Pretty Shameless, page 2
part #2 of Deputy Laney Briggs Series
I took my time easing my sweet ass off the stool and straightening the wrinkles out of my shirt and adjusting the waist of my jeans before rounding the kitchen bar. Then I pushed him aside, making a beeline to the bedroom. It was a trek. I almost landed belly up once or twice on what I think was old pizza crust. Gunner was hot on my heels. My boots stopped in a dead heat at the smell of week-old body odor coming from Wyatt’s bed. I fought the urge to gag and pressed on, rounding the rumpled, hair-infested sheets. On the bedside table sat a vintage Penthouse magazine, right next to a purple lava lamp. I walked over to the window and flung open the tattered Superman curtains. The last place I wanted to go picking was under Wyatt’s king-size bed, but out of the corner of my eye I spotted some crumpled dollar bills. Not sure why, but I dove on all fours, desperately hoping to find some evidence. Ass sky high and sucking air through my nose, I was just about to push aside an old Little League trophy, when a deep, humorous laugh seared my ears.
“Find anything useful?”
Instinctively, I shot up, banging my head on the bed rail. “Son of a bitch,” I yelled, looking back over my shoulder while rubbing my scalp. “No, I haven’t,” I said. “What about you?”
“What about me?” Gunner dropped a shoulder, his attention clearly only interested in one thing: my behind.
Snapping my fingers, I looked from my butt to his face. He smiled, clueing in, so I plunged on with my questioning. “Have you found anything useful?”
Gunner had a hip leaning into the doorway as his gaze dropped to my ass, again. “As a matter of fact, I just laid eyes on something I could really use.”
I felt my face start to blush but fought it as best as I could. “Will you stop? I’m debating whether or not I’m still pissed at you.”
He kicked away from the wall and reached out, offering up a hand. “All right,” he said, taking hold of my hand, pulling me to my feet, and slamming my breasts flush against the solid wall of his chest. My stomach took a nosedive, and my heart started to bang nervously. He ran his hands up and down my backside, looking straight into my eyes. I stayed there against him, locked in his gaze. “I think I might have something of use for you,” he said, that rough yet smooth voice blessedly breaking the trance I was under. Pathetic. I know. “But it’ll cost you.”
I should know better than most that playing with fire burns like a bitch. I wiggled out of his strong arms and acquiesced with a heavy shrug of my shoulders.
“I’m gonna regret this, but all right.”
He let out an agitated chuckle and fell back against the wall. “Have I ever made you regret anything?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. Just cough it up.”
He tossed a black duffel bag on the floor.
On a sigh I scowled at yet another shitty-ass problem piling up on my doorstep. “What’s this?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
My hunky Texas Ranger kicked it with his boot. “Take a look.”
Of course, I had to check it out now. I glanced inside. “Is this Wyatt’s?”
“I believe so.” He gave a halfhearted shrug, and with his lady-killer smile widening on a laugh, he simply asked, “Have any idea why Wyatt would have so much cash?”
Shit, that was one hell of a stash for a guy like Wyatt, who could never even scrounge up enough dough for a two-dollar fried burrito over at the Filler-Up.
“We weren’t the closest of cousins,” I said, still astonished by the amount of cash in the duffel bag.
Gunner cocked his head and gave me one of his famous gut-twisting, body-melting grins. He really did think he was God’s gift to women, either that, or he could magically make me turn to mush. Fine, I’ll admit it. Occasionally I’d experienced a pantyless episode around the bullheaded man. But that smug little grin wasn’t helping a damn bit. He’d been sitting on this duffel bag of cash the whole time while he watched me crawl around Wyatt’s bedroom. I was ready to kill him. But I composed myself.
With a hat tip, a boot shuffle, and a swing of my hips, I plowed on. “Where’d you find this?” I asked while finger-thumbing at the mysterious black bag.
A humorless grunt split my feistiness in two. “Out in his shed,” Gunner stated matter-of-factly, his voice on edge, yet still so deep it aimed a heat-seeking missile directly in the path of my jeans.
I gave him a puzzled look. There was no way in hell he’d just thrown me a bone. “In his shed, huh?”
“Yep.” Gunner hitched a thumb in a belt loop. “Found it up on a shelf behind some gas cans.”
I elbowed him in the gut on my way out the door. “Make yourself useful and get out here,” I hollered.
