Clay: Armed and Dangerous

by Cheyenne McCray

  “Well, next time you can spank me.” Her remark was flippant, but in the next second Clay smacked her ass with the flat of his hand. “Ow!” Surprise shot through Rylie. His hand was so large compared to her butt that both cheeks stung, yet the sensation made her ache.

  “If you’re bad, that’s what you can expect.” He nuzzled her nape, his breath warm across her shoulder blades.

  Rylie moaned. “Don’t forget. This bad girl always gets her revenge.”

  “I’m counting on it, little wildcat.” Low laughter rumbled through Clay’s chest. “I’m counting on it.”

  Clay asked Rylie to spend all of Sunday with him, but she insisted she had to get home and take care of her share of chores around the ranch. He had a feeling, though, that it had more to do with her fear of getting too close to him. Even after all that they had shared since last night, he could sense her pulling away from him, trying to distance her emotions and her heart.

  After a leisurely breakfast, Clay drove Rylie back to her ranch, and then walked her up to the front porch. She paused, her fingers gripping the handle of the screen door, and raised her eyes to meet his. “Thanks for the hot time, cowboy.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were so dark they were almost black. Like she wanted him right this minute.

  He reached up and caught a wisp of her blond hair, fingering the soft strands. “How ’bout I take you out for dinner tomorrow night. I know a great Mexican restaurant.”

  She shivered, as though unnerved by his nearness. “I thought you were worried about being mobbed in public.”

  “It’s not so bad early in the week.” He moved in closer, pressing her up against the screen. “It’s easier to tell a few people to go to hell, rather than a large crowd.”

  “I... I’m busy Monday.” Rylie swallowed, her throat working. She put her palms against Clay’s chest, as if she was trying to bolster her determination. “Actually, the whole week’s pretty tight.”

  “Sure it is.” He brushed his lips across her forehead. Even though they’d taken a shower together, he thought he could still smell the scent of their sex. “Change your plans.”

  “Can’t.” Her response was barely a whisper as his mouth trailed from her forehead to her ear. She clenched her hands in his shirt and tilted her head back, a soft moan rising in her throat.

  “My dad always taught me there’s no such word as ‘can’t.’ ” Clay moved his lips over hers. “Anything you truly want, you can have. Anything you put your mind to, you can do.”

  “And you put your mind to taking me out?” Her breath was warm against his mouth, her gaze focused on his lips.

  “Uh-huh.” Clay took possession of Rylie’s mouth, his hands sliding around her slender waist and drawing her tight along his length. The woman was fire in his blood, singeing him, until she’d burned a permanent hole in his heart. No way was she getting away from him, no matter what she might think.

  Her fingers gripped his shirt tighter as their mouths mated. His tongue gained entrance to her willing mouth, and her sweet taste swept through him like the warm rush of rain in a summer thunderstorm.

  “Where the hell have you been?” A man’s voice growled from the other side of the screen door.

  The sound of her brother’s voice startled Rylie. She jerked her head back, breaking the kiss, but Clay held on to her, keeping her pinned to him.

  “Dammit, don’t sneak up on me like that, Levi.” Her tone was slightly breathless as she turned to look at her brother through the screen door.

  She glanced back up at Clay and saw a predatory look in his eyes. “ ’Morning, Thorn,” Clay said as he pulled her away from the door, giving Levi enough room to open it and step through.

  Levi glared at Clay, that protective-older-brother look in his blue eyes, then turned his frown on Rylie. “Since when do you stay out all night without calling home?”

  “You knew where I was.” Rylie straightened to her full five feet four inches, and raised her chin. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I certainly don’t need to report in to you.”

  “Well, how about a bit of common courtesy?” He brushed past her and Clay, and headed to the far end of the porch where an enormous box stood that she hadn’t noticed before. “You had me worried.”

  “You could have called.” She pushed away from Clay, and felt relieved when he let her go. “What’s that?”

  Levi dug in his front pocket and pulled out his pocket knife. “New water heater.”

  “We can’t afford a new heater.” Rylie put her hands on her hips and frowned at her brother. “How in the hell did you pay for it?”

