Drake the Defender

by Rhiannon Neeley

  Drake the Defender

  Rhiannon Neeley

  Published 2004

  ISBN 1-59578-040-8

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2004, Rhiannon Neeley. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://lsbooks.com

  Email:

  raven@lsbooks.com

  Cover Art

  by Jane Sommers

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Grace Lee Shanley pulled in the driveway and killed the engine. It was midnight and Rogue’s car was not parked in its usual spot. It was a good thing. She was tired of arguing with him. That’s why she’d left earlier and went down to Joe’s Bar for a beer. To put some distance between them before she gave in to the urge to strangle him.

  Rogue Shanley had learned fast just how to push her buttons, and Grace did not take kindly to it.

  She couldn’t even remember what had started the argument. All she remembered telling him was he’d better find some other place to stay tonight.

  Looks like he did, she thought, getting out of the car and walking to the back door. She eased the door open slowly.

  “Grace? That you?”

  “Dammit,” she said under her breath. “Yes. It’s me Daddy.” She closed the door.

  “Rogue done left. Where you been all this time?” her father, Dillon Shanley asked, limping into the kitchen.

  “I went to have a beer,” she said, dropping her purse on the counter. She started past him. All she wanted to do was go to bed and put an end to this day. Hopefully tomorrow would be better.

  “What’re you going to do about Rogue?” her father asked.

  Grace stopped. “I’m not going to do anything about Rogue. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need a babysitter.”

  “Well, that ain’t no way to act. I don’t like it when this house is in an uproar and another thing… you shouldn’t of been at the bar. You’re the Sheriff. It don’t look right.” Her father slammed his hand down on the counter top. “If Chase were here…”

  Grace raised her hand. “Chase is not here. Chase is dead. Chase is not coming back, so stop saying ‘If Chase were here’…”

  Dillon seemed to shrink before her eyes. Chase Shanley, Grace’s brother, had been Dillon’s golden boy, his only son. Chase had followed in his father’s footsteps and had been elected Sheriff of Roan County the first time he ran in the election. But he didn’t hold the office for very long. Six months later, Chase was shot and killed while trying to break up a family squabble. It had broken Dillon’s heart. That’s when Grace had decided to run for office the following election. She won, but it had been by a slim margin. She was the first female Sheriff ever elected in the County. She thought that it would please her father and it did, but no one would ever fill Chase Shanley’s shoes in her father’s eyes.

  Looking at her father now, seventy-five years old and crippled with arthritis, Grace felt bad for snapping at him. She knew he didn’t like living here, being dependent, but it was for the best. Now if Rogue would just straighten up and fly right… “I’m sorry, Daddy,” Grace said. “I’ve just had a bad day.”

  Dillon nodded, then looked away.

  The damage had been done. Grace turned and went to her bedroom; saying any more would do no good. Her father blamed her for most of the trouble with Rogue anyway. He said it was because she always felt the need to be the boss of everything.

  In her room, she closed the door. “Somebody has to be the boss,” she muttered, stripping off her clothes and dropping them on the floor. She picked up the nightgown lying at the foot of her bed and drew it over her head. Then she crawled beneath the covers. She turned off the bedside lamp and stared up into the dark.

  “I wish I didn’t have to be the boss all of the time,” she whispered. She thought about her meeting with Drake at Joe’s tonight. Dangerous and gorgeous, unlike any man she had ever met. He epitomized the kind of man your Momma always told you to stay away from. Black leather, spiked hair and when he smiled, which he did often, he had the fangs of a vampire. Grace pegged him as a ‘Goth’ type, not Roan County material at all. Grace would bet her last dollar that no one was his boss. That he called all the shots. That he would be capable of controlling … her.

