A Backwater Blessing: A Kings of Guardian and Heart's Desire Crossover Novella

by Kris Michaels

  Dismissing her thoughts as entertaining but idle speculation, Logan braced her legs against the weight of the hatch and carefully lowered it. The sucker was heavy and damned if her muscles didn’t shake at the effort of closing the door without letting it slam. With the steel door finally lowered, she turned the key locks to secure the hatch to the decking. She stood up and stared directly into the coldest pair of dark blue eyes on the most handsome face she had ever seen…crap and make him a fifteen on a scale of ten.

  Holy shit, if there is a God, please let the goddess on the deck be Logan. Logan? Where he came from Logan was a man’s name. The curvy body lowering the steel hatch to the deck could never be confused for a man. Cole waited for her to straighten before he ran his eyes up and down her. She was amazing. No, amazing wasn’t adequate. Phenomenal came close. He watched her eyes travel over him, imitating the head-to-foot sweep he had given her.

  “Logan, I presume?” He shouted over the engine noise.

  She nodded her head at him. “Cole, I presume?”

  “I expected a man.”

  “Most people do.”

  Without waiting for a response, she tossed him a small smirk and turned away. He watched her curvaceous cut-off-clad ass scale the ladder to the captain’s nest. Her long brown hair waved in the wind as she talked with the sheriff. The woman came back down the ladder, nodded toward the cabin and slipped through the hanging plastic strips that kept the air conditioning confined to the cabin.

  “Pawpaw brief you on the case yet?”

  Without the wind carrying her words away, her southern accent was instantly noticeable. And very sexy.

  “What is a pawpaw?”

  Logan’s eyebrows popped up as if he’d asked a stupid question. “In the south, Pawpaw is slang for grandfather.”

  Cole did the math. The sheriff couldn’t be more than sixty to sixty-five…unless he found the fountain of youth. “He must have married young.”

  Logan nodded. “Sixteen. He got Meemaw pregnant—rather scandalous at the time.”

  “Meemaw? You’re shitting me, right?”

  “No. It’s what we call our grandmother. She was fourteen.”

  Cole snorted and shook his head, looking down to the galley floor. Only in the deep, deep south.

  “Believe me, it happens in places other than Mississippi,” she said.

  Cole froze, his eyes darting toward her. I didn’t fucking say it.

  She continued to stare at him. “No, you didn’t say it out loud, but admit it, you thought it.”

  Cole crossed his arms. His training engaged. She wasn’t the hick he’d assumed. His interest kicked up another notch.

  The glare she’d received in response to her taunt tickled her. People in his career field played mind games. Hell, she actually enjoyed the mental warfare, so she decided to show Mr. FBI Logan Church wasn’t the push over he obviously assumed she was.

  “Pretty serious over there Mr. Federal Agent. Are you trying to get a read on me? What can you tell?”

  She soaped her hands over the sink and worked the lather to remove the stubborn grease and oil. Looking over her shoulder she gave him what she hoped was a dismissive look. “Do you have a type for me yet? Have you put me into a category?”

  With her back to him, she continued to scrub the stubborn black film from her skin. “Do you think I am one of those cops pulling conspiracy theories from thin air?” She rinsed her hands and turned off the water. Reaching for a paper towel, she turned and leaned against the sink. Shaking her head, she continued, “I assure you, it’s not the case. Oh, here’s an idea. Maybe I’m a hapless hick. I got lucky and stumbled over the evidence.” Logan purposefully put extra twang into her accent. “No, no…a bumbling idiot won’t fit with the information you must have been given about the case.”

  Cole shifted his weight and straightened his back. His expression remained completely blank. She raised an eyebrow and chuckled without any real humor. “Should I save you some time, Mr. Fed? I know my job. And surprise! I have the intelligence you assumed people around here don’t possess. I’m a damn good cop and if you listen to the locals, one cold-hearted bitch.”

  Logan bent quickly at the waist and flipped her hair over her head. The mass piled on the floor as she pulled a cloth elastic band off her wrist and secured the hair into a high ponytail.

