Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite) (9 page)

I stood motionless as I watched the dust kick up from behind his tires as the big SUV disappeared from sight down Spoke Road. I rammed myself behind the wheel of the Malibu and turned the ignition, immediately getting hit in the face by a blast of hot air. I switched off the dang air conditioner and backed out of Arrowhead Range.

Chapter Eight

Florescent lights flickered in front of the jail cell in back. In the far right corner, Bosley Conrad sat in a wooden, high-backed chair, wrists cuffed at the waist. I could hear his low huffing over the clunking of my boots against the tile floor. Two chairs were positioned across the table from him. I slid into the one on the right and cut a glance at Gunner. He’d swung his chair around and straddled it with his arms slung over the back. The black cowboy hat that always graced his head was placed on the table. Gunner wasn’t known to take his hat off that often, but when he did, it was great. The hat shadowed the outlines of his chiseled jaw and hid the tenderness in his dark brown eyes. I’d always enjoyed our moments at home, when he was relaxed and allowed the wall he put between us to vanish for a moment.

Bosley spit. Slobber landed on the edge of my boot, effectively squashing that fond memory. “You two come here to harass me some more?”

I scraped his spit off with my other boot. “No, just have a few more questions.”

“When I get out of here, I’m going to sue the both of you,” the rancher said tightly, scooting the chair a couple of inches.

Gunner hunched over the back of the chair and pinned a coldhearted glare back at Bosley. “I don’t think that will be anytime soon, old man.”

The blood vessels in Bosley’s forehead twitched. “You’ve got nothing on me.”

“Think again.” Gunner dumped the satchel’s contents on the desk. “Christmas came early for me, old man. You know how long I’ve tracked this case. Who would’ve thought that Pistol Rock’s very own bastard was behind such a massive drug ring all along?”

Bosley thrashed in the chair. “I’ve never seen that damn stuff before in my life.”

“We found the ketamine in your horse barn,” I snapped.

Bosley snorted, annoyed. “Well, then somebody must have planted it.”

I swung my head in Gunner’s direction. Planting evidence hadn’t really crossed my mind. It should have, though. I had a tendency to always take Gunner at his word, when he mostly had a tendency to lie.

Gunner’s eyebrows shot up a notch. “Don’t tell me you think I planted the Special K.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Of course not.” Then giving in to doubt, I sighed. “I don’t know, Gunner, you tell me.”

He stood and paced around behind Bosley, planting his hands firmly on the old man’s shoulders. Bosley gritted his teeth as his neck buckled under Gunner’s weight. The contours of his face hardened. “Do you not trust me, Laney?”

I swallowed hard, feeling the lump stick in my throat. “It’s just too crazy, right?” I laughed nervously. “It couldn’t be true. Gunner, please tell me you didn’t plant the Ketamine.”

He loosened his hold on Bosley’s shoulders and stepped forward, pushing his angry face at mine as he grabbed my arms and shook me. “God damn it, Laney, snap out of it. Who’s putting these crazy thoughts in your head?”

I could be as stubborn as a mule. Everyone in town knew that. Honestly, everyone. But my thoughts were running rampant and, frankly, since announcing my engagement, I’d been a jumbled mess. Still…

I wiped my sweaty hands down the side of my jeans and tipped my head toward the front office. Gunner gave me an exasperated look, but followed me out of the cell area, while on the other side of the table, Bosley started to laugh. When we were someplace relatively private, I looked him in the eyes and asked as steadily as I could, “Did you plant it?”

For a moment, he stared at me long and hard. Then, reluctantly, he grinned, the warm grin that always led me astray. He shook his head.

“Never thought I’d see the day when you had the gumption to stand up and ask me something like that to my face,” he said almost admiringly. “And no, I didn’t plant it. You were two hours late.” He ran a hand through his messy hat hair. “Sheriff Dobbs and I found the shit everywhere, along with the shovel used to kill Pacey Monroe.”

“Whatever he’s telling you out there is a lie,” Bosley shouted.

“Shut up,” we both hollered, turning toward the cell.

When Bosley went back to grumbling about what he planned to do to us when his lawyer arrived, I looked back at Gunner. He no longer seemed as tall to me as he used to, and that made me sad. I was also half proud of myself that, as he’d said, I’d finally been able to stand my ground and ask him straight on what needed to be asked. But I was also disappointed that he still automatically felt the need to lie to me and cover up what he was doing when we were both now doing different versions of the same job.

