by Rita Herron
Cole gripped the handlebars with a white-knuckled grip as he skidded sideways. Sparks flew from the asphalt, and his tires ground against the gravel, sending small rocks scattering in a dozen directions. Instead of having the good sense to move, the leggy blonde froze in place, making the blood rush to his head and sending a shard of panic through his chest.
He had to miss her, but damn—he didn’t want to tear up the expensive machine below him, either.
Okay, she was much more important than his Harley, but still…
He caught the bulk of the bike’s weight with his muscled strength, tilted his body sideways to compensate for the spin and to keep the Hog from rolling, then roared past her and skidded to a stop near the rail hitching post in front of the Last Call. She jumped into the shadows of the awning just as he cut the engine.
Hissing a sigh of relief and frustration, he shot off the bike, whirled around and glared at her. Adrenaline fired his veins and sent a furious round of curse words sailing past his lips. He wanted to wrap his hands around her delectable little throat. “What the…didn’t your mother teach you not to stand in the street?”
“You moron!” she shouted back at the same moment. “You nearly killed me.”
Moron? “You’re questioning my intelligence?” He ripped off his helmet, then slung his hair out of his face. “Dammit, sugar, you’re the one who needs to watch where you’re going!”
“I could say the same thing to you.” She jabbed a sharp red fingernail at his chest. “I don’t know what kind of hole you crawled out of, but pedestrians have the right-of-way in this town, and the speed limit is…well, you were way over it.”
Her scathing words reminded him too quickly what he’d already known—that he shouldn’t expect a warm welcome in Justice. That some people here thought he was a low-life slime just because he was the bastard son of Jim McKinney.
The very reason he’d headed to the bar first thing.
Before he faced his half brothers the next morning, he intended to have a cold one, unwind and cool off. And where better to get the local scoop than the town’s pub?
Loose lips liked to talk….
A sliver of moonlight caught her blond hair and sassy eyes, and his gut did an odd flip-flop. She was the hottest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her bare legs came up to her neck, the suit jacket she wore had popped the top button and a generous amount of cleavage spilled over the top of a black lacy camisole beneath. Damn.
He’d never met a drink or a woman he didn’t like, or at least wanted to taste. And this was one tall drink of water that tempted his thirst, badly.
“You give every man you meet this much trouble?”
She gave him a scathing look. “Men are nothing but cheaters and liars. They use women, then walk away when they’re finished.”
“Ouch.” She’d been hurt badly by someone. He swallowed against the sudden dryness of his throat. He felt as if he’d eaten dust. Or maybe her comment hit too close to home. “What if I said I’m sorry?”
She tossed a silky-looking strand of hair over her shoulder. “For yourself or for the sorriness of all those with the Y chromosome?”
His mouth twitched. “Both.”
Her lips finally quirked. “All right. I…I…guess you’re forgiven.”
She glanced back at the jail cell standing like a monument in the center of town across the street, and he realized she might have just come from that media circus. She didn’t look happy about it, either.
He’d sped past it, irritated at the thought of facing the mangy reporters. He imagined the headlines with a snarl.
Poor little illegitimate son shows up in town to help exonerate his father.
So what was her problem with them?
Not that he cared, but looking at her was a nice diversion. “Let me buy you a cold one. You look like you need it as much as I do.”
“You can’t imagine.” She rolled her shoulders, and a whispery sigh escaped her that made his chest tighten.
Man, he did like women. All their softness. The way they smelled. The feel of their skin against his.
And hers looked soft and creamy. And her voice, now she’d stopped screaming at him, sounded low and throaty.
Sultry.
Oblivious to the train of his lustful thoughts, she sashayed ahead of him and reached for the door. His gaze latched on to the rounded curve of her hips in that short, tight skirt, and his hands itched to reach out and wrap themselves around her tush.
He shoved them into his pockets instead. Women were trouble, and he was here on business, not to get laid or involved with a local.
