Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite) (7 page)

He drew his gun as I raised myself to my knees. We’d been shot at. I fumbled for my 9-mm, which was giving me a helluva time getting stuck in my holster. It hurt to say, but I was a little freaked out. I had just gotten to my feet when there was another blast of gun fire.

“Can you see anything?” I yelled at Gunner.

“Damn it, Laney, I told you to stay down.”

“When have I ever listened to you?”

“Never comes to mind.”

Gunner pressed his back up against the wall next to the broken window, poked his head around the curtain, and fired off a shot. I heard some panicked voices, the sound of running feet dashing across the porch. Then silence.

“Do you think they’re gone?” I asked, resting my finger on the trigger of my gun.

“I’m not sure, and where the hell is Dobbs.” He sounded cross.

I shrugged. “Probably asleep.”

Gunner relaxed his shoulders and bent down next to the window, still holding his gun. “Let’s wait a minute.”

I propped myself next to him and watched his mouth twitch up into a smile. He lowered his eyes and pushed back the brim of his hat.

“Laney, you’re a mess.”

I followed his gaze down the middle of my white tank top. He was right. My boobs were stained orange. I brushed them off and sniffed my fingers. Cheetos. Rolling around on the floor of Skinny’s trailer had all kinds of surprises.

“That ring is killing me,” he said, staring at my left hand.

I lifted my hand to admire the massive diamond Nathan had given me. Say what you will about him, but the man had taste. “I think it’s perfect.”

He frowned. “That’s my problem.” Then he hopped to his feet and offered his hand to me. “I think it’s safe now.”

We walked to the door. Gunner slowly pushed it open and peeked out the crack before opening it completely. I stepped out and had just turned the corner when the tip of my boot grazed the head of a dead raccoon.

“Whoa… hold on there.” Gunner said, pulling me back.

The raccoon’s tongue was sticking out. It had been gutted. Whoever had dumped it on the steps of Skinny’s trailer didn’t find it necessary to take the intestines with them. Gunner stepped in front me and crouched over the lifeless body. He pried out a yellow sticky note wedged in its mouth. I must have been seeing things, because scribbled in fine print were the words
Die Bitch
.

Unwilling to consider who hated me this much, I heaved myself over the edge of the railing and threw up what was left from lunch earlier today.

“It might not be directed at you,” Gunner said, helping me back to my feet.

I wiped my chin. “Who else would they be referring to as a ‘Bitch’?”

Lips twitching, he looked me up and down. “You might have a point there.”

After maneuvering ourselves over the body of the dead varmint, we made our way back to Gunner’s Yukon. Skinny was cuffed and slumped over in the back seat. I could see Sheriff Dobbs’s head bobbing over the steering wheel. As we got closer, his snoring became louder.

Gunner beat his fist on window. Dobbs’s head jerked to attention. He snorted, wiped the spit from his mouth, and got out of the vehicle.

“Just where the hell were you?” Gunner shouted.

Dobbs focused on the ground and wobbled before catching himself on the side mirror. “Right here, where else?” he mumbled, knowing he was busted.

“We just got shot at,” I said unsteadily, “and to top it all off, there’s a dead raccoon on Skinny’s porch with a note shoved in its mouth saying, ‘Die Bitch’.”

“Well, I didn’t hear a goddamn thing,” Dobbs muttered. “You want me to take old Skinny back to the station?”

Gunner grabbed his keys from the sheriff. “No, I’ll do it.”

Sheriff Dobbs readjusted his trousers, tugged at the sleeves of his shirt, and waddled off to his Jeep. It took a lot of effort, but eventually, he wedged himself behind the wheel. The Jeep’s tires spun before zipping down the dirt path and out of the trailer park.

Eyes on the dust trail kicked up by the sheriff’s Jeep, Gunner said quietly, “I don’t trust Dobbs.”

“You’re kidding me. We’ve known him since we were kids.”

He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Anyone can be bought, Laney.”

