Evie crossed her arms over her chest, the action squeezing more beer out of her bra. Her lips pressed into a tight line and she forced herself to answer, "Wet T-shirt contest. It's a new thing we’re trying."
Evie straightened her arms, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides in time with the ticking in his jaw. A couple day’s stubble graced the hard planes of his face, only a little shorter than the black hair buzzed close to his scalp. He looked as if he’d been chiseled from steel.
Hunter leaned in close and Evie's stomach knotted. Lust built inside her, pushing against her dam of resistance. "I bet you won."
He wasn't staring at her chest, she had to give him that. No, his target appeared to be her mouth. His head lowered to hers and her mind went blank. If she had been thinking like a full-grown woman, she would have jerked back before his lips made contact. But tonight her brain had pointed and aimed but failed to fire.
Hunter's mouth closed over hers. She froze, holding her body still even though she felt like the Mississippi River, swollen with floodwaters, shorelines about to explode with desire.
He deepened the kiss and her dams of resistance weakened, cracking under the pressure.
But something held her back. She didn't let him take over. She swam and fought against the rip current of Hunter James.
"God, I've missed your mouth. I can't believe I stayed away from you this long." His words yanked her back to reality.
Fury exploded through her limbs. "How did you manage?"
"I have no idea.” His eyes promised sex. Mind blowing, body numbing, sore-for-three-days sex.
The words were out of her mouth before she could seal
her lips. "Yeah, well if you were expecting a welcome party, you're five years overdue."
Chapter 6
Hunter dangled a cold beer from his fingers and leaned his elbows against the bar. The dim glow from a few hanging Edison lights illuminated small circles along the scarred top. Probably a good thing. Too much light and he might see a cockroach crawl out of the peanut bowl.
Evie had sunk fast after her relationship with Marcus ended. Her fiancé had left her two years ago, upgrading from local country girl to city-born, politician-bred elitist. Then her father had been killed on the job, a hazard of being sheriff. Now Maxine and Evie owned a run-down dump.
How they got involved with the MRG was one of the first things he intended to find out. Hunter was missing one giant-ass piece of a three-thousand part jigsaw puzzle, and fuck all if he’d ever completed a puzzle in his life.
Why the hell had he agreed to this mission? In terms of discomfort, reconnecting with his ex ranked right up there with those getting-in-touch-with-your-inner-feelings classes the government required when demobilizing from deployment.
Maybe he could tolerate this a little more if she hadn't moved on with another man. Particularly such a scumbag.
And here Hunter sat. At her bar. Drinking her beer. And planning the best way to infiltrate her pants.
Gotta love karma, that twisted bitch. He downed his beer and banged the bottle down too hard on the bar. Cheri, a loud-mouthed redhead, jumped and snatched it up. She wasn't some shy virgin, but she backed away from him like he was the Grim-fucking-Reaper.
Hunter could kill an enemy without the slightest rise in his blood pressure. He could target, torture, and terminate with a smile. But right now, the emotional control he so relied upon had disappeared—all because of one woman. One small, blonde memory that had dug a pick ax into his mind and refused to let go.
When Evie had brushed past him in her rush to stop that fight, her fresh scent had nearly knocked him down. He’d watched as she tackled a woman nearly twice her size, ready to go all Superman and fly to the rescue. Just like before. And just like before, she hadn't needed him.
Hunter took a deep breath, forcing his abdomen to relax enough to allow air into his lungs. He clutched his fingers, counted to three, and cracked the closest thing to a smile he could manage. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Rough week. Can I get a refill?"
Cheri paused, tilting her heart-shaped face to the right. Her pupils shrank the smallest millimeter, making her hazel eyes appear almost gold. Careful calculation snapped across her features. “Why should I get you a refill? Every time you come here, you hurt her.”
His first thought was, good. He wanted to hurt her, just like she’d hurt him. But he kept that thought to himself. “I don’t want that. I came tonight to apologize. For being such a prick.”
God, the words might as well be soaked in battery acid as bad as they burned. Liar. He wasn’t going to just hurt Evie, he planned to use her and then turn her over to the government.
