Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite) (8 page)

Gunner took the ticket and stuffed it in his pocket. Luke pushed his sunglasses back up and headed to his truck. He’d always been a cocky son of a gun, and I should have known better than to come to this interview with Gunner, who had flung open my car door and took a step to block me getting in.

His eyes on me were narrow and furious. “Laney, were you and Luke ever cozy?”

“What? Me and Luke cozy?” I stammered. “Uh… no…?”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, moving out of my way. “I’ll see you back at the station.”

I sat still for a second until I started breathing again. This was what I’d wanted, right? To have Gunner Wilson lose interest in me. But it hurt like the dickens. The way he’d looked at me, seeing straight through my lie. One drunken night with Luke—that I didn’t quite remember—was the only luxury I’d awarded myself until Nathan. But that luxury had just imploded faster than a two dollar hooker takes to her knees.

…

I pulled up outside the Filler-Up, the only gas station in town. I swiped my sheriff department Visa, got the pump running, and headed inside. I grabbed an Almond Joy and a bottle of Dr Pepper, told the clerk to add it to the gas bill, and went back outside to put away the pump. Afterwards, I sat behind the wheel, running through my head any plausible explanation as to why Luke hadn’t just confronted Bosley when the old coot came out to Four Spurs that night. Nothing came to mind that made sense—unless Luke was flat out lying, and I didn’t think he was. He, Gunner, and I had known each other a long time, and we each had our “tells”. Including the one that sorry, old shit Mitch Wagner had let from his evil lips. I thumped my forehead. What the hell was the matter with me? I had a good man. I sure as shit didn’t need those other two horse’s behinds making my libido crazy in the bargain—especially not when I had the biggest case of my sorry-ass law enforcement career to solve. Still…

I leaned forward and popped my tits up, ruffled my hair, and added an extra layer of lipstick to my chapped lips. A little damage control never hurt anybody, and I was a lot overdrawn on good will at the moment.

When I reached the station, I tore open the Almond Joy and managed to scarf down both bars before I killed the engine. I flipped the tab on the Dr Pepper and took a giant slug, letting the cold, sweet carbonation sink to my gut. Feeling much better, even though I now felt the need to do some crunches, I swung my door open and stepped out onto the burning street. After taking a second to glare at Gunner’s Yukon by the curb, I lugged my body inside. The front office was empty, and I didn’t see Gunner waiting around anywhere. My eyes began to twitch at the nagging pounding my head. Something felt seriously off.

Hand on my gun—just in case—I went that way, rounding the corner to find Gunner slumped in a chair, hat pulled over his eyes. He wasn’t moving. I took a step forward and heard my boot crunch on top of a fast food wrapper. Damn it. Did Elroy never pick up his trash?

The Texas Ranger’s head shot up. He pulled his hat back, showing me his unhappy brown eyes. “Laney, you might want to stay put.”

I slid my hand off my gun. “And why is that?”

He stood and positioned himself between me and the cell’s bars, which made me look around him to see what I’d managed to miss—and instantly regretted it. There was Skinny, clear as day, swaying from a noose snugged tightly around his neck. Unable to look away, I watched his body sway like a tire swing, slowly rocking in the wind, his bare, veiny toes pointing at the floor.

“Holy shit! Where’s Bosley?” I gasped.

“Sent him to stay with Rusty Weir. He was in a complete frenzy when I arrived.” He stepped forward and gathered my shell-shocked body into his arms. “Laney?” he said anxiously.

“What?” I asked, pressing away from him in order to meet his eyes.

“I found another note,” he said placing it in my hand.

I unfolded the Post-It, feeling my fingers quake along the corners of the paper. In fine print, written in black, it read:
I would watch my step, Laney Briggs.

Numbly, I read it over three more times before the threat sank in. What had I done to earn this sort of regard from anybody, let alone someone who’d kill a guy like Skinny? So far, I’d managed to accomplish almost nothing on any of my investigations, but clearly someone found me a threat. But to what? Shoving myself away from Gunner, I took one last look at Skinny, then took my nausea quickly out into the Texas heat where I sprawled on a bench outside the station trying to collect myself. The heavy sun beat down on my face, turning my throbbing headache into the beginnings of a migraine. I shaded my eyes with a hand and watched Gunner exit the station, cell phone at his ear. From the looks of it, the conversation didn’t look friendly. He turned, caught sight of me, and quickly hung up.

