Cowboy Cop

by Lori Wilde

  Luke grinned. “So what’s your plan?”

  Nick stretched his long legs out in front of him. It felt good to be back here like this, discussing a case with his old partner. Almost like old times.

  “First, I’m going to check out Ralph Rooney. Then—”

  “Wait a minute,” Luke interjected, holding up one hand. “Ralph Rooney? The Ralph Rooney? The president of the Friends of Pine City Association? The man who’s planning to run for mayor in the next election?”

  “I know,” Nick replied. “It’s a long shot. But the least I can do is check him out. I mean, she is paying me to investigate the case.”

  “And Rooney’s your only lead?”

  Nick cleared his throat. “Not exactly. After I check out Rooney, Lucy has arranged for me to…um…interview Vanessa Beaumont.”

  “You’ve interviewed suspects before. Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this story?”

  “Because the way she arranged it was by having Vanessa buy me at a bachelor auction. We have a date next Friday night.”

  Luke laughed. “Oh, I’ve got to meet this Lucy. Sounds like you have your hands full, Holden.”

  “You have no idea.” Nick reached into his pocket, pulling out a plastic bag. “By the way, I’d like to have this checked out.”

  “What is it?”

  “A matchbook.”

  Luke looked at the smudged, tattered matchbook through the plastic. “Where did you get it?”

  “At the crime scene.”

  “You’re kidding. We turned that place upside down.”

  “It was wedged under a floorboard. Lucy helped me find it.” He decided not to go into details. “Can you get the lab to check it for fingerprints?”

  “Sure thing.” Luke frowned. “But it looks pretty fragile. I’m not sure how well it will hold up under testing.” He squinted at the gold lettering barely visible through the charcoal smudges. “Is there writing on it?”

  Nick nodded. “I checked it out with a magnifying glass. The only words I could make out were old, Fort, and Ann.

  “Old Fort Ann? What is that? The name of a bar?”

  Nick shrugged. “Who knows? This is probably a long shot anyway. I didn’t even tell Lucy about it. I don’t want to get her hopes up.”

  Luke nodded. “I’ll let you know as soon as I get results from the lab.” He tossed the bag onto his desk. “Hey, why don’t you meet me at Bailey’s Bar and Grill tonight after my shift is over? We’ll grab a burger, a pitcher of beer, and watch the Cowboys game on the big screen. It’ll be like old times.”

  Nick shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve got to work tonight. A stakeout at Rooney’s place.”

  “With your new boss?” Luke grinned. “Some things never change. The only thing that ever kept you from Monday Night Football was a woman.”

  “I’ll be on my own this time. And it’s a good thing, too.”

  “Because Lucy Moore is scarier than her brother?”

  “Nope,” Nick countered, heading for the door. “Because it’s a Monday.”

  8

  Later that evening, Nick hunkered down in the driver’s seat of Grandma Hattie’s old Buick and told himself it could be worse. He could be sweeping up fish nuggets off the floor at Farley’s Fish Hut.

  The car sat like a big silver U-boat along a curb on Aspen Drive, in the ritziest neighborhood in Pine City. If the homeowners’ association had a rule against ex-cons scoping out the condos and gated estates, he was in big trouble.

  He could just imagine trying to explain all of this to his parole officer. Somehow the excuse, “A librarian made me do it,” sounded lame even to his ears.

  But this particular librarian seemed able to make him do just about anything. It worried him, because he’d never been a pushover with women before. He’d always been the one calling the shots, whether it was with an investigation or a relationship. He wasn’t domineering, just in control of his own life.

  Except with Lucy.

  So far, he’d broken into a building for her, put himself on the auction block for her, and now he was spying on rich people for her. He needed to figure out this power she had over him, before she got any more brilliant ideas.

  Maybe it was her eyes. Soft, big brown eyes that could sparkle with mischief one moment and melt his defenses the next. Or her luxurious blond hair, as unmanageable as Lucy herself. Or that crooked smile of hers that niggled something way down deep in his gut. Then there was her body.

