PrettyReckless

JodiLinton

Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsaretheproductoftheauthor’s

imaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualevents,locales,orpersons,livingordead,

iscoincidental.

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FirstEditionMarch2014

FormyhusbandJared,

Thankyouforgivingmethesupport,theencouragement,

andlovetochasemydreams.

ChapterOne

MaybeitwasbadluckorpartofthegoodLord’sdivineplan.Atanyrate,Iwasoneoftheunfortunate
twohundredthatcalledPistolRock,Texashome.Andtodaywaspanningouttobelesspeachywitheach
wadofdonutdeputyElroySampsonshoveleddownhisgrubhole.Ordinarily,Iwouldhavebeensmitten
with the idea of no work for us law enforcement types. It just wasn’t good for my self-esteem or my
waistlinetobeleftwithElroyforanextendedperiodoftime.Igotupandheadedforthepastryboxjust
asthestationdoorburstopenandstoppedmedeadinmylazytracks.

“SheriffDobbs,”Igreetedhim.
“AnothershootoutattheO.K.Corral…Anytakers?”Dobbs’seyeslandedonme.
“Can’t you send Elroy this time? You know Luke Wagner’s in the middle of that sparring match and

wouldgetakickoutoftormentingme.It’dbereallyshittytomakemetakethiscall,Dobbs.”

“I’m a shitty old boss, Laney. Now hurry up, and get out to Arrowhead Range,” Dobbs said and

straggledovertotheemptychairnexttoElroy.

Islungmygunintotheholsterstrappedatmywaistandstampedtowardthedoor.Istoppedwithahand

wrappedaroundtheknobatthesoundofDobbsandElroysnickering.“What’ssofunny?”

Dobbshackedatthefloor.“Nothing.Wewerejustwondering,ifWagnercallsyoucutie,areyougoing

toshoothim?”

“Don’tholdyourbreath,”Isaid,pushingthroughthestationdoor.
I tucked my auburn hair up under my straw cowboy hat and lifted a hand to hide my eyes from the

record-breakingMayheat.Ifluckwasonmyside,thenthetwoguysmighthavealreadyputanendtothe
shootout,butIwasfeelingasdesperateasthebuttonholdingupElroy’spants.Iwentouttogetbehindthe
wheelofthe’99ChevyMalibuassignedtomebythedepartmentonlytodiscoversomeonehadstucka
purplePost-Itonthewindshield.Ipluckeditoffandreadthemessage,Watchyourself,bitch.Achillran
downmyspine.ThiswasthesecondweirdthingI’dfoundthisweek,thefirstbeingabunchofdaisies—
my favorite flower—mangled and shredded all down my front porch steps. I’d cleaned that up, not
thinkingmuchaboutitsinceitwasthesortofthingkidsfromtheareamightdo,butnowIwasn’tsosure.

Puzzledandalittleuneasy,Iglancedaroundatthemostlyemptystreet.ThenIshrugged,crumpledup

thenote,andpitcheditintothecruiser’sbackseat.Iclimbedintothecar,thinkingthatIcouldn’tallow
myselftogetwobblyovereverydickweedwhowantedtoplaygameswithme,andgunneditawayfrom
thestation.Theswirlingbuildupofcowmanurefloatedthroughtheairconditionervents.Ifoughttheurge
togagandpressedaheavyfootdownonthegaspedal,quicklyleavingbehindthemalodorousremnants
ofPistolRock.

Fiveminuteslater,IturnedontoSpokeRoad.Twobarbedwiredpasturesdown,andArrowheadRange

cameintoview.Islowlypulleddownthedriveandprayedthegunfirehadstopped.Iturnedonmysiren,
alertingthemtomyapproach.Thedustfromthegraveldrivewhirledaroundmywindows,makingithard
tosee.I’djustveeredaroundthecornergatewhenIheardashotgunblast.Theseboysreallydidthink
they were cowboys. I slammed on my brakes and put the cruiser in reverse, retreating behind a cactus.
Anothershotwentoff.IswungopenmydooranddrewmyGlockfromtheholsteraroundmywaistand
percheddowninthedirt.

“DeputyBriggs,”Ishouted.
Iheardwhispering,thenthesoundofashotgunbutthittingtheground.
“Laney,isthatyou?”BosleyConradyelled.
Iwaved.“Yeahit’sme.Arey’alldone?”
“Yep,Isupposewe’redone,”Bosleygrumbled.
“I’mgonnaneedyouboystoputdownthoseguns.”
“Youknowyouain’tgettingmygun,Laney.”
“Iwasn’tthinkingaboutit.”
Taking a man’s gun in Texas was like castrating him. I stuffed my 9mm into the holster and stepped

around the door. Luke Wagner was slumped up against a tree, rustling a toothpick around his mouth. A
whitecowboyhatdippedlowoverhissmolderingdeepblueeyes,andadirt-smearedwhiteT-shirtclung
to his wide chest and strong arms. His tight-assed Levi’s pretty much had my tall, smooth-talking, and
handsomecowboyfantasyallwrappedupintoone,neatdenimpackage.

Lukepulledoffhishat,runningahandthroughhismessy,chinlengthblondehair.
“Luke, how you doing?” I tossed him a tight smile, darting my eyes about the barren land. “Mitch

wouldn’thappentobearound?”

Lukeliftedhishatandsentaslicksmilebackatme.
“Nope.”Heplacedthehatbackonhishead,“Ihaven’tseenmydadallday.
BosleyspitintothedirtandgesturedatLuke.“Hepoisonedmycattle.”
Lukehuffed,spithistoothpickontotheground,andcruncheditwiththetipofhisbrowncowboyboot.

“Youcocksucker,”hesnarled.

“Youspoiledsonofabitch,”Bosleyspatbackandhikedhispantsupoverhisfatroll.
Ipushedmywaypastthevillageidiots.“Oh…forheaven’ssake,let’sgoseeyourcattle.”
IfLukebeingtheheirtotheWagner’sFoursSpursRanchwasn’tenoughforthesetwotogosparring

againsteachotherjustabouteachandeveryday,theyhadtopullmeintothemiddleoftheirlong,ongoing
feudoverwhoheldthewaterrightstothespringthatstraddledboththeirranches.Theywereconstantly
accusingeachotherofthismisdeedorthatone—andsometimesIwasprettysureitwasjusttogetunder
theirrival’sskin.Iwassickofit,butbeingasheriff’sdeputydidn’tgivemealotofchoiceaboutwhat
callsIdidordidn’tanswer.

Fiftyacres.ThatwasallIhadtotrudgeacross.Noproblem,exceptfortheendlessdirtmoundswith

goatheadstickersattachedtoeverybladeofgrass.Thesunbeatdownonthenapeofmyneck.Wepassed
astocktankwhereacoupleofhorsesweretakingadrink.Therewereacoupleofstallsofftotheleftand
then an iron fence that enclosed the perimeter against a small spring flowing through Bosley’s land. I
cursedmyselfthewholewayforhavingthatdoughnutearlier.IcouldfeelitstickingtomyribcageasI

stomped across the unforgiving land. I looked back over my shoulder. Luke was watching my ass. His
blueeyesblazedinthesun’srays,heighteningmyalreadyfrazzledstate.“Luke,doyouhaveaproblem
withmebeinghere?”

“Absolutelynot.”Hegrinnedcrookedly.“Yousurebeatstaringatacow’sass.”
I flipped him the bird and kept walking. Cow turds plastered the burnt grass. I pinched my nose and

pressedon.Bosleyabruptlystopped.Mybootscaughtonhisheels.Iwipedthesweatfrommyforehead,
tippedmyhatup,andholyshit!Atleasthalfadozencattleweretoppledoverdead.

Bosleymotionedmecloserbyflappinghishandinmyface.Idecidedthatitwasbesttostayput.
“I’mfinehere,”Iassuredhim.
“Yousee.”Hewentoverandkickedacowhead.“Dead.”
Iwasn’tgoingtoargue.Imean,hewastheexpertandall.“Lookslikeittome.”
“Well, are you going to arrest the bastard or just stand here and look all pretty?” Bosley asked,

completelydumbfounded.

The flattery wasn’t wasted on me. This morning I had felt sort of frumpy. So there was no harm in

acceptingthecompliment.

“Arresthimforwhat?”IlookedatLuke.
Hegrinned,tippinghishat.“Thanks,Laney,forlookingoutforme.”Lukethrewmeanindecentwink,

whichIignored.Hewasalooker,buttherewassomethingabouthimIdidn’tlike.Plus—Ifiddledwith
theengagementringthatwasmakingmyfingersitch—Iwastaken.

Bosleywhippedhishatoffhisheadandstrokedawrinklyhandthroughhisthin,silverhair.“Youmean

totellmeLukeisgoingtogetoffscotfreeonaccountofyounotknowingwhatthehellyou’redoing?”

Ithrewmyhandsupintheair.“Sorry.”Ishrugged.“IcanorderNathantodotestsandfindoutwhat

killedyourcows,butbeyondthat…there’snoevidenceLukedidanything.Hell,theymightagotteninto
somepoisonparsleyforallweknow.”

Theoldmanstartedsnortinguncontrollably,turninghisfacecrimson.Iwatchedhisnostrilsflareashe

kicked a pile of dirt in the air, flinging some ants in the process. He was sizing me up with that
coldheartedglare.Inervouslyshuffledtotheside—thenstarted.“Holycow.”

“Laney,Ithoughtyouknewwhatacowlookedlike,”Lukecracked.
“No,there’sahandunderthatone.”Ipointedatthebodymember.
Bosleylookedutterlyshockedattheideaofadeadbodyonhisland.Thisdespitethenumberofdead

cowsalreadylyingabout.

IwaggedafingeratBosley,ordering,“Don’tmoveamuscle.”
“Shit,” Bosley wheezed, pointing at the body the hand was attached to. He stared for an ungodly

moment,lockingeyesontheredbandanamangledbeneathapink-pig-inkedbicep.“That’sPaceyMonroe.
DearLord,”Bosleypressedashakypalmtohisforehead,“Youseethatpigtattooonthearm,”hishand
wavedoverthebody,“theboygotthetattooafterwewonbestinshowatlastyear’snationalpigcalling
contest.”

PaceyMonroewasBosley’sranchhand.HehadtheIQofasevenyearold,buthesuredidknowhow

to beef up a cow. I watched the two hotheaded guys take off their hats. They kneeled and gave a silent
prayer. I kneeled also, but there was no way in hell I was taking off my hat. My hair could have quite

possiblyraisedthedead,includingPaceyMonroe.

Pullingmycellfromthebackpocketofmyjeans,Idialedthesheriffstation.Thesignaldiedonthefirst

ring. It was unlike me to leave my walkie-talkie in the cruiser, but I’d been distracted by two big boys
thinkingtheyweretheHatfieldsandMcCoysofwestTexas.

Iglancedateachofthemwhileshovingmycelldeepdownintomybackpocketandsaid,“Ineedto

callforbackup,sodon’ttouchanything.”

“Willdo,Deputy,”Lukesaid,cockingmeaslygrin.
Ituggedatthewaistlineofmyjeansandtookoffinahotsprint.Sweatdrippedfrommycheeks,hair

mattedtomyforehead,andmyjeansstucktomycrotch.Iwhippedthecruiserdooropenandleanedover
theseat,catchingmybreathatthesametimeIuntangledtheradiocordandpressedtheswitchonthemic.

“Elroy,Ineedbackup.”
“Havingtroublecorrallingthebastards?”heasked,munchingonwhatsoundedlikeamouthfulofchips.
“No,dumbass.Ijustfoundadeadbody.”
“Wellshit...”hisvoicefaded.
“Elroy,”Ishouted,squeezingtheradiomic’shardplasticinmyhand.
“Yeah…yeah,Laney,”heresponded,“I’llberightthere.”
Thelinewentdead.IshookoffthethoughtthatI’dheardsomeoneotherthanDobbsinthebackground

andmadetheburningrunbacktotheguys.Lukehadparkedhimselfonthecrunchygrass.Iplunkeddown
next to him. Stickers poked through the worn seat of my jeans, biting me on my biscuits. His blue eyes
immediatelydriftedtowardmychest.

“Alittlewinded,Laney?”
Isentanelbowtohisribs.“Don’tlookatmethatway.”
“Darling,youusedtoenjoyit.”
Hesentmealookandtossedhisarmacrossmyshoulders.Therewasnousetryingtodefendmyself,so

Iwhippedmyheadbackandwaited.Theblisteringsunpoundedmyface.I’dgivenintotheideaofalong
waitwhenablackYukoncamebillowingacrosstheland.Itstoppedtwofeetinfrontus,screechingtires
grindingdownthecakeddirt.Dobbsjumpedoutofthepassengerside,withElroytagginghisbehind.I
wouldliketosayitdidn’tgettome,buthell,itpissedmeoffwhenIcaughtsightofthatRoute44sodain
Elroy’shand.

“Comeon,youstoppedforacokeanddidn’tbringmeone,”Ishouted.
Elroytookalongslurp.“Youweren’tattheoffice.”
Iwasstillglaringcoldlyathimwhenthedriver’sdoorpoppedopen.No,itcouldn’tbe…thatsonofa

bitch.Iwipedthebubblesofsweatfrommynoseandshottomyfeet.ThenImarcheduptohim.He’d
cockedhisblackcowboyhattothesideandstuffedhishandsintothebackpocketsoftightWranglers,
stretching the black T-shirt around his big biceps. That damn black rattlesnake tattoo rippled along the
hardmusclesofhisrightforearmashewalkedtothefrontoftheYukon.Withmystomachclimbingupmy
throat,asparkthatdefinitelydidn’tbelongtherefiredinmychestasIwatchedhimkicksomedirtthen
stepoutinfrontofme.

“Well,”GunnerWilsondrawled,“ifitisn’tLaneyBriggs.”Hethrewadirtywinkatme.
I ignored him, still trying to figure out what the hell my personal Texas Ranger nightmare was doing

ridingshotgunwithElroyandSheriffDobbs.“Whatareyou…?”

“Stilltonguetiedatthesightofme?”
MybloodwasblazingasIglaredathim.IthoughtwhenI’dsentaloadofrocksaltintomyorneryex-

boyfriend’sassoverthingsIpreferrednottothinkabout,he’dnevershowhisfaceinPistolRockagain.
I’dthoughtwrong,becauseholdingmeprisonerwiththosedeep,assessingbrowneyeswastheonlyman
whocouldlightmypantiesonfireineightsecondsflat.We’ddukeditoutbefore,andIreckonedthistime
wouldbenodifferent.TheproblemwasIhadadamnjobtodo,andfolkswerewatchingmyeverymove,
making damn sure to jot down each misstep I made. Taking a good step back from the panty-stroking
cowboy’spulse-charging,leathery-vanillaaftershave,Iswallowedhardandpulledupmybiggirlpanties
toplaythepartofthedeputyIknewIwascapableofbeing.“Whythehellareyouhere?Ithoughtyou
wereinHouston.”

Hisgrinwidened.“I’lltellyoulater,sweetheart.”
Dobbssidledupbetweenus,placingahandonmyshoulder.“Let’snotjumptoconclusions,Laney”—

hecontinuedtheheavilypettingofmyshoulder—“IinvitedGunnertocomealongonthemorningjoyride
afterhewanderedintothestationlookingforyou.”HelookedatGunner,smiling.“Don’tyouremember
mefillingyouandElroyinontheRangersinvestigatingacaseouthereinPistolRock?”

That memo must’ve slipped through the cracks. I nodded anyway, allowing my gaze to linger on

Gunner’ssinfullygood-looking,ruggedcowboyface.Hehadn’tmissedabeatsinceI’dseenhimlast.I,
ontheotherhand,could’veslappedonanextralayeroffoundationandditchedthesheriff’sdepartment
issueduniformshirtwith“PistolRockSheriffStation”embroideredacrossmyupperleftbreast.

“Yeah, I remember.” I kept nodding mindlessly as I watched Gunner’s smile grow. This was so not

good.IalwaysturnedtoputtyinthatTexasRanger’shands.He’dbeenmyfirstloverand,forawhile,I
wassurehe’dbemylast,too.Thathadchanged,butGunner’seffectonmehadn’t.Isteeledmyselfand
lookedhimdirectlyintheeyes.“It’sjustthatIdidn’tfiguretheRangerswouldlethim,”Ijuttedmychinat
Gunner,“anywherenearthisjurisdictionafterlasttime.”

Dobbsonlygruntedatthat,butGunner’sdeep,throaty‘I’ddoyourbodygood’laughthrewmeoffmy

highhorse.Igrabbedhimbytheelbow.Badmove.Justthefeelofhimunderneathmyfingersmademy
heartskipabeat.IsteeledmyselfnottolookatthethirdfingerofmylefthandwherethediamondNathan
hadgivenmesevenmonthsagoseemedtostareatme.“Dobbs,willyouexcuseus?”

Dobbssmiledsomemore.“I’veneverbeenonetodenyagoodoldfashionedreunion.”
Givemeabreak,Ithought,tuggingonGunner’sarm.
We trudged across the dead grass, coming to a stop next to a weather-eroded fence post. He inched

closer,placingabootinmypersonalspace.Oureyeslockedintothatoldswoongirlgaze.Onceupona
time,I’dstrippedhimofhistightWranglersandhadmywaywithmyownpersonalgood-timingTexas
Ranger,butwe’dallgrownoutofourschoolyardcrushes.

Iswalloweddownmycottonmouth,tookagoodstepback,rear-endingthetermiteinfestedwood,and

jammedmyfingeratGunner’sbroadchest.“IfyouthinkforaminuteI’mgoingtoletyoumakemylifea
livinghellagainjustbecauseyoutakeanotion,youhaveanotherthinkcoming.”

Hestartedtoflickmyfingerawaybutstoppedmid-slap,grabbingmyhandinstead,staringfrommyring

fingertome.Abruptly,heletmyhandfall.“Gettinghitched?”heasked,displeased.

“What’sittoyou?”Ibegan,butlostmytrainofthoughtatthesightofthetrucktaggedwithawhiteand

green Bovine Health Services sticker pushing twenty our way. I’d like to say I didn’t give a hoot that
GunnerfelttheneedtopokehisnoseinPistolRockbusiness.ButdamnIdid.Myfiancéwasapproaching
usinthatredDodgeRam.Iletoutanexacerbatedsighandwatchedthedriver’sdoorflyopen.

Nathanhadtakenoverthelocalveterinarianpractice,BovineHealthServices,afterourpreviousvet,

Dr.Beasley,diedthreeyearsback.I’dmethimatthePigglyMartwhenourcartscrashedintoeachother.
Hehadaskedmewheretheketchupaislewas.Twomonthslater,Iwasengaged.HardtobelieveI’dbe
movingtoDallasafterwesaid“Ido”,butstill,maybeafreshstartwouldhelpmendoldwounds.Timing
couldbesuchabitch.Gunnerkickingupacloudofdustthisclosetomynuptialshadreallyputahitchin
myplans.

Nathansmiledatme,pulledhisvetkitoutfromthetruckbed,andwalkedonover.
“Hi,honey.Heardthere’safewdeadcows,”hesaidkissingme.
I shifted uncomfortably and peered a look Gunner’s way. He was twirling a piece of hay around his

tongueandslowlydroppinghisgazeoverNathan.Hiseyesnarrowed,andthenhestuckouthishand.

“TexasRangerGunnerWilson.You’veprobablyheardofme.”
NathanreachedawkwardlyoverhisequipmenttoshakeGunner’shand.“Don’tthinkIhave.”
Gunner’s eyebrow’s raised half an inch. He spit the hay into the dirt and shot to a stand. “You mean

Laneyherehasn’ttoldyouaboutus?”

Nathangavemeanarrow-eyedlookthatletmeknowhewaspissed.Ishruggedandpushedthebrimof

myhatback,shufflingfromoneboottotheotherandcrossingmyarmsovermychest.Damnit,Ithought,
Idon’thavetimeforthisbullshit.

“Nathan,thisisGunnerWilson,anoldfriendofmine.”
“Anoldfriend,”Gunnersnorted.“Hell,Laney,youshotmeintheass.”HescowledatNathan.“Ibet

you’reevensleepinginmyoldbed.”

I desperately tried to keep my cool. Instead, I lost it. “How dare you claim Aunt Faye’s house or

anythinginitisfuckingyours,”Isaidtightly.

Gunnerpinchedthebrimofhishat,narrowinghisdarkeyesatme.“Youtoldmeyoudidn’twantme

around,”hesaidmildly.

“Damnyou,GunnerWilson!”
ThehardlinethathadearlieroutlinedGunner’smouthsoftenedashelookedonmewithpain-streaked

eyes.There’dbeenahelluvalotmorebetweenusthanashotgunloadofrocksaltandmefindinghimin
ourbedwithanotherwoman—evenafterfiveyears,thewoundwassorawIthoughtitwouldneverheal.
I sure as hell didn’t want to touch it. I turned and stepped back from the ridiculous fight, glancing at
Nathan.He’dcautiouslybeguntoeaseafewstepsbackwardfromGunnerandme.Neverletitbesaidthe
man liked to confront an issue head on. That was one of the things that made me gravitate toward him
whenwemet—thatdon’task,don’ttellattitude.Watchinghimtryingtoleavemeinsteadof…oh,hell,I
didn’tknow.Butitdidmakemestarttowonderwhatelsehe’dbackawayfromwhenweweremarried.

Igrabbedhisarm.“Wheredoyouthinkyou’regoing?”
NathanpickeduptheblacktotebaghedroppedandheadedtowardDobbs,whowashunchedovera

stiffcow.“Don’tmindme.Ijustcametostickmyarmupacow’sbutt.”

Stony-faced,Iwatchedhimleave,thenspunbackonGunner.“Youhaveproblems,”Itoldhim.
“Onlyone,”hesaid,andpushedpastme,shoulderingmehard.
For lack of a better option, I fell in line behind him, hating myself for gawking at his tight ass even

thoughIcouldbarelystandhim.Dobbswasswattingfliesoutofhisfacewhenwebothapproachedwhile
Nathanrolledausedlatexgloveoffhishand.I’dwatchedhimdothisverythingplentyoftimesbefore
and thought nothing of it—or tried to. This time, especially with Gunner here, the whole idea of where
thatglovedhandhadbeenjustmademesquirm.WhileNathanwanderedofftosee,Iassumed,ifhecould
spot any reason that so many cows died at once, I watched Gunner strut on over to the dead cows and
kneelnexttoPacey’scorpse.Hepeeredintothedeadboy’seyesandstoodbackup,dustingoffhisjeans.
“Lookslikethecowtippingpartydidn’tgoasplanned,”heobserved.

I leaned over the cow shrouding Pacey’s mangled body for a look at his crushed skull. There was a

gashinitthewidthofahorseshoe.Murderthen.Outofthecornerofmyeye,IspottedNathanwalkingour
way. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his arm was wet, and he had a plastic bag and
syringeinhand.

“Thiswasinthewateringtanks.”Hewavedthebagatme.
GunnerreachedoutandsnaggeditbeforeIhadachance.Hestuckafingerinside,sniffed,andquickly

jerkedthebagaway.“I’llbedamned.That’spoisonparsley.”Hetuggedathisbeltbuckleanddirected
hisattentionatLuke.“Lookslikethesortofstupidprankyouusedtopullinschool,Wagner,”hesaid,“so
starttalking.”

“Hell, I’m just an innocent bystander. That raving lunatic over there”— Luke flicked his thumb at

Bosley—“istheonewhoshotatmewhenallIdidwasrideovertocheckonFourSpurscows.”

“Innocentmyass,”Bosleysaidasheheavedhimselfupfromhisspotinthedirt,mumblingtohimself.

I’dknownBosleyConradmywholelife.I’dseenhimchopoffarattlesnake’sheadwithjustamachete
duringarattlesnakeroundupwithoutbattinganeye,butrightnow,hewassweatingmorethanahogonthe
choppingblock.Hewastrulyanxious.

“Calmdown—”Ibegan,butBosleywasalreadychargedupworsethanalonghaultruckeratanadult

video store. Yelling, he rushed at Luke. Since I was standing between them, I stuck out a boot. Bosley
trippedandplantedhisfaceinthedirt.Hepushedhimselfup,spittingoutmuck.

“Goddamnit,Laney,”heheavedhimselfuprightandlungedatmewithopenfists.Isteppedoutofthe

wayofthepunch,grabbedhimbythearm,andtwisteditaroundhisback,makingthedamnmanbitethe
dirtagain.Ipressedakneeintothesmallofhisbackandflickedopenmycuffs.“Ithoughtyousaidyou
weren’tgoingtoarrestme.”Bosleylookedatme,dumbfounded.

Ishrugged.“Youassaultedasheriff’sdeputy.Thingschange.”
Islappedapairofcuffsonhimandstartedtohaulhimofftowardmycruiser.Istillcouldn’tfathomthe

idea of Bosley Conrad being capable of murder. But since I’d been a deputy, I’d found that folks had
secrets.TherewerealotofskeletonsintheclosetsaroundPistolRock.

“Here,I’lltake’im,”Gunnersaid,slippingupbehindme.HetookBosley’sarmandusheredhiminto

thebackseatoftheYukonandslammedthedoorshut.

IwasmindlesslygazingatGunnercrackinghisneckandwonderingwhyinhellI’djustlethimhijack

mycollarwhenahandfellonmyshoulder,startlingme.IspunaroundtofindNathanpatientlystanding

behindme.

“I’llseeyoutonight,”hesaid,usinghisfingerstoslideastraylockofhairoffmyface.“Ihaveafew

patients I need to check in on.” He looked at Gunner, then laid one hell of a kiss on me. “I love you,
Laney,”hedeclaredloudenoughforeveryonetohear.

ThenhegotbehindthewheelofhisDodgeandpulledaway.Istaredafterhimopen-mouthed,wishingI

hadthenervetowipeawaythatclearlyterritorialkiss.Nobodyownedme,whetherIworetheirringor
not.AndthatmeantGunner.

Iturnedtonipwhateversnidecommenthemightmakeinthebud,butcaughthimwatchingNathango

withanoddlookonhisfacebeforeturningtome.Thenallhesaidwas,“I’llseeyoubackatthestation,
Laney.”Hewinkedandtippedhishat,thenslidintothefrontseatoftheYukonandbackeditoutofthe
drive,raisingacloudofdust.

After touching base with Sheriff Dobbs and Elroy, I jumped behind the wheel of the old cruiser. It

putteredandchokedtoastart.IclippedtheirongatewiththesidemirrorasIflewpasttheentranceand
gunnedittowardthesheriffstation.I’djustbeenfedaspoonfulofhorseshitbyGunnerWilson.Thedamn
prickcaughtmeoffguard.Hereallyknewhowtogetundermyskin.

ChapterTwo

DowntownPistolRockhadunofficiallybeendeclaredahistoricsitebyourmayor,KirbyDearborn.He’d
spentaweekendoutinMarfaandcomebackclaiminghecouldturnthetinytownintoanotherwestTexas
touristattractionbecausewehadthemechanicalbullfromUrbanCowboyatourlocalbar.Kirby’splan
hadn’tplayedinhisfavor.Mostlyvacantstorefrontsspannedthetwolanehighwaythatshotthroughthe
centeroftown.Abuzzardcouldtakeitstimefinishingsomeroadkillbeforeacarinterrupteditsmeal.

Iswitchedonthecruiser’sradioandflippedtooneofthecountrymusicchannels.“AllMyExesLive

inTexas”spilledoutofthescratchyspeakers.I’djustbeguntosingalongwhenmyfrontfenderclipped
somethingontheemptyroad.

“Well,shit.”Islammedonthebrakes,threwthecarintopark,andsteppedoutintothedryair.
The sun glared in my eyes. I squinted. Yep, I thought, that’s definitely Boomer Copley sitting on my

bumper. I was not surprised. I had been best friends with Boomer since second grade. When he came
back from the army six years ago after being honorably discharged, he picked up the bottle, and to this
day,hasn’tputitdown.Wanderingaimlesslyandbeingthetowndrunkwashisspecialty.

Boomer,likealways,waswearingtancoverallsandanavybluetruckerhatsquisheddownontopof

hisredcurlyhair.

“Boomer,areyouhurt?”Iasked.
Hesmiled.Thenheslippedoffthefenderandontotheasphalt.
“Heeey thar… Laney,” he slurred. “Nope. I ain’t hurt. Ev’ry thang looks pretty much intact. You just

grazedme.”Boomerknockedhisleftkneewithafist.

