“Yes,” I whispered as the water cascaded around us. “Exactly like that.” My cheek pressed the shower wall when his balls slapped my quivering pussy.

  “Touch yourself, sweetheart. Make yourself feel good. I want to hear you.” He sank another inch of his cock into me. “Come with me, sweetheart,” he murmured, on the edge of his release.

  I reached between my legs and found the burning heat sending me into a tailspin. With two fingers I rubbed my clit and felt the feverish desire wash over me as my orgasm hit, and my cowboy finally claimed the last remaining part of me.

  Chapter Four

  I dragged myself out of bed around the same time the moon was exchanging places with the sun. After splashing my face with cold water, I brushed the bedhead out of my shoulder-length hair and clipped it all back in a knot with a red butterfly clamp. I slapped my cheeks to get some color in them, although I still looked like the walking dead. I brushed my teeth and did a quick morning-breath test into my cupped palm, then ambled downstairs. I wasn’t exactly walking bowlegged, but I certainly wasn’t going to take up any offers for a leisurely Sunday morning bike ride.

  Gunner was hunched over the kitchen sink with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, watching the sunrise through the window. He was in his usual attire—black boxers and a black T-shirt—and he looked so unbelievably good, it was like I was watching an underwear commercial. I went into the kitchen and laid a hand on his back.

  “You’re up early,” I stated, eyeing the coffee pot.

  He turned around, both hands braced on the countertop, wearing a mischievous smile and looking satisfied. “Well, good morning.” He tapped a finger on my bottom lip. “I figured you’d be laid up in bed all day.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

  “You know me,” he said. He dumped his coffee in the sink and left the mug on the countertop.

  “Don’t tell me you’re leaving,” I said. “It’s Sunday.”

  “I’m sorry, babe. Marty texted that he has a lead on our case, and he thinks this might be the one that blows the thing wide open. I’ve gotta go check it out.”

  “All right.” I sighed. “So I guess I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Of course. It might be late, but I’ll be home. And just so you know”—he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear again—“last night was amazing.”

  I smiled. “You’re not hearing any complaining on my end of things.”

  “I’m meeting Marty at the office, so I’ll see what I can dig up on the Perez gang while I’m there.” He pecked me on the cheek and headed upstairs to get ready.

  By the time I’d finished a cup of coffee, he was ready to go. After a smooch good-bye, I sat down at the kitchen table and listened to the storm door banging against the house, the Yukon firing up, and the roar of the engine as he vanished down FM 167. With nothing else to do, I settled for another cup of his godawful coffee.

  It was a blissful illusion. The phone had started ringing before I even made it back to the table. I picked up on the second ring.

  “Laney?” a male voice asked.

  I had a sudden urge to bang my head upside the wall. I clutched the phone, all the while daydreaming about a morning outside under the fall sunshine and no nettlesome cowboys.

  “Yes, Colt,” I replied.

  “If you want in on trying to bring down Kenny Perkins, you need to meet me at Bristol Mills right away,” he said and let the line go dead. I poured my coffee in the sink and hurried upstairs.

  Wasn’t Sunday supposed to be a day of rest?

  It burned me up that our federal marshal thought himself important enough to go knocking on Kenny Perkins’s door at odd hours of the day without a damn good reason. We were working this case together, or so I’d thought. If we weren’t, the only person who was going to bring down the dodgy Mr. Perkins would be me and not some goddamn U.S. marshal.

  But first things first. He and I had some unfinished business to attend to and a missing-person case to wrap up. It would take more than suspicion and Luke Wagner’s assertion that someone with enough money could get all the papers it took to freshen up her identity from Kenny Perkins. I hoped to hell the pesky marshal’s presence at Bristol Mills meant he had something we could both use.

  It was common knowledge out here in the sticks that if a man had gotten tired of his usual pussy, all he had to do was hit up Kenny Perkins, all-around sleazebag and redneck pimp. He’d inherited the whorehouse at seventeen when his late father bit the dirt during a three-way. Personally, I wasn’t entirely certain Kate Matthews had even propositioned Kenny for a set of passports. But since Colt had taken it upon himself to stir up trouble in my town on this fine Sunday morning, I needed to check out the situation.