  Even after fifteen months without a woman, he still had a discerning eye. Most men wouldn’t look beyond those conservative clothes she wore at the library.

  But he had a great imagination. And he’d seen her in that blue dress. Seen her soft, enticing curves. The gentle sway of her hips. Those long, long legs.

  He closed his eyes as he leaned back against the headrest. Thanks to his great imagination he could envision her out of that blue dress. Her skin warm and silky smooth. Her lips pink and slightly parted as she walked toward him. His gaze falling on those legs and that tempting mouth and everywhere in between.

  His eyes snapped open and his head jerked up. He definitely didn’t want to start having fantasies about Lucy. He looked around the front seat, desperate for something to distract him from his too-vivid imagination.

  Picking up the flattened cardboard hat off the dashboard, he scowled at the colorful dancing cod. In the dim glow provided by the streetlight, he studied the directions on the inner panel. Insert flap A into flap F. Tuck flap B under flap H. Fold flap D along the dotted line.

  His fingers fumbled over each other as he tried to manipulate the small paper tabs.

  Bend flap C over flap E.

  Flap C? Nick turned the cardboard over in his hands. Where in the blazes was flap C?

  Maybe he wasn’t ready for the French fry machine. He couldn’t even put together a simple cardboard hat.

  But that meant staying with Lucy. How long could he continue taking money for a case that was already solved?

  He tossed the mangled hat into the back seat, wishing he could toss his conscience aside just as easily.

  Most people already thought he was without morals or ethics. So why not fulfill their expectations? He certainly didn’t have anything more to lose.

  Except possibly his sanity.

  “Nick.”

  The eerie whisper startled him. He peered out the car windows but saw only the silhouette of looming willow trees and the soft glow of lights in the gated estate windows. As the wind rustled the tree leaves, he thought he heard the sound again.

  “Nick.”

  The hairs prickled on the back of his neck. He’d never questioned his sanity before, but hearing voices wasn’t a good sign. He knew if he started talking back he would really be in trouble. He began humming to drown out the disconcerting sound.

  But he could still hear that husky voice calling to him.

  “Nick,” it rasped. “Ni…i…ck.”

  At that moment he chose to start singing the chorus to “Surrey with the Fringe on Top” while tapping his fingers in rhythm against the steering wheel.

  A head suddenly appeared in the passenger window.

  Startled, his body jerked in reaction, his knee slamming against the steering column. “Ow!”

  “Oh no, did you hurt yourself again?”

  Lucy.

  He should have known. He reached over to unlock the passenger door, then popped it open. She was crouched in the grass, dressed entirely in black—from the knit cap concealing her blond hair to the black leotard that stretched over her slender body to the black leather boots on her feet.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” he asked. “Cat Woman?”

  She climbed into the seat.

  Then another thought occurred to him as he warily eyed the bulging black knapsack slung over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me we’re crashing a masquerade party, because I’m putting my foot down, Lucy…”

  She closed the car door, then looked at him, her b
row crinkled above her brown eyes. “What are you talking about? We’re on a stakeout. I just didn’t want anyone to see me.”

  “Where did you come from? I didn’t see any headlights.”

  “I parked around the corner and sort of moved from tree to tree until I reached the car.” Her eyes shone with excitement.

  “You’re soaking wet,” he observed, uncomfortably aware of the way the leotard clung to her body.

  She pulled off the knit cap, her damp hair falling haphazardly out of its bun. “That’s because you left me sitting out on the lawn until the automatic sprinklers came on.”

  “I was singing,” he muttered as she slid the knapsack off her shoulder.

  “I heard. You do have a great voice,” she said. “And I love show tunes, especially from Oklahoma. Do you know the words to ‘I Cain’t Say No’?”

  He knew it down to the dance steps, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought you something.” She unzipped the knapsack.

  “Xanax?”