Ipulledthebrimofmyhatdown,pushedmyholstertothebackofmyjeans,andtookaseatnexttohim.

“LongnightattheSaloon?”Iasked,givinghimarundownwithmyeyes.

Heburped.“’Scuseme.Ijus’wokeupoveryonder.Canyab’lieveRustyjus’leavingmeoutthereby

the Dumpster?” He sighed, blowing the smell of stale beer in my face. Had I not leaned away a few
inches,Iwouldhavefoundmyselfhunchedoveronthesideoftheroadlikeafreshmanco-edafterher
firstfratpartykegstand.

“Doyouneedaride?”Isearchedhisperplexedface.
“Thanks,Laney,butIwasheadingforcoffee.”
“Okay,butyouowemeadrinkfordentingmycruiser.”
“Deal,”hewinkedandcautiouslypickeduphisleftfootandtookalurchingstep.
Wincing, I watched him stumble across the pavement and smack into the stop sign pole. He looked

okay,sincehewavedafterwards.Ishookmyheadandgotbackunderway.Threeminuteslater,Ichugged
up to the station. The black Yukon that had driven Elroy and Dobbs out to Bosley’s was already there.

Great,Gunnerhadbeatenmebacktotown.Iyankedthevisordowntolookinthemirror.Lipstickhad
smeared across my teeth, and bubbles of sweat covered my nose. Thank God I was wearing a hat. I
scratchedtheredgunkfrommyfrontteeth,wipedmynoseclean,andsteppedoutofthecar.

The Pistol Rock sheriff station was a wretched-looking place with a grimy, double pane window

offering up a spectacular view of the empty street. White-washed walls that were now turning yellow
fromneglectsurroundedthesquare,mainroom.Metalbeamsspannedthelengthofthebeige,square-tiled
ceiling, cutting off circulation from the dying air conditioner. I approached the desk that had only been
mine for the past four years, six months, two weeks, and three days since I’d left my job teaching
kindergarten at Bluebonnet Elementary. Not that I’d kept count. Well, actually, I exaggerate. I was fired
fromBluebonnetafterIpoppedthatrocksaltintoGunner’ssinfullysweet,jeans-huggingassforreasons
I’d managed to avoid thinking about for months—and I had no plans to start thinking about them again,
ever.

But that was the past. Now, instead of construction paper and crayons, the top of my desk held a

crinkled square of butcher paper wrapped around a half-eaten meatloaf sandwich. When I called for
backup, I guess Elroy’s lunch got interrupted. I rolled up the edges of the wrapper and tossed it in the
trash.HehadpoppedthetabonacanofDrPepper.Ipickeditupandgaveitashake.Ihearditfizz,soI
tookasip.

Aracketfromoutbackinthestation’sjailareacaughtmyattention.Idrewmygunandheadedthatway

at the same time Gunner rounded the corner and smacked into me. “What the hell…?” I said, trying to
backawayfromhim.

Gunnerwashavingnoneofthat.Hegrabbedmyarmstokeepmefromreelingbackwardandpulledme

intohim.“Hey,Laney,”herumbledinthatdeep-as-midnightvoiceofhis.“Sohowaboutwegrababiteto
eat?”

Igavehimafunnylookandlookedtowardwheretheruckuswascomingfrom.“Idon’tknowifthat’sa

goodideawhenitsoundslikeallhellisbreakinglooseintheback.Besides,Ihaveameatloafsandwich
waitingforme.”

Gunnercastaglanceinthedirectionofthecellsandlaughed;thesoundechoedthroughthetinyspace.

“That? Oh, that’s nuthin’, sweetheart. Just Bosley being ornery.” He wrapped a hand around my wrist.
“C’mon,Laney,Idon’tthinkthatthingyoucallaboyfriend—what’shisname?—canobjecttoyoueating
lunch.”

Before I could protest or say “Nathan” or even holster my weapon, I was tugged out the door in his

wake.HehustledusondownthesidewalktotheWhistlingWindCaféwhileIattemptedtojammygun
away,shademyeyesfromthesun,andstayonmyfeetallatonce.

TheWhistlingWindwastheonlyeateryintownwithoutadrive-thru.Palecreamwallsweredecorated

with black and white pictures of Pistol Rock landmarks and the town folks chowing down inside the
restaurant.MableDilbywasthelittle,oldchurchladywhoownedthecafé.Shehadthemouthofasailor
andmadepiecrustgoodenoughtomakeabishopkickinastained-glasswindow.

Gunnerpulledopenedthedoor.“Thisoughtabeinteresting.”
Interestingwasanunderstatement.Thelasttimepeoplesawthetwoofustogether,hewasfillingout

paperworktohavemearrestedfortryingtoskinhishide.Eventually,he’ddroppedthecharges,lefthis

postinnearbyOdessa,andmovedtoHoustonwithoutaword.

Alltwelvecostumerseyeballedusaswetooktheonlyopentablesmackdabinthemiddleofthecafé.I

heard a couple forks dropping on plates. Chairs were scooted about for a better view, sounding like
fingernailsbeingrundownachalkboard.Everyonestartedwhisperingandmurmuring,exceptforMiss
Stevenswhodeliberatelyspokeaboveallthechatter.

“DoesNathanknowshe’shangingoutwithGunnerWilson?She’sfixingtogetmarried.”Shescowled

atme,herchindisappearingintoherfatneck.

Ishotheraberatingeyewhilerubbingmygun.MissStevensquicklybegantoforkherchickensalad

into her mouth. Gunner pulled out my chair. Even though we had our differences he could still be a
gentleman.

“Sowhat’sgoodaroundhere,”heasked,eyeingthemenu.
I snorted and immediately regretted it. “I guess being away for five years causes your memory to

lapse.”

“Youcouldsaythat,”hewinkedandflappedhismenuclosed.
ThatwinkwasdeadlierthanaKrispyKremedonuttoawoman’swaistline.Ishouldknow.It’dpinned

mybackagainstthewallatimeortwo.Andheevenhadtheindecencytogivemeoneofhislazy,cowboy
grins.Ifeltmycheeksflameandmypantiesgrowdamp.Ifhekeptundressingmewiththoselethal,brown
eyes I was going to melt in my chair. I sucked in some air and looked down at the cracked vinyl table
cloth.WhodidMissStevenssayIwasmarryingagain?

“Well,theburgersarestillokay,”Imanaged.
“Thenthat’swhatI’llhave.”
Iwincedaninsinceresmileathimandshrankbackinmychair.Gunnerrelaxedintohisandpropped

hisbootsupontheedgeofthetableuntilRubyJennerappearedandploppedtwoglassesofsweetteain
frontofus.Shewasaseniorinhighschool,andhadtoldeveryonenumeroustimesthatsheintendedtoget
outofthishellholeassoonaspossible.

“GunnerWilson?”shesaid,smilingsobigitshowedthroughherblackrimmedglasses.
Hestoodupandgaveherahug.“LittleRubyJenner.Howyoudoing?”
“Didn’tknowthetwoofyouwerebacktotogether.”Ruby’sgrinwidened,showingoffherbraces.
Ispewedastreamofteaacrosstheredcheckerboardtablecloth.“We’renot,”Ichoked,squirming.
“That’swhatshethinks,”Gunnersaid,givingmeaslywink.
“Yeah.”Rubylaughedandtookourorders.Sheslippedmeagiddysmileandbouncedherredpigtails

offtothenexttable.

Ishiftedattheunsettlingfeelingofalltheeyesburningintomyback.“Gunner,youmindexplainingwhy

you’rebackintown?”

Hetwistedastrawbetweenhisfingers.“Todriveyoucrazy?Admitit,you’vethoughtaboutme,right?”

Hisvoicerandarkandsmooth.

Iwiggledmyringfingerinfrontofhisnose.“Incaseyouhaven’tnoticed,I’mgettingmarried.”
“Idon’tthinkit’lllast.”
Iscowledathim.IknewIshouldn’t,butIaskedanyway,“Why,ifImayask?”
“He’sapansy,andyou’remoreasuckerfortherottentype.”

“Likeyou?”Iaskedsourly.
Hegrinnedandshrugged.“Maybeso.Yougottaadmit,I’madamnsightmoreinterestingthannecropsy

boy,forsure.”

Iglaredathimandsliddeeperintomyseat.
Innotime,Rubyshowedupwithourburgersandaskedifweneededanythingelse,gigglingthewhole

time.Okay,Iwasn’tgoingtolivethislunchdatedownforawhile—especiallysincethewholetownwas
privy to our history. It was a load of rock salt, for pity’s sake, nothing to twist your panties over—
especiallynotinPistolRock.Itookabiteofmyburgerandwipedthegreaseawaywithanapkin.

“Soareyougoingtotellmewhyyou’rehereornot?”Iaskedthroughamouthfuloffood.
Givingmean‘ifIgotta’look,Gunnersetdownhisburgerandleanedoverthetable.Voiceunusually

low,hesaid,“Wegotatipacoupleofmonthsagothatketaminewasbeingmovedthroughthisneckofthe
woods.”Heraisedaneyebrow.“Youknow…SpecialK.”

I bit my tongue, surprised. “You mean we have someone pushing drugs around here besides Skinny

Picket?”

Gunnerknockedhisfistontopofthetable.“Hitthenailontheheadwiththatone,Laney.”
“Andyoudidn’tevencalltowarnmeyou’dbeintown?”
He reached for my hand. I swiftly dropped it into my lap under the table cloth. “Thought a surprise

wouldbenice.Anditwaswellworthit.”

Well,hegotmethere.Ittrulywasagoodsurpriseonhispart.Ijusthatedbeingonthereceivingendof

hisambush.Itookasipoftea,thenmunchedonafrytobuymyselftimetothink.Ieyedhimwhilehetook
abiteofburger,ponderingmynextquestion.Heregoesnothing,Ithought.

“Gunner,” I said in my most ingenuous voice, “didn’t you just say the reason for your being back in

townwasduetosomeSpecialK?”

Hedidn’tbothertolookatme,justkepteating.“Yep.”
Iswallowedtheurgetoflickafryathimandpressedon.“ThenwhywereyououtatArrowheadRange

thismorning?”

Hegrinnedanddippedafryinsomeketchup,tossingitintohismouth,andIknewIwouldn’tgetan

answer.

“It’smyturntoaskaquestion,”Gunnersaid,kickingbackinhischair.
Igavearesignedsighandlookedathim.“Shoot.”
“Whythehelldidyouacceptthatdouche’smarriageproposal?”
“Foryourinformation,IhappentolikeNathan.”
Hegrimaced.“Butyoudon’tlovehim.”
“Ididn’tsaythat!”
“No,Laney,youjustusedthewordlike.”
Ishovedmyplateforwardandleanedacrossthetabletop.“Ifyoumustknow,I’mprettydamnhappy

withmylife,”Igroundout.

“Justchecking.”Gunnertippedhishatforward.“Itlookedlikeyouwerecringingwhenthefellakissed

you.That’sall.”

I could sense the mouths gape open in the café—and I knew mine was. That comment was most

definitelygettingbacktoNathan.BeforeIcouldsayanythingpithyorsnidetothearrogant,dirt-bagTexas
Ranger across from me, the bell above the Whistling Wind’s door chimed. Elroy ran over to our table,
panting all the way. His forehead glistened, and he had a half -eaten Twinkie sticking out of his shirt
pocket.

“Wehaveanemergency,”hewheezedatme.
Rising,Islappeddownaten,butGunnercaughtmyhand.“I’vegotthis.It’stheleastIoweyou,”he

said,lookingmeintheeye.

AlthoughIwashappytokeepmymoney,theideaofhavingGunnerbuymelunchdidn’tsettoowell.

“Fine,”Ihuffed.

“Hurryitup,willya,”Elroycalled.
IgrabbedmygunoffthetablewhereI’dsetitduringlunchandstuffeditbackintotheholsterstrapped

tomyjeans.GunnercaughtmyarmasIbrushedpastthetable.“Nowkeepintouch.”

“Iwouldn’thaveitanyotherway.”Ismiledthroughclenchedteethandjerkedmyarmback.
Elroywaspacingoutsidehis’89beigeBronco,wipinghisheadeverytwoseconds.Itdidn’thelp.The

sweatseemedtopourfromhisforeheadinrivers.

“Sowhat’stheemergency?”Iasked,annoyed.
Heopenedhiscardoor.“It’sWalterGibbonsdownattheAlleyWayBowling.He’slockedhimselfin

theoffice.”

Fantastic.First,adelightfullunchwithGunner.NowthecherryontopwasthatIhadtogodealwith

crazyassWalterGibbons.

…

PistolRockheldthebarlowwhenitcametospontaneousentertainment.AlleyWayBowlinghappenedto
be the only place in town to pass a couple hours if one wasn’t in the mood to bump uglies with one’s
neighbors.Personally,Idreadedthebowlingalley.Therewasnothingworsethanhurlingagreasy,ten-
poundballdownalaneinanattempttoknockshitover.

IshotalookatElroyasheagainswervedoverthedotted,yellowlinewhiletryingtoretrieveandeat

thedangTwinkiestuffedinhisshirtpocket.

“Elroy,”Ishoutedabovetherattletraptrucknoise,“areyouscaredyou’regonnastarvetodeathifyou

don’tfinishthatTwinkierightnow?”

Hecrammedtherestofitintohismouth.“What?”heasked,obliviousofthecreamsmearedacrosshis

face. He gunned the Bronco into the gravel parking lot then skidded to a stop. The engine hadn’t even
killedbeforehe’dpropelledhimselfoutthedoor.Ichoseamorelady-likemaneuverandscootedmyass
downfromtheseat.

“Youcoming,Laney?”ElroyhuffedandstalkedofftothefrontdooroftheAlleyWay.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” I shot back, tugging my jeans straight and readjusting my uniform

shirtbeforehesitantlywalkinguptothedoor.Elroywasknowntooverreactonoccasions.Caseinpoint
—rightnowhehadhisgundrawnandwaswavingitinthefacesofthelocalbowlingleague.

“Putthatdown,”Idemanded.
“Fine. You win,” Elroy snapped sourly. He lowered the gun and holstered it. “But you know how

Waltergetssometimes.”

Idid,butsinceWalterrarelymeantanythingbywhateverstupidthinghewasdoingatthetime,Iwas

moreofamindtocheckoutthesituationbeforepullingmyweapon.Ijerkedopenthedoorandwalked
inside.

WhenIwasinmiddleschool,myfatherhadbeenanavidleaguer,butthenhethrewhislefthipout,and

that,thankfully,putanendtomyTuesdaynightsofwipingdownhisbowlingballs.Theplacehadbeena
dumpbackthen.Fifteenyearslater,itstillwaswithfourwoodenwarpedlanes,mustardyellowwalls,
andachipped,chromedinerthatonlyservedoneflavorofBlueBellicecream,pistachio.Iglancedover
attheregister.SissyMurdocklookedredderthanafireant.

“He’slockedhimselfinsidetheofficeagain.”Shepointedatattooedarmatthedoorbehindher.
Inodded,understandingherpredicament.Iproppedmybootagainstthebackofthecounterandscanned

theroomforElroy.HewasoverbylanethreechattingwithSueMiller.Hehadathingforher.Inhishand
was a soda. I knew the instant I saw the soda that Elroy had checked out of the job. But I had good
manners,anditwasalwayspolitetoask.

“Elroy,youwantthis?”
Hedrewonthestraw.“Thecoot’sallyours.”
Irolledmyeyesathimthentappedmyfingeronthefrostedglasswindow.“Walter,youmindcoming

outofthere?”Ishoutedthroughthedoor.

He popped the door open an inch. God almighty was he a sight to see. He was dressed only in

stretched-out, white briefs and a brown-tinged tank top. I should’ve expected as much. Walter was
notorious around town for not putting on pants before leaving the house. But the image of his wanker
flappingoutofoneofthelegholesofhisbaggyassbriefsalmosttookmybreathaway.

“ThehellIwill.”
Isquelchedbackagag.“Didn’tthinkyouwould.Howaboutyoutellmewhat’sgoingonhere.”
Waltergrumbled,“I’lltalk,butI’mnotcomingout.”Heshutthedoorinmyface.
“Finebyme.Ijustwanttogeteverythingstraightenedouthere.”
A decayed, chewing-tobacco mouth beamed at me as he cracked the door again and poked his nose

throughtheopening.“Iwanthertostayback,”hehissed,shakingafingeratSissy,who’dcomeupclose
behindme.

“Okay,thisisjustbetweenyouandme,”IreassuredhimandwavedSissyaway.
Walter rubbed his palm through the grease and sweat of his stringy, grey hair. “I just wanna bowl.

That’sall.Andthisbitch,”hepointedatSissy,“saysIhaveabackfeethatwasn’tpaid.”Heloweredhis
voice.“Idon’towenofees.WalterGibbonsisindebttonoone.”

“Youowetendollarsonapairofbowlingshoesthatnevermadeitbacktomycounter,”Sissyshouted

athim.

Walterslammedthedoorshutagain.
“Shit!”Iexclaimed,“Elroy,Icouldusealittlehelphere!”
“Laney,you’rethebadass,dead-body-findingdeputyaroundhere.”Hesnickered.“GettingWalteroutta

thatofficeshouldbeapieceofcakeforya.”

Thatstirredupabuzzingswarmofwhispering.IturnedandgaveElroytheevileye.Hedidn’tbudge,

althoughIdidn’tthinkhewould.ElroywasthrowinghisbestgameatSueMiller,kindlyofferingupthe
otherendofhisTwinkie.Pathetic.

“HowaboutIpayyourbill?”IaskedWalter,goingaboveandbeyondthecallforthesakeofgettingthe

helloutofherefast.

“You’ddothat?”Walter’spudgynosewasbackagainstthewindowpane.
“I’mpayingitrightnow.”
ImarchedovertoSissyandslappeddownthetendollars,gratefulI’dletGunnerpayforlunch.Sissy

pickedupthebillandexaminedit.

“FortheloveofGod,”Imoaned.
“Youneverknowthesedays,”shesaidbeforecrammingitintothemoneydrawer.
Thedoortotheofficewasflungopen.“NowcanIhavealane?”Walterpleaded.
“No!”Sissyspat.
“Well,damnyou,bitch,”Walteryelledbeforeclosingthedooragain.Whenhekickeditbackopen,he

washoldingashotgun.Iduckedbehindthedoorrightbeforeheblastedoffashot.

“Well,shit,”Elroyshouted,throwinghisdrinktothefloorandscramblingforcoverwithSue.
BeforeWaltercouldgetoffanothershot,Iswungaroundthedoorandelbowedhiminthenose,then

wrapped my arms around his chest, taking him down like a sack of potatoes. We wrestled for a few
seconds before I got my legs latched around his throat and socked him in the nose, which hurt like the
devil.Hiseyesrolledintothebackofhishead.

“Whyyou’dgoanddoathinglikethat?”Hewincedinpain.
“Resistingarrest.Andyoushotatmewithadamnshotgun.”
“ButIdidn’tmeananythingbyit.”
“Oh,putacorkinit,Walter.”Iwrestledhimtohisfeet.
Immediately, Sissy popped her head up from behind the counter. “You’re a goddamn lunatic. I’m

revokingyourmembership.”SherippedWalter’smembershipcardinhalf.

“Fuck,”Waltermumbled,droppinghischin.
Iwhippedmycuffsoutandslappedthemonhiswrists.
“Dang,Laney,that’stight,”hewhined.
Isqueezedthemtighter,justfortheheckofit.

…

It was past twilight when we pulled up to the station. The neon-red sign was blinking over Rusty’s
Saloon,beckoningfolkstocomeanddrinkawaytheirsorrows.AlltenparkingspotsdownCenterStreet
wereempty.Still,IfoundmyselfsearchingforGunner’sblackYukon.TheonlyvehiclewasDobbs’sjeep
parkedhalf-wayupthecurb.ElroykilledtheloudBroncoengineandturnedtowardthebackseat.

“Ineedtopoop,”Walterremarked.
Igrimaced.“TMI,Walter,let’sgo,”Isaidanddraggedhiswrinklyassfromthebackseat.
IfoundDobbsintheback,snackingonastickofbeefjerky.Hiscapwasloweredoverhiseyes,hiding

the wrinkled skin surrounding his eyelids. When he heard our footsteps, he popped forward and pulled
backhiscap.

“Heardaboutthebowlingalley,”hesaid.“Soundslikeonemessyincident.”
“Ihearyou,”Isaid,openingthecelldoorandurgingWalterinside.
Dobbsstood,pulledhisbeltuparoundhisbellyflab,andturnedtowardthecell.“Walter,havesome

fun here tonight and don’t be shy. We got Jacey in here with ya, and he’s going to keep you real good
company.”Dobbswinkedatme.Ismiledathistwistedsenseofhumor.

Jacey Riggins was Pistol Rock’s lone hooker. He always wore a pair of cutoff jeans that barely

coveredhisdongandabrightyellowthong.Frankly,hewasharmless.Hismainpass-timewasstrolling
downtownafternine.SheriffDobbsjustenjoyedtheoccasionalprank.Whenhehadsomeoneincustody
DobbswasknowntopickupJaceysothedumbbastardwouldpestertheotherfooltodeath.

Waltergulpedandslowlybackeduptothewall,pressinghisassfirmlyagainstthecinderblocks.He

lookedpetrified.IturnedthelockanddroppedthekeysinDobbs’shand.

“Where’sBosley?”Iasked.
Dobbs tilted his head, gesturing behind him. “I had to lock him in the closet on account that Jacey

wouldn’t stop stroking his hair. I was afraid Jacey was a couple of strokes away from getting his ass
kicked.”

“Notbadthinkingonyourpart.”
“Don’tyouknow.”Dobbsgrinned.
IsignedoffonsomebookingpapersandthenstuffedWalter’sfileinsidemydesk.Tomorrowwouldbe

afreshday.Maybeanight’ssleepwouldshedsomelightontoday’sevents.Bosleywasgoingnowhere
trapped inside that closet. The big hurdle I still had to overcome was tomorrow’s lunch date with my
mother.

…

ThefarmhouseIlivedinusedtobemyAuntFaye’s.Sheleftittomewhenshebitthedirttwelveyears
back,sonowIcalledithome.Idrovedownthequarter-of-a-milegravelroadleadingtothefrontporch.
The white clapboard glowed when my headlights picked it out. Black shutters were hinged to all ten
windows,andalong,wrap-aroundfrontporchstretchedthelengthofmypricklygrassyard.Lastspring,I
had hung a white-washed swing to the left of the front door to help occupy my time, but just about
everything else on the old house needed to be fixed. The screen door was missing a few screws, the
shuttersbuckledinthestrong,westTexaswinds,andtheporchhadafewgapsfromwherethewoodhad
rottedthrough.

Iparkednexttoadeadoaktree.Nathanhadbackedhistruckuptomytinshed.Ilockedthecruiserand

draggedmyfeettotheporchsteps.Wehadourdifferencesonlivingarrangements.Hewantedmetoleave
thisplaceandmovetohis.Iwasn’tconvinced.ItwasadiscussionIkeptmeaningtohavewithhim,but
sofar,there’dbeennoopportunityasbothourdancecardskeptbeingfull.Todaybeingacaseinpoint.

Hank,mymuddychocolateLabrador,wascurledupinaballundertheporchswing.Hisearsrustledat

thesoundofmybootscreepingupthesteps.Hepoppedhisheadupandlickedmyleg.Ibentdownand
gavehimagoodrubbetweentheearsashepantedandrolledover,offeringmehisbelly.Hiswagging
tailthumpedthewoodenporch.

Inside,somethingcrashed.Ipulledthescreendooropen.Thelivingroomlampswereon.Ipassedthe

couch,roundedthecorner,andcrossedintothekitchen.

Nathanspunaround,awoodenspooninonehandandatomatosauce-staineddishtowelclutchedinthe

other. He still had on his Gap jeans that carried the lingering smell of eau de veterinarian clinic. His
denim,buttonupshirtwasstainedwiththesplatterofspaghettisauce.

“Laney,Ihopespaghetti’sokay.”
Ismiledandwalkedovertotakeatasteoffthespoon.“Tastesyummy,”Isaid,lickingmylipsclean.
Abasketofgarlicbreadandtwolitvotivecandlesdecoratedthecenterofmybeige,lacetablecloth.

RomanticgestureswereNathan’sspecialty.Hedishedupaplateofspaghettiforeachofusandpoured
twoglassesofmerlot.

“Ihopeyou’rehungry,”hesaid,smiling.
Hesetaplateandaglassofwineinfrontofme.Inoddedandtookasipofmywine.Everythingwas

justlikeitshouldbe.ItwaspointlesstowastemytimeandenergyonGunnerWilson.Hewasjustgoing
todragmedown.Besides,hewouldsoonbepackinghisbagsandhightailingitbacktoHouston.

“Thanks,thisisnice,”Isaid,twirlingupaforkloadofnoodles.
Nathanraisedhisglassandsmiled,toasting,“Tous.”
I clanked mine to his and gulped the wine down. While pouring another glass, I looked over at my

fiancéslurpingupastraynoodle.Hewasagood-lookingmaninhisownright,respectedandwellliked
throughoutthecommunity.IwasalreadylettingGunnergetthebestofmebymakingmequestionwhatI
hadwithNathan.

HeplayfullytappedmyfootwithhisRoperboot.
“Hey,I’mtryingtoeathere.”
A strand of spaghetti lingered on his chin. He slurped it up, wiggling it into his mouth. “I know, and

you’remakingahellofamess.”Hewinked.

“You’reonetotalk.Atleastmyshirtisclean.”
Heshruggedimpassively.“SodidGunnertellyouwhyhe’sintown?”
Iwasheddownanoodlewiththewine,hesitating.“He’shereforwork.”Isetthewineglassdownand

looked Nathan directly in the eyes. “You wouldn’t know anything about an outburst of Special K in the
area?”

“ThisisthefirstI’mhearingofit,babe.”Nathanliftedhiswineglassandemptiedit.Eyesnarrowedon

me,hepouredhimselfanotherglass,thensetitdown,tuckedhisblondehairbehindhisears,andwethis
lips.“I’llletyouknowifIhearofanytalkaboutSpecialKfromthelocalveterinarians,butI’mnotatthe
top of the list when it comes to illegal activities—you know, being engaged to you and all. Besides, I
thoughtyouwereworkingthePaceyMonroemurdercase,”hegavemeaquestioninglook.“DidDobbs
reassignyou?

Ishookmyhead.“Notreally.Gunnerisherefollowingleadsonacasehe’sworkingthatdealswitha

localSpecialKdrugring.”

“Oh,Isee.”Nathantookanotherdrinkofwine.“Idon’treallylikeGunnerhangingaroundyou.”
Ifinishedoffmywineandscootedmychairbacktowalkaroundtohim.Helookedupatme.
“Youhavenothingtoworryabout,”Isaidreassuringly,pullinghislipstomine.
Hekissedmeandasked,“Laney,whydon’twemoveintogether?”

Isighedandlookeddownathim.“Nathan,youknowI’mnotreadytoleavethisplace.”
Hepushedhimselfupfromthetable,cuppedmyfaceinhishands,andsteppedintome,pressingmy

buttagainstthetable.“IjustneedtoknowthatithasnothingtodowithGunnerWilson,”hesaid.

“IthasnothingtodowithGunner.”
Hesighedandkissedme.“Iloveyou,youknow,Laney.”
IhadconcludedawhilebackthatIlovedhim,too.TherewasjustalotofbaggageIwasbringingtothe

table.Ikissedhimbackandwrappedmyarmsaroundhisneck.“Iloveyou,too.”

Nathansmiledandunzippedmyjeansandranahandinsidemypants,downmybellytomyinnerthighs.

Digging his fingers under the lace leg of my panties, he pulled them down to my ankles with my jeans.
Thenheeasedopenthetopbuttonsofmyshirtandtenderlykissedmythroat.Slowly,hedraggedhishot
mouth down to my collar bone to kiss my chest as he finished unbuttoning my blouse to sink his hands
undermybra.“Ilovehowgoodtheyfeelinmyhands,”hewhispered,palmingmythrobbingbreasts.

Iarchedmybackontothetableandboldlyspreadmylegs.“Yes,theydo.”Igaspedwhenhisstroking

forefingerandthumbteasedmyhardeningnipple.

“PleasebecarefularoundGunner,”Nathanbeggedthrougharaspybreath.
I tugged at his falling blonde locks and pulled his face into view. “‘Careful’ is my middle name.” I

laughedandkissedhissweatycheek.