“How are you feeling? You okay?” He took a seat next to me.

“Like my head’s going to explode,” I said, pressing my thumbs into the middle of my eyebrows. “What the fuck happened in there? How did anyone get access to Skinny?”

“I don’t know.” Gunner leaned back, shaking his head. “I didn’t think we were that close to finding the Ketamine connection here in Pistol Rock, and I sure as shit don’t know why anyone would want to threaten you over it, but I think maybe you should consider stepping away from this case. I’ve called my department for back up. The Odessa crime lab is coming out to take care of Skinny—”

He stopped short, surprised, when I leapt to my feet, interrupting him. “The hell I will. Don’t you forget that I’m the one who found the first damn body.”

“Laney, you’re not thinking rationally here.” Gunner’s voice grew agitated. “Someone’s threatening you directly. You don’t have enough experience to—”

“Go to hell.” The migraine made me dizzy and wobbly for a second when I leaned down to get in his face, but it didn’t stop me. “No fucking drug dealer or murderer or goddamn rancher is going to run me off
my
investigation by writing a note on a fucking Post-It!”

For a second, Gunner just gaped at me. Then he stood up and marched back inside the station.

The scorching heat was a pain in the ass, and it wasn’t doing my headache any good either, but it was better than keeping company with Gunner. I went and took a seat inside my cruiser, turning the keys and pleading for the air conditioner to work. It sputtered and spat, sending a squirt of cool air at my face before cutting off and leaving me in the scorching heat. No problem, I could handle it. It wasn’t like it would take the crime lab forever to get here.

Three hours later, I was soaked and still waiting, and my butt was glued to the seat. Inside the station, Gunner sat next to the front window, tilted back in a chair as the fan whisked past his face. I gave him a friendly wave to let him know our little exchange wasn’t breaking me. Finally, after all the tolerance and willpower had been cooked out of me, I flipped him the bird. He smiled, so I assumed he didn’t mind.

A white van zipped up next to the cruiser. Jesse Throckmorton tumbled out, clad in a white lab coat, and wheeled a gurney into the station. Besides acting as the county coroner, he’d taken over Hefty Bags, the family crime scene clean-up business, last April. I was of the opinion that working for the coroner’s office fit him better since he fancied feet, and in that line of work, he got to see his fair share of painted toenails. I had no idea how he’d managed to beat the Odessa crime lab to our scene. Speaking of whom…

The black and white City of Odessa Mobile Crime Lab pulled into place on the other side of my cruiser and disgorged a pair of civilian techs who scooted around to the vehicle’s rear doors to suit up and collect their gear before entering the station.

Groaning, I settled in for another long wait, but in something less than half an hour, Jesse trundled the gurney back out, carrying a black body bag with both crime techs in tow. I looked away as bile once again rose in my throat. It was hideous to think about how Skinny had spent his last hours. Jesse rolled the gurney into the back of the van, closed the doors, and pulled off his rubber gloves. Giving Gunner a quick wave, he hopped behind the wheel and backed away from the curb.

In a trance, I stared after him until Gunner knocked on my window. Snapping to, I returned his smile with a dirty look. Okay, I was sweaty and embarrassed at my stubbornness. Did I care? More than I’ll admit. I cranked the window all the way down. He threw his arm onto the roof of the car and leaned over, poking his head inside.

“Hot?”

“No, I find the temperature quite nice.”

Grinning, he touched the strap of my wet tank. “Nothing more we can do here until the evidence is processed. I think we should call it a night.”

I slapped his hand away and hurriedly rolled my window up. “Sounds good to me,” I said, eyeing him down through the crack.

“Oh”—he winked at me—“don’t forget we’re doing a search of Arrowhead Range tomorrow. So I’ll be at your place bright and early.” He hit the side of the cruiser with a fist and walked off to his Yukon.

Dang it
, I thought,
Just what I needed, another wakeup call from Gunner Wilson.

