“We’re partners. I’ll pay. You’ll make it look pretty.”
Her gaze searched his. Maybe she saw how serious he was, because she shrugged. “I can do that.”
She nuzzled her face into the corner of his neck. By her slowing breaths, he knew she was falling asleep, but she pulled back and wrinkled her nose. “Everyone has a nickname—Dagger, Fetch, Sky, Reaper—shouldn’t I have one, too?”
His mouth stretched into a lazy grin. “You already have one.”
She arched an eyebrow.
He traced a fingertip across her mouth. “Cupcake.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why do you call me that?”
“Because you’re frosty on the outside, sweet on the inside. And I like eating cupcakes.”
Laughter shook her body. “You’re the only one who gets to call me that.”
“Deal.”
Lacey glided her hand on his chest. “I can’t wait for what’s next.”
Dagger wasn’t sure if she was talking about the next job or the next step in their relationship. Didn’t matter. He figured they were all wrapped up in one wish, anyway. Sighing, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He couldn’t imagine not spending every day and night with her right beside him. Her Prom Queen to his Prom King. Forever.
He fell asleep remembering the picture Brian had dredged up from their yearbook to pin to the bulletin board—a fairy princess in a sparkling blue gown and a tiara, clinging to the arm of a young man with eyes only for her. He’d been on top of the world. And now, he was right back there, again.
For more stories featuring Montana Bounty Hunters, read:
Big Sky SEAL
Head over SEAL
Reaper
And coming soon:
Reaper’s Ride
Cochise
About the Author
Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published nearly two hundred stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Entangled, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Kindle, Kindle Worlds, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.
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Laying Down the Law
New York Times and USA Today
Bestselling Author
DELILAH DEVLIN
Chapter 1
Rain fell in sheets, so heavy and fast that it wasn’t long before Zuri Prescott’s hands ached from her death grip on the steering wheel. The darkness muted her headlights so that she couldn’t see farther than twenty yards in front of her, but the beams still glossed the highway’s surface to a bright glare, which left her wondering whether she was inside the lines or sailing down the middle.
She’d been driving for hours, numbed to the worsening conditions, her mind caught in an endless loop, reliving the horrors of the day.
Her panic hadn’t lessened for even a moment since she’d first felt a gun pressed against her temple early that morning as she’d begun unlocking the side door of the branch bank, and a harsh voice whispered in her ear to get it open fast.
A heated body had moved close to her back and crisp, spicy cologne drifted over her. With her hands shaking, she’d unlocked the door, and then let him shove her through.
She’d landed on her knees, her pantyhose shredding on impact—the long, fat ladder that rippled up her thigh as strangely upsetting as the masked man behind her who grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up to face the security alarm.
She’d pressed the buttons on the key pad, disarming the premises alarm, and dropped her hands. But another nudge of hard steel against her back, and his hushed, “The vault alarm, too, sweetheart,” had her punching a second set of numbers before he hustled her around the corner toward the vault, out of sight of her manager who waited in the parking lot for the all-clear signal.
The vault operated on a timer. At any other time of day, she wouldn’t have been able to open it—a fact that didn’t register until later. She’d spun the two combination locks, heard the inner mechanisms clang as they released, and he’d reached around her to grab the lever and push it down. The large steel door swung open.
The thief had shoved her through the anteroom with security deposit boxes lining both side walls, heading straight for the locked door at the rear. Again, he’d waited while she’d found the key and opened the door, then shoved the mesh interior gate inward.
Forcing her to her knees, he’d wrapped her wrists and ankles in duct tape, and pulled a hood over her head.
Then she’d been left to shiver on the floor, listening to the sounds he made as she followed him in her mind through the gate while he scooped stacks of cash into a bag. One side only. Later, the assistant manager pointed out that the thief must have been timing himself, a real pro, because he’d skipped the temptation of pausing to finish the sweep.
Less than five minutes had passed since they’d entered. Another two and the manager would call the police.
The thief had walked back to her and knelt, his knee touching hers as he leaned close.
She’d stayed silent, afraid as she’d never been before, because she knew he was going to kill her.
But the sound of keys rattling against glass had him scrambling to his feet and rushing out of the vault. A muffled shout and a single piercing shot was followed by the soft swoosh of the door closing.
