Pretty Shameless, page 14
part #2 of Deputy Laney Briggs Series
I unlocked the station and wandered inside, where I took a seat at my desk. Nothing was adding up the way I expected it to. My biggest worry happened to be the fact that I knew deep down no one, not even my lover, could be entirely trusted. Wyatt’s illegal gun charges, which began as a quick bag ’em-tag ’em case, had spiraled out of control, and now the idiot was facing a murder indictment. To top that, the one man I considered a done deal at cinching up my cousin’s case, Willie King, hinted that a few close associates of mine were keeping secrets from me. As to what? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Not even a scan in the local precinct databases turned a new leaf. Four things were certain: Wyatt was in some deep shit with the law; Gunner was not being forthright about all the details involving Wyatt’s case; a drug had popped up in town; and Willie King knew a lot more than he was letting on. I just needed to figure out how all the pieces fit together.
By the time I arrived back home, the sky had turned a cloudy gray, lit in a flurry of cold mist. I had forgotten to turn on the porch light and was paying for it now, fumbling with my keys in the dwindling light. It took a second, but after giving the lock a good bump with my wrist, the dead bolt turned. Then the door flung open to an eerie quietness. I kicked the screen door open, pumped the heel of my boot into the black mesh, and took a breather. I straddled the doorway, milling over the many ways my life had fallen into a sinkhole just over the past week. Then, when I concluded I couldn’t get any more depressed, I pulled the screen shut and latched the lock behind me.
Tossing my keys and my revolver on the hallway table, I made my way into the kitchen. After flicking on the light switch, I pried open the fridge and floundered around a few cases of Tupperware, finding nothing to cinch up the hunger that was roaring inside my stomach, so I shoved aside the milk carton and pulled out the last bottle of beer. I cracked the top on it and drew a long swig before slouching back against the fridge door.
I was in a pickle. For practical reasons, I didn’t see the need to divulge to Gunner every aspect of my life. I had been strung along as a pawn in his little game he had going with Willie King, a deranged individual that seemed to be wielding a gun aimed straight at Wyatt’s temple. Gunner wouldn’t just hand over classified intel. It wasn’t his style. He liked to swing his authority, and his dick, around a bit. Not that I minded that either, but for the time being I figured with my cousin locked away in a Lubbock county jail on murder charges it’d be best if my hair-puller Texas Ranger would toss me a bone or something. At any rate, it would have to wait until tomorrow since Gunner was tied up in Odessa overnight.
Needing to douse the plethora of nagging thoughts swarming like bees around a honeycomb inside my head, I jumped under a cold shower. Hornier than a thirteen-year-old boy at church camp enjoying his first coed swim, I had reached the end of my sexually frustrated rope. And, goddamn it, I should be focusing on solving a crime spree and not tickling myself pink.
My Texas Ranger had become a dangerous addiction.
I lowered my head beneath the shower spray, allowing myself to indulge in the sensation of the rushing water rolling over my shoulders and down my back, forehead flush against the cold tile, and an ever-present warmth between my parted legs. Most of the time I wouldn’t be so sexually starved, but all day the image of Gunner hunched over our bed, taking his time shucking off a boot as he eyed me down bare-assed and cuffed to the bedposts by the wrists and ankles had me seeing stars. It must’ve been karma coming back to bite me in the ass. Maybe I deserved such turmoil after all these years—I certainly could never be called innocent. I stepped under the stream and rinsed the shampoo from my hair. Suds flowed down my pink flushed skin and pooled under my red-painted toenails before swirling into the depths of the drain. In my life I’d seen some crazy shit and gone through some stupid shit, but by God it was time to experience some good in life, in my heart, and in my relationship with one bullheaded Texas Ranger that swept me away in a blink of an eye. I killed the shower, stepped out with wet hair, and threw on a black silk nightie and paired it with a lacy black thong. Seeing that nothing good would come from letting my mind wander, I decided why not do some snooping of my own. Not like it could hurt. Just the other night I’d caught Gunner riffling through a box of old family photos hidden away inside the bedroom closet. He was pretty tight-lipped about his motives, but still, ever since the secrecy of his actions, it had been eating me alive. All that man was concerned about was finding the man who dealt the final blow in his parents’ murders.
