by Kat Martin
Izzy rubbed his hands together. “Got some good stuff going on here. Guy won’t know what hit him.”
Damon found himself smiling. Izzy knew about his engagement to Victoria, knew about her betrayal and who she was currently fucking, Joshua Cain.
Izzy had been the one to come up with the mercenary-for-hire website called The Dark Side. An ad on the site had led Damon to the Street Marauders. The cell phone pictures he’d received from the raid showed the vandalism, including the shot-out windows in Cain’s barn. It wasn’t enough to stir the cops into a frenzy, just enough to tweak Cain’s nose and let him know who was in charge.
The hassle of identity theft was going to be even better. Given the distance between him and Cain, given the fact he couldn’t get to Tory—not yet—it would have to be enough.
It was the same way he’d felt about the trashy little redhead. His dick stirred to life as he thought about the things he had done to her, the way he’d had her on her knees, the way she had begged him to stop.
He hadn’t been sure he was ready to see it completely through, but in the end, the pleasure he’d found had dissolved any misgivings he had.
“All finished,” Izzy said, leaning back in his chair. He chuckled. “That ought to keep the bastard busy for a while.”
Damon nodded, though he had no idea what Izzy had actually done. It didn’t matter as long as it caused Cain trouble. “Good work.”
Izzy shot him a look. “We still heading for the Peacock?”
Damon’s favorite hangout. He wasn’t really in the mood but he had to keep his minions happy. He still owed Izzy for the alibi.
“Sure, why not? It’s still early. Night hasn’t really gotten started yet.”
Izzy grinned and got up from his chair. Damon headed down the hall of the cheap, nineteen-fifties, flat-roofed house where Izzy lived.
He thought of the redhead and how she’d made him feel, and his mouth watered. He hadn’t expected the itch to start again so soon. He needed to get to Tory, end his obsession with her. Once he’d dealt with her, he could bring himself back under control.
Perhaps it was time to start planning.
* * *
For the second time in a few short weeks, Tory watched Josh walk into the kitchen wearing his marine dress blues. Her heart ached for him.
He paused next to the round oak table. Red-striped blue trousers, stiff-collared navy jacket, clean-shaven, every inch of him perfectly groomed.
This morning, he hadn’t even made the pretense of being able to eat. He had lost a very good friend. He was focused on that loss and on paying his final respects.
But one thing was different this morning. Tory was going with him.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” she said. She’d been glad he’d asked her to go, though it hadn’t taken long to realize she had nothing appropriate to wear.
When she’d mentioned going shopping, Josh had insisted on going with her. She didn’t like being dependent on him for protection or anything else, but until they knew for sure what was going on, she didn’t have much choice.
It had taken more persuasion than she would have liked, but he’d finally agreed to let her and Ivy wander the shops along Main Street while he ran some errands—as long as she let him pay.
At a boutique called Sassy’s, she purchased a pretty little blue sundress with tulips on the front for Ivy, and a modest black skirt-suit and a peach silk blouse for herself, the kind of clothes she had worn to work back in Phoenix.
A decent pair of mid-heeled black patent pumps and a matching over-the-shoulder bag had managed to survive the arduous cross-country journey that had landed her in Texas.
“It’s a little over two hours to Gainesville,” Josh said, breaking into her thoughts as she stood in the kitchen. “We’d better get going.”
Since the guys had planned a get-together after the funeral, they’d decided to spend the night. Mrs. Thompson had agreed to watch Ivy, who loved to stay with her. Tory thought the older woman would babysit for free if Josh didn’t insist on paying her.
Gardening was their latest project. Ivy was tending her own vegetable patch, which seemed like such a good idea Tory had decided to plant a garden at the ranch.
Tory grabbed her overnight bag and Josh grabbed his. They gathered up Ivy and her things and headed out to the pickup.
“You look pretty,” Ivy said to Josh as he lifted her into her booster seat.
