Laying Down the Law

Dedication

Thanks to my fans…always. You’ve made my dreams come true.

Chapter One

Rain fell in sheets, so heavy and fast that it wasn’t long before Zuri Prescott’s hands ached from her death grip on the steering wheel. The darkness suffocated her headlights so that she couldn’t see farther than twenty yards in front of her, but the beams still glossed the highway’s surface to a bright glare, which left her wondering whether she was inside the lines or sailing down the middle.

She’d been driving for hours, numbed to the worsening conditions, her mind caught in an endless loop, reliving the horrors of the day.

Her panic hadn’t lessened for even a moment since she’d first felt a gun pressed against her temple early that morning as she’d unlocked the side door of the branch bank, and a harsh voice whispered in her ear to get the door open fast.

A heated body had moved close to her back and crisp, spicy cologne drifted over her. With her hands shaking, she’d unlocked the door, and then let him shove her through.

She’d landed on her knees, her pantyhose shredding on impact—the long, fat ladder that rippled up her thigh as strangely upsetting as the masked man behind her who grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up to face the security alarm.

She’d pressed the buttons on the key pad, disarming the premises alarm and dropped her hands. But another nudge of hard steel against her back, and his hushed, “The vault alarm too, sweetheart,” had her punching a second set of numbers before he hustled her around the corner toward the vault, out of sight of her manager who waited in the parking lot for the all-clear signal.

The vault operated on a timer. At any other time of day, she wouldn’t have been able to open it—a fact that didn’t register until later. She’d spun the two combination locks, heard the inner mechanisms clang as they released, and he’d reached around her to grab the lever and push it down. The large steel door swung open.

The thief had shoved her through the anteroom with security deposit boxes lining both walls, heading straight for the locked door at the rear. Again, he’d waited while she found the key and opened the door, then shoved the mesh interior gate inward.

Forcing her to her knees, he’d wrapped her wrists and ankles in duct tape, and pulled a hood over her head.

Then she’d been left to shiver on the floor, listening to the sounds he made as she followed him in her mind through the gate while he scooped stacks of cash into a bag. One side only. Later, the assistant manager pointed out that the thief must have been timing himself, a real pro, because he’d skipped the temptation of pausing to finish the sweep.

Less than five minutes had passed since they’d entered. Another two and the manager would call the police.

The thief had walked back to her and knelt, his knee touching hers as he leaned close.

She’d stayed silent, afraid as she’d never been before, because she knew he was going to kill her.

But the sound of keys rattling against glass had him scrambling to his feet and rushing out of the vault. A muffled shout and a single piercing shot was followed by the soft swoosh of the door closing.

For several interminable moments, she’d sat frozen, afraid he’d come back. But when he hadn’t, she’d crawled on her belly across the floor, inching her way toward the first desk in the lobby and a panic button. Sirens screamed in the distance, and she slumped on the floor, shivering and beginning to cry.

When the police arrived, her hood was pulled off, and a grim-faced police officer helped her sit while he cut the tape binding her.

Her head swiveled toward the door where the shot had rang out, and she saw another officer bent over Sam McWherter, her boss, whose rotund body lay spread-eagle on the floor, blood seeping outward to soak into the carpet.

The officer beside her moved to cut off her view. “You’re okay. Don’t look. We’ve got this place secured.”

Everyone had been solicitous. A hot cup of tea was pressed between her cold hands. She’d been herded into McWherter’s office, away from the body and the team beginning to comb the lobby and vault for evidence. They’d been kind, gently but firmly asking her to go over the chain of events that had transpired.

She’d given them a step-by-step description—of the robber’s actions and her sketchy knowledge of his height, weight and gruff voice. The second time through, she swayed in her chair from melting exhaustion.

“Ma’am, did anyone know your routine?”

That one question from the first FBI agent to arrive on scene sparked a dawning horror, and she froze, noting the glance he shared with the pair of detectives flanking her in leather upholstered chairs. Someone did know her routine—and wore a crisp cologne that smelled like cinnamon and sandalwood.

She swallowed hard, realizing in a split second that she’d been set up. That she might even be implicated because the robber wasn’t a fool. No, he’d been incredibly, devastatingly clever.

While the agent waited for her to respond to the questions, she’d shaken her head, giving him a tight smile. How could she tell them they were looking for a cop? Who would believe her side of the story? Especially after they did a little digging into her background. She’d lied about her affiliations with known felons when she’d applied for this job.

When she’d pleaded illness, they’d escorted her to her desk where she’d filled out the bank’s incident reports and made arrangements to meet later with the detectives and the FBI agent assigned the case at the station house to sign a statement, but her mind was already racing ahead.

She couldn’t go back to the apartment and risk meeting
him
. He’d have to finish what he’d started.

Gathering the handbag they’d already searched, she’d palmed her keys, nodded her agreement to see them later and walked sedately out the front door of the bank.

Since the moment she’d slid behind the wheel, she’d been on autopilot, navigating out of her Houston suburb and heading northwest. She’d stopped briefly, once, for gas—but had received another shock when she’d opened her glove compartment for her SpeedGas key.

Now, she drove with just one thought, just one image burned into her mind. An isolated cabin, deep in cattle country. Somewhere no one would think of looking for her. Then she could take a breath and consider what to do next.

She didn’t see the city-limit sign when she passed it, but she knew where she was when she reached the highway crossroad. She turned left away from the little town she’d once been so eager to escape and toward the Triple Horn Ranch.