Tonight, though, with him locking me out of my cousin’s case, I intended on gaining a little more insight into Gunner’s personal business. I scooted the bathroom step stool inside the shoebox-sized closet, climbed up, and rooted a hand around the top shelf. My hand ran across an old pair of tennis shoes, ratty shirts, and then my fingers grazed the paper inlay box. I may be no saint, but my boyfriend was up to more than just solving my shit-brain of a cousin’s whereabouts. As much as I hated the secrets we kept from each other, I despised the distance it put between us more. I gathered the box in my arms and then took it to the bed and spilled the contents onto the quilt. Polaroid after Polaroid fell into view. A snapshot of my mother squeezed between Mitch Wagner and my old man outside the Whistling Wind in their golden years to a picture of my folks’ wedding day inside the courthouse. Presumably the past had a way of repeating itself. That very image could’ve quite frankly been of me, Gunner, and Luke during the better years of our so-called friendship. I pushed a few pictures around in the pile, and that’s when I spotted exactly what I’d been looking for. The one Gunner was clutching in his hand the day I barged in on him in the closet. What the hell? I plucked the blurry photo up and examined the father-daughter bonding moment. Me and my old man saying our good-byes on the first day of kindergarten. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary, unless the fact my father was wearing shorts counted. Now that was a rare occasion. He’d rather be caught dead than with his calves showing. It didn’t make sense. Gunner had seen this picture a million times before. Shit, what wild card did he have stuffed up his sleeve? I was about to do more digging around, but my goddamn phone started ringing. And my slightly pissy investigative work was toast.
I flopped back on the bed and reached for the phone. Flashing across the screen was my one-way ticket to hell. Perfect. I always loved to hear a bedtime story from my mother.
I bit my lip and answered. “Well, hello there, Mother.”
“Don’t shit-talk me, young lady,” her voice hummed over the line. “You told me this was gonna be a cinch bringing Wyatt back to Pistol Rock.” I heard the familiar sound of a cigarette drag. Then her breathing grew raspy before her smoke-laced voice wailed again. “So why in the hell did I just get a collect phone call from the county jail in Lubbock?”
This sucked balls. And not in a satisfying, male-induced-ecstasy kind of way.
Sighing, I watched my oh-so-lovely life flash before my eyes as I tried to explain the situation at hand. “Mom,” I said, pausing to make sure she was paying attention. Hearing her shallow breath and grunt, I knew I still had my unwanted audience’s attention. “We’ve hit a little snag.” My voice stuck to the back of my throat like a spoonful of grits. “Wyatt’s being held by the Lubbock PD on more pot charges, and they are trying to tie his ass to a string of murders.”
The wait to be bitch slapped never felt pleasant.
“Come again?” she deadpanned.
“The charges won’t stick.” Well, probably.
“I can’t believe you let Wyatt slip through your hands again,” she said, sounding slightly bitter. This coming from a woman who had posted bail for the dickweed, and now was up to her eyeballs in debt.
Deep breaths, Laney.
“Luke helped me track some clues down today,” I said. “I assure you, by the end of the week, Wyatt will be in my custody and those goddamn murder charges will be nothing but hot air.”
“Please tell me you aren’t fucking that Wagner boy.”
“Oh, come on, Mother,” I snapped. “What the hell do you take me for?”
“A slut,” she affirmed quite casually.
“You have no faith in me.”
“You have a problem with cowboys.”
Maybe, feeling a smidgen of pride. That was a pretty damn accurate assessment. All this time I didn’t think my mother paid that much attention to my comings and goings.
“Okay, fine,” I told her, buckling under her damn accurate accusation of me, “but hell, Mom. I. Did. Not. Fuck. Luke Wagner.” Well, as far as my drunken-ass memory can remember.
She grumbled. “What about the other asshole in your life?” Her voice went flat. “I have on good authority that Gunner was lying to you this whole time.”
Boy, was that a loaded truth.
“He’s been hanging around.”
“Laney, you’re still letting that man get free milk,” she screeched. “Have you not learned shit over these twenty-seven years?”