Clearly seeing my disappointment in what he’d done, and sensing that things between us had just shifted drastically, Gunner picked up his hat and plopped it on his head, adjusting it over his eyes.

“So Bosley, you still going to give us the silent treatment?” Gunner asked, heading back into the department’s combination cell area-interview room.

Bosley snorted and darted his empty eyes over at me, trailing in behind the Texas Ranger. Then he lowered his head, fussing with the cuffs in his lap. “I didn’t kill Pacey,” he finally said tiredly. “That boy was like family.” He looked pleadingly at me. “You have to believe me, Laney. I’m not a killer.”

I rocked back on my heels and looked at our prisoner. He seemed completely sincere and was shaking his head pitifully. I silently stepped aside and averted my gaze from his sorry face, unsure if I believed him or not.

“Come on, old man. I am going to transport your ass to Odessa until I can have it arranged for a move out to Houston.” Gunner heaved Bosley to his feet. “Maybe after a few days stuck in a cell with some hardened criminals, you’ll start talking.”

“I’ll go along for the ride,” I blurted, feeling my lips move before I was able to stop them from talking. It was beyond stupidity to agree to ride shotgun with Gunner—especially when I’d just managed to take control of myself around him. Now all I could do was hope like hell he wouldn’t want my company, although I knew he’d jump at the chance to take me along for a not so blissful joyride. Gunner might be a loner. He could be bullhead, and maybe he’d broken my heart once or twice when he refused to let me come by his Grandma Edna’s place back in the day. Sometimes I wondered why I wasted all those tears on him. And then it only took one look at the rugged cowboy’s face, and I knew he’d always need me.

I was such a fool.

“Great, I could use the company,” Gunner responded, happily surprised.

…

Heat drifted in waves off the sweltering asphalt, and a hazy blue sky hung overhead. As usual, Center Street was empty at four in the afternoon. I straddled the curb, watching Gunner seat Bosley in the Yukon’s back seat.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me from the curb.

“Maybe I should stay. I do have some paper work to finish up from this arrest.”

Evidently recovered from our little moment of truth in the station, he simply laughed and settled a hand at the small of my back. “Sweetheart, this will be so much better than paperwork.” The corner of his mouth pulled up as he cupped my butt and hoisted me up inside the Yukon. “Now buckle up, Laney.” He winked as he closed the door, then went around and jumped behind the wheel. Back to my tongue-tied self, and unable to make myself get out and stay behind, I scooted as close to the door as possible. He had a tendency to let his hand dangle a little too close to places I needed him to stay away from for comfort.

The winds picked up once we were on the open road, beating at the SUV’s doors and the smell from the cow pastures leaked through the air ducts as we left Pistol Rock further and further behind. As they had on our last little trip together, rain clouds started to cover the grey sky. I tried to stay focused on the scenery, but the effort was wasted when I saw the huge grin on Gunner’s face.

He looked at my sour expression and laughed. “What is it now?”

“Just thinking about how the storm will force us to spend the night on the road, that’s all.”

A half smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You remember the last time that happened, don’t you, Laney?”

I scowled and cast a glance over my shoulder at Bosley slumped in on himself in the backseat. I’d never keep Gunner’s respect as a law man if I kept letting him get away with stuff like this. “Not to talk about, no.”

He let out a deep, throaty laugh, dropped a hand from the wheel, and started screwing with the radio knob. The radio erupted into a scramble of white noise until the dial finally landed on a blue grass station. I hated blue grass, and the sideways glance he tossed me told me he’d remembered that all too well.

“Really,” I sighed. “Can you not find something else?”

“I happen to like it.”

“It’s crap, Gunner,” I said reaching for the dial.

Gunner swatted my hand away. “Don’t touch that damn knob.”

“I told you I didn’t like it,” I snapped and twisted the knob.

“Fuck.” He slammed on the brakes on the empty highway, and for a moment, I thought he’d pull over and attempt to dump me at the side of the road. Instead, he turned off the radio and started driving again, picking up speed fast. “This is insane,” he muttered to himself. “Why do I torture myself?” He looked at me. “Nathan can have you.”

I gaped at him a moment before stating coldly, “It wasn’t like I asked you to come back.”

“True.” He grimaced and brushed a finger along my cheek. “I take that bullshit back about letting Nathan have you.”

I slapped his finger away. “It’s not your call.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’s your call, either,” Bosley mumbled, disgruntled. “Not the way the two of you carry on. If I was Nathan, I’d run for the hills.”

