by Ann Charles
“That’s too bad.” He sounded like he meant it, too.
“I’m not looking for a shoulder to cry on here, just a partner in catching the bottom-feeders my ex-husband screwed over.”
He watched an eighteen-wheeler roll by on U.S. Route 191, his eyes glittering from the dash lights as old Hank wrapped up his cheating heart blues.
The desert breathed a sigh of relief after the rig passed, blowing Ronnie’s loose curls around. Sage infused the fresh breeze along with something Claire always complained about—oh yeah, greasewood.
“Okay.” He was still looking straight ahead. “But we need to be careful. This isn’t normal protocol.”
“Well, you’re not a normal FBI ass-clown either.”
That drew his shadowed gaze. “What makes you say that?”
“Your cowboy hat and boots are for real, not freshly store-bought.”
“I was called in because they needed a genuine cowboy to fit in down here. They didn’t want your sister blowing another agent’s cover.”
Ronnie snickered, remembering the way Claire had gone head-to-head with the previous FBI schmucks, exposing them as the fake cowboys that they were.
“What’s your name?” Ronnie asked, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to hug away the shivers. She wasn’t sure if it was the desert night or being this close to the FBI again that had her shaking.
“Just call me Brown.”
She scoffed. “Come on. That’s one of the most obvious FBI fake names. Mr. Black, Mr. White, and Mr. Brown. It’s like you guys can’t be original and think you have to steal from the game CLUE.”
“Not Mister,” he clarified, “just Brown.”
“No. This fake friendship plan isn’t going to work if we’re formal with each other. You can call me Ronnie and I’ll call you what?”
He tapped his thumb on the outside of the door for several beats in rhythm with Jerry Reed, who sang about his ex-wife getting the goldmine while he got the shaft.
“Call me M,” he finally conceded.
“Agent M? For real? Are we starring in a Men in Black spinoff here? Sheez, just give me your first name.”
Jerry Reed complained about working two shifts and eating bologna. Ronnie smirked. She could one-up good ol’ Jerry. Not only had she gotten the shaft, now she was working there, too.
“Mississippi.” Mr. FBI had spoken so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
“Did you say Mississippi? Like the state?”
He nodded once.
“Damn it, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Ronnie chewed on her lower lip as she stared at him through his pickup window. “You mean to tell me your name is Mississippi Brown?”
“That’s correct.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“Both of my hands are right here.” He held them out for her to see.
“Why Mississippi? Were you born there?”
“Nope, but my great-grandfather was.”
“Do you have any other state-named siblings?”
“I have a cousin named Montana.”
“Like I said before, you’re not a normal FBI ass-clown.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. So, what now, friend? Do we get matching tattoos or just exchange phone numbers?”
“I don’t have a phone and you don’t look like the kind of guy who’d want a girlie tattoo on your ass.”
“You have a girlie tattoo on your ass?”
“Don’t you remember it from the FBI-confiscated files taken from the hidden video camera in my bedroom?”
“We have videos of you in your bedroom?” Either he really hadn’t seen them or he was an A-list actor.
Ronnie fumbled with the keys to Katie’s car in her coat pocket. “I was kidding about the tattoo. How about you stop at the bar tomorrow evening?”
“You working until close again?”
“No. I have the night off, but we could shoot some pool, have a couple of drinks, start the process of old pals in the making.”
“Your sister isn’t going to like that.”
“You leave my sister to me.”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
He nodded. “If you say so, but the pregnant one makes me wonder if it’s time to get a tetanus shot again just to be safe.”
“She’s having a rough time with morning sickness.”
The sound of tires crunching in the gravel made them both freeze. A pair of headlights rounded the corner of the building, spotlighting Ronnie before going dark.
The engine cut out.
It took a few seconds for the temporary light blindness to fade. She recognized the white Bronco and its logo on the door at the same time a familiar deep voice spoke through the open window.
“Funny,” Sheriff Harrison said, “the weatherman didn’t mention anything about Hell freezing over tonight. Yet here stands Veronica Morgan getting all friendly with an FBI agent. It just boggles the mind.”
Ronnie stuffed her hands in her pockets as another breeze blew past. She could swear each one was five degrees colder than the last. Or maybe it was the frigid tone in Grady’s voice.
“What brings you around tonight, Sheriff Harrison?” She kept up their public appearance of outlaw and sheriff, since Mississippi didn’t know she’d shared more than just heated words with Grady.
“I need to talk to you, Ms. Morgan.”
Mississippi lit another cigarette. “Do you hold all of your clandestine meetings with lawmen in the middle of the night?” His lighter clinked shut.
“Of course. It’s common knowledge that you guys turn into regular old vermin after midnight. Puts me and my lack of glass slippers on an even level with you boys.”
Grady chuckled. “She’s all sugar this time of night, isn’t she?”
“And plenty of spice.” Mississippi started his pickup. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he told her and rolled out, leaving her alone with the Sheriff of Cholla County.
At the sound of the pickup tires moving from gravel to asphalt, she turned to Grady, standing her ground. “I didn’t think you were coming by tonight, Sheriff.”