  He shrugged and used his knife to slice the plastic straps around the cardboard. “Don’t worry. It’s taken care of.”

  “What do you mean, don’t worry?” If there was one thing Rylie couldn’t stand, it was to be told to butt out of something she considered to be her business.

  “I said, don’t worry about it.” Levi spoke through clenched teeth and gave her “the look” that said they’d discuss it when they didn’t have company.

  Her gaze shot to Clay. He had his thumbs hooked through his belt loops and was watching Levi cut open the box. “Need some help getting that inside the house?” Clay asked.

  “Sure.” Levi gave a quick nod. “If you have the time.”

  “I’ve got all day.” Clay winked at Rylie. “I can help you install it, if you’d like. I’ve got some experience there.”

  Rylie raised her hands in exasperation. Here she thought she’d be escaping his incredible masculine magnetism, at least for the rest of the day. Sure, the sex was great, but she needed time to gather her wits. Needed space away from this man who turned her inside out and made her feel like a simpering little fool.

  “All right.” She moved to the screen door and propped it open. “You two men enjoy tearing up the place. Just don’t expect me to serve anything fancier than a pitcher of iced tea and a box of macaroni and cheese.”

  Clay flashed her a quick grin. “I like mine extra, extra cheesy.”

  “I’d like lemon but no sugar in my tea, Ry,” Levi called out as he ripped the cardboard away from the new water heater.

  Shaking her head, Rylie headed into the house and let the screen door slam behind her.

  Men.

  ***

  Clay worked with Levi in companionable silence for a while, debating various ways to ask him a few casual questions without putting him on the defensive. In the end, it was Levi who broke the ice after spending ten minutes cussing a pipe fitting without ever saying the same word twice.

  He pulled up, wiped sweat off his face with his glove, and tossed Clay a half-sheepish glance. “Sorry. My temper gets away from me sometimes. I got it from my father.”

  Clay sat down on the floor outside the closet where the water heater was trying to refuse to fit. “Rylie’s mentioned a little about that guy. Sounds like a real prince.”

  “Dad was a shit, but I know he tried to love us.” The focus in Levi’s blue eyes sharpened, and Clay thought he caught a trace of U.S. Marshal in the man, the natural sureness of a hunter who could stalk and kill bad-ass villains without much remorse. “How about you, Wayland? You got a temper?”

  And just like that. I’m the one being interrogated. Clay knew the man wasn’t posturing, but he was definitely making an implied threat. Or, more like a promise. It didn’t rattle or offend Clay in the least. He appreciated the fact that Rylie’s brother looked after her. “I’ve got a little bit of a temper, but my job requires me to keep a cool head.”

  Not good enough. Clay could tell by the frown stamped on Levi’s serious features. “Would you ever turn that temper on my sister?”

  “Never.”

  That, Clay saw, was good enough. The frown eased into a more relaxed expression as Levi heard the truth in Clay’s voice. He stepped out of the closet and sat on the floor across from Clay, and for a few seconds, they gulped iced tea in silence.

  “Ry’s tough as nails,” Levi said, looking dire
ctly into Clay’s face, “but she’s soft, too. I take it personal when somebody steps on her.”

  “Won’t happen. Not with me.” Clay put his tea down, his muscles tightening as instinct told him Levi might be on the verge of saying something more important than the whole big-brother routine.

  Levi let out a long breath, then stared up at the ceiling. “She told me about getting in Francisco Guerrero’s face. I think she may have stepped in it with that asshole.”

  Clay felt his tension slowly converting to anger and wariness. “What makes you say that?”

  “He sent some boys around to rattle her... more than once, I think. I headed them off the last time, even went and had a word with Guerrero.” Levi’s blue eyes drilled into Clay. “I’m not sure he listened, if you get my drift. Maybe he’d listen to you a little harder, since you’ve got a badge and a gun to back it up.”

  The anger in Clay’s gut grew until he knew his face had to be turning red. He picked up his tea again, clenching his fist around the glass and fighting an urge to plow out of there and pound on Guerrero until the sneaky little shit couldn’t bother anyone ever again. “No problem. I’ll make sure your message gets through.” Levi nodded, and Clay felt the common ground between them getting firm.

