A damn cop.
“I’m not going home with you, Detective.” She crossed the bar and set her attention on something else. Anything else but him. Stacking glasses always helped her think, but they rattled in her hands. “The main bar is full of holster sniffers.” She forced herself not to look into his eyes. Not to give him a chance to pull her back in. “Try your luck there.”
“I’m not into cop chasers.” He reached across the bar and halted her by flexing his fingers around her wrist.
Every place the man touched turned to molten. Minutes ago she would have welcomed finding herself lost in that touch. Minutes ago he’d made her want to throw out every rule in the Lacy Andrews Guide to Dating and take him up on his one-night stand offer. That was before she’d found the badge hidden under his shirt, the way detectives concealed their identity from the masses.
He lowered his head. “I’m into challenges.”
She didn’t look up. If she did, she’d lose control. “Oh, I’ll bet you are. If you knew who I was—”
“The chief’s daughter,” he deadpanned.
He’d known all along and let her think she’d gotten away with lying. Just like a detective. All Law Enforcement Officers were the same. Lying. Manipulating. Using.
She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, stalling for a second of clarity. “I’m not—”
“Backing out on your end of our bet?” His tone teased.
“The bar doesn’t close until two.”
“I’ll wait.” He cocked his head to the side.
That will be a long wait in hell. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
No. This wasn’t happening. The hottest guy to enter her life in, well, forever, and he had to be a damn cop. She’d done something to royally piss-off karma, and now she was paying for it.
“Why?” She rolled her shoulders, tried to loosen the tension that had settled there but failed.
He studied her for a second, his eyes hot on her skin. “Because I’m not the bad guy. Stetson is still out there somewhere and royally pissed off at you. Even if you don’t go home with me, I’m not letting you go out there alone.”
She’d seen that primal look of protection in men’s eyes before. Mitch wasn’t going to back down. “We have bouncers for that. I’m safe enough.”
“And the two girls murdered right outside town this month? They thought they were safe enough, too.”
The cold reality of why he’d sat in her bar for the past week, surveying the place like a wolf on the hunt, washed over her in a cold chill. Another detective hoping to make his career of finding Richard Wray. Another threat to expose her secret.
“They didn’t have the chief of police for protection,” she quipped.
He considered her answer and shook his head as if to dismiss its validity. “No. They didn’t. And I bet that makes all the difference to a killer. Have it your way, then. I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for the drink.” He picked up his beer and, with a nod to Connie, disappeared out the door leading to the main bar.
Her heart did a swan dive through her chest and landed smack on top of her stubborn pride. Her lady parts winced at the pain of his rejection.
That wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for. And now she’d probably just pissed him off for good.
CHAPTER THREE
Back in the main room of Charlie’s, Mitch spotted Deluna in a dark corner, his body intertwined with a leggy redhead in a booth. Helms was nowhere to be seen.
Too buzzed to drive, Mitch parked himself on a stool behind a glass of water and thought about licking his wounds.
Maybe he’d read Lacy the wrong way. Come on too strong. Pushed her past her comfort zone. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d mixed his signals, but damn did it suck to have happened with her.
She’d been hot for him. He knew it. The heat radiating off her skin was undeniable, and the way her legs constricted around his knees, she’d been close enough to coming for him he felt the moisture permeate his jeaned knee. Too close to have backed off without a solid reason. Something more solid than him being a cop or the memory of a jilted lover.
The back bar was dark, but he’d clearly seen fear flash into her eyes when her fingers landed on his badge.
With Andrews for a father, she couldn’t have been jilted by anyone still on the force. Maybe a little recon into the department’s recent human resources files would shed some light on Lacy’s trepidation toward the badge. And while he was at it, maybe it would shed some light on Nashville’s accusations that someone in Rebel Rapids was tampering with evidence. He could kill two preverbal birds with one well played stone.
Guzzling the cold water, he used the glass to divert the stare of a young blonde straddling a stool two spaces over and seductively sucking her pointer finger in slow, deliberate strokes.
He turned away and was rewarded with a sharp huff directed at his back.
By his second glass, the fog lifted. Fighting the urge to storm into the back bar and throw Lacy over his shoulder, show her what real cops were like, he paid his tab and made his way to the door.
With a murderer on the loose, tailing her home might freak her out and give her even more reason to distrust the boys in blue. He’d settle for an icy shower.
In the half-full parking lot, he pulled his keys from his pocket at the same time his gaze landed on a women kneeling down next to his Indian motorcycle.
Pink strands streaked her dark ponytail, and the seductive shimmer of a silver belt caught the light from the streetlamp. Lacy.
Her body angled against the side of an older model red Ford pickup, cell glued to one ear. Her other hand pressed to the front right tire of the truck, shivering despite the mild night.
Mitch fought the urge to pull her into his arms, slide his hands into her back pockets, press her up against the truck, and kiss her until she understood just how difficult it had been for him to walk away without a fight. Restraint like that came with a price and right now it was the palms of his hands as he dug his nails into them to keep his calm.