  She lifted up as Cole spoke, “Interesting diatribe. Since you’ve established what you are, what have you pegged me as?” His deep voice was dismissive and held a note of superiority.

  Logan pulled off her white t-shirt. Underneath, she wore a navy blue and white striped bikini top. The top could be clearly seen under her soft white cotton tee, so his rapt focus on her actions amused her. She folded the shirt and put it neatly away in a small blue duffle. Finally, she responded to his question. “You, city boy, are a builder.”

  “A builder?”

  Logan nodded and sat to take off her deck shoes. “Yes sir, you’re a builder. You’re the type who will use this case and the rest of the cases you’re assigned as a platform from which to springboard to deputy director or maybe someday director. People like you refuse to fail. You’ll become whatever, and use whomever, to further your goals and maximize your gains.”

  Mesmerized by the waves of sexuality she exuded without any overt attempt, he breathed deeply and re-worked his initial assumptions. Her piercing grey-blue eyes registered as almost emotionless, cold as hell, and yes, he had concluded ‘her highness’ qualified as a bitch before she said the words. Fuck, what did the deputy director get me into?

  The sheriff walked in the cabin and sat at the table. “Guess you want the whole story.”

  Cole leveled a blank stare at him.

  “Son, your attempt at playing a statue has no effect on me. I’m immune. I raised Logan. You are minor league compared to her.”

  “Start with her. Logan is not a girl’s name.”

  “Her is still in the room.”

  The older man chuckled. “Yeah, well it’s her middle name. She won’t let anyone use her first name. She and Frankie came to live with Cheryl and me after their parents were killed during a home invasion. We had the kids for the weekend. When we took them home, we found my daughter and her husband, tied, bound, and shot at point blank range. The crime is still unsolved.”

  Logan shifted and leaned against the counter in the galley.

  The sheriff cleared his throat and pushed a thick folder toward him. “This is the complete case to include her notes and deductions. As you can tell by the volume of information in this file, I didn’t tell everything to Deputy Director Hayes.”

  “Again, I am here. I can hear you.”

  The sheriff chuckled and tapped the folder. “Read it. We’ll discuss the cover story if you choose to stay. If you want to pack it in and run, well, at least I tried. If I’m one hundred percent honest, I’ll admit I’d like to walk away from what this folder holds. I can’t. I have read Logan’s report, and I have seen the suspicious trail of evidence. Logical conclusions based on the evidence can’t be rationalized away. Look, if I hadn’t made the damn call, sleep would have been a thing of the past. And damn it, I like sleep.”

  “You have friends in high places. Not many people pick up the phone and make a direct call to the Deputy Director of the FBI.”

  “You don’t say?” He lifted off the seat and waited for Logan to pass him as they walked out of the cabin. Cole’s eyes fell on the folder. Intense curiosity plus the thrill of a new case prompted him to open the cover. There was nothing like the rush of a new assignment. Even one in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

  The boat slowed to an idle and he heard the anchor being lowered over the side. Cole glanced at his cell phone. He’d been studying the case file for over an hour.

  Frankie popped into the cabin. “We’re hooking red fish today. You like red fish?”

  “Sure, they’re good eating, right?”

  Frankie nodded and smiled. “Yep, good eating.” The y
oung man grabbed four poles from the roof rack and headed out to the deck. Cole turned his attention once again to the folder. If he considered only the evidence, discounting the assumptions and the sound logical extrapolations proposed by Deputy Church, they had a thin trail to follow. He’d followed less and been successful.

  Cole walked out on the deck. The heat and dense humidity of the Mississippi Gulf Coast clung to his body like a wet glove. He pulled his shirt off and put his cap and sunglasses back on. Frankie walked up to Cole with a baited pole. “Red Fish bite on squid. Can you cast?”

  “I can. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I like this.” He pointed to Cole’s tattoo. Cole glanced down at the serpent on his right bicep where it wound through a skull. The diamond back rattler exited out one eye and then wrapped around his arm.

