Justice For A Ranger

by Rita Herron

  “I’m sure you are,” Zane said. “But in light of tonight’s events, perhaps you should leave town.”

  “Good try, Lieutenant McKinney, but I’m here at the governor’s request,” Joey said. “And I don’t intend to leave until this investigation is complete.”

  Zane ran a hand through his hair. “Well, then, it seems we all want the same thing.”

  Cole grunted. He doubted it. Zane and Sloan wanted to see their father exonerated, and Joey’s father or mother or both convicted for the crime. They were working with the grand jury now to try to get an indictment against Leland.

  “Call me if there are any more problems,” Zane said.

  Cole hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Let me know what you find out from forensics.”

  Zane nodded, then he and Sloan left. Cole turned to Joey, his gaze zeroing in on the red bruise marks around her neck. Anger ripped through him.

  Cole unlocked the door to the room on the opposite side of his, then checked the interior, making certain the locks on the windows were secure. Joey stowed her suitcase on the floor and a small toiletry bag inside the bathroom.

  The antique furniture and braided rug made the room look more like a guest room in someone’s home than a hotel. And that bed looked damn inviting…

  It was big enough for two, easily.

  Joey tugged a strand of her blond hair behind her ear and sank onto the quilt, obviously exhausted.

  “You could stay in my room with me,” Cole offered.

  Joey nearly choked on a laugh. “You are smooth, Cole McKinney.”

  Not smooth enough or he would already have bedded her.

  Which would have made him the bastard everyone assumed him to be. Maybe he was more like Jim McKinney than he wanted to believe.

  Still, she appeared so vulnerable and…sweet that he walked toward her, leaned over and threaded his fingers into the soft tresses of her hair. It felt like silk and satin and every man’s wildest dreams. He imagined it draped across his bare belly, his hands sliding down to cup her breasts and suck on her lips, and his sex hardened.

  She parted her mouth and licked the rosy petaled outline of her lips, taunting him with a memory of that earlier kiss.

  “Cole?”

  Her sultry whisper echoed with need. Desire. Hunger.

  “I should go now,” he said, struggling to resist her.

  “Yes, you probably should.”

  He nodded but his feet refused to move.

  Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, drawing his eye to the soft swell of her cleavage. Underneath that shirt there were bruises.

  But also a beautiful body. And melon-sized globes encased in red lace.

  Puckered nipples he wanted to taste and suckle.

  Hell.

  He leaned over and captured her mouth with his. She made a small throaty sound like a whimper, then opened to him as if in invitation. He teased her lips apart with his tongue, then delved inside and explored her mouth again. She tasted hot and passionate, and erotic sensations exploded in the tiny tongue thrusts that met his lips.

  Instantly unsettled by the strength of his reaction, he pulled back and stared at her eyes. They were slitted, sleepy looking, sensual. Aroused.

  “Why did you do that?” she whispered.

  He murmured the only thing he could. The truth. “Because I had to.”

  Shaken even more by that thought, he stalked out the door, his declaration reverberating in his ears.

  Cole had always loved women. Had been a player.

  But he had never actually loved any woman over another, or let a female get to him. He’d never felt this protective or…needy.

  And he couldn’t now.

  Especially not with Joey Hendricks. Hell, she was the daughter of not just one, but two prime suspects in the mystery he’d come here to unravel. She was the last damn woman he needed to get involved with.

  His detective instincts surged to life, raising suspicions. Dammit. Joey was a smart woman. Maybe she was here to distract him and his half brothers from looking at her parents as suspects. She’d obviously prefer Jim McKinney be arrested instead.

  He had to watch her. Gain access to any information she uncovered. And staying close to her was the only way to do that.

  JIM MCKINNEY stared at his wife’s frail body as she slept. The hospital bed swallowed her ninety pounds of bones, and her pallor was as white as the pristine sheets she lay upon. The scent of antiseptic and medicine and the clinking of hospital machinery and nurses’ voices echoed in the sterile halls, reminding him that Stella was sick.