Shoving his ego back down his throat had been hard enough, but to ask him to do it again after watching her balance on her toes and bend over the tire with her tight jeans hugging her curves and her ass stuck out in a taunt that hardened his cock to stone? He stifled the groan of appreciation rising in his throat and stepped into her view. “Flat?”
Lacy twirled around, her green eyes narrowed with annoyance. Her brow arched, and she stabbed the end button on her cell with a sexy pout. She had no idea how close to undone the little quiver of her lips sent him. His cock throbbed against the seam of his jeans, and his balls clenched. If there was a God, he’d at least find a decent selection of Pay-Per-View to help him ease the ache later.
“Yeah. Damn jerk knifed my tire.” Lacy gave him a weary smirk.
Her hips worked back and forth for balance. If she bent over any farther, or wiggled her ass any higher in the air, he’d lose it right there in the parking lot.
On the other side of the truck, where the shadows blocked the streetlight, he could tug her jeans down around her ankles and pull her back, hard, onto his erection to ease his pain. Fuck, how he needed to ease that pain.
Oblivious to his plight, Lacy shoved her cell in her pocket and pulled at the black rubber jutting from the three-inch gash in her tire.
“Where’s your spare?”
“Flat.” She stood and spun right into his chest, her arms trapped between their bodies.
Her gaze flashed to his. Her scent, the sting of alcohol and some flowery shampoo, hit his nose. The hint of surprise in her wide stare ignited the fire threatening to take him over. Taking her right here could work, too.
“Your spare is flat?” he repeated, giving her the scolding look he’d perfected from too many years learning the ropes of law enforcement by way of traffic duty.
“Don’t look at me like I should know better. I don’t normally drive around without one, but this is the second time
this month Stetson’s slashed my tire, and the other one is still in the shop being plugged.”
Uneasiness registered in Mitch’s gut at the mention of Stetson. The guy had already been added to his mental list of suspects for the two recent murders on the outskirts of Rebel, but slashing tires shot him up the ranks to prime suspect.
“I called my brother, John, but he’s not answering. And my father—” She swallowed hard, like she’d tried to push some painful thought down. “He’s working. I can’t bother him with this.”
“That doesn’t sound like Chief Andrews.”
“You know my father?”
Andrews wasn’t a chief back when Mitch first met the man, sitting in the lobby of the small police department while his aunt and uncle went over the details of their daughter’s brutal murder.
Back in the days he’d known Chief Andrews, he’d only been a detective, but a damn fine one and the reason Mitch wanted to go into the line of work.
Their disagreements weren’t his business. Besides, his family wasn’t exactly the spitting image of the freaking Brady Bunch. Not to mention the last girl who’d been in his care wound up dead.
Lacy needed to be someplace safe, not that his bed was any safer than a dark parking lot with the way he was feeling. That thought brought a smile skidding across his face.
Her body trembled against him.
“Here.” He slipped free from his jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. Her nostrils flared, taking in the scent of him. “Looks like I’m winning the bet after all.”
Lacy glanced up. “What?”
“You’re not staying out here alone. You’re going home with me.”
“Your place?” She bit at the edge of her lip until the pink flesh whitened. “How do you figure that? I have a home of my own.”
Something primal and protective stirred in him. There was no way in hell he was letting her out of his sight until he had a lead on Stetson’s location and a thorough background check.
Both could be accomplished with a call to Nashville if he didn’t mind blowing his cover and putting his job on the line.
No, for now he’d have to rely on the Rebel officers he’d exchanged numbers with in the bar. “You said no one’s home at your place, and Stetson’s still out there. You can’t chance he might try to take advantage of you being alone tonight.” He smiled. He couldn’t help it. The police chief’s daughter had to know more about Richard Wray than the general public. She might make for an interesting ally in his investigation. “Look. I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Sleep on the couch. Locked bedroom door between us. Eggs the way you like them in the morning. The works.”
A reserved smile crossed her perfect, plump lips. “And if I don’t want you to be the perfect gentleman?”
If she kept up the teasing, he wouldn’t be able to give her a choice. “I can be imperfect if prodded,” he growled. “All you need to do is ask.”
A small spark of fear lit in her eyes. Damn. I’ve gone too far again.
“How do I know you’re not some psychotic killer? They sell authentic badges on the internet these days.”
“You don’t. You just have to trust me.”
She wet her lips with her tongue. ”Give me your phone.”
“Why? Did your battery die?”
She flung her palm out. “Just hand it over tough guy.”
He pulled his cell from his pocket and dropped it in her palm.
Her fingers worked the screen. “Password?”
He moaned. “Molly.”
“You’re very trusting.” She glanced up from under a thick veil of dark lashes. “You make a habit of giving your passwords out to just anyone?”
“It seems to be the only way to get you out of this parking lot.”
“And into your bed.” The smile cresting her lips begged to be kissed off more than any smile had a right to be. She’d gone from timid little barkeep to sexy sophistication before his eyes. “Molly?” She typed it in and glanced up. “Girlfriend?”
“Dog.”
She smirked. Her fingers worked the screen, flicking through contacts and recent calls.
“Like what you see?”
She’d moved on to pictures.
