Six-Gun Investigation

by Mallory Kane

  She stared up into his smoky eyes and knew she couldn’t tell him the truth. That she saw the strongest, yet gentlest man she’d ever known, a hero and a lover. She saw the man who had spoiled her for any other man she might meet. She saw the man she loved.

  She swallowed. “I see a brave, honorable man. And I see a boy whose father let him down.” She pressed her palms more firmly against his chest. “And I feel a strong, generous heart beating inside that man.”

  His gaze turned soft and a ghost of a smile lightened his face. He let go of her hands and slid his palms along her forearms. “You’re prejudiced. You only see what you want to see.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, willing herself to back away, to stop this before he did. But she couldn’t. Something inside her was driving her, something that flared like an oil lamp in a breeze. That something sent longing swirling through her. Longing and desire.

  “And you?” she whispered. “What do you see when you look at me? That mousy freshman with the braces and the stringy hair?”

  His hands cupped her elbows, then slid up her arms to her shoulders, then her neck. “I see a beautiful, intelligent woman who has a brilliant career and who will one day be famous—maybe even win a Pulitzer.”

  She laughed. “Oh, please! Why all the flattery?”

  He bent his head until his forehead rested against hers. “Not flattery. Honesty.”

  He was too close for her to focus on his eyes. But his breath warmed her mouth and his fingers tilted her chin up.

  “Zane—I thought you said this wouldn’t happen again.”

  He nodded, rolling his forehead against hers. “I did. Stop me.” His voice was husky.

  “I don’t think I can.”

  One hand slid down her back to cup her bottom. He pulled her closer, until his hard arousal pressed insistently against her.

  Sweet, sharp thrills arrowed through her, all the way to the center of her desire. She moaned and pressed her lips to his neck, the soft, vulnerable skin beneath his jaw. His pulse beat rapidly, strongly. His arousal grew.

  Lowering his head, he captured her lips. His kiss was different from any kiss she’d ever experienced. He moved slowly, drawing out the pleasure, making love to her mouth with his lips and tongue.

  She parted her lips, giving him full access, inviting him in and kissing him back. Their tongues met and played, thrusting and exploring.

  She felt boneless, as if she would collapse without his hands cupping her bottom and his mouth on hers. Her arms slid up to wrap around his neck.

  Suddenly she found herself being lifted. He carried her to the couch and laid her down, then slid above her.

  They melded together like two perfect parts of one whole. His arousal pulsed against her upper thigh, his chest heaved with his quick breaths, telling her how much he wanted her.

  Then he lifted himself and looked deeply into her eyes. His were a soft heather-blue—not smoky with irritation or sharp with anger now.

  “Annie, I’m here to work a case, not take advantage of my primary witness.” Storm clouds began to form in his eyes.

  “Take advantage?” She laughed dreamily. “Is that what you’re doing? And here I thought you couldn’t resist me. That maybe I was taking advantage of you.” She ran her palms along the hard planes of his biceps, then caressed his chest as she arched slightly against him.

  “Ah—” he rasped. “Maybe you are.”

  Then he kissed her again and all rational thought flew out of her head. Somehow, within seconds, their clothes were gone and they lay flesh to flesh.

  His elegant hands traced her entire body, from her nose and chin to her collarbone and down, to cup and tease each breast, to palm her flat stomach and trace the swell of her hipbones. Then farther, caressing the delicate skin of her inner thighs.

  His caresses moved closer and closer to her center. Finally, as she was about to scream with anticipation and longing, his palm pressed against her mound. His fingers probed, rubbed, teased, urging a response from her.

  She floated on a sensual plane, far above the real world. Nothing existed but the magic touch of his fingers, the warmth of his mouth, the exquisite sensation of his hot bare skin against hers.

  Just when she was about to reach the pinnacle, he stopped. “Touch me,” he whispered, his voice ragged with passion. “Put your hand on me.”

  She complied, almost delirious with the feel of him, hard and smooth and pulsing against her palm. Then he slipped his finger into her and she lost the ability to breathe.