“Well, I won’t believe it,” I said, shrugging his hand off.

“Just promise me you’ll lock your doors.”

I gave him an odd look. “I promise,” I said and walked off toward the cruiser. Opening the driver’s side door, I suddenly remembered the pill bottle I’d found. I raised it in the air and shouted, “Do you want me to keep this?”

Strutting over to me, Gunner stuck out his hand. “I’ll take it.”

I dropped it in his hand and opened my car door, pausing with my hand wrapped around the door frame. “By the way, where are you staying?”

He smiled, flattered, the wrinkles growing at the corners of his eyes. “Pistol Rock Motor Lodge.”

Hit in the gut by sudden memories, all I could say was, “Oh.”

“Laney, you wouldn’t be asking for an invitation?”

“No,” I said and slipped behind the wheel, slamming my door. I wouldn’t accept an invitation to relive that particular moment in our relationship if he stood on his head and begged.

…

The dust settled on the gravel drive as I pulled up in front of my house. I could hear the wind clacking against the broken screen door even before turning off the car. The air was chilly, and the sky was intensely black over the barn. Above the silo, the moon was huge and golden. I had gone to the city once, only to be disappointed at how musty and crowded the night sky had been. Out here in Pistol Rock, the moon and stars lit up the sky brighter than a rich man’s Christmas tree.

I slowly made my way up the steps to a warm welcoming from Hank, bowing his head for a rub between the ears. I bent down and rustled his big, floppy ears. He howled, wagging his tail. The house phone rang, interrupting Hank’s belly scratch.

“Sorry boy,” I said before unlatching the screen and walking inside.

The quiet was unnerving. I was still a little jarred from the note I’d received earlier. Laying my revolver on the kitchen counter, I picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Wasn’t sure if you were ever going to answer,” Nathan said, disgruntled.

I was relieved to hear his voice since I was sort of missing him. “How’s everything going in Houston?” I asked.

“Great.” He sighed. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” I said. “Do you think you might be able to come home early? Things are getting a little weird around here.”

“Not any sooner than Sunday, babe. Gunner’s not causing you any trouble?”

“No. I just had to arrest Skinny Picket today.”

“That’s nothing new.”

My “Yeah” huffed out of me.

Our meaningless conversation lulled on for another five minutes before Nathan said he needed to go. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

I opened a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a glass, dumped in a couple of ice cubes, and poured a shot of whiskey. I tossed it back, soothing my dry throat, and poured another. Scooting out a chair from the kitchen table, I plunked my tired ass down. After debating if it was a wise idea to finish off my second drink, I gave in and slung it back. Confusion swam through my throbbing head. I wasn’t blind to my own emotions, but knew it was a bad idea to keep hanging around Gunner Wilson. Problem was, I just couldn’t stop, especially when he was involved in the case I was working. Overwhelmed by more unnerving emotion than I’d had to deal with since Gunner left, I slumped further down into my chair and gave into the heavy weight of my eyelids.

Chapter Six

Morning light filtered through the kitchen window and lifted my eyelids. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and felt a wet puddle under my left elbow. I’d fallen asleep at the kitchen table. The ice in the whiskey had melted, and a water ring puddled under my sprawled arm. I shoved my chair back and made myself get up and go over to the sink where I turned the faucet on and started splashing my face with cold water. I was bent over the counter smelling of hot sleep when I heard a knock at the door. The screen creaked slowly open.

“I thought I told you to lock this,” Gunner scolded. He could be slightly overprotective. He meant well in his own way, difficult as that was to see sometimes. He’d been dealt a hard knock in life, witnessing both his parents die at the hands of a home invasion gone horribly bad at the tender age of twelve. And even now at thirty, with a Ranger badge in hand, he still held the blame close to his heart, feeling that, even though there was nothing he could have done, he should have done something.

I shot him a stern look. “I thought I told you to ask before coming in.”