Nathan grinned and peeled back his zipper. “That it is, Laney Briggs,” he answered back as the

pressureofhisthighsweigheddownonme.

Hekissedthesideofmyneckandslammedinsideme.

…

Momentslater,Nathanliftedhishotcheekfrommyface.Hepeckedmeonthelipsandstoodup,tugged
uphispants,andtuckedhisshirtbackin,movingpurposefullyovertothekitchencabinets.Isatup,my
legshangingoverthetableedge,feelingatadbitunsatisfiedwithhisperformance.Ifastenedmyjeans
andpulledoutachair.Nathanhadstartedthecoffeepot.Iwatchedhisarmmechanicallymovefromthe
potandbacktothecoffeetin.Whenitfinishedbrewing,hepouredusbothacup.

“Bytheway,I’mleavingforHoustontomorrowforaveterinarianconference,”hesaid,handingmea

steaming mug. “You’ll probably be hearing from Rusty sometime tomorrow since I sent the lot of dead
cowshiswayonaccountofmebeingoutoftown.”

Rusty Weir owned the local watering hole in town, and when Nathan was swamped with ranchers

demanding his attention during breeding season, he’d lend a hand to help out with Nathan’s workload.
Plus,itdidn’thurtthatthemanhaddabbledinthefieldoftaxidermyafewyearsback.

Itookasipofcoffee.“Whenwillyoubeback?”
Heslightlyfrowned.“Bytheweekend,honey.”
Iwishtheanswermademefeelbetter,butitdidn’t.Gunnerbeingintownjustplainmademefeel…

restless.

Nathan smiled, bending down and kissing me on my forehead. “I should be going, Laney. My flight

leavesatsixa.m.”

Hepickeduphisbriefcaseandwentoutthebackdoorthroughthekitchen.IheardhisDodgetruckfire

up. Gravel cracked under the tires as Nathan disappeared down the driveway, leaving me alone. Being
alonealwaysgavemecabinfever.Italsoalwaysbroughttothesurfacethememoriesofthedreadfulday
Gunnerturnedinhiskeystomyfarmhouseandleftmelove-wrecked.Icouldstillseehimdrivingoffinto
thesunset,leavingbehindthelifewe’dbuilttogetherquickerthansnowmeltsinwestTexas.Forthepast
five years, I’d hidden beneath a thick skin. At least, I’d tried. I’d pieced my heart back together and
salvaged what little dignity I had left by jumping back in the saddle with a man safer than a Katherine
Heiglchickflick.Unfortunatelyforme,oldwoundscanbeabitchthesamewaystrayingcowboyscanbe
heartbreakers.

I worked my way through the living room, pulling the curtains closed on the front window and

switchingoffthelampsasIwent.I’dalmostmadeittothestairsonmywaytobedwhenthesoundof
crunchinggravelroaredupmydrive.IwenttothefrontdoorthinkingNathanhadprobablyleftsomething
behind.Iwasfixingtoun-latchthechainandunlockthedeadboltwhenasetofheadlightslitupmyfront
porch.TheyweretoobrighttobecomingfromNathan’struck.

Consideringmaybeitwasabetterideatosneakapeekoutthewindowbeforeopeningmydoortojust

anybody,Itip-toedovertothefrontbaywindowandpulledbackthelacecurtain.Parkedinmydriveway
was Gunner’s black Yukon. The driver’s door swung open, and he hopped out. He smiled at my face
pressedintothewindowpane,tippedhishat,thenabruptlygotbackbehindthewheelandstartedupthe
engine.ThetiresspuninthedirtasIwatchedhimbackaway,vanishingdownFM167.

ChapterThree

I awoke to the steady cooing of mockingbirds, billowing wind, and Hank wailing at the empty country
road. Sometimes I just wished that damn dog would shut up. Now I had a headache to start the day. I
tossedthehotsheetsaside,slidoutofbed,andsluggishlywalkedacrossthewoodfloorsandthroughthe
bathroomdoor.Theheatfromtheshowerrippledagainstmyskin.Wedesertdwellerslearnedearlynotto
wastewhatweoftendidn’thave.

Isearchedthehangersinmyshoeboxofaclosetforsomethingtowear.Focusingonapairofjeansand

mytrusty,uniformedsheriffblouse,Iyankedthemfromtheclosetandslippedthemon.Attachingmygun
and holster to my belt, I glanced at the time. Already eight o’clock. Work had started without me. I
hurriedlysnatchedmykeysoffthekitchencountertop,forgoingmorningcoffee,andlockedthefrontdoor
onmywayout.

TenminutesafterIpulledoutofmydrive,I’dreachedthestation.ThereweretwoblackLincolnTown

CarsparkedonCenterStreet—Bosleymusthavecalledinhisbig-citylawyers.Idrewdownthemirror
anddoublecheckedmyhair.Nostrandhadpoppedfreeofabobbypinonthewayover,soIwasgoodto
go.

ThestationwasbustlingwithcommotionwhenIopenedthedoor.TwomeninblacksuitswithTexas

Rangerbadgesweresittingontopofmydesk.IscannedthetinyroomforElroy.Hewashunkereddown
inacornerinhisblackrollingchairwithanoverloadoftreats—aButterfinger,ahalfemptybottleofDr
Pepper,andaBigGrabofCheetossatinhislap.Ourvisitorswereapparentlygettingtohim.

I strolled on over to my desk and leaned over the top of it. “If you don’t mind guys, this here is my

desk.”

Theoldergentlementippedhisten-gallonhatandstoodup.“Sorryaboutthat,miss.”
Theyoungeronedroppedhischin,andhewinkedsuggestivelyatme.
Itookadeep,calmingbreath,walkedupbehindhim,andshovedhimoffmydesk.Helookedatme,

shocked.

“Don’tevermakemeasktwice,”Isaid.
A firm hand fell at the small of my back and rubbed up my shirt. I shot around, staring straight into

Gunner’ssmilingeyes.

“I’ddowhattheladyasked.Sometimesshescarestheshitoutofme.”
TheyoungRangernoddedandmovedaside,allthewhilekeepingawaryeyeonme.
Iturnedmybackonhim.“Sawyououtsidemyhouselastnight,”ItoldGunner.
“Justdoingmyjob.”Gunnerwinkedandsatdownontheedgeofmydesk.
“Spyingonmeisn’t—”Ibegan,buttheolder,button-nosedRangerwearingtheStetsonmovedintomy

view,arrestingmyattention.Hewasroundatthewaist,andhishairhadseenbetterdays,backwhenhe
hadsome.TherewasalsoajellystainonhisleftboobthatIcouldn’tstopstarringat.

“Gunner,weneedyoutotakealookatthesefilesthattheHoustonofficefaxedover,”hesaid.
Nodding, Gunner tapped the outer edge of my desk in a goodbye or see you later, then followed the

button-nosedmantowardthebackbythecell.NotonlydidIhavetobitemytongueandplaynicewith
GunnerWilsonintown,IwasalsobeingaskedtolettheTexasRangerhavefreerangeofthestation.I
wasabrokenheelawayfromanervousbreakdown.

Alittletooquickly,Gunnerreappearedatmydesk,wavingapieceofpaperatme.“Wantinonthis,

Laney?”

Isnatchedthepaperfromhim.“Whatisit?”
“Bosley’sfinancialrecords.Takealook.”
“Howdidyougetthis?”
“Justcameoverthefax.”
“Wehaveafax?”
Hegrinnedandwinked.“Bigboysareintown.Youdonow.”
Iscannedthroughthedocuments,shockedatwhatIwasfindingout.Bosleywasbellyupandsettolose

ArrowheadRangetothebank.“Wow.”IlookedupatGunner.“Somemotive,huh?Youthinkhe’safterthe
insurancemoney?”

Shrugging,Gunnergrabbedmyarmandliftedmefrommychair,draggingmeafterhimtothebackof

thestation.“C’mon,”hesaid,“Let’sgoaskhim.Bosleycouldbeuptohiseyeballsindebt,orhecould
justwanttostickittoMitchWagneroutofspite.Eitherway,it’sboundtobeprettydarnjuicy.”

Youdidn’thearmearguingwiththatassumption.Beitasitmay,Gunnermightnothavebeenthemost

attentive boyfriend, but he sure had that “I’ll get my man attitude” down flat. It was definitely an
admirable trait in my book—especially since I’d taken up crime stopping myself. Questionable lover
materialthoughhemightbe,themansureknewhiswayaroundacase—whichoftenmadeitevenharder
tostandmygroundaroundhim.

Neartheonecell,Dobbswasslumpedover,asleepinhischair.HissnoringwasdrowningoutWalter

Gibbons,whowashunchedoverinthecorner,crying.JaceyhadfoundhimselfaniceseatinWalter’slap
and was strumming his fingers through Walter’s hair. Dobbs snorted and popped forward at the kick of
Gunner’sboot.

“Asleeponthejobagain?”Iasked,notsurprised.
SheriffDobbswipedhischin.“No,Iwasn’t.”HeglancedoveratthewallwhereBosleywascuffedto

theotherchair.Hisfacewasdroopy,andhischeekssaggedintothecrevasseofhismouth.WhenGunner
tuckedtwofingersbeneathhischinandtiltedhisheadback,Bosleyshottoangryattention.

“Cometobullymeagain,Gunner?”Bosleysnapped,clankinghispearlywhites.
GunnerslappedthefinancialpapersintoBosley’slap.“Youmindtellingmewhatthisis?”
Bosleyglancedatthetoppageandwinced.“I’mnottellingyoushit.”
“Thesefinancialrecordsshowthebankwasgoingtotakeeverythingyouown,”Isaidgrimly,reaching

pastGunnertothumpthedocumentsinBosley’slap.“I’mwillingtobetoldWagnerwouldlovetogeta
nice,littlediscountonyourlandwhenthebankputsitupforsale.Isn’tthatjusteatingawayatyou?”

Bosleysnorted.“Neverseenthedamnthingsbeforeinmylife.”
“Abunchofdeadcattleoutonyourranchmightturnawayabuyerortwo,wouldn’tyouthink?”Gunner

toldBosley.

“LikeIsaid,Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout,”Bosleyreplied,maintaininghisinnocence.
“There’snothingtoget.”GunnerrockedBosleybackinthechairtostareintotherancher’squivering

face.“It’sallhereinblackandwhite.You’rehemorrhagingmoney.DidPaceyMonroefindoutaboutthis,
old man?” Gunner shook the papers in front of Bosley’s face. “Do you reckon he was going to clue in
Wagner?Lethimgetajumponyourproperty?”Hestraightened,pullingBosleyuprightwithhim.

“Iwantalawyer,”Bosleysaid.
Disgusted,GunnerturnedtoDobbs.“Lockhimupuntilhislawyergetshere,”hetoldthesheriff.
Noddingreluctantly,Dobbshoistedhimselfoutofhischairand,thankfully,whenBosleystartedtokick

andscream,calledElroyintodothedeedratherthanleavingittome.

Gunnerproceededbackupfront,andIfollowed.
“Well,thatwentsmoothly,”Isaidwhenwereachedmydesk.“Yougotalotofinformationoutofhim.”
Gunnerlaughedwryly.“Yeah.”
Thesmirkreturnedtothecornerofhismouthasheclosedinthegapbetweenus.Icouldfeelhisbreath

brushupagainstmyneck.“Thoseredbootslookgoodonyou.”Hestrokedhisfingertipalongtheedgeof
mychin.“Butthey’dlookevenbetterlyingnexttomybed.”

Heatrushedtomycheeks.“Stopthat.I’mengaged.”
“Igiveitaweek,”hescoffedandwalkedaway.
There was no way in hell that I was going to hang around here for the day. Since we now had two

activeinvestigationstolookinto,andDobbsandElroyseemedtohaveitundercontrolhere,Idecidedto
practicemyshootingskillsoutatmycousinWyatt’sshootingrange.Ifiguredit’dmakeagoodexcuseto
grill my bird-brained, weed-slinging cousin about the recent outburst of Special K in the area since he
wasthego-toguyforallunder-the-tabledealingsaroundPistolRock.Afterthat,I’dlookfurtherintoour
tight-lipped rancher’s financial records, his butt load of stiff cows, and the dead ranch hand—all of
which,atthemoment,seemedaboutasstraightforwardasawildgoosechase.

IcheckedtomakesureGunnerstillhadhisbacktome,thenquietlygrabbedmykeysandhustledoutof

thestation.

The cruiser had become unbearably hot after only being parked for thirty minutes. If it’d gotten any

hotter,weallmight’veendeduprunningaroundinourskivvieslikeWalterGibbons.Ifireduptheengine
and aimed the air vent directly on me. Dry, hot air blasted at my sweaty chest. I had just put the car in
reversewhenthepassengerdoorwasrippedopen—oneofGunner’ssignaturemoves.Islammedonthe
brakesbeforehewoundupundermywheels.Hehunchedovertopeerinatme.

“So,whereareweheading?”heasked,slidingintothepassengerseat.
“Wearenotgoinganywhere.”Hegavemea‘wannabet’smileandpressedhisheadbackonthehead

rest,coveringhiseyeswithhisblackcowboyhat.Isighedandbackedawayfromthecurb.WhowasI
kidding?Gunnerwasn’teverleaving.“We’regoingtotheshootingrange.”

“JustwhereIwantedtobe—aroundyouwithaloadedgun.”Hisvoicewasmuffledunderthebrimof

hishat.

…

ThefiringrangewasatenminutedrivefromCenterStreetofftotheeastsideoftown.Icruisedupthe
narrow, dirt path. The billowing dust of the empty space came into view, welcoming us to my cousin’s
land. I figure everyone has a family member they’d like to disown, and my cousin Wyatt Bennett was
mine.Thebranchesdidn’tflourishonhissideofthefamilytree.

Wyatthadboughtthepropertyaboutthreeyearsback,stationedadoublewideonthehill,andopenedup

Locked and Loaded as a legal means of “supplemental” income. His other hobby was wheeling and
dealingweedtothelocal,highschoolpotheads.Asaclassy,reputablefamily,weBriggschosetodust
thatpieceofvaluableinformationundertherug.

IpunchedGunnerinthestomach.“We’rehere.”
He readjusted his hat and sat up. “Don’t you think a kiss would have been a nicer way to wake the

handsomeprince?”

Hewasthedevil,temptingmewithoneofhisknee-bucklingkisses.It’strueIcravedhim.Anddamn

didIwanttodrinkineveryounceofbad-boy,cowboyattitudehecouldthrowmyway,buthe’dthrown
thetowelinonus,andIwasn’tabouttosinkmyteethintohisdangerousmouthagain.Italwaysleftme
high,dry…andwanting.

“Nicetry,butno.”
Hisgazestayedfixatedonmymouth.Helickedhislips,smiling,andleanedasmidgentooclosefor

comfort.“Whenyou’rereadysweetheart”—hemadealovelyshowoftippingthebrimofhishatbackat
me,thenwinkedagain—“youknowwheretofindme.”

Unwillingly, I dragged myself away from him. This…whatever this was with him…was not going to

endwell.Ihadpainfulpastexperiencetofallbackon.

Iopenedthecardoortosmolderingheatandplantedaheelinthedirt.Immediately,dustcollectedon

the red patent leather. The wind flapped at my shirt, alternately pressing it tight across my breasts and
bellyormakingitbillowwithair.Gunnerswaggeredaroundtothefrontofthecaranddidaquickscanof
thestarkland.

“Don’ttellme,Wyattownsthisplace?”
Ithadn’ttakeGunnerlongtonoticethebannersflyingaroundtheplace.Wyatthadgottenthebrilliant

ideaofplasteringhissmilingimageonbulletin-board-sizeflags,arifleinhand.Hesaiditwasagood
welcoming,madethepeoplefeelathome.SomethingIdoubted,sincehewasmissingtwofrontteethand
hadamullet.IshadedmyeyesfromtheblazingsunandgesturedforGunnertofollowmeupthehill.It
wasatrek.Myredcowboybootswobbledontherockyearth,andIslidafewtimes,onlytohaveGunner
catchmeeachtimebeforeIlandedbelly-upontopofapricklypear.

Thepea-greendoublewidesatoncinderblocks,adornedwiththreefaded,blueplasticlawnchairsand

emptyIcehousebeerbottlestossedaboutthedirt,frontlawn.Onepottedfernhungundertheawning,fried
toabrowncrisp.Iwalkeduptherickety,woodenstairsandbeatdownonthechewed-upscreendoor.I
heard Wyatt jumping inside, then him scurrying through what sounded like boxes of trash. Gunner was
grinningwidely,reallyenjoyingthistoomuch.EveryoneknewthatWyattwasaparanoidbastard.Before
Igotthechancetoknockagain,apairofbeadyeyesappearedfrombehindaburnt-upmini-blindandjust

asquicklydisappeared.

“Wyatt,nowopenup.It’sLaney.”
Hisjitteryfingersrattledthedeadbolt.
“Who’stheotherguy?Idon’twantanytrouble,Laney.”
“That’sGunnerWilson.Nowopenthedamndoor.”Iknockedagain.“You’reinsomeprettydeepshit,

andonceAuntConniegainswindofit,she’llhaveyourscrawnyassupfororderatthenextsheriffstation
catfishfry.”

Itworkedeverydangtime.AllIhadtodowasputthefearofhismotherinhim,andhecamerunning.
IdroppedmyhandwhenIheardthelockclickback,andthenthedoorsprangopen.Wyattwasstanding

afewfeetback,drippingwithsweat.Hehadonanorangetanktopthatlookedasifithadn’tbeenwashed
forweeks,tancut-offshortssqueezingthemiddleofhisthighs,andapairofmangledflip-flops.Andof
course,theonethingthatWyattcouldalwaysbereliableforwashisdirty,brownmullethe’dhadsince
seventh grade. It was shaved to the scalp on both sides, revealing his flaky skin, and just now it was
accompaniedbyapairofblood-shoteyes.

“Well, hell. Gunner Wilson.” He rubbed his jaw. “Didn’t think you would ever come back here, on

accountofwhathappenedandall.”Wyattlookedmywayandsnickered.

“Me,too.It’sjustyourcousinherecan’tstayawayfromme.”
“Youaresuchadirtyliar,Gunner.”
“Takesonetoknowone,”hegrinned.“Ain’tthatright,Wyatt?”
Wyattleanedintothedoorframe.“He’sgotapointthere,cuz.”
“Oh,shutup,thebothofyou.”Ishotthembothalookthatwouldwipethesmileoffahyena.
Grinning, Gunner leaned against the doublewide’s siding. I’d never known him to back down, except

when he got caught with his pants down. My idiot cousin, on the other hand, took five steps back and
begantoclosethescreendoor.

Istuckmybootinthedoorway,pryingthescreenbackopen.“Wherethehelldoyouthinkyou’regoing?
Wyatt stumbled backwards, tripping over an empty frozen pizza box. “I just thought I’d give you

lovebirdssometimealoneonthefiringrange.It’sonthehouse,”hesaid,handgunningforthedoor.

Ikickedmybootfurtherinside.“YoureallythinkIcameallthewayouttoyourlittlepieceofparadise

toenjoymyself?”

Hegavemeablankstare.
“WhatdoyouknowabouttheSpecialKmakingitswayaroundPistolRock?”Iasked.
Hisuncomprehendinglookturnedtoinstant,butguilty,denial.“You’vebeentalkingtoSkinny,haven’t

you?Itoldhimtokeephismouthshut.”Helookedupatme,wide-eyedandnervous.“They’llkillhim,
youknow,iftheyfindouthe’sbeentalkingtothecops.”

“Who’sthey?”Gunnerdemanded,sidesteppingaroundmetoputhimselfdirectlyinWyatt’spath.
Wyatt thumped the back of his head on the door. “You know Skinny, Laney.” He ignored the Texas

Ranger’squestioninfavorofplayingthefamilycard.“Andyouknowhowhe’salwaysuptohiseyeballs
inshit.Why,justtheothernighthewashootingandholleringtoSethMooreandmeoveragameofpoker
thathewasfixin’tobearichman.HetoldusthedealhemadewiththoseSpecialKguyswasexpanding
allthewayouttoLubbock.”

“Tellme,Wyatt,”Gunnerinterjected,“howcozyareyouwiththeSpecialK?”
Wyattreachedforthescreendoor.“Nevertouchedthefuckingshit.”Hesentapleadinglookmyway,

knowing his mother would skin him alive if he did anything stupider than he was already doing. “You
believemeright,cuz?”

Inarrowedmyeyesathim.“Isthereanythingelseyou’dliketogetoffyourchest,seeingthatGunner

andIwentoutofourwaytomakethishousecall?”

Hegulpedhard,butshookhishead.“Feelfreetousethefiringrange,freeofcharge,”hesaidwhile

closingthedooronourfaces.

Studyingmefrombeneaththebrimofhiscowboyhat,Gunnerkickedhimselfuprightoffthesideofthe

trailer.“Well,Idon’tseetheneedinwastingsuchasweetdeal.”

Iadjustedmygunholster.“Thisisnotadate.”
“Wasn’tgoingtoask,”Gunnersaid,mufflingalaughwithhishand.
IamprettydamnsureLockedandLoadedwasn’tuptocodewhenitcametopoliciestoabidebyfor

firingranges.Thereweren’tanycinderblockbuildingswhereapapermanzippedouttoshoot.Wyatthad
gone the cheaper route by staking ten posts in the rocky land with empty beer cans placed on top. The
groundwasadry,parchedyellowandflatastheeyecouldsee.StickersstucktomypantlegsasIwalked
throughthem.Cottonwoodtreesspannedtheleftsideoftheemptyfield.Tumbleweedsrustledpast,and
ragweedbegantomakemynosetwitch.IturnedaroundoncetolookatGunner.Hisheadwasdownashe
usedhishattoblockhisfacefromthecloudsofdirtcirclingtheair.Itouchedmydusty,flyawayhair.It
mighthavebeenbettertohavewornmyhatafterall.

Afterfiveminutesofswirlingdustblastingmyface,wereachedtherotting,outerposts.Beercanssplit

open by bullets littered the sparsely growing grass. I kicked one aside. Underneath it was a half-burnt
joint.Ibentandpinchedthejointbetweenmyfingers,draggingittomynoseforaquicksniff.Thereekof
burntgrassnearlymademegag.Mydimwittedcousinhaddefinitelybeenouthereearlier.Iflickedthe
weedaside.

“So,isthishowyouspendyourdowntime?”Gunner’svoicewhistledbehindme.
“Yeah,”Isaid,realizingevenasIsaiditthathenowhadmefingeredforawomanmarryingamanwho

stuckhisarmupcowbuttsandwhoseclosestfriendwasa9mm.Theimagewastrulysad.

Gunnerpickedupafewcansandlinedthemup,onebyone,downtheposts.Thenhepulledhissemi-

automaticoutofitsholster,poppedinaclip,andfired.Acanflewbackandlandedonacactus.

“Worksprettydamnwellforatarget,”hesaid,holsteringtheweapon.
SinceIwasn’tthetypeofwomanthatlikedtobeone-upped,soIpulledmyGlock,squinted,andfired,

clearingonepostaftertheother.“I’vebeenpracticing.”

“Itshows.”
ThewindblewupGunner’sblackT-shirt.Iswallowedhardattheglimpseofhischiseledabs.Gunner

quickly took notice of the spectacle I was making with my wide eyes and cleverly tossed me a lustful
wink.Iblushed,andmypulsebegantorace.

“SodoyouhaveaspecialladybackinHouston?”Iaskednervously,dartingmyeyesawayfromhis

face.

Hetippedforwardandpulledoffhiscowboyhat.“Nope,Laney.Ileftherhereaboutfiveyearsago.”

Hescratchedhisheadandreplacedhishat.

Igulpedasalumplodgeditselfinmythroat.IjustknewifIkeptswallowing,itwouldwashaway,but

itdidn’t.Icouldhandlethis.NocommentlikethatfromGunnerWilsonwasgoingtocausemetobuckle.
“Youdon’tsay.”

Thecornersofhismouthslidup,anddimplesaccentuatedhischeekbones.Istaredatthefiveo’clock

shadow on his jaw, the strong lines of his chin, making my way up to his sexy lips. Remembered how
manytimesthey’dkissedmystomachandheadedsouthbelowmynavel.

Theobjectofmylustinterruptedmyindecentmemory.“YouremembermetellingyouabouttheSpecial

KtipwereceivedinHouston?”

“Yeah.”Icasuallyreloadedmygun.
“Well,itclaimedthatarancherouthereinPistolRockwaspushingthedrugs.”
Icouldfeelmyjawstarttodrop,butmanagedtocatchitbeforeitwenttoofar.“Youmeantotellme

youthinkBosley’sadrugdealer?”

Gunnerstuffedhishandsinhisbackpocketsandrockedontotheheelsofhisboots.“Notsure.Ihaven’t

foundanyevidencelinkingtheoldmantothedrugs.ButwebothknowBosleyain’ttheonlyrancherin
PistolRock.”

Ifrownedbackhim.“You’retalkingabouttheWagners.”
Hissmilereturned.“Perhaps,”henodded,amusedbymyshockedexpression.
“WhenareyougoingtoletthisfeudwithLukedie?”
He laughed and pulled his hat down over his eyes. “When I nail his criminal ass. We both know the

man’sdirty.He’saWagner.Justwait.He’llslipup,andI’llbemorethanwillingtohaulhimintocounty
lockup.”

“You’reholdingoutonme.”MyhandshitmyhipsasIsteppedclosertomytongue-waggingcowboy.

“WhydidyoucomeouttoBosley’sranch?AnddoesPaceyMonroe’sdeathhaveanythingtodowithyour
SpecialKcase?”

He shrugged. “Houston didn’t give me much Intel. The tip that an area rancher is involved in the

ketamineoutbreakcamefromananonymouscallerclaiminghe’dwitnessedSpecialKbeingsoldaround
town.HetoldHoustonheworkedtheranchesoutinPistolRock.I’mstillnotsureifthetipcamefrom
Pacey,butit’slookingdamnsuspiciousthatthemanwasfounddeadrightafterIarrivedbackintown.”
HeflashedmealookIdidn’twanttoread.“GiventhehistoryPistolRockandIhave,mybossthoughtI
wasthebestmanforthejob.”

His grin widened as he moved in for the kill, skimming his thumb down my cheek until his callused

handcaughtmychin.Ibitmylip,knowingnothinggoodcouldcomefrommesneakingataste—although,I
would’vegivenmyrightarmtomeltinhisarmsandsamplethatsinfullydeliciousmouthagain.Heleaned
intomypersonalspace,placinghismouthatmyear.Ahhell,hestillsmelledascleanasacottonsheet.
Hissmilepressedintothesideofmyneck,electrifyingmypulse.

“I took the job because we both know you want me back,” he whispered, tucking a piece of my hair

behindmyear.

Igrittedmyteethagainsttemptation.“You’reanimpossibleman,GunnerWilson.”
“SoI’vebeentold,”headmitted,revelingintormentingme.

Instantly,Iwantedawayfromthebastard.Idugaheelintothehardgroundandspunaround,stalking

backtowardthecruiser.

“Now,Laney,don’tbelikethat,”Gunnercalled,chasingafterme.
AsIstuckanassertivemiddlefingerintheair,adropletofrainbreezedpastthebackofmyhand.I

liftedmychinandlookedupatthesky.Ithadturnedahazygraywithpillowingcloudsatthehorizonand
achillstartingtoblowacrosstheparchedland.Perfect.ThelastthingIwantedwastobestuckoutinthe
rainwithGunner.

BeforeIhadachancetotakeoffinamaddashforthecruiser,theraincamedownintorrents.
“Looks like you could use a little help there, sweetheart.” Catching up with me, Gunner smiled and

quickly covered my head with his hat. I turned my face into his chest, and we sprinted for the cruiser.
Whenwegotthere,heopenedthepassengerdoorandslippedhisarmfrommyshoulders.Iliftedmyface
tohim.Hesmiledandsweptawetpieceofhairoutmyeyes.Gazefixedonhim,Islidinsidethecruiser.

“Wasn’tthatfun?”Helaughed,shakingoffhiscowboyhatandjumpingbehindthewheel.Hisshirtwas

drenchedandclungtotheripplingmusclesofhischestandarms.

Ituggedatmyblouse,tryingtostopitfromstickingtomybreasts.
Gunnerwasclearlyenjoyingthefreepeepshow.“Alittlenippydownthere,”heobserved.
Ilooked.Sureenough,mynippleswerepoppingoutlikeathermometerinaThanksgivingDayturkey.I

crossedmyarmsovermybreastsandgavehimastone-coldlook.

