Cowboy Cop

by Lori Wilde

  He thought he could handle Lucy.

  Until those brief, tantalizing moments he’d had her backed against the wall. Her body soft and curvy in all the right places. Her silky hair smelling like vanilla. Her full pink lips slightly parted and so tempting that his body tightened at the memory.

  Then he shook the image from his head. At least she didn’t seem to notice his short departure from reality. Probably because she couldn’t keep her eyes or her hands off that…Weasel.

  Nick’s gaze narrowed as he studied the man sprawled in the chair. He wore a black mesh shirt and faded blue jeans with a trendy rip in each knee. His brown hair was neatly pulled back into a short ponytail. A full sleeve of tattoos adorned each scrawny bare arm.

  He certainly hoped the guy wasn’t serious about that “She’s my woman” crack. Not that Nick wanted any claim to Lucy himself.

  His life was screwed up enough without involving himself with a kooky librarian—or any woman, for that matter. He didn’t want that kind of responsibility, that kind of distraction. Not until he resolved his own problems, his own disappointments.

  But Lucy could certainly do better than this lowlife.

  “That feels so good,” the lowlife said, his head lolling against the back of the chair. His eyelids fluttered shut as Lucy massaged his temples. “You’ve got magic fingers, Luce.”

  Nick stalked over to them. “It’s time for Lucy and her magic fingers to take a rest. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  Weasel cracked one eye open. “Are you still here?”

  Nick leaned down, his voice low and menacing. “Here and in your face until you tell me what I want to know.”

  Lucy scowled at him. “Nick, have a little compassion. Weasel hit his head on the floor when you tackled him. He’s got an awful headache now, possibly a concussion, as well as a nasty cut on his forehead.”

  “Maybe you should rub some peanut butter on it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe you should apologize.”

  She couldn’t be serious. “Me? Apologize? I’m the good guy, remember?” He pointed to Weasel. “He’s the bad guy—”

  Weasel held both hands up in front of him in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m innocent until proven guilty. I know that much.”

  Nick snorted. “I’ll just bet you do. So let’s lay out the incriminating evidence we’ve got against you so far.” He counted off the offenses with a flick of his fingers. “Number one—breaking and entering onto private property. Number two—stalking. Number three—”

  “That’s not fair,” Lucy interjected, laying one hand on Weasel’s shoulder. “Give him a chance to explain. And quit treating him like a common criminal.”

  Nick shrugged. “Hey, if the handcuffs fit…”

  “It’s all right, Luce,” Weasel said, patting her hand. “I’m used to it.” Then he arched his neck to look up at her. “But does Mad Dog know you’re hanging around with a cop? I visited him at the jailhouse yesterday and he didn’t say a word about it.”

  “Nick’s not a cop,” she assured him. “He’s my private detective.”

  Weasel turned to scowl at him. “He smells like a cop.”

  “You’re way off base,” Lucy said with a smile. “Tell him, Nick.”

  “I’m a cop,” Nick replied, thoroughly enjoying the brief flare of panic in Weasel’s eyes. Then he saw the puzzled look on Lucy’s face. “All right, I’m not a cop,” he admitted. “Not anymore.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “I thought you were an ex-con.”

  “I am.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense…”

  Nick’s jaw clenched. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

  Weasel clasped his hands behind his head. “No time like the present. So tell us, how did you land in the big house? I’m guessing you’re a dirty cop who got caught. Am I right? Was it a little money under the table? Some racketeering?”

  “Actually, I killed a guy for asking too many dumb questions.”

  Lucy’s brown eyes widened with apprehension. “You…killed a guy?”

  “No,” Nick replied, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Now she’d want to know all about him. He resisted the ridiculous urge to confide in her. To make her understand what he didn’t fully understand himself. To assuage his sense of loss and betrayal. But this wasn’t the time and certainly not the place. Besides, it would be a totally selfish act, and stupid. He couldn’t tell her, or anyone. No matter what she thought of him now.