“Now come on, Ruth. I’m a deputy, for crying out loud. There are quite a few things I can handle, and a rotten Texas Ranger isn’t that hard to keep an eye on.”
“Young lady, don’t you dare call me Ruth. And you’ve always had a soft spot for that shitty man. All he has to do is wink at you and you’re on your back spreading your legs.” My mother’s voice sounded like a clogged toilet. How pleasant. “If you don’t corral Wyatt within the week, I might have to drag my ass up to county,” she said. “And we both know how unpleasant that little reunion will be.”
Yeah, I’d rather huff paint thinner than go toe to toe with my mother.
“I’ve got this,” I said. “You just need to relax.”
“Ah, darling,” my mother cooed. “You better have your shit in check, because that bailsman in Harper’s Ridge is all over my ass demanding his ten grand.”
“Don’t worry your pretty little heart,” I told her, not believing one cent of the bullshit I was shoveling her way.
“Yeah, right,” she barked. “You told me the exact same thing the night you found out Gunner had knocked you up.” After all these years she couldn’t cut me a break on my wild-child ways. Hell, I’d been the one that suffered the broken heart. The sound of the phone rustling against her ear drew me back in. “Now look where that got us.”
And then she ended our lovely mother-and-daughter conversation. It’s no wonder our Sunday brunch get-togethers ended so sour. I’ve never much liked breakfast foods, or my mother.
Chapter Thirteen
Somewhere between dusk and dawn, Gunner’d stumbled inside our bedroom more tired than a newborn baby. He’d face-planted the mattress, uttered a few incoherent words, then clonked out. As it was, the morning didn’t really start with a bang. And, more importantly, I had my annual weekly scheduled lunch date with the parentals. Probably been the nice thing to let Gunner in on that little bit of information. But why? The man seemed to enjoy keeping me in the dark on his cases and whereabouts.
Shit, he needed a lesson in phone etiquette. Like how to pick it up.
Flopping back on the bed, I dangled my red cowboy boots off the edge. I had a real big problem. It was so huge I’m not sure even if a little game of “fetch the dick” would ease the stress. I had a cousin charged with murder, and no sign of any promising leads for miles. Rednecks enjoyed their tight-lipped seclusion. Not to mention, Gunner was giving me a major migraine. He sure did have a way about keeping all work-related info close to the vest, and shit it frustrated me. Any more of this hellish silent treatment and I might find it in me to take my mother up on her offer: a mother-and-daughter vacation in South Padre, consisting of some sunbathing, a lot of tequila, and enough of my mother’s secondhand smoke to alert the EPA. Fuck, my boots were sinking in mud quicker than quicksand.
I could use a tall one, but all the damn beer was downstairs. I’d just pinched my eyes shut in an attempt to ward off the depressing day when the bathroom door burst open and out stepped a wet dream in the making.
“Well hello there, sexy!” I gasped. My gaze dropped to the tanned, ripped six-pack, and that cowgirl-corralling black rattlesnake tattoo. Out of bad habit, the back of my throat went dry, and my pulse revved into overdrive. Down girl. Then my bad apple threw me a naughty game-on wink, and yeah, I became toast. “You and me,” I motioned at that handsome grin plastered across his chiseled face, then shook a finger. “Need to have some words.”
Gunner was a satisfaction. Most days he could be comforting. Some days he could be infuriating. And yet, other days he could be a breath of fresh air. And maybe I enjoyed our little game of tug-of-war more than I wanted to admit.
Maybe I was crazy in love.
He lifted a brow, the playfulness apparent in his husky tone. “Why do you still have your clothes on, Laney Briggs?” He drawled in that signature low-pitched and richly bold voice, looking me up and down. “Am I mistaken”—one corner of his irresistible mouth turned up as he licked that damn fine bottom lip—“but didn’t you just order me to the shower if I wanted to fuck you?” His deep voice fell seductively low as he dropped the white terry-cloth towel to the wood floor, and damn, I wanted to be his sex toy.
That fine cock jutted forward, hard and pinkishly red, his balls tightly drawn just daring me to make a move. There was no denying it. My guy was lethal and ready to fire.