“Just commenting, darling,” he said and turned the car on, put it in gear, and punched the gas. Mud

squished under the spinning tires. He tried putting the cruiser in reverse. A lusty roar erupted, but the
cruisersunkdeeper.

Oh shit, God. Please don’t do this to me, I prayed frantically, even though I wasn’t sure if he was

listening.

“AreyoutalkingtoGod?”
“Well,ifyoumustknow…I’mbegginghimtogetmethehelloutofhere.”
“Woulditbesobadifyougotstrandedoutherewithme?”
“Yes!”
Asifinresponsetomyannoyance,thetireschosethatmomenttoscreechandleapoutofthepocketof

mud.Thecruiserjerkedforwardandsteadilymovedinthedirectionofthesheriffstation.Goodthing.My
motherwouldhaveacowifIwasevenaminutelatetoourregularMondaylunchdates.

“LookslikeGodanswersyourprayers,”Gunnermuttered,disgruntled,aswehittheopenroad.
Thetiresbumpedthroughtherutsonthefloodedcountryroads.Rainpuddledinthestreets,makingita

nightmare of a drive. Every time we hit a large enough puddle, Gunner took the “don’t drown, turn
around”routesowewouldn’twindupsittingontheroofofthecarwaitingforrescue.Thelandaround
PistolRockhadn’tseenraininfourmouths,whichmadeflashfloodsarealpossibilityifthethirstyearth
didn’tguzzleitdowntherightway.

Wefinallymadeitbacktothestationjustastherainhaddied,leavingbehindamuddymess.Gunner

threwthecruiserintoparkandturnedtowardme.“Lookslikewe’rehome,”hesaidopeninghisdoor.

Inodded.“Thanks.”
Hesteppedoutandtossedmemykeys.“Alwaysapleasure,Laney.”Eyesonmethewholetime,heshut

hisdoorandwalkedonintothestation.

ChapterFour

Iwassupposedtohavelunchwithmyparents,sothirtyminutesafterleavingGunneratthestation,Iwas
intheirdriveway.IpulledinandletthecruiseridlewhileItookagoodlookattheplace.

The ranch style home was in need of repairs with a shabby, peach paint job on the siding, three

overgrown boxwoods in an untidy row under the single, living room, bay window, and a short, cement
frontporchthatspannedtheleftsideofthehouseandslopedtowardthedriveway.

Familial obligation had pulled at my gut ever since my father was diagnosed with acute liver failure

threeChristmasesback.ThoughI’dneverletanyoneknow,IstuckaroundPistolRocktokeepaneyeon
him—andtomakesuremymotherfedhimhisdailydosageofpills.

Asusual,hewasparkedontheporchinhiswoodenrockerstaringatthelawnwiththeintensityofa

drunkgazingintohisemptyrocksglass.He’dretiredfromFreedman’sMeatPackingCompanytenyears
back due to a bad hip. When painkillers didn’t help dull his constant discomfort, he turned to drink,
despite his doctor’s advice against it. As a retired drunk, he drives my mother bonkers. I think she
sometimes wishes she’d stuck with Luke’s father, Mitch Wagner, when she’d had the chance. The man
mightbeaprick,buthewasawealthyone,andmymothercouldhavelivedwiththat.

Sighing,IputtheMalibuinparkandplacedabootonthepaveddrive.Thestaleodorofcigarflumes

whiffedupmynoseasIapproachedmyfather.Hismouthwidenedintoasmilewhenhecaughtsightof
me.

“Laney,youlooklikeadrownedcat,”helaughed.
My father always knew how to make me feel good about myself. I tugged at my clothes self-

consciously.“Hadalittleincidentwiththerain.”

“Icansee.Yourmother’sgoingtohavefielddaywhenshegetsalookatyou,”hesaid,rockingbackin

hischair.Hiseyesautomaticallyclosedashishandhabituallyraisedthebeerforanotherswig.

“Isthatyou,Laney?”mymothershrilled.
“Yes,”Ihollered,openingthescreendoor.Iwasn’tsurewhoelseshewasexpecting.It’snotlikemy

parentsgotmanyvisitors.

Mostoftheinsideofmyparents’housepre-dated1978.Thecouchesinthelivingroomwereabrown,

floralprintandstillhadtheplasticthrownoverthefabric.Backin1983,Hardy’sfurniturestoreintown
washavingahugeblow-outsale.Mymotherboughtthreefakewoodentablesencrustedwithgoldleaf
inlayforourlivingroom,costingherfiftydollars.Thosetableswerethenewestpurchaseditemsinthe
house. Everything else, as a testament of her hard work and dedication, my mother had decorated with
MarlboroRedmerchandiseshehadearnedfromherrewardscatalog.Abovethefireplacemantelwasa
Marlboro leather jacket framed in glass. The coasters on the end tables, the calendar on the fridge, the

printedwallpaperinthefoyer,theclockabovethetelevision,thetoiletseatcoversinthebathrooms,and
thefleeceblanketonthecouchwereallcourtesyofMarlboro.Notonlywassheproudofit,butshecould
tellyouhowmanypointsandhowmanypacksofredseachitemcosther.

IwalkeddownthehallwaylinedwithsnapshotsofmefromthedayIpoppedoutatthehospitaltothe

fatefuldayGunnertriedtohavemearrested.Quitepossibly,mymotherwasahoarder.

I crept into the galley kitchen. The smell of fried chicken lay heavily on the air. It was an odor I’d

grownupwith,soinsteadofsmellinggreasy,itsmelledlikehome.

“Smellsyummy,”Isaid,roundingthecorner.
My mother pivoted, dangling a cigarette from her wrinkled lips and a spatula from her hand. “Well,

there you are.” She puffed a cloud of smoke at me. She was wearing the pearl earrings my father had
broughtbackafteraweekendofgamblingoursavingsawayinShreveport.It’dbeenagestureofgoodwill
seeingthathedidn’twanttogetrippedanewonebymymotherwhenhegothome.

Iwalkedincloser,pickedawingofftheplateofchicken,andtookabite.“Sohowhavethingsbeen?”I

asked,lickingmylips.

Mymothergavemeafullbodyscan.Icaughthereyesstoppingatthecenterofmychest.Shehadthat

lookthatcouldmakeagrownmancry.

“ItseemsI’mdoingbetterthanyou,”shescoffed,scoopingacouplechickenthighsfromthefryingoil

whiledroppingashesintoit.

Ishruggedtoshowhershecouldn’tgettomenomatterhowhardshetried.“Gotcaughtoutintherain,

that’sall.”

Sheswungherlefthipforwardandplacedahandfirmlyonherknobbyhipbone.“That’snotwhatI’ve

been hearing,” my mother said, “I heard from Miss Stevens that you’ve been seen around town with
Gunner Wilson.” She waved the greasy spatula in the air, slapping a splotch of grease on my cheek.
“Laney,you’repracticallymarried.”

Iswipedthegreaseoffmyface.“Mom,Gunner’shereforwork,andMissStevensshouldlearntokeep

hertrapshut,”Isharplyreplied,“sodon’tgetyourselfallworkedupovernothing.”

“Thatboy’sabadseed,”shesaid,placingtherestofthechickenonaplatter.
“IthoughtyouusedtolikeGunner.”
Mymothersnuffedthebuttonthestovetopandflickeditintothesink.“ThatwasbeforeyoumetMr.

Perfect.”ShewipedherhandsonaMarlborodishtowelandpickeduptheplatteroffriedchicken.“Now,
ifNathanhadbeeninyourlifefiveyearsago,wewouldn’thavehadthatlittleembarrassmentwiththe
shotgun.”

NooneinmyfamilylikedtoadmitthatmeshootingGunnerhadn’treallybeenanaccident.Weallknew

it was an intentional act on my part. However, never admitting we were wrong was the Briggs family
motto.

Igrabbedabasketofrolls.“Mom,youjustlikeNathan’smoney.”
“Well,that,too,”shesaid,shooingmeofftotakemyplaceatthetable.
Myfatherhadalreadytakenhisseat.Hepickeduphisnapkinandstuffeditintotheneckofhissweat-

stainedundershirt.Akooziedbeerwastotheleftofhisknife.IknewifIlookedunderthetable,I’dsee
hiscoolerwedgedbetweenhisfeet.Hewasknowntoreloadaftereveryfourbites.Heclaimedhismouth

driedoutquickly.

I poked my fork into a juicy breast of chicken. Immediately, my mother slapped my hand away. “Just

whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?”

“Gettingsomethingtoeat,”Irepliedconfused.
“Oh,noyoudon’t,Laney.Youhaveyourdressfittinginthreedays.”Shepushedaplateofsaladinfront

ofme.“Iwhippedthisupjustforyou.Wedon’twantyouburstinganyoftheseamsonyourdress.”

Iforcedasmile.“Jeez,thanks.”
I had never measured up to my mother’s standards. The weight issue was a hot topic, even though I

woreasizesixandfiredaperkysetofboobsattwenty-six—hey,Ihadtobeproudaboutsomething.I
forkedupabundleoflettuceandshoveditintomymouth.

“Yummy,”Imumbled.
Mymothergrinnedandpulledoffapieceofherfriedchicken.“See,Iknewyou’dlikeit,”shesaidall

chirpy.

IdidmybesttoignorethescrewywomanwhosejoyateatingfriedchickenwhileIateairwasmaking

mefeeltesty.

“HeardaboutGunnerbeingbackintownandPaceyMonroe’sdeadbodyturninguponBosley’sranch,”

myfathersaidbetweenguzzlesofbeer.

Iwatchedmymother’sgreeneyesnarrow.Shewasfixingtogetnasty,soIsaidhastily,“Gunner’shere

toworkthecase.”

“Iwon’thaveyouspeakingthenameGunnerWilsonatthisdinnertable,”mymothersaid,undeterred

bymyattempttokeepthingscivil.

Myfatherlookedfromonetotheotherofusbeforeslamminghishandsdownonthewhite,lacetable

cloth.“Idon’tunderstandthetwoofya’ll.It’snotlikeGunnerdidn’tusetoeateverygoddamnmealat
thistablebeforeLaneyputaloadofrocksaltinhisass.”

“Itwasanaccident,”webothyelled.
“Ladies,justkeeptellingyourselvesthat.Istilldon’tknowwhytothisdangday”—hecutaneyemy

way—“the two of y’all couldn’t have patched things up. Gunner’s a good man. It’d be wise for you to
rememberthat,Laney.”

“IcaughthimbangingWynonainourbed,dad,”Isaid.
Myfathertossedbackaslugofbeerandshookhishead.“Pumpkin…weallhaveourmoments.”
Wonderingwhathismomenthadbeen,Igavehimalookandtookasipofwater,tryingtowashdown

thelumpoflettucelodgedinmythroat.“YouknowwearrestedBosley?”Iasked,changingthesubject.

Mymothergasped.“Forheaven’ssake,whatfor?”
“Well,wedidfindhisranchhanddeadonhisland,”Ianswered,“plushetookaswingatme,whichis

groundsforimmediatearrest.”

Mymother’sforkdroppedandclankedagainstherweddingchina.“WasNathancalledout?”
“Yeah,Dobbscalledhimtoattendtothedeadcattle.He’sdoingteststoseewhatkilledthem.”
IfIwasn’timagingthings,thenIwouldhavetosaythatwassteamshootingoutmymother’sears.
“AndNathanmetGunner?”
“Yes,butitwasn’tlikeIplannedit,”Iblurted,bucklingundermymother’shardstare.“GunnerandI

gotinafightand…”Igulpedandshutup.Therewasjustnoneedtogoon.

“Well,shit,”mymotherfumed,slidingdeeperintoherchair.
Thatprettymuchputanendtotheconversationatlunch.
Whenthefoodwasgone,myfatherwentbacktohisrockerontheporch.Idroppedthelastdishintothe

sinkandwasabouttoleavewhenheholleredthroughthescreendoor,“Laney,phone.”

Iwalkedoutsideandtooktheportablefromhim.“Hello.”
“It’sSheriffDobbs,”thesheriffsaid,“Wejustcaughtabreak.IneedyoutoheadovertoRusty’s.”
“Give me five minutes.” I hung up and handed the phone back to my dad, giving him a kiss on the

forehead.“Mom,”Ishoutedintothekitchen,“Ihavetoleave.”

“Don’tforgetaboutthedressfittingthisThursday.”
“I won’t,” I said, wanting nothing more than to put the fitting on the back burner. I’d rather stick a

needleinmyeyeordojustaboutanythingotherthanspendinganotherafternoonwithmymother.

…

Minuteslater,IpulleduptoRusty’sSaloonandparkedinthebacklotadjacenttothealley.Reliefwashed
overmewhenIdidn’tseeGunner’sYukonparkedatthecurbonceIreachedthemetaldooratthebackof
thebar.I’dhadenoughofhimfortheday.Igrappledwiththedoorhandleandfinallymanagedtoopenthe
door—which I regretted the moment the unsettling stench of formaldehyde and moth balls hit me. The
bar’sowner,RustyWeir,ranhistaxidermybusinessintheoldgaragebehindthebar.Ifthebar’sdoors
wereopen,andthedaywashot,theodorfromRusty’ssidebusinesswouldsometimesdriftin.Thesmell
wasespeciallybadbythepooltable,whichisneverpleasantwhenyou’retryingtoslingbackaShiner.

I scrunched my nose up and scooted inside. The lighting was dim. Overhead, a couple of dangling

florescent lamps swayed in the rafters. I blinked, readjusting my sight, and walked further inside, my
bootsmakingsqueaky-tackynoisesasIcrossedthestickyfloor.

IfoundSheriffDobbsstandingafewfeetbackfromafive-footstainlesssteeltable.He’dcoveredhis

mouthandnosewithasterilemask.Laidoutacrossthetablewasatwo-tonheiferwhoseheadhungoff
thesideofthetable,itstonguedroopingoutofitsmouth.IwassuddenlygladallI’deatenforlunchwasa
plateoflettuce,becauseifithadbeenanythingelse,itwouldhavewounduponthefloorrightnow.

“Wouldyoulikeamask,Laney?”Rustyasked,comingoutfrombehindameatlocker.
Rusty was a burly man, resembling a grizzly bear more than an actual person. He’d adorned his

monstrousbodyinablackrubberapron,greengardeningglovessqueezeduptotheelbows,andapairof
bi-focalglasseshangingfromhisnose.Hewasaboardcertifiedpathologistwho’ddecidedyearsback
thathepreferredabarfullofdrunkstoaroomfulofbodiesawaitingpostmortemsanyday.Thesedays,
hewasmoreexperiencedatstuffingtheoccasionaldeerheadtobetackedupastrophiesonthewallsof
trailerhomes,butdidn’tmindoccasionallygoingbacktohisrootsandmoonlightingasthecountycoroner
—aslongashedidn’thavetodoitasafulltimejob,thatis.

“Thanks.”Itookthemaskfromhim,nottheleastbitembarrassedtostrapitacrossmyface.Hey,there

wastough,thentherewasknowingwhatIcouldhandle.“IsthatoneofBosley’scows?”Iasked,taking
threestepsforward.

Rusty laid a pair of pliers on the steel table. I was grateful not to have seen what he did with them.

“Yeah,atruckloadofthedamnthingsweredroppedoffanhourago.”Rustycoughed,coveringhismouth
withaglovedhand.“Yourfiancésentthem.”

“Sodidyoucalltohavemecomelookatsomemoredeadcows?”IlookedatDobbs.“Ithoughtyou

saidtherewasnews.”

Dobbslaughed.“No.Ifiguredyou’veseenenoughofthem.”HefollowedRustyovertoadeskwedged

intothecorner.“CalledyououtbecausewegotthereportbackonPaceyMonroe.”

Hehandedthepaperworktome.Igaveitaquickscanandhandeditback.PaceyMonroehaddiedfrom

a cerebral aneurism due to being kicked in the head and trampled by the dying cows. By the time I
finishedreadingthefullpostmortemdetails,myhandsweretremblingandmystomachfeltsquirrely.The
detailsofPacey’sdeathwerenotforthesqueamish.TheproblemrightnowwasthatIwasoneofthose
peoplewho’dneverreallyhadthestomachforsuchthings.

“Youokay,Laney?”Rustyasked.
“Yeah,fine.Ijustdidn’teatmuchforlunch,youknow,withtheweddingandall.”Ipinchedthesideof

mywaist.“Ineedtostaytrimforthatdress.”

Rusty grabbed a bag off the moveable rack that held his taxidermy knives. “Pork rinds,” he asked

shovingitinmyface.

Igaggedandpushedthemaway.“No,thankyou.”Iswallowedhard,forcingmylunchbackdown.
Inthekindestmovehe’devermade,Dobbsroughlygrabbedmyhand.“Rusty,thanksfortheinfo,but

LaneyandIshouldtalkinprivate.”

“Anytime,”Rustysaidinhisraspy,smoke-ravagedvoice.
Dobbs pulled me through the musty room to the door. I waited until I saw the light of day before I

rippedoffmymask,pleasedtobebackoutinthesmotheringheat.

“Lookedlikeyouwerefixingtoloseitbackthere,”Dobbssaid,takingoffhisownmask.
“Nah,I’malright.”
“Yousure?”
“Thisisnothing.Ijustfinishedlunchwithmymother.”
Dobbs shook his head and yanked a handkerchief from his trousers pocket to wipe the sides of his

forehead.“JustthoughtyoumightwanttobethefirsttoknowhowPaceyMonroe’sfatewasdealtout.”

Inoddedweaklyandasked.“IsRustysurethathewasbludgeonedtodeathandnotkickedbyahorse?

Thathorseshoemarkwasprettydistinctive.”

“Prettydangpositive,”Dobbswheezed,theheatalreadygettingtohim.
Ibrushedafewstrayhairsbackintotheirpins.“DoyouthinkBosleyiscapableofmurder?”
“IfIwasabettingman…no,”hesaid,“butpeoplearefullofsurprises.”
Myheadbegantothrob.“IsBosleystillnottalking?”
“No.” Dobbs sighed, scratching his head. “Figured you and Gunner could hit the Four Spurs Ranch

tomorrowandhavealittlediscussionwithLukeWagner.”

“Soundslikeagreatidea.”
Yeah,agreatidea.Andafterwards,Icouldgotomymother’sandlistentoherflapherjawswhileshe

pulledmyfingernailsoffwithasetofpliers.

Dobbstappedmyarm.“Don’tletGunneroranyoneelsegettoyou,Laney.”

Knowingthatwasalostcause,Iwavedgood-byeandwatchedDobbseasehisJeepoutoftheparking

lot.

…

Needingtocollectmythoughtsoverthecollectionofcaseswehadpiledup,Iheadedhomealittleafter
threeo’clock.IshiftedtheMalibuintoparkandrushedinsidewheretheshowerwasbeckoning.Icould
barelywaittogetthefoulnessofRusty’sdenofdeathoffmyskin.WhenIcrossedthroughthekitchenI
noticedtheredlightwasblinkingonmyansweringmachine.Ihitthebuttonandheardairplanesrumbling
inthebackground,thenNathan’svoicetellingmehe’dlandedsafelyandwouldcallbacklater.Ipeeled
offmysmellyclothes,ditchedthedingythingsinthemudroom,andsprintedupthestairsbuttnaked.The
warmwaterhitmyface,washingdownmygrimycheeks.Ishampooedmyhairtwice,ranaloofaoverall
mynooksandcrannies—scrubbingespeciallyearnestlyundermyarms—andthenturnedoffthewater.I
pulledonanoldandwornpairofdenimjeans,shruggedawhitetanktopovermyhead,andsteppedinto
myfavoritepairofredcowboybootsthatI’dhadsincehighschool.ThenIpouredmyselfatallglassof
sweetteaandgrabbedmysunglassesandheadedoutthebackdoor.

My garden was an abomination. I had spaded the land between the backdoor and the shed five years

back,hopingtomakegardeningmyhobbyafterGunnerleftme.

Isnuffedoutthatunpleasantmemorywithaquickgulpofteaandunlatchedthebrokengate.Thewhite

picket fence squaring off the patch of plowed land had fallen. Weeds had started to encroach upon the
crustysoil.Isquattedandpickedataflakycarrotleafpoppingfromthedirtthatwasstillparchedeven
afterthismorning’sdownpour.Itimmediatelycrumbledinmyhand.

Iswattedaflyfrommyglass,pickedupthehandrake,andstartedchippingawayatthesoil.Itwasa

chunky,stubbornmess,sendingrocksanddirtclodsupintomyface.Thescorchingsunbeatdownonmy
back.Mytanktopmeltedtomyskin.Iwipedmybrowandmovedmywaythroughtheunevenpathofthe
garden.Itfeltcatharticgettingtohackawayatwhatwasleftofmypatheticpatch.Thiswholedamncase
wasafrustratingsurprise.Nothingwasaddingup.First,therewereacoupleofdozendeadcows.Ontop
ofthat,adeadboy.Andthen,liketherewasn’tenoughontheshitpile,Gunnerseemedtobelievethatthe
outbreakofketamineinthisareawassomehowlinkedbacktodrugdealersinHouston.Ineededtogeta
handleonthiscasefast.Itossedtherackasideattheendofmybattlewiththegarden.Fromthelooksof
it, I think the cracked dirt won. The rows were uneven and jagged, and I’d sort of uprooted the only
vegetablethat’dsprouted.

Ismearedmydirtyhandsonmyjeansandtookaseatinanearbylawnchair.TheMasonjardangled

from my fingertips as the sunrays pierced through the tinted lenses of my sunglasses. I was just on the
vergeofdozingoffwhenIheardthephoneringinsidethehouse.Ipickedupthejarandheadedforthe
porch.Thescreendoorhadjustslammedshutbehindmewhenmyphonewentoffagain.ItwasDobbs.

“Laney,IneedyououtatHorseshoeTrailerPark,”Dobbssaidhuffily.
Igroaned.“What’sitthistime?”Iasked.
“SkinnyPicket’sbarricadedhimselfinsidehistrailer,”Dobbsreplied.“Canyoubehereinfive?”
Well,knockmeoverwithafeather.Whatluck.Iwasn’tsurprisedbySkinnygoingallbatshitcrazyand

locking himself in his trailer. It was a weekly event in the Horseshoe Trailer Park, but I was surprised

DobbshadtakenthecallinsteadofsendingElroytocorralthemess.Maybehe’dstumbledacrosssome
newinformation.MaybeSkinnyhadslippedupandgivenustheleadwewereallwaitingfor.

Hopingthiswouldn’tbesomecrazy-ass,wildgoosechase,Isaid“Sure,”andhungup.
I grabbed my keys and clipped my 9mm to the back of my jeans. The smooth, leather-covered clip

rubbedthesmallofmybackasIlockedthedoorandheadedout.

ChapterFive

HorseshoeTrailerParkwasonthesouthsideoftowndirectlyacrossfromtherailroadtracks.Abouthalf
the residents of Pistol Rock called the park home. The trailers were dented up pieces of scrap metal
purchasedbackinthesixtiesbyaguynamedHunterBeard.He’dneverbeenknowntodomuchforthe
placeexpecttapeupevictionnoticeswhenrentwasadaylate.Tatteredclotheslinesranfromonebeat-
up trailer to the next. Trash was piled underneath the big oak tree and the aboveground pool was a
popularpissingspotfortheboozersaroundthepark.

IprayedDobbshadn’talertedGunnertothesituation;I’dhadmorethanenoughofmyhunkyexforone

day. Avoiding any possibility for a stand-off with that ornery Texas Ranger, I by-passed the park’s
entrancetobuymyselfmoretime,onlycomingtoadeadendandhavingtocirclebackaround.Themetal
gatesflewbymywindowsasIcruiseddownthedirtpathtowardSkinny’strailer,feelingslightlyantsy.
Sure enough, parked in the middle of the long dirt drive, the black Yukon blocked me from going any
further.

Gunner leaned against the SUV’s bumper. I parked a short distance away and exited my vehicle,

managingnottolookbackovermyshoulderashisheatedgazefollowedmetowhereDobbswasplunked
down on a picnic table bench. Skinny had lived in this same white and blue trailer since birth and
probably still slept on the same John Deere sheets he’d had back in grade school. The trailer he’d
inheritedwhenhismotherpassedwaswedgedbetweentwotallmesquitetrees.Skinny’s’72goldFord
Pintowasparkedunderthetorn,blackandwhiteawning.

“Sowhat’stheplan?”Iasked,reachingDobbs.
Heturnedaround,wheezingfromtheheat,hiskhakishirtstucktohisback.“I’mnotsure.Skinnyhas

dead-bolted the God damn door. Abby Sims, who lives two trailers down, called in the disorderly
conduct. She’s worried sick Skinny is going to blow his doublewide sky high.” Dobbs waved over at
Abby, whose nose was smashed against the storm door as she hip-cradled a baby. She frowned at the
sheriffandslammedthedoorclosed.“Thefool’sbeenrantingandravingforthepasthalfhourabouthow
some ketamine dealers stole his stash of meth as punishment for not following along with their
agreement.”

“Icanseehowthatcouldbeaproblem.”
“Only if someone wants to get in, and I can’t think of anyone who would,” Gunner said, coming up

behindme.WhenIignoredhim,heshoulderedpastme.“Areyoutwojustgoingtostandhereallnight?”
hebarked.“Idon’tevenknowwhatwe’redoinghere,butlet’sgettoit.”

Dobbssighedandpressedhispalmtohishead.“Wecouldkickdownthedoor.”
Gunnertookastepforward.“Orwecouldjustknockfirstandseewhathappens.”

IknewdamnwellthatwasdirectedprimarilyatDobbs.EvenwhenGunnerwaswounduptighterthan

acarlotownerduringahailstorm,hewouldneversuggestthatIstepfootinsideSkinny’strailer.The
placewasknownasbeingastashingpointformethamphetamine.

Ipulledmyrevolveroutandcarefullyplacedmyfingeroverthetrigger.
Gunnershothisheadaround.“Laney,youstayback.”
Ilookedathim.
“I’mnotasking,”hesaid.
“Areyoutellingmethat’sanorder?”
“Well,yeah,”hesnapped,eventhoughhewasn’tmysuperiorandhadnocalltogivemeorders.Only

Dobbscoulddothat.

“Dobbs?”Iasked.
“MaybeGunner’sright,”hesaidwithaheavysigh.“YouneverknowwhatSkinnymightdo.”
“Damn the both of you,” I bit out, cutting Gunner a ‘go to hell’ look. I felt more like a disgruntled

teenagerthanadeputy.Iwasn’tevenentirelysurewhyDobbshadbotheredcallingmetocomeoutifhe
wasn’tgoingtoletmedotheworkIwaspaidtodo.

I watched impatiently as Gunner squeezed himself behind a dead spider fern near the front door of

Skinny’strailerandkickedthetipofhiscowboybootagainstthebottomofthewhitescreendoor.“Texas
Ranger,”hehollered.

Iheardthescreendoorcreak,thensawfingerswrappedaroundtheedge.
“Where’sLaney?”Skinny’snasallyvoiceasked.“I’llonlytalktoher.”Hewiggledhisfingeratme.
GivingGunnera‘heywhenyougotit’grin,Istoodandslowlydustedoffmyjeansbeforeheadingto

thetrailer,swingingmyhipsthewholeway.Atthetopstep,InudgedGunneroutofthewayasItookmy
place.Hescowledatme.Winkingathim,Ileanedintothedoorandpressedmyearagainstthescreen.
“Skinny,”Iyelled.

His paced across the trailer, the lock jolted, and I saw the door swing halfway open. Skinny was

wearingaGuns-N-RosesT-shirtwiththesleevescutoffandapairofbaggy,denimcut-offshortsswung
againsthisknobbyknees.

“Where’stheotherguy?”heasked,dartinghissunkeneyesaroundtheporch.
Gunnerliftedaflathand.“Righthere,”hehuffed,annoyed.
GivingGunnera‘watchmedomyjob’smile,Isteppedtothesideofthescreen,puttingmyselfinfront

ofSkinny,whosmileduneasilybackatme.Thenhereachedout,tookholdofmywrist,andpulledme
inside.IcouldhearGunneryellingasthedoorwasslammedinhisface.