“Who’s the loser in head-to-toe camo?” She flashed a shot of him with his uncle on their last hunting trip in the fall. The trip had become a tradition that dated all the way back to the year Sadie died.
“My uncle.”
“I’d guess your dad.”
“You’d guess wrong, then.” His voice dipped in warning.
They were both still for a moment.
“Who’s the girl?” She held up a picture of Sadie with pigtails and large pink bows. Her last school picture before she was murdered. “Niece? Daughter?” Her voice tripped over daughter, making his smile deepen.
“A cousin,” he explained sharply. “Feeling reassured yet?”
“You guys must be close.”
“No.” He reached for the phone. “She died when we were kids.”
“I’m sorry.” Lacy handed the phone over. Her mouth made a downward curve, forcing her lower lip to jut out.
What he wouldn’t give to pull that plump little slit of pinkened flesh between his teeth and suck on it.
“No trashy girl pictures. No nine hundred numbers. Can you trust me now, or would you feel safer with a copy of my income taxes and maybe a urine sample?”
She winced at the last part. “Gross.” Her attention switched to something else. “Nice bike. Indian?”
She knew her bikes. If he hadn’t already been undressing her in his mind, that attraction alone would have sealed the deal. He had to have her. “Dark Horse series. Rebuilt it with my father a few years back. A failed attempt to reconnect after he split from my mom.”
Her jaw loosened, and her shoulders dropped. Something in what he’d said made contact.
“Couch, locked door, eggs for breakfast. Agreed?”
He crossed his heart and saluted with two stiff fingers. “Unless you change your mind. Scout’s honor.”
Lacy cut her gaze back to him. “Something tells me you were never a scout.”
“Something tells me you’re very perceptive.”
***
Mitch liked the feel of Lacy on his bike. The warmth of her seeped into his back, the tight pull of her arms secured around his waist, her thighs squeezing into his hips. The way her weight shifted and she gripped around the turns. She clung to safety and to trust, and he reveled in the fact she found at least a spark of them both in him.
He maneuvered through town, enjoying the long route and curvy roads that ran parallel to the river.
Lacy’s grip tightened with each sway of the bike, sending waves of nearly unbearable need through him. Her body tensed as he slowed for the last turn and down a gravel road leading to the house that had felt more like a home than his own during his parents’ turbulent divorce.
He killed the engine, and she held on for just longer than necessary. He let her heat soak in; melt some of the rough edges he’d acquired from months of casework with minimal human interaction.
“You okay?” He leaned back, her lips grazing his ear when she turned to hear him.
“Yes.” One arm at a time, she released her death grip until the cool night air replaced her heat along his back.
Mitch held out his hand, taking her elbow to steady her dismount. Her legs shook, conjuring the image of her, quivering, spent and satisfied.
“Somehow, you don’t seem like the river house kind of guy.”
He laughed, leading her up the river rock front steps to unlock the front door. “What did you expect?”
She didn’t answer.
Inside, he tried to take the place in through Lacy’s eyes. Hardwood floors, granite countertops, modern furnishings against a classic cabin backdrop with walls of multicolored river stone and dark-stained wood paneling, and unobstructed views of the river through stately French doors. He smiled. No, the house didn’t echo h
is personality, not in the least. And that’s what he loved. Here, he wasn’t the guy with no life between cases, or the asshat detective who let his past drive his decisions.
Here, surrounded by the memories of Sadie, his ruthless pursuits of killers took on a stronger meaning. Here, his cause was just.
Here, within the walls that had brought his aunt and uncle peace until the day Sadie went missing, he wasn’t an off-the-rails cop on a never-ending mission to hunt bad guys and eradicate them from the world.
Here, there was enough reason behind his mission for him to find sanity where others only saw pain.
He dropped his keys and badge on the hall table and spun to face her. “You expected some cheap motel on the highway, didn’t you?”
She puckered her lips. “They pay detectives where you’re from a hell of a lot better than Rebel Rapids chiefs. That’s for sure.”
“A man can dream, right? It’s my uncle’s place. On loan while I finish some business in Rebel Rapids.”
Lacy had such a disbelieving quality about her. Protected on the inside, weary. Self-reliant. Probably a necessity to survive small town life under the public microscope.
He had a hard time believing there weren’t more men like Stetson hanging around the bar, waiting for their chance to have a piece of the chief’s daughter. It had taken every ounce of restraint in him to not belt Stetson across the face. Lay him out on the bar floor once and for all so he heard the message loud and clear. So everyone heard the message loud and clear. Lacy was and would always be off limits to scum like him.
Mitch stalked toward the kitchen that opened into a large sitting room, casting a glance over his shoulder as he went.
Lacy was a piece of work. A hellcat who stood up for herself. But what happened when Stetson returned and no one was around to protect her? The thought made him uneasy. He hadn’t wanted to stir up too much trouble in Rebel. Gain too much attention. But he should have taken care of the guy anyway. He couldn’t be Lacy’s watchdog, as much as he wanted to be, and keep his focus on finding Wray. She needed proper protection. In his line of work, he knew all too well how fast things could go south.
Confess (The Blue Line Series Book 1) Page 3