I started the cruiser up and backed it out of the parking spot and hit my house eight minutes later. The dark was just starting to rise above the clouds. The nightly call of the wind whistled through the few trees lining my property fence. I crunched a beer can under my boot that had blown across the lawn from my toppled over trash can and walked up the porch steps. I had to give the lock a quick jiggle before it finally turned so I could step inside. Pitch black. Not ideal for calming irritable nerves. I did a quick run through switching on all the lights. Then I rechecked the locks and threw the dead bolt, finally feeling a little more at ease.

After setting my gun on the coffee table, I shuffled into the kitchen and searched the fridge for something to eat. Wrinkled, green lettuce sat in the back, a half-gallon of milk was in front of some moldy cheddar cheese. I pushed it all aside and grabbed a beer. As a last resort, I popped open the freezer. Inside was a frozen Tony’s cheese pizza. I plopped it in the oven and sat down at the table to wait, taking a swig of beer. I’d had my fair share of rotten predicaments, but it was hard to believe someone was after my head. A list of suspects brought only a handful of names to mind. Only one was at the top—Gunner Wilson. I knew for a fact that memory could be long and vindictive, and the rock salt I’d unloaded in his butt had to have stung not only his ass, but his pride. For most of the men I knew, that would be enough, plus it was damn strange how he’d suddenly returned to Pistol Rock at the same time as Pacey then Skinny were murdered, and Special K became the drug of choice. He hadn’t been lying low either, managing to make his presence known at every juncture, including the bust at Skinny Picket’s trailer and his jail cell death. I gulped at the thought of Gunner Wilson being the killer. I knew him. We’d lived together. I had firsthand knowledge of what he was capable of…philandering, but not murder.

I chugged back the remainder of the beer and ate two slices of pizza. Before I knew it, the stress of trying to exonerate Gunner of a crime he might not have committed ganged up on me, and I’d finished off half the pizza. Feeling stuffed, I tossed the plate on top of the other dirty dishes. Deciding to ignore the nagging tension giving me one hell of a migraine, I grabbed another beer and dialed Nathan.

The phone rang four times before Nathan’s sleepy voice responded. “Hello?”

“Nathan, it’s me.”

I heard the rustling of sheets. Finally, Nathan came back on the line. “Is everything okay?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be asleep.”

“Had a long day.” His voice slurred against the receiver.

I was anxious, banging my knees under the table. I placed my free hand on top of my quivering thighs and tried pinching them to stop their bouncing. Knowing I sounded pathetic, I still said, “I want you to come home.”

Nathan coughed. “Laney, will you just tell me what’s wrong?”

Honestly, I hadn’t thought this whole conversation out before dialing. I drummed my fingers on the back of the phone then let it all out. “I think Gunner might be involved in a drug ring and Pacey Monroe’s murder,” I whispered.

Nathan laughed, amused. “Laney, he’s a Texas Ranger.”

“I know, but that’s a perfect cover.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” I said a little pitchy.

He sighed. “Just get some rest. In the morning, these delusional ideas of yours will be long gone.”

I was madder than a wet cat. Nathan claiming I was crazy. He’d just taken a perfect stranger’s side—and not only that, but a rival he’d had to stamp me ‘property of the vet’ in front of, too. Yes, that soppy kiss he’d given me in front of Gunner out at Bosley’s ranch still irked me. I snapped, “I’m not delusional.”

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see if I can get an earlier flight.”

That was the last thing he said before hanging up on me. It didn’t matter, I ranted at him over his siding with Gunner instead of me and only thumped my head with the phone after I’d finished. Even though he’d already hung up, I should still be able to get my two cents in.

Spent, I picked up my beer and flopped back on the couch. This was a sticky situation I’d gotten myself into. I felt like a fool for ogling Gunner only to decide he might not be here after my ass but my hide, if those threatening notes could be believed.

Outside, something knocked over a clay pot on the porch, startling me from my thoughts. I jolted to my feet, picked my gun up off the coffee table, and quietly walked over to the front door to slide back the curtain and looked out the window. A shadow scurried across the lawn.

“Hey!” I shrieked through the glass.

The dark silhouette vanished behind the bushes. I heard tires peel out from the gravel path, and then the night fell silent except for a few chirping crickets.

