Perfect Wyoming Complete Collection: Special Agent's Perfect Cover ; Rancher's Perfect Baby Rescue ; A Daughter's Perfect Secret ; Lawman's Perfect Surrender ; The Perfect Outsider ; Mercenary's Perfect Mission

by Marie Ferrarella

  If Jed was found, there would be no reason for Ford to stay with her anymore. No reason other than their intimacy, but that wouldn’t be enough for Ford. It would more likely chase him away. While that stung, she was glad something would put distance between them. She needed him to leave her alone. Her reality hadn’t changed. She wasn’t ready to dive headfirst into another relationship. Jed being found only solved one problem for her. He wouldn’t be able to attack her again. Her other problem would take longer. Forgetting him and all he’d done, getting back on her feet again, would take time. And she had to do that on her own. No matter how much she wanted Ford. She’d slept with him without getting to know him first. Their passion had swept them away. Well, that passion had to be controlled from now on. Stopped.

  Hearing a vehicle pull into her driveway, Gemma sprang up from the living-room chair and peered through the blinds. Ford was back.

  She wrung her hands as she waited for him to come inside. When he did, he stood there looking at her.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Why are you still up?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Again. “I didn’t know where you went.”

  He didn’t say anything, only studied her as though trying to decide what to say or how to say it.

  After a slow blink, he said, “Come and sit down.”

  Alarm chased through her. What had happened? Something, that was for sure.

  “You’re scaring me.” She followed him into the kitchen and sat at her table while he leaned one hand on it and met her eyes.

  “Your ex-husband has been murdered, Gemma.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath and covered her mouth. After the shock of that eased, she realized she wasn’t grief-stricken. Shocked that he was dead, yes. She hadn’t expected that. Arrested, yes, not dead. And now she was partly relieved and partly sad. He wouldn’t be able to hurt her ever again, but he’d lost his life.

  “There wasn’t much evidence at the scene,” Ford said.

  “You don’t know who killed him?”

  “Not yet.”

  Who would want to kill Jed? No one knew him here in Cold Plains. “Where was he found? How…?”

  “In his room at the Stillwater. He was knocked unconscious and then hanged.”

  Who would do such a thing? “Did someone follow him here? Maybe he crossed someone back where we lived.”

  “Do you know of anyone who might have a reason to do that?”

  She thought hard, searching through their friends, his professional associates. “No. But then, I didn’t really know him that well when I married him, did I? If I had, I wouldn’t have married him at all. He could have made enemies. He was a monster.”

  His observant eyes took in her face. “You feel strongly about that.”

  She scoffed, her head jerking backward in disbelief. “Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t? He threatened to kill me.”

  “Yes, he did. And he beat you while you were married and attacked you when you left him.”

  Something about the way Ford was questioning her began to have an interrogative feel to it. She didn’t back down. “Monster.”

  “He was angry that you took half his money. He probably never would have left you alone. He would have kept coming after you.”

  Now her brow lowered. Was he actually suspicious of her? “Ford, why are you grilling me this way?”

  He leaned over the table to move closer to her. “Did you kill him?”

  She couldn’t believe it. “You’re serious.”

  “Did you?”

  Planting her hands on his chest, she shoved. “No!”

  He straightened, no longer leaning over the table.

  She hopped down from the stool and he stepped back to give her room.

  “When did you lose your bracelet?” he asked.

  She folded her arms. “Why do you want to know about that?”

  “When did you lose it?”

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “The Fourth. I’ve been looking for it ever since.”

  “Including last night?”

  “Yes, including last night. I forgot that I put it in my purse on the way home, but I remembered last night. It wasn’t there, so I thought maybe it fell out.” She was starting to get mad. “Why are you so fixated on my bracelet?”

  His demeanor softened. “I remember you putting it there.”

  The bracelet must have something to do with Jed’s murder. “Jed bought it for me when we first met. It’s expensive and beautiful. I wear it as a very painful reminder not to make any more mistakes with men.” She drilled him with a pointed look.

  “It was found at the crime scene.”

  All the blood drained from her face. She breathed to compensate for another jolt of shock that rocked her. “What?”

  “Bo showed it to me.”

  “I didn’t kill Jed.” Was someone framing her?

  “I believe you.”

  “W-what?” He did? Why had he put her through all his questions? He’d doubted her until he remembered she’d put it into her purse.

  “You couldn’t have hanged Jed. You’re too small. Someone stole the bracelet. Someone who wants to make this look like you killed your ex-husband.”

  “You think someone stole it?”

  “It’s the only explanation.”

  It was. But the bracelet had been in her purse, downstairs near the front door on the small table there. The intruder had been inside the house while they were in bed. She exchanged an unspoken acknowledgment with Ford. They’d been too engaged with having sex and the chaotic emotions that elicited to hear anything.

  Someone had stolen her bracelet…

  “Why?” This was getting to be too much. First she lived in fear of Jed attacking and killing her, now she was being framed for his murder. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “You live in Cold Plains, sweetheart.”