  Grace closed her eyes and, exhausted from her day, fell immediately into a dream. A dream of a most intriguing man named Drake…

  * * * *

  … She was naked. Cool air drifted over her body, raising gooseflesh on her skin. Her arms were spread wide, as were her legs. Grace shivered. She wanted to curl into a ball but when she tried to bring her knees up to her tummy, she couldn’t. She couldn’t move her arms either when she tried to cross them over her breasts. Something held her in place. Grace opened her eyes. She jerked on her bindings. Something rattled. She twisted her wrists. Cold metal encircled them as it did her ankles. She was lying on her bed and she was handcuffed, spread eagle to it.

  Adrenaline shot through her. Someone was holding her prisoner. “Hey!” she called out into the dark. There was no answer—only the sound of her own voice in an empty room.

  Grace looked from side to side, squinting. She couldn’t make out a thing. “If anyone is there, you’d better let me go. Don’t you know who I am?”

  A door opened on the wall at the foot of the bed. A chilly breeze issued from it, crossing her body. A fresh crop of goosebumps rose along her legs, then it ran up her tummy to her breasts. She felt her nipples peak in the cold. She shivered again.

  Grace raised her head. In the open doorway stood a man. She could barely make out his silhouette. There was a dim light behind him but it masked his face.

  “I am the Sheriff. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me go right now!”

  The man stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

  Darkness again.

  Grace could hear him moving toward her. He must be wearing leather, she decided. When he moved, she heard the brush of leather against leather. Grace began to feel a trickle of fear. She was helpless. Naked. Bound.

  And Lord help her, it … excited her.

  “You’re not in charge here, Grace,” a deep voice whispered in her ear.

  She jerked her head away, not realizing that he had been that close. But she thought she recognized the voice. The man from the bar.

  Drake.

  “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, listening intently.

  “I am going to show you just how good it can feel to let someone else give the orders for a change,” he said.

  Grace followed the sound of his voice. He was moving to the foot of the bed. “You really should release me,” she said.

  “You don’t want me to.” A warm hand touched the bottom of her right foot.

  Grace jerked. The hand grasped her foot, holding it still. Then, he began to massage her foot, kneading the arch, stroking the top. “You want me to tell you what to do,” he said, his hands moving up to her ankle.

  “No,” she said. Wherever he touched felt like she was being branded.

  “Yes,” he said. His hands were at her calves now, fingers tickling the sensitive spot behind her knee.

  Grace swallowed. What
he was doing felt so … good. She felt him bump against the bed as he moved to the side of it. He began massaging the hard muscle of her upper thigh.

  “You are going to let me do things to you, things that are going to feel oh-so-good,” he said, his voice hypnotically smooth, “and when I tell you to do something, you will do it immediately. With no argument.”

  “I—I won’t.”

  “Oh, but you will, Grace.”

  The closer his hot hands got to the top of her thigh, the warmer Grace became. She closed her eyes for a moment. His hands lingered on her thigh, fingers pressing into her flesh. Grace bit her lip, fighting against what she knew was the truth.

  She did want this. She wanted Drake to be in complete control and she wanted to be able to let him. She wasn’t becoming aroused by his touch … she was already there. Her juices had begun to flow as soon as his hands were on her. And his hands were almost where she needed to feel them. At her hot center.

  “Grace?” He trailed one finger through the curls that covered her womanhood.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I’ll take the cuffs off if you promise to do what I tell you,” he said. He slid one long finger between the folds of her cleft, spreading them.

  “No,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “No, what?” His finger continued down and slowly slid inside her hot wetness.

  “Don’t take…” Grace could barely breathe. She’d never felt like this before. Her body was alive. On fire. His touch in the dark. Her shackles cold against her now heated skin. The threat of danger throwing spice into her veins.

  “Tell me.” He slid his finger slowly out of her.

  “Don’t … take them off,” she said.

  “That’s my girl.” Drake slid two long fingers inside her velvet sheath, resting his thumb on her sensitive nub.

  Grace moaned, hot sparks running up her spine. She shifted on the bed. The cuffs rattled. Oh lord, she had wanted something like this for so long.

  His breath was warm against her ear while his hand played her pussy like a violin. “Move your hips, Grace. Rub yourself against me.”