ThefirstthingInoticedwasthatthetrailersmelledlikedirtydiapers,andIwasprettydamnsurethat

Skinny didn’t have any children. Brown, worn carpet had been stapled to the floor, a rabbit-eared
televisionwasparkedontopofatelevisiontray,andSkinny’splumreclinerwascoveredinsodacracker
crumbs.Atiny,narrowkitchenwastomyleft.Pilesoffood-crusteddishesspilledoutofthesink.Inthe
corner,hisdiningtablewasclutteredwithanarrayofitems:emptyliterbottlesofPepsiattachedtosmall,
thin plastic tubes, dozens of pill boxes, and a gallon, blue water jug sitting on a stack of newspapers.
When I caught the dense, putrid smell of ammonia, I knew I’d gotten myself into deep shit here.
Apparently,Skinnyhadmoveduptheladderofdopeheads.Henotonlydisturbedthemeth,buthewas

alsomixinguphisownblendofthedrug.

IspunaroundtocatchSkinnypacingskittishly,hisveiny,barefeetcracklingacrossstrewnnewspapers.

Hegavemeahugesmilefilledwithyearsofmethdecay.Black,rottingteethrecededintotheroofofhis
mouth,andtheonesstillhangingonhadturnedyellow.Hetookalongstretchofhisneck,revealingthe
spiderwebinkedinafadedpurpleoutlineonhispapery,opaqueskin.Helookedmalnourished,fromhis
rail-thinarmsandconcavestomachoutlineagainsthisT-shirttothesharpprotrusionofhisshoulders.

“Theywanttokillme,”hesaid.
“Who’s‘they’?”Iasked.
He coughed and spat out a wad of meth head phlegm. “The guys dealing the Special K. I think that

fuckeryou’rewithisoneofthem,”hestammered—referring,IassumedtoGunner,thoughIdidn’tknow
why.

IalsohadneverbeenabletotagSkinnyasareliablesourceofinformation.Hisbrainshadbeenfried

worsethanthoseburritosElroyatefromtheFiller-Upstationsincejuniorhigh.

“Skinny,”Isighed,placingmyhandsonmyhips,“thatguyoutthereisGunnerWilson.”
“Well, hot damn. I didn’t know that fella was back in town.” Skinny sat down in his recliner, his

tweaked-outfingerstwitching.

Ileanedupagainstthefarwallofthetrailer,makingmyselfascomfortableaspossibleuntilSkinnygot

towhateverpointheneededtomake.“Andbeforeyousayanything,we’renotbacktogether.”

“Wasn’t thinking it.” He snickered. “A man must really be hankering for some pussy to go crawling

backtoawomanwhoblewhisassopen.”

“It’satinyscar!”
“Whatever,”heshrugged.
Thiswasgoingnowherefast.Theconversationhaddetouredontoaroadthatalwaysendsupwithme

lookingcrazy,insteadofthedirectionitneededtogo,whichwaswhatthehellwasIdoinginhere?

Thelockjimmied.ItwouldonlybeamatterofsecondsbeforeGunnerjustkickedthedamnthingin.
“So what do you know about the Special K?” I asked Skinny to get the conversation going where it

neededto.“Ithoughtyouonlydealtinthemethbusinessthesedays.”

Skinny’skneesstartedtotwist,hislegsbegantoshake.“It’srealbad.Theseguys,theonesdealingthe

SpecialK,meantokillmeifIdon’thelpgettheirKout.”Hisentirebodyjudderednervously.“Notto
mention I have all my regulars wanting to beat down my damn door. I ain’t had time for meth. Those
bastardswon’tletme.IbetthatmotherfuckerSethMooreistheonewhocalledmein.He’sbeenbanging
onmydoorallweek,andtoldmeifIdidn’tgethimwhathewanted,he’dturnmeintoSheriffDobbs.”
Skinnylookedatme.“Sethknowsthings.Isortofspilledmygutsatlastweek’spokergame.”

“Itwasn’tSethMoorewhoturnedyouin,”Itoldhim.“Besides,Wyattalreadytoldmeallaboutyour

newdeal.”

“Well,yourcousinsucksasafriend,”Skinnysaid.
“Whydothesemenwantyourhelp?”Iasked,suspiciouslyeyeinghimdown.
“The Special K.” He gnawed on his cracked lip. “They want me to distribute the damn stuff, since I

haveconnectionsandall,butmyclientswon’ttouchthatshit.”

“Didyouseetheguys’faces?”

Lookingslightlyconfused,Skinnysaid,“No.”Hegnawedathisthumbnail.“Theywerewearingblack

skimasks.”

“Sowhere’stheketamine?”Iasked.
Skinnypanickedandjoltedhiseyesaboutthetrailer,lookingforGodknewwhat.Igrabbedhispointy

shouldersandgaveagoodshake.“Skinny,”Isaid,concerned.

Heblinkedanddoveatme,latchinghishandsfirmlyaroundmyneck.Ifellflatonmyback,struggling

under his fidgety hands. I was pinned down, looking up at those blood-shot eyes surrounded by veins
bulgingathistemples.

“WhotoldyouabouttheSpecialK?”hedemanded,bashingmyheadintothedingycarpet.
“Uh…uh…uh.”Icoughed,chokingonmyownspit.
Heshookmyheadandforcedmyfaceuptohis.“Who,damnit,”heyelledfuriously.
“You,”Imanagedtospitout.
Justlikethat,hisfingersloosenedonmythroat,andhisfaceslackened.“Aw…fuckme.”
Atthatmoment,thedoorofthetrailerburstopen.Skinnywentflyingintothewallwithaloudthud.I

caughtmybreathashebouncedupandtackledGunner.Iwatchedthetwoofthemrollaround,toppling
over a side table. Then Gunner raised a fist and socked Skinny between the eyes. The drug dealer fell
backonhisass,barelyabletokeephisheadup.

Liftinghiswristsindefeat,hesaid,“Igiveup.Justfuckingcuffme.”
Gunner obliged, then yanked him up by the cuffs and shoved him into the recliner. I’d scooted away

fromthebrawlandfinallymanagedtostumbletomyfeet,adjustingmytanktopandstuffingmyboobback
intomybrabeforeGunnermadehiswayover.

“Areyouokay?”heasked,touchingmycheek.
“I’mfine.”Islappedhishandaway,regrettingitalmostimmediately.Itwasembarrassingenoughbeing

takenbyaknownmethaddict,butontopofthat,Ihadbeenalittleshakenfromthewholeordeal.

Heshrugged.“Okaythen.”Turning,hestalkedovertoSkinnyandjerkedhimtohisfeet.Skinnyflopped

toafullstand.“Timetogo,”GunnersnappedanddraggedSkinnytowardthedoor.

Skinnyturneddejectedpuppy-dog-eyesonme.“I’msorry,Laney.Itwasn’tlikeIwasgoingtokillyou,

it’sjustthatI’mnotthinkingclearlythesedays,”hewhimperedasGunnerledhimoutofthetrailer.

“Nohardfeelings,”Ishoutedback,hearingmyvoicecrack.
Thescreendoorslammedshut.Idustedoffmypalmsonmyjeansandreckonedthatagood,thorough

search of the trailer wouldn’t hurt anything. Giving it a good scan, I came to the seriously hesitant
decisionthatthekitchenwasmybestbet.

Carefully,Icheckedoutthesinglestainlesssteelsink,thecheapomicrowave,andonecabinet,getting

thefeelingthatSkinnydidn’tspendhistimetweakedoutonhiscouchwatchingHGTV.Findingaboxof
plastic sandwich bags, I shoved two over my hands, then made my way through the room. Mold crept
alongsidethecornersofthedirty,yellowlaminateflooring,andoldhighschoolyearbookswerestuffed
underthekitchensink.

Hopingtofindprescriptionbottlesofketamine,Iopenedthecabinettofindasingle,clean,whitebowl.

Isighed.NothingwaseverthateasywhereSkinnywasconcerned.He’dbeenaknowndrugdealerforthe
better part of his twenties, and those many years of experience had taught him to make use of some

ingenioushidingplaces.Ipulledopenthekitchendrawerandsqueezedahandinside.Myarmwasupto
theelbowbeforeIfeltaplasticbottlerollintomypalm.Ipulleditoutandraisedthebottleintothedim
lightoverthekitchensink.Bingo.Theprescriptionbottlewastaggedascontainingketamine.Iunrolled
thesandwichbagfrommyhandandwrappeditaroundthebottle,thenstuffeditinthebackpocketofmy
jeans.

Thescreendoorkickedbackopen.Gunnerleanedupagainstthedoorjamb,gaspingforair.Hetilted

hishatback.

“ThatSkinny’sapainintheass,”hepanted,“Thelittlebastardtookoff.Ihadtochasehisboneyass

aboutfivetrailersdown.”

Ilaughed.
“What,you’veneverseenagrownmansweat?”
“Notyou.”
Hegrinnedandstrolledonintothefilthytrailer.“Kindofamessysonofabitch.”
“Youthink?Iwasbeginningtogetallwarmandcozy.”
Helaughedandrestedhishandonmyshoulder.“Youallright?”Hetouchedgentlefingerstomyneck.

“You’llprobablyberedforacoupleofdays,butnothingmajor.”

Ilookedbackathimawkwardly.“Thanksforthehelp.”
He smiled crookedly at me. “You could have taken Skinny on your own, just figured a little help

wouldn’thurt.”

Amomentofawkwardnesspassedbetweenus.Ibrokeitbyasking,“Sowhere’sDobbs?”
“SittingintheYukonwithSkinny,”Gunnersaid.“Didyoufindanythinginteresting?”
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the sandwich bag, dangling the evidence in front of

Gunner’seyes.Hetookitfrommeandexaminedthecontents.

“Jackpot,” he said, handing it back to me. “We better get going before Dobbs sweats through his

trousers.”

Inoddedandfollowedhim.
He’d barely pushed open the screen door when there was a sudden crack and the kitchen window

shattered.Gunnershovedmeback,throwingmeontothefloor.“Staydown,”heordered.

HedrewhisgunasIraisedmyselftomyknees.We’dbeenshotat.Ifumbledformy9-mm,whichwas

givingmeahelluvatimegettingstuckinmyholster.Ithurttosay,butIwasalittlefreakedout.Ihadjust
gottentomyfeetwhentherewasanotherblastofgunfire.

“Canyouseeanything?”IyelledatGunner.
“Damnit,Laney,Itoldyoutostaydown.”
“WhenhaveIeverlistenedtoyou?”
“Nevercomestomind.”
Gunner pressed his back up against the wall next to the broken window, poked his head around the

curtain,andfiredoffashot.Iheardsomepanickedvoices,thesoundofrunningfeetdashingacrossthe
porch.Thensilence.

“Doyouthinkthey’regone?”Iasked,restingmyfingeronthetriggerofmygun.
“I’mnotsure,andwherethehellisDobbs.”Hesoundedcross.

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

minute.”

Iproppedmyselfnexttohimandwatchedhismouthtwitchupintoasmile.Heloweredhiseyesand

pushedbackthebrimofhishat.

“Laney,you’reamess.”
I followed his gaze down the middle of my white tank top. He was right. My boobs were stained

orange.Ibrushedthemoffandsniffedmyfingers.Cheetos.RollingaroundonthefloorofSkinny’strailer
hadallkindsofsurprises.

“Thatringiskillingme,”hesaid,staringatmylefthand.
IliftedmyhandtoadmirethemassivediamondNathanhadgivenme.Saywhatyouwillabouthim,but

themanhadtaste.“Ithinkit’sperfect.”

Hefrowned.“That’smyproblem.”Thenhehoppedtohisfeetandofferedhishandtome.“Ithinkit’s

safenow.”

We walked to the door. Gunner slowly pushed it open and peeked out the crack before opening it

completely.Isteppedoutandhadjustturnedthecornerwhenthetipofmybootgrazedtheheadofadead
raccoon.

“Whoa…holdonthere.”Gunnersaid,pullingmeback.
The raccoon’s tongue was sticking out. It had been gutted. Whoever had dumped it on the steps of

Skinny’strailerdidn’tfinditnecessarytotaketheintestineswiththem.Gunnersteppedinfrontmeand
crouchedoverthelifelessbody.Hepriedoutayellowstickynotewedgedinitsmouth.Imusthavebeen
seeingthings,becausescribbledinfineprintwerethewordsDieBitch.

Unwillingtoconsiderwhohatedmethismuch,Iheavedmyselfovertheedgeoftherailingandthrew

upwhatwasleftfromlunchearliertoday.

“Itmightnotbedirectedatyou,”Gunnersaid,helpingmebacktomyfeet.
Iwipedmychin.“Whoelsewouldtheybereferringtoasa‘Bitch’?”
Lipstwitching,helookedmeupanddown.“Youmighthaveapointthere.”
After maneuvering ourselves over the body of the dead varmint, we made our way back to Gunner’s

Yukon.Skinnywascuffedandslumpedoverinthebackseat.IcouldseeSheriffDobbs’sheadbobbing
overthesteeringwheel.Aswegotcloser,hissnoringbecamelouder.

Gunnerbeathisfistonwindow.Dobbs’sheadjerkedtoattention.Hesnorted,wipedthespitfromhis

mouth,andgotoutofthevehicle.

“Justwherethehellwereyou?”Gunnershouted.
Dobbs focused on the ground and wobbled before catching himself on the side mirror. “Right here,

whereelse?”hemumbled,knowinghewasbusted.

“Wejustgotshotat,”Isaidunsteadily,“andtotopitalloff,there’sadeadraccoononSkinny’sporch

withanoteshovedinitsmouthsaying,‘DieBitch’.”

“Well,Ididn’thearagoddamnthing,”Dobbsmuttered.“YouwantmetotakeoldSkinnybacktothe

station?”

Gunnergrabbedhiskeysfromthesheriff.“No,I’lldoit.”

SheriffDobbsreadjustedhistrousers,tuggedatthesleevesofhisshirt,andwaddledofftohisJeep.It

took a lot of effort, but eventually, he wedged himself behind the wheel. The Jeep’s tires spun before
zippingdownthedirtpathandoutofthetrailerpark.

Eyesonthedusttrailkickedupbythesheriff’sJeep,Gunnersaidquietly,“Idon’ttrustDobbs.”
“You’rekiddingme.We’veknownhimsincewewerekids.”
Heplacedhishandonmyshoulder.“Anyonecanbebought,Laney.”
“Well,Iwon’tbelieveit,”Isaid,shrugginghishandoff.
“Justpromisemeyou’lllockyourdoors.”
I gave him an odd look. “I promise,” I said and walked off toward the cruiser. Opening the driver’s

sidedoor,IsuddenlyrememberedthepillbottleI’dfound.Iraiseditintheairandshouted,“Doyouwant
metokeepthis?”

Struttingovertome,Gunnerstuckouthishand.“I’lltakeit.”
Idroppeditinhishandandopenedmycardoor,pausingwithmyhandwrappedaroundthedoorframe.

“Bytheway,whereareyoustaying?”

Hesmiled,flattered,thewrinklesgrowingatthecornersofhiseyes.“PistolRockMotorLodge.”
Hitinthegutbysuddenmemories,allIcouldsaywas,“Oh.”
“Laney,youwouldn’tbeaskingforaninvitation?”
“No,”Isaidandslippedbehindthewheel,slammingmydoor.Iwouldn’tacceptaninvitationtorelive

thatparticularmomentinourrelationshipifhestoodonhisheadandbegged.

…

ThedustsettledonthegraveldriveasIpulledupinfrontofmyhouse.Icouldhearthewindclacking
against the broken screen door even before turning off the car. The air was chilly, and the sky was
intenselyblackoverthebarn.Abovethesilo,themoonwashugeandgolden.Ihadgonetothecityonce,
onlytobedisappointedathowmustyandcrowdedthenightskyhadbeen.OuthereinPistolRock,the
moonandstarslituptheskybrighterthanarichman’sChristmastree.

I slowly made my way up the steps to a warm welcoming from Hank, bowing his head for a rub

betweentheears.Ibentdownandrustledhisbig,floppyears.Hehowled,wagginghistail.Thehouse
phonerang,interruptingHank’sbellyscratch.

“Sorryboy,”Isaidbeforeunlatchingthescreenandwalkinginside.
The quiet was unnerving. I was still a little jarred from the note I’d received earlier. Laying my

revolveronthekitchencounter,Ipickedupthephone.“Hello.”

“Wasn’tsureifyouwereevergoingtoanswer,”Nathansaid,disgruntled.
IwasrelievedtohearhisvoicesinceIwassortofmissinghim.“How’severythinggoinginHouston?”

Iasked.

“Great.”Hesighed.“Imissyou.”
“I miss you, too,” I said. “Do you think you might be able to come home early? Things are getting a

littleweirdaroundhere.”

“NotanysoonerthanSunday,babe.Gunner’snotcausingyouanytrouble?”
“No.IjusthadtoarrestSkinnyPickettoday.”

“That’snothingnew.”
My“Yeah”huffedoutofme.
OurmeaninglessconversationlulledonforanotherfiveminutesbeforeNathansaidheneededtogo.

Wesaidourgoodbyesandhungup.

Iopenedakitchencabinetandpulledoutaglass,dumpedinacoupleoficecubes,andpouredashotof

whiskey.Itosseditback,soothingmydrythroat,andpouredanother.Scootingoutachairfromthekitchen
table,Iplunkedmytiredassdown.Afterdebatingifitwasawiseideatofinishoffmyseconddrink,I
gaveinandslungitback.Confusionswamthroughmythrobbinghead.Iwasn’tblindtomyownemotions,
but knew it was a bad idea to keep hanging around Gunner Wilson. Problem was, I just couldn’t stop,
especiallywhenhewasinvolvedinthecaseIwasworking.Overwhelmedbymoreunnervingemotion
thanI’dhadtodealwithsinceGunnerleft,Islumpedfurtherdownintomychairandgaveintotheheavy
weightofmyeyelids.

ChapterSix

Morninglightfilteredthroughthekitchenwindowandliftedmyeyelids.Irubbedthesleepfrommyeyes
andfeltawetpuddleundermyleftelbow.I’dfallenasleepatthekitchentable.Theiceinthewhiskey
hadmelted,andawaterringpuddledundermysprawledarm.Ishovedmychairbackandmademyself
getupandgoovertothesinkwhereIturnedthefaucetonandstartedsplashingmyfacewithcoldwater.I
was bent over the counter smelling of hot sleep when I heard a knock at the door. The screen creaked
slowlyopen.

“IthoughtItoldyoutolockthis,”Gunnerscolded.Hecouldbeslightlyoverprotective.Hemeantwell

inhisownway,difficultasthatwastoseesometimes.He’dbeendealtahardknockinlife,witnessing
bothhisparentsdieatthehandsofahomeinvasiongonehorriblybadatthetenderageoftwelve.And
even now at thirty, with a Ranger badge in hand, he still held the blame close to his heart, feeling that,
eventhoughtherewasnothinghecouldhavedone,heshouldhavedonesomething.

Ishothimasternlook.“IthoughtItoldyoutoaskbeforecomingin.”
He cracked a smile. “Hard night?” He glanced at the whiskey glass. “We’re supposed to be at Four

Spurs”—hecheckedhiswatch—“intenminutes.”

“Givemethirty,”Isaid,dartingoutofthekitchen.
“Laney,youhavefifteen,”Gunnerhollered.
I stopped on the edge of the stairs and leaned over the banister. “You stay down here,” I ordered,

pointingatthecouch.

Hewinkedsmugly.“What,youworried?”
“Yeah,”Ishouted,dashingintomybedroomandlockingthedoor.
Igavemyteethagood,minty,freshscrub,thensentashotofmybreathintomyhandandtookasniff,

prettysurethatthemorningbreathwasgone.Afterthat,Ithrewonapairofjeans,ablacktank,andslid
my feet into my boots. When I came downstairs, Gunner was leaning against the fireplace mantle. He
turnedasIenteredtheroom.

“Nicetop.”Hissmileturnedlustful.“Hugsinalltherightplaces.”
Ituggedatthenecklineofmytop.“Youhavetostopsayingthingslikethattome.”
“Whatever.” He cocked his head. “But that top still gets my approval.” Grinning, he approached me.

“Youready?”heaskednotsocasuallydroppinghiseyesatmytits.

Irolledmyeyesandshruggedawayfromhimwhileinside,myheartraced.Damnit,justlikealways,I

wantedhim.“Justletmegetmygun.”

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

livingroom.Gunnerwasbentover,scratchingHank’sbelly.

“Ithinkhemissedme.”
“Youwish.”IpattedmylegsforHanktocometome.Thedumbdogjustsattherepanting,histongue

wagging out of his mouth. Slobber dribbled down his chin and fell onto the floor. Gunner looked up,
noddinginan‘Itoldyouso’sortofway.“Hank’stired.”

“Yeah,Ibet.”Gunnerstrokedhisbellyharder.“Youmissedme,didn’tyouboy?”
Hank’stailbeatagainstthewoodfloors.
“Stopthat,”Idemanded.
Hank jolted up and turned to look at Gunner before wobbling out the back door. The damned man

followed.

IlockedupthehouseandwentoutsidetofindhimstandingnexttotheYukonwiththepassengerdoor

open,waitingforme.Ihesitatedatthesteps,notsureofhowgoodofanideaitwastobecruisingaround
olddirtroadswithGunnerWilson.

“I’lltakemycar,”Isaid,walkingacrossthelawn.
“Ohcomeon,Laney.”
“What?Youmightneedtogosomewhere.”
“Andwherewouldthatbe?”heasked,slammingthedoor.
“Beatsme.”Iwavedhimoff,openingthecruiser’sdoorandtakingaseat.
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,Iwasvulnerabletohischarms,andIknewit.Iwasalsonervousenoughhavingtohaveasitdown
withLukeWagnerwithoutaddingproximitytoGunnerintothemix.IprayedLuke’sfatherwouldbeaway
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
passedbetweenLukeandmethatnightthatIcouldremember,butPistolRockcouldn’tbebotheredwith
thefactseveniftheylistenedtothem,andMitchhadearsallovertown.ThelastthingIneededwasfor
Gunnertofindoutaboutthatanddo…well,Iwasn’tsurewhat,butitwouldn’tbeuseful.

IttookustwentyminutestoreachtheedgeofFourSpursRanch.Gunnerpulledpastthegateanddown

thepaveddrivewayshadedbygiantoaktreesliningbothsides.IfollowedandparkednexttohisYukon,
thensteppedoutintotherelentlesssunshine.

“Areyoureadyforthis?”heasked,stiflingourusualswiftexchangeofwords.
Iwinkedandstrolledupnexttohim.“I’malwaysready.”
Hechuckled.“Yeah,Iknow.”
“Shutup,”Ifiredbackandwalkedupthewideporchsteps.
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.”

Wefollowedherpastalivingroomdeckedinmarblefromfloortoceiling.Therewerebearskinsrugs

thrownaboutthefloor,huge,blackleathersofas,andcrystalwhereverMitchfelthecouldsqueezeitin.

Downanarrowhallwaylinedwithhuntingtrophies,shepushedopentwo,eight-footoakdoors.

Thestudywallswerelinedwithforestgreenduck-huntingwallpaper.Twodoublebarrelshotgunshung

onthefar,leftwallandahugebaywindowlookedoutontoFourSpursRanch.Apine,finishedbookcase
linedtheentirelengthofthewalltomyright.

Anoversized,blackleatherchairswiveledaroundtorevealMitchWagner.Heworeastarchedwhite,

pearl snap shirt; a sterling silver bolo tie hung around his wrinkled neck. He tipped back his cream
cowboyhatandtookinslowpuffsofagiantcigarsqueezedbetweenhislongfingers.Istiffenedashe
scrutinizedmewithhiscoalblackeyes.

“Why,LaneyBriggs,”hesaidcurtly.“Yourmotherknowyou’rehere?”Hepuffedoutaringofsmoke.
Igulpeduneasily.“I’mhereforwork,”Imanaged.
Gunnersteppedupandplacedahandonmyshoulder.“WeneedtospeakwithLuke.”
Mitchlaughed,sendingachilldownmyspine.EversinceIwasachild,I’dheardhorrorstoriesabout

howhewouldslitaman’sthroatbeforegivingawayadimeofhisownmoney.Mostofthestorieswere
toldbymyfather,butI’dlistenedlikehewasreadingmethegospel.

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

HoustononaccountofLaneyhere.”

Gunnerignoredthecommentcoolly.“Camebacktodealwithacase.Thatbeingso,LukeandIhave

someunfinishedbusinesstoattendto.”

Mitchwheeledhisblackchairback,pressedhishandsdownontopofthedesk,andstoodandstomped

aroundtothefront,digginghisheelsintothecarpetwitheachstep.Smokepouredoutofhisnostrilsashe
leanedhisbuttontopoftheglasstop.

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

spendingtimewithyou,Laney.”

Mymouthgappedopen.IquicklylookedoveratGunner.Hiseyeswereblazing.
“Gemma,willyoukindlyescortourguestsoutback?”Mitchordered,wavingtowardthebig,double

oakdoors.

GunnerhadalreadyturnedandwaspullingmewithhimwhenIfeltacallousedhandwraparoundmy

freewrist.

“Tellyourmotherhelloforme,”Mitchsaid.
Ifrownedattheoldbastard,nottheleastbitamused.
Gemmaledusthroughamazeofhallwaysouttothebackpatio.Shestoppedinfrontofaglass,sliding

door.“Mr.Wagneriswaitingfory’allouthere,”shesaidsoftlyandslidopenthedoor.

“Mr.Wagner,”Gunnersnarledunderhisbreath.
Mycheeksheated,butIsaidnothing.
Outside,thebrightsunblindedmyeyesforasecondbeforeIcaughtsightofLuke.Hisbare,tanback

wastowardus.ApairofoldLevi’sfitsnuglyaroundhistrimwaist.Heturnedaround,grinningwhenhe
sawme.Eyesonmeallthewhile,heslowlyanddeliberatelywipedthesweatfromhispowerfulchest
andchiseledabswithawhiteT-shirt.Igulpednervously,feelingheatstainmycheeks.Lukewinkedatme
andtossedthedirtyT-shirtaside.Heknewexactlywhathewasdoing,andhelovedmyresponsetoit.

Stillwatchingme,hegrabbedacleanT-shirtfromtheporchrailing,sliditoverhishead,andpulleda

pairofaviatorsunglassesfromhisjeanspocket.

“Laney,youlooklikeyoucoulduseaglassofcoldwater,”hesaidandslippedthesunglasseson.
“I’mfine,”Isnappedandtuckedaloosestrandofhairbehindmyear.
Lukecockedhishead.“Justasuggestion,cutie.”
Hepulledoutametalchairforme,andIsatdown.Gunnerwasstillhuggingmyside,nottheleastbit

amusedbyhim.Hejerkedoutachairandscooteditrightnexttome,takingaseatandmakinganobvious
pointtoplaceahandonmyleg.

Lukelaughed.“IfIdidn’tknowbetter,I’dthinkthetwoofyouwereengaged.”
IswattedGunner’shandaway.“Thenyoushouldprobablydolessthinking.”
Grinning,Luketippedhissunglassesdownhisnose.“Alright,cutie,”hesaid,“I’msorry.It’sjustthat

Gunner here is known to get what he wants…or deserves.” He cut his gaze toward Gunner. “Ain’t that
right,bigguy?”

I heard Gunner grit his teeth. His fists were firmly balled in his lap, and I knew he really wanted to

clockLuke,but,tohiscredit,hesaidnothing.

“Sowhere’sthefiancé?Hedidn’tbail,didhe?”Lukeasked.
“No. Nathan’s in Houston at a veterinarian conference,” I said with as much composure as I could

muster.

“SoIguesshedidn’ttakethemoneythistime?”
“Youdidn’t,”Ishouted.
“OhLaney,yougivemetoomuchcredit.”Hewinked,thenslumpedbackinhischair,smirking.
“Whatmoney?”Gunneraskedharshly.
“Nothing.”IglaredatLuke.Overthelastthreeyears,he’dperiodicallyofferedNathanmoneytodump

me.I’dbeenundertheassumptionhe’dstopped.Ishould’veknownbetter.

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

replied.

Noddingacceptance,butnothappyaboutit,Gunnertippedhishatbackandproppedhisbootsuponthe

edgeofthewirepicnictable.“LaneytellsmeyouandBosleyhadaconfrontationtheotherday,”hetold
Luke.

Smirking,Luketiltedhishattoshadehisface.“Idon’tknowifyoucouldexactlycallitthat.Theold

bastardshotatmewithhisgoddamnshotgunagain.”Hestretchedhisarmsoverhisheadandpoppeda
coupleofknuckles.“Youknowhowthatgoes.”

GunnerandIbothignoredhimthistime.
“SodoyoumindtellingmewhathappenedbeforeLaneyhereshowedup?”Gunnerasked,stickingto

thepoint.