  “If he comes after Rylie, I’ll take him down.” Levi’s expression was earnest and intense. “You can do whatever you have to do to me after that—I’m just letting you know, man to man.”

  Clay put down his tea and stood, and Levi got to his feet and faced him. Clay put out his hand to the other man, and made sure to keep his gaze steady. “If he comes after Rylie, I’ll be standing right next to you, Levi.”

  Levi hesitated for a second, then shook his hand. “Okay, then. And thanks.”

  Clay wanted to tell the guy not to thank him, not yet, but he didn’t want to destroy the small amount of trust they had just built unless he absolutely had to. He liked Levi, both as Rylie’s brother and as a potential friend. Maybe even as a deputy if he could talk the man into living for law enforcement again.

  I sure as shit don’t want to arrest him.

  Chapter 9

  Guerrero wasn’t at Arizona Motors South when Clay went looking. He had to track the bastard down at Arizona Motors West, the lower-rent operation. AM-West was nothing but a trailer on a lot, with old paneling, ugly orange carpeting, and a loud rattling air conditioner that fogged up the front windows.

  Guerrero had a few thugs lurking around the lot, but they didn’t do anything but nod at Clay as he closed the front door of the trailer behind him—and locked it. He saw Guerrero at a desk to his left, and when Guerrero stood, Clay saw that he was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, perfect for the neighborhood.

  So Armanis his theme only when he’s dealing with an Armani crowd. He’s a chameleon. He’ll be whoever he has to be to get the job done.

  Guerrero came out from behind his desk and shook Clay’s hand, and Clay forced himself not to break the man’s fingers with his grip.

  He didn’t even let Guerrero sit back down before he got straight to it.

  He let go of Guerrero’s hand and glared straight at him. “You sent men to the Thorn Ranch.”

  Guerrero’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw loosened, but when he spoke, he sounded like every word was rehearsed. “I did. I wanted to see if she needed assistance around the ranch, since she wouldn’t allow me to help her with a rental truck.”

  “Bullshit.” Clay got a little closer to him and caught a whiff of strong, expensive cologne. “You were pissed about how she came at you the other day, and you wanted to make a point.”

  Guerrero held his ground and shrugged, making a clear effort to seem casual despite Clay’s obvious anger. “I wasn’t happy with her implications, but it’s a free country. Ms. Thorn has a right to her opinion. In time, I hope to change her mind.”

  Clay pointed his finger in Guerrero’s face. “No, you won’t. You won’t talk to her again even if she tries to talk to you, and you damned sure won’t send any of your boys around to do your dirty work for you.”

  Guerrero backed off a step, then walked away from Clay, went to his desk, and sat looking at Clay. Clay had that sense again, that Guerrero was adding, subtracting, multiplying, doing whatever it took to total up everything he was seeing and hearing. “Is that a personal or a professional request?”

  “Personal.” Clay bared his teeth. “Definitely personal.”

  Guerrero leaned back in his cheap office chair. “I see.” He let a beat pass. “I didn’t know she was your woman.”

  Clay was too pissed to enjoy the your woman comment, but Guerrero was right on the money. Rylie was his, by God, and nobody like Guerrero would be going near her again. Ever. “The men who went to the ranch—”

  “Won’t be an issue again.” Guerrero’s voice rang with certainty, but Clay didn’t sense any fear. Mild surprise, maybe, and an atypical stiffness to his posture, but no fear. “This visit is unnecessary, Sheriff. Levi Thorn, Rylie’s brother, chased my men away before they could explain why I sent them, so that was the source of the misunderstanding. He came to town and spoke to me at the South showroom, and I thought we had struck a deal to call things even and let the situation rest between us.”

  Clay put both hands on Guerrero’s desk and leaned toward the man. “Levi might have struck a deal. I didn’t. You stay away from Rylie Thorn. You keep everyone you know, everyone who works for you, and everyone who even looks like you away from the Thorn Ranch. Anything else happens on that property—or off of it—if it involves Rylie, I will take it personally.”

  A few muscles in Guerrero’s face twitched, and his words came out a little high and tight. “I heard you were such a clean man, a solid officer, unlike your predecessor. I never imagined you would threaten people.”