  She did as she was told, thrusting up against his hand. Pressure was building inside her, coiling low in her belly. She thrust faster, the friction of his thumb against her clit driving her to the edge.

  “Now come, Grace. Come hard. I want to feel your pussy flex its muscles.”

  He didn’t have to tell her twice.

  Grace’s body went rigid as the dam burst and pleasure roared through her. She strained against her shackles, arching her back, a moan spilled from the depths of her as she finally relinquished all control.

  Then his mouth found her breast, his sharp teeth scraping against her tightened nipple just before he began to suck, sending her higher on the tide that raged through her.

  Grace screamed, her world shattering into a million bright spots of light as she came as never before…

  * * * *

  “…Grace! Wake up,” her father’s voice boomed.

  Grace’s eyes snapped open and she sat up in bed, her body quaking.

  “You were having a bad dream.” Dillon stood at her bedroom door.

  Grace cleared her throat. “I’m okay,” she said, her throat raw. “Go back to sleep, Daddy.”

  Her father closed the door.

  Grace drew her arms around herself in a hug. She was drenched in sweat. The dream had been so real. Her panties were wet with the evidence of her orgasm, her muscles still quivering from the force of it. She shook her head. Never before had she had such a dream. Just the thought of being handcuffed to the bed, while the man named Drake demanded her obedience, made her tingle anew.

  If only, she thought.

  With a sigh, Grace lay back down, pulling the covers up over her shoulders and wondered if there would ever come a day when she could allow herself the freedom to give in and let someone else take control.

  Chapter One

  Two days later…

  Sheriff Grace Lee Shanley tripped for the third time on her way down the mountainside. “Damn vines,” she said under her breath as she disentangled her foot. She was almost to the old road that led up to the abandoned coal mine. If she could walk these last few feet without falling on her face, it would be a miracle. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she started walking again, cursing herself for wearing her boots with two-inch heels today. But how was she supposed to know there had been a double murder up here above the coal mine on Salt Lick Road, and she’d have to trek through the brush to the crime scene when she had gotten dressed this morning?

  Finally, she made it to the old road and though it wasn’t much better, at least the vines hadn’t managed to set traps along it yet to catch her feet with their creeping ways. The road to the mine used to be stone, pavement not able to withstand the heat and the weight of the coal trucks, but now it was overgrown with weeds and thistle. No one had used the road in years. “But someone has brought a vehicle up here just recently,” Grace said aloud. She crouched down, looking at the tire tracks that had bent over the weeds. Squinting, she followed the tracks with her eyes, hoping against hope that there was at least one patch of dirt the vehicle had driven through that held a tread mark of some sort. Grace stood and started along the trail of the vehicle, eyes searching the ground. The vehicle had headed for the old coal mine. Though it had been closed since she could remember, the mine wasn’t played out, there was still coal to be mined there, but there had been a partial cave-in a long time ago and a couple of men had died. Grace remembered ghost stories about the mine, about the dead men who haunted it. The coal company had closed the mine right after the cave in, figuring they’d rather be safe than sorry. Grace’s heart skipped a beat. There. A partial tread mark where the driver had veered a bit to the left and found some bare dirt. Grace reached for her radio. “Harry, you there?”

  The radio crackled. “Yeah, Sheriff.”

  Grace shaded her eyes from the sun and looked on up the beaten-down track. “Pull one of those boys from the scene and send them down here to the old mine road. I found some tread marks. I want a cast made.”

  “I’ll get one of ‘em. You gonna wait there?” The radio crackled again.

  “I’ll be here.” Grace sighed and dipped her head. She keyed the mike again. “Tell ‘em to hurry up, would you Harry? It’s damn hot out today.”

  “I hear you,” Harry said.

  Grace backed away from the tread marks so that she didn’t disturb them. She lit a cigarette, drawing in the smoke, letting it roll around on her tongue before breathing it out. Filthy habit she knew, but her nerves hadn’t been the greatest lately. She flicked her fingernails, making a clicking sound. The bugs buzzed in the brush, but at least they weren’t bothering her at the moment. Air conditioning. She wanted air conditioning. Soon.

