Red Lace (The Hard Men of the Rockies)

by Kym Roberts

  She snorted. Totally un-ladylike, but who seriously cared?

  Jack?

  He was the one that drove the obnoxious noise out of her. The winter demon couldn’t possibly mind a little vulgarity since it was his incessant blinding storm that was making her mind wander and her body go numb—all except for her blasted ankle, which hurt like a mother—

  She laughed. A smile spreading across her face. You haven’t won yet, Jack.

  Her smile died. Slowly, on painfully cracked lips. She really was in trouble. She couldn’t stop for too long, or her ankle would stiffen even more and put her on her knees.

  Wouldn’t that be fun. All alone in the mountains.

  She steeled her shortened breath. Controlled the speed of each inhalation and gathered her wits. Otherwise the imaginary noises she was hearing would lead her astray. And that was something she could afford even less. That faint buzz of an engine was wishful thinking, like a mirage in the desert. The effects of pain mixed with high altitude were wreaking havoc on her psyche.

  Except it continued. A dull high whine that teased her with thoughts of hot chocolate, smothered in whip cream with a dash of Kahlua. Okay, how about a splash of the sweet liqueur.

  Who was she kidding? She’d take the whole damned bottle and chase it with the hot chocolate.

  But the sound continued and Faith was forced to sing to make it disappear. Her God-awful voice, however, couldn’t drown it. Couldn’t even make it pause for one fraction of a second.

  And hallelujah, she finally realized it was the sound of a snowmobile. Except it didn’t seem to be moving; in fact, the noise seemed to whisk in with every gust—swish—hmmmm—swish—hmmm.

  Which made the tiny bit of hope starting in the back of her brain, begin to scatter on the wind. Because:

  A. Who would be sitting stationary on a snowmobile at this time of night, in this weather, all the way up here, and

  B. The noise wasn’t getting louder or more faint, it was just there…in the trees to her left.

  Faith strained her eyes, trying to shade them from the blowing bits of ice and snow that felt like tiny shards of glass cutting her face. A faint outline of sled tracks along with a delicate pattern of dark droplets appeared about ten feet away. She followed them, thinking maybe the machine was leaking oil or some other fluid. But as she drew closer, it became obvious from the steady hum that the engine wasn’t disabled, but in fact, sitting idle.

  And the pattern was getting wider, heavier. Like someone had laid a path of lace in the snow so they wouldn’t get lost.

  The hairs on the back of Faith’s neck prickled—then stood straight up as the steady hum was joined—by a very human moan—of the boogeyman variety. She froze, and on instinct, bent down to check out the liquid lace before proceeding. No, oh no, the trail she had thought was black—was actually a deep, deep crimson.

  Crimson lace, red lace…made from blood.

  Chapter Two

  Red lace.

  His angel wore red lace.

  Not like the paper doilies kids used for art projects. Not like the heavy holiday tablecloth that his grandma Rosie draped over her expansive dining room table. No, this was the sheer kind. The kind that left a hint of mystery as to the exact shade of her pert nipples straining against the delectable fabric. The kind that made a man’s mouth water, and his dick stand at attention.

  What the fuck had he been wasting his time on? There was a veritable goddess leaning over him. He looked up, thanking the heavens he’d earlier cursed, for the vision in red lace.

  Her hair, braided in one thick long cord, fell over her shoulder in shades of deep chestnut, copper and gold. A chilly, white dusting covered the crown of her head—he swore it was a halo. Her large brown eyes were so dark, he could wander in them for hours and never find his way out. But it was her swollen bottom lip, slightly cracked, like a chink in her innocence, that made him want to get lost in the moment. Curved and sensual, that mouth could send a man to straight to heaven…or hell. Maybe both.

  The angel was trying to tell him something, but it must have been the language of the gods slipping from her mouth, because none of it made sense. Yet somehow it seemed to bond to his very soul.

  Well, at least his dick. That particular appendage seemed ready to swear an oath of loyalty for all eternity. Thank God, she wasn’t real.