His mouth edged into the faintest of smiles, the first in days. “Men don’t look pretty, sweetheart. They look handsome.”
Ivy giggled. “I like your suit.”
He laughed. “Thanks. I like yours, too.” She was wearing her new blue sundress, though she would have to change before working in the garden.
It didn’t take long to get Ivy settled at Clara Thompson’s; then they were heading out of town. The storm had moved on by the middle of the week, leaving the weather hot and damp.
As the miles slipped past, they talked about their families. Tory told him about Jamie and the terrible wreck that had killed both him and her mother.
“It was the worst day of my life. If I hadn’t had Ivy, I’m not sure I would have survived it.”
“You’re strong, Tory. You’d have made it.”
Josh had opened up as he rarely did and talked about his mom, how hard it had been growing up back then, losing his mother to lung cancer, how lucky he was to have found his older brother.
“Linc’s the best. I always know I can count on him, and he knows he can count on me.”
Eventually, the ride came to an end. Tory walked next to Josh across the manicured green lawns of the cemetery, with Josh’s white gloved hand holding on to hers. His jaw was set, his expression hard beneath the brim of his round white, billed cap.
But when he looked at her, his hard look softened and she caught a glimpse of pain. Everything inside her ached for him. Tory was glad she had come.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The ceremony was over. Josh led Tory across the grass to meet a few more of his friends. The guys couldn’t wait to tell her they called him Superman—a name they’d hung on him because of his shooting skills. He was no Superman, but it was true he rarely missed.
He stepped up to make introductions. “Tory, this is Kirby Waldruth.” The guy was a blond, blue-eyed, unrepentant rogue. “He’s the friend who called about Coy.”
He clapped another friend on the back. “This is Mac Mc-Donough.” Red hair and freckles. “And this joker is Lavon Harvey. We call him Night.” He was African-American, every bit as dark as his name, and at night he was deadly.
Lavon tipped his cap. “Ma’am.” He was tall, lean, tough, and loyal. Josh felt lucky to know him.
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Tory said. “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.”
The mood darkened at the reminder.
“You two going over to Coy’s parents’ house?” Kirby asked.
“We’ll be there.”
They talked a little longer, and then Kirby and the men began to disperse. The rest of the crowd started wandering away. As they walked back toward Josh’s truck, a group of marines from out of town were being stopped on the way to their vehicles by a couple of men in dark suits—police detectives, Josh figured. There were now two murders to solve.
“What’s going on?” Tory asked.
“I’m guessing they’re cops or feds. They’re talking to the guys from out of town.”
Just then a black-haired, olive-skinned man in a navy blue suit walked up to him. “You Joshua Cain?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Detective Rafe Dominguez, Gainesville PD. I’d like to talk to you about your friend.”
Josh nodded. “All right.” He stepped over to the side, out of the way, eased Tory along with him. “What do you want to know?” He didn’t introduce her. She had enough trouble without adding more.
But the detective was determined to do his job, which in a way was a plus.
Dominguez arched a black eyebrow. “And you are?”
“Victoria Bradford. I didn’t know Coy Whitmore. I’m just here with Josh.”
Dominguez nodded. “When’s the last time you spoke to Coy?” he asked Josh.
“We talked at Pete Saldana’s funeral. You know about Pete?”
“We know.”
“But the police just think both of them being shot in the head is a coincidence.”
“Be easier to think that. Starting to look like it might be something else.”
“Yeah, like what?” Josh asked.
“Both men knew each other, both came out of Marine Corp Special Operations. Different teams, I gather, but both in Afghanistan at the same time. Pete’s been back in the States longer than Coy. But they stayed in touch.”
Maybe this guy had a brain. “So where’s that information take you?”
“Killer could have been a friend, someone they both knew. Someone they both pissed off. Could be woman trouble. Looks like Whitmore was quite the stud here in Gainesville. Big on one-night stands. Saldana was a family man but there’s always a chance he was playing around. They were friends. Maybe they shared a woman and someone didn’t like it.”