Luke rolled his eyes, stopping them on my chest. Annoyed by his constant childish efforts to bait

Gunner,Isaid,“Justspititout,Luke,beforeItakeyouinforobstructionofjustice.”

Luke drummed his fingers along his legs, cocked the toothpick out of his mouth with his tongue, and

huffed.“Ah,hell,sincey’allmadetheefforttocomeoutthisway…”Hetippedthetoothpicktotheedge
ofhistongue,satup,andrestedhiselbowsonthetable.“IwasmindingmyownbusinesswhenIheard

Bosley outside the house here yelling for me. The old coot was ranting and raving about how half his
cattlewasdead,andhewantedthesonofabitchwhodidit.”

Hepausedandpriedthetoothpickfromhismouth,flickingitontheground.“Fromhistone,Isuspected

hefigureditwasme.Itwasn’tlikeIwasgoingtolettheoldbastardaccusemeofsomethingIdidn’tdo.
SoImoseyedmyselfonovertohisranch.Ipulleduphisdriveway,butbeforeIcouldgetasingleword
in, the son of a bitch shot at me.” Luke pulled off his white cowboy hat and ruffled his hair before
returningittohishead.“Ididwhatanybodywoulddo.Ishotbackatthebastard.”Helookedmyway.
“That’swhenLaneyherecameoutandfoundthedeadbody.”

Mybullshitdetectorwasshootingoffallkindsofredflags.
“Whydidn’tyoujustconfronthimwhenhewashereinsteadofgoingallthewayouttohisplaceifyou

knownothingaboutthepoisonparsley?”Iasked.

Luke laughed instead of answering and kicked his legs down from the table. “Seriously, Laney, you

believeIhadsomethingtodowithkillingthatoldfart’scattle?Imean,ifIwantedto,Icouldhavefound
amuchbetterwaytostickBosleywhereithurts.”

“Youneverknow,”Isnapped,“theWagner’sareknowntohaveafewtricksuptheirsleeves.”
Hesnorted.“IsuspectedsomeaccusationlikethatfromGunner,butnotyou,Laney.Ithoughtyouknew

mebetterthanthat.”

ThatgarneredmealookfromGunner.Henarrowedhiseyesandrose.“Sorryforourlittleintrusion.

Givemyregardstoyourfather.”

Heglancedatme,andIstood,too,noddingatLuke.
“I’lldothat,”Lukesaid,smirking.“Andnexttimeyouneedtotalk,feelobligedtocontactmylawyer.”
Gunnernodded,adjustinghishat.“Haveaniceday,Luke.”
Together,heandIturnedandstartedtowalktowardourcarswhenLukehollered,“Hey,Ialmostforgot

togivethesetoyou.”Heranoverandplacedapairofticketsinmyhand,sweepinghisfingersslowly
againstmypalmasheclosedmyfingersaroundthem.“ForyouandNathanfortheCattleman’sBallthis
Saturday.Hopeyou’llcome,Laney.Wouldn’twanttomissachancetoseeyoualldolledup.”

Iforcedatightsmile.“Thanks.ButwithNathanoutoftown,I’llprobablyskipthelovelyevent.”
Luketuggedathisbackpocket.“Here,”hesaid,handingatickettoGunner,“youdidn’tthinkI’dleave

anoldfriendout.”

Gunnertooktheticketandstuffeditinhispocket.Lukepushedhissunglassesbackupandheadedtohis

truck. He’d always been a cocky son of a gun, and I should have known better than to come to this
interviewwithGunner,whohadflungopenmycardoorandtookasteptoblockmegettingin.

Hiseyesonmewerenarrowandfurious.“Laney,wereyouandLukeevercozy?”
“What?MeandLukecozy?”Istammered.“Uh…no…?”
“That’swhatIthought,”hesaid,movingoutofmyway.“I’llseeyoubackatthestation.”
IsatstillforaseconduntilIstartedbreathingagain.ThiswaswhatI’dwanted,right?TohaveGunner

Wilsonloseinterestinme.Butithurtlikethedickens.Thewayhe’dlookedatme,seeingstraightthrough
my lie. One drunken night with Luke—that I didn’t quite remember—was the only luxury I’d awarded
myselfuntilNathan.Butthatluxuryhadjustimplodedfasterthanatwodollarhookertakestoherknees.

…

IpulledupoutsidetheFiller-Up,theonlygasstationintown.IswipedmysheriffdepartmentVisa,gotthe
pumprunning,andheadedinside.IgrabbedanAlmondJoyandabottleofDrPepper,toldtheclerkto
addittothegasbill,andwentbackoutsidetoputawaythepump.Afterwards,Isatbehindthewheel,
runningthroughmyheadanyplausibleexplanationastowhyLukehadn’tjustconfrontedBosleywhenthe
oldcootcameouttoFourSpursthatnight.Nothingcametomindthatmadesense—unlessLukewasflat
outlying,andIdidn’tthinkhewas.He,Gunner,andIhadknowneachotheralongtime,andweeachhad
our“tells”.Includingtheonethatsorry,oldshitMitchWagnerhadletfromhisevillips.Ithumpedmy
forehead.Whatthehellwasthematterwithme?Ihadagoodman.Isureasshitdidn’tneedthoseother
twohorse’sbehindsmakingmylibidocrazyinthebargain—especiallynotwhenIhadthebiggestcaseof
mysorry-asslawenforcementcareertosolve.Still…

I leaned forward and popped my tits up, ruffled my hair, and added an extra layer of lipstick to my

chappedlips.Alittledamagecontrolneverhurtanybody,andIwasalotoverdrawnongoodwillatthe
moment.

WhenIreachedthestation,ItoreopentheAlmondJoyandmanagedtoscarfdownbothbarsbeforeI

killed the engine. I flipped the tab on the Dr Pepper and took a giant slug, letting the cold, sweet
carbonationsinktomygut.Feelingmuchbetter,eventhoughInowfelttheneedtodosomecrunches,I
swungmydooropenandsteppedoutontotheburningstreet.AftertakingasecondtoglareatGunner’s
Yukonbythecurb,Iluggedmybodyinside.Thefrontofficewasempty,andIdidn’tseeGunnerwaiting
aroundanywhere.Myeyesbegantotwitchatthenaggingpoundingmyhead.Somethingfeltseriouslyoff.

Handonmygun—justincase—Iwentthatway,roundingthecornertofindGunnerslumpedinachair,

hatpulledoverhiseyes.Hewasn’tmoving.Itookastepforwardandheardmybootcrunchontopofa
fastfoodwrapper.Damnit.DidElroyneverpickuphistrash?

TheTexasRanger’sheadshotup.Hepulledhishatback,showingmehisunhappybrowneyes.“Laney,

youmightwanttostayput.”

Islidmyhandoffmygun.“Andwhyisthat?”
Hestoodandpositionedhimselfbetweenmeandthecell’sbars,whichmademelookaroundhimto

seewhatI’dmanagedtomiss—andinstantlyregrettedit.TherewasSkinny,clearasday,swayingfroma
noosesnuggedtightlyaroundhisneck.Unabletolookaway,Iwatchedhisbodyswaylikeatireswing,
slowlyrockinginthewind,hisbare,veinytoespointingatthefloor.

“Holyshit!Where’sBosley?”Igasped.
“SenthimtostaywithRustyWeir.HewasinacompletefrenzywhenIarrived.”Hesteppedforward

andgatheredmyshell-shockedbodyintohisarms.“Laney?”hesaidanxiously.

“What?”Iasked,pressingawayfromhiminordertomeethiseyes.
“Ifoundanothernote,”hesaidplacingitinmyhand.
IunfoldedthePost-It,feelingmyfingersquakealongthecornersofthepaper.Infineprint,writtenin

black,itread:Iwouldwatchmystep,LaneyBriggs.

Numbly,Ireaditoverthreemoretimesbeforethethreatsankin.WhathadIdonetoearnthissortof

regardfromanybody,letalonesomeonewho’dkillaguylikeSkinny?Sofar,I’dmanagedtoaccomplish

almostnothingonanyofmyinvestigations,butclearlysomeonefoundmeathreat.Buttowhat?Shoving
myselfawayfromGunner,ItookonelastlookatSkinny,thentookmynauseaquicklyoutintotheTexas
heatwhereIsprawledonabenchoutsidethestationtryingtocollectmyself.Theheavysunbeatdownon
myface,turningmythrobbingheadacheintothebeginningsofamigraine.Ishadedmyeyeswithahand
andwatchedGunnerexitthestation,cellphoneathisear.Fromthelooksofit,theconversationdidn’t
lookfriendly.Heturned,caughtsightofme,andquicklyhungup.

“Howareyoufeeling?Youokay?”Hetookaseatnexttome.
“Likemyhead’sgoingtoexplode,”Isaid,pressingmythumbsintothemiddleofmyeyebrows.“What

thefuckhappenedinthere?HowdidanyonegetaccesstoSkinny?”

“Idon’tknow.”Gunnerleanedback,shakinghishead.“Ididn’tthinkwewerethatclosetofindingthe

Ketamine connection here in Pistol Rock, and I sure as shit don’t know why anyone would want to
threatenyouoverit,butIthinkmaybeyoushouldconsidersteppingawayfromthiscase.I’vecalledmy
departmentforbackup.TheOdessacrimelabiscomingouttotakecareofSkinny—”

Hestoppedshort,surprised,whenIleapttomyfeet,interruptinghim.“ThehellIwill.Don’tyouforget

thatI’mtheonewhofoundthefirstdamnbody.”

“Laney,you’renotthinkingrationallyhere.”Gunner’svoicegrewagitated.“Someone’sthreateningyou

directly.Youdon’thaveenoughexperienceto—”

“Gotohell.”ThemigrainemademedizzyandwobblyforasecondwhenIleaneddowntogetinhis

face,butitdidn’tstopme.“Nofuckingdrugdealerormurdererorgoddamnrancherisgoingtorunmeoff
myinvestigationbywritinganoteonafuckingPost-It!”

Forasecond,Gunnerjustgapedatme.Thenhestoodupandmarchedbackinsidethestation.
Thescorchingheatwasapainintheass,anditwasn’tdoingmyheadacheanygoodeither,butitwas

betterthankeepingcompanywithGunner.Iwentandtookaseatinsidemycruiser,turningthekeysand
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
wouldtakethecrimelabforevertogethere.

Threehourslater,Iwassoakedandstillwaiting,andmybuttwasgluedtotheseat.Insidethestation,

Gunnersatnexttothefrontwindow,tiltedbackinachairasthefanwhiskedpasthisface.Igavehima
friendlywavetolethimknowourlittleexchangewasn’tbreakingme.Finally,afterallthetoleranceand
willpowerhadbeencookedoutofme,Iflippedhimthebird.Hesmiled,soIassumedhedidn’tmind.

Awhitevanzippedupnexttothecruiser.JesseThrockmortontumbledout,cladinawhitelabcoat,

andwheeledagurneyintothestation.Besidesactingasthecountycoroner,he’dtakenoverHeftyBags,
thefamilycrimesceneclean-upbusiness,lastApril.Iwasoftheopinionthatworkingforthecoroner’s
officefithimbettersincehefanciedfeet,andinthatlineofwork,hegottoseehisfairshareofpainted
toenails.Ihadnoideahowhe’dmanagedtobeattheOdessacrimelabtoourscene.Speakingofwhom…

TheblackandwhiteCityofOdessaMobileCrimeLabpulledintoplaceontheothersideofmycruiser

and disgorged a pair of civilian techs who scooted around to the vehicle’s rear doors to suit up and
collecttheirgearbeforeenteringthestation.

Groaning,Isettledinforanotherlongwait,butinsomethinglessthanhalfanhour,Jessetrundledthe

gurneybackout,carryingablackbodybagwithbothcrimetechsintow.Ilookedawayasbileonceagain

rose in my throat. It was hideous to think about how Skinny had spent his last hours. Jesse rolled the
gurneyintothebackofthevan,closedthedoors,andpulledoffhisrubbergloves.GivingGunneraquick
wave,hehoppedbehindthewheelandbackedawayfromthecurb.

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.Icrankedthewindowallthewaydown.Hethrewhisarmontotheroofofthecarandleanedover,
pokinghisheadinside.

“Hot?”
“No,Ifindthetemperaturequitenice.”
Grinning, he touched the strap of my wet tank. “Nothing more we can do here until the evidence is

processed.Ithinkweshouldcallitanight.”

Islappedhishandawayandhurriedlyrolledmywindowup.“Soundsgoodtome,”Isaid,eyeinghim

downthroughthecrack.

“Oh”—hewinkedatme—“don’tforgetwe’redoingasearchofArrowheadRangetomorrow.SoI’llbe

atyourplacebrightandearly.”HehitthesideofthecruiserwithafistandwalkedofftohisYukon.

Dangit,Ithought,JustwhatIneeded,anotherwakeupcallfromGunnerWilson.
Istartedthecruiserupandbackeditoutoftheparkingspotandhitmyhouseeightminuteslater.The

darkwasjuststartingtoriseabovetheclouds.Thenightlycallofthewindwhistledthroughthefewtrees
liningmypropertyfence.Icrunchedabeercanundermybootthathadblownacrossthelawnfrommy
toppledovertrashcanandwalkeduptheporchsteps.Ihadtogivethelockaquickjigglebeforeitfinally
turnedsoIcouldstepinside.Pitchblack.Notidealforcalmingirritablenerves.Ididaquickrunthrough
switchingonallthelights.ThenIrecheckedthelocksandthrewthedeadbolt,finallyfeelingalittlemore
atease.

Aftersettingmygunonthecoffeetable,Ishuffledintothekitchenandsearchedthefridgeforsomething

toeat.Wrinkled,greenlettucesatintheback,ahalf-gallonofmilkwasinfrontofsomemoldycheddar
cheese.Ipusheditallasideandgrabbedabeer.Asalastresort,Ipoppedopenthefreezer.Insidewasa
frozenTony’scheesepizza.Iploppeditintheovenandsatdownatthetabletowait,takingaswigof
beer.I’dhadmyfairshareofrottenpredicaments,butitwashardtobelievesomeonewasaftermyhead.
Alistofsuspectsbroughtonlyahandfulofnamestomind.Onlyonewasatthetop—GunnerWilson.I
knewforafactthatmemorycouldbelongandvindictive,andtherocksaltI’dunloadedinhisbutthadto
havestungnotonlyhisass,buthispride.FormostofthemenIknew,thatwouldbeenough,plusitwas
damn strange how he’d suddenly returned to Pistol Rock at the same time as Pacey then Skinny were
murdered,andSpecialKbecamethedrugofchoice.Hehadn’tbeenlyingloweither,managingtomake
hispresenceknownateveryjuncture,includingthebustatSkinnyPicket’strailerandhisjailcelldeath.I
gulpedatthethoughtofGunnerWilsonbeingthekiller.Iknewhim.We’dlivedtogether.Ihadfirsthand
knowledgeofwhathewascapableof…philandering,butnotmurder.

I chugged back the remainder of the beer and ate two slices of pizza. Before I knew it, the stress of

tryingtoexonerateGunnerofacrimehemightnothavecommittedgangeduponme,andI’dfinishedoff
halfthepizza.Feelingstuffed,Itossedtheplateontopoftheotherdirtydishes.Decidingtoignorethe
naggingtensiongivingmeonehellofamigraine,IgrabbedanotherbeeranddialedNathan.

ThephonerangfourtimesbeforeNathan’ssleepyvoiceresponded.“Hello?”
“Nathan,it’sme.”
Iheardtherustlingofsheets.Finally,Nathancamebackontheline.“Iseverythingokay?”
“Sorry,Ididn’tthinkyou’dbeasleep.”
“Hadalongday.”Hisvoiceslurredagainstthereceiver.
Iwasanxious,bangingmykneesunderthetable.Iplacedmyfreehandontopofmyquiveringthighs

and tried pinching them to stop their bouncing. Knowing I sounded pathetic, I still said, “I want you to
comehome.”

Nathancoughed.“Laney,willyoujusttellmewhat’swrong?”
Honestly,Ihadn’tthoughtthiswholeconversationoutbeforedialing.Idrummedmyfingersontheback

of the phone then let it all out. “I think Gunner might be involved in a drug ring and Pacey Monroe’s
murder,”Iwhispered.

Nathanlaughed,amused.“Laney,he’saTexasRanger.”
“Iknow,butthat’saperfectcover.”
“Areyoudrunk?”
“No,”Isaidalittlepitchy.
Hesighed.“Justgetsomerest.Inthemorning,thesedelusionalideasofyourswillbelonggone.”
Iwasmadderthanawetcat.NathanclaimingIwascrazy.He’djusttakenaperfectstranger’sside—

andnotonlythat,butarivalhe’dhadtostampme‘propertyofthevet’infrontof,too.Yes,thatsoppy
kisshe’dgivenmeinfrontofGunneroutatBosley’sranchstillirkedme.Isnapped,“I’mnotdelusional.”

“Getsomerest,babe.I’llseeifIcangetanearlierflight.”
Thatwasthelastthinghesaidbeforehanginguponme.Itdidn’tmatter,Irantedathimoverhissiding

withGunnerinsteadofmeandonlythumpedmyheadwiththephoneafterI’dfinished.Eventhoughhe’d
alreadyhungup,Ishouldstillbeabletogetmytwocentsin.

Spent,Ipickedupmybeerandfloppedbackonthecouch.ThiswasastickysituationI’dgottenmyself

into.IfeltlikeafoolforoglingGunneronlytodecidehemightnotbehereaftermyassbutmyhide,if
thosethreateningnotescouldbebelieved.

Outside,somethingknockedoveraclaypotontheporch,startlingmefrommythoughts.Ijoltedtomy

feet, picked my gun up off the coffee table, and quietly walked over to the front door to slide back the
curtainandlookedoutthewindow.Ashadowscurriedacrossthelawn.

“Hey!”Ishriekedthroughtheglass.
Thedarksilhouettevanishedbehindthebushes.Iheardtirespeeloutfromthegravelpath,andthenthe

nightfellsilentexceptforafewchirpingcrickets.

ChapterSeven

The phone rang interrupting my blissful dreams of watching Gunner dust Pistol Rock off his boots for
good.Ikickedthehot,stickysheetsoffandsnatcheditup,immediatelyrecognizingGunner’svoiceonthe
otherend.

“HopeIdidn’twakeyou,”Gunnersaid,alittletooperkyformorningchatter.
Ishiftedthephoneagainstmyear.“No.”Iyawned.
Therewasalong,silentpauseasifhewaswaitingformoreofaresponse.
“I’mgoingtohavetomeetyououtatArrowheadRange.”
“Really?”Ichirped.
Heletoutadeep,throatylaugh.“Nowdon’tsoundtooexcited,Laney.”
“Goodbye,Gunner.”
“Fornow,atleast,”heshotbackandhungup.
Icouldn’tgobacktosleep,soIbegrudginglygotup.Imademywaydowntothekitchenandstartedthe

coffeepot,thenwentbackupstairsandturnedontheshower.Afterlazilystandingunderthehotwaterfor
tenminutes,Ifinallyshampooedmyhairandgotout.Ifoundacleanpairofjeansinthecornerandtugged
them over the tight spots around my hips, slid on a short sleeved uniform shirt, and pulled on my red
cowboyboots.

Innoparticularhurry,Iwentdownstairstothekitchenforacupofcoffee.Theheattingledattheback

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
suspectingGunnerofdrugtraffickingandmurderandall.Iwantednothingmorethantobewrongabout
him, but just the thought of seeing him at Arrowhead Range made my stomach jump. I finished off the
coffeeandrinsedthepotout.Hankwascurleduponthekitchendoormatmoaningthroughadream.He
lookedprettydamnpleasedwithhimselfandhisnightofhuntingfireflies.Igavehisfloppyearsagood
rub,snatchedmygunoffthetable,lockedup,andstarteduptheoldcruiser.

IttookfifteenminutestoreachArrowheadRange.Theirongatewasopen.Iplowedthecruiserdown

thegraveldriveandparkeditnexttoDobbs’sjeep.Afterinhalingtwodeepbreathes,Iswungmydoor
openandsteppedoutintopiercingsunlight.IcaughtaglimpseofDobbshunchedoveranearbyrock.He
waspantingandwipingthesweatfromhisneck.ThedeadgrasscrunchedbeneathmybootsasIstrolled
onovertotaphimontheback.

Hespunaround.“Goddamnit,Laney!Youscaredtheshitoutofme.”
“Sorry.”Ishrugged.“Where’sGunner?”
“Overinthebarn.”HegesturedatapointbehindBosley’shouse.

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

coming?”Iasked.

Dobbscoughed,flingingspitintotheair.“No,IthinkI’llstayrighthereincaseanyoneelseshowsup.

Youknow,keepawatchonthings.”Hehacked.

Ipattedhimontheback.“Ithinkthat’sagoodidea.”
Itookofffortheopen,redbarndoors,shakinginmybootseverystepoftheway.HereIwastwenty-six

yearsoldandnervousasateenagergirlonherfirstcardate.Iwasn’tsurewhatIintendedondoing.It
wasn’tlikeIcouldcuffGunnerandhaulhisassin.Besides,Iwasn’tsureIwasevencapableoftaking
himdowninthefirstplace—nottomentionIhadnoprooftobearoutmycircumstantialsuspicions.And,
of course, there was the problem of his effect on my heart and libido any time I looked at him. Telling
myselftobethecool,collecteddeputysheriffIprobablywasn’t,Isteppedpastthebarndoorscrinkling
hayunderthesolesofmyboots.Adrenalinerushedthroughmyveins,andmyheartskippedabeatasI
lookeduponhim.Shit,wasIintroublealready.

He stood hipshot against the door of a horse stall, his snug black T-shirt emphasizing his hard, flat

stomachandabs.Hehadabootproppeduponabaleofhay.Thebackofmythroatwentdrywhenhe
swiveledatthesoundofmyshufflingboots.Afewlocksofbrownhairfelldownoverhisforehead,and
stubble lined the length of his tan, square jaw. His deep brown eyes creased along the corners as he
grinned,wavingmeover.

“Goodmorning,sunshine,”hesaid,hittingmesmackinthegutwithhislovingtone.
“Sametoyou,”Imumbledandwalkedupnexttohim.
Looking like he wished he could kiss me hello, he waited for me to almost catch up with him, then

walkedoffintoastall,gesturingformetofollow.

“Foundsomeinterestingshithiddeninhere,”hesaid.
Isteppedinsidethehorsestall.Thebittersmellofoldhaylingeredintheclaustrophobicspace.Rusted

horseshoes hung from spokes in the pine walls. All along the back wall, pegboards were stapled with
flyersofvariousstockshowsinandaroundwestTexas.Icrossedbytheempty,steelwaterbucketand
staredimpatientlyatthetight,blackT-shirtrufflingupthelengthofhislongbackwitheachdeepbreathhe
took.

He turned around, frustration tugging at his lethal brown eyes. He shook off the look and crouched,

pattingabaleofhaywithahand.Ihesitated,thenreluctantlytookaseatnexttohim.Thepressureand
comfortofhiswarmbodyalongsideminealmosthadme,butIheldmygroundandscootedalongtheside
ofthebaleofhay,puttingdistancebetweenuswhilethedamnedthingprickedmeintheass.

“Whatis,Gunner?”
He fiddled with a piece of hay between us. “You’ve figured out by now that I intend on getting you

back”—onecornerofhismouthslidup—“haven’tyou?”

Given the chance to pursue something, Gunner was unstoppable. I’d learned that the hard way. This

timewouldbedifferent.Iwouldn’tjustfold.“It’snotgonnahappen.”

“IgetwhatIwant,Laney.Youknowthat.”
“Maybeyoushouldstartwantingsomebodyelsethen.”
Heedgedclosertome,andIpushedhimawayjustasquickly.“Whatisyourproblemwithme,Laney?”

heasked,hurt.“You’reactinglikeyoudon’teventrustme.”

“I don’t. Not with you doing your damnedest to get me to break trust with Nathan the way you broke

trustwithme.”Itwasabaldstatementandputpartoftheissuebetweenusoutthereinallitsawkward
glory. It also caught him off guard—he hadn’t expected me to do anything but cuddle up to him, even
thoughwewerehereonafuckingcase,andhewassupposedtobeshowingmesomesortofevidence
againstBosleyorsomething.

“Aw,Laney,”hesaid.“Youknowthatidiot’snottheguyforyou…”Histonewasgruffandcasual—I

thoughtIactuallyheardhisbadboyfaçadecrack—hecarriedaroundasmuchregretasme.Itwasahard
blowtolosetheloveofyourlife.AfateIknewalltoowell.

Iheldupmyhandtoforestallfurtherargument.“That’snotuptoyoutodecide,isit?”Ishookmyhead.

“Webothmadeourchoices,Gunner,goodandbad.Nathan’smine.”Then,knowingI’dnevergetabetter
chancetoquestionhimaboutthecase-relatedthingsIdidn’ttrusthimover,Irearrangedsomeofthehay
onthegroundwithabootwhileIgatheredmycourage.“Ineedanhonestanswerfromyou,”Isaidfinally,
lookinghimdeadintheeyes.“Areyoubehindanyofthisketaminestuff?”

Gunnergavemealookofdisbelief,thenthrewhisheadbackandlaughed.WhenherealizedIwasn’t

joking,hestoppedlaughing.“You’reserious,aren’tyou?”

Ithrewmyhandsup.“Whoelse,Gunner?”Iasked,confused.“Imean,gosh,youweretheonlyoneat

the scene of Skinny’s death. And out of nowhere, you pop back up in town at the same time this whole
casebecameacase—”

IstoppedwhenIsawtheshockedexpressiononhisface.Hesattherelikethatforseveralmoments,

utterlysilent.

“Ican’tbelieveI’mhearingthis,”hefinallysaid.
“Nobodyelsemakessense.”
Heshotup,histemplespulsingangrily.Themusclesinhisjawclenchedashepinnedhiscoldgazeon

me.“Damnit,Laney,don’tyouknowmeatall?”Hegrabbedmeandspunmetofacehim.“Iwasn’tthe
onlyoneatthesceneofSkinny’sdeath.Dobbsfoundhimhanginginthecell.Asformebeinginvolved
withtheSpecialK,ofcourseI’minvolved.I’vebeenfollowingthiscaseforthepastcoupleofyears.”

Heletmego.“Iknowyou’rescaredrightnow,Laney,butIwouldneverhurtyou.”Helookedmeinthe

eyes.“Nomatterwhatelseisbetweenus,pleaserememberthat.”

Istaredbackathim.Damnit,hewasn’tjusttellingmethetruth,hemeantit.“I’msorry,”Iapologized.

“It’sjust—”

Hiseyessoftened.Hepressedafingertomylips,stoppingmeinmid-sentence.Ineededtofinishwhat

Ihadtosay.Heneededtoknow.Whenheslowlydraggedhisfingerfrommylips,Icuppedmyhandsin
mylap,lookedupathim,andplungedon.

“You’reright.I’mscaredbecausesomebodykeepsthreateningme.I’mstressedfromthismurdercase,

andhavingyoubackintownhasn’thelpedatall.Nothingmakessenserightnow.”

Gunnersatbackdown,tookhishatoff,andstaredathisboots.“I’mthelastpersonyouwantedtosee

rightbeforeyourwedding,aren’tI?”

“Sortof,”Isputtered.
“YouneverwantedNathantoknowaboutus,didyou?”

“No.It’sapieceofthepastthatIwantedtoleavethere.I’mtryingtostartover.”
Gunner’seyesnarrowed,darkeningtoacoalblack.“Luke,then…didyouwanttoleavehiminthepast,

too?”

“Thatwastheplan.”Igulpednervously.
“SoyoudidhaveaflingwithLuke?”heaskedforcefully.
Sweat filmed my skin, a trickle of it running down the tip of nose. I watched it drip and sink into a

dime-sizestainonmytop.ThisconversationhadheadeddownapathIhadnointentionsofrehashing.“It
wasonenight,andIwasdrunk,butyou’dprobablycallitafling,”Ichoked.

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

together.”

Ilookedathim,knowingIcouldhurthimforhurtingme,butunwillingtodoit.Ididn’tcareaboutthe

factthatitwouldbealie,butthatoneofushadtoletthepastgo.Godwilling,foratleastthispartofit,
thatcouldbeme.“No,”Iwhispered,“itwasn’t.”

