The Second Trinity

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Poaching has dropped down to next to nothing,” Luke said softly.

  Rhys nodded. “Something is scaring these macho idiots right out of the forests.”

  “Missing people. Hunting regulations. That’s not your usual beat, is it, Sheriff?”

  Rhys shrugged. “I grew up in this town. I know everyone. I get to hear stuff. There’s always been a floating population and a drug problem because of the border crossing the lake here. But now it’s even weirder shit. Animal mutilations. Household pets and wild game, their carcasses ripped to shreds. A veterinary friend of mine who got to see one of them said it was hard to tell because of how torn up the body was, but he thought something had been chewing on it and whatever it was, it wasn’t a bear.”

  Luke nodded, his expression grave. This was the first time Rhys had ever spoken about the uptick in crimes and problems. Even though it sounded like paranoia run amok to him, Luke didn’t seem to have any problems believing him. Perhaps that was why he was offloading his concerns onto a total stranger.

  Rhys lurched to his feet. “Listen to me run off at the mouth. I’m sorry.”

  “I get the feeling there’s not too many other people around here you can talk to. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  “No problems. But while you’re here, can I ask you for a recommendation for somewhere to stay for the night? Perhaps a bed and breakfast on the lakeshore, where I can see the water?”

  “There’s dozens of them,” Rhys told him. “Lots of Victorian gingerbread houses all painted up. Azure Arms is a good one. Ginny Jacobs runs it and has for years and years. Tell her I sent you.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Luke turned back to face the counter as Betsy put a loaded plate in front of him. “You be careful, Sheriff. You’ve got problems you have no idea you’re dealing with.”

  Rhys studied him. Now Luke was turned back to face the counter, Rhys was at too sharp an angle to really see his face properly. But for a moment, he thought that Luke hadn’t moved his mouth when he spoke.

  Ventriloquism? But even if he could throw his voice, why would he?

  Rhys dismissed the stupid notion. He simply hadn’t been able to see Luke speak, that was all.

  But it was a very odd thing to say.

  The flesh over his spine shifted uneasily. A dozen questions prodded for attention. Rhys stared at Luke’s shoulders as the man started to eat. He was pleasant, gave off absolutely zero signals that he was likely to be any sort of trouble, plus he was passing through. He’d be gone by tomorrow. Making him answer more nosy questions would be bordering on harassment.

  So Rhys hitched his belt so it settled properly on his hips and cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to your supper. Enjoy your stay.”

  Luke looked over his shoulder. One very blue eye looked at him. “I will. Thank you.”

  Rhys went out to his cruiser and climbed in. He glanced at the time readout on the dashboard and tried to shrug off the uneasy feeling still scratching between his shoulder blades. There was enough time for him to drive out to the casino and spend a few minutes catching up with Jimmy Eschlen, the manager. It had been a few days since he’d been out there and it was a trouble hot spot. Jimmy would clock on around now.

  He started the car and pulled out into Highway 79. It would eventually get him to Peninsula Drive, the causeway that gave access to the island. As he drove, he tried to ignore the voice in his mind that was laughing at the idea that it was Jimmy he was really going to see.

  Chapter Three

  Cora swept up the cards with a practiced motion. She was on the last three hours of her shift and was already looking forward to going home. She tapped them into a pack and slid the pack into the back of the shoe, face-up.

  “Coralee,” the middle-aged man on the far left of the table said, reading off her name tag. “That’s a pretty name.”

  “Why, thank you,” Cora told him, making her cheek dimple. “It’s so sweet of you to say so.” She injected more of the South into her accent. The accent was genuine, but she had been away from Texas long enough that it had faded. But the accent, the smile and the dimple got her big tips. So did the cleavage she let show beneath the croupier’s vest.

  She glanced around the table once more, sizing it up. Her table was already full and it was only six. That was a sure sign the night was going to be a busy one. Busy meant more tips, so she smiled at everyone and rolled into the next deal.