  Because if she was real, those perfect breasts spilling over the top of that delicate material wouldn’t go untouched. They’d be in his hands.

  If she was real, that glorious skin wouldn’t be pink from the cold. It would be heated with passion from his trail of kisses.

  If she was real, he’d be tracing that fine lace with his tongue, teasing her nipples until she moaned, and then he’d bite through the irresistible material and make her scream with pleasure.

  Instead he was just staring at her…waiting for her to make a move.

  Yeah, she definitely wasn’t real.

  But try as he might, he couldn’t make the apparition close the distance to his mouth. Instead, she talked—nonstop in what may as well have been Tongues. If he had it his way she’d be saying, ‘I’m going to fuck you and make it all better.’ But her eyes didn’t look flirtatious. If anything they were angry, and a bit afraid.

  Afraid of him.

  He laughed, but even to his own ears it sounded more like a groan.

  She pulled on her jacket and covered all that glorious skin, zipping it up past the bra he wanted to worship…then destroy.

  She was the perfect woman. Not real. Not attached. Not someone who would break his heart into tiny pieces when she turned away. Nor was she small, if he was able to judge from his prone position on the ground. She was rather tall, strong, and athletic. He loved watching her. Stomach flat and taut, thin arms curved with long, lean muscles.

  She was the type of woman who would give as well as she got. She was every man’s wet dream.

  Blinding pain shot through his side and he suddenly understood what his angel had been trying to say. She was going to fucking kill him by trying to load his body back onto the snowmobile.

  Son-of-a-bitch.

  He was pretty sure he said it out loud, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She just kept pulling and tugging until he was forced to help. It was either that or she’d rip him in two.

  Her actions convinced Ty that he was dead. Only the actual devil would tempt him with an angel and then deliver him to hell on an endless journey of jarring and excruciating pain. It was his vision of hell. Sweating profusely from the exertion, he slumped over the front of the controls. He wanted to look at her, but couldn’t raise his head. Her arms wrapped around him tentatively at first, until he almost lost consciousness and slipped off the side. It was the high-pitched, “Don’t you fucking die on me!” in his ear that kept him from spilling off the side.

  He tried to respond. Even smile, because his angel wasn’t used to the word fuck. No, the word came off her tongue like a teenager trying to be tough—when she wasn’t. Ty succeeded in making his lips curve, but his grin probably looked more like a rabid animal, baring his teeth in the freezing cold as she flew over a particularly large embankment and landed with a jolt that knocked his eyes wide open.

  His groan was met with a smart retort, “If you weren’t in the line of work that involves killing people, you wouldn’t have a bullet in your gut and this ride wouldn’t be necessary. And don’t try to tell me it was a hunting accident. Hunters dress in neon colors so others won’t mistake them for game. Your camo is made to blend into the snow.”

  She was right of course, but working for a federal prosecutor hardly qualified as dangerous duty, at least not compared to his last job. But that ship had past. Sunk actually, along with his dream career.

  He’d been the one to stand up, not hide behind the veil of secrecy. All it got him was the blame for an offense he didn’t commit—didn’t even know about until it was too late. All done in the name of brotherhood. Honor. A bond so tight, it should su
rvive the scandal of the sordid truth.

  But the oath had backfired, flew in Ty’s face like a pile of shit from a fucked-up fan. It was the brutal, ugly truth of corrupt men—character flaws so great, so ugly, it was inconceivable. And no one had seen it. Not Ty. Not their boss. And certainly not the woman his team met in the hotel bar—the lost, broken woman who wore the marks of a monster on her arms.

  And Ty had unknowingly been caught up in a murder investigation that left him as the primary suspect.

  All because he’d vowed to protect, to insulate, to destroy any entity that tried to defeat the brotherhood, only to have his lying-ass team say Ty was the one who had a fucking-one-night-stand-mistake that ended with a young woman dead.

  Even now he wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. The crime wasn’t funny. Their depravity wasn’t humorous. And the loss of his career took his breath away.