He cracked a smile. “Hard night?” He glanced at the whiskey glass. “We’re supposed to be at Four Spurs”—he checked his watch—“in ten minutes.”

“Give me thirty,” I said, darting out of the kitchen.

“Laney, you have fifteen,” Gunner hollered.

I stopped on the edge of the stairs and leaned over the banister. “You stay down here,” I ordered, pointing at the couch.

He winked smugly. “What, you worried?”

“Yeah,” I shouted, dashing into my bedroom and locking the door.

I gave my teeth a good, minty, fresh scrub, then sent a shot of my breath into my hand and took a sniff, pretty sure that the morning breath was gone. After that, I threw on a pair of jeans, a black tank, and slid my feet into my boots. When I came downstairs, Gunner was leaning against the fireplace mantle. He turned as I entered the room.

“Nice top.” His smile turned lustful. “Hugs in all the right places.”

I tugged at the neckline of my top. “You have to stop saying things like that to me.”

“Whatever.” He cocked his head. “But that top still gets my approval.” Grinning, he approached me. “You ready?” he asked not so casually dropping his eyes at my tits.

I rolled my eyes and shrugged away from him while inside, my heart raced. Damn it, just like always, I wanted him. “Just let me get my gun.”

I disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Gunner to his own devices. My Glock was inside the kitchen drawer. I checked the safety then wedged it into the holster at the back of my jeans and returned to the living room. Gunner was bent over, scratching Hank’s belly.

“I think he missed me.”

“You wish.” I patted my legs for Hank to come to me. The dumb dog just sat there panting, his tongue wagging out of his mouth. Slobber dribbled down his chin and fell onto the floor. Gunner looked up, nodding in an ‘I told you so’ sort of way. “Hank’s tired.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Gunner stroked his belly harder. “You missed me, didn’t you boy?”

Hank’s tail beat against the wood floors.

“Stop that,” I demanded.

Hank jolted up and turned to look at Gunner before wobbling out the back door. The damned man followed.

I locked up the house and went outside to find him standing next to the Yukon with the passenger door open, waiting for me. I hesitated at the steps, not sure of how good of an idea it was to be cruising around old dirt roads with Gunner Wilson.

“I’ll take my car,” I said, walking across the lawn.

“Oh come on, Laney.”

“What? You might need to go somewhere.”

“And where would that be?” he asked, slamming the door.

“Beats me.” I waved him off, opening the cruiser’s door and taking a seat.

Clearly irritated, Gunner climbed into his Yukon and pulled out first. Though I truly might need my cruiser today, I also needed space between us right now. With Nathan gone and me being alone in the house, I was vulnerable to his charms, and I knew it. I was also nervous enough having to have a sit down with Luke Wagner without adding proximity to Gunner into the mix. I prayed Luke’s father would be away on business. I had a sinking feeling Mitch might know that I’d spent one very lonely night with his son once upon a time and say something that would cause even more of a shit storm than the one we were currently in. Though we
had
slept together—as in sleeping in the same bed—nothing in particular had passed between Luke and me that night that I could remember, but Pistol Rock couldn’t be bothered with the facts even if they listened to them, and Mitch had ears all over town. The last thing I needed was for Gunner to find out about that and do…well, I wasn’t sure what, but it wouldn’t be useful.

It took us twenty minutes to reach the edge of Four Spurs Ranch. Gunner pulled past the gate and down the paved driveway shaded by giant oak trees lining both sides. I followed and parked next to his Yukon, then stepped out into the relentless sunshine.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, stifling our usual swift exchange of words.

I winked and strolled up next to him. “I’m always ready.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“Shut up,” I fired back and walked up the wide porch steps.

The front doors of the limestone and granite mansion shot open. A plump woman dressed in white, cotton servant dress stepped out and gestured us into the house. “Mr. Wagner is waiting for ya’ll in the study.”