  “No, I’ve got some great stuff here,” she said, reaching inside. “Pretzels, almonds, caramel corn, potato chips, chocolate bars, jerky, diet soda…”

  “Diet soda?”

  “I’m trying to watch my weight.”

  “Actually studies have shown that diet soda doesn’t help you lose weight.”

  “Then why is diet in the name?”

  “Lucy,” he began as she tossed him beef jerky, “what’s with all the junk food?”

  She pulled a handful of pretzels out of the bag. “To keep up our energy. It could be a long night.”

  “For me, maybe. But I work alone.”

  She shook her head. “Unwise. According to Leo Bronski, stakeouts require at least two people so the investigation isn’t compromised. It’s too easy to fall asleep or start daydreaming and miss something important when you’re all by yourself.”

  He didn’t mention the type of daydreams he’d been having before she showed up. Daydreams he couldn’t quite forget while she was sitting next to him in that revealing leotard.

  “Who is Leo Bronski?” he asked, popping open a can of diet soda.

  “I can’t believe you don’t know,” she said, munching on a pretzel. “His books, Under the Gun and The Felony Files, are international bestsellers.”

  “Ugh.” Nick rolled his eyes. “Not more of those supercop books.”

  “Bronski is a great writer,” she said, rolling up the pretzel bag, “very relatable.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “And he’s a retired police detective. So all his stories are based on real-life experiences. They’re fascinating. And he’s been on hundreds of stakeouts.”

  “Lucy, this isn’t some storybook fantasy,” he said, finishing off his beef jerky. “In fact, it’s actually a complete waste of time.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “We’re not going to find out anything about Melvin’s case here. Ralph Rooney is a prominent, respected businessman. He’s even on the governor’s crime prevention panel.”

  “Which is why no one would ever suspect him. Did you know he made several offers to buy the Hanover Building before the fire, but Melvin refused to sell it to him?”

  “So Rooney decides to torch the place? That just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, somebody torched it.”

  “Lucy…”

  “Duck!” She suddenly grabbed him by the shirtfront and pushed him down lower in the seat.

  The back of his head bumped hard against the armrest on the door, dislodging his cowboy hat as his legs tangled with hers. Nick reached up to rub his head.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Don’t move,” Lucy whispered, her lithe body stretched out on top of him, her hands gripping his shoulders. “I think someone is looking over here.”

  “Well, if he saw us, he’s really going to be suspicious now.”

  She looked down at him. “Not if…” Her voice trailed off and he saw her swallow.

  “Not if…what?”

  Her fingers flexed on his shoulders. “Not if whoever is out there thinks we’re just…parking.”

  “I’ve been parked here for the last thirty minutes.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “That’s not exactly what I mean.”

  He opened his mouth but Lucy’s lips met his before he could say a word. His vivid imagination never even came close to the reality of Lucy in his arms.

  Her tentative, feather-light kiss. Her mouth moving over his, gentle and delving, luscious and lingering.

  Nick’s arms wrapped around her, his hands caressing the length of her back, warming her cool, moist leotard.

  Her body relaxed into his. Her mouth tasted salty and sweet. So sweet that he almost groaned aloud when she finally broke the kiss.

  “Nick,” she breathed heavily, her brown eyes wide and slightly dazed, her mouth still only scant inches from his.

  The beam of a flashlight swept slowly past the windshield, now partially steamed over.

  “He’s still out there,” Nick whispered raggedly.

  She hovered above him, lightly brushing his hair with her fingertips. “Good.”

  She kissed him again, her tongue tentatively exploring his mouth. He moaned low in his throat, his hands moving to her hair.

  He pulled the bobby pins out and let his fingers luxuriate in the thick, damp curls that spilled over her shoulders. Every nerve ending in his body reacted as Lucy shifted atop him, deepening the kiss.

  He wondered briefly what book taught her to kiss like this, then he stopped thinking at all. He only wanted to feel her in his arms.