Chapter Seven

The phone rang interrupting my blissful dreams of watching Gunner dust Pistol Rock off his boots for good. I kicked the hot, sticky sheets off and snatched it up, immediately recognizing Gunner’s voice on the other end.

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” Gunner said, a little too perky for morning chatter.

I shifted the phone against my ear. “No.” I yawned.

There was a long, silent pause as if he was waiting for more of a response.

“I’m going to have to meet you out at Arrowhead Range.”

“Really?” I chirped.

He let out a deep, throaty laugh. “Now don’t sound too excited, Laney.”

“Goodbye, Gunner.”

“For now, at least,” he shot back and hung up.

I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I begrudgingly got up. I made my way down to the kitchen and started the coffeepot, then went back upstairs and turned on the shower. After lazily standing under the hot water for ten minutes, I finally shampooed my hair and got out. I found a clean pair of jeans in the corner and tugged them over the tight spots around my hips, slid on a short sleeved uniform shirt, and pulled on my red cowboy boots.

In no particular hurry, I went downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The heat tingled at the back of my throat, warming my insides and shaking out the cobwebs in my head. I’d had a restless night of tossing and turning, what with worrying about whoever it was who’d been spying on me last night and suspecting Gunner of drug trafficking and murder and all. I wanted nothing more than to be wrong about him, but just the thought of seeing him at Arrowhead Range made my stomach jump. I finished off the coffee and rinsed the pot out. Hank was curled up on the kitchen doormat moaning through a dream. He looked pretty damn pleased with himself and his night of hunting fireflies. I gave his floppy ears a good rub, snatched my gun off the table, locked up, and started up the old cruiser.

It took fifteen minutes to reach Arrowhead Range. The iron gate was open. I plowed the cruiser down the gravel drive and parked it next to Dobbs’s jeep. After inhaling two deep breathes, I swung my door open and stepped out into piercing sunlight. I caught a glimpse of Dobbs hunched over a nearby rock. He was panting and wiping the sweat from his neck. The dead grass crunched beneath my boots as I strolled on over to tap him on the back.

He spun around. “God damn it, Laney! You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.” I shrugged. “Where’s Gunner?”

“Over in the barn.” He gestured at a point behind Bosley’s house.

I tried to smile even though I wasn’t pleased to learn Gunner was off by himself. “Thanks. You coming?” I asked.

Dobbs coughed, flinging spit into the air. “No, I think I’ll stay right here in case anyone else shows up. You know, keep a watch on things.” He hacked.

I patted him on the back. “I think that’s a good idea.”

I took off for the open, red barn doors, shaking in my boots every step of the way. Here I was twenty-six years old and nervous as a teenager girl on her first car date. I wasn’t sure what I intended on doing. It wasn’t like I could cuff Gunner and haul his ass in. Besides, I wasn’t sure I was even capable of taking him down in the first place—not to mention I had no proof to bear out my circumstantial suspicions. And, of course, there was the problem of his effect on my heart and libido any time I looked at him. Telling myself to be the cool, collected deputy sheriff I probably wasn’t, I stepped past the barn doors crinkling hay under the soles of my boots. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, and my heart skipped a beat as I looked upon him. Shit, was I in trouble already.

He stood hipshot against the door of a horse stall, his snug black T-shirt emphasizing his hard, flat stomach and abs. He had a boot propped up on a bale of hay. The back of my throat went dry when he swiveled at the sound of my shuffling boots. A few locks of brown hair fell down over his forehead, and stubble lined the length of his tan, square jaw. His deep brown eyes creased along the corners as he grinned, waving me over.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, hitting me smack in the gut with his loving tone.

“Same to you,” I mumbled and walked up next to him.

Looking like he wished he could kiss me hello, he waited for me to almost catch up with him, then walked off into a stall, gesturing for me to follow.

“Found some interesting shit hidden in here,” he said.

I stepped inside the horse stall. The bitter smell of old hay lingered in the claustrophobic space. Rusted horseshoes hung from spokes in the pine walls. All along the back wall, pegboards were stapled with flyers of various stock shows in and around west Texas. I crossed by the empty, steel water bucket and stared impatiently at the tight, black T-shirt ruffling up the length of his long back with each deep breath he took.