Unfortunately, after all his talk about me knowing him better than to suspect him of murder and drug

dealing,Gunnerdidn’tknowmeverywell,either.Hewasprimedtoleaptothewrongconclusion,sohe
did.

“Don’tlietome,Laney.”Alltemperandnocontrol,thatwasGunnerWilson.He’dbeenahellraiser

hisentirelife,andIdidn’tpinhimanydifferentnow.“That’sexactlywhenyousleptwithhim,wasn’tit?
Togetbackatmeafter—”

“Don’t.”Ishotupandgotinhisface,losingallcontrol.“Don’teventhinkitunlessyouwanttomake

thisreallyugly,Gunner.”

“Ugly?” He caught my flapping hand and pressed it between his warm palms. “You shot me in the

ass”—onebrowroseuphisforehead—“orhaveyouforgottenaboutthat?”

“It was rock salt,” I spat feebly, but it was too late. Despite my best intentions, he’d won. Again. I

should’veknownheneverplayedfair.OfcourseIrememberedthatnight.AndIregretteditevenmore.
“I’llneverforgetit,”Isaidwithresignation.“ButIwassoangryatyou,Gunner.Doyouunderstandhow
muchyouhurtme?”Ishookmyhead,caughtmomentarilyinthepast.“Aftereverythingwewentthrough
whenIlostthebaby…”Iletmyvoicefade.

Silently,hereleasedmytremblinghandandsteppedback,hiseyesfullofrememberedpain.Myown

eyes felt raw. I lifted my hand and smeared the tears across my face. “I was just so scared and sad,” I
said,reliefrushingthroughmeasIfeltthestranglingpainloosen.“Icouldn’ttakeyou…youneedingto
find…comfort…withsomeonelikeWynona.”

Grimacingatthememory,Gunnerreachedoutandtenderlystrokedthesideofmyface.“Iwasdrunk

andletthefightgetthebestofme.”

I took his hand, skimming my thumb across his callused fingertips and along the cuts on his knuckles

beforesoftlykissingthebackofhishand.“It’sallinthepast.I’vemovedonandsoshouldyou,”Itold
him,halfcryingasIlethimgo.

His fingers brushed my thigh as I stepped back, placing some much needed distance between us.

“Laney,I’mstillinlovewithyou.”Hisvoicewasstrainedashetriedtoreelmebackin.

“I’msorry.”Ishookmyheadandtookadeepbreath.Itwastoolatetorevisitthepast,especiallygiven

mycommitmenttoNathan.“Whatdoyousaywegetbacktothetaskathand?”

“Fine.” Irritation drove the toe of his boot hard into the dirt as he swung away from me. “But this is

bullshit,andyouknowit.”

Ared,steelcabinethungonthewallbehindus,dustcoatingthecrackedhandle.Thedoorwasunhinged

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
beforewithdrawinghishand.Claspedinsidehisfistwasaprescriptionvile.

Hisgazeperkedupasthesadnessandirritationlininghisbrowsrelaxed.“Checkitout.”
“Shit,”Igasped,“Bosley’sthedrugmule.”
Hegrinnedtightly,nodding.“Sweetheart,IthinkIjustfoundmyrancher.”
Iofferedhimagruntofshockedagreement,andwegathereduptheremainingbottlesofSpecialKand

stuffedtheminanearbysaddlebag.MyhandgrazedthetopofGunner’sasIpulledtheflapoverthebag.
Hegrabbedholdandsqueezedittightly.Ifeltmyringpinchmyskinattheintensepressure.Hisbrown
eyeswerefilledwithimmensepain,buthemerelyglancedquicklyatmydiamond,thengavemyfingers
onelastsqueezeandletgo,exitingthebarnwithoutaword.

IthinkI’vementionedthatourrelationshipiscomplicated—enoughsoIcouldalmostsayIstillloved

him.Almost.Buthe’dwreckeditall,myheart,mytrust…ourlove.AndIwasstillhavingtroublepicking
upthepieces.

Itookamomenttocomposemyselfthenfollowedhimoutsidewherehewaitedformebytheopenbarn

doors.Hegavemeafriendlysmile.

“I’mgoingtopickBosleyupfromRusty’s.Doyouwanttocome?”heasked.
Ihookedathumbinapocketandlookeddownatmyboots,notquitecomfortableenoughtospendmore

timealoneinhiscompanyrightnow,beingI’djustconfessedsomeofmydarkestsecretsandunearthed
someburiedwounds.“I’llmeetyouatthestation.”

“Ifthat’swhatyouwant.”HeheadedquicklytowardhisYukon.
IstoodmotionlessasIwatchedthedustkickupfrombehindhistiresasthebigSUVdisappearedfrom

sight down Spoke Road. I rammed myself behind the wheel of the Malibu and turned the ignition,
immediatelygettinghitinthefacebyablastofhotair.Iswitchedoffthedangairconditionerandbacked
outofArrowheadRange.

ChapterEight

Florescentlightsflickeredinfrontofthejailcellinback.Inthefarrightcorner,BosleyConradsatina
wooden,high-backedchair,wristscuffedatthewaist.Icouldhearhislowhuffingovertheclunkingof
mybootsagainstthetilefloor.Twochairswerepositionedacrossthetablefromhim.Islidintotheone
ontherightandcutaglanceatGunner.He’dswunghischairaroundandstraddleditwithhisarmsslung
overtheback.Theblackcowboyhatthatalwaysgracedhisheadwasplacedonthetable.Gunnerwasn’t
knowntotakehishatoffthatoften,butwhenhedid,itwasgreat.Thehatshadowedtheoutlinesofhis
chiseled jaw and hid the tenderness in his dark brown eyes. I’d always enjoyed our moments at home,
whenhewasrelaxedandallowedthewallheputbetweenustovanishforamoment.

Bosleyspit.Slobberlandedontheedgeofmyboot,effectivelysquashingthatfondmemory.“Youtwo

comeheretoharassmesomemore?”

Iscrapedhisspitoffwithmyotherboot.“No,justhaveafewmorequestions.”
“WhenIgetoutofhere,I’mgoingtosuethebothofyou,”theranchersaidtightly,scootingthechaira

coupleofinches.

GunnerhunchedoverthebackofthechairandpinnedacoldheartedglarebackatBosley.“Idon’tthink

thatwillbeanytimesoon,oldman.”

ThebloodvesselsinBosley’sforeheadtwitched.“You’vegotnothingonme.”
“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
bastardwasbehindsuchamassivedrugringallalong?”

Bosleythrashedinthechair.“I’veneverseenthatdamnstuffbeforeinmylife.”
“Wefoundtheketamineinyourhorsebarn,”Isnapped.
Bosleysnorted,annoyed.“Well,thensomebodymusthaveplantedit.”
I swung my head in Gunner’s direction. Planting evidence hadn’t really crossed my mind. It should

have,though.IhadatendencytoalwaystakeGunnerathisword,whenhemostlyhadatendencytolie.

Gunner’seyebrowsshotupanotch.“Don’ttellmeyouthinkIplantedtheSpecialK.”
“No.”Ishookmyhead.“Ofcoursenot.”Thengivingintodoubt,Isighed.“Idon’tknow,Gunner,you

tellme.”

HestoodandpacedaroundbehindBosley,plantinghishandsfirmlyontheoldman’sshoulders.Bosley

grittedhisteethashisneckbuckledunderGunner’sweight.Thecontoursofhisfacehardened.“Doyou
nottrustme,Laney?”

Iswallowedhard,feelingthelumpstickinmythroat.“It’sjusttoocrazy,right?”Ilaughednervously.

“Itcouldn’tbetrue.Gunner,pleasetellmeyoudidn’tplanttheKetamine.”

HeloosenedhisholdonBosley’sshouldersandsteppedforward,pushinghisangryfaceatmineashe

grabbedmyarmsandshookme.“Goddamnit,Laney,snapoutofit.Who’sputtingthesecrazythoughtsin
yourhead?”

I could be as stubborn as a mule. Everyone in town knew that. Honestly, everyone. But my thoughts

wererunningrampantand,frankly,sinceannouncingmyengagement,I’dbeenajumbledmess.Still…

Iwipedmysweatyhandsdownthesideofmyjeansandtippedmyheadtowardthefrontoffice.Gunner

gavemeanexasperatedlook,butfollowedmeoutofthecellarea,whileontheothersideofthetable,
Bosleystartedtolaugh.Whenweweresomeplacerelativelyprivate,Ilookedhimintheeyesandasked
assteadilyasIcould,“Didyouplantit?”

Foramoment,hestaredatmelongandhard.Then,reluctantly,hegrinned,thewarmgrinthatalways

ledmeastray.Heshookhishead.

“NeverthoughtI’dseethedaywhenyouhadthegumptiontostandupandaskmesomethinglikethatto

myface,”hesaidalmostadmiringly.“Andno,Ididn’tplantit.Youweretwohourslate.”Heranahand
throughhismessyhathair.“SheriffDobbsandIfoundtheshiteverywhere,alongwiththeshovelusedto
killPaceyMonroe.”

“Whateverhe’stellingyououtthereisalie,”Bosleyshouted.
“Shutup,”webothhollered,turningtowardthecell.
When Bosley went back to grumbling about what he planned to do to us when his lawyer arrived, I

lookedbackatGunner.Henolongerseemedastalltomeasheusedto,andthatmademesad.Iwasalso
halfproudofmyselfthat,ashe’dsaid,I’dfinallybeenabletostandmygroundandaskhimstraighton
whatneededtobeasked.ButIwasalsodisappointedthathestillautomaticallyfelttheneedtolietome
andcoverupwhathewasdoingwhenwewerebothnowdoingdifferentversionsofthesamejob.

Clearlyseeingmydisappointmentinwhathe’ddone,andsensingthatthingsbetweenushadjustshifted

drastically,Gunnerpickeduphishatandploppeditonhishead,adjustingitoverhiseyes.

“So Bosley, you still going to give us the silent treatment?” Gunner asked, heading back into the

department’scombinationcellarea-interviewroom.

Bosley snorted and darted his empty eyes over at me, trailing in behind the Texas Ranger. Then he

loweredhishead,fussingwiththecuffsinhislap.“Ididn’tkillPacey,”hefinallysaidtiredly.“Thatboy
waslikefamily.”Helookedpleadinglyatme.“Youhavetobelieveme,Laney.I’mnotakiller.”

Irockedbackonmyheelsandlookedatourprisoner.Heseemedcompletelysincereandwasshaking

hisheadpitifully.Isilentlysteppedasideandavertedmygazefromhissorryface,unsureifIbelieved
himornot.

“Comeon,oldman.IamgoingtotransportyourasstoOdessauntilIcanhaveitarrangedforamove

out to Houston.” Gunner heaved Bosley to his feet. “Maybe after a few days stuck in a cell with some
hardenedcriminals,you’llstarttalking.”

“I’llgoalongfortheride,”Iblurted,feelingmylipsmovebeforeIwasabletostopthemfromtalking.

ItwasbeyondstupiditytoagreetorideshotgunwithGunner—especiallywhenI’djustmanagedtotake
control of myself around him. Now all I could do was hope like hell he wouldn’t want my company,
althoughIknewhe’djumpatthechancetotakemealongforanotsoblissfuljoyride.Gunnermightbea
loner.Hecouldbebullhead,andmaybehe’dbrokenmyheartonceortwicewhenherefusedtoletme

comebyhisGrandmaEdna’splacebackintheday.SometimesIwonderedwhyIwastedallthosetears
onhim.Andthenitonlytookonelookattheruggedcowboy’sface,andIknewhe’dalwaysneedme.

Iwassuchafool.
“Great,Icouldusethecompany,”Gunnerresponded,happilysurprised.

…

Heat drifted in waves off the sweltering asphalt, and a hazy blue sky hung overhead. As usual, Center
Streetwasemptyatfourintheafternoon.Istraddledthecurb,watchingGunnerseatBosleyintheYukon’s
backseat.

“Well,don’tjuststandthere,”hesaid,takingmyhandandpullingmefromthecurb.
“MaybeIshouldstay.Idohavesomepaperworktofinishupfromthisarrest.”
Evidentlyrecoveredfromourlittlemomentoftruthinthestation,hesimplylaughedandsettledahand

at the small of my back. “Sweetheart, this will be so much better than paperwork.” The corner of his
mouthpulledupashecuppedmybuttandhoistedmeupinsidetheYukon.“Nowbuckleup,Laney.”He
winked as he closed the door, then went around and jumped behind the wheel. Back to my tongue-tied
self,andunabletomakemyselfgetoutandstaybehind,Iscootedasclosetothedooraspossible.Hehad
atendencytolethishanddanglealittletooclosetoplacesIneededhimtostayawayfromforcomfort.

Thewindspickeduponcewewereontheopenroad,beatingattheSUV’sdoorsandthesmellfromthe

cowpasturesleakedthroughtheairductsasweleftPistolRockfurtherandfurtherbehind.Astheyhadon
ourlastlittletriptogether,raincloudsstartedtocoverthegreysky.Itriedtostayfocusedonthescenery,
buttheeffortwaswastedwhenIsawthehugegrinonGunner’sface.

Helookedatmysourexpressionandlaughed.“Whatisitnow?”
“Justthinkingabouthowthestormwillforceustospendthenightontheroad,that’sall.”
Ahalfsmileplayedatthecornerofhismouth.“Yourememberthelasttimethathappened,don’tyou,

Laney?”

I scowled and cast a glance over my shoulder at Bosley slumped in on himself in the backseat. I’d

neverkeepGunner’srespectasalawmanifIkeptlettinghimgetawaywithstufflikethis.“Nottotalk
about,no.”

Heletoutadeep,throatylaugh,droppedahandfromthewheel,andstartedscrewingwiththeradio

knob.Theradioeruptedintoascrambleofwhitenoiseuntilthedialfinallylandedonabluegrassstation.
Ihatedbluegrass,andthesidewaysglancehetossedmetoldmehe’drememberedthatalltoowell.

“Really,”Isighed.“Canyounotfindsomethingelse?”
“Ihappentolikeit.”
“It’scrap,Gunner,”Isaidreachingforthedial.
Gunnerswattedmyhandaway.“Don’ttouchthatdamnknob.”
“ItoldyouIdidn’tlikeit,”Isnappedandtwistedtheknob.
“Fuck.”Heslammedonthebrakesontheemptyhighway,andforamoment,Ithoughthe’dpullover

andattempttodumpmeatthesideoftheroad.Instead,heturnedofftheradioandstarteddrivingagain,
pickingupspeedfast.“Thisisinsane,”hemutteredtohimself.“WhydoItorturemyself?”Helookedat
me.“Nathancanhaveyou.”

Igapedathimamomentbeforestatingcoldly,“Itwasn’tlikeIaskedyoutocomeback.”
“True.” He grimaced and brushed a finger along my cheek. “I take that bullshit back about letting

Nathanhaveyou.”

Islappedhisfingeraway.“It’snotyourcall.”
“Doesn’tsoundlikeit’syourcall,either,”Bosleymumbled,disgruntled.“Notthewaythetwoofyou

carryon.IfIwasNathan,I’drunforthehills.”

“Nobody asked you, Bosley,” Gunner said sharply, surprising me all to hell by almost defending me.

“Soshutupbackthere.”

Bosleychuckled,amused,andslidbackdownintotheseat.
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
vanishedbehindadensemassofclouds,andrainhammeredontheYukon’shood.Thetiresskiddedas
GunnermadehisturntowardtheEctorCountyjail.Hepulledintotheparkinglotandkilledtheengine.

“Well,we’rehere,”hesaid,openinghisdoor.
Drops of water hit him upside his head, overflowing the runnels of his cowboy hat. Hurrying, he

unlockedBosley’sdoorandpulledhimintothedownpour.He’djustledBosleytotherearofthevehicle
towaitformetojointhemwhentherewasthesoundoftiresscreechingintothelot.Asilvervanhalted
nexttous,therightdoorslidopen,andavolleyofbulletsriddledtheYukon.

“Getdown,”Gunneryelledatme,duckingandpullingouthisgun.
Iquicklythrewmyselfdownontothefloorboardandshuffledahandaroundthewaistlineofmyjeans

topulloutmyGlock.Thebackwindowcrackledasabulletpenetratedtheglassandplunkedintoadoor
pillar. I ducked under the dashboard. My palms were sweaty against the cold metal of my gun. Even
thoughIliketothinkofmyselfastough,Iwasasissywhenitcametobeingshotat.Ipreferredittheother
wayaround.

Eightmoreshotsblastedoff,thentheonlysoundwasthehammeringthudoftherain.Ishotupintimeto

seethebackendofthevanasitpeeledoutofthelot.Cautiously,Iopenedmydoorandpokedmyhead
out.Gunner’sbodywasstill,sprawledoutonthepavement.Clutchingmygun,Ileapedoutofmyseat.
Heart pounding, pulse racing, I knelt beside him. His fingers twitched, and then he opened an eye and
smiledweakly.

“DoyouthinkIcouldgetakiss,now?”Hisvoicefaded.
Lookingeverywhereincasethevanreturned,Isqueezedhishand.“Staywithme,you’llbeallright.

I’mgoingtogocheckonBosley.”

The sheriff station door burst open, and five deputies sprinted out. I looked up at them. “Call an

ambulance,”IshoutedasIcrab-walkedmywayovertoBosley.“Officerdown.”IreachedBosley,who
wasswimminginapuddleofredwater.“AndIthinkourprisonerisdead.”Ichokedbackthebilerising
upmythroatasasheriffdeputydroppedtothegroundontheothersideofmyprisonerandfeltforhis
pulse.

Nausearising,IeasedbackovernexttoGunnerandtookhisclammyhandinmineassirensstartedto

blareandtherainpoundedaroundus.

…

Bythetimethemedicsarrived,Icouldn’tgetanywetter.Myjeansweresuctionedtomythighs,andmy
uniformshirtwasplasteredinwetwrinklesagainstmychilledbelly.Theextrapaddinginmybrawasn’t
doing much to hide my bullet-like nipples. A handsome, young EMT jumped out of the ambulance and
tookmein,awidesmilepullingathischeeks.

“Decidetotakeabathwhileyawaited?”heasked.
Iblinkedandwipedawaytherain.“Thisoneneedsaridetothehospital,”IsaidpointingatGunner

stillstretchedflatonhisbellyinthepuddle-filledparkinglot.

Nodding, the emergency tech said soothingly, “We’ll take care of him, ma’am,” then went about

checkingGunneroverwhileIwatched.Aminutelater,IgottheimpressiontheEMTwastryinghardnot
tolaughwhileGunnergroundhisteethandlookedlikehewantedtosmacksomeone.

“Thatouttadoit,”themedicsaid,stillfightingagrin.“I’llgetthegurney.”
Ifollowedandtappedhimontheshoulder.“Ishegoingtobeokay?”
Themediclaughedashegrabbedsomesortofbandagefromtheambulance.“Honey,themangotshot

intheass,”hesaid.“Idon’tthinkI’veheardofanybodydyingfromthat.”

Forasecond,Ijuststaredathim.Thenafizzlingsnickerspilledoutofme,andIquicklycuppedmy

mouth,tryingtohidemywidegrin.AtleastnowIknewGunnerwasn’tasuspect.Themanwouldhaveto
beinsanetogetshotintheass—twice.

Igotcontrolofmyself.“Wealsohaveadeadoneoverthere.”IpointedtoBosley,who’dtakenabullet

directlytothecenterofhisforehead.Fromthelooksofit,Ibelievedhewastheintendedtarget.

“Sorry…”hesearchedmyface,lookingformyname.
“DeputyBriggs.”
“I’m sorry, deputy. I don’t deal with the dead ones. That would be the coroner.” He grimaced and

pulledthegurneyovertoGunnerandrolledhimonhissidetoapplythebandagetohisleftbuttcheek.
ThenheandhispartnerhoistedtheTexasRangercarefullyontothegurney,strappedhimin,androlled
himintotheambulance.Oncethemedicsteppedinside,too,Ipokedmyheadpastthedoors.

“Everythingokay?”IaskedGunner.
Hetwistedhisheadtoseeme.“That’smysweetheart,”hetoldtheattendantinavoicethatwasstarting

toslur.“Shetriedtokillme.”

Ilaughed—shocked—thenquicklysputtered,“Hehasnoideawhathe’stalkingabout.”
“Youblewaholeinmyass,”Gunnersaidinagarbledvoice—thenhesighed,andhisheaddropped

ontothegurney.

The medic smiled in disbelief. “Holy shit! You’re Laney Briggs. You’re a legend.” He chuckled and

startedGunneronanIV.“Weusedtotalkaboutyoubackinschool.IwenttoHarper’sRidgeHigh.Loved
themugshot,bytheway,”hesaid,twistingGunner’sIVtoadrip.

“Damnit,itwasrocksalt.Hasnobodyelsedoneanythingstupidaroundhere?”
“NothinglikeplugaguywhobecameaTexasRanger,”themedicsaid.
“That’s hard to believe,” I huffed. “I know a lot of people who wanted to shoot him and never did.

Somemightcallthatstupid.”

WhiletheEMThooted,IturnedtotellGunnerI’dmeethimatthehospital,buthewasalreadysnoring.

After the ambulance drove away, I started toward the bullet-riddled Yukon where the Odessa Mobile
CrimeLabwasbusycollectingevidence.Well,hell,nowIwasoutnotonlyawaytogettothehospital,
butbacktoPistolRock,aswell.

“DeputyBriggs,”agruffvoicecalled.
I stopped and looked up at the giant, slowly lowering my gaze to the gold star pinned to his stocky

chest.

“SheriffDarylLindsey,”hesaid,reachingoutahand.
Itookhisfirmshakeandtriedtokeepmywitsaboutme.
“I just need you to wrap up some paperwork on this mess. Hopefully, you can explain why a Texas

Rangerwasshotinmyjurisdictionandwhyanoldmanislyingdeadintheparkinglot.”

Igulpedandnodded,thenfollowedSheriffLindseyinsidethesheriffstation.
TheintenseinterrogationlastedtwohoursbeforeIwasreleasedfromtheOdessasheriff’sdepartment

offices. Sheriff Lindsey demanded that I leave my weapon with them—SOP in any officer involved
shooting,butthatdidn’tmeanIlikedit—andsendoverallthepaperworkonBosleyConrad’scaseand
arrest.ItoldhimPistolRockwouldfaxitbytomorrowmorning.NotthatIexpectedDobbstojumpona
taskthatfast,butmyquickresponsegotmeoutofDodgeawholelotfaster.

OnceInoticedthecrimelabwasn’tevenclosetobeingdonewithprocessingGunner’sYukon,twoof

the deputies were nice enough to offer an Odessa Sheriff cruiser as a loaner so I could pick up my
woundedTexasRanger.BeforeIleft,oneofthemevenaskedformynumber,butIsimplywavedmyring
inhisface.Heapologizedandthentoldmetodrivesafely.

IfonlythedamnringworkedlikethatonGunner.
Just as I was ready to drive over to the Odessa Regional Medical Center, they called to inform me

Gunnerwasalreadyreleasedandwouldbewaitingintheemergencydocksforpickup.Normally,having
thereceptionistfillmeinonhowlovelytheTexasRangerhadbeentohisattendingnursewould’vemade
my eye twitch. But then again, I was cruising down the highway in a clunker that made my department
vehiclelooklikeashinynewBeemer.

…

The rain had petered off by the time I hit the road to the hospital. Annoyingly, the burrowed cruiser’s
consolesqueakedtheentiredrive.IpulledintotheparkinglotoftheOdessaRegionalMedicalCenter.A
tiny, blonde nurse was standing by Gunner’s wheelchair at the discharge entrance. I watched his hands
tugging at her purple scrubs. That sure was a quick recovery. And judging by the look in little miss
Florence Nightingale’s eyes, she seemed to be enjoying his twiddling fingers. Even though I was an
engagedwoman,andhewasprobablyashighasakite,itstillirkedmetoseeherflirtingwithGunner.I
threwthegearsintoparkandwrenchedopenmydoor.

“Doesthatassofyoursrepelbulletsnow?”Iasked,eyeballingtheblondenurse.
“Itwasjustafleshwound.Nothingabig,toughcowboycouldn’twithstand,”thenursetoldmeasshe

pattedGunnerontheshoulder.

Gunnerrockedforwardinthewheelchair,smiling.“Shegavemehernumber.”

Isnappedthepaperfromhim.“Hewon’tbeneedingthis,”Isaidandhandeditback,glaringatherasI

slid an arm under Gunner’s shoulder to help him to his feet and into the loaner cruiser. His weight and
drugged good humor proved too much for me, and he stumbled before falling face down onto the back
seat,snickering.

“See,Itoldyoushewouldbemad,”hesputteredintotheleatherseat.
I grabbed his cowboy hat from the nurse’s hand, threw it at him, and slammed the back door shut.

“Thanks.” The word came out bitchy, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything more.
Damnit,Iwasengaged.WhatrightdidIhavetobejealousofanyoneGunnerwantedto…

Ahhell.Iwasjealous,thatwasjustthelongandshortofit.Nomatterwhatpassedbetweenus,Iwas

stillthatlittlehighschooler,followinghimaroundlikeapuppy.Andhewasstillthebig,badasscowboy
deadsetonluringmetomydoom.

Unhappy with myself, the nurse, and Gunner in particular, I got into the driver’s seat and drove the

cruiseroutofthelot.

Ithadbeenonegoddamnhorribleday.

…

Anhourlater,PistolRockMotorLodgecameintoview.Thedrivehomehadn’tbeenbadsinceGunner
sleptthewholeway.Irolledintotheparkinglot,turnedoffthecruiser,andfoundthekeystohisroomin
theplasticbaglabeled“Wilson’sBelongings”that’dbeensenthomewithhimfromthehospital.Igrabbed
them and hopped out. The keys rattled in my trembling hands. It’d been five years since I stood on a
doormatofthePistolRockMotorLodge.Lord,thatnighthadn’tendedwellforeitherofus.

Marty Stockherd and his wife Chrissie owned the run-down Lodge. They even lived in room ten,

addingakitchenetteinthetinyspaceforthemselvesafewyearsback.PistolRockMotorLodgeusedto
havenineroomsavailable,butafterChrissiehadthetwins,BobbyandCarter,itwentdowntoeightwhen
they co-opted room nine into the family home. Dead bushes were stuffed into the rotting flower boxes
outside the office entrance and Ziploc bags filled with murky water hung from the porch awning in an
attempttowardoffthemosquitoes.

I strode purposefully up to room six and stared at the battered, green paint job on the door before

stickingGunner’skeyinthelock,wigglingitabitbecauseIrememberedthelocktendedtobeoutoftrue,
andopeningthedoor.Nothinghadchanged,butIhadn’texpecteditto.Theroomswerestillfeaturinga
ghastly ’80’s vibe with pale peach, floral bedding, mint green carpet, and plastic gold shades over the
windows.Therewasasmallroundtableinthecenteroftheroomwithabundleofdaisiestossedontop.
Iwasasuckerfordaises.Iwalkedoverandpickedupthephotolyingnexttotheflowers.Itwasofusat
aTimMcGrawconcert.I’dneverimaginedhe’dstillhaveit.

WhenIwasseventeen,IsnuckawaywithGunnertoDallas.Thenextday,myfathershowedupatthe

motelandhauledbothourass’shome.Thatsucked.Nogirlwantstobecaughtbyherfatherfresh-from-
the-showernakedandwetandwrappedinherboyfriend’sarms.Tothisday,myfatherhasn’tletmelive
thatonedown.Isometimeshavethefeelingthat’swhy,whenthingsbetweenmymotherandmegettense
about the wedding, he advocates for me dropping Nathan and choosing Gunner. In his old-fashioned
wisdom, he still believes the man who popped his little girl’s cherry should make an honest woman of

her.

There was a knock on the door frame. I turned to find Gunner bracing his weak body against the

doorway.

“Youstayingthenight?”heasked,givingmeadroopysmile.
“Nope,”Isaidandquicklyputthephotodown,“andyoushouldn’tbewalking,either.”
I went over, took the weight of his sluggish body on mine, and dragged him over to the bed. He fell

sidewaysontoitandpulledmedownontopofhim,brushinghisindexfingeracrossmymouth.

“StaywithmeLaney,”hemumbled.
Pushingmyselfupwithbothhands,Ilookeddownintohistiredeyes.“You’reexhausted.Getsomerest.

There’s Tylenol on the end table with a glass of water, and I’ll have Dobbs come by to get you in the
morning.”