We followed her past a living room decked in marble from floor to ceiling. There were bear skins rugs thrown about the floor, huge, black leather sofas, and crystal wherever Mitch felt he could squeeze it in. Down a narrow hallway lined with hunting trophies, she pushed open two, eight-foot oak doors.

The study walls were lined with forest green duck-hunting wallpaper. Two double barrel shotguns hung on the far, left wall and a huge bay window looked out onto Four Spurs Ranch. A pine, finished bookcase lined the entire length of the wall to my right.

An oversized, black leather chair swiveled around to reveal Mitch Wagner. He wore a starched white, pearl snap shirt; a sterling silver bolo tie hung around his wrinkled neck. He tipped back his cream cowboy hat and took in slow puffs of a giant cigar squeezed between his long fingers. I stiffened as he scrutinized me with his coal black eyes.

“Why, Laney Briggs,” he said curtly. “Your mother know you’re here?” He puffed out a ring of smoke.

I gulped uneasily. “I’m here for work,” I managed.

Gunner stepped up and placed a hand on my shoulder. “We need to speak with Luke.”

Mitch laughed, sending a chill down my spine. Ever since I was a child, I’d heard horror stories about how he would slit a man’s throat before giving away a dime of his own money. Most of the stories were told by my father, but I’d listened like he was reading me the gospel.

“Gunner Wilson.” Mitch dropped his cigar in the brass ash tray on his desk. “I heard you fled to Houston on account of Laney here.”

Gunner ignored the comment coolly. “Came back to deal with a case. That being so, Luke and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

Mitch wheeled his black chair back, pressed his hands down on top of the desk, and stood and stomped around to the front, digging his heels into the carpet with each step. Smoke poured out of his nostrils as he leaned his butt on top of the glass top.

“He’s out back.” He gestured out the window, his eyes on me. “I know how much my son enjoys spending time with you, Laney.”

My mouth gapped open. I quickly looked over at Gunner. His eyes were blazing.

“Gemma, will you kindly escort our guests out back?” Mitch ordered, waving toward the big, double oak doors.

Gunner had already turned and was pulling me with him when I felt a calloused hand wrap around my free wrist.

“Tell your mother hello for me,” Mitch said.

I frowned at the old bastard, not the least bit amused.

Gemma led us through a maze of hallways out to the back patio. She stopped in front of a glass, sliding door. “Mr. Wagner is waiting for y’all out here,” she said softly and slid open the door.

“Mr. Wagner,” Gunner snarled under his breath.

My cheeks heated, but I said nothing.

Outside, the bright sun blinded my eyes for a second before I caught sight of Luke. His bare, tan back was toward us. A pair of old Levi’s fit snugly around his trim waist. He turned around, grinning when he saw me. Eyes on me all the while, he slowly and deliberately wiped the sweat from his powerful chest and chiseled abs with a white T-shirt. I gulped nervously, feeling heat stain my cheeks. Luke winked at me and tossed the dirty T-shirt aside. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he loved my response to it.

Still watching me, he grabbed a clean T-shirt from the porch railing, slid it over his head, and pulled a pair of aviator sunglasses from his jeans pocket.

“Laney, you look like you could use a glass of cold water,” he said and slipped the sunglasses on.

“I’m fine,” I snapped and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Luke cocked his head. “Just a suggestion, cutie.”

He pulled out a metal chair for me, and I sat down. Gunner was still hugging my side, not the least bit amused by him. He jerked out a chair and scooted it right next to me, taking a seat and making an obvious point to place a hand on my leg.

Luke laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the two of you were engaged.”

I swatted Gunner’s hand away. “Then you should probably do less thinking.”

Grinning, Luke tipped his sunglasses down his nose. “Alright, cutie,” he said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that Gunner here is known to get what he wants…or deserves.” He cut his gaze toward Gunner. “Ain’t that right, big guy?”

I heard Gunner grit his teeth. His fists were firmly balled in his lap, and I knew he really wanted to clock Luke, but, to his credit, he said nothing.

“So where’s the fiancé? He didn’t bail, did he?” Luke asked.