A sea of smoke and noise engulfed him as they entered the bar. Willie Nelson’s voice droned out from the jukebox, peanut shells littered the scarred wooden floor, and the scent of beer and cigarette smoke clouded the room.
Ahh, pure heaven to a man’s senses.
She hesitated slightly, though, and he noticed the men in the back stop their pool game to gape at her. At the same time, two old-timers sharing a pitcher turned to ogle her, and the bartender, a forty-something bald man with a thick neck, raised an appreciative brow. This girl would not be paying for her own drinks. No sirree.
But what would the jerks expect in return?
Cole’s protective instincts surged to life. “How about a booth?”
She plunked into a corner one, and he claimed the seat across from her, then shot the other men a warning look as if to say she was off-limits. Outside the shadows of night and the awning had shielded her face, but although the lights were dim now, he saw her face clearly. He’d thought he’d sweated outside in his leathers with the summer heat beating down on him on the ride into Justice, but his temperature skyrocketed toward the hundreds as he realized who this sexy bombshell was.
Joey Hendricks—he’d seen her several times on television beside the governor. Holy hell. She was a hotshot special investigator with the state.
And she was also the daughter of the oil baron Leland Hendricks, who’d been accused of the kidnapping and murder of his own child. Hendricks and his ex-wife, Donna, had been major suspects in the murder of Lou Anne Wallace.
The reason she was here hit him like a fist in his gut. She had come for the same reason he had.
Because of the Wallace homicide investigation.
And if he guessed right, her parents were probably suspects in this new murder as well as the first one.
JOEY STRUGGLED TO STEADY her breathing. Her adrenaline was still racing from the confrontation with Dennison and then nearly getting mowed down in the street. And the sight of this biker dude…wow.
All that black leather, dark black scraggly hair down to his shoulders, scruffy bearded face, sweat beading on his forehead gave him a threatening look.
But not in a way that said he might physically hurt her. In a way that screamed raw, primal sexuality. Like a man who’d just returned from a long, heated battle against a beast in the wilderness, a battle he’d no doubt won.
As he would win over any woman he met. All it took was one look into those enigmatic, brooding eyes and the sound of that husky deep voice, and she’d forgotten the fact that he’d nearly killed her.
The moron.
Then again, on closer inspection, his eyes did hold a level of intelligence. Street-smart, not all book-bred. This guy had been around and knew the ropes.
And heaven help her, that incredibly fit body conjured wicked fantasies. He had wide broad shoulders. Pecs to die for. Muscular thighs that could pin a woman beneath him while he tortured her with his tongue.
He gestured toward the bartender, and she took advantage of the moment to assess him in more detail. Even his hands were large, broad. His blunt, strong fingers were sprinkled with dark hair that made her wonder what they would feel like on her. Touching her. Stroking her sensitive skin.
A jagged scar jutted out from the neckline of his black T-shirt, and she imagined the rest of his body beneath. A chest sprinkled with the same dark hair, another
scar maybe. And a tattoo or two hidden somewhere on his bronzed skin.
What was she doing? He wasn’t her type. She liked sophisticated, educated men. Men with jobs. Men who shaved and bathed regularly.
“What’ll you have, sugar?” he drawled.
You. She gaped at his mouth, then realized that she was acting like a fool. And Joey Hendricks, professional investigator for the governor, was not a fool. Never had been. Not over a man.
She’d taken notes from her parents’ disastrous divorce and her father’s infidelities, and decided relationships just weren’t worth the trouble. Although a one-nighter, especially with a hunk like this guy, might be fun. A stress release. Maybe even mind-altering. Certainly hotter than any night she’d experienced in years.
Then she remembered her reason for coming to Justice and vetoed the idea.
The drink would have to suffice. “A shot of tequila.”
He arched a thick brow, and she raised her own in challenge. “What? You don’t think I can handle it?”
“Honey, I think you can handle anything that comes your way.”
