Montana Dragons Collection: A BBW Dragon Shifter Series

by Chloe Cole

  Maybe a bit of both.

  She forced herself to stay calm and keep her tone neutral.

  "He was mentally ill. I didn't want him arrested or to play out some big drama with violence and restraining orders. I just wanted him to get the help he needed. I figured if I left, it would be out of sight out of mind." She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head slowly. "I was wrong."

  He took a long moment to digest her words and then jotted a few notes on his pad before looking up to meet her gaze again.

  "And you say 'he called himself' Vincent Sullivan? Does that mean you know for a fact that was an alias, or is that just a hunch?"

  "I can't say for sure. I stayed at his house a few times and had seen several pieces of mail with different names on the envelopes, but he didn't have a roommate. I can't recall exactly what they were, Richard something and then another one with the last name beginning with a Z... Zelinski? Or something like that." She shook her head as if frustrated with her inability to remember. "By then, I already knew it was over, so there was no point in grilling him about it. I'd caught him in several lies, and had found a stash of drugs he'd been selling to some neighborhood kids. I just wanted a clean break."

  His eyes narrowed on her face and his moving pen paused. "You didn't live together?"

  She thought back over the previous few minutes and realized instantly why he was asking the question.

  Come home, Mina.

  Sheriff Dan here was good at his job. Already he'd caught her in two lies, and they hadn't been talking for more than a minute. She couldn't imagine what he would be able to do with her alone in a room on a single chair with a bare light bulb hanging overhead for a few hours.

  She swallowed past the thick knot in her throat.

  "No. But he was pressuring me to, and when other people asked, he told them we did. Told them we were getting married, made up this whole engagement story. He was delusional."

  It was weak, but entirely possible considering good old Vincent's history of mental illness. She hoped...

  The Sheriff wrote that down as well, and, to her relief, seemed to accept it as truth. It had become abundantly clear, though, that she was digging herself a deeper hole with every passing word. She needed to cut this interview short, and fast, before she said something that couldn't be fixed.

  She waited a few more minutes, answering questions about what type of car her fake ex-boyfriend drove, and what he looked like, but she responded as briefly as possible and then trailed off suddenly, clearing her throat.

  "I'm feeling really nauseous again. I know we have to continue but you think I could sit in the car for a few minutes just until my stomach calms down a little?"

  He flipped a glance at the door of the motel room behind her before nodding.

  "Sure. I'm going to put out an APB based on this info and then I'll have Rip come out and sit with you for a few minutes. She's good with people."

  For one absurd moment, Mina wanted to laugh.

  "Rip" might be good with some people, but something told Mina that she'd only traded one hell for another. Because Rip? Had hated her guts on sight.

  "Thanks."

  The Sheriff led her to the front seat of his car and radioed Ripley, who came a few minutes later and waved him off.

  The Deputy climbed into the driver's side and slammed the door closed, without a word. Her aura was chaotic, writhing like a pit of angry vipers. Mina remained tense, at the ready, wondering how this was going to play out. It took awhile. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen passed before the silence was broken.

  "You can rest easy, you know," Ripley said, her tone low and measured. "Dan is amazing at his job. He's going to get to the bottom of this and make sure everyone involved gets what they deserve."

  On paper, it was a kind gesture. Something that, if Mina relayed it word for word back to Ripley's boss, would sound like a reassurance. But both women knew better.

  It was a warning.

  A threat.

  A declaration.

  I see you. And even if he doesn't yet, he will soon.

  The thought didn't sit well, but she wasn't angry at the Deputy. Not only had Ripley realized that something was off about Mina, she also had balls. And balls were something to admire on a woman.

  "I hope you're right," Mina replied, and burrowed more deeply into the seat.

  They fell back into a stony silence, which was fine with Mina. It gave her a chance to think. By the time the M.E. arrived an hour later, she had smoothed out the rough edges of her story and felt confident that she could handle anything they threw at her.

  Dan came back to the car and asked her if she was all right to come back and sit on the bench while they finished up. She nodded and she and Ripley exited the car to trail behind him.

  The next couple hours went by in a rush of activity as the small crew bustled in and out of the motel with tagged bags of evidence, and looky-loos were ushered back into the rooms.

  Things finally started to wind down and Jim was plastering the door in yellow crime scene tape while Dan and Ripley chatted with the M.E. in the parking lot. Mina stared at the motel through gritty eyes, wondering how far another was. There was no way in hell she could sleep at the Dew Drop tonight, even if it was a new room.

  She'd just resigned herself to catching a few winks in her rental car if she could when the Sheriff and his female Deputy approached.

  "We're about done here for tonight," he said, his face grim but determined. "We haven't gotten a lead on Sullivan yet, but I'm confident with your description and the estimated timeline the M.E. gave us, he can't have gone far. Until then, you'll have to stay with me. I don't expect it to be long, but we don't have a safehouse and I can't have you alone and at risk. My place is small, but we can manage for a couple days, or more if need be."

  If looks could kill, she'd be deader than poor Paulie the desk clerk as Ripley's poison gaze drilled into her. For once, they were on the same page. The last thing Mina wanted was to be in close quarters with the all-too perceptive Sheriff for days on end.