  One oath held—to The Service. Three vows broken—to Ty, the government, and a woman who didn’t deserve to die. And now Ty once again had foolishly missed the betrayal. Reese was dirty, and he’d missed it.

  The dash slammed into his face. Ty grinned. He deserved the slap and the cold sheet of snow that blanketed his face immediately after. But if he wasn’t careful, he’d dump them both off the side, and at the speed she was flying…

  “Slow down.” He ordered.

  If she heard him, she ignored his command. He was pretty sure she increased her speed.

  Ty tried to stay focused, but the trees blurred past. The thump of her heart against his back was fast and steady, making him glad she was the one holding him on. If she’d been a guy, the proximity would have been difficult to deal with after all was said and done. As it was, it’d make for a great pick-up line once all of this was behind them.

  “I’d like to get your heart racing like that in bed…”

  She growled, but there was no way it was in response to something he said. He wouldn’t really utter that lame line in real life—would he?

  Fuck. He may have.

  Time passed almost as quickly as the trees flying by as she headed somewhere. Hopefully back to the resort so he could make sure Sammie—oh, God Sammie.

  “Sammie!”

  “What?”

  “Sammie!”

  “You can call him from the hospital.”

  “You don’t understand…must finish the job.” He tried to grab the controls, but she swatted his hands away.

  “There is no more job.” She yelled.

  But she was wrong, the job never stopped. Ty caught the glimpse of a couple houses—why was she passing them?

  Fuck! She had to be in on the murder plot, there was no other explanation.

  Ty reached for the controls, pinning her hands beneath his on the handlebars.

  “I need…to get…Sammie.” He ground out, but his vision was fading. His eyes refused to stay open. And Sammie was in a world of fucking trouble, because Ty could do nothing as lights flashed by and his vision faded to black once again.

  “Son-of-a-fu—”

  Faith wasn’t sure what was worse, the man fighting her as she struggled to keep them on the snowmobile as she raced toward the hospital. Or his dead weight. He was either unconscious…or just that—dead. Yet she couldn’t stop to check. Couldn’t slow down, or he’d fall off and take her with him. Then she’d never get him back on, if he didn’t kill them in the process.

  Her right arm and shoulder burned. They were only a couple miles from the hospital now, but the closer she got, the more she was convinced she’d never make it. Or he’d never make it.

  And all of this to save a life that was undoubtedly not worth saving.

  Yet something inside her pushed forward. Nudged at her heart, telling her every life was worth saving, despite the evidence of his crimes. There had to be someone who loved him. Loved his determination. The strength that kept him going. Surely that drive wasn’t just motivated by hatred. Or the need for revenge. Or money.

  She knew all about the lengths people would go for money. And she wanted to believe this man wasn’t one of those people, but the death of her parents had proved a peaceful town could be dangerous. Drug cartels didn’t stop at the border. And death was just a bullet away.

  Silver or lead, the threat was real. Take the money and transport their drugs, or take a bullet in the head. Her dad had refused the silver and both her parents had received the lead.

  “Ahhhh!” Faith yelled against the gripping pain in her arm, the agony in her heart that told her to run. If she was saving a killer—she would die.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you trying to kill your grandma?” Her smile teased, but the sadness in her eyes said he’d almost succeeded in doing just that.

  “I heard that’s impossible.” Ty tried to hide the rattle in his throat that made him sound like he’d been pulled out of a shallow grave, and Rosie’s smile slipped into the serious zone—a place Ty never wanted to go. Especially with Rosie.

  She leaned over and kissed his forehead, matted down hair and all. “It’s possible to scare me to death,” she said.

  “You told me you weren’t afraid of anything.”

  “Or anyone…but a broken heart might do it.” His grandmother’s voice wavered.

  Ty swallowed the lump of emotion she was cramming down his throat. Watching Rosie struggle to keep it together hurt worse than a twenty-two caliber bullet making a pinball machine out of his rib cage.

  Fuck. Who carried a .22 when he had murder tattooed at the end of his trigger finger? A .40 cal would have done the job. Then Ty wouldn’t be here laying in a hospital bed being tortured by an old lady.