With one flick of his hand, he waved the waitress over—a twentysomething girl who turned eyes of adoration toward him—then ordered Joey a shot and a Stella for himself.
He would order a beer with a woman’s name. “You don’t like tequila?” she asked.
He leaned back against the booth edge, stretched his long legs out so one of them brushed hers beneath the table. “On the contrary. José and I have been best friends for years.”
She couldn’t help herself. She grinned at his statement. He looked like a tequila-drinking hellion straight from a biker’s fest. She imagined him stuffing dollars into the bras of women as they bared their chests for him, and her senses hummed with awareness.
What was wrong with her?
For all she knew he might be a freeloader who had women in ten different cities, and kids to go with each one. Kids he’d never claimed.
Or he could be a criminal.
He turned his dark eyes on her just as the waitress delivered their drinks.
“Thanks.” He grabbed the beer and moved the shot in front of Joey.
The girl stood beside him for a moment as if waiting for him to address her again. Annoyed when he didn’t pay her more attention, she gave Joey a decidedly unfriendly stare as if they were schoolkids fighting over the only boy in town.
Pickings must be slim in Justice. She should warn the waitress to steer clear of men like him—untrustworthy men in titillating packages that screamed with sex appeal—then decided to heed the warning herself.
She didn’t intend to be in Justice long. Then again, she’d have to stay until this case was solved.
And deal with her parents…
What if one of them was arrested? What if they were guilty?
Her lungs tightened at the thought, and she sprinkled salt on her hand, licked it, tossed down the shot, sucked the lime, then dropped the shot glass onto the table with a smile. As she swiped her hand across her mouth, an intense, hungry look flared in his deep-set eyes.
“You want another one, Joey?”
Her breath caught. How did he know her name?
The newscast…he must have seen it.
“In a minute. But I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” She straightened, reminding herself that her image counted. Especially if she intended to counteract the negative one she’d been saddled with thanks to her mother and father’s tawdry actions. “You know who I am, but you haven’t introduced yourself.”
His cocky smile faltered slightly. As if stalling, he took a long pull of his beer, set it down and scraped his hair off his forehead. Then finally he leaned forward, his dark eyes trained on her. “Sergeant Cole McKinney, Texas Ranger.”
Joey licked her lips in stunned silence.
This hot-as-all-get-out biker bad boy was Cole McKinney? The Cole McKinney, illegitimate child of Jim McKinney? The boy who’d been shunned by the McKinney family?
And he was a Texas Ranger? A law enforcement agent?
Not a freeloading biker or a criminal.
“I see the wheels turning in your head, Joey Hendricks.” His husky voice skated over her raw nerve endings. “And yeah, I’m that Cole McKinney, a sum of all those rotten things you were thinking. And a few more you don’t even know about.”
“I…what are you doing here?” she whispered.
A bitter laugh followed, husky and filled with emotions she was certain he hadn’t meant to reveal. Then quiet acceptance registered in his intense eyes as if he expected skepticism. Even disdain.
And he probably did. He’d been an outcast from the town all his life.
“Believe it nor not,” he said quietly, “the Texas Rangers requested my services as a tracker to help find Sarah Wallace’s killer.”
Suddenly at a loss for words, she didn’t protest when Cole raised his hand and ordered her another shot. Instead she accepted it graciously, then studied him with a different eye. If the Texas Rangers had requested his assistance, he must be damn good at his job.
What did he know about the investigation? Something the Rangers hadn’t revealed to the press?
Her hand trembled as she turned up the second shot glass.
Was he here to arrest one or both of her parents?
COLE TOOK ANOTHER long pull of the beer, hoping the cold liquid would chill the fire burning his body. A heat caused both from his temper at her reaction to his name and his body reacting with lust to her every movement.
“So, Cole, how did you get to be a Ranger?”
A smile quirked his mouth. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d just made the woman nervous.
Then again, knowing what he did about her family, he figured the Rangers were probably the last people she wanted to see.