  The young man traced the snake. “You’re hard and you have big muscles—bigger muscles than Beau.”

  “I don’t know Beau, but I have muscles this big because I work hard, like you.”

  Frankie thought for a moment before he smiled and cast his pole. “We work hard.”

  Cole launched the tackle and glanced from Frankie and the sheriff to Logan. She’d ditched her cut offs. The sun had turned her toned body a deep golden brown and damn how the woman rocked a bikini. Under the cover of his mirrored lenses, he surveyed her. Exceptionally long, muscled legs, tight high ass, tiny waist; flat, tight and toned abs and a rack he wouldn’t mind getting lost in. As if reading his thoughts, she glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look capable of withering almost any man. He chuckled to himself and started reeling in his line.

  They’d fished for about an hour before the sheriff threw a look at the agent. “You staying?”

  Cole responded, “I am, but I’m following the tangible evidence and only the evidence.”

  Frankie chimed in, “Good! Evidence is your friend.”

  “It’s a police officer’s best friend.” Frankie beamed at the sheriff’s comment.

  “Logan says, ‘There is only evidence, Frankie, nothing else matters.’”

  Cole studied Logan as she continued to reel in her line, seemingly oblivious to the conversation. “I think Logan is a very smart woman.”

  Frankie nodded, suddenly serious. “Logan knows a lot of things.”

  Logan cast a protective look at her brother as the sheriff set his pole down. “Frankie, would you please watch the lines? I need to talk with Logan and Cole in the cabin for a minute. Police business.”

  Frankie nodded, set his pole in the holder and walked to Cole, taking his reel. “Police business is important, Cole.” Cole smiled at the young man and followed the others into the cabin.

  The sheriff plopped down onto the bench seat on one side of the table. He took the bottle of water Logan passed him and downed it in a couple gulps. “Alright, you bought in, so this is how it’s going to work. You two are an item. I don’t give a shit how you sell it, but you sell it and sell it hard. The boys know you, Logan, and they know no local homeboy has a chance of getting your attention, not anymore. Cole, you’re staying at her house with her.”

  He turned to Logan and emphasized, “People here have to accept him as someone who is here for the duration, someone who has a reason to stay here, part of the fabric. Any indication he’s not here because of your alleged relationship and suspicion will run rampant. Those slimy sons-of-bitches will close ranks and this operation is over. Our only saving grace is those bastards feel confident, and they don’t know we are on to them.” The sheriff steadied a glance on Cole. “You have resources in Washington?”

  “Full access. However, based on the initial report, it looks like we may need to get inventive on how we move evidence from here to DC.”

  The sheriff nodded. “We’ll need to be careful with the chain of custody issue. If need be, you may have to take a trip back up north to settle business or tie up a few things because of your recent move…transport the evidence on your person. We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

  He turned to Logan. “He starts Monday. His uniforms, leather gear and body armor are in my trunk.”

  The sheriff picked at the rubber-topped table and added, “We’ll transfer the equipment when we dock.”

  Shifting his attention, he pointed directly at Logan. “Honey, you need to lose the ice princess act and ‘don’t talk to me attitude’ around him. Those men you work with need to see you two together and buy it. That’s an order, not a suggestion.”

  Logan leaned back against the counter and smiled softly. “Alright, Pawpaw. I will act like a love sick puppy.”

  Her grandfather dropped his head into his hands and shook it slowly before lifting it. His gaze held hers. “Damn it, girl, nobody on the coast would believe you acting like a simpering idiot. Make it believable and make it happen.”

  The sheriff continued. “The way to unravel this is to get our information, locate witnesses and work the procedural evidence. We’ll flip the low levels and sequester our witnesses, sheltering them from each other, the system, and ultimately, reprisal. You two will have to track down the leads and work it quietly. We will continue to coordinate outside work. Never come to my office with anything other than normal business and always bring a witness or make sure the door is open and every word of our conversations is heard. Nobody can suspect why he is here. Agent Davis is the lead on this investigation. His decisions dictate what we do, Logan. You got it?”