  Her hands moved automatically, finding the deal squares almost on their own, so she had the chance to glance up as she dealt, checking the other tables and the general flow of gamblers around the floor. Sometimes, she could coax the big rollers to come over to her table and park, if she could catch their eye and look at them steadily for a heartbeat, before dropping her gaze away like she was flustered. She had a full table right now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t size up possibilities. This was a hundred dollar minimum bet table, which the big gamblers preferred.

  They always put her on the high stakes tables. She was one of the casino’s best dealers, pulling in good tips and bringing gamblers back night after night.

  Rhys Wisherd was standing at the top of the three broad steps that led down into the casino, looking around. He was wearing jeans and a shirt that looked like the pin-striped button-through she liked. It was soft from too many washings which made it more casual than a button-through generally was. His black casual jacket hid the Browning he kept under his arm and the badge on his belt.

  Even from here, Cora could see the vivid blue of his eyes. His hair was dark and unruly, the waves longer than she’d expect a lawman to wear them. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and his mouth was pushed into a thoughtful pout.

  The edge of the card she was dealing scraped across the green baize with a rough sound and she dragged her gaze back to the cloth and the deal.

  Five of them busted on the second card and she collected the cards and the chips. The last three decided to sit on nineteen, twenty and eighteen.

  Cora flipped, then flipped again. A ten, which blew her budget. Biting the inside of her cheek, she paid out the sitters, then glanced around for Kruger, the pit boss. Kruger understood the stresses of dealing as he’d come up through the ranks.

  “Need a break,” she murmured. “Concentration just slipped.”

  “Take five,” he told her. He didn’t protest that she’d just clocked back on a scant hour ago.

  “Thanks,” she told him with a smile. “I’m taking a short break,” she announced to the table. “This is Gerald, who will look after you for the next few deals.”

  Kruger stepped in behind the kidney-shaped table.

  Cora moved down the twelve-foot wide space between tables that made up the main corridor through the casino, heading for the little service corridor and the staff room. She smiled at everyone who caught her gaze, staying friendly and charming despite her heavily beating heart.

  “Cora.”

  It was Rhys Wisherd’s voice.

  Cora turned to face him.

  His smile was small and he made no move to close the four feet between them. “You’re on a break?” he asked.

  “Five minutes.”

  “Pity. I’d offer to buy you a drink, if you had longer.”

  This was an old dance. Rhys Wisherd had been threatening to buy her a drink for nearly a year. He’d never come good on the implied promise.

  A pair of gamblers moved right through the space between them, oblivious to their conversation. Rhys frowned.

  Cora waved him over to the area where all the late-night tables were grouped. They weren’t open yet so there was barely any traffic around them. She leaned back against the padded edge of the closest one. “You look tired,” she told him as he stopped two feet away. Two feet was better than four feet, anyway.

  Rhys shook his head. “I had…an interesting conversation, not long ago. It’s bothering me.”

  “Some con get under your skin?�
�� she asked, for transporting criminals to and from court was one of the duties he hated the most.

  “A traveler passing through.” He shook his head again. “It’s nothing.”

  A customer holding one of the freebie drinks from the tables brushed past Rhys, making him look over his shoulder. He stepped closer, out of the traffic path.

  Cora’s breath caught. Rhys never got this close, but there was suddenly only a few inches between them. Rhys looked down at her.

  He was a tall man, which she liked. She was freakishly tall herself, one of the clichéd long-legged Texas women that they always talked about. Plus she was wearing low heels. But Rhys was taller.

  She could smell him. Coffee, aftershave and an underlying scent that had to be his natural one.

  As his gaze met hers, Cora swallowed. Her body seemed to go on high alert. The tight hem of the stretch skirt she was wearing rubbed her legs, making her aware of her upper thighs and how much of her legs was on display and the way her hips were outlined by the skirt. The vest was a shaped garment and she wore a low-cut long sleeved tee shirt beneath it so her cleavage wasn’t hidden between the button fronts of the vest. She could feel her breasts in their lace bra cups swell. Her nipples hardened, the lace scratching them.