  With her guidance, he slid into her, slowly but insistently. His face was alight with passion as he thrust again and again.

  Anna shifted and met his thrusts with her own, until the building climax spread through her whole body. Then it came—the pinnacle. She cried out and clung to him as he groaned and strained, wringing from her the last bit of exquisite pleasure.

  He buried his head in the hollow between her shoulder and neck, his chest heaving, his arousal slowly waning. She languidly caressed his back and shoulder. She slipped her fingers through his hair as she breathed in the woodsy masculine scent of him.

  How she loved him.

  Her drowsy brain roused in faint alarm and tried to analyze that thought, but it didn’t get very far. She fell asleep.

  A LOUD BANGING woke her. Anna squeezed her eyes shut and did her best to hold on to the delicious dream, reveling in the solid, smooth warmth that enveloped her.

  But the banging continued. She shivered as the warm masculine body peeled away from hers.

  She opened her eyes. Zane. His magnificent buttocks and thighs flexed as he pulled his jeans up.

  Zane glanced over his shoulder as Annie turned onto her side. The enticing curve of her hip and the delicate shadow between her legs brought life back to his spent body. He frowned and dragged his gaze away.

  “Annie, get up,” he snapped as he reached for his shirt. “There’s somebody at the door.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, double checked the buttons on his shirt, then zipped across the hall to the office where he grabbed his gun.

  When he unlocked the front door, his gun hand behind him, his heart pounded in stunned reaction.

  “Dad?” His voice sounded scratchy. He cleared his throat and frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  Jim’s blue gaze took in Zane’s appearance with a wry smile. He gestured toward Zane’s feet. “I guess you weren’t expecting visitors.”

  Zane looked down. Crap. He was barefooted. He didn’t even want to think what his hair looked like. Warmth spread across his neck and cheeks. “What do you want?”

  Jim’s smile faded at his tone. “I wanted to check on you—see when you’re going to visit your mother.”

  Zane’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “You came here this time of night to ask me that?”

  “I just got off work. Doing inventory. After today I’m back on the three-to-eleven shift.”

  At a supermarket in the next town. A twinge of compassion pricked Zane’s heart. Jim McKinney had been at the top of his game before Lou Ann was murdered. By now he might even be a captain. Instead, he was bagging groceries and counting boxes of diapers.

  Zane shook off the crippling emotions those thoughts brought up. “Well, I’m busy. Got a case to solve.”

  Jim nodded. “You doing research in there tonight?”

  Anger effectively wiped away the compassion. “That is none of your business.”

  His dad looked past him. “Hello there, Miss Anna,” he said.

  With an exasperated sigh, Zane backed up, opening the door wider for his father to come in.

  “Mr. McKinney, how are you?”

  She’d put her clothes on and done something to her hair. It was twisted up with wisps and tendrils escaping everywhere. Her cheeks were pink where his beard had scratched her tender skin. She looked sexy and beautiful and—satisfied.

  Jim stepped over and took her hand. He bent and kissed it.
/>   Zane rolled his eyes, earning him a venomous glare from her.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked, looking from Jim to Zane.

  Jim nodded. Zane scowled. He didn’t know what had brought his dad out this late, but he figured it wasn’t just to ask him over for dinner.

  “Anna,” Jim said, still holding her hand. “Would you excuse us for a few minutes? I’d like to talk to my son.”

  Her brows twitched delicately and her gaze sharpened, but she nodded. “Of course. I’ll make some coffee. Y’all come and have a cup when you’re through talking.”

  Zane almost stopped her, almost begged her to stay. He didn’t want to talk to his dad.

  His insides were all twisted into knots. He couldn’t have explained how he felt about his father right then. His epiphany of his reason for becoming a Ranger had stunned him, and he needed time to sort out his feelings.

  “So—what’s so all-fired important you’ve got to talk to me at ten-thirty at night?” he bit out as he stepped over to the rack beside the door and slipped his gun into its holster.

  Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of change jingling. His pulse jumped. It was a sound he recognized from his childhood. His dad had always jingled change in his pockets. More times than not he’d fish it out and toss it to him and Sloan.

  The blue eyes assessed him. “You’ve done well for yourself, Bud.”

  Bud. He winced at the endearment. He’d always been Bud and Sloan had been Squirt. He didn’t want to be reminded of all these childhood memories—back when his dad was still his hero.

  His muscles tightened into knots. There was no way he was about to get into an “old times” talk with Jim McKinney. He wasn’t ready for that.

  “Lieutenant with the Texas Rangers,” his dad said. “You can’t get much better than that.”

  “You should know.”

  Jim sighed. “Son, I know I let you down. I let everybody down. Your mother, Sloan. But especially you. I’m proud as heck of both of my boys—”

  “Don’t you mean all three of your boys?” Zane snapped. He knew he was being mean, but he had the awful feeling that if he let his dad get to him, he’d sit down and bawl like a baby.

  “All three.” Jim wiped his face with an unsteady hand. “I never claimed to be a saint. I’m amazed and proud that you all became Texas Rangers. But you’re my firstborn. I always knew you were Ranger material. I told your mother that the first time I saw you when you were about fifteen minutes old.”

  “Dad—” Zane’s throat was too tight to talk. He swallowed. “Dad, why did you come here?”

  “I wanted to tell you something.”

  He grimaced as apprehension arrowed through his chest. Was Jim about to confess? He felt ripped in two, his professional side warring with his personal side.

  He’d just discovered evidence that implicated Leland Hendricks. He’d just accepted the idea that his father might not be guilty.

  Don’t, he begged silently, even as he drew on his training to detach himself. He crossed his arms. “Let’s hear it then.”

  Jim took a deep breath. “I haven’t been the kind of father I should have been. And Lord knows I’ve let Stella down. But, son, I didn’t kill Sarah Wallace. You need to stop letting your hate for me influence the way you conduct this case.”

  The anger and hurt inside him built until it choked off his breath and burned his scalp. Was he? He had the awful feeling that it wasn’t hatred that was skewing his focus. It was the opposite of hate. He was terrified that his father was guilty.

  Jim glanced at his watch. “I’d better get home.” He sent Zane a pleading look. “Son, check on your mother. She’s not well.”

  “Not well? What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing physical. She’s always been delicate emotionally. I’m afraid she may be falling apart—having a nervous breakdown, whatever they call it—”

  The harsh ring of the office phone interrupted him.

  Zane reached over the receptionist counter and grabbed the handset. “McKinney.”

  “Help me! Somebody hurt Richie!”

  His heart leaped. “Where?” he snapped.

  “The inn. Please hurry!”

  “Be right there.” He hung up and stalked over to the rack and grabbed his holster.

  “What is it?” Jim asked.

  “Something’s happened at the inn.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  Zane opened his mouth to say no but just then Anna came in.

  “The coffee’s ready. Are you—” She saw Zane putting on his holster. “What’s happened?”

  He shook his head. “No, Dad, you’re not going with me. Go home. Annie, take this extra set of keys and lock the double dead bolt behind us.” He walked over to her and put the keys in her hand. “And don’t open the door to anyone but me.”

  She nodded, her face suddenly pale.

  He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Don’t be scared. Nobody can get in with the dead bolts locked.”

  Then he threw open the door and headed for the inn, hearing his dad’s boots crunching on the sidewalk behind him.

  ANNA GRIMACED and set the mug down next to the coffeepot. She shouldn’t have drunk two cups. Now she’d never sleep.

  She walked to the front of the building and checked the dead bolt to make sure it was locked. It was, just like the last three times she’d checked. Still, just to be safe, she checked the back door, too—for the fourth time.

  Then she stood in the hall, wondering what was happening at the inn and why it was taking so long. Her heart skittered.

