Slow Burn: Iron Horse Series

by Danielle Norman

  “Is someone choking? I know mouth-to-mouth. Hey, Marcus, a bottle of beer, please.”

  I turned at the familiar baritone voice and tried to ignore the way it sent shivers straight to all the right parts of me. I slowly moved my eyes from his boots up his jeans, to his black T-shirt, and then to the gorgeous face. Yep, speaking of man whore, it was Braden Fucking McManus.

  “You okay there, London? I’m assuming that you really don’t need mouth-to-mouth.”

  “That’s debatable, depends who’s asking. If you’re offering.” I threw my hands over my mouth. Oh shit, I said that aloud. It was supposed to stay in my head. Beer, I had beer tongue. That slippery thing that held nothing in.

  Braden coughed, making me think that maybe he was the one that needed the mouth-to-mouth and I’d be willing to practice on him.

  Embracing my alcohol-infused bravado, I dropped my hand and gave him a wink instead of cowering away from my slip-up.

  “You’ll have to excuse her, Deputy, she’s had a bit much tonight.” Marcus laughed as he looked at me and tried to extract the bottle from my hands, but I held on for dear life.

  “Shut up, this is only my third,” I mumbled to Marcus even though he wasn’t paying attention. Oh my God, this was Braden fucking McManus. I’d had a crush on him since we were in middle school. Of course, we never spoke because he was too busy being homecoming king, prom king, and the class president. He’d always been so out of my league.

  I averted my gaze from Marcus and turned toward Braden. His muscled arms flexing was almost as good as watching porn. I could totally get off to this. Damn. The protruding veins made it difficult not to look at him.

  Braden moved his arm to take a swig off his bottle, and it finally broke my hypnotic lock on him. I glanced up and noticed that he’d been watching me.

  I gave him a head bob.

  What?

  I gave him a fucking head bob. The only thing missing was the Jersey accent, and I would have been all Joey Tribbiani from friends. “How you doin’?” I wasn’t cool. I couldn’t pull that off. What was I saying? Even Joey Tribbiani couldn’t pull that off.

  “So, Sergeant, what are you doing in here tonight?” Marcus continued talking as if I hadn’t just made a fool of myself. I owed the guy a home cooked meal. Thank you, Marcus.

  “I’m a lieutenant now. But Braden is fine. I just got assigned back to the East District, so I thought I’d pop in.”

  The two chatted about Braden being back in Geneva, and I sat there listening. God, even his neck was sexy.

  Braden cut his attention to me. “How you doing, London? I heard about your dad. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I nodded my thanks and took another swig of my beer.

  “Is it true that you’re going to stay and run the ranch?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Voice, London, use your voice, I mentally reprimanded myself. “Yeah, my sisters and I. We each have our own skills anyway. I’ve always handled the books and the cattle ranch, Holland is a horse whisperer if there ever was one, and Paris is a whiz with organic stuff. She keeps our fields beautiful so the horses and cattle always have new grazing areas. Between the three of us, we might equal one Samuel Kelly.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make your dad proud.”

  Marcus smirked playfully as he stole glances at me, trying to tear me from my melancholy and tease me because he knew that I’d had a crush on Braden McManus since we were in sixth grade. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and shot Marcus a deadly glare. Braden looked at me, then nodded lightly. He had this presence about him, and it was overwhelming.

  Or at least I was overwhelmed when he slid onto the barstool next to me and made himself comfortable as if he was going to stay a while. The air around me got thin, making it hard to breathe.

  I studied his face a bit longer in the dim lighting of the club. He was absolutely one of those men who only got better looking with age. He was rugged with his steel jaw, which seemed to have been carved by an expert sculptor and gave him a calculated edginess. His hair was almost black and was messy in a way that could have been an accident or could have taken him fifteen minutes to get it to look like that. His mouth...oh, that mouth, it was curled into a friendly, inviting grin.

  I’d bend over backward for my sisters, but Braden McManus, I’d bend over forward for.

  Damn it, London, don’t go there.