“Not Pete.”
“Whitmore liked to gamble. Played poker. Lost too much on occasion. Saldana liked to play the horses. We’re working that angle.”
“Could be a lot of things,” Josh said. “Whatever’s going on, I don’t think it’s coincidence.”
“Maybe not. We’re just getting started. You got anything to add that might point us in the right direction?”
He couldn’t think of a thing. Coy had always been a rounder, a little too wild for his own good. He’d been wounded, had to leave the marines, but he’d never really settled down. Pete wasn’t like that. When his wife found out she had breast cancer, Pete had left the military to help with his kids.
“I wish I had something,” Josh said.
The detective handed him a card. “You think of anything, call me.”
He just nodded. The whole mess had his stomach tied in knots. He set a hand at Tory’s waist, urging her back toward the pickup parked along the curb.
From the cemetery, they stopped at Coy’s parents’ to express their condolences. They ate a little of the massive spread of food and drinks people had brought over; then the guys changed clothes in Coy’s old childhood bedroom and they headed for a spot called the Bird’s Nest, where Kirby had reserved the back room.
A lot of guys Josh knew were there, some with women, vets Coy had known, friends of his in the Corp, friends of Coy’s who lived in Gainesville. Some of them were drinking beer, some tossing back tequila shooters.
Josh ordered a Jack straight up, wished he could just upend the bottle and drink till he couldn’t feel the pain of losing another friend, but he was driving and Tory was with him.
He caught her around the waist and lifted her up on a bar stool. She peeled off her black suit coat, leaving her in a little peach silk blouse that draped over her pretty breasts and made her look way too sexy, as far as Josh was concerned.
She ordered a Coors Light, sipped the beer, and was a good sport as the guys reminisced about Coy. Josh found himself laughing at the crazy things his friend had done and it really felt good.
“I remember a night at Camp Lejeune before he went spec ops,” Mac said. “We were in this bar called the Queen of Hearts. Coy was drunk when we got there. He spent an hour trying to get this gal to leave with him. Then he goes to the head and when he comes out, one of his best buddies has left with her.”
“Coy was really pissed,” Kirby said. “The other guys were laughing so hard, Coy finally gave up and started laughing, too. Coy was always cool.”
The guys chuckled and even Tory smiled, if a little sadly. The stories went on, began to turn bawdy as the men got drunker.
“Time to leave,” Josh said. “I need to pay the bill; then we’re out of here.”
Unfortunately, on the way out of the bar, a drunken cowboy found Tory a little too appealing.
“What’s your name, sweet thing?” He was big, good-looking if he hadn’t been so wasted.
“She’s with me,” Josh warned, urging her forward, but the cowboy blocked her way.
“He don’t own you, sweetheart.” He leered, stuck out his hand. “Name’s Cody. You wanna dance? What do you say?”
Josh clamped down on his temper.
Tory politely refused. “Thanks, Cody, but at the moment, I’m not available.”
“Aw, come on.” The cowboy shouldn’t have grabbed her, shouldn’t have pushed his luck, not when Josh was wound tighter than a calf roper’s pigging string. Not when he was just itching to work off some of his frustrations.
Grabbing the cowboy by the front of his western shirt, Josh drew back to punch him, but Mac caught his arm.
“Take it easy, Superman. Guy’s just drunk and your girl’s real pretty. Give the dude a break.”
He sighed. Mac was right. He wasn’t usually like this. He was usually fairly even tempered, and he’d never been this possessive of a woman.
Pulling his arm free, he shoved the guy a couple of feet away. The cowboy swore foully, but didn’t come back for more.
“Sorry,” Josh said to Mac.
“Wouldn’t take much to have all of us in a fight. We’d probably feel better if we did.”
Josh knew he would. He felt Tory’s hand in his. “Come on, soldier. Time to go.”
He didn’t argue. Even better than a fistfight would be taking Victoria Bradford to bed.