  Great. The damn caffeine. She glanced at her watch. Only two minutes had passed since the last time she’d looked. Which meant Zane had been gone twelve minutes.

  Why did it feel like an hour?

  Just to have something to do, she emptied and cleaned the coffeepot and washed several mugs that had obviously been sitting in the sink for days.

  She’d heard Zane and Jim talking. And even from the break room, she could detect the hurt that neither one of them could keep out of their voice.

  Her heart ached for Zane, who’d lost his hero, and for Jim, who was obviously just a shell of the man he’d been.

  Maybe once all this was over, they could heal the rift and be a family again.

  Family. The word echoed in her head. She’d never had much family, just her mom and her sister. If her mother had any relatives, she’d never mentioned them, just like she’d never mentioned their father.

  Now Sarah was gone, and Anna had nobody. Tears sprang to her eyes as she dried her hands on a dish towel.

  But she did have Lou Ann’s and Sarah’s personal effects. Suddenly she longed to hold something of her mother’s, to be close to her sister’s things.

  She walked down the hall to the sheriff’s office. There was her mother’s box of case files and evidence. But where were Sarah’s things?

  The evidence room. She’d heard Zane talk about it, but she had no idea where it was. She fished the key ring Zane had given her from her pocket and looked at it. Sure enough, one of the keys was labeled ER.

  A part of her brain knew that snooping in the evidence room was wrong—possibly even illegal. But her need to feel some connection with her sister, to give herself a chance to grieve and remember, overrode her caution.

  She walked down the hall, ticking off the doors. The sheriff’s office, of course. Another office shared by the deputies. The interrogation room, the break room and, in the back, the bathroom. There was a door across from the bathroom.

  The evidence room.

  Anna’s heart pounded and her mouth grew dry. She’d done some slightly questionable things to get at a story—never broken the law—not quite. She might have bent it to a nearly impossible angle once or twice.

  She pressed a hand to her chest for a few seconds to calm her racing heart, then slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The door opened.

  She turned on the light. The room wa
s lined with file cabinets and shelves. The shelves were nearly empty, a testament to how little crime occurred in Justice.

  The one window, directly opposite the door, was boarded up. A clipboard hung on a nail beside the door. Anna read the entries. The last one, dated today, was her mother’s suitcase. Zane McKinney had signed it out and back in.

  Anna traced the bold slanted letters. He signed his name with confidence and a slight impatience. She smiled.

  Turning around, she surveyed the room. The suitcase should be in plain sight. Her gaze swept the shelves. There it was. It sat on a low shelf, next to a paper bag with Sarah’s name on it.

  She stepped over and lifted the case, then set it down on the floor and opened it. It was empty. Sarah’s clothes and personal effects must be in the paper bag.

  A noise startled her. She jerked, then vaulted up and out the door. If it were Zane coming back, she’d have to endure his wrath. She pulled the door almost closed behind her and glanced at the front door, listening. Nothing else happened. No keys jangling. No muted conversation. It was totally quiet.

  Still, she had to hurry. She checked her watch. Eleven forty-six. They’d been gone sixteen minutes already.

  Back inside the room, she looked over at the paper bag, but right now it was the suitcase that held her attention. Zane had stuck the ripped-out false bottom back inside the case.

  Her fingers traced the trick brads that had released the false bottom as memories from her childhood enveloped her. She and Sarah, leaving notes for each other inside the case, hiding their diaries there.

  And of course her mom leaving them little surprises. Each time they opened the case, they found something. Maybe a funny bookmark, maybe a few of the baubles that were always falling off her dance costumes, sometimes a little journal or drawing pad.

  Anna’s eyes filled with tears and her throat tightened. Lou Ann had been a good mother. She’d done the best she could for her daughters.

  Something niggled at the edge of her brain. Something about the case and Sarah’s note.

  Secrets just lead to more secrets. Sarah had warned her to remember their mother’s words.

  She closed her eyes and fingered the brads, trying to put herself back in time, trying to remember.