No Mercy (26 page)

“Let me know when you do.” He slid a Coke in front of me. “Can you take a break from straight shots?”

“I’d probably better.”

I dug out the Skoal Bandits and nestled it in my cheek. The weather fit my mood; I was sinking in my own little cesspool. I didn’t notice the subdued noise level in the bar until he bulled his way in behind me.

“I need to talk to you.”

Why did his deep voice cause a quiver in my belly? “Go away, Dawson.”

“Talk to me here or I’ll drag you to the office. Your choice.”

“Your girlfriend called you, did she?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

The silence in the bar was short-lived.

“Did she whine to you about me being mean to her? Boo fucking hoo.”

“Did you physically threaten her?”

“Yep.” I still hadn’t turned to look at him.

“Why?”

“Because I felt like it, that’s why.”

“This isn’t helping.”

“So? I don’t give a rat’s ass. Slap the cuffs on or get away from me.”

John-John was watching and listening from behind the cash register.

Dawson wrapped his hand around my upper arm. “Mercy—”

I whirled around. “Just because you kissed me does not grant you the right to touch me whenever you want, Dawson. Get your hand off me or I will break it.”

John-John fumbled a lowball glass.

Dawson increased his grip. “Just because you kissed me doesn’t grant you the right to blow me off when I want to talk to you in an official capacity, Gunderson. Laronda threatened to press charges, and there’s a whole bar full of witnesses to back her up that you attacked her unprovoked. So if you don’t want to end up in jail, listen to me.”

“Unprovoked? Bull.”

Dawson put his hot mouth against my ear. “Play along.”

I snorted. “Like that’ll happen.”

“I’ll haul you outside. We’ll decide what to do from there, but you can’t stay in here.”

“Do I have to apologize to that phony bitch?”

“No.”

“How do you know she won’t follow us to make sure you’re arresting me?”

“It’s pouring outside. She’s not gonna get her hairdo wet or else she’ll look like a drowned cat. And if she presses the issue, I’ll dissuade her.”

It was bizarre, holding an intense conversation without making eye contact with him. “How? With your cowboy charm?”

“If I have to. Or I’ll have
you
press charges against her for attempted vehicular assault.”

That comment took a second to sink in. “You
knew
?”

“No, I didn’t know, I figured it out. And I don’t appreciate your acting so damn surprised that I was doing my job.”

“So why the hell didn’t you tell me that bitch tried to kill me—”

“Because you would’ve killed her.” He paused. His rapid breathing stirred my hair; shivers cascaded from my scalp to my toes. “And she’s not worth doing time for.”

My head swam. From too much booze, too much anger, too many unanswered questions, and too many secrets. Dawson’s deep voice whispering in my ear wasn’t helping clear my mind. “You looking to throw me in jail for attempted assault?”

He made a noise, half growl/half laugh. “You? In a bed? Fifty feet from my office? With a door that locks? That’s punishing me, not you.”

Sexual heat flashed through me, igniting a more dangerous edge than anger. My head said, “Not now,” but I angled my face until his lips grazed my temple. “Dawson—”

“Dammit, Mercy. Don’t do this. Don’t say another word until we’re out of here.”

Before I could respond, he yanked me off my bar stool.

“Come on. Outside.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice.

“Let go of me.”

Dawson dragged me through the gathering crowd.

I tried to twist out of his hold. “Keep your hands off. I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s what they all say.”

He herded me past the jukebox. I caught a glimpse of Laronda’s puffy red hair and her Cheshire grin. “Where are you taking me?”

“One guess.”

I stopped. “I am not going to jail.”

Dawson loomed over me and glared. “Move it. Outside.”

I spun on my heel and marched to the door without looking back. My body pulsed with irritation. Burned my ass to back down from Laronda. It went against everything I did. Everything I was. My job was to take down bullies, not to turn tail and run.

Outside, rain slapped my face. No wind, but it was pitch-black except for glints of lightning. The absence of light, the continual deluge, my inebriated state, and my bad eye were a bad combination. I stumbled through potholes that’d become mud puddles. I patted my pockets.

No keys.

A jagged line of lightning illuminated Dawson standing right in front of me. My heart jackhammered when he grabbed my shoulders. “Don’t touch me.”

“Tough shit. What is wrong with you?”

“Why don’t you tell me? I’m sure you’ve compiled a mile-long list like everyone else in this godforsaken county.”

His palms slid over my collarbones in a long caress up my neck to hold my face in his hands. Rain streamed down his cheeks, tiny droplets clung to the tips of his hair. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t.”

He shook me a little. “No matter what I do or don’t do, you still don’t trust me. Why were you drinking yourself into the gutter and picking fights tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Tell me.”

Booze, nerves, fear, and frustration made me rant. “You wanna start with the dead bodies showing up at my place? Or that my nephew was murdered? Or that some bastard tried to burn down my house and barn? Or that someone broke into my home and assaulted my sister? Or shall we skip to the part where I remind you that you’re not doing your job, the job my father did with pride for years. The job my father handpicked you to do because he . . . couldn’t do it anymore, and goddammit, I can’t believe he’s dead and I didn’t get to say good-bye. I’m dealing with this shit by myself. Again. Why am I always the one left holding the goddamned bag?” My breath hitched.

“Mercy—”

I waved off his show of pity. “But because I’m Wyatt Gunderson’s daughter, people trust me, and expect I can solve their problems. I don’t want that trust.
You
should want it. This”—I gestured to the scant space separating us—“is just making it worse.”

“Worse? How could it be worse? No one trusts me, least of all you. And I’m sick of you thinking I’m inept and I don’t give a shit about three dead kids. I am not an insult to the office that your father held for so many years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but me defending myself isn’t what this is about, is it?”

No.
“Just leave me alone. Why do you even care what the hell I think?”