  But there was still more to check out while she was on scene. Like the broken gate at the end of the old coal road. That’s where she had parked the Mustang, seeing right away that someone had rammed through the gate. She was hoping for paint scrapes left on the shattered pieces of wood. There was no way a vehicle could have done that much damage to the gate without leaving some evidence behind. Maybe she’d get lucky and find a license plate or something. She let out a laugh and took another draw from her cigarette. “Grace, you best be getting yourself out of the sun,” she said to herself. She finished her cigarette and ground it out under her boot. She checked her watch. It was noon already and her tummy was beginning to complain. She’d only managed to slug down a cup of coffee this morning, thanks to the call about the murders. She’d left her breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast sitting on the kitchen table, instead of in her stomach. Grace shaded her eyes again and looked in the direction of the crime scene. It was up the mountain a bit, in a clearing. She couldn’t see it from her position but she hoped that one of the techs, either Junior or Arnie … it didn’t matter which one, would show up soon. It had already been a really long day.


  A double murder and it was an election year. Grace only had a few months before election and now she had this thrown in her lap. On top of the budget cuts to the Sheriff’s Department that meant she was going to have to lay off either Junior or Arnie, or both. They were deputies but also her “crime scene technicians.” They liked being called that.

  These murders puzzled her to no end. The bodies of two women, both decapitated. Both with wooden stakes buried in their chests. Both burned completely to ash. The weird thing was that even though they were burned, their bodies still held their shape. They weren’t “blackened flesh”. They were ash … gray ash, their features perfectly preserved. Every feature. Both women were stark naked. And very, very dead. What in the world could have burned them like that, Grace wondered. It looked like they had been in a furnace but they were lying on the ground, in a clearing, in a patch of sun. Oh, yeah, don’t forget the dead deer nearby, Grace remembered. Which also made no sense.

  Billy Ray Sawyer and his hunting buddy, Daniel Stokes had reported finding the bodies. When Grace arrived on scene, Billy Ray had told her a story of two nights ago, he and Daniel had been out hunting … a wolf that Billy Ray claimed killed one of his cows … and some man claiming he was a Federal Officer had run them off. Where they met the Fed was not far from the crime scene. Billy Ray thought the Fed was involved in the murders. Grace had sent Billy Ray and Daniel to the Sheriff’s office; she’d speak with them later. Get a description of this ‘Federal Officer’ who was running around on the mountain in the middle of the night. Grace sighed, not looking forward to questioning Billy Ray and Daniel, but she had that to look forward to when she went back down to Deer Run and the office. She glanced at her watch and looked toward the brush line. Where the heck is that tech? She wondered.

  An hour later, Grace finally climbed in the ‘Tang for the drive down the mountain. Her little red baby didn’t have A/C but if she cranked the windows down, at least, she got some air moving. Driving down the mountain on Salt Lick Road as fast as the curves and the law would allow, Grace used one hand to hold her hair up from the nape of her neck and the other to steer. Lord, I need a shower already, she thought, expertly rounding the curves that she had driven ever since her father had taught her to drive at the age of thirteen. She was pleased with the amount of evidence they had gathered so far. They had the wooden stakes that were stuck in the chests of the two women bagged and tagged, although Grace had cringed when Arnie had removed them from the corpses. On both bodies, the chests had caved in, leaving holes the size of dinner plates. Kind of made the bodies look like some weird sort of sandcastles. But the stakes were intriguing. They weren’t just sharp sticks. They had been carved to a sharp point, making them deadly weapons. Grace hoped for fingerprints but wasn’t going to hold her breath. A couple more pieces of evidence were found at the broken gate that blocked the old road to the mine. Scrapings of black paint on the shattered rails of the gate and a shard of amber plastic. Grace was surprised that there weren’t more pieces of the vehicle that rammed the gate lying around, but the evidence told her that a black vehicle was driving around with a broken parking light. At least that was something.