  I drove my cruiser toward the pitifully small patch of land on the southeast end of town, populated by more than its fair share of cactus. The big red barn that was the focal point had been converted into a dozen small cubicle rooms for Kenny’s clients’ various appointments and walk-ins. I circled around the building and parked between an unfamiliar four-door with rental plates and a dead oak tree. The four-door had to be what Colt was driving since yesterday’s shootout. I kicked open my door, taking a moment to scope out the place before cautiously making my way toward the barn. Empty whiskey and beer bottles littered the ground around the wooden wire spools serving as makeshift tables with overturned five-gallon buckets for chairs. It appeared all the creature comforts were reserved for inside the barn. Some malnourished cows watched me from the other side of the barbed-wire fence, chomping away at the parched grass while doing so. Aside from the barn and tables, all that occupied the one-acre plot were an old, rusted tractor and a clothesline showcasing an array of thongs.

  I stopped outside the big wooden doors when I heard a high-pitched squeal coming from inside. I nearly lost it when the woman started talking about some cowboy being a bad boy. That bastard had tricked me. Madder than a wet hen, I kicked open the barn door and stormed inside.

  “YES! Yes! Yessss!” From behind one of the closed shower curtains used as doors, a whore squealed with pleasure.

  I blew through that shithole of a place, jerking open each and every one of the drapes, only to find a different whore smoking a cigarette or shooting tequila and staring at me indignantly. I finally zeroed in on the space all the noise was coming from. I thought twice about yanking open the curtain and charging in and instead first took a peek underneath. To my disbelief, I saw a pair of long, veiny legs pointed sky high and opened for business like a twenty-four-hour truck stop. With my blood boiling, I cleared my throat and holstered my gun, then flung back the rubber ducky shower curtain and kicked the whore-banging son of a bitch, knocking him clean off the slut and face first to the floor with his britches around his knees.

  “Colt Larsen, you’re a fucking bastard!” I shouted.

  The girl reached for a pack of menthols on the nightstand. “Sweetheart,” she said and lit a cigarette. “I believe you got the wrong room.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked slightly pitchy.

  “What she means, Laney, is that I ain’t Colt Larsen.”

  I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Damn it all to hell. I’d just stumbled in on my birdbrain cousin, Wyatt Bennett, drilling his balls deep in this prostitute. I looked at him, then at the whore sitting butt naked on the edge of the bed. She smiled and crossed her legs, although by now I didn’t see the point. Wyatt got to his feet, trying to pull his pants up over his dick. I shook my head, trying not to look at his spindly pecker.

  “I’m sorry,” I stated, slowly backing out of the room.

  “You need me for somethin’, Laney?” Wyatt asked, smiling his wide bucktoothed grin.

  “No. And I better be on my way.”

  Wyatt stepped toward me, still trying to pull up his pants. “Laney,” he said desperately, “please don’t tell your mother you saw me out here. I don’t do this all the time. I just needed to blow off some steam.”

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. “You have nothing to worry about,” I said, hiding my eyes behind my hand. “I am going to do everything I can to scour this from my memory and never think of it again. Is that good enough for you?”

  “Yep.” His mullet flopped about as he nodded, then added, “I’ll be done here in a few minutes if you wanna go grab some breakfast.” He cocked his chin at his lady friend. “I’ve worked up a hell of an appetite.”

  I looked down at my boots. “I’ll take a rain check, Wyatt,” I told him, backing out of the room.

  “Come on, Laney,” Wyatt called after me. “I need to talk to you about some things. I’ll even buy.”

  “Not now, Wyatt,” I said, walking down the hallway, adding, “And next time you’re here, wear a raincoat.”

  I ripped open the barn door and was blindsided by a plaid pearl snap. “Where have you been?” I asked, annoyed.

  “Scoping the place out. Why?” he answered.

  “I was looking for you.”