  “I got released from duty for an ethics violation and served fifteen months in prison for possession of stolen property,” Nick snapped. “Can we get on with the investigation now?”

  Weasel shook his head. “The only thing worse than a cop is a dirty cop. Get rid of him, Luce. You don’t need his kind of help.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said firmly. “This means he can think like a criminal and like a cop. He’s just the man for me.”

  Her words thawed some frozen place deep in his soul, warming him from the inside out. Where others saw failure and disgrace, Lucy saw possibilities. She believed in him despite his past and truly believed he could prove her brother innocent.

  Too bad he’d have to let her down. Because despite Lucy’s optimism, Mad Dog was still the most obvious suspect. The only suspect. And the sooner she accepted that fact, the better.

  Which was why he didn’t tell her about the matchbook. The dirty, dilapidated, charcoal-smudged matchbook he’d found stuck under the floorboard after she’d nailed him with the hair spray. It had once been white, etched with now barely legible gold lettering. The police must have missed it while sorting through all the debris. And Nick was almost certain any prints they’d find on it would belong to Mad Dog Moore.

  So he kept it hidden away in his shirt pocket. The last thing he wanted to do was get her hopes up. She was already the most dangerously optimistic person he’d ever met.

  “Look, we’ve wasted enough time here already,” Nick said gruffly. His gaze fixed on Weasel. “Ready to tell us your story?”

  Weasel smirked up at him. “Once upon a time…”

  “Weasel, please,” Lucy murmured, gently squeezing his shoulder.

  “All right,” he said reluctantly. He looked up at Nick, his gaze serious now, but still belligerent. “What do you want to know?”

  He wanted to know everything. Why Weasel chose tonight to break into the Hanover Building? What he was looking for? Why Lucy obviously liked him so much? Why it bothered Nick that she did?

  “What’s your connection to Lucy?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  “We go way back.”

  Nick propped one boot on a corner of the chair, his forearm resting on his knee. “Care to elaborate?”

  Weasel leaned back in the chair. “I already told you, she’s my woman.”

  “In your dreams, pal,” Nick said, certain she wouldn’t associate with a two-bit hood like Weasel. Nick had seen enough of his kind during his years on the force. Crass. Disrespectful. Deceitful.

  He probably knew Lucy from the library. Guys like him sometimes hung out there.

  “Hey, she wanted to marry me, pal," Weasel retorted. “But I like the single life, so I had to turn her down.”

  Lucy planted her hands on her hips. “You might want to mention that I was only ten years old at the time.”

  Weasel feigned disappointment. “You mean the offer isn’t good anymore?”

  She smiled. “You love the single life, remember?”

  Then she turned to Nick. “Actually, Weasel and I do go way back. We both grew up in the same neighborhood, on Bale Street. He lived two doors down and used to hang out with Melvin.”

  Bale Street?

  Somehow he couldn’t imagine Lucy living in that decrepit, lawless part of town, although Weasel would fit right in.

  “So what are you doing here now?” Nick asked him, casting a purposeful glance toward the scorched north wall. “Reliving the goo
d old days? A little looting? Some breaking and entering?”

  “I’ve got a key,” Weasel said with a sneer. “How about you, Officer? Trying to impress the lady with some breaking and entering of your own?”

  “It was my idea,” Lucy interjected. “I couldn’t find my key, but my nail file worked just as well.”

  Weasel shook his head. “Your key wouldn’t have worked at all, Luce. All the locks have been changed.”

  “Who changed them?” Nick asked, looking from Weasel to Lucy and back again.

  A faint reminiscent gnawing in the pit of his stomach told him he didn’t want to hear the answer. The same gnawing he used to get on the police force when something unexpected, and really bad, was just about to happen.

  And the guilty look on Lucy’s face didn’t make him feel any better.

  “It must have been Vanessa,” she mused.

  He was almost certain he didn’t want to know, but the cop in him made him ask the question. “Who’s Vanessa?”