Barely able to utter a coherent word, let alone think, I answered the damn sexy man. “I thought I’d play hardball.” My hands twisted in the sheets. “What brought you home last night?” I asked, eyes painfully glued to his rock-hard chest. “Whatever it was had you stumbling through the front door in the middle of the night.”
He indolently hitched a hip against the doorjamb. “The boss sent me out to chase down a few loose ends on a case we are trying to wrap up, and afterward I decided to drive home instead of spending another crappy sleepless night at the station.”
My gaze slipped and fell hard, locking in on his huge erection. “I’m guessing you’re gonna leave me in the dark on this one, huh, Gunner.”
He flashed me a slow, lazy grin. “Not in the mood to mix pleasure with business this morning.” His gaze slid down to my breasts. “Although”—he cut a glance upward, piercing me with those smoking brown eyes—“I am in the mood to feel a hot little brunette begging in my arms.”
He didn’t need to ask me twice.
In a fever, I bolted upright and began fumbling with my red cowboy boots, managing to get one stuck on my goddamn foot. Perfect. The last thing I needed was a roadblock. I stared straight ahead. Sure enough, Gunner stood there still damp from the shower, with that smug lazy grin plastered on his handsome, rugged face. Shit. Hunching over the edge of the bed, I began to beat that dang cowboy boot into submission.
“A little anxious there, sweetheart?”
I tilted my chin up. Mother of pearl, that hard dick was swinging within licking distance. I smacked my lips as it inched closer. Maybe I was in the mood to misbehave. And, truthfully, I deserved a little relaxation…courtesy of a mind-blowing orgasm. Gunner’s smile grew wider, and his muscular thigh brushed against mine, sending me into a premature heart attack.
Straddling me, those ripped guns on either side of my face, he nudged and teased my opening. Cross my heart and hope to die, I swear he intended to show me all the ways that thick cock of his could push me into oblivion. I let out an exasperated sigh and rolled my eyes popcorn-ceiling high. My patience was dwindling, and if the man didn’t give me a bump and grind within a second, I had half a mind to let the spin cycle on the washer do the trick.
“Can we skip the foreplay, Gunner? We have a lunch date with your favorite person in the world in about three hours.” I half sighed, half whined as I stared at the fan blades whipping around and around.
Gunner stroked a hand back and forth along my belly, then that same hand wandered beneath my breasts, cupping and squeezing them until he was satisfied. A shiver spilled through my veins as he traced a heart design along my bare shoulder, leaving me with a case of gooseflesh. “Really?” he said, roughly cupping a firm hand around my chin. He tipped my face upward. “Well, then you owe me a good screw if I’m going to have to small talk with your mother.”
It sucked how easily that charming smile roped me in. With a grin, I said, “Give me a reason why hanging out with you would be sweeter than taking a catnap before the lunch date.”
He raised an eyebrow. Then with a two-finger motion he pointed at that damn cock sprung full and eager for a trip around the block. “How much more convincing do you need, sweetheart?” he asked, pretty damn pleased with the massive hard-on. I could tell since he’d begun to stroke himself from cupping his heavy balls in the palm of his hand while shifting the shaft of his cock closer toward my parted mouth. I mean, it was pretty damn jacked up. And I could be game to play, if he’d get the show on the road.
“I don’t know.” We locked eyes, trapped in the erotic moment, then I reached and tapped its head; he let out a deep, rough moan. So I dipped my finger across the silver, rolling the precum down his shaft, playfully adding, “You’ve seen one cock. You’ve seen them all.”
“Wanna bet?” He pulled me down the bed by the ankles and pushed my legs apart.
“My account might not be that accurate.”
“Well, let’s see if I can remedy that,” he said, his voice deep and seductive, with the promise of some wicked fun. “Here, let me help you with those.” Heat flushed my cheeks when his hands began to roam up my inner thighs, and I swear the room began to spin. It was due time I attended church and offered up my gratitude to the good Lord for my mouthwatering cowboy. Gunner reached out and tugged at my hair. “Just let me take over the reins,” he growled.
I knew that harsh authoritative expression. He only pulled it out when he meant business. After this sexual rendezvous came to a halt, I was going to be one sore and satisfied girlfriend.