* * *
Knowing it was past time to leave, Tory led Josh out to his truck. She stuck out her hand, palm up. “Give me the keys.”
“I’m all right. I didn’t drink that much.”
“Kirby bought you another shot of Jack and you had a couple of beers. Just to be safe, give me the keys.”
One of his eyebrows went up. “You sure you can drive this thing?”
“Sure. I worked on an ad for Ford trucks. I had an idea to appeal to female drivers, but I wanted to test it out. I drove a big dually, didn’t have a lick of trouble.”
He grunted. “You’re just full of surprises.” He dropped the keys into her hand. “She’s all yours.”
Tory climbed in behind the wheel and adjusted the seat while Josh climbed in on the passenger side, and they strapped themselves in.
From the Bird’s Nest, Tory drove to a nearby Holiday Inn where Josh had made a reservation, getting the directions from Siri on his iPhone. As the truck cruised along the street, she shot him a sideways glance. He was leaning back in the seat watching her, amusement touching his lips.
“What?”
“I never thought a woman could look cute driving a truck.”
She laughed. “I don’t look cute. I look competent. Behave yourself.”
His smile broadened into a grin. “You know you don’t mean that.” He was flirting. He didn’t do it often. She really liked it.
She parked the pickup. They grabbed their overnight bags and went into the motel lobby, walked up to a young man in a white shirt and skinny black tie.
“May I help you?”
“Reservation for Joshua Cain.”
The clerk pulled it up on his computer. “Here it is. I’ll need a credit card.”
Josh fished his Visa out of his wallet and tossed it on the counter.
The clerk ran it and frowned. “I’m sorry, sir, the card was denied. Would you like to try another one?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the card. Try it again.”
The clerk tried it, looked embarrassed this time. “I’m sorry.”
Josh grumbled, took out his American Express. “No limit on this one.”
The clerk smiled and ran the card. The hand that held on to the credit card trembled. “Apparently, there’s a . . . umm . . . problem with this one, too. They’re instructing me to hold on to the card. I’m very sorry, sir. I don’t have any choice.”
>
“They’re telling you to keep my credit card? That’s crazy. It must be your machine.”
“I don’t think so.”
Tory opened her wallet and took out her Mastercard. “Let’s see if this one works.” She had paid it off months ago, been afraid to use it since. The billing address was a mailbox in Carlsbad and she’d kept it that way.
Josh snatched the card out of her hand. “No way.” He handed it back to her. “You’re not paying for the goddamn motel room.”
He returned his attention to the clerk, opened his wallet to take out a handful of bills. “It’s only for tonight. How much is it?”
“I’m afraid for security reasons, we don’t take cash.”
Tory could see Josh’s rising temper in the lines digging into his forehead. “Get your manager out here,” he said.
As if someone had pulled his string, the manager, a heavyset man with a mustache and double chins, appeared behind the counter. “Is there a problem?”
“Something’s wrong with your credit card machine. How much for a room?”
The manager turned to the computer screen. “A king-size, non-smoking is one hundred thirty-five dollars, plus taxes and fees. Comes to one fifty-seven and thirty-seven cents. We have a strict rule against taking cash, but—”
He looked Josh over, took in his clean-shaven face and short dark hair, the prime physical condition he was in and the way he carried himself. “Military?” the manager asked.
“Marines.”
“In your case, we can make an exception, and I thank you for your service.”
Josh relaxed. “It’s a mistake. There’s nothing wrong with my credit cards, but thank you, anyway.” He paid the amount due. They grabbed their bags and headed up to the room.
Tory figured tomorrow Josh could get things straightened out.
It wasn’t until they got back to Iron Springs that Josh discovered it wasn’t just his credit cards that were a problem. His bank accounts had been cleaned out and his loan on the ranch was now in foreclosure.
And Tory knew exactly who to blame.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tory knew what to do to straighten out Josh’s accounts—Damon had done the same thing to her.