  The trance I was in was broken when I heard Marcus faking a cough. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw his mouth crack in to a mischievous grin. “So, Braden, how’s the family?” Marcus asked as he grabbed a cloth and wiped off the bar.

  “Good, Mom and Dad still live in the same house. I think that my mom is enjoying being retired, but my dad is bored as hell.”

  “How about your wife?” Marcus held up one finger. “Hold that thought.” Marcus turned to answer the phone, which left me with nothing to do but wonder who the hell Braden had married. Was he happy? I bet she was beautiful. He probably married some cheerleader type.

  “Hey, I gotta run, that was my mom.” Marcus lifted the half-door that kept people from walking behind the bar.

  “Is everything okay?” I leaned forward on my elbows, and my heart ached with worry for Marcus and his brother, Asher. Marcus’s mom was several years older than my dad had been, and something happening to her today of all days was almost too much.

  “Yeah, she’s fine, but I have to run. Don’t worry about your tab; they’re on me. If you need anything else, just ask Jett.” He gestured toward the bartender at the other end of the bar before adding, “Braden, it was nice seeing you, and I hope you stop in again.”

  “I’ll start coming by more.” Braden held out his hand, and the men shook before Marcus turned to me. “Listen to me, call your sisters or call my brother, hear me?”

  “Don’t worry about it, I’ll make sure she’s fine,” Braden assured him.

  I rolled my eyes and then gave Marcus my most motherly stare. “I better not find out that you skipped out for some booty call. You know that it’s okay to have a dick with standards.”

  I turned my gaze to Braden, who was beating his chest and making a loud choking noise. “You okay there?” I patted his back and felt his body heat radiate through my fingers.

  “Yep, I might be the one who needs mouth-to-mouth. I just never imagined hearing London Kelly saying something like that. The girl I remember was much quieter.”

  Marcus let out a loud snort. “Amazing how girls can fool you, huh?”

  I shook my head, trying to clear away the thoughts of putting my mouth to Braden’s mouth, and decided that one more beer shouldn’t hurt, four wasn’t going to kill me, it would just help get rid of that thing...shit...what was it called? Oh yeah, a filter. “Jett, can you hand me another beer?”

  Getting Even

  Chapter One

  Adeline

  * * *

  The screeching sound of the tires as the V8 American muscle car pulled into a parking space in one fell swoop was one of Adeline Morgan’s favorite sounds in the world. The only thing better than that was shopping.

  She sat in her seat a few minutes and let the song, which was playing far too loudly, finish before she cut the engine. The abrupt absence of the rumble and music in the afternoon air hit Adeline like a shiver of anxiety. There was a comfort in all things car and speed, but she was late, so she forced herself not to crank the engine again.

  Adeline pushed the solid steel door open and slid from her seat before straightening her black bodycon dress, which clung on to her curvy figure. Then she slipped her four-inch black leather heels back on—one did not drive a muscle car with heels on—and grabbed the bags from the passenger seat.

  The Iron Ladies office took up the majority of the fourth floor of one of the many tall buildings in downtown Orlando, and it was more of a home to her than her actual house was. The main office, like other rooms in the company, stood immaculate with white walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed a large view
of the city.

  Adeline walked past the desks that sat in an open floor plan and into the boardroom. A large oil painting of giant handcuffs hung on the opposite wall, and in the center of the room was a large mahogany table. Around said table were some unhappy faces. Well, all except Melanie, she was pacing the room.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Melanie stopped pacing long enough to glare at Adeline. “Really? The client’s been waiting nearly an hour.”

  Adeline shrugged and fell into her seat next to Sunday before setting her bags onto the table in front of her. “Sorry, my lunch break lasted longer than usual.”

  “Told you so,” Sunday said a little too happy.

  Adeline winked at Sunday. “No one knows me better than you do.”

  “Depends what truck stop we go to, I’m sure there’s a few bathroom’s that have poetry written in your honor and we could learn a thing or two.” Olivia reached into her pocket, pulled out some money, and handed it over to Sunday, obviously having lost a bet. Sunday grinned triumphantly, tossed Adeline half the take, and turned back to her laptop.