  And that he was to blame for her illness.

  He dropped his head into his splayed hands, guilt weighing on him. He hated what their marriage and life had become. When they’d first wed, Stella had been a beautiful girl. He’d thought he loved her. Yet he’d quickly realized that he was flawed, that she wasn’t enough. He didn’t intend to make excuses for his behavior, but she had been spoiled, stubborn and had insisted on having everything her way. In and out of the bedroom.

  The second part he could take, but the first—her bossiness as well as her lack of interest in sex had been enough to send him looking for satisfaction elsewhere. At least that was how he’d justified his indiscretions.

  But then he’d hooked up with Lou Anne, she had been murdered, and his life had gone downhill fast.

  Stella mumbled something, her eyelids fluttering as she wrestled with the covers. He adjusted the blanket, trying to soothe her from whatever demons dogged her.

  Her eyes opened momentarily, but her gaze looked clouded as if she had no idea where she was or what was happening to her.

  “Rest now, Stella.”

  She muttered something incoherent, then mumbled the word “bastard.” She meant both him and Cole. She’d never forgiven him for having another child, and when she heard that Cole was coming to town, she was certain he intended to rub his father’s indiscretions in her face. To Stella, appearance meant everything.

  For that reason, he’d wondered why she’d stayed with him all these years. He’d lost his job, his respect and friends over the murder charges and he’d never regained them.

  Of course, staying with him was her way of punishing him. Each day her anger and bitterness ate at her. She’d used it to hold onto him.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, walked to the window and looked out at the mottled storm clouds. Sweat rolled down his neck and collar as he wondered what his boys had found when they’d searched the woods.

  All three of his boys—Rangers.

  He couldn’t believe he’d shamed them by losing his position, yet they’d all joined the Rangers anyway. God, he’d failed at his job. Failed his wife. His boys. Especially Cole…

  He’d heard that Sarah had evidence that might help them find Lou Anne’s killer.

  Why had she called him that night? To tell him that she knew he had killed her mother? Or had she discovered something to prove his innocence?

  If only he could remember what happened the night Lou Anne died…

  All he recalled was his argument with Stella, her vicious put-downs. And his plans to assuage his ego with Lou Anne’s luscious body. And then the booze…

  If he had killed Lou Anne, it was time he learned the truth. Half the town, including his wife, had tried and convicted him in their minds anyway. And he’d resigned from the Rangers before they’d forced him out. Now he spent his days stacking groceries in a little store. And staring at a shell of a woman who no longer loved him. How much worse could prison be?

  Still, guilt drew him to Stella. She had lied about her whereabouts that night—she hadn’t had an alibi. Sometimes he wondered if he’d repressed the memory because he’d witnessed her kill Lou Anne.

  When he’d mentioned using a psychiatrist to jog his memory, Stella had become violently upset, then broken down. Was she afraid of what he would remember because it might implicate her as the killer?

  Chapter Eight

&nb
sp; Sleep eluded Joey for hours after Cole said good night. Long into the hot, sultry evening, she lay awake, tossing, turning in the big double bed. The image of her attacker approaching tormented her. The feel of his hands on her throat, his breath against her ear…

  The fear that he might return and kill her this time.

  Shivering, she rolled to her side and stared at the blank wall. The ceiling fan whirled above, stirring the tepid air. Outside, the soft sound of cicadas and crickets chirped in the night. She listened for any indication that Cole might still be awake and swore she could almost hear his breathing through the paper-thin walls.

  She imagined his hands touching her instead of the other man’s vile grip, and erotic sensations splintered through her. Only that thin piece of plywood and insulation separated her from the sexiest man she’d ever met. That and her own resolve to stay professional and not sleep with him. Cole was too masculine, too hot, too damn sexy for his own good. He’d be a dynamite lover in bed. Would soothe her fears for the night. Ignite her senses. Make her forget all about that man who’d tried to choke her and that her parents might be guilty of murder.