“I needed to see you.”
“It’s hard to see me in the dark.” Especially from the inside of his Bronco. “You should’ve come earlier.”
“I would have, but there was a fender bender a few miles out of Yuccaville on 191 that slowed me up.” He leaned back in his seat. “Why don’t you climb on in here and get warm.”
No way. She overheated almost every time she was in close quarters with him and his bay rum aftershave. Tonight she wanted to keep her head on her shoulders, not floating up near the stars. “I can hear you fine and dandy from here.”
“Christ, woman. You’re as prickly as everything else around this desert.” Sounding more tired than angry, he took off his hat and shoved it onto the dash. “What was that little get together about?”
“I’m joining forces.”
“With the FBI?”
“No, with one Agent M. Brown. The FBI can go blow a goat.”
“Joining forces how?”
She shivered through another cold gust. “I figure since we’re both keeping an eye out for the same killers, we might as well hold hands and sing Kumbaya while we wait.”
“It makes sense he agreed so easily.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re a good looking woman.”
That was the last thing she cared about with her life on the line. “I’m not interested in sex with yet another law dog.”
“And he probably got word that a dust devil might be blowing your way,” he added.
A dust devil? “What does that mean?”
“We may have a problem.” He opened the Bronco door and stepped down. The slam that followed echoed across the vast openness of the dark desert.
“How big of a problem are we talking here?” she asked as he closed the distance between them.
He
stopped just out of reach. “Sex with yet another law dog? How many have there been, Veronica?”
She waved away his question. What did he mean by dust devil? “Mississippi didn’t say anything to me about trouble coming.”
“Mississippi? No, they found the body over in New Mexico, just south of Albuquerque in the high desert.”
“Agent Brown’s first name is Mississippi.” Another gust peppered her with specks of dirt. “Who found what body and what’s that have to do with me?”
“You might be in trouble.” He grabbed her by the lapels of her jacket and drew her closer.
She should have retreated, but it was too late now. “I have an alibi,” she whispered up at him.
“Not that kind of trouble.” He hauled her against him, wrapping her in his warm leather coat, surrounding her with his heady scent. “How many other law dogs are we talking about, Veronica?”
“There’s only you so far, Sheriff Hardass.”
He bent down, his mouth angling toward hers. “Good.”
She started to lean into him, but then pushed back enough to look him in the eyes. “Tell me about my trouble first.”
He tucked her under his chin as he explained. “A friend of mine in the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Department called today. They found one of their snitches in a culvert. He suspects the killer may be the man you know as the Polar Bear and warned me to keep an eye out for him.”
Had Grady put out feelers without telling her? “How does he know the killer might be the Polar Bear?”
“The snitch appears to have been squeezed to death. He had a broken back and ribs, as well as internal hemorrhaging. The bruising on the corpse is similar to what’s been found on other bodies left behind by the Polar Bear.”
Ronnie sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Jesus.”
“If it is the Polar Bear, and the FBI is right about him being one of your potential enemies, he may be heading this way, taking care of other business en route.”
Or was he already here? As in Katie’s big biker dude?
Should she tell Grady about the biker? She thought about several what-ifs and weighed them against corresponding but-if-nots. No, she’d wait until she knew something more definite. She didn’t want to sic the law on a guy who might be totally innocent. She knew what it felt like to be wrongfully accused and have her life destroyed thanks to the Feds’ fuckups.
“You need to be careful, Veronica.” Grady’s lips brushed over her forehead. “No more walking out of The Shaft alone in the dark.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, soaking up his body heat. Her chills ebbed. “I’m tired of constantly looking over my shoulder.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.”
She snorted against his shirt buttons. “Serve and protect, isn’t that right, Sheriff Hardass? Even for a tarnished Morgan sister.”
He cupped her chin, tipping her head up. “Kiss me with that sassy mouth.”
“You didn’t say the magic words.”
“Kiss me or I’ll arrest you, Veronica Morgan.”
“Arrest me for what?”
He slid his hands down her back, his palms rounding over her hips. “Lewd and lascivious behavior.” His lips trailed down from her temple.
She moved her hips against his, her laughter at his carnal response sounding breathy, wanton even to her own ears.
“Using your body to bribe an officer of the law,” he added.
She sank her hands into his wavy black hair, pulling his mouth to hers. “Don’t forget attempting to corrupt the Cholla County Sheriff,” she whispered and ran her tongue over his bottom lip.
“Too late. I’m already corrupted.” He bent her backward with his kiss.
She held on for dear life. God she’d missed him. She’d missed the scent of his skin, the feel of his hands rubbing all over her body, the teasing of his tongue in her mouth. Craving much more than hot kisses on this cold night, she tugged at his shirt, yanking it from his trousers, seeking flesh on flesh.
“Sweet Jesus, Veronica,” Grady spoke between huffs several kisses later. “If you don’t get your hand out of my pants, I’m going to tear your clothes off and slam you up against the side of my Bronco.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing, Sheriff Hardass.”