Iwalkedout,lockinghisdoorbehindmeasthepressureoftheentiresituation—frommyengagementto

today’sshooting—builtinsideme,andsurroundedmyheartonceagain.

ChapterNine

IparkedtheOdessacruiserinfrontofthestationandlockedthedoors.Tyingmytangledhairbackwith
anelasticband,IheadedacrossthestreettoRusty’sSaloon.AfterthedayI’dexperienced,Icouldsling
backacoupleofbeers.

Our local bar was older than dirt. The pine exterior walls were rotting away at the edges, leaving

flakes of black wood chips covering the sidewalk beneath. There was one window that faced Center
Street and a stoop that was commonly used by the nightly vomiting drunk. In the mornings, Rusty Weir
couldbefoundwiththewaterhoseinhand,blastingawaythedriedstufffromthepavement.

Iwavedatthetwooldermenperchedoutsidethedoorinlawnchairs,makingsuggestivecommentsto

any passing woman, and pushed through the door into the dingy, smoke-filled air. It was hazy, and the
flashing,crystalblueandgreenlightsoverheadhurtmyeyes.IknewifIwentright,theodorofmothballs
fromRusty’staxidermyofficewouldmakemyeyeswaterandoverpowerthestalefumesofcigarettes.A
stained oak wraparound bar sat in the center of the room, and behind it was a wall lined with liquor
cabinets that showcased beer cans all the way back to the 1950’s. The only pool table was pushed up
againstthebackwall.Rustyhadpurchasedthetablethreeyearsagotohelpbringsomeentertainmentto
thebar.He’dthoughtagameofpoolwouldputastoptothebrawlsthatalwayseruptedbyteno’clock.It
didn’thelp.Oncetheclockstruckten,thereneverfailedtobeafistthrownbyatoppling-overdrunkwho
tookexceptiontosomethingsomeoneelsesaidordid.

AndthentherewasBuster,thebuckingbull,ourlocalclaimtofame.Manyafinebutdrunkenmanhad

triedtorideoutoldBusteronlytofindhimselfonhisass,rubbinghisachingnogginattheotherendofthe
room.Watchingthenightly,um,entertainmentneverfailedtorelieveaday’stedium.

Ipulledoutastoolatthebarandhunchedoveronmyelbows,callingforRusty.
“What’llitbe?”Rustyarrivedinfrontofme,scrunchingupthesleevesofhisredplaid,flannelshirt.
“AShiner,”Isaid,“withaJimBeamsidecar.”
“Rough day, Laney?” he asked in his grizzly, smoke-seasoned voice. He twisted the cap off the beer

beforehestartedonthebourbon.

“Ifyouonlyknew,”Ireplied,wrappingmyhandaroundthechilledbottle.Ichuggedbackhalfofthe

beerandwipedmymouth.

Hesmiled,uncoveringtheyearsonhisface.Thefineskinhadgoneslackovertheyearsandwaspale

fromallhisyearsburrowedupinhisdingybar.Hehadwrinklesevenlyspacedalonghisupperliplike
longitudinallinesonamap.

“Gunnergivingyouarunforyourmoney?”Rustysaidgruffly,butsincerely.
“Youcouldsaythat.”Ipolishedofftherestofthebeerandpickupthebourbon.

Rustygruntedtoshowheunderstood,thenasked,“Sowhen’sthevetbackintown?”
Icrossedmyfingersandsaid,“Thisweekend.”
He pulled out a white dish towel and started to mop up some excess water on the bar top. “Hang in

there, kiddo. Soon, you’ll have this whole damn case solved, and that son of a bitch Gunner will head
backtoHoustonwherehedamnwellbelongs.”

“Cheer’stothat.”Iraisedmybourboninaheartfelttoasttothatsentiment,thentosseditback.
HeslidanotherShinerinfrontofmeandsmiledatmeinawaythatmydadneverdidbutshould’ve.

“Onthehouse,Laney,”hesaid,gentlyslappingthetoweltwotimesonthebartop.Thenhetuckeditinto
thebackofhisfadedpantsandwalkedofftotheotherendofthebartopickupbottlesleftaroundthe
pooltable.

Rustywasrightaboutthecaseandallthat,butIrealizedsittingtherethatoneofthereasonsIwasat

Rusty’sSaloondrinkingwasthatIwasn’tentirelysureIwantedGunnertodisappearbacktoHouston.I
finishedoffmysecondbeerandsignaledforathird.Fornow,Iwasgoingtodrinkawaythosenagging
thoughts before they took control. I rationalized by pretending there was nothing to worry about tonight
exceptmywoundedheart.

Itwasalie,ofcourse,andmyusuallyreliableabilitytoshovewhatIdidn’twanttothinkaboutoutof

thewayletmedownbyremindingmethatsomeonehadwantedBosleyConraddead.Theonlyplausible
explanation for the drive by that killed him outside the Odessa jail was that someone didn’t want him
blowingthewhistleontheSpecialKorPacey’sandSkinny’smurders.

Sinkingtorestmychinonthebar,Isighed,fiddlingwiththeyellowlabelonthebeerbottle.Afirmtap

ontheshouldermademeliftmyheadenoughtoseeLukeWagnerproppedupagainstthebarinadenim
buttonupandtightLevi’s.

Hewinkedandpulledoutastool.“Isthisseattaken?”
Iwouldhavelikedtohavesaidthatitwastaken—andmighthavebeforeIdrankmythirdbeer,even

thoughtherewereonlyfiveofusinthebarbeforeLukearrived.Instead,Ishruggedandsaid,“Iwon’tbe
goodcompany,butgoahead.”

Grinningcrookedlyatme,Lukedroppedontothestool.I’dmeltedunderthespellofthoseblueeyesfor

awhileafterGunnerfirstleft,butthingsweredifferentnow.ThefewercomplicationsIhadinmylife,the
better.

“CanIbuyyouadrink?”Lukeasked.
Iwavedmyhalffullbeerinhisface.
He laughed and shook his head, tossing his messy blond hair. “Looks a little empty. I’ll get you

another.”HeraisedahandandwavedatRustytobringusaroundofbeers.

Ireallyshouldhavegottenupandleft,oratleastmovedaroundtotheothersideofthebaruntilI’d

waitedofftheeffectofthebeerenoughsoIcoulddriveunimpaired,butsometimes…well,mysenseof
self-preservationjustdesertedmeinthefaceofgoodlookingcowboys.Still,Icouldfeelmyselfsquirm
whenRustycametowardusdownthebackofthebar.Heslungthewhite,beer-staineddishtowelover
hisrightshoulderandnarrowedhisgrayeyes,givingLukeawarningnottocauseasceneinsidehisbar,
andthengavemethe“daddyglare”.

“You’vehadenough,”hetoldme,poppingthecaponasinglebottleandshovingittowardLuke.

Iconsideredgrabbingitoutofsheerdefiance,butthelookRustysentmemademesighanddrainthe

mostly empty bottle at hand. “Time for me to get gone,” I agreed, reminding myself that aside from me
beingnotonlyengagedbutatadscrewedupbytheemotionsraisedbyGunner’sreturn,Iwasamature,
responsible officer of the law, and Luke Wagner was all kinds of bad news wrapped up in a pretty
package.

Smilinghisapproval,Rustywinkedanddroppedmeareassuringnodbeforewalkingoff.
Theminutehewasoutofearshot,Lukeleanedintome.“Sowhat’sbringsyououtprowlingthestreets

thisevening?”

“Ijustwantedtobealoneforawhile.”Itwasastupidthingtosay,sinceI’dbeevenmorealoneoutat

myhouse,butalonewithpeoplenearbywaswaydifferentformethanalonewithnobodyaround.

“IheardaboutBosley.Ihaven’tseenmyfatherthathappyinyears.Ifinallycouldn’ttakeitanymore.”

Hetookalongdrawfromhisbeerandthenslammeditdownonthebartop.

Iglancedsharplyathim,watchinghisfaceforanysignthathe’dbeenbehindthemurder.“Ididn’tthink

anybodyknewaboutBosley’sdeath,”Ireplied.

“Youknowhowwordtravelsfastaroundhere.”
Hewasn’tlyingthere.ThemurderhappenedinOdessa.Iftherewasgossiptobehad,Lord,justgiveit

fiveminutes,andthechurchchoirwouldbesingingaboutitonSunday.

Iknockedbacktheremainingdregsofmybeerandrose.“Thanksforthecompany,”Isaidandstartedto

stand.

Lukestoodupandtouchedmyface.“Whydidyouleaveme?”
Iwinced.“Oh,comeon,Luke.Whatwehadwasadrunkenonenightstandinamotelroom.”
Luketwirledhistoothpickbetweenhislips.“IsthatwhatyoutoldGunner?”
“Yes.” I really didn’t see why the past was so important lately. Why had nobody else moved on? I

accepted a man’s invitation of marriage, and it turned into open season on bad memories and men who
hadnoreasontoremembermefondlybutseemedtoanyway.

Shakinghishead,hetookaswigofhisbeer,thensaidsnidely,“Thatfuckingdouche.”
Ileanedinclosesoastobesurewewereeyetoeye.“Ifyou’retalkingaboutNathan,thatdouchehas

managedtoholdontome,”Isaid,slappingatenonthebar,andwalkingaway.

Ihadn’tgottentenfeetbeforeLukecaughtuptome.
“Laney,”hecalled,stoppingbehindmeandgrabbingmyarm.“JusttellmewhathappenedtoBosley

Conrad.I…”Hisupperliptwitchedashisfacegrewmoredistraught.“IneedtoknowwhatI’mdealing
withwheremyfather’sconcerned.”Thelightinhiseyesturnedpleading.“Please.”

I eyed him up and down, trying to decide if I should say anything and how much. It was an open

investigation,andIwasn’tsupposedtotalkaboutthose,butwewerealsoinPistolRock,whereeveryone
knew everything five minutes after it happened. “Okay,” I said finally. “Here it is. Gunner and I were
transportingBosleytoOdessawhenavanpulledupandtooktheoldbastardoutwithabulletstraightto
thehead.”

Luke’sfacewrinkledinthought.“So,who’stheshooter?”heasked.
Ifrowned,realizinghe’dbasicallytoldmeIshouldhavestayedwithhimratherthanhookingupwith

Nathan, but at the same time, he hadn’t even bothered to ask me how I was after the shooting. “The

investigationisongoing,”Isaid,lookinghimstraightintheeyes.“Didyouarrangeit,Luke?”

“Fuck,”hesaidfuriously,turningtostompbacktowardthebar,thenswingingaroundandcomingback

tohunkerdownintomyface.“Fuckyou,Laney.Howcanyouevenaskmethat?Ithoughtyouknewme
better.”

Half-afraidofhimforthefirsttimeever,Irockedbackonmybootheels,butheldmygroundwithan

effort.IfIwasevergoingtodomyjobasadeputyright,backingdownwasn’tanoption.“Idoknowyou
better,Luke,”IsaidascalmlyasIcould.“That’swhyIhadtoask.”Thesameway,thoughIrefusedto
admititoutloud,thatI’daskedGunnerifhekilledSkinny.

The light in Luke’s eyes dimmed. “Shit,” he said. “Shee-it. I guess the time we had really wasn’t

anything,wasit?”Heturnedandwalkedawayfromme.

Sadly, I watched him go. There was something about him that called to me, but between Nathan and

Gunner,IalreadyhadmorementryingtoyankmychainthanIwascomfortablewith.Plus,Ireallydidn’t
know whether or not Luke might be involved in our unprecedented number of no-suspect homicides.
Usually,murdersinPistolRockwereprettystraightforwardfamilyincidentsgoneawry,butthis…

Unabletobearanotherinstantinthecompanyofmypeers,Ibeatfeettothedoortoheadhome.

ChapterTen

Thetwosnaggletoothdirtyoldmen,stillplantedintheirplasticlawnchairs,smiledatmeasIexitedthe
saloontwohourslater.CenterStreetwasasbusyasitwasgoingtogetaroundtenonaWednesdaynight.
Fourparkingspotsweretakenup—notabadturnout.Idugintomybackpocket,rummagingformykeys.
AllIwantedtodowasheadhomeaftermyruninwithLuke.

I’d intended on leaving the bar a little tipsy with the hope that I could obliterate all my indecent

thoughtsaboutGunner,butnothinggoesasplannedwhenLukeWagnerisaround.He’sbeenaworldclass
pussy whisperer since junior high, if the girls around town can be believed. Me? The only thing I’d
wantedthenightofourlittlesocalled‘affair’fourandhalfyearsagowastogetdrunkenoughtodrown
out the constant misery of losing Gunner and our baby. Instead, I’d gotten drunk enough to fall into bed
withLuke.ItwasamoveIstillregretted—notleastbecausethescumbagwouldn’tstophangingaround.

ThemainissueformewasthatLukewasacharmer,anddrunkortipsyorwhateveryouwantedtocall

it,I’dgottenwrappedupinhiscleverlittlepussytrap.I’veoftenwonderedsinceifthesamethinghad
happened to my mother where Luke’s father was concerned. Only thing was, I was pretty certain she
regrettednotstayingwithMitch,whereasIwasallgoodonthenotlettingLuke’ssilvertonguetalkmeout
ofmyshirt—andmore—again.

Imarcheddownthesidewalktowardthesheriffstation.Thecruiserwasparkedtwospotsdownbythe

stopsign.Ishovedmykeysintothedoor,turnedthelock,andprieditopen.Iwasgettingreadytoswinga
leginsidewhenthewindgotknockedoutofmefromaheavyfistintomyrightside.Ifelltotheground,
clutchingmystomach.

“Shit!”Imanagedbeforeanotherkickplungedintomyside.
Itumbledover.ThebackofmyheadscrapedtheasphaltasIlookedupatamanwearingablackski

maskglaringdownatme.Hegrabbedmebythehairandpulledmyfaceuptohismask.

“Ifyouknowwhat’sgoodforyou,you’lltellyourTexasRangerbuddytobackofftheketaminecase.

Doyouunderstand?”

I moved a hand around my waist, coming up empty. My gun was still evidence after the shooting in

Odessa.IfI’dbeenasmarterwoman,Iwould’vestartedcarryingabackuppiecelongago,buthell,this
was Pistol Rock and though I kept weapons at home, I didn’t have another pistol I was comfortable
carting around. Technically, I’m supposed to carry at all times, since we deps are on duty even when
we’reoff—bepreparedatalltimesistheruleofthumb.Butthenagain,Iwasn’tverybythebook,and
gunsandalcoholdidn’tmixand…

Ahhell,whowasIkidding?Iwasscrewed.
Thenastyletgoofmyhair,onlytoclutchmebythethroattospitinmyface.

Istartedtokick,clippinghisleftshinwiththetipofmyboot.“Bastard,”Iwheezed,wigglingunderhis

clutchingfist.

The man in the ski mask cackled. “He was right. You are a feisty little thing.” He jerked my head

forward. “Don’t worry honey. I’ve got strict orders to batter you, nothing more. Too bad, but gotta do
whatthebosssays.”Hetossedmeintothecruiserdoor.

My back buckled, and I slumped against the front tire. The flat of his hand slammed into my nose. I

scootedbackagainstthetire,tryingtotakecoverasItastedthesnotandblooddribblingpastmymouth.I
wipedawaythebloodfrommyupperlip.ThenItookagoodlookatthemanpacingbackandforthin
frontofme.Myassailantlookedtobeaboutfive-foot-sixanddressedinblackfromskimasktoboots.I
swallowed,chokingbackthebloodyspitdrowningmythroat.“Whodoyouworkfor?”Istrangledout.

Hischestrumbledwithasickeninglaugh.“We’realmostdone,sweetheart,”hesaidandliftedabooted

foot.Iquicklyhunchedovertocovermystomachfromtheoncomingblow.“Ready?”Heswunghisboot
forward.

Iduckedmychindeeperintomychestknowingitwasgoingtofuckinghurtwhenhisbootmetmyside.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Gunner’s deep voice said, and he catapulted out of the darkness and into my

attacker.

Unable to believe he could be here when he’d been resting off a flesh wound and popping mild

painkillers just a few hours ago but grateful he was, I crawled my way to the back of the cruiser and
leanedagainstthebumper.Myheadandsidewerekillingme,andmyhandsandkneesburnedwherethe
skinwasscrapedrawfrommescufflingacrosstheharshasphalt.Itookthebottomofmyshirtandwiped
thebloodoffmyface.IwantedtohelpGunnercleanupmymess,butIjustcouldn’tseemtogetmylegs
undermetodashintothesheriff’sstationacrossthestreetandsnatchadepartmentloanergun.Instead,I
pokedmyheadaroundthecruiserandwatchedGunnerbeatthecrapoutofmyattacker.

ThelastthingIneededleftatmyfeettodaywasanotherdeadguy.
“Stop,” I screamed when things looked like they might go further than I’d be able to explain later.

Gunnerturnedtowardme,hisfistinmid-air.“You’regoingtokillhim.”

Lowering his hand, he looked up at me for a long moment. Then, without hesitation, he slammed my

attacker’sheadintothecurb.

“Don’t move,” he growled and straightened. Then he stomped a boot into the masked attackers face

before stepping on over the bastard and heading toward me. “What the hell are you doing here?” I
demandedashekneltbesideme.“You’resupposedtobesleepingoffawoundedass,notperp-stompin’
onCenterStreet.”

Instead of answering, he pushed my bloody, disheveled hair off my face and asked, “Are you okay,

sweetheart?”

SighingbecauseIknewhe’dnevergivemeananswerIcoulduse,Iscannedmybloodyknees,tookin

my scraped palms, and I touched the tip of my nose. Warm blood squished between my fingers. There
reallywasnoneedinhumiliatingmyselfanymore,sotosaveface,Ilied.“Nobiggie,”Isaid,tryingto
standup.Asplittingburnonmyrightsidesentmefallingembarrassinglybackdown.“Ouch”—Iwinced
—“myrightsidehurtslikethedevil.”Heshookhishead,slidanarmbeneathoneofmyshoulders,and
carefullyhoistedmeupright.“Laney,youknowit’sokaytoaskforahelp,right?”

Ihobbledtomyfeetandleanedintohissturdychest.Therewasapartofmethatwantedtopathisass

justtoseeifhewashumanenoughtobehurtingthewayIdid,butIrefrainedwhenhehalfcarried,half
draggedmeupontothesidewalkandproppedmeagainstthestationdoor.

“JustgivemeaminutewhileIdealwiththatmotherfucker,”hesaid.
Nodding,Islumpedbackintotheglassdoor.
Hestalkedofftotheheaphuddlednearthecurb,leanedover,andpulledtheguy’sheadupbyhishair.

“Whodoyouworkfor?”hedemandedcoldlyandrippedofftheskimask.

Theguyshudderedvisibly.“Iwasjusttoldtotakecareofthegirl.”Hemadeastranglednoise.“You

know,scaretheshitoutofhersoshe’llbequiet.”

Gunner crouched, hand firmly clasped in the guy’s hair. “Were you also paid to get rid of Bosley

Conrad?”

Choked,almosthystericallaughterissuedfrommyattacker.“Youweren’tsupposedtobethere.Bosley

wasthetarget,justdriveinandshoot’imup,cleanandeasy,themansaid.”

Gunnermadeanunpleasantsound.
“You’reluckythatthegirl’shere,”hegrowled,“orI’dhavetokillyou.”Hestoodupandcockedhis

headatme.“Where’reyourcuffs?”heasked.

“Intheglovecompartment,”Isaid,pointingashakyfingeratthecruiser.
Hewalkedaroundthecruiser,andIheardhimpopopentheglovecompartment.Atthesametime,my

attackermanagedtorollhimselfoffthecurbanduponallfoursinapatheticattempttomakeanescape.

“He’srunning,”Isaidhoarsely.
Gunnerslammedthecruiserdoor,stalkedbackovertoBosley’sadmittedmurderer,andstompedonhis

hand.Iheardknucklescrunch.

“Motherfucker,”theguyscreamed.
“Headingsomewhereimportant?”Gunnerasked,jerkinghimupbythearms.“You’reinPistolRock,

buddy.Thereain’tnowheretorunouthere.”Hedraggedtheguytohisfeetandslunghisarmsaroundthe
stopsign.Thenheflickedthecuffsopenandtightenedthemaroundthekiller’swrists.

“Shit,that’stootight,”theguywailed.
Gunnertookholdofthecuffsandsqueezedthemanotherclicktighter.
“Sonofabitch,”theguycriedout.“Youput’emontootight.Icanbarelyfeelmyfingers.”
“You’restillalivetofeelyourfingers.Consideryourselflucky.”
“You’releavingmehere?”theguyshoutedwhenGunnersteppedtowardme.
Gunnershrugged.“Don’tworry.You’llbelockeduptighttonight.EventhoughSheriffDobbsalways

polices up the sidewalk trash first thing every morning, I want to make sure you’re booked and behind
barsbeforeItakeDeputyBriggstothehospital.”

Heturnedtowardme,thehardlineofhismouthsoftening,andItriedtousemyskinnedpalmstopush

myselfupright.

“Here,letmehelpyou.”Gentlyhewrappedanarmaroundmywaist.
“Thank you,” I said, grateful not only for the help, but to be in his arms again. The realization

immediately made me uncomfortable when the glow from the street light caught in my engagement ring,
making it sparkle. I tried easing out of Gunner’s arms, but my wobbly legs made that ill-advised.

Immediately,hegatheredmeuptocarrymetothetruck.Therewasahitchinhisstride,asthoughhisass
hurt, but aside from a wince, he let on nothing. “Why aren’t you back at the motel taking care of your
wound?”

“Whenthedrugsworeoff,Icouldn’tsleep,soIheadedovertothestationtoseeifIcouldfindanything

inthefilesonBosleythatwouldexplainthedrive-by.ThenIheardyouscream.”

He grimaced and nodded at the truck’s door, tagged with Pistol Rock Motor Lodge across the white

chippedpaint—he’dborrowedMartyStockherd’spickup.Ididmybesttograbitandopenthedoor,but
my hands protested, so Gunner juggled me a bit, then managed the job himself. When the door swung
wide, he eased me inside, strapped the seatbelt around me, and double checked the belt’s latch before
shuttingthedoor.

Thenhehobbledovertoourperp,uncuffedhimfromthestopsign,twistedhisarmsbehindhisback,

and cuffed him again before dragging the perp into the sheriff station. Barely five minutes had passed
beforehereturnedandlimpedovertoclimbcarefullyintothedriver’sseat.Thescreeoftherubberdonut
the hospital had sent him home with gave me some idea of the shape he was really in when he settled
behindthewheel.Heturnedandglancedatme.Hiseyeswerefullofpainashestarteduptheengine.I
pressed my throbbing head into the headrest and closed my eyes. There was no need in telling Gunner
Wilsonhowtogettomyhouse.Heknewthewayprobablybetterthanme.

…

Theheadlightswashedacrossthedirtdriveleadinguptomyhouse.Gunnerpulledthetrucktoahaltand
turnedtowardme.“Sureyoudon’twantmetotakeyoutothehospital?”hesaid,soundingdoubtfulabout
earliergivingintomeaskingtobetakenhome.

“I’llbefine,”Ilied,thougheverysinglepartofmeached,andmyheadfeltlikeaswollen,throbbing

mass.

He winked and ran his finger down my bruised cheek. “Always the trooper,” he said and then gently

kissedmyforehead,foramomentmakingmeforgetaboutthebeatdownIhadjustendured—rightupuntil
themomentwhenhepulledawaytolookatme.“Haveyoueverthoughtaboutgettinganewcareer?”

Teethclenchedagainstthepain,Iscootedclosertothedoor.“Manytimes,”Isaid,shootingaglanceat

therubberdonutbeneathhisbutt.“Whataboutyou?”

Instead of responding, Gunner tapped my chin, then drew his hand back. “You should’ve let me kill

him,”hesaid,grittinghisteeth.“Lookatwhathedidtoyou.”

I pushed at the door, opening it to let in the sound of crickets chirping and the soft sound of leaves

rustlinginthetrees.“ThenIwould’vehadtoarrestyou.”

Hegrinned.“Iknewyoustillcaredaboutme.”
“Thinkwhatyouwant,”Isaid,wobblingoutofthemoteltruck.“Goodnight,Gunner.I’llbefinefrom

here.”

“Icouldcomein,”heoffered,lettingthesuggestionlinger.
Ignaweddownonmylip,thensaidvirtuously,“That’snotagoodidea,”andslammedthepickupdoor

shut.

Itookacoupleofstepsback,sinkingtomybruisedandachingkneesasIwatchedhistaillightsfade

intothenight.Itwouldhavebeennicehavingalittlehelpintothehousesincethestepsleadinguptomy
front porch were going to be murder, but Gunner wasn’t in the best shape, either. Letting him into my
houseandexpectingnothingtohappenwasaboutasstupidassniffingajavelina’sassholeandexpecting
tosmellapplepieatthebestoftimes.Tonight,afterhe’dsavedmefromwhatwouldlikelyhavebeen
brokenbonesandaneardeathexperience,itwouldbejustplainridiculous.Notbecauseeitherofuswas
uptoabunchofbedroomgymnastics,butbecauseIwasengaged,andGunnerwasstartingtogettoofar
undermyskinagainforcomfort.Lately,he’dbeenthereformeandNathanwasnot.

Faceup,LaneyBriggs, I ordered myself and started for my front porch, hobbling until I reached the

doormat. My hand was shaking, making the keys jiggle as I turned the lock. Having turned down the
hospitalstay,myplan,onceIgotinside,wastograbanicepackoutofthefreezerandabeerfromthe
fridge.Fromthere,Iwasgoingtoplopmyselfdownonthecouch,watchafewrerunsofFriends,and,if
thenightkeptgoingwell,maybeevenpolishoffapintofBlueBellmint,chocolatechipicecream.

Iwrenchedthedooropenandswitchedonthelampnexttothewall,andpracticallyjumpedoutofmy

skinwhenIcaughtsightofBoomerCopleyfloppedoutonmycouch,asleep.Hejoltedupwhenheheard
myshufflingboots.

Boomer’sdustyredmopofhairhungbelowhisbrows.Hehadpastywhiteskinscatteredwithbrown

frecklesandapairofplasticblackflip-flopsadornedhissizefourteenfeet.

He’dgrownuponthefarsideoftherailroadtracks.Andbythefarsideoftherailroadtracks,Imean

exactly that. The Copleys were one of four families living in government housing here in Pistol Rock.
Mrs.CopleywasachainsmokerjustliterateenoughtofollowthedirectionsonthebackofaHamburger
Helperbox.RumorhaditthatBoomer’sfatherhadskippedtownonenightbyhoppingontoafreighttrain.
Nobodyreallyknewforsure,butnobodyreallycared,either.I’dgrownupwiththerebeingaplaceset
forhimattheBriggsfamilydinnertableeverynightandhimleavingeverynight,takinganapkinfullof
leftoverswithhim.Henolongershowedupatmydoorveryoften,butwhenhedid,therewasareason.

“Hopeyoudon’tmind,Laney,”hemumbledrubbinghiseyes,“Iletmyselfinontheaccountofyounot

beinghere.”

“WhywouldImindyoubreakingandentering?”Isaidsarcastically,droppingmykeysonatablenext

tothedoorandlimpingovertothecouch.

Hiseyespoppedoutofhishead.Herubbedthem,thenblinkedindisbelief.“Shit,Laney!Whatthehell

happenedtoyou?”

Ifellontothecouchnexttohim.“Youwouldn’tbelievemeifItoldyou.”
“Well,goodLord,areyougonnabeallright?”
Igrinnedandreachedouttograbahalfemptybottleofwarmbeeroffthecoffeetable.Inonemighty

chug,Ikilleditandslammeditbackdownonthecoffeetable.“I’malreadyfeelingbetter.”

Boomer’sfacerelaxed.
“There’scoldonesinthefridge.Youwantanother?”
“Sure.”
He came back a moment later with two beers and sat back down beside me. I took another long and

satisfyingdrinkandthengotdowntobusinesswithBoomer.

“Sodoyoumindtellingmewhyyou’rehere?”

Boomer picked up a throw pillow and twisted it between his hands. The expression on his face was

anxious,andhisskinlookedpalerthanusual.“IthinkI’mbeingfollowed,”hewhispered.

That warranted an unexpected laugh that hurt my bruised ribs. Ever since he got back from the army,

he’dbeenspoutingoffaboutfolksspyingonhim.

“Howmuchhaveyouhadtodrink?”Iaskedhimsuspiciously.
“Onlythreebeers.”Hegulped.“Youdon’tbelievemedoyