She carefully lifted his hand off her and eased from the bed, tucking a stray pillow next to his side just to be cautious. The last thing she needed was for him to catch her sneaking out of her own house because she was too rattled to confront him.
Amber crept into her closet and pulled on a pair of loose pants and a shirt, too scared to go to her dresser and open a drawer to get panties and a bra. Then she tiptoed from her bedroom. Her purse was next to the door. She could fix her hair and make-up at the salon. She just had to escape.
She slowly turned the deadbolt and watched over her shoulder as she pulled open the front door. Her breath expelled in a soft whoosh when Raylan failed to appear. She turned, ready to run, only to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. Tommy stood at the top of her steps, wearing the same wrinkled t-shirt from the night before.
Amber grabbed her chest, trying to get her racing pulse under control before she passed out. He climbed the last stair, and hovered at the entrance to her porch, taking up too much of her real estate. Amber shuffled backwards.
“I tried to call you this morning to apologize for last night.” He crowded up another step, blocking her only exit.
She could retreat back into the house, lock the door, and pray he went away. But so far, Tommy was about as easy to shake as mono—and just as unpleasant. Amber planted her feet. “That’s because we’re through, just like I told you last night.”
Tommy shuffled forward, shoulders hunched, the dark circles under his eyes prominent. He didn’t radiate heat like Raylan, leaving her body temperature ten degrees higher in its wake. His proximity left her cold and filled with dread.
“No, you broke up with me. Don’t I get a say in the matter?” His proximity forced her to tilt back her head.
When he’d first chased after her, she’d thought his relentless pursuit charming, finally caving to give him a shot. Now she felt more like a teacher scolding a third grader. “I’m sorry, but no. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You can’t keep ignoring me.” Tommy slapped the doorframe right next to her head. “I won’t let you.”
Amber jumped back instinctively, and a chill cinched the muscles between her shoulder blades. “Back off or I’ll call Sheriff Lawson.”
Tommy didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned further down, intruding into her house. “I saw a man come into your house last night. And that’s his truck right there. Who are you fucking?”
Fear snaked down her legs, making them tremble. She stepped backwards, and Tommy followed. Amber chanced a glance over her shoulder, praying Raylan didn’t hear the commotion.
And immediately wished she’d kept her gaze forward.
“I believe the lady asked you to leave.” Raylan’s voice, from right beside her, sent an altogether different chill down her spine.
“Who the fuck are you?” All semblance of good old boy disappeared, and Tommy’s face transformed into a mask of rage, the veins in his eyes popping red.
Raylan put his hand on the doorframe and leaned sideways.
If Amber didn’t know his body’s reactions better than her own, she would’ve thought he was relaxed. Except his knuckles turned white, and his mouth flattened into a hard line.
“Well now, I guess I’m the man she’s fucking as you so crudely put it. But where I come from, gentlemen don’t cuss in front of a lady.”
Tommy’s whole face flushed red. His fleshy lips curled into a snarl. “Apparently, she’s not the lady I thought she was.” Tommy spat on her porch.
Amber’s fear was chased away by fury. She jabbed a finger in his face. “Get off my property, right now.”
“Slut.” Tommy grabbed her finger and twisted it, until she bent forward under the sharp jab of pain in her hand.
Raylan gripped Tommy’s wrist and squeezed. Tommy’s finger’s opened and before Amber could so much as flinch, Raylan’s fist flew by her head. She blinked, and Tommy was on his back in your front yard. Her heart raced a thousand miles per hour.
“Excuse me.” Raylan gently nudged her to the side and stood at the top of her porch steps, all king of the mountain. “If you come near her again, I’ll make that feel like a love tap.”
Tommy climbed to his feet, cradling his jaw.
Amber tensed and held her throbbing hand, waiting on him to rush the porch and tackle Raylan. But all he did was point a beefy finger in her direction. “I’ll finish this with you later.”
Raylan sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
He took a step down, and then another, until he was flat-footed in her front yard standing a few feet from Tommy. “Let’s just cut to the chase. I am a DEA agent. I’ve got tons of experience. I take down cowards like you every day.” Raylan’s voice was smooth as silk. “If I see you bother this lady again—hell, if I even hear a rumor that you’re thinking about bothering her—I’ll slap cuffs on you so fast your head will spin. And that’s after I beat the ever-loving shit out of you for threatening a female.”
Tommy paled and backed up, his flat non-descript brown eyes turning in her direction.
Did he expect sympathy? Amber slinked forward and slid her arm through Raylan’s. She caught Raylan’s surprised glance, but kept her focus on her ex-boyfriend. Disgust at herself for giving in to dating him roiled in her gut. “Thank you, Raylan.”
She smiled up at him sweetly, throwing a little icing on her eat-shit-and-die cake. Maybe Tommy would finally get the hint and leave her alone.
Tommy’s gaze wavered for a minute, hurt flashed in his eyes, and then he darted for his truck across the street, cranked it up, and was gone, leaving her trembling and holding on to the very man from which she’d been trying to run.
Her excuse for having been with someone like Tommy was pathetic. It wasn’t like she’d gone all Julia Roberts and sleeping with the enemy—no her excuse had probably been worse. She’d settled. Tommy had pushed and pushed. Her mother jumped at the chance for Mercy royalty and like the good daughter she was, Amber’d caved.
And now, here stood Raylan, oozing enough sex appeal to sell out Walmart. The man should bottle it. He’d be a billionaire. But he’d already done harnessed that sex appeal. From what she heard, he’d not only bottled his charm, he’d sold it on a black Friday discount rate. And just like those sad desperate midnight shoppers, she’d flocked to him, standing in line for her turn at the daily deal. And stupid her, she’d been shocked when he ran out the very next day without a word.
The only proof they’d had sex had been the small bloodstain on her sheets and the tenderness between her legs. Now, the confident badass was back for more, and here she was again, drooling over him as if he were a new toy.
As soon as Tommy’s truck disappeared around the curve, Amber yanked her hand from Raylan and stormed to the front door. Anger eating up her insides. “I don’t need you stepping in.”
Raylan turned that same hard, patient gaze on her and arched a black eyebrow. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
Amber took a step back and grabbed her door. “Yes, you came back to Mercy.” Amber punctuated her shout by slamming the door in his face.
Breathing hard, hands clenched into fists, she collapsed against the door, eager for any support before her legs completely gave out.
“What on earth?” Saline stood in the center of her living room, eyes wide.
Amber wanted to groan. Her friend must have let herself in the kitchen door while the front porch was a war zone.
Amber’s attempt to sneak out of her house undetected had turned into WWF match. Before Saline could even open her mouth, Amber held up hand. “Not now.”
Saline slapped her jaws shut.
A knock sounded on her door, and she nearly collapsed. With her luck, it was Channel Seven News here to record her humiliation. If it was Raylan wanting back in, he could just go to hell.
“I need my boots,” came Raylan’s muffled voice.
Amber’s suppressed a groan as heat roasted her cheeks. Saline’s baby blues bri
ghtened, and Amber knew she was delighting in her embarrassment.
Sick of her friend’s glee, Amber turned and yanked open the door. “Stay put,” she barked at Raylan. “I’ll be right back.”
Could this day get any worse?
*
Raylan watched Amber stomp from the living room down the hall, the sway of her hips sexy as hell and just as confusing.
A slight cough sounded, and Raylan turned to Saline. Her sleek flat hair was rumpled from sleep. He guessed she lived next door, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out the little interlude with Tommy had woken her. “Ma’am.” Raylan tipped his head downward.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her that angry.”
Raylan shrugged. “Don’t think she likes that guy much.”
Saline nodded. “I don’t think Tommy is the reason she’s so angry.”
Neither did Raylan. A fact he hadn’t quite figured out how to fix.
Amber stomped from the hall, empty-handed, completely ignoring them and went into the kitchen. Raylan bit back a smile. She might be pissed this morning, but what they’d shared last night had been beyond extraordinary. And when Amber strode back into the room, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, he knew she felt the same way.
She thrust out his boots and shirt. “Here.”
Raylan accepted his clothing. “Can I call you?” he asked, although he already knew her answer before she spoke.
“I would really rather you didn’t.” Amber crossed her arms and stared him down.
Shit, she was hot like this. “Maybe I can stop by and see you after work.”
Amber advanced a step, forcing Raylan to back up until he was just outside her door.
“No, Raylan. Don’t call. Don’t come over. Just do what you’re best at and leave.” Amber slammed the door in his face for the second time that morning.
Raylan blinked at the navy blue paint on her front door only about an inch from his nose.
Calmly, he refrained from whistling, he put on his boots and shirt, and then fished his keys out of his jeans pocket and walked to his truck. He had really thought she’d be more forgiving than this. Good thing he was stubborn.
Raylan opened his truck door and froze at the sight of a dead cat in his seat. Shock slammed into him, and right on its heels came fury. He stuck his hand beneath the seat, found his weapon still there and breathed a sigh of relief.
Turning around, he quickly assessed his surroundings. The small neighborhood remained quiet in the early morning, not even the leaves on the oak trees lining its quaint street rustled.
Raylan tucked his pistol into the back of his jeans, and then spied a curtain move in the house next to Amber’s.
He shut his door and walked up the flower-lined sidewalk, and past a front yard that looked like it had come straight out of a Southern Living magazine. He knocked on the neighbor’s door.
An older lady, clad in a rose-colored robe and hair pinned in rollers, answered.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you saw a man around my truck this morning?”
She gathered her robe tighter at her neck. “What makes you think I would have seen anything?”
Raylan smiled, using his practiced law enforcement look to put her at ease. “I noticed you looking out the window. No worries, but someone vandalized my truck. I’m just looking for witnesses.”
Her grip eased, and she glanced past him. “I did see a man out there this morning.”
“Mind if I get a description?” Raylan pulled out his wallet and showed her his badge.
“I didn’t realize you were a policeman.” She poked her head out the door, looking in the direction of Amber’s house. “I thought you were her new beaux. It was Tommy Smith. Amber’s ex-boyfriend. He’s been out there since I got up this morning at sunrise. Can’t sleep in like I used to when I was young.”
“Young? I wouldn’t say you’re a day over twenty,” he drawled.
“Pshaw, flatterer.” Still she patted her curls and fussed with her robe.
Raylan gave her wink and said, “Would you mind if I came inside and took your statement?”
About thirty minutes and two cups of coffee later, Raylan left, armed with new information. Tommy Smith had been in trouble in the past, and Mrs. Peterson had no idea how a girl as sweet as Amber ended up with a boy like him.
Not only had she regaled him about Amber’s short relationship with Tommy, she’d recounted everything Amber had been up to in the past few years. He made a mental note to make sure all the blinds were shut the next time he was over at her house.
But the cozy glow from his visit disappeared as soon as he opened his truck door again.
A dead tabby cat, its throat slit, lay in the passenger seat, blood pooling into the tan material of the cushion. Tommy wasn’t just a coward.
Raylan glanced at Amber’s house, apprehension and rage taking hold of him. The bastard was sending a message, and Raylan had received it loud and clear. Only he wasn’t some scared little boy. He knew how to deal with assholes.
Amber might not want him around, but ex-boyfriends who killed cats didn’t take verbal threats seriously. Amber was in danger, whether she wanted his help or not, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Six
“Is the sheriff here?” Raylan leaned over the receptionist’s desk in Mercy’s small police station.
“May I have your name.” The older lady, all business, pulled a fresh sheet of paper from a stack at the corner of the desk and grabbed a pen.
“Ms. Oralee, who’s out there?” called a voice from down the hallway.
Raylan half expected the prim and proper lady to fold her hands and gently rise from her chair, but she leaned back in her brown rolling chair and yelled, “Some stranger. Didn’t give me a name yet. Hold your britches.”