  All she could think of was the almost overwhelming urge to kiss Rhys. She had entertained the idea of kissing him in the past, but never with this degree of compulsion. The need to move, to press herself against him, to feel his heat against her body, was like a tidal force.

  Rhys’ eyes narrowed, like they did when he was suspicious. Or puzzled. His lips parted and she heard him draw in a slow breath.

  Of all Rhys’ slightly worn features, Cora liked his lips the best. They were full and looked firm. Sometimes she had wondered what they would feel like against hers. What would they taste like? Would he be a good kisser?

  That question occurred to her now with even more force. She longed to find out.

  She pulled her gaze back up to his eyes. Up close like this, the laugh lines around the corners of his eyes were apparent. So was the very light touch of gray at his temples, but apart from the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his face was unlined, which meant the gray was premature and probably earned via his high stress job. It added to his slightly imperfect appearance. He wasn’t completely dark-headed, completely young, or perfectly handsome. She guessed his age to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties.

  But he was sexy in a low-key way that a woman looking for a perfect date would miss in her first sweeping glance. It was only after Cora had got to know Rhys Wisherd that she appreciated his better qualities. He had tight hips and an even better ass, that the jeans outlined nicely, but the jacket often hid. She had seen him in rolled-up shirt sleeves only once and knew his forearms were strong with muscle, but he wasn’t muscle-bound. He worked too hard for that.

  Everyone liked Sheriff Wisherd. Everyone seemed to know him. Cora had met him the second night on the job, which had been her third day in Erie, and had liked him, too. He visited the casino every few days to check with Jimmy, the manager, and look around for himself. He usually stopped at her table to nod and perhaps speak for a moment in between deals. But she wasn’t the only dealer he chatted with, either. He spread his low-key charm around and didn’t favor anyone in particular.

  Now he was almost leaning over her. His lips were inches away. She just had to sway toward him and their mouths would meet.

  Do it. The urge was powerful, swelling up inside her like…god, like an orgasm. It was building inside her chest, instead of her belly, but it was impossible to ignore.

  “Rhys…” she breathed.

  He was breathing harder. Staring at her. At her lips.

  He wanted to kiss her, too.

  It was a moment of perfect understanding. She could see he was battling with his better senses, the upright, proper perspective of the city’s most popular sheriff ever.

  “Howdy, Sheriff Wisherd!” a man, a stranger, said from behind.

  The moment was broken. Rhys stirred and looked over his shoulder. The well-wisher was already five yards away, but Rhys raised his hand in greeting anyway.

  Cora straightened up from her lean against the table and took a small step to one side, putting distance between her and Rhys. She flipped her hair back over her shoulders, pulled her vest back into place and tried to shake off the dregs of that single powerful moment.

  Rhys turned back to her. He had moved farther away from her, as well. He pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. “I should let you have your break,” he said slowly. She got the impression that his mind was working hard. Perhaps he was wondering what the fuck was going on, too. “Have you seen Jimmy tonight?”

  “He’s coming in later. Kruger is holding the fort.”

  Rhys swallowed. She could hear it. “Would you let Jimmy know I stopped in?”

  “Sure can.” It was one of the peppy phrases she used with customers and it sounded as false as it really was. She bit her lip, wondering how she could take it back. “I mean…of course,” she said, her voice low.

  He looked at her. Really looked at her. “Sorry to use up your break.”

  “I’m off shift at ten.” She could feel her own lips opening in surprise. Why was she telling him that? Had she really just hinted that he should come back?

  Rhys took a step backward. “I…ah…gotta go.”

  She nodded. She was afraid to speak. Afraid of what might come out of her mouth.

  He turned and headed for the doors.