  Logan gave a solemn nod, and with that assurance, the sheriff lifted off his seat and headed back out to the deck.

  Cole watched the sheriff go with some misgivings and then turned his scrutiny to Logan. If the old man had to warn her to lose the attitude, could she handle the cover story? Was she capable of making the undercover operation look like a romance? Fuck. This case was probably damned from the beginning.

  Logan lifted her eyes. Keeping her gaze on him, she walked across the small expanse and stood close—almost touching him. The combined heat and scent of their sun-warmed bodies sent a shiver through her. He stood at least six-foot, six-inches tall. She was five-ten, and he towered over her. He was obviously a bodybuilder. His huge chest, shoulders and arms made her feel tiny and…oh yeah…unbelievably alive. The air around them crackled with anticipation, and she could tell he felt it too. Her eyes dropped to his lips and lifted back to meet his eyes.

  A single eyebrow arched, and a small smile tugged up a corner of his mouth. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his softly. He held still, and his control won him some points in her book. The Fed had restraint. The question was how much? Deliberately she pushed her bikini-clad breasts against his hard-muscled chest and lifted her hand to caress his cheek.

  “If you are worrying about me being able to sell it…don’t. I don’t have to like you to act like I am making love to you.” Her purred words sounded breathless and needy even to her own ears. She turned and walked out of the cabin before she did something stupid. Like crawl up his big sexy body and kiss him until his federal reserve broke.

  Chapter 3

  The sheriff moored the boat in its dock effortlessly, manipulating the massive vessel as if it wasn’t floating and drifting while it was being maneuvered. Logan took over and shut down the engines after the lines to the dock tied off. The trio had the end-of-trip clean up down to a science. Cole felt in the way and useless until he followed the sheriff to his cruiser and transferred his uniforms and gear to his truck.

  “You got a piece, son, or do I need to get you a service weapon?”

  Cole shrugged his shoulder and cupped the back of his neck thinking out loud. “I have my both my primary, a Glock 23, and my secondary weapon is also FBI issued. I’ll keep them at Logan’s. Better get me a service weapon so I can’t be traced back to the Agency. And once again, I am not your son.”

  “Listen to me, Agent Davis, there are at least two sitting federal judges who have been implicated in some pretty serious shit here. If you believe Logan’s informant, a
nd I do, there is at least one murder and a cover-up. Work the facts and track the evidence. We are following your lead through this fucking mess. And for your information, you could do worse than being my son.”

  The older officer peered around the trunk lid and let out an ear-shattering whistle. Frankie hopped from the boat with a small cooler of fish and walked to the car placing it in the trunk. “Ready to go, Pawpaw?”

  “You bet. Meemaw needs those fish.”

  Frankie turned to Cole. “Are you coming to eat tonight?”

  He shook his head. “No, not tonight. I have to go unpack my things at Logan’s house.” The younger man seemed satisfied with the explanation and waved before he got into the car and again as the cruiser pulled away.

  Cole walked back down the pier and watched as Logan finished buttoning up the vessel. “How long have you had the boat?”

  Logan glanced over her shoulder at him as she fastened the snaps on the rain cover. “It was my dad’s. He was a charter boat captain before he was murdered. The insurance paid it off and Pawpaw kept it up until he taught me everything there was to know about the Blessing. I take a few charters out on my days off. Pays for the upkeep and slip rental.” Her voice and mannerisms held none of her earlier distant attitude.

  She pushed the last snap together and turned around. Her hair was still pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a white t-shirt over the blue striped bathing suit top and her low-rise cutoffs. Those shorts were cut too high to be decent even with a swimming suit under them. Her skin had a dark rose color from the sun she had taken during the day.

  Logan made a tsking noise and shook her head. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow. You got too much sun.”

  Cole felt the tight pull and tingle of the sunburn. His abs and shoulders were bright red. He shrugged and picked up his t-shirt off the deck chair. “Yeah, too much time in a suit. No worries, I usually tan quickly.”