  Adeline flipped Olivia off and laughed, knowing full well that Olivia’s harsh barb was only a joke.

  “Well, now that we’re finally all here, can we interview the client already?” Melanie asked, glaring between the two of them.

  “Fine by me,” Sunday said, clearly not really paying attention she was too absorbed in her computer.

  “Who’s the client anyway?” Adeline asked.

  “Some lady.” Sunday never lifted her eyes from her laptop screen.

  Adeline rolled her eyes. “You think? I was assuming that we were still Iron Ladies and not men. But, then again, maybe you all voted to change that while I was out.”

  Olivia sighed. “How about I bring her in for the interview, and thereafter you two can argue about whatever gender you think the client is?”

  “Whoa, someone’s in a bad mood today.” Adeline let out a low whistle.

  “Adeline, you’re late . . . again. You come in here with this I-don’t-care attitude. But, damn it, I know you well enough to know that, if I look in those bags, there is probably something for me in there that I’m going to love.” Olivia slapped her hands onto the table as Adeline leaned forward, reached into the aforementioned bags, and pulled out the most awesome black leather vest.

  “I’ll get her.” Melanie headed toward the boardroom doors. “And for goodness’ sake, Olivia. Put that thing away.”

  “Yeah, Olivia, put that thing away.” Adeline smiled as Olivia gathered her oil rag and kit to start reassembling her baby Glock.

  One of their founding and non-negotiable rules was that all four members had to be present for the first meet with all potential clients. The rule had been Melanie’s idea, and according to her, it presented a professional and united front to the client. Melanie had also stressed the importance of making a good first impression to the client, which was another important reason for all members to be present for first contact. Finally, all four members had to state their opinion and cast their vote on whether they should take the case. Majority always won. The rules may sound stupid, but it was these cornerstones that had made the Iron ladies an underground success. Oh, to most, they were just everyday businesswomen, but to the women who were passed the orchid-colored card, they were more than that.

  When Melanie returned with their client, Adeline let out a muted groan. It was Loren fucking Delaney. She was everything that Adeline knew her to be—cultured, elegant, collected, classy, and the fucking mayor of Orlando’s wife.

  “We apologize for the delay, Mrs. Delaney.” Melanie ushered Loren to a seat at the head of the table. Melanie, Sunday, and Olivia cast glances at Adeline. “I don’t suppose you’ve met our fourth member Adeline yet?”

  “Hello, Adeline, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you all for agreeing to meet me.” Loren gave a wave to Adeline.

  “Do you have something for us?” Adeline asked.

  “Oh, yes, I do.” Loren reached into her purse and pulled out the secret orchid colored business card, it was the only proof that the Iron Ladies existed. They didn’t advertise, they weren’t listed in a phonebook, nor did they have a website. They operated simply by referrals.

  Melanie took the card. “So, Mrs. Delaney—”

  “Please, call me Loren.”

  “Okay,” Melanie continued. “Loren, since you contacted us, I take it that you were given our card by one of your friends.”

  “Yes, by—”

  Melanie held up one hand to stop Loren from continuing. “Please, we keep everyone’s privacy.”

  Loren nodded her understanding.

  “Then you also understand that this meeting is an interview and not a guarantee that we will take your case?”

  Loren folded her hands in her lap, but Adeline paid close attention to the slight shake of her shoulders.

  “You are aware that we are not your normal private investigator service? As such, our fees reflect our exceptional services.”

  Again, Loren nodded. “I really do hope that you take my case, though.”

  Sunday looked away from her computer and met Loren’s eyes. “As you’re aware, one of our services includes helping women whose husbands are . . . assholes?” Loren suppressed a laugh. “Since you’re here, I’m assuming that the mayor has been very, ummm, assholey?”

  “To say the least,” Loren concurred.

  “We need you to tell us why you are here.” Melanie shot Adeline a glare for not waiting her turn.

  “Please excuse my colleague,” Melanie snapped. “We aren’t trying to rush you.”

  “Well, . . . actually, I kinda am,” Adeline quipped.

  “Adeline.” Melanie gritted her teeth.