Dawson locked his soulful eyes to mine. “I care because I saw the strongest woman I know lose it tonight. You’re on the edge, Mercy, and I’m part of the reason you’re there.”

I looked away. Damn him. The flashes of lighting bounced strobelike around us and made me woozy. I swayed to the ground.

But Dawson followed me. We were on our knees, in the mud, rain pelting us, thunder crashing around us.

“Hey.” He attempted to move my tangled hair from my eyes.

I knocked his hand away. “Take a hint, Dawson. Go.”

“No. Why won’t you trust me?”

“Give me one reason why I should.”

“Because your dad did. And on some gut level you do, too.”

He’d said the one thing that guaranteed my emotional reaction. Grief punched me hard and knocked the fight right out of me.

Dawson softened his hold. Evidently he’d made his point.

Tempting, to curl in a ball and weep for everything I’d lost in the last two months, including my dignity. Naturally, I wouldn’t give into such a female reaction, especially not in public. I clenched my teeth against the gathering tears, but my protective shields were worthless.

He hauled me to my feet. “You’re in no shape to drive.”

“No kidding.”

“Where are your keys?”

“I gave them to Muskrat.”

“Good. Let me take you home.”

I didn’t argue. He clasped my hand in his and directed me to his truck.

Silence filled the humid cab. Windshield wipers slapped ineffectually against the pouring rain. Even with the heater cranked full blast I couldn’t keep the bone-rattling chills at bay. Resting my forehead on my knees, I concentrated on breathing.

The truck stopped. My body seized up. Dawson didn’t ask; he just picked me up and carried me inside my house.

Two times in less than a week I’d let him treat me like a baby. It’d make my humiliation complete if I started bawling like one.

The house was dark. I shook so hard Dawson almost dropped me going up the stairs. In the bathroom, he sat me on the toilet, shut the door, and flipped on the shower. Steam filled the small space.

Dawson fell to his knees in front of me, leaving gloppy mud splotches on the fluffy pink bathroom rug. When my fingers wouldn’t cooperate, he said, “I’ll help you get undressed.” He unhooked the buttons on my blouse. “Then I’ll put you in the shower to warm you up.”

The cadence of his voice soothed me, even when my body twitched like he’d zapped me with an electric cattle prod whenever his callused fingers connected with my bare skin.

My soaked boots came off next. Then sodden socks. He made me stand and reached around to undo my bra, slowly dragging the satin straps down my shaking arms. Dawson’s eyes never left my face. He popped the buttons on my 501s, shimmying the tight, wet jeans and my underwear to the floor. One-handed, he pulled aside the shower curtain and helped me over the steep tub ledge.

The hot water hit my chilled skin and I sighed. “You can go now.”

“Huh-uh. I’m not leaving until I know you aren’t gonna pass out and smack your head into the soap dish.”

“Suit yourself,” I muttered under the spray. When the shakes were under control, I shampooed. As I rinsed, vertigo seized me, I stumbled into the wall.

Dawson wrenched back the shower curtain. “I knew it. You shouldn’t be—”

His gaze didn’t make it to my face for the longest time.

I noticed he’d taken off his wet shirt and boots. Everything inside me went haywire, seeing him half naked. Without thinking, I trailed my soapy fingers across his smooth, muscled chest. He was so warm. So solid. So . . . here.

He sucked in a harsh breath. “Don’t. Unless that was an invitation.”

“And if it was?”

Dawson studied me. The muscle in his jaw snapped like chewing gum. “You gonna blame this invite on booze?”

“No.”

“You gonna blame this invite on anger, self-pity, or combat stress?”

“No.”

“Do you suddenly trust me?”

I thought about it for a minute. “Not really.”

He stared. Then that damnably appealing cowboy grin appeared, slow, sexy, and hot as sin. “Two out of three works for me.” Dawson stripped off his jeans and climbed in.

His mouth and hands were on me before he’d jerked the shower curtain closed.

“Wait,” I said, breaking my lips free from his. I hooked my index finger next to my gums to remove the tobacco pouch from my mouth, tossing it toward the sink.

Dawson frowned at it. “Were you chewing?”

“Yeah.”

“I quit last year.”

“Good for you.” My arms circled his neck, and I plastered myself against his slick body.

“God, I miss that sweet minty taste.” He traced my lips with the tip of his tongue. “Give me a taste of what I’ve been missing, Mercy,” he said, and crushed his mouth to mine.

He kissed me until I felt I was drowning. In him. In the shower spray. In my own confusion. But for once I didn’t fight the deluge; I just let it carry me away.

I mumbled and hoped he’d take the hint and let me sleep.

Dawson rolled me on my back, gently pushing away my snarled hair. He stared at me until I worried that warts had popped up on my face overnight. Or was he in shock by how bad I looked in the morning? I hadn’t been a fresh-faced, dewy-eyed ingénue for years. “What?”

“You let me stay.”

“I wasn’t exactly in any position to throw you out.”

His left eyebrow winged up. “Complaining about the positions we tried last night?”

My body burned hot as a branding iron remembering the sexual heat and the intensity and the synchronicity between us. “No. Good thing I practice yoga, huh?”

“Very good thing.” A shy smile tilted the corners of his mouth, then spread across his rugged face. Not necessarily a movie-star-handsome mug, but well worn. Interesting. A little tough, a little tender.

I smiled back.

“Although I
am
an old man and I’ll probably be feeling it all day.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’ll need to raid Mr. Pawlowski’s stash of Viagra anytime soon.”

“Hey, that was almost a compliment, Gunderson.”

“It
was
a compliment, Dawson.” I traced the boxy shape of his jawline with my fingertips.

He turned his cheek into my hand and kissed my palm. “Are you gonna throw me out now?”

“I should. But how about if I make breakfast first.”