  She opened her mouth to argue, but the Deputy beat her to it.

  "My place is closer and has the guest room no one is using, boss. She's welcome to it," Ripley said, turning her full attention to the Sheriff. "Besides, her stuff is in the room and since the suitcase had blood on it, it's all been bagged and tagged for evidence. At least at my house, she can get a change of clothes and all."

  Master of the art of the subtle jab, Ripley sent a quick, disapproving glance at Mina's outfit.

  Great.

  So far, her options were staying with a guy who made her tongue-tied enough to the point of carelessness and a woman who hated her guts on sight. She said a silent prayer that Deputy Jim would trump them with some compelling reason that his place should be the makeshift safehouse, but he stayed silent.

  Dan shut down the conversation with a clipped shake of his head. "Nope. While I can't imagine this guy would be crazy enough to come after her again tonight, I'm not willing to put any one of you at risk. My property is the hardest to find and the easiest to defend. We'll pick up some clothes if this isn't settled tomorrow. In the meantime, she can sleep in one of my shirts."

  A prick of pity stabbed at Mina as she took in the sick expression on Ripley's face. Just what a woman in love wanted etched in her brain. The image of another woman sleeping in her man's shirt.

  "I'll be fine in this," Mina mumbled, but no one was listening. They'd already begun making plans to meet up in the morning and continue their interviews.

  She waited quietly until they were done and Dan gestured toward the car.

  "You ready?"

  She nodded and stood, following him through the parking lot.

  Had it been only a few hours before that she'd been giggling like a schoolgirl, weaving between cars so she could get the drop on him? She felt like she'd aged a hundred years since then.

  And now, instead of climbing into bed and falling into a blessedly deep, resto
rative sleep, she was going to be elbow to elbow with the compelling Sheriff for the foreseeable future.

  A trickle of panic snaked down her spine and, for a moment, she found herself wishing she had been in the room when her assassins had come. At least then, her hell would be over.

  Now?

  She had the distinct feeling it had just begun.

  Chapter Four

  The orange sun was just cresting the mountains, smudging the sky with purples and pinks as Dan steered the squad car down his long, twisting driveway.

  When was the last time he felt this bone tired? Baghdad...or maybe that rescue mission in Libya?

  He gripped the wheel tighter and bit back a curse.

  He'd come to Montana for a quiet life.

  A life outside the military. A life that didn't include zipping body bags over the faces of dead kids in their early 20s.

  He’d joined the Army on his eighteenth birthday. It turned out to be a shit-show from the word go. From a tragic friendly fire accident that left a drill sergeant maimed during boot camp, to an ill-fated paratrooper training exercise that resulted in the death of his best friend, he'd known then that he was some sort of magnet for darkness.

  For a while, a switch flipped inside him and he had embraced it. An angry young man in a job perfect for angry young men. Focused his energy on doing his best to ensure that if violence was to be his constant companion, it came to those who deserved it. But after dozens of missions and rivers of blood, even that had lost what little charm it held.

  Now, at age thirty-two, he just wanted some fucking peace.

  The Sheriff before him had sworn his days here in Styx, Montana would be filled with disputes over cattle, bar fights and the occasional domestic disturbance. And for a while, he'd been right. But Dan had been here less than a year before the shit had hit the fan.

  He gripped the wheel tighter and flicked a glance to the sleeping form in the passenger's seat next to him. Even pale and exhausted, after a horrific night, Mina Silva was still the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on. Her black hair tumbled around her shoulders, highlighting the almost pearl-like skin that, in spite of everything, made his hands itch to touch her.

  She wasn't what she seemed, and he was fairly certain that at least half of what she'd told him was a lie, but she'd been balls-on about one thing.

  He'd known the second he'd seen her at the bar that she was trouble.

  Dumbass that he was, though, he'd assumed she'd only be a threat to his sanity and his libido. Instead, it might turn out that she was a threat to his people. And that? He couldn't abide.

  Now, he had to keep her as close as possible until he answered the million-dollar question.

  How bad was she?

  A sizzle of unrest ran through him as they reached the front of his house. He slid the car neatly into its space, and shifted into park.

  "Mina? We're here," he murmured, reaching out to pat her shoulder before stopping short. He'd touched that silky flesh before, and he'd do best to avoid touching it again.

  She stirred and, after a few moments, her lashes fluttered as she blinked up at him, revealing sleep-softened, blue eyes.

  "Sorry," she rasped, sitting upright quickly and running a hand through her tousled hair. "I can't believe I fell asleep."

  He could believe it. It had been a hell of a night. Between the drinks and all the stress, he was surprised she'd made it more than halfway into the thirty-five minute drive to his house. Now that they were here, though, and he was faced with spending the immediate future in his tiny cabin with her, he found himself wishing he'd let her sleep a little longer.

  "It's good," he managed with a nod. "Your brain needed the break." He turned off the car and opened his door. "Let's get you inside and get some hot food in your belly and a few hours of rest. That will help clear both our heads."

  And a clear head would be a blessing right now.