Lights flared behind her as another car took the turn. For just a moment, the rain relented, and she saw the make of the vehicle. Her panic surged again.

How had he found her? She’d driven back roads in case the police were already alerted that she’d fled.

The headlights of the car behind her switched off. Not knowing how close behind her he was, she gunned the gas pedal. Her car surged forward, tires losing traction in standing water. The rear of her vehicle wagged in a wicked fishtail, but she steered through it, not easing up on the gas. If she could outrun him, make it to the cabin and hide her car beneath the lean-to…

She’d forgotten about the low-water crossing until she saw the yellow warning sign. With only a moment to make a decision, she kept her foot on the accelerator, hoping the water wasn’t too deep, that momentum would propel her through if it was, and held tight to the steering wheel.

The road dipped, her car hit the water, jerking her against her seatbelt, spray coating the windshield too thick for the wipers to clear. Then she felt the subtle shift beneath her as her car was lifted and floated sideways, off the low bridge, tilting as it slid into the swiftly moving water.

Chapter Two

Colt Triplehorn pushed back his cowboy hat and wiped away the sweat gathering above his brow with his shirtsleeve. The blue sky was clear of clouds, the sun rising hot and fast and turning the moisture soaked in the ground into steam. The air was thick, humid, hard to breathe.

Even his dog, Scout, felt the aftereffects of the previous night’s storm. His gray and white Australian Shepherd kept pace with his horse. But the dog’s tongue lolled from one side of his mouth, and he wasn’t as quick to dart toward the herd and nip at the heels of the cows who wandered too far from the main body.

They’d been moving cattle since dawn—shifting them from a parched and overgrazed pasture to this one. Here the buffalo grass was longer and greening up fast after the downpour. Maybe they’d even be able to put off buying another load of hay for a week or so if the sun didn’t scorch the grass too quickly.

Colt’s gaze lifted to the tall elm trees lining the banks of the creek that bordered the pasture, and he stifled a grimace. Past the tall trees stood the ramshackle hunting cabin he hadn’t had the heart to enter in years. His brothers kept it stocked, heading there each fall during the short deer-hunting season. Maybe this year, he’d join them.

Maybe this year, he’d get past the memories the little cedar-log cabin evoked. Twelve years was a long time to hold onto a dream.

There in that little cabin, he’d secretly met with his girl, Zuri. There, they’d cuddled after school and explored each other’s bodies. There, he’d taken her virginity. It was also there that he’d planned to propose.

The ring had burned a hole in his pocket for weeks, waiting for graduation day. He’d bought new bedding for the twin mattresses of the two bunk beds, replaced the yellowed curtains in the windows with pretty white lace. A white linen tablecloth had covered the plank table, and he’d smuggled china and crystal from the house for the meal he’d planned. Everything had been perfect. Waiting for her.

But she’d never known, because as soon as the graduation ceremony ended, she’d walked over to him as everyone else headed to the parking lot outside the high school gym, given him a kiss and told him goodbye.

He’d stood there like a stump, not saying a word. Every warning his brothers had given him about not trusting her, about her being bad news, searing his mind.

“What were you gonna tell me?” she’d asked, gazing up at him with her deceptively soft brown eyes.

“Never mind,” he’d mumbled, pulling himself together for his own pride’s sake and walking her to her car. It had been the last time he’d seen or talked to her. Not that he’d expected to. Once she’d passed the city-limits sign, he’d been history.

He hoped like hell she’d found what she’d been looking for, because he’d been lost after she left.

Sure, he’d gone through the motions—even did a stint in the Army, enlisting that summer because he had to get away. When he’d come back, he wasn’t the same person he’d been. He’d worked on the ranch between semesters at Texas A&M, entered the police academy in San Antonio afterward, before heading home to work in the small town’s sheriff’s department. But he hadn’t felt as connected to Caldera, Texas, as he had before. He’d stayed because he had a job and a duty to help maintain the family ranch. He certainly hadn’t stayed because he’d found everything he ever wanted here.

More selective than his horn-dog brothers, he’d kept his affairs few and far between. Perhaps he needed a little of what the younger Triplehorn brothers were famous for. He needed to let loose, have a couple of drinks and find a willing woman.

She didn’t have to be pretty or slim. Didn’t have to be young. He wouldn’t be choosy. After all, his goal wasn’t a relationship.

He needed the kind of arrangement he’d had with Maggie Pounders…until the day she’d up and got married. Last time he’d showed up at her door, she’d lifted her left hand to show him the ring. He hadn’t known she’d been seeing anyone else or that she was even interested in marriage. Not that they’d ever done a whole lot of talking.

One thing was for certain, Colt needed some relief to get rid of the edgy, restless energy that had made him a bear to be around lately—more likely to snap than smile. He needed release from the pressure of all the responsibilities he’d taken on in the last year. Hell, he just needed release. Plain and simple.

This morning, as he’d eaten dust churned up by five hundred sets of hooves, Colt had made up his mind. Tonight, he’d take off the badge, head into Caldera, find a willing partner and get laid. For his brothers’ sake.

They’d been tip-toeing around him for days, making sly comments about the source of his bad temper. They’d even offered to hook him up, but the last thing Colt wanted was those two finding him a woman. Gabe and Tommy’s idea of the perfect playmate didn’t square with his. Never had.