“Nobody asked you, Bosley,” Gunner said sharply, surprising me all to hell by almost defending me. “So shut up back there.”

Bosley chuckled, amused, and slid back down into the seat.

The rest of the ride was quiet after that. At the Odessa exit, Gunner pulled down the side ramp and merged into in-going city traffic. By the time the Odessa county line spilled into view, the sun had vanished behind a dense mass of clouds, and rain hammered on the Yukon’s hood. The tires skidded as Gunner made his turn toward the Ector County jail. He pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine.

“Well, we’re here,” he said, opening his door.

Drops of water hit him upside his head, overflowing the runnels of his cowboy hat. Hurrying, he unlocked Bosley’s door and pulled him into the downpour. He’d just led Bosley to the rear of the vehicle to wait for me to join them when there was the sound of tires screeching into the lot. A silver van halted next to us, the right door slid open, and a volley of bullets riddled the Yukon.

“Get down,” Gunner yelled at me, ducking and pulling out his gun.

I quickly threw myself down onto the floorboard and shuffled a hand around the waistline of my jeans to pull out my Glock. The back window crackled as a bullet penetrated the glass and plunked into a door pillar. I ducked under the dashboard. My palms were sweaty against the cold metal of my gun. Even though I like to think of myself as tough, I was a sissy when it came to being shot at. I preferred it the other way around.

Eight more shots blasted off, then the only sound was the hammering thud of the rain. I shot up in time to see the back end of the van as it peeled out of the lot. Cautiously, I opened my door and poked my head out. Gunner’s body was still, sprawled out on the pavement. Clutching my gun, I leaped out of my seat. Heart pounding, pulse racing, I knelt beside him. His fingers twitched, and then he opened an eye and smiled weakly.

“Do you think I could get a kiss, now?” His voice faded.

Looking everywhere in case the van returned, I squeezed his hand. “Stay with me, you’ll be all right. I’m going to go check on Bosley.”

The sheriff station door burst open, and five deputies sprinted out. I looked up at them. “Call an ambulance,” I shouted as I crab-walked my way over to Bosley. “Officer down.” I reached Bosley, who was swimming in a puddle of red water. “And I think our prisoner is dead.” I choked back the bile rising up my throat as a sheriff deputy dropped to the ground on the other side of my prisoner and felt for his pulse.

Nausea rising, I eased back over next to Gunner and took his clammy hand in mine as sirens started to blare and the rain pounded around us.

…

By the time the medics arrived, I couldn’t get any wetter. My jeans were suctioned to my thighs, and my uniform shirt was plastered in wet wrinkles against my chilled belly. The extra padding in my bra wasn’t doing much to hide my bullet-like nipples. A handsome, young EMT jumped out of the ambulance and took me in, a wide smile pulling at his cheeks.

“Decide to take a bath while ya waited?” he asked.

I blinked and wiped away the rain. “This one needs a ride to the hospital,” I said pointing at Gunner still stretched flat on his belly in the puddle-filled parking lot.

Nodding, the emergency tech said soothingly, “We’ll take care of him, ma’am,” then went about checking Gunner over while I watched. A minute later, I got the impression the EMT was trying hard not to laugh while Gunner ground his teeth and looked like he wanted to smack someone.

“That outta do it,” the medic said, still fighting a grin. “I’ll get the gurney.”

I followed and tapped him on the shoulder. “Is he going to be okay?”

The medic laughed as he grabbed some sort of bandage from the ambulance. “Honey, the man got shot in the ass,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve heard of anybody dying from that.”

For a second, I just stared at him. Then a fizzling snicker spilled out of me, and I quickly cupped my mouth, trying to hide my wide grin. At least now I knew Gunner wasn’t a suspect. The man would have to be insane to get shot in the ass—twice.

I got control of myself. “We also have a dead one over there.” I pointed to Bosley, who’d taken a bullet directly to the center of his forehead. From the looks of it, I believed he was the intended target.

“Sorry…” he searched my face, looking for my name.

“Deputy Briggs.”

“I’m sorry, deputy. I don’t deal with the dead ones. That would be the coroner.” He grimaced and pulled the gurney over to Gunner and rolled him on his side to apply the bandage to his left butt cheek. Then he and his partner hoisted the Texas Ranger carefully onto the gurney, strapped him in, and rolled him into the ambulance. Once the medic stepped inside, too, I poked my head past the doors.