  Cora couldn’t help herself. She watched his ass for every step between her and the door. Because his hands were in the pockets of his jacket, the back of the jacket rode up the small of his back and she could watch every flex and bunch of the long thighs and the tight curves above.

  In her mind he was naked, the creamy flesh hers to do with as she wished.

  Appalled, she made herself walk away, back to her table. Back to work.

  * * * * *

  Rhys drove back to town like Hell’s Hounds were after him, ignoring the speed limits. The cruiser steered itself home, while he tried to figure out what was going on. He had been that close to bending Cora even farther over the table and…and…

  The images that floated to the front of his mind didn’t help his recovery. His body was tightly coiled, the tension all centered on his aching cock. Even his balls felt like solid lead masses and he eased the jeans out of his crotch, to give his throbbing testicles room.

  The images persisted. He could feel her skin under his hands. It would be soft. The scent she always wore would be stronger when his mouth hovered just above her breasts….

  He groaned and pounded the steering wheel, making his thoughts move away from Cora and her long legs and honey-blonde hair and her big brown eyes.

  Were her lips as soft as they looked?

  Rhys growled, gripping the steering wheel even harder. When he got home he really was going to take a cold shower. What the fuck was wrong with him? It was like he was in high school all over again.

  * * * * *

  Cora tried to pull her concentration back around to the job. She tried very hard and managed to last an hour, but Kruger hovered nearby almost the entire hour, wearing a heavy frown.

  By the time seven o’clock rolled around, Cora felt exhausted, something that never happened to her. She glanced at the glass doors and the night beyond. Had she really been waiting to see if Rhys would turn up again? Was she really that addled over a pair of thighs?

  Abruptly, she told Kruger she was booking off sick for the rest of the night. He didn’t seem surprised.

  She changed into her leathers and slung her backpack over her shoulders and carried her helmet out to her Harley. She sat on it and blew out her breath. The night air was cool. Soon it would be cold enough that for appearances’ sake, she would have to give up the bike for winter and start using the Jeep. But that was a few weeks away yet and the way this summer was lingering, it could
be even longer.

  She looked around the parking lot. The thing, whatever he was, had gone. She would have been surprised if he had stayed.

  Cora stared down at the iridescent black paint work on the gas tank between her thighs as a sense memory of his lips against hers zinged back into her mind, making her heart beat and her lips to part as her breath sped up.

  Then she blinked. “Damn it all,” she whispered, then twisted her hair and shoved it down the back of her jacket, then pushed the helmet over her head. She started the bike up and headed out onto the causeway, where she opened up the throttle and let the roar of the wind and the air plucking at her jacket disperse the lingering memory.

  By the time she reached her complex, the battering of the wind had muffled her thoughts enough that it was safe to get off the bike and go inside. She tripped the remote and steered the bike into the garage, then parked next to the Jeep while the door closed behind her.

  She listened to the tick of the cooling engine and the silence from the rest of the house. Her townhouse shared common walls with neighbors on both sides, but they kept very normal hours and would possibly be in bed by now.

  Meta Greet, who lived on the right side, would most definitely be asleep. She was an early bird, up by five a.m. every morning regardless of the day of the week, to fit in her running training before she went to work. The Altmanns, on the other side, were elderly and rarely went out.

  “Y’all sleep well,” Cora murmured to herself and went into the house. She put the helmet on one of the hooks by the garage door and stripped off her leathers. It was completely still in the house, which was normal and felt comforting.

  She could feel herself relaxing as she walked through the freshly painted butler’s pantry into the kitchen and the living room beyond, with its big bay window with white mullions and lace panels.

  Slowly, she walked upstairs, letting her mind rove through the dozen or so projects she currently had in progress. Should she settle into painting? Research fabric and designs for the drapes in the main bedroom? Or finish building the shelving in her walk-in wardrobe? She was still in the middle of stripping down the decades of vinyl wallpaper in the third bedroom, too, but that had a common wall with Meta’s house and scraping and tapping on the wall might wake her.