His lips came down again, more brutal now, his touch rougher. His restraint was slipping; she could feel it in the tightness of his muscles. His kisses grew more frenzied, firing her up along with him. There was nothing like the rush she felt when the big tough sheriff lost his iron grip of control.
The sound of a door shutting dimly reached through the raging hunger for more of Grady rumbling inside of her.
“Christ, you two!” Butch’s voice doused her lust like a firehose blast. “You guys really need to get a room. You’re giving The Shaft a bad rep.”
“Sorry about that.” Grady pulled his hands out from under her shirt and buttoned up her jacket. “Good thing he didn’t come out five minutes from now, Ms. Morgan,” he said for her ears only.
“I don’t need the damned Sheriff coming around and writing me up for allowing lewd conduct in public here in my lot.” Butch leaned back against Grady’s Bronco. “Oh wait, you are the Sheriff. Can you write yourself up? How does that work?”
“I’m off duty, smartass.” Grady put his arm around Ronnie’s shoulders and faced Butch. “When did you get home?”
“Earlier today.”
“Any good finds over in Texas?”
“A couple. They’ll be here later this week. You should come to the house after they get here, toss back some beers, and tell me how much I overspent on them.”
The sound of the police radio pierced the quiet night. A series of numbers crackled out the Bronco’s window followed by some scratchy mumbling.
“Shit,” Grady pulled away from Ronnie, striding over to his door.
“I thought you were off duty,” Butch said as Grady reached inside the Bronco for the radio.
“I am, but we’re between shifts and have one guy out sick. There’s only one deputy on duty right now and he might need backup.” Grady lifted the radio to his mouth, speaking back a series of numbers and police mumbo-jumbo. He ended with, “Any identification on the prowler?”
“You’re gonna love this, Sheriff,” Ronnie heard come through the radio. “It’s a Morgan sister.”
Grady and Butch both looked at her.
She held up her hands. “It wasn’t me.”
“You got a first name on that Morgan?” Grady asked.
“Sure do. One Kathryn L. Morgan. Five foot six, one hundred and twenty-five pounds according to her driver’s license. But if you ask me, she looks about twenty pounds north of tha—”
“Shove that twenty pounds up your ass, Deputy Dipshit!” Katie’s voice blasted through the radio.
“Just hold steady,” Grady told his deputy. “I’ll be right there.”
“Meet me at the station, Sheriff. She assaulted me.”
“Assaulted you how?”
“With her middle finger.”
“Oh, damn,” Butch said, scrubbing his hand down his face. “I should’ve seen this coming.”
Ronnie frowned at him. “What? Why?”
“Carter babies make women go loca. It’s a known fact in my family.”
“It is? They do?”
“Yeah. My sister-in-law landed in jail three times during her pregnancy.”
“Jail?”
“Yep. The chief of police was her uncle. He did it for her own safety as much as the rest of the town.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ronnie shook her head at the stars. Claire was right. Katie was going off the deep end.
Grady lifted the radio to his mouth. “Keep Ms. Morgan in the holding cell until I get there,” he told Deputy Dipshit. “Don’t bother with the paperwork yet.”
“10-4, Sheriff. What do you want me to do with the sister?”
“The sister?” Grady locked gaze
s with Ronnie.
“Yeah. The middle one, I think. You know, the one we had in the lock up before that swears with every other word.”
Grady cursed off radio. Then he returned to his deputy. “What did Claire Morgan do?”
“When I tried to put handcuffs on Kathryn, the sister stole them from me and threw them in the bushes. Then she refused to go look for them, so I’m taking her in, too.”
Grady’s shoulders shook. Ronnie couldn’t tell if he was laughing or shaking with frustration. When he spoke, his voice was level again, control back in place. “Put them both in the holding cell until I get there and can sort this out.” He tossed the radio back into his Bronco and turned to Ronnie.
“It’s Butch’s fault,” she said, pointing at the father of the child causing her sister’s temporary insanity. “He made Katie go loca.”
“Come on,” Grady said to Ronnie. “Let’s go get both of your crazy sisters out of my jail.”
Chapter Seven
Thursday, November 8th
Jail.
Again.
Twice in one month’s time.
Claire wasn’t talking to Kate anymore. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not for the rest of the year, damn it. Sitting in that piss-stinking holding cell was the final straw. That’s what she got for letting her little sister play the poor-pregnant-me ploy, landing Claire in yet another altercation with the law.
“I’m telling you it’s not Katie’s fault,” Ronnie said. She stood in the kitchen archway dipping a banana in a container of yogurt while watching Claire thread electrical cable through the holes in the rec room wall studs.
“Oh, really?” Claire pulled yellow cable through another hole with more force than necessary. “So whose fault was it that she tried to run from Deputy Dipshit when he pulled up next to Mabel and then proceeded to poke him repeatedly in his doughnut belly when he threatened to take her into the station for questioning?”
Claire should’ve known better than to let her nutty sister talk her into driving to Yuccaville for some mint chocolate chip ice cream to appease her late-night cravings. Then she was foolish enough to take the shortcut Kate suggested on the way to the grocery store.