“Ha, I’ll believe that when I see it.” Cheri made to turn away but Hunter reached across the bar and grabbed her arm. She stopped, looked at their connection like she would cut his arm off if he didn’t let go. And he had no doubt she would.
“Fuck, you’re not making this easy. Listen, I got shot, see the cane?” Hunter lifted his prop, a gnarled wooden cane for Evie’s best friend to see. “It made me realize how wrong I’ve been.”
Cheri peeled his fingers off her arm, one by one. “I’m not buyin’. You probably been shot before, and that never made you give a flying crap.”
“You’re right, I’ve been shot. I’ve been wounded. But this time was different. This time, I almost didn’t make it.” Hunter leaned in, making sure to hold her gaze. “And when I was lying there, bleeding out, the only face I could see was Evie’s.”
Cheri stared, hard. This crap better work. He’d pulled out all the stops. And used a trick he’d learned in training. If you’re going to lie, tell a little truth.
Even if the truth was like swallowing rusty nails.
“Crap. You’re serious.”
Hunter nodded. “I am. I tried to talk to her a few minutes ago, but she wasn’t in the mood.” And that was putting it lightly.
Cheri shook her head, grabbed a beer and passed it to him. “I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think she won’t see.”
Hunter cringed and took a drink. Maybe he hadn’t been as cavalier before as he’d thought.
“But I’ve also seen the way she looks at you. I tell you what, I will stay out of your way. But I swear to God if you hurt her, I’ll cut off your balls and use them for fish bait.”
Hunter opened his mouth, and then decided better. No need to respond. Cheri moved away to serve another customer.
“Hello, handsome.” Tonya Lee Swopes sat down beside him, her long black hair teased and sprayed a lot higher than normal. “Wanna dance?” Her fingers brushed his, stayed a second too long. Her skin was soft, her body temperature a little cooler than his. She leaned forward, displaying a pair of tits to rival a young Dolly Parton’s. He knew he could have her in his bed in a few hours. Or maybe even in his truck in a few minutes. But he didn't feel any heat.
The only woman he could picture had blonde hair and impossibly blue eyes.
"No, thanks." Hunter pulled away first and took a swig.
Tonya pouted, but the look only made him cringe. Her red lipstick was too bright. Clownish. “You’re not being very nice tonight.” Ignoring his fuck-off and go away glare, she slid a hand up his thigh. “Remember the last time we went out?”
Did he remember her drunken advances? Unfortunately, he remembered too well. “Actually, no. And if you don’t mind, I want to be alone tonight.”
Any semblance of charm disappeared and she stood, shoving her stool back so hard it crashed to the floor. “You don’t know what you’re missing asshole.”
“You are right, and I don’t want to find out.”
Tonya’s blush stained cheeks turned full-on red. She sputtered, and Hunter imagined, she was wracking her brain to come up with some type of come back. Shit. This was not the kind of attention he wanted or needed.
“Back off slut or I will kick you out of here.”
Hunter turned to see Cheri pinning Tonya with a lethal gla
re. Tonya looked like she would explode, but somehow she managed to keep it in. Instead, she stomped off and Hunter breathed a sigh of relief.
"Wow. I would have rescued you, but I swear Tonya stalks me.” Ranger righted her vacated stool and plopped down next to him, his dark blond hair sticking out in three different directions. Typical.
About fifty people crowded the room, if you included the bear holding a beer in the corner. Hunter nodded to C.W., Evie’s grandpa, across the room. He was straddling a backward chair at a table occupied by nearly half the MRG.
Hunter snorted. “Gee. Thanks. Now I know who not to call in a pinch."
“Hey man, I can handle bullets, but not blood thirsty gold-diggers.” Ranger looked over his shoulder, winked at Cheri, and had a beer in his hand in less than a second.
Hunter could have raised his brow, but there was no point. Women always fell at his brother’s feet. Literally. One had even dropped to a knee and proposed to him a few years ago at a party. Too bad the only woman his brother wanted was the one married to his best friend.