  But then he’d go his way and she’d be all alone again.

  Not that Joey Hendricks needed anyone. She’d been alone for years. Ever since she was a kid really. Donna had been too absorbed in her drinking to notice anything she did. And Leland…he’d been as addicted to women as Donna had been to booze.

  She closed her eyes, and pressed her fingers to her lips. Her mouth still tingled from the feel of Cole McKinney’s lips on her skin.

  She was starting to understand addiction—she couldn’t stop thinking about the big handsome man. His kisses teased her to forget her ethics. To accept one night if that was all he could offer.

  She shoved away the covers. Heavens, the room was hot. Was Cole sweating next door, too? Was he already asleep, alone in the bed?

  Naked with the sheets kicked off?

  She hissed, irritated and aroused at the sensual picture that image painted in her mind’s eye. He was so tall that she imagined his arms sprawled above his head. His bronzed skin slick with perspiration. His long legs dangling over the side of the bed. His sex thick and swollen, jutting out as if needing to be stroked.

  What would he do if she knocked on his door? Would he tell her to go away? Or would he pull her into his arms? Take her to bed and kiss away her anxiety? Stroke her with those wide, masculine hands? Crawl on top of her and love her until she didn’t remember her own name?

  Mercy. One night with him would be more exciting than all the nights she’d spent with other men combined. She’d been pretty socially inept at flirting when she was young and the men she’d finally connected with later on in life hadn’t exactly been stellar lovers. Of course, maybe she hadn’t excited them all that much.

  Or maybe they were the wrong men.

  But Cole…she had no doubt in her mind that he would please her in bed. She closed her eyes, imagined him sliding beneath the covers. She could almost feel his body brushing hers, his heat radiating her skin, him pulsing inside her…

  COLE LISTENED for sounds of trouble next door, and knew that he was in the one in trouble. All he could think about was Joey Hendricks. How much he wanted her body. How it would feel beneath him. How her breasts would fit inside his hands.

  How he would fit inside her.

  His sex hardened and thickened, and sweat broke out on his skin. He should take a cold shower. Or maybe go for a run. A long, exhausting one that would tire his muscles, his wandering mind and his aching libido.

  But then Joey would be alone.

  And although the feisty, independent smart woman would balk at the idea of a bodyguard, he’d assigned himself the job. And her body was a damn fine one to have to watch.

  Hmm, might not be a bad job at all.

  He’d been undercover near the border and in some god-awful places the last year. Being inside her would prove to be a tempting reprieve and would feel like heaven to a man who’d come from hell.

  Dammit. He had to stop thinking like that. Like Jim McKinney would think.

  Was he no better than the bastard man who’d sired him?

  His brothers didn’t want him or Joey on the case. Granted, her story about handling the media had credit, but it was also an excuse. She was going to dig into the investigation here, and he would be right by her side. Helping her question the locals. Finding answers. Protecting her. Making sure she didn’t cover up the truth.

  And taking her to bed.

  His feet hit the floor and he forced himself to do some push-ups.

  He would not take her to bed.

  But he would guard her delectable body with his life.

  He pumped himself through two hundred push-ups, then flicked on a light and sat down to study the files. Jim McKinney had been a major suspect in the original murder.

  And Cole had assumed he was guilty. After all, a man who cheated on his wife, impregnated another woman and never acknowledged his third son didn’t exactly merit trust or respect.

  Had his mother believed in Jim’s innocence? Or had she stayed away and not encouraged a relationship between him and Cole because she’d thought that Jim might possess a violent streak? That he was dangerous?

  But what was Jim’s motive? Had Lou Anne wanted Jim to leave Stella and marry her? That didn’t make sense. Then again, Lou Anne might have married Leland Hendricks for his money, then discovered the man was tapped out to the nines, and decided Jim was a better catch. But according to the files, Lou Anne had her own money, money she’d kept secret from Leland. Or had he discovered the funds and killed her hoping to gain access to her accounts?