He turned around, frustration tugging at his lethal brown eyes. He shook off the look and crouched, patting a bale of hay with a hand. I hesitated, then reluctantly took a seat next to him. The pressure and comfort of his warm body alongside mine almost had me, but I held my ground and scooted along the side of the bale of hay, putting distance between us while the damned thing pricked me in the ass.

“What is, Gunner?”

He fiddled with a piece of hay between us. “You’ve figured out by now that I intend on getting you back”—one corner of his mouth slid up—“haven’t you?”

Given the chance to pursue something, Gunner was unstoppable. I’d learned that the hard way. This time would be different. I wouldn’t just fold. “It’s not gonna happen.”

“I get what I want, Laney. You know that.”

“Maybe you should start wanting somebody else then.”

He edged closer to me, and I pushed him away just as quickly. “What is your problem with me, Laney?” he asked, hurt. “You’re acting like you don’t even trust me.”

“I don’t. Not with you doing your damnedest to get me to break trust with Nathan the way you broke trust with me.” It was a bald statement and put part of the issue between us out there in all its awkward glory. It also caught him off guard—he hadn’t expected me to do anything but cuddle up to him, even though we were here on a fucking case, and he was supposed to be showing me some sort of evidence against Bosley or something.

“Aw, Laney,” he said. “You know that idiot’s not the guy for you…” His tone was gruff and casual—I thought I actually heard his bad boy façade crack —he carried around as much regret as me. It was a hard blow to lose the love of your life. A fate I knew all too well.

I held up my hand to forestall further argument. “That’s not up to you to decide, is it?” I shook my head. “We both made our choices, Gunner, good and bad. Nathan’s mine.” Then, knowing I’d never get a better chance to question him about the case-related things I didn’t trust him over, I rearranged some of the hay on the ground with a boot while I gathered my courage. “I need an honest answer from you,” I said finally, looking him dead in the eyes. “Are you behind any of this ketamine stuff?”

Gunner gave me a look of disbelief, then threw his head back and laughed. When he realized I wasn’t joking, he stopped laughing. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

I threw my hands up. “Who else, Gunner?” I asked, confused. “I mean, gosh, you were the only one at the scene of Skinny’s death. And out of nowhere, you pop back up in town at the same time this whole case became a case—”

I stopped when I saw the shocked expression on his face. He sat there like that for several moments, utterly silent.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” he finally said.

“Nobody else makes sense.”

He shot up, his temples pulsing angrily. The muscles in his jaw clenched as he pinned his cold gaze on me. “Damn it, Laney, don’t you know me at all?” He grabbed me and spun me to face him. “I wasn’t the only one at the scene of Skinny’s death. Dobbs found him hanging in the cell. As for me being involved with the Special K, of course I’m involved. I’ve been following this case for the past couple of years.”

He let me go. “I know you’re scared right now, Laney, but I would never hurt you.” He looked me in the eyes. “No matter what else is between us, please remember that.”

I stared back at him. Damn it, he wasn’t just telling me the truth, he meant it. “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “It’s just—”

His eyes softened. He pressed a finger to my lips, stopping me in mid-sentence. I needed to finish what I had to say. He needed to know. When he slowly dragged his finger from my lips, I cupped my hands in my lap, looked up at him, and plunged on.

“You’re right. I’m scared because somebody keeps threatening me. I’m stressed from this murder case, and having you back in town hasn’t helped at all. Nothing makes sense right now.”

Gunner sat back down, took his hat off, and stared at his boots. “I’m the last person you wanted to see right before your wedding, aren’t I?”

“Sort of,” I sputtered.

“You never wanted Nathan to know about us, did you?”

“No. It’s a piece of the past that I wanted to leave there. I’m trying to start over.”

Gunner’s eyes narrowed, darkening to a coal black. “Luke, then…did you want to leave him in the past, too?”

“That was the plan.” I gulped nervously.

“So you did have a fling with Luke?” he asked forcefully.

Sweat filmed my skin, a trickle of it running down the tip of nose. I watched it drip and sink into a dime-size stain on my top. This conversation had headed down a path I had no intentions of rehashing. “It was one night, and I was drunk, but you’d probably call it a fling,” I choked.