  “Vanessa Beaumont,” Weasel supplied. “She’s Mad Dog’s woman. Or at least she used to be until he became eligible for twenty years in the state pen. Princess Vanessa likes the bad boys, but only if they’re available.”

  “So who gave her permission to change the locks? Mad Dog?”

  Weasel looked at Lucy. “You didn’t tell him?”

  Nick closed his eyes as his stomach clenched and twisted. After a Monday like this, he’d probably get an ulcer. And he’d name it Lucy. “Tell me what?”

  She cleared her throat. “I must have forgotten to mention it in all the excitement.” The wail of police sirens nearby almost drowned out her next words. But not quite. “Neither Melvin nor I actually own this building.”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” the police officer said, her tone calm and businesslike. The harsh red glare of the flashing lights illuminated the stark, implacable expression on Nick’s face. “Any statement you make can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with an attorney…”

  Lucy couldn’t let another minute go by without at least trying to rectify this mess. Her mess. If only he’d given her a chance to explain! But Nick had simply stared at her when she’d admitted the truth.

  Shocked into silence, he’d allowed Weasel to slink away and the police to arrive, ignoring her suggestion that they make a run for it, as well. By the time the officer assessed the situation and easily apprehended Nick and Lucy, the shock on his granite face had faded to grim resignation.

  “This is all a big misunderstanding,” she interjected, cutting off the uniformed officer’s recitation of the Miranda warnings.

  “Shut up, Lucy,” Nick said evenly.

  The young officer scowled at Nick before swinging her gaze to Lucy. “Would you like to make a statement, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I would,” she replied.

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Nick countered.

  Lucy stifled a sigh of exasperation. Didn’t he realize that they could end up spending the night in jail over a simple misunderstanding? That might not bother him, but she still had a reputation to maintain.

  “Yes, I’d like to make a statement, Officer,” she insisted. “Several, in fact.”

  A pale-blue sedan pulled up behind the police cruiser. The driver cut the lights and then lumbered out of the car.

  “What have we got, Madison?” the new arrival asked, hitching up the baggy slacks of his wrinkled brown suit.

  His craggy face and thinning gray hair marked him in his late fifties. His world-weary attitude and the shoulder holster Lucy glimpsed beneath his jacket marked him as a plainclothes police officer.

  Officer Madison methodically flipped through the notepad in her hands. “It looks like we interrupted a burglary in progress, Lieutenant.” She held up Lucy’s nail file. “They picked the lock with this.”

  Lucy reached for it. “That’s mine. I’d like it back, please.” She knew they probably needed it as evidence, but it was one of a kind and had a lot of sentimental value. The fingernail file had belonged to her grandmother, also named Lucy, and had the letter L artfully etched in the genuine mother-of-pearl handle.

  “All in good time,” the lieutenant said, taking the nail file from the officer. Then his gaze slid to Nick, and he stiffened with recognition. “Been a long time, Holden.”

  “Lieutenant Delaney,” Nick acknowledged with a slight nod of his head. “You’re working late tonight.”

  “I’m pulling a double shift. We’re a little shorthanded down at the station.” He moved a step closer. “I saw your brother Hank the other day at his vet clinic when I took my new hunting dog in to get vaccinated. He said you were back and staying up at Elk Creek Ranch.”

  “That’s right,” Nick replied, his gaze locked on Delaney.

  “That ranch is a good twenty miles north of Pine City, isn’t it?” The lieutenant eyed the Hanover Building. “So what are you doing here at this time of night?”

  Lucy took a step forward. “It’s not what it looks like, Lieutenant. Nick didn’t want to break into the building, but I forced him.”

  “Lucy…” Nick’s voice sounded low and dangerous, but she ignored it, as well as the incredulous expression on Officer Madison’s face.

  “He thought I owned this building. I told him I had a key.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Well, actually, I do have a key. It just doesn’t fit the lock anymore.” She could feel Nick’s piercing glare fixed on her. “Did I mention that I want to file a complaint against the Pine City police department?”

