  He opened his mouth to tell her not to worry, to promise her he’d take care of everything. But that would have been a lie. First, Nikki Hunt was in a whole hell of a lot of trouble, and second… while Dallas might do everything humanly possible to prove her innocent, he didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep, especially to soft, angel-eyed women who would want more than he could give.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  “You can be a bastard, can’t you?” Dallas told Tony as soon as he cleared the curtain.

  “Bastard?” Tony led him through a doorway to an empty cor
ridor. “She’s a murder suspect. Or have you forgotten what that means?”

  “Yeah, well, seeing I was one of them myself not too long ago, it doesn’t mean shit!”

  His brother stopped walking and shook his head. “Okay, here’s the thing. I get the fact that you are sympathetic. I’ll even admit I see what you’re saying about this Nance kid being innocent. But this is me. My case. Don’t you know me well enough to know that I’m fair? That I’m not going to push for a conviction unless I believe it’s warranted?”

  “What I believe is that if she looks guilty, you’ll do your job. And your job, the job I used to do, sometimes puts innocent people in bad situations.”

  “You don’t know she’s innocent,” Tony snapped.

  “My gut says she is.”

  “Your gut isn’t the body part in charge right now. It’s your dick. Admit it. You want to get in her panties.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Bullshit!” Tony jabbed a finger at him. “If you believe that, then you’re lying to yourself. I saw the way you were looking at her.”

  Dallas gritted his teeth. “Okay, she’s hot. I wouldn’t mind tapping it. But that’s not why I believe she’s innocent.”

  “Innocent? Are you sure about that?” Tony asked.

  “Yeah. I am.” His confidence rang in his voice, too.

  His brother crossed his arms. His eyes pinched and his mouth pulled a little to the right.

  “What?” Dallas asked.

  “What, what?” Tony said.

  “That’s your negotiating face. The last time I saw that look I ended up taking Dad for his colonoscopy. What deal are you going to try to strike with me now?”

  Tony continued to stare. “Do you know she told the waiter she was going to kill her husband?”

  “Yeah, I know,” Dallas said. “And do you know that she drove straight from the restaurant to the grocery store, which didn’t leave her any time to kill him?”

  “Not if she killed him immediately after leaving the restaurant.”

  “How would she have gotten him in the trunk?”

  “He’s wasn’t that big of a man. I’ve seen smaller women handle that and more.”