"Anyway, you seen her yet?” Ranger said.
“Yes, I’ve seen her.” Of course he’d seen Evie. He hadn’t been able to peel his gaze off her all night.
“Any progress?”
“Well, since I’ve got to talk to her for all of two minutes before she told me to basically fuck off, I’d say the answer to your question is no.” He’d made contact all right-and lost his ability to think. Kissing her hadn’t been part of the plan. Not yet anyway. He sure hadn’t planned on the atomic bomb of need that had exploded the minute he touched her.
Ranger cringed, “That bad, huh?”
“Apparently she has some hang-ups. But I’m sure we’ll work through them.” Maybe with a little light groveling on his part.
“You better. We don’t have a lot of time.” Ranger nodded at a group of men two tables over.
“No shit.” Hunter didn’t need a reminder that he had to swallow his pride and basically beg the woman who’d betrayed him to take him back.
“I take it the deputies don’t know Sheriff Brown got kicked out on his ass?” The men at the table lazed back in their chairs and while their pressed shirts and jeans seemed normal enough, something about them was not quite right. Their mouths moved in conversation with each other, but their eyes constantly scanned the room, never lingering on one person for too long.
"I’m guessing the sheriff didn’t want to tell his cronies he got punked down," Hunter said. The men continued to act casual, laughing and nodding, but not one person walked within a foot of their table. Hunter had been too busy doing recon on the Videls to even notice them.
"Probably right. They got a really mean streak and if they scent blood in the water…” Ranger let his words trail off.
“The good sheriff will lose his position as head honcho.”
Ranger took a long pull off his beer and swerved the barstool around so it faced the mirrored wall behind the bar.
One of the deputies grabbed a girl walking past their table and pulled her onto his lap. She couldn't be older than twenty-one and her expression closely resembled a bunny caught in a hunter's snare.
His hands roamed over her body while his deputies watched the show, doing nothing to help the girl escape his grasp. Hunter's muscles went tense, and in one move he sat his beer on the bar and his feet on the ground.
Ranger wrapped a hand around his arm, barely managing to restrain him. "Don't. He won't do anything in front of everyone."
The young girl finally managed to escape and scurried away, disappearing into a circle of women near the restroom. "Too bad we’re on a mission. I’d mop up the shit stains on the floor with the bastard's face."
“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure before all this is over, you’ll get your chance.”
Apparently everyone in his hometown had a price tag, including Evangeline Videl. The Wharf, the MRG—all around him there was evidence she was in desperate need of funds. And would be willing to do anything to get the money—including betraying their country.
But no matter how much Hunter tried to picture Evie slinging an AR-15 over her shoulder, he couldn’t make the image stick. "I hope so. I'm gonna make sure he gets special attention."
Ranger shook his head, his gaze sharp but amused. Hunter had never tried to be the nice one. He hadn’t seen the point. Family mattered. His country mattered. Loyalty mattered. Other than that… Sure, he had friends from high school, and he probably would have continued to hang out with them if he'd stayed in Mercy. Shit, he'd probably be working the ranch with his dad, drinking beer every Friday night with the boys.
But Hunter had joined the military a couple years out of high school, leaving behind most of his relationships in Mercy, and he hadn’t looked back.
"So where is Evie?" Ranger leaned sideways, his blue shirt pulling tight over his shoulders.
"She broke up the fight and one of the women threw a pitcher of beer on her. She took off out the back."
Ranger's smile disappeared into the first scowl Hunter had seen all evening. "She go home?”
“Nope. Upstairs.” They’d been watching the Wharf and its occupants for over two weeks now. The apartment upstairs was where the MRG met.
“Where are Hoyt and Jared?” Hunter asked.
“Back at base. Hoyt’s pulling the satellite images of the river and all the points of interest. Jared’s going over the intel from Mr. K.” Ranger’s words were tinged with bitterness. A bitterness that grabbed Hunter by the bones and hung on tight.
Mr. K was Mr. J’s replacement. Hunter had yet to meet Mr. K, and he’d avoid it for as long as possible. He’d learned his lesson. Never get too close. Never care.