  “Well, hotcakes, here I am.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him, pretty sure this was all a wild-goose chase, and I was about to start handing this jerkwad cowboy his head.

  “We need to talk to Kenny,” he said. “See if he knows anything about Kate and a new passport or about that son of a bitch shooting at us yesterday. And I called you to lend a hand, seeing that these are your people.”

  The man was dumber than a doorknob.

  “Really?” I rolled my eyes at him. “You’re just gonna walk up to his door and ask to talk?”

  “Why not?” he asked. “It’s part of the job, and he’s the only lead we’ve got right now, so let’s go, Deputy.”

  We made our way across the property and up to Kenny’s little piece of paradise tucked away in some mesquite trees behind the barn. It was really nothing more than a run-down shack with a cracked cement porch sinking into the red dirt. All the windows were covered with Lone Ranger sheets, and the two orange lawn chairs on the porch were worn down to mere shreds.

  Colt’s boots abruptly stopped at a pile of Icehouse beer cans. He kicked them aside and looked sideways at me. “I was able to get some of the girls talking earlier,” he said, “and it appears Abby told us the truth and Luke was right about Kenny supplying fresh paper for a fee. Kate’s been out here.”

  I slung a hand on a hip and studied him hard.

  He tipped his hat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot?” I asked him. “You went behind my back. I thought we said we’d hit this place up together.”

  “We are hitting it up together,” he shot back. “I just got here early.”

  I pushed him aside. “This is so not over, Marshal. I still think you’re holding back on me, and one way or another you’re going to cough it up.” I pounded on the door. When no one answered, I rapped again.

  Colt slid up next to me, placing his mouth too close for comfort. “I didn’t mean any disrespect by getting out here early,” he said. “I’m just antsy to get this case solved, what with getting shot at yesterday and not knowing for sure who did it.”

  I couldn’t fault him there, since I had a little of that shooting left on my mind as well. “Well, let’s get on with this,” I snapped and reached for the screen door. “Kenny, it’s Laney Briggs. Open up,” I shouted.

  The deadbolt jimmied, and then a hand wrapped around the doorframe. “I don’t want any trouble,” Kenny told us, poking his head out from behind the door. He wiggled a finger in Colt’s face, giving me a partial view of the sleeveless undershirt no one in his physical condition should wear. “I saw this guy snooping around my place. Neither one of you have any right coming round here.”

  That was true. Prior to Luke telling me Kenny was the go-to guy for fake IDs, us local cops had never been able to stick him with any real charges. But it was also true that the mayor frequently made appointments with Kenny’s “associates,” as he called them.

  I stuck a boot inside the doorway. “We just want to talk, that’s all.”

  Kenny pointed at Colt. “Who’s the one been snooping around my place?”

  I cut a look at Colt. “Sorry about that, Kenny,” I reassured him, “that’s Mr. Larsen. It won’t happen again.”

  Kenny tried to shut the door on us, but my boot stopped him. He looked down at it, then back up at Colt. “Why don’t you tell me who you really are,” he said, not buying any of our bullshit.

  Colt stepped forward. “I’m Federal Marshal Colt Larsen. I’m looking for a lady friend of mine. She’s about five foot seven, a blue-eyed blonde, and she’s extremely easy on the eyes. Might go by the name Missy Granger or Kate Matthews. Can you tell us where she might be?”

  Kenny’s face brightened. “Oh, I get it.” He grinned maliciously. “You’re looking for that little peach who camped out at my humble abode the other night.”

  Next thing I knew, Colt had laid Kenny on the floor with one swift jab to the nose.

  Kenny Perkins moaned and groaned, cupping his rearranged nose. Blood seeped through his hand, rushing down his chin and tinting his pit-stained wife beater red. I stood back and watched. He tried to scurry across the dingy Berber carpet, but Colt charged after him, fists drawn and nostrils flaring. This was going to be a bloody mess. Desperately, Kenny dashed into the bedroom and tried to wedge the door shut by leaning against it. His effort was pointless since Colt simply charged through, taking the door off its hinges and landing it and himself on top of Kenny. I was impressed.