  No. Your dead, decaying body would be destroying her.

  Ty reached out and squeezed Rosie hand. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Hopefully.

  “You’re darn tootin’ it won’t.” Rosie voice hitched, but they both ignored it, like a personal hygiene commercial on the radio. Too private. Too intimate. Too damned uncomfortable to acknowledge. She pulled her hand away and began straightening a floral arrangement on his tray table. It looked fine the way it was, but the distraction made them both feel better.

  Until she opened her mouth again.

  “I gave that boss of yours a piece of my mind. Sent her packing, I did.”

  “Sammie?” Something that felt a lot like guilt, fear and shame all rolled up into a ball of ice began hardening in the pit of his stomach. “Sammie was here? “They said she was okay, but I was beginning to wonder if they were hiding the truth, since I hadn’t seen her.”

  “She and her husband are fine. They said you saved their lives.”

  Ty snorted. Relief wasn’t exactly the right word for what he was feeling. It was part of it, but not all of it. “What about the guy—”

  “He’s dead. He busted into Sammie and Wade’s cabin…and became history. He won’t be bothering her, or you, anymore. It’s just a shame he isn’t still alive…then I could kill him myself.”

  Ty hid the smile tugging at his lip with a drink of water from his Styrofoam cup. At seventy-eight Rosie Strickland was the feistiest grandma in the state of Colorado. Murder however, wasn’t something she was capable of, even if the steeling of her spine and the up-tilt of her chin said otherwise.

  “I didn’t think my shot got him. He was gone and I thought…”

  “Oh no, honey.” Rosie shook her head like she was absolving him of his sins. “You didn’t kill him, your boss killed him.”

  “Sammie?” No-fucking-way.

  “Yup. The man tried to kill her husband, so she shot him dead.”

  “Oh.”

  Rosie didn’t hear his tone, nor did she recognize his disappointment laced with self-loathing.

  “Is Sammie still here?” Geeezus he was pathetic.

  “No, once you came out of surgery and they said you were going to be okay, they returned to South Carolina. Another storm is threatening to shut down the airport and if they didn’t get out today, they mig
ht have been stuck for a while.”

  Of course they did. Ty nodded, hoping Rosie wouldn’t see the jealousy and pain he felt behind her words, but the telltale squint in her eyes as they darted from the flowers and then stuck on his face, proved otherwise.

  Fuck. There was no fooling Rosie.

  He changed the subject. “Have the doctors said when I can get out of here and go home?”

  Home. That was the last place he wanted to go. He couldn’t be happier that Sammie was safe. Couldn’t be more miserable about her reunion with her husband. Returning to New Baden and watching that, every day for the rest of his life, would be a bitch.

  “Ty Beckinsale, don’t think you’re going to jump out of that bed and head back East. The only reason your mother and father agreed not to follow you to the ends of the earth, is because I made them a promise that I would look out for you. Here.”

  “I’m fine, Rosie.” Except he wasn’t. He was pretty sure his heart had taken a bigger hit than the .22 caliber round that pierced his side.

  “You’re not fine! I lied to my daughter for the first time in my life. I didn’t want her risking her life to get to your bedside. I did that because you promised that girl you weren’t about to die.”

  Again he betrayed his feelings. “I thought you said Sammie left right after I got out of surgery?”

  “Not, Sammie. The young lady who brought you in. The nurses told us she was frantic that you live. Who was she?”

  Who was she? That was a good question. Up until that moment Ty had thought she was an illusion, the kind dying men conjure for motivation to live. Now Rosie was telling him that his angel, in sexy-as-fucking-hell red lace was…real.

  Holy fuck.

  “Ty?”

  “Sorry, Rosie. The medicine’s making me hazy.” He lied—bigger than shit—to his grandmother.

  “You’re not going to tell me her name, are you?”

  Ty rubbed his forehead, like that would ease the red lace from his mind. It only served to freshen the image. Brighten the color. Make him wish Rosie had never said a word about her. “Unfortunately, I can’t…because I have no idea who she was,” Ty explained.