“Shit, Laney,” he yelled indignantly, jumping to his boots. “Please tell me it wasn’t when we were together.”

I looked at him, knowing I could hurt him for hurting me, but unwilling to do it. I didn’t care about the fact that it would be a lie, but that one of us had to let the past go. God willing, for at least this part of it, that could be me. “No,” I whispered, “it wasn’t.”

Unfortunately, after all his talk about me knowing him better than to suspect him of murder and drug dealing, Gunner didn’t know me very well, either. He was primed to leap to the wrong conclusion, so he did.

“Don’t lie to me, Laney.” All temper and no control, that was Gunner Wilson. He’d been a hell raiser his entire life, and I didn’t pin him any different now. “That’s exactly when you slept with him, wasn’t it? To get back at me after—”

“Don’t.” I shot up and got in his face, losing all control. “Don’t even think it unless you want to make this really ugly, Gunner.”

“Ugly?” He caught my flapping hand and pressed it between his warm palms. “You shot me in the ass”—one brow rose up his forehead—“or have you forgotten about that?”

“It was rock salt,” I spat feebly, but it was too late. Despite my best intentions, he’d won. Again. I should’ve known he never played fair. Of course I remembered that night. And I regretted it even more. “I’ll never forget it,” I said with resignation. “But I was so angry at you, Gunner. Do you understand how much you hurt me?” I shook my head, caught momentarily in the past. “After everything we went through when I lost the baby…” I let my voice fade.

Silently, he released my trembling hand and stepped back, his eyes full of remembered pain. My own eyes felt raw. I lifted my hand and smeared the tears across my face. “I was just so scared and sad,” I said, relief rushing through me as I felt the strangling pain loosen. “I couldn’t take you…you needing to find…comfort…with someone like Wynona.”

Grimacing at the memory, Gunner reached out and tenderly stroked the side of my face. “I was drunk and let the fight get the best of me.”

I took his hand, skimming my thumb across his callused fingertips and along the cuts on his knuckles before softly kissing the back of his hand. “It’s all in the past. I’ve moved on and so should you,” I told him, half crying as I let him go.

His fingers brushed my thigh as I stepped back, placing some much needed distance between us. “Laney, I’m still in love with you.” His voice was strained as he tried to reel me back in.

“I’m sorry.” I shook my head and took a deep breath. It was too late to revisit the past, especially given my commitment to Nathan. “What do you say we get back to the task at hand?”

“Fine.” Irritation drove the toe of his boot hard into the dirt as he swung away from me. “But this is bullshit, and you know it.”

A red, steel cabinet hung on the wall behind us, dust coating the cracked handle. The door was unhinged at the screws. Three glass shelves sat inside, littered with clear glass bottles. Venting his emotional frustrations by focusing on something else, Gunner scavenged around, knocking over a string of bottles before withdrawing his hand. Clasped inside his fist was a prescription vile.

His gaze perked up as the sadness and irritation lining his brows relaxed. “Check it out.”

“Shit,” I gasped, “Bosley’s the drug mule.”

He grinned tightly, nodding. “Sweetheart, I think I just found my rancher.”

I offered him a grunt of shocked agreement, and we gathered up the remaining bottles of Special K and stuffed them in a nearby saddle bag. My hand grazed the top of Gunner’s as I pulled the flap over the bag. He grabbed hold and squeezed it tightly. I felt my ring pinch my skin at the intense pressure. His brown eyes were filled with immense pain, but he merely glanced quickly at my diamond, then gave my fingers one last squeeze and let go, exiting the barn without a word.

I think I’ve mentioned that our relationship is complicated—enough so I could almost say I still loved him. Almost. But he’d wrecked it all, my heart, my trust…our love. And I was still having trouble picking up the pieces.

I took a moment to compose myself then followed him outside where he waited for me by the open barn doors. He gave me a friendly smile.

“I’m going to pick Bosley up from Rusty’s. Do you want to come?” he asked.

I hooked a thumb in a pocket and looked down at my boots, not quite comfortable enough to spend more time alone in his company right now, being I’d just confessed some of my darkest secrets and unearthed some buried wounds. “I’ll meet you at the station.”

“If that’s what you want.” He headed quickly toward his Yukon.