We headed back out into the misty December air and hustled through the sludge piling on top of the patchy dried grass. The chilly drizzle that an hour earlier wouldn’t have required a coat was slowly becoming a bitch. I could feel it sticking to my eyelashes as I stomped to the shed. We made our way around five trash bins piled to the brim with empty beer cans. There were lawn chairs perched in mud out back and a plethora of joints bobbled in the puddles. Wyatt, the idiot, had left the water on. I stepped over the hose and turned the faucet off. I looked back over my shoulder. Gunner’s gaze was like a torpedo locked on my ass and ready to fire.
“You do know that you have problems.”
He rocked forward in his boots. “Name one.”
“My cousin’s on the lamb, we’ve got a shitload of money here stuffed in a duffel bag, it’s freaking drizzling, and all you’re able to think about is my ass?”
With a tip of his chin, he replied, “Have you checked your ass out lately? It’s pretty dang distracting, darling.”
“For the love of God,” I muttered under my breath. I stomped over to the shed doors and poked my head inside, taking a moment to stare at the emptiness.
“Gunner, all the guns are missing.”
He whipped off his hat and wiped his forehead. “Well shit, Laney,” he said, putting his hat back on, “aren’t you observant.”
“You could’ve told me that Wyatt’s personal gun stash was gone. It was pointless walking all the way out here.”
Laugh lines surfaced around his eyes. “Now where would the fun have been in that?”
“You are such an ass.”
“Easy now.” His grin widened before he tossed me a belly-aching wink and said, “You’ve always known I’m an ass. And you’ve loved me just the same. So let’s not start the name-calling, sweetheart.”
Well, that just dilled my pickle. I slung my fist on my hips and was ready to throw down.
“Why the hell were you inside Wyatt’s trailer?”
He placed his black cowboy hat on his head, tipped the brim at me, and smiled. “It’s privileged information.”
I stared at him for a minute. My bullheaded boyfriend was stringing me along. If he didn’t come clean I’d strangle it out of him. I rocked forward on the toes of my boots and grabbed him by the shirt. It was time to fight dirty.
“Come on, Gunner. You can trust me,” I purred, my voice sounding like a Hooters waitress laying the charm on thick to get a big fat tip.
I had one hand toying with the hem of his snug black T-shirt, my hips grinding into his Wranglers. The way that zipper fly was bulging against my thigh almost made me forget I was on the attack. “You can tell me. I’ve always been good at keeping secrets.”
Gunner looked pained. “Again, it’s privileged information, Laney.” He leaned in closer, grazing his five o’clock shadow along my chin. “Damn you smell good,” he said, sucking in some air. “Buy the lavender soap at the Piggly Mart again?”
I hooked my thumbs in his belt loops and tugged, pulling him into me. “Why are you all of a sudden acting so serious?”
He always did have a hard-on for the slutty-bimbo type. A low, throaty groan tore from his chest when he dipped his mouth toward mine. My lips parted, welcoming him home. I felt his tongue skim my teeth, and then he swallowed my moan with a hungry kiss. Aw hell, he tasted like homemade vanilla ice cream, a little too sweet, but so sinfully delicious. Maybe I hadn’t completely thought this through, because the way he was kissing me torched any comeback as a raging wildfire of pure undignified lust burst throughout my entire body. On a long, hard caress, he forced the tender embrace deeper and pulled my tongue into a tantalizing dance with his. Savoring the moment, he wrapped both arms tighter around my waist, and wasted no time to teach me each one of his smooth moves.
And damn, did I want to be schooled.
Gunner broke the body-aching kiss, and before I could say “more” his mouth touched my earlobe, and then he whispered, “Word has it that Wyatt might be in deep with Manny Sanchez.”
“Manny Sanchez?” I asked, surprised.
“That’s right.”
He continued working his mouth along my neck, which might as well have been between my legs. I’d gone from bitch to horny in about five seconds flat.
I feathered my lips across his stubbled chin, inhaling the richness of his aftershave as I said softly, “Who’d have thought.”
“You might wanna run out there and check.” He half moaned.
Leaning in, I placed my mouth inches from his neck. “Thanks,” I told him before jabbing my red boot down on his foot and storming off to the cruiser, leaving Gunner to deal with his erection and holding his foot.