  His stomach clenched as he closed the car door behind him, knowing what the coming day held. According to a long-term guest at the motel, Paulie the clerk was an out of town-er, here for spring and summer work with a couple of friends. Rip had radioed Dan on the ride over to tell him that she'd located his family in Wisconsin. Once they'd had the owner of the motel come out to the morgue and ID the body, a call would have to be made to tell those parents that their son had been murdered, and he would be the one to make it.

  He strode up the stone pathway, glancing back to ensure that Mina was on his heels. She followed close behind as he made his way up the rickety wooden steps to the front door. Guilt pricked him at the sound of the mournful yowl that greeted him as he unlocked the door.

  Poor Susie Q hated being alone at night. But she was a sweet and forgiving soul, and the second she set those hangdog eyes on him, the yowling stopped and her whole wrinkly body quivered with excitement.

  "Hey baby girl," he murmured, dropping to a squat to pat the bloodhound's velvety head.

  As usual, she sensed his mood and calmed instantly, nuzzling closer to lick his hand, almost as if comforting him. He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up, carry her over to the bed, and fall into an exhausted heap with her on his chest until morning.

  But they had a guest. He patted her head one more time before straightening to face Mina, who was milling in the doorway.

  "This is Susie Q. I don't know if you're afraid of dogs, but she doesn't bite."

  Mina shook her head and bent low, hand extended. "I'm not afraid, but for some reason, animals usually don't like me."

  Susie Q cocked her triangular head to the side and regarded Mina through bloodshot eyes with something akin to confusion. She sniffed the preferred hand and shot a glance to Dan before turning and scurrying off toward her doggie bed.

  Mina's pale cheeks flushed a little and her lips quirked into a tight smile.

  "See? I don't know what it is."

  He did.

  Animals could sense danger. Susie Q had recognized just as quickly as he had that this woman was trouble. Only difference was, the dog had played it smart and walked away. If only he had that luxury now.

  He kept that observation to himself as he tossed his keys onto the side table and waved for Mina to follow him into the galley-style kitchen where he flipped on the overhead light.

  "I don't keep a lot in the house," he said, heading for the fridge and yanking it open. "I've got the fixings for bacon and eggs, or I can heat up a couple cans of chicken soup. What do you prefer?" He shot a glance over his shoulder and found himself once again caught by her beauty.

  She stood leaning against the doorjamb, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she mulled over his question, and all he could think about was replacing her teeth with his own and testing the softness of that lip.

  He was one serious asshole. The scent of blood from the crime scene still lingered in his nostrils and here he was hot and bothered by the woman at the center of this whole mess.

  "To be totally honest, I really don't think I could eat right now. But you go ahead," she said softly.

  He straightened and let the refrigerator door close, squeezing his eyes shut as the last of the adrenaline that had been keeping him going drained away. He had been up for twenty-four hours now and suddenly it felt twice that long.

  She was right. Food could wait.

  "Let me change my bed-sheets for you quick and grab some pillows so I can make up the couch for myself, and then we'll try to get some shut eye."

  He led her into the living room and gestured toward the sofa.

  "Have a seat."

  She sank down with a weary sigh and he headed into his bedroom. He paused to pick up the dirty clothes on the floor, and then quickly stripped the bed. It took him a few minutes to find a clean set of sheets, but once he did, he made short work of getting everything ready for his guest.

  He crossed the room to the linen closet to grab himself a spare blanket and pillow before making his way down the hall back toward the living room.


  "I left one of my shirts on the bed for you. And if you get cold in there, there's a thermostat on the wall by the--"

  He stopped short as the sound of soft snores reached his ears. Mina was sprawled on the sofa, flat on her back. One arm was thrown over her eyes, the other rested on her chest. Her bustier had ridden up to reveal a few inches of taut stomach, and he had to tear his gaze away.

  What to do now? She was fully dressed, boots and all, which would hardly allow her a comfortable sleep. Plus, he preferred to have himself between her and the door in case anyone tried to break in.

  Or she tries to break out, a little voice in his head cautioned.

  She shifted slightly, snuggling deeper into the cushions, and he made a judgment call.

  He closed the distance between them and laid the blanket in his hands over her. She was clearly shot and in desperate need of rest. As long as he kept his bedroom door open, he'd be sure to hear if she stirred. And if anyone came to the door, Susie Q would start caterwauling.

  Exhaustion settled over him like a woolen blanket. It would be fine. It might not be a safehouse, but he had full confidence in his ability to protect Mina if the need arose.

  He went and flipped off the kitchen light, pausing to deadbolt the front door as he passed.

  By the time he climbed into bed a few minutes later, he could hardly see straight. Despite his exhaustion, though, when his head hit the pillow, the grisly scene from the night before filled his head, dragging with it another thought that had been dogging him from the second he'd opened that motel room door.

  Why?

  Why here?

  Why now?

  Styx had been a quiet little town since its inception, and now all of a sudden everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. People missing, and now a second murder in his town that hadn't seen a murder in five decades, all within a few months’ time. What were the odds of them being totally unrelated?

  Slim to none.

  Which meant his houseguest might be more than just a garden-variety troublemaker. She might be the lynchpin to this whole thing.