  He anchored one arm around her narrow waist and slowly turned them both on the wide seat until their positions were reversed. He’d never loved this big, roomy boat of a car more than he did at this moment.

  She broke the kiss with a gasp of surprise as she now found him on top of her. “I don’t think…” she began.

  He silenced her with another kiss.

  A raw, sensual kiss filled with all the pent-up frustration and desire he’d felt ever since he first laid eyes on her. A kiss he never wanted to end.

  The soft whimpers emanating from her throat thrilled him—at first. Then they made him hesitate.

  Were they whimpers of passion? Or protest? Maybe he’d been without a woman so long, he’d lost control. Maybe she was as terrified by his response as he was.

  He lifted his head, his breathing as fast and shallow as hers, and stared into her wide brown eyes.

  “Oh, Nick.”

  He swallowed at the tremor in her voice. Darkness blanketed the fogged car windows. “Lucy, I…”

  “He’s gone. I think we fooled him.”

  “What?”

  “The guy with the flashlight,” she said, rising up on her elbows. “He must have believed we were really lovers.” She blinked up at him, the heat fading from her eyes. “You can get up now.”

  He didn’t want to get up. He wanted to sink into her soft body and kiss her breathless. He wanted to hold on to Lucy and never let her go.

  “I can’t breathe,” she said.

  With a deep sigh, he reluctantly shifted his weight off her, his foot catching on the door handle and his elbow connecting solidly with the steering wheel. The sharp blare of the car horn covered his grunt of pain.

  “So much for keeping a low profile,” Lucy cried, struggling to get out from underneath him.

  He emitted a stifled groan. “Watch your knee.”

  “Sorry,” she murmured, pulling herself up to a sitting position. Then she frowned at the front windshield. “It’s all steamed up in here. I can’t see a thing.”

  The windows weren’t the only thing steamed up. Nick tugged at his shirt collar.

  If only the automatic sprinklers would come on again so he could have the best alternative to a cold shower. He took several slow, deep breaths and tried not to think about Lucy.
Or that hot, passionate kiss. Or that he really wanted to kiss her again. That he really wanted her.

  He was starting to hyperventilate. If he didn’t calm down, he’d get dizzy. Maybe he’d pass out. Maybe Lucy would have to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  This was really getting pathetic.

  “I can’t stand it anymore,” she said, rolling down her fogged window.

  That made two of them, Nick thought.

  He turned to reach for her as a swift gust of brisk night air blew across the front seat. But it was the sound of a familiar masculine voice that chilled his hot blood.

  “Hey, Luce. How come you never kissed me like that?”

  9

  “Weasel,” Lucy exclaimed, brushing her tousled hair out of her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “Wishing I’d taken you up on that marriage proposal.” Weasel leaned in the open window, his lanky arms resting on the doorframe. “Or at least asked you out on a date. I take it you’ve changed your policy.”

  “Policy?” she echoed, still shaken by the impact of Nick’s kiss. It scored at least a 9.5 on her own personal Richter scale.

  “About not dating anybody who’s done jail time—which pretty much excluded every guy on Bale Street,” Weasel said with a good-natured shrug. “Mad Dog explained it to all of us one night after you’d turned down Buzz. He said it was nothing personal; you just didn’t want to get involved with a loser.”

  “I don’t think I ever put it quite like that,” she said, unable to deny it completely.

  Nick sat silent and unmoving beside her. He could have been two hundred miles away from her instead of only two feet. He probably didn’t understand that she’d established that policy for a very good reason. She couldn’t let anything, or more specifically, anyone interfere with her goals.

  Her avid reading had taught her a lot, including how the main character in a novel always set a goal, then stopped at nothing to achieve it. Lucy had followed the same example in her life. In high school, her goal was to win a college scholarship.

  In college, her goal was to get her master’s degree in library science. After accomplishing each goal, she set a new one, always determined to reach higher. And she’d never let love or lust get in her way.