“You cooking dinner tonight, or am I?” His voice whistled on a curse as he shook out his leg and gained my attention once more.
I wrenched open the car door, paused, then shot a promising look at his zipper fly, saying, “We both know you didn’t shack up with me for my cooking skills. So if you don’t wanna eat a cold pot roast, I suggest you figure something out, honey. I’ll see you around seven as usual?”
The mischievous smirk slowly working across his sun-kissed, chiseled face told me he intended on my ass being the main course. Not that I could deny him since I’d been antsy to get my full serving of his tight-ass cowboy butt, too. But tonight I’d make him work for it. He pushed the brim of his hat up, smiled, and let that masculine, country-crooner voice fly. “How about I swing by the Piggly Mart and pick up a bottle of wine?”
“What shitty thing did you do this time, Gunner Wilson?” I asked, curiously.
He toed a weed with the tip of his boot, laughing. “Nothing, darling.” He made a show of crossing his heart. “Can’t I just want to have a little romantic reunion with my girl?”
Romantic evening my butt. Gunner’s idea of romance had never been warm candle glow with a glass of red wine. No, he was more the type to talk me out of my pants, and then whisper sweet nothings in my ear as he took us both to the best damn orgasmic high known to man.
I pulled my keys into the palm of my hand. “You hate wine.”
“You know me.” He chuckled. “I’m always willing to do whatever it takes to make ya happy.”
“Yeah, I know you, Gunner.” I smiled. “Really damn well.” Then I slid inside the cruiser, fired up the engine, and hit the gas pedal. The heater choked out its last spritz of semihot air. I flipped on the radio. “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer” bled through the scratchy speakers. Merry Fucking Christmas, Laney Briggs. I slumped down in the cold leather seat and thought about Wyatt, the bag of money, and Manny Sanchez. The missing guns, of course, made sense. They were the reason I was searching for Wyatt in the first place. Aside from Gunner’s intel, I had no leads but lots of questions—and the nagging fear that once my mother heard news of Wyatt being knee-deep in the mud with Manny Sanchez, she might fly off her rocker. I knew who’d be on the receiving end if that happened.
Chapter Two
Living in Pistol Rock has its perks—no traffic, no lines at the grocery store, you don’t have to prepay at the gas pump—but Elm Brook has never been one of them. It was ground zero for all the under-the-table dealings of the Ector County outcasts, outlaws, hoodlums, and hell-raisers. It was also home to Manny Sanchez. He’d been an ass-sucking, dim-witted, piece of shit in high school, and ten years later he still was, just with deeper pockets and a far-reaching network.
I rolled up to a turquoise shotgun house surrounded by a chain-link fence. Parked in the cracked driveway was a lime-green 1964 Chevy Impala decked out with chrome wheels, a fat bobblehead luau girl duct-taped to the hood, and a back bumper that was playing thirty seconds in heaven with the curb while the La Virgen de Guadalupe statue mournfully overlooked. I threw the car into park. As I stepped out, a beer bottle flew past my head. I pulled my gun and stalked up the drive. Another bottle came zinging at me from behind the Impala. Maybe I should’ve called for backup. I scrunched down, taking sanctuary behind a not so well-manicured agave.
“Deputy Briggs,” I shouted.
“Are you the sancha fucking my sister’s husband?”
I shot up from behind the agave and, God almighty, perched on the porch was what looked like a couple sausages squeezed into yellow-neon spandex. Double shit. This day was definitely out to get me. It was Rosie Sanchez, and the bitch hated my guts.
Back in high school, Rosie had been a member of the drill team, the Rattlers Express, and she was infamous for her Rockette high kicks and her quick and frequent stops in the boys’ locker room. I’d met her in sex ed when I couldn’t get my condom to fit over the banana. She said that I oughta be used to dressing a cock. Fifteen minutes later I was sitting in the principal’s office.
“So you’re a deputy now.”
It was more of a statement than a question. I narrowed my eyes. “I am now, but you haven’t changed much.” I tried to look behind the overstuffed Build-A-Bear to get a better view of the front door. “Manny wouldn’t happen to be around, would he?”
She shifted her weight, resting her hand up on her hip. “There a problem?”
“Not yet.” She looked at me a little cross, and I could almost see the hair on her back stand to attention. “Now go get Manny.”