For several interminable moments, she’d sat frozen, afraid he’d come back. But when he hadn’t, she’d crawled on her belly across the floor, inching her way toward the first desk in the lobby to hit a panic button, but she needn’t have bothered. Already, sirens screamed in the distance, and she slumped on the floor, shivering and beginning to cry.
When the police arrived, her hood was pulled off, and a grim-faced police officer helped her sit while he cut the tape binding her.
Her head swiveled toward the door where the shot had sounded, and she saw another officer bent over Sam McWherter, her boss, whose rotund body lay spread-eagle on the floor, blood seeping outward to soak into the carpet.
The officer beside her moved to cut off her view. “You’re okay. Don’t look. We’ve got this place secured.”
Everyone had been solicitous. A hot cup of tea was pressed between her cold hands. She’d been herded into McWherter’s office, away from the body and the team beginning to comb the lobby and vault for evidence. They’d been kind, gently but firmly asking her to go over the chain of events that had transpired.
She’d given them a step-by-step description—of the robber’s actions and her sketchy knowledge of his height, weight, and gruff voice. The second time through, she swayed in her chair from melting exhaustion.
“Ma’am, did anyone know your routine?”
That one question from the first FBI agent to arrive on scene sparked a dawning horror, and she froze, noting the glance he shared with the pair of detectives flanking her in leather-upholstered chairs. Someone did know her routine—and wore a crisp cologne that smelled like cinnamon and sandalwood.
She swallowed hard, realizing in a split second that she’d been set up. That she might even be implicated because the robber wasn’t a fool. No, he’d been incredibly, devastatingly clever.
While the agent waited for her to respond to the questions, she’d shook her head, giving him a tight smile. How could she tell them they were looking for a cop? Who would believe her side of the story? Especially after they did a little digging into her background. She’d lied about her affiliations with known felons when she’d applied for this job.<
br />
When she’d pleaded illness, they’d escorted her to her desk where she’d filled out the bank’s incident reports and made arrangements to meet later with the detectives and the FBI agent assigned the case at the station house to sign a statement, but her mind was already racing ahead.
She couldn’t go back to the apartment and risk meeting him. He’d have to finish what he’d started.
Gathering the handbag they’d already searched, she’d palmed her keys, nodded her agreement to see them later, and walked sedately out the front door of the bank.
Since the moment she’d slid behind the wheel, she’d been on autopilot, navigating out of her Houston suburb and heading northwest. Once, she’d stopped briefly for gas, but there, she’d received another shock when she’d opened her glove compartment to retrieve her SpeedGas key.
Now, she drove with just one thought, just one image burned into her mind. An isolated cabin, deep in cattle country. Somewhere no one would think of looking for her. Then she could take a breath and consider what to do next.
She didn’t see the city-limit sign when she passed it, but she knew where she was when she reached the highway crossroad. She turned left, away from the little town she’d once been so eager to escape, and toward the Triplehorn Ranch.
Lights flared behind her as another car took the turn. For just a moment, the rain relented, and she saw the model of the vehicle. Her panic surged again.
How had he found her? She’d driven backroads in case the police were already alerted that she’d fled.
The headlights of the car behind her switched off. Not knowing how close behind her he was, she gunned the gas pedal. Her car surged forward, tires losing traction in standing water. The rear of her vehicle wagged in a wicked fishtail, but she steered through it, not easing up on the gas. If she could outrun him, make it to the cabin, and hide her car beneath the lean-to…
She’d forgotten about the low-water crossing until she saw the yellow warning sign. With only a moment to make a decision, she kept her foot on the accelerator, hoping the water wasn’t too deep, that momentum would propel her through if it was, and held tight to the steering wheel.
The road dipped, her car hit the water, jerking her against her seatbelt, spray coating the windshield, too thick for the wipers to clear. Then she felt the subtle shift beneath her as her car was lifted and floated sideways, off the low bridge, tilting as it slid into the swiftly moving water.
Also by Delilah Devlin
Montana Bounty Hunters
Reaper (#1)
Dagger (#2)
Cochise (#3) coming soon
Triplehorn Brand
Laying Down the Law (#1)
In Too Deep (#2)
A Long, Hot Summer (#3)
Texas Billionaires Club
Tarzan & Janine (#1)
Something To Talk About (#2)
Who’s Your Daddy (#3)
Love & War (#4)
Warrior’s Conquest
Rogues
Enslaved by the Viking Short Story
Conquests
Smokin’ Hot Firemen
Dagger Page 10