“No. Nathan’s in Houston at a veterinarian conference,” I said with as much composure as I could muster.

“So I guess he didn’t take the money this time?”

“You didn’t,” I shouted.

“Oh Laney, you give me too much credit.” He winked, then slumped back in his chair, smirking.

“What money?” Gunner asked harshly.

“Nothing.” I glared at Luke. Over the last three years, he’d periodically offered Nathan money to dump me. I’d been under the assumption he’d stopped. I should’ve known better.

“You’d tell me if there was something going on here, right?” Gunner asked annoyed.

I smiled, trying to lighting up the mood at the table. “No, since it’s none of your damn business,” I replied.

Nodding acceptance, but not happy about it, Gunner tipped his hat back and propped his boots up on the edge of the wire picnic table. “Laney tells me you and Bosley had a confrontation the other day,” he told Luke.

Smirking, Luke tilted his hat to shade his face. “I don’t know if you could exactly call it that. The old bastard shot at me with his god damn shotgun again.” He stretched his arms over his head and popped a couple of knuckles. “You know how that goes.”

Gunner and I both ignored him this time.

“So do you mind telling me what happened before Laney here showed up?” Gunner asked, sticking to the point.

Luke rolled his eyes, stopping them on my chest. Annoyed by his constant childish efforts to bait Gunner, I said, “Just spit it out, Luke, before I take you in for obstruction of justice.”

Luke drummed his fingers along his legs, cocked the toothpick out of his mouth with his tongue, and huffed. “Ah, hell, since y’all made the effort to come out this way…” He tipped the toothpick to the edge of his tongue, sat up, and rested his elbows on the table. “I was minding my own business when I heard Bosley outside the house here yelling for me. The old coot was ranting and raving about how half his cattle was dead, and he wanted the son of a bitch who did it.”

He paused and pried the toothpick from his mouth, flicking it on the ground. “From his tone, I suspected he figured it was me. It wasn’t like I was going to let the old bastard accuse me of something I didn’t do. So I moseyed myself on over to his ranch. I pulled up his driveway, but before I could get a single word in, the son of a bitch shot at me.” Luke pulled off his white cowboy hat and ruffled his hair before returning it to his head. “I did what anybody would do. I shot back at the bastard.” He looked my way. “That’s when Laney here came out and found the dead body.”

My bullshit detector was shooting off all kinds of red flags.

“Why didn’t you just confront him when he was here instead of going all the way out to his place if you know nothing about the poison parsley?” I asked.

Luke laughed instead of answering and kicked his legs down from the table. “Seriously, Laney, you believe I had something to do with killing that old fart’s cattle? I mean, if I wanted to, I could have found a much better way to stick Bosley where it hurts.”

“You never know,” I snapped, “the Wagner’s are known to have a few tricks up their sleeves.”

He snorted. “I suspected some accusation like that from Gunner, but not you, Laney. I thought you knew me better than that.”

That garnered me a look from Gunner. He narrowed his eyes and rose. “Sorry for our little intrusion. Give my regards to your father.”

He glanced at me, and I stood, too, nodding at Luke.

“I’ll do that,” Luke said, smirking. “And next time you need to talk, feel obliged to contact my lawyer.”

Gunner nodded, adjusting his hat. “Have a nice day, Luke.”

Together, he and I turned and started to walk toward our cars when Luke hollered, “Hey, I almost forgot to give these to you.” He ran over and placed a pair of tickets in my hand, sweeping his fingers slowly against my palm as he closed my fingers around them. “For you and Nathan for the Cattleman’s Ball this Saturday. Hope you’ll come, Laney. Wouldn’t want to miss a chance to see you all dolled up.”

I forced a tight smile. “Thanks. But with Nathan out of town, I’ll probably skip the lovely event.”

Luke tugged at his back pocket. “Here,” he said, handing a ticket to Gunner, “you didn’t think I’d leave an old friend out.”