  There was a pregnant silence.

  Then Lieutenant Delaney looked at Nick. “Is she for real?”

  “Unfortunately for me, yes.”

  Lucy bristled at the exchange. “Yes, Lieutenant, I’m for real. So is my brother, the man your police department wants to send to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. And then”—she pointed toward the building—“you add insult to injury by destroying his apartment. Melvin’s personal belongings are my responsibility now. And I intend to see that…”

  “Melvin?” Lieutenant Delaney interjected, his bushy gray brows furrowed with confusion.

  “Mad Dog Moore,” Nick supplied. “Meet his sister, Lucy.”

  The lieutenant’s wrinkled forehead cleared, and to Lucy’s astonishment—and chagrin—the man looked like he was trying to hide a smile.

  “I think I’m beginning to understand the situation.” He turned to Officer Madison. “I can handle it from here, Elena. You can head back to the station. Oh, by the way”—he hitched up a thumb—“good job tonight.”

  Delaney waited until the police cruiser edged away from the curb and into the deserted street before turning back to Nick and Lucy.

  “She’s a good kid, but fresh from the academy. I try to keep an eye out for her.” He looked at Nick and his face sobered. “Just like your grandfather did for me. I…uh…never got a chance to offer you my condolences. Henry Holden was a great man…and a great cop. I’ll never forget everything he did for me.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said stiffly.

  “That’s why I’m going to let you two off the hook,” Lieutenant Delaney said, handing Lucy her nail file, “this time. The building’s secure and no harm’s done. So stay out of trouble from now on, and don’t make me sorry I cut you a break.”

  Lucy’s knees went weak with relief.

  A night in jail might be a whole new adventure but it certainly wouldn’t look good on her resume, or help her secure the promotion she wanted so badly.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. You won’t be sorry. I’m still new at this, but I’m a fast learner. And I can almost guarantee you that we won’t break any more laws during our investigation.”

  Nick groaned, covering his eyes with one hand.

  “Good luck to you, Holden,” Lieutenant Delaney said, clapping Nick on the shoulder. “Looks like you’re gonna need it.”

  5

  He’d tell her tonight.

  Nic
k tugged at one end of the black bow tie around his neck, unfurling the crooked knot for another attempt at tying it on straight. He never should have accepted Lucy’s invitation for dinner. But she’d been so apologetic about the incident with the police and so determined to make it up to him.

  In the end, she’d simply worn him down. To the point he’d agreed to wear a tuxedo, because she wanted to take him somewhere special.

  Nick evened out the ends of the tie, then carefully began to knot it. He doubted this monkey suit would soften the blow when he told Lucy that he couldn’t pursue the case because there simply was no case.

  He’d spent the last three days researching the Hanover Building fire and Mad Dog Moore and the insurance angle. He still needed to talk to his friend and former partner, Luke Rafferty, who had led the fire investigation, about any possible leads, new or old.

  But that was just a formality. Luke had obviously come to the same conclusion. Mad Dog Moore set that fire and now he had to face the consequences.

  At the moment, those consequences almost seemed preferable to facing Lucy when he told her to accept her brother’s guilt and get on with her own life. Maybe he’d take away all her cutlery beforehand, just to be on the safe side.

  With an impatient yank, Nick loosened the mangled bow tie once more, leaning closer to the small mirror in the attic bedroom he used to share with his big brother Hank and his younger brother Sam. The three youngest Holden brothers, Jack, Cade, and Trace had occupied a second floor bedroom in the two-story log cabin ranch house that had been in the family for the last century. It had been remodeled in recent years by Cade, who worked on the ranch full time and lived a couple of miles down the country road from Grandma Hattie’s place.

  His brothers would all laugh if they saw him now, wearing this rented tux and shiny black shoes. His throat tightened as he thought about all the letters they’d sent him while he was in prison, bringing a small bit of joy to the long, unending dreariness of his sentence.

  He shook that memory out of his head as he turned away from the mirror and walked over to the open window.