And his brothers probably would resent her interference, as well. Since the Rangers were part of the state agency, they’d think the governor sent her to spy on them. Hell, he probably had.
“I joined the Army at seventeen,” he said with a shrug. Unlike Zane, who’d gone to college, earned a degree in criminal justice and worked in criminal investigation. Or Sloan, who had been sheriff of Justice.
“Then I spent some time in the Middle East, got into military security.” Sniper training to be exact, but he didn’t have to spill his guts. Like how many kills he had under his belt. “When I got out, I joined the DPS and became a motorcycle state trooper for a couple of years.”
She cocked a brow at that, and he grinned. “The way you handled that bike, you must have grown up on a Harley.”
He laughed, then sobered as he remembered how hard he’d worked to earn his first bike. Just the way he’d scraped for everything in his life. “Naw, on a ranch, but I was a bull rider.” And he wanted to ride her.
The thought made him tighten his fingers around the long neck of the beer bottle. He could not get involved with Joey Hendricks. Even though he’d earned the college credits necessary for the Rangers, he was rough around the edges. He’d hunted down the worst dregs of society, worked undercover in operations that would make her head spin. He’d killed and not looked back.
She was sophisticated. Educated. Out of his league.
And although she worked for the governor and might not admit it, she was tied to this town and her family. Had a vested interest in protecting her parents, whereas he was tied to no one. Didn’t care who was arrested as long as justice was served. In fact, he wouldn’t be in town long enough to let the dust settle on his seat. And if he had to lock up one of his blood kin, so be it.
“So, you haven’t seen your brothers yet?” she asked.
“You mean half brothers?” He finished his beer, then grunted. “Nope. I’ll have that pleasure in the morning.”
She nodded, and drummed her fingernails on the table, then glanced around the bar, looking restless again. Or was she looking for someone in particular?
“What about you? Visited your family yet
?”
Pain tightened her features. “No. Haven’t spoken to Mommy and Daddy dearest in years.”
Now, that surprised him. On second thought, he didn’t know why. From what he’d read about the homicide investigation into the case of Lou Anne Wallace, about Joey’s brother’s kidnapping and her mother’s past drinking problem, her family was as dysfunctional as the McKinneys. But still, family ties ran thick and deep.
Was she here in an official capacity, or had she come because of her own secret agenda—to see that her mother and father weren’t arrested for the crimes?
Chapter Three
Cole finally dragged his butt into the shower at dawn. He hadn’t slept worth a flip for thinking about the investigation and wondering how his brothers would react to the sight of him. Not that he cared…
And then there had been the fantasies about a certain sexpot blonde that had plagued him all night long.
After their drink, he’d walked her to the inn where they both were staying. Adding more fuel to the flames of his imagination, he learned she was in the room right next door to him, so they’d shared an awkward but titillating moment in the hallway as they’d said good night. Awkward because he’d damn near forgotten his head and kissed her. Titillating because he’d sensed she’d wanted it as much as he had, and that she would have let him.
Then they would have ended up in bed for some mind-blowing sex—at least that’s where the kiss had led in his fertile fantasy—and he would have at least felt sated, if not rested.
Now he just felt irritable and restless.
Because nothing had happened.
He showered and managed to find a razor, wishing he’d had time for a haircut, then cursed himself for worrying about his appearance. He didn’t give a damn what his brothers thought—or anyone else in town.
Grimacing, he dressed in his normal Ranger wear: clean jeans, a white Western shirt, boots, belt and tie. Determined to prove he was a top-notch Ranger himself, he pinned on his badge and grabbed his Stetson and the folder of notes he had collected on the first investigation of Lou Anne Wallace’s murder sixteen years ago. Then he headed to that diner he’d seen last night, to pick up some breakfast before he met the McKinney brothers and the local deputies for a briefing. If he was here to track evidence in the woods, he needed food and coffee, and lots of it.