  He’d follow up when he interrogated Leland. And he’d ask his father about his affairs when he finally met him. If Lou Anne had wanted more than he was willing to give.

  Willing—or capable?

  His own panicked reaction to commitment made guilt tug at his chest. A small part of him understood Jim’s wandering eye, his love for women. The very reason Cole had never married. If he ever did, it would be for life. He would not cheat on a woman or knock up some girl and leave her in the wind, or a child without a father. Not to bear the shame and feelings of unworthiness that got tangled in a child’s mind when he was unwanted.

  And what about other lovers that Jim, Leland or Lou Anne might have had? Joey had mentioned the possibility. Who else had Lou Anne slept with? Had Jim been keeping another woman on the side? Had Leland decided that taking another woman to his bed might be ample payback for his wife’s indiscretions?

  He heard the bed squeak next door and realized Joey might still be awake. His body twitched with arousal at the mere thought of her lying in the bed. In spite of the air conditioner, he was so damn hot. Would she be wearing a skimpy, transparent gown? Something silky and flimsy?

  Or maybe nothing at all?

  He moaned in frustration, then dropped to the floor again, and lapsed into another fit of push-ups. No way would he get any sleep tonight.

  JOEY HUGGED her arms around her and finally dozed into a fitful sleep. But in her sleep, once again the past rose to haunt her.

  JOEY HATED being a teenager.

  In fact she hated everything about her life. She was thirteen and flat-chested. Her feet were too big for her gangly body. And she was a big klutz, especially in front of the boys.

  Todd Johnson had belly laughed at her tonight. And she’d been trying so hard to impress him.

  Tears dribbled down her face as she ran up the driveway to her father’s new house. She hated the cold monstrosity. Hated the fact that her mother wouldn’t be there, and that she and Justin had been forced to move in with her father. The lying, cheating bastard.

  All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and hide for the rest of her miserable existence. She couldn’t go back to school.

  Or to the ranch where Todd worked.

  Which meant she had to give up Chance, the palomino she loved with all her heart.

&n
bsp; But Todd had seen her feeble attempt in the teenage rodeo competition, and she’d never live it down. She hadn’t made it past the first rounds. No, she’d fallen flat on her face in the dusty ground while the mare she’d been paired with had kicked and bucked. She’d rejected her immediately just as the boys did.

  Why couldn’t she have been more like her mother? Donna had been a rodeo star when she was young. Agile, confident, elegant, a champion rider. Joey had seen all the trophies and admired her mother’s athleticism and skill.

  And Donna had most likely been a charmer, too. She was still beautiful.

  Except when she was slurring her words and slit-eyed drunk.

  She swiped at the tears on her face, hoping that her father wasn’t in the study as she let herself in the dark, tomblike house. She didn’t want to face him tonight.

  The lights were off downstairs. He was probably already in bed with Lou Anne. She shuddered at the thought of what the two of them might be doing. He was so enamored with his new wife that he probably didn’t even realize Joey had missed her curfew. Sometimes she wondered why he’d fought for custody when he didn’t seem to know she existed. He didn’t pay attention to her brother, Justin, either.

  He just wanted to hurt Donna. He didn’t care about his daughter, not really. Just his new whore.

  She removed her boots and placed them by the door to the mudroom, then stepped in her socked feet across the marble floor to sneak upstairs. The house seemed eerily silent. No home-cooked meal scenting the kitchen. No bustling Rosa. No laughter.

  Not that her parents had laughed the last few years.

  Sadness welled in her chest. At first she’d been heartbroken tonight that neither he nor Donna had shown up to cheer her performance, but now she was glad they hadn’t seen her disastrous fall. Of course, she hadn’t really expected them to come to the event.

  Ever since the bitter divorce, it was as if she was invisible. Once the marriage ended, they’d written her out of their lives. She was just a problem to deal with, a piece of rope to pull back and forth between them.