Rosie turned her head toward the door and wailed, “You’ve got a visitor,” then swung back around to apparently admire her hot-pink and neon-yellow manicure.
The screen door flew open, and out sashayed Liberace. He walked like he had a colossal shit stuck up in his colon. Manny approached me and wiggled his fingers right in my face. I gulped and lowered my gun.
“What’s this bitch want?” Manny asked Rosie in his high-pitched shrill, looking my way.
Pushing my hat up, I cocked a hip and looked him dead in the eyes. “I’ll get straight to the point, Manny. Does Wyatt owe you money?” I asked.
Manny busted out in laughter, scrutinizing me with an icy-cold glare. I didn’t see how my question was all that amusing.
“Oh, Laney doll,” he said once he stopped laughing. “You are so funny. Isn’t she funny, Rosie?” He stepped closer, almost nose to nose with me, not even slightly smiling. “If your dirty little cousin Wyatt owed me so much as a penny, there really wouldn’t be a need for you to come snooping around my house about it. I can handle my shit.” He glanced back at the shoddy prefab house, then scowled at me. “Me entiendes?”
“Thanks, Manny. Sorry I bothered you,” I said, pissed off and embarrassed. I turned and hauled ass over to the cruiser, slipping Rosie and Manny a quick backhanded wave. Gunner had sent me barking up the wrong tree. I should have seen it coming, and now there was nothing I wanted to do but call it a day. I was about to get into the cruiser when the sound of Manny’s voice slithered past my ears.
“I’m actually quite shocked by you, Deputy Briggs.” He gnawed on his bottom lip a second, then hit below the belt. “Disappointed, even.”
I stepped back around the door of the cruiser, flung some hair out of my face, and crossed my arms. “And why is that, Manny?”
“I thought that since you’ve been screwing Gunner Wilson, Pistol Rock’s local Dirty Harry”—Manny paused to swat at a mosquito—“you would have known about Wyatt ratting out Willie King for the Texas Rangers.” That smirk on his face didn’t do him justice. Manny was known about town as a calculated risk taker. The sly grin broadened as he shifted in his white suede penny loafers. “By chance you wouldn’t have spoken to Wyatt before he skipped town? From what I hear, your cousin had a helluva story to tell about Danny Redbud’s party.”
And the shit just kept raining down, and I had no choice but to take it like a port-a-potty at the county rodeo.
I tried as hard as I could to hide the surprised look on my face, but I’d never been that great at keeping a poker face. “Yeah, sure. Sorry to have bothered you, Manny,” I said through clenched teeth.
As I slid behind the wheel, I could hear his condescending laugh echo through the street. It seemed like this cycle of Gunner screwing me over would never end. But I had to give the asshole credit. He had always known how to keep me on my toes, and I mean that in more ways than one. I cranked the engine over and placed a heavy foot on the gas pedal, burning rubber out of Elm Grove.
Everyone knew Wyatt was short a fuse, but what was he thinking jumping into bed with the Texas Ranger office? And of all things, the little shit had to go grow himself some balls by way of snitching on Willie King? Willie King was the top dog in town. He owned Slick Willie’s used-car lot. For the most part, he was an all-around badass of the scumbag variety, and now my crazy coot of a cousin had gotten himself mixed up with this neck stomper.
I’d just hit the open road when Elroy Sampson’s voice scratched loudly over the radio, babbling about a holdup over at the Filler-Up. So the day was gonna drag on a little longer. I know. My life sucked.
By the time I reached the gas station, I’d had plenty enough time to think about Gunner screwing me over—and all the ways I was going to repay the favor—to get myself plenty pissed off and ready to attack the next person who looked at me sideways. But on the bright side of things, I had at least smoked out Gunner’s true intentions for sniffing around my cousin’s land. I shifted the cruiser into park and was about to scoot a boot out onto the damp pavement when I spotted Elroy Sampson—I mean the newly appointed Pistol Rock Sheriff, a gig that should’ve been mine by a landslide if I hadn’t rubbed elbows with that damn federal marshal Colt Larsen and, yeah, knocked Kate Granger out cold, well…the dang gold star could be pinned to my chest right now—spastically wearing a hole in the sidewalk and sweating like a suicide bomber about to finish his last day on the job. Just the sight of him summoned up the worst side of me, which was such unfortunate timing for the poor sap. I got out of the cruiser and lit in to him right away.