  “You slimy bastard,” Colt growled, climbing off the fallen door. “If you so much as laid a finger on Kate, you’ll be known forever as the dickless pimp.”

  Sweat glistened on Kenny’s forehead. He mumbled something.

  “Come again?” Colt asked, stamping on his hand. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  “Come on!” Kenny wailed. His eyes jolted around the room, finally locking in on me, leaning a hip on the wall. “Laney,” he choked out, slobber dribbling down his cleft chin. “Make him stop. I swear I did nothing wrong.”

  Before I jumped in, Colt dragged Kenny off the floor by an ear and slammed his back into the wall. “I’m going to ask you this once and only once,” Colt snarled. “Did you screw Kate?”

  Kenny trembled. “No. I’m not that much of a bastard.” He peered down at his junk. “I mean, look at me. You really think that looker would screw this?”

  Colt adjusted his stance, tightly gripping Kenny’s shirt. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess not.”

  I walked over and patted Colt on the shoulder. “Why don’t we get on with the questioning, and if he still doesn’t give us what we need, then you can knock him upside the head again.”

  That seemed to appease the hotheaded cowboy. He released his hold on Kenny and took one step back. “Start talking, Perkins,” he barked. “And what you say better make me damn satisfied.”

  Kenny gulped, rolling his beady eyes from my face back onto Colt’s stoic expression. He tugged at the ripped hem of his tank and began to fill in the dots. “A couple of weeks back, Mrs. Granger”—he frowned when he noticed Colt move a little closer—“I mean Kate came by needing some help.”

  Colt nodded. “Go on.”

  Kenny pulled at his shirt and continued. “I’m telling you first that I had nothing to do with all this.” He waved his hands in front of his face. “Nothing at all, do you hear me? But that woman is in for a shit storm. She owes some shitty folks a shitload of money, and I figure it’s better you find her before they do.”

  I moved in and looked Kenny straight in the face. “Are you talking about the Perez gang?”

  His Adam’s apple lodged in his long giraffe neck. “Yep,” he said, swallowing. “Kate told me she needed a passport.”

  Colt slammed him in the chest, forcing Kenny back against the wall. “Are you sure?” he asked, desperation apparent in his voice.

  Kenny choked but finally found his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. She was pretty damn clear on that and what she needed it for.”

  Taking into account that Colt was fixing to lose his marbles, I decided it was best I took the reins on this case. I nudged Colt in the arm and gestured for him to stand down. It wasn’t an automatic release, but eventually he clued in and backed away, giving me room to interrogate Kenny.

  I poked him in the shoulder. “Where was she going?” I asked in the most genuine, soothing voice I could muster up. “I know she told you. I also think she’s running with a lot of money that belongs to Coach Granger, and if I don’t find her soon, I’m worried what might happen if the Perezes get to her.” I pushed a boot between his feet and got really damn close to his stinky beard. The beer stench alone almost made me hurl up my nonexistent breakfast. “Now that wouldn’t be good, would it, Kenny?”

  His head shook, and his lips trembled, and then he finally caved. “She’s taking a one-way trip to South America tomorrow afternoon. She said she needed to get out of Dodge before she crossed paths with her ex-husband.”

  Ex-husband? As far as I knew, Missy and Rip hadn’t filed divorce papers, so…

  Light dawned. I looked at Colt, who was practically racing around the room, hat in one hand while the other dug finger-trenches through his hair.

  “Damn it!” he yelled finally. His cold, determined eyes locked on Kenny, who looked like he’d taken all he could handle. “What airport is she flying out of?” He stalked toward our resident pimp. “Tell me, you sorry bastard. Tell me now, or I’ll see to it you never piss out of your dick again.”

  “I don’t know…” Kenny stuttered. He threw an arm in the air. “I swear, Marshal. It’s best I don’t ask too many questions when people come around. The less I know, the better.”

  “Bullshit,” Colt said, stomping into the living room.

  Kenny was momentarily rendered speechless. He looked at me for help. I looked at Colt, who stormed toward him, wearing a “wrath of God” look.

 

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