  Somehow his sarcasm grounded her. She was beginning to see what he meant about this town. Looking into his eyes, Gemma felt warmth consume her.

  “You really believe me?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “But you didn’t at first.”

  “I had to be sure.”

  And now he was.

  “What’s going to happen now?” The police would name her their prime suspect.

  “I’m going to find out who’s doing this.”

  Her protector again. The warmth swimming around in her expanded.

  She stepped closer. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She moved her hands over his chest, feeling the metal of his badge under her palm. He put his hands on her hips, his thumbs on her lower belly. His fire lured her. Leaning against him, she slipped her arms around his neck. Then, closing her eyes to the smolder that had begun in his, she pressed a kiss on his mouth. No thought went into it. A whirlpool of relief, gratitude and fear compelled her. That and a deep-seated need to feel safe. Ford made her feel safe.

  His hands slid around her and he kissed her back. It felt so good. She angled her head and met his sparring tongue. So incredible.

  His arms held her tight against him. She felt his gun, his phone, all his cop gear, and melted into hot butter. She lifted her leg and he held it up, sliding his other hand to her rear for a licentious glide.

  She let her head fall back in ecstasy.

  He swore almost inaudibly, a gruff venting of passion, and kissed her arched neck. She began tearing at his shirt. Buttons flew and tapped onto the hardwood floor. He yanked at his belt. She moved back just long enough to unfasten her jeans and kick them off her legs. She’d already taken off her shoes, thank God.

  In the next instant, she found h
erself on the stool she’d vacated and him between her bare thighs. She held on to his shoulders while he found her moist and ready, kissing her hard as he shoved into her with frenzied strokes. The chair rocked unsteadily.

  With his hands on her rear, he lifted her and strode into the living room, turning at the now-infamous stairs. She’d never look at them the same way again.

  Gently he rested her butt on the fourth one and moved back long enough to take off his pants, his gaze raking over her. She put her heels wide apart on a step. With a moan of desire, he knelt in the space between and reentered her, sliding easily and deliciously into her wetness. She put her hands up as she had before when he began thrusting, falling into a storm of marvelous pleasure. He held himself up by his hands on each side of her waist, his feet on the floor below. His weight pushed down and up as he drove deep inside her and eased off as he withdrew.

  The corner of the step dug into her back. Ford slid his arm underneath her, as if reading her. He arched her back more, intensifying the unbearable friction as he plowed his hard erection into her.

  Gemma cried out and Ford answered with a kiss. Then he moved his mouth down her neck to her breasts, slowing his movements to spend time there and keeping her orgasm hovering on a precipice.

  But then he put his foot up on a step, lifting her leg and increasing the friction as he thrust into her. He strummed her to sizzling release.

  Ford didn’t stop. Gemma cried out as her orgasm continued. Wild sensations gripped her and then began to taper off. She loved how he met her eyes as he reached his peak, ramming into her two, three more times, groaning.

  Then he slowed and stopped, letting some of his weight down onto her as he caught his breath and settled down with her.

  Trembling, ears ringing, she closed her eyes. “I can’t believe we did this again.”

  “Damn it to hell.” He moved his leg, allowing her to straighten hers, and pulled out of her.

  Standing, he jerked his pants on and looked down at her with mounting angst. Too many losses ravaged him, and this overwhelmed him. This uncontrollable connection they had wasn’t working for him.

  Fine. It wasn’t working for her, either.

  “Just go,” she said. She didn’t need to spend another minute with his regrets. Hers, either.

  She pushed herself up off the stairs and went to get her jeans.

  “You want me to go?”

  Slipping her jeans back on, she looked at him. “Jed is dead. It’s not like his ghost is going to come to finish the job.”

  “Gemma…”

  “Don’t worry about anything. I’m fine. You’re fine. But this simply cannot keep happening.” She reached out her arm to point to the stairs.

  “I know.” He scratched his head and raked his fingers through his blond hair. “I don’t get it.”

  “Me, either.” But that was the least of her worries. “My ex was just murdered and everyone is going to think I did it.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  His faith in her warmed her up a little. “You can’t be here anymore. You’ll be investigating Jed’s murder.” Yes, cling to that. He had to leave. Her self-preservation depended on it. He might be second-guessing now, but as soon as his wits returned, he’d be back to his distant self, compliments of his past.

  He nodded. And then they fell into a long, tumultuous stare. She wanted him to stay and could see he wanted the same. But logic had to rule for now.

  “I’ll get my things.”

  Gemma nodded much the way he had, trying to hide how much it hurt to see how easy it was for him to agree. When he disappeared down the hall, she hugged her middle and kept repeating to herself that this was the right thing to do. It was the right thing. She just wished she felt that way.

  * * *

  The smell of prophylactic paste and some kind of sterile solution made Dillon move a step back from his six-foot-five, hulking dad. Curtis Monroe’s round glasses sat crooked on his face. Hair parted to the side was getting gray, and his light brown pants were creased at the tops of his thighs from sitting all day. His appearance clashed with his size. A middle-aged dentist with a serious self-image complex, Curtis Monroe was stuck in his own confused bubble, believing in Samuel Grayson’s seminars and dabbling in something secret.