  Clay heard the growing understanding in the man’s tone, and he eased off the desk. “There’s a difference between threats and promises.”

  Guerrero stared straight at him, and Clay saw abject rage flash across his dark eyes, followed—weirdly enough—by something like understanding and grudging respect. Guerrero seemed to debate himself again for almost half a minute, then he spoke, this time in a level, low voice.

  “Though I’m widowed, I’m still a family man. In all of my affairs, my children have no stake. I assume the families of your deputies— and your woman—also stay out of our business ventures. In my opinion, warriors are warriors, but families are off-limits.”

  Clay couldn’t do anything but look at the guy. Was he serious? Did he honestly think Clay would buy that load of shit?

  Guerrero seemed to sense Clay’s dismissal, because he went the next step, leaning forward toward Clay to make his point. “My father didn’t hold to that, and my brothers don’t, but I’m an old-fashioned businessman, Sheriff Wayland. You might not agree with my activities, though they are perfectly legitimate, but I assure you, you will not have an issue with my methods. Douglas is my home, and home and family have meaning to me.”

  Clay didn’t know what to say to that. The guy sure as hell seemed serious, but Clay couldn’t let himself forget that he was speaking to a living, breathing chameleon. Guerrero was more than capable of saying exactly what he wanted to hear, and making it stick. Sociopaths were talented that way, charming on the surface, all the while waiting like a deranged cobra for the first chance to strike.

  For now, all he could do was glare at the snake, study the snake, and try to learn its movements. He had a lot of intel to gather before he’d have a shot at lopping the head off this particular viper.

  Clay clenched his fists, then made himself relax. “Fine. I’ll trust that we have an understanding. Don’t make me regret that.”

  Guerrero’s nod was close to nonchalant, but he didn’t quite pull it off. “Good day, Sheriff.”

  “Good day, Mr. Guerrero. I can see myself out.”

  It was late Monday afternoon by the time Clay drove his truck to the sheriff’s office, still seething over his meet
ing with Guerrero. That silky little prick really got under his skin. Maybe he shouldn’t have tipped his hand so hard about Rylie, but it wasn’t like he was keeping her a secret. Soon enough, the criminal element in Douglas would know all about his interest in her—and he’d have to do what he did today a few more times.

  Rylie would be off-limits. He’d keep making that clear through whatever means he had at his disposal.

  Between that and the fact he hadn’t been able to convince Rylie to go out with him during the week, Clay was in a pisser of a mood. How the hell was he supposed to wait until Friday to touch her again? His body throbbed just thinking about her. He guided his truck into his designated parking spot, and he clenched his jaw as he threw the vehicle into park, got out, and headed into the building that housed his office.

  Even though he’d spent most of the day helping Levi Thorn put in the heater, Rylie had managed to avoid alone time with him at every turn. Finally, just before he took off to confront Guerrero, he’d told her he’d be there Friday night to take her with him to a dinner party at the mayor’s home. He would pick her up at seven, end of story.

  She hadn’t spit at him, but damned close.

  Apparently it was going to take some work to tame his little wildcat.

  As for Levi Thorn, he’d turned the conversation so quickly Clay never got a chance to ask where he got the money for the water heater. Clay didn’t figure him for a truck thief, though.

  Rylie. She’s clouding your judgment.

  Possibility, definitely. But he didn’t think so.

  Clay only nodded to the receptionist as he passed her, then shut the door to his office a little too hard before settling in at his desk. Brogan’s info was due—and sure enough, he found Rocky’s e-mails the minute he signed on. He’d checked all these guys out before, when the cattle rustling started last year, but he’d checked through mainstream channels. Brogan was something other than mainstream, and he could find stuff normal reports and file searches withheld. Frowning, Clay went through the facts on each suspect, one by one.

  First up was Zack Hunter, who wasn’t really a suspect in Clay’s mind, but Clay had spent too many years on the lines not to consider all his options—especially after Gary Woods, one of his own deputies, had gone bad right after he took the job. Who knew how many other rats were skulking around the Douglas woodpile? He hated that he had to consider law-enforcement officers as potential bad guys, but the situation on the border was what it was. Desperate times made people do desperate things.