TF-S had lost two men that night. Mr. J, Hunter’s mentor, and Shane Carter. Shane had been secretly classified MIA. His wife knew, but no one else.
“Anything new on Shane?” Hunter asked. So far, they’d found out nothing beyond that Shane was either being held hostage by Al Seriq or was dead.
Ranger paused, his beer halfway to his lips. “No.”
Infiltrating the MRG and following the weapons to Al Seriq was their best hope of finding Shane, taking down the terrorist and hopefully saving their hometown.
Hunter lifted his gaze and surveyed the room through the mirror’s reflection. His gaze slammed into C.W.’s. Time to implement their plan.
Hunter slapped a hand on Ranger’s shoulder and stood. “Go time.”
Chapter 7
Evie pounded up the outside staircase, her footsteps thudding as fast as her heart rate. The old wooden steps creaked and groaned like an old man with arthritis, protesting her mistreatment of their shabby structure. Rain beat a steady staccato on the tin roof covering the stairs and the dock below them, providing some cover for her hasty retreat.
It had been raining relentlessly for weeks now, but rain was always welcome in the summer, when the crops were bone dry and liable to break in a strong wind. As liable as Evie was to break right now. The first time she'd seen Hunter in years and she'd been covered in beer. Shit. This wasn’t exactly the kind of look-what-you've-been-missing appearance she would have hoped to channel.
Still, there was the type of rain that fed the crops, and there was the type of rain that caused a flood. The Wharf, built on ten-foot stilts from fifty-year-old cypress wood, fared better than most structures in a storm. But the ground was saturated and the Mississippi was swelling to capacity. Talk of flooding were spreading through Mercy like the flu, apparently multiplying as fast as ex-boyfriends.
Everything she had worked so hard to build could be destroyed in a flood, but there wasn't anything she could do to stop it. Powerless. Once again, she was powerless. She slammed the door to the small apartment over the bar and leaned against it for support. Tonight had taken a lot out of her and it wasn’t even over.
But this was no time to fall apart. She could analyze and dissect everything that had happened later. Now she had to get back to work.
> Evie stripped out of her soaking clothes and turned on the shower, letting the hot water wash everything away. She braced both hands on the tile in front of her, dropped her head as she struggled for control. Her mother’s betrayal almost hurt worse than her father’s death, and for it to come on the night she’d run into both Marcus and Hunter… She reached for her safe place, the blank void in her mind where nothing and no one could reach her.
She couldn’t find it.
Long-buried tears spilled out and Evie wrapped an arm around her middle, holding in the sob that threatened to wrench her gut in half. She bent forward and sucked in air, trying to tame the tremors wracking her body.
Marcus disgusted her. Just being near him made her want to vomit. His careful elegance hid a monster she’d discovered too late.
Hunter disgusted her too. He’d left without a word five years ago, leaving a void she had barely managed to fill. But instead of repulsion, her body craved his like a crack addict craves a needle.
A hand shot through the shower curtain.
Her heart slammed against her chest like a two-ton truck hitting a tree at ninety miles an hour. A scream stuck in her throat. She jumped back. Slipped. Her feet shot north and she caught herself just before her ass slapped the bathroom floor.
"Holy shit, are you okay?" Cheri popped her head around the shower curtain, which was when Evie realized there was a bottle of shampoo in her hand.
Evie pulled herself upright, heart still racing, and grabbed the bottle, stifling the impulse to use it to smack her friend.
"You're welcome." Cheri's voice dripped with the sweetness of acid.
As if she would thank Cheri for scaring the holy hell out of her. She popped the top and took a cautious sniff. The scent of spicy vanilla hit her.
"You shoulda kept on your toes. Everyone knows Bev fights dirty," Cheri said.
Evie applied the shampoo to her hair before answering, "I know."
"She could have punched you," Cheri continued as Evie rinsed her hair, apparently content to carry on a mostly one-sided conversation. "You're lucky Maxine stepped in."
Men of Mercy: The Complete Story Page 6