  “When are you going to get a job?” his dad asked, and not so nicely. He’d been after him all summer. “You’re going to be a senior. It’s time you started taking on some responsibility.”

  “I’ve been looking.” Only cult members or those friendly to them got jobs in this town. But he couldn’t tell his dad that. His dad wouldn’t listen.

  “Not hard enough. You go out tomorrow and stop by the organic food market.”

  “Okay.” It was easier to agree than argue. He had no intention whatsoever of going to a market run by a bunch of crazy people.

  He was about to go up the stairs to his room when his mom staggered into the living room from the kitchen, spilling drops of wine from her overfilled glass.

  Uh-oh. Here we go again.

  His dad saw her and scowled. “Are you drunk again?”

  “What are you gonna do about it?” his mom slurred. “Hit me?”

  Taken aback at his mom’s show of rebellion, Dillon took his foot off the first step and waited. His mother never talked back to his dad. And had his dad hit her again? He looked for signs of bruises and saw none. He’d been hitting her more and more lately.

  Ever since his dad had joined Grayson’s cult, things had gotten out of control. More and more Dillon felt that he had to watch over his mom. Her drinking was getting bad. The rumors were spreading, too. He was worried she’d be the next one driven out of Cold Plains. There were no drunks here.

  “We were supposed to go to the community center tonight,” his dad said.

  “Go yourself.”

  Curtis was speechless for a moment. Dillon moved a little closer, in case his dad started swinging his fists. His dad was big but Dillon was, too. Not as thick, but almost as tall, and though his muscles were leaner, he was more agile.

  “You’re going with me.”

  “I’m staying right here with my bottle of wine. It’s a lot more entertaining than you are.”

  “You will not! Now do what I tell you and go gargle with something.”

  “I’m not your daughter, I’m your wife, so stop ordering me around. I’m staying here, and I’m drinking!”

  “You need those seminars more than I do. You’re turning into a drunk! You’re starting to ruin our reputation.”

  “Good, then maybe we can get our old lives back,” she slurred some more.

  His dad started to storm toward her, fists clenched and his big body intimidating. That’s what had always made Dillon cower. But not anymore. He stepped in his dad’s way and planted his hand on his chest, stopping him.

  “You got a problem?” his dad challenged, looking down at Dillon’s hand and back up again.

  Dillon had reached his limit. No longer could he stand by and watch his dad beat his mom. Once smart, happy, loving and beautiful, now she was a shell of that woman. Unhappy. Dull. Cringing in fear of her husband. They both cringed in fear of him.

  No more.

  His dad pushed his shoulder, giving him a jerk. “I asked you a question, boy.”

  Dillon stepped right back up to his dad. “Yeah, I do have a problem. And it’s you!” He shoved his dad, sending him a stumbling backward.

  Astonished, his dad stared for a few seconds, and then recovered with an angry furrow shadowing his cold brown eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “If you want to keep going to those stupid seminars, go alone.”

  Rage contorted his father’s round, pudgy face. “Don’t you talk b
ack to me like that!”

  “I’ll talk to you any way I like.”

  His dad stepped closer. Dillon didn’t back down. The fear he’d always felt for his abusive father was gone now. He didn’t move an inch and met his father’s angry eyes dead-on.

  “It’s good for her to go to them. She’s drinking too much.”

  “Maybe she drinks to put up with you.”

  Once again astonished, Curtis replied, “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I’m sick of you and I’m sick of watching you let Samuel Grayson treat you like a pawn. You’re letting him run your life. He’s manipulating you. Can’t you see that?”

  “Samuel made this town what it is.”

  “A circus? Yeah, he sure did.”

  Trigger-quick temper flaring, his dad raised a fist that Dillon caught in one hand. He squeezed hard. He stumbled back again.

  “I’m not a little kid anymore,” he growled. “I won’t let you hit me or my mom.”

  That caused a flicker of doubt to test the coldness in Curtis’s eyes. Coldness won. “You were always a disappointment. I should force you to go with us to those seminars. Maybe ask Samuel to give you a few private lessons. It would do you some good. Look at you. You have no ambition to succeed in life. You don’t have a job and your grades are bad.”

  “I’m still in school and my grades aren’t bad. My GPA is three-point-eight. Not that you’d know, as little as you’ve been paying attention. All you care about is getting your way, and if we don’t give it to you, you start hitting.”

  Flashing rage swarmed Curtis’s eyes and puckered his lips. “Don’t you talk back to me. I’m your father!”

  “You’re not my father. Not anymore. I won’t call any man who beats my mother a father.”

  Curtis tried to punch Dillon again. Dillon easily avoided the swing and then shoved his dad hard. He stumbled back again.

  Stalking forward, Dillon put his face very close to his dad’s. “Leave my mother alone. If she doesn’t want to go to those seminars, she doesn’t have to.”