“Y’all have a good intercom system in here.” Raylan hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. The small office was nestled in an antiquated brick building with glass front doors. Ms. Oralee’s seventies-style desk’s front left leg was propped up with two hardback books and a folded piece of paper. A potted fern that must have seen its heyday ten years ago hung limp in the corner.
The male voice, likely the sheriff’s, yelled again from the confines of his office, “Well, what’s his name?”
Raylan rolled his eyes. His boss would shit a ton of bricks at this behavior. Then again, his sleek, suit-wearing boss wouldn’t be caught dead in a country office like this.
Oralee glanced up at him and raised a perfectly penciled eyebrow that was as precisely executed as each curl of her short, dark-gray hair. Raylan surmised the woman must wear the same rollers to bed as Mrs. Peterson. The fluorescent light zapped, and then flickered overhead, but she didn’t so much as blink.
“Agent Raylan Wild,” he yelled right back.
Ms. Oralee slapped a hand over her chest.
He tipped his head down to her. “No need to strain your voice, ma’am. I’m fully capable of introducing myself.”
He’d put the receptionist, somewhere in her mid-seventies, as a cross somewhere between Martha Stewart and the Avon sales lady that used to come around his house when he was a little boy.
“He’s a might touchy this morning,” she whispered. “But you can go on back.”
When she winked at him, Raylan smiled. “Thanks.”
The sheriff’s office matched the rest of the building. Old. Old. Old.
Raylan half expected the sheriff to be some version of Rooster Cogburn, with a shaggy gray beard, an eye patch, and a metal star on his chest with a shotgun propped in the corner.
But the man who stood and extended a hand was about his age, with short blond hair, assessing steel-gray eyes, and enough muscles to be lethal. “Sheriff Bo Lawson.”
Raylan took his hand. “Agent Raylan Wild. I’m with the DEA.”
“Agent, huh? Have a seat.” Bo gestured for Raylan to sit before settling in his own chair. “What brings you to my town?”
Raylan perched carefully in the small wooden chair, keeping the balls of his feet on the ground, just in case the antique decided it had held its last person.
“Visiting family and friends. Not business. But I had a small incident this morning I thought you should be aware of.”
“You’re Greer Wild’s brother, right?”
“The one and only.”
“Heard your brother did some seriously good work taking down the Lobello’s.”
Raylan nodded. “Yep.” The undercover mission had nearly resulted in the death of Greer’s partner, David along with his wife, Lori—who just happened to be Greer and Raylan’s cousin. If it hadn’t been for the help of local law enforcement agencies, David and Lori would be dead. “Heard you did pretty good work, too.”
The sheriff shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe if your buddies had told me more about the mission in the first place I coulda got a little more involved.”
Task Force Scorpion, led by his friends Hunter and Ranger James, had also played a huge role in the drug cartel’s takedown, but the unit tended to be a tad close-mouthed about missions. Apparently, Sheriff Lawson didn’t like the fact they’d operated on his turf.
Raylan shrugged. “I have as much control over the James’ boys as you do.”
“So, what’s the situation?” Bo Lawson’s tone was harsh but matter of fact.
From the well-kept office, to the neatly pressed uniform, Raylan got the impression the man was less about bullshit and more about business.
Raylan had a brief thought about fudging the fact that he’d spent the night at Amber’s, but worried that might hinder the investigation. “I spent the night at Amber Atkin’s. When we went out this morning,” more like he’d followed her when he’d woken alone and realized she tried to sneak out, “there was a guy at her door. He threatened her.”
The memory chased away his cool, and Raylan had to fight to keep his anger in check. As the morning progressed, he wished more and more that he’d done more than punch Tommy in the jaw. He went on to tell the sheriff about the altercation on Amber’s front porch. “I got an eye-witness account and a license plate number.” Raylan slapped the piece of paper he’d borrowed from Mrs. Peterson on the sheriff’s desk and slid it across.
Raylan Page 4