  “He’s the fucking mayor, that spells trouble.” A big part of the Iron Ladies success was dependent on staying below the radar, and there was nothing above the radar more than a fucking politician.

  Olivia interrupted, “I think most of the talking needs to come from Loren.”

  “Agreed.” Melanie nodded.

  Loren looked down at her hands as if she was contemplating each word. “I met Greg when I was an intern at his law office. I like to think I was actually on my way to being a talented lawyer, but when Greg made me an offer to work alongside him in his organization, I took it without hesitation.” Loren paused to study the faces of her audience.

  “Go on, Loren,” Adeline encouraged her.

  “So, I worked for him as an intern. At first, I was intimidated by him since he had such temper. You know, one moment calm and the next, there were papers and objects flying across the room. He got stirred up by the littlest things. He hid it well, and only those closest to him ever saw it. Everyone else thought he was perfect. I knew he had goals to run for office, so I overlooked a lot because I knew it would be great for my career.” Loren laughed, but it was a watery sound that had Olivia passing over the box of tissues they kept in the room for just that reason.

  “Thank you.” Loren wiped her tears and forced a tight smile. “I’m fine. Anyway . . .” She pulled in a calming breath. “We started dating a few months after I took the job, and a year later, we were married. I genuinely thought that he had loved me, but all he really loved was what I did for his image. It took me five years to figure out that the only reason he married me was because he needed a wife who fit the ideal image for his political aspirations.” Loren played with the tissue in her hands, and slowly shredded it without realizing her actions. “Our marriage, it isn’t real, nothing about it is real. We never talk, well, not unless we are in public, then he seems interested in me. He’s a good actor . . .” Loren let out a chuckle. “Even I was fooled. Occasionally, we had sex . . . plain old vanilla, emotionless sex. But that isn’t even once a month. We all know that if he isn’t getting it at home, he’s getting it somewhere. Every time I try to ask him about it or even ask him if he’s coming home, he goes off on me. We are probably up to World War eighteen thousand i
n our house. Everything turns into a war.”

  Adeline leaned forward and gave Loren’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

  “The thing is, I’m tired of the pretense, of the coldness. I want a real marriage, not just something that appears perfect from the outside. I want to be happy. I want my daughter to be happy. I’ve endured all this time because of my little girl, and I’ve realized that she shouldn’t be in a loveless family. I want to teach her that she deserves to be loved.”

  “Have you called an attorney? Why not just file for a divorce?”

  Loren grabbed another tissue and played with it like a worry stone. “No, I haven’t because as soon as he catches wind of this, I won’t be able to fight him. If there is anything in this world Greg cherishes, it’s his reputation, and guys like Greg don’t allow their wives to leave them. It’s as much about control as it is anything else.”

  This was always Adeline’s least favorite part of the interview process, not because she hated meeting new clients but because this was when it felt like pulling teeth just to get a straight answer. Nothing was short and to the point.

  “Do you think that Greg would try and hurt you if he found out?”

  “Not physically hurt me but I need you to know that Greg is up for reelection and he has aspirations for governor someday. He views appearances as a vital part to his image. His career comes before anybody else. He can be ruthless, and when this all blows over, he isn’t going to spare me. If I don’t have enough to evidence against him then he will use his clout to make the courts view me as a bad mother. He doesn’t want custody of Noelle, our daughter, but he’ll do it just to hurt me and try to control me. Noelle is scared of him, she hides from him because he screams all the time. I desperately need your help.”

  Something in Adeline’s gut was telling her that this case was a hard no, it was spelling trouble. “What do you think we might be able to find about Greg, what kind of evidence?”

  “My grandparents owned a lot of property around central Florida and they left me a parcel of about five-thousand acres as part of my trust. It has been valued at about five million dollars and is prime real estate. Just before Greg and I got married, I had an attorney set it up for a trust for our first child. Once Noelle was born, I had her name put on the property. I asked Greg about it a few months ago because I didn’t get a tax bill in this year. It always comes in my name as the custodian for Noelle. He said that he’d look into it, but when I asked about it again he got mad at me. So, I went to the property appraiser’s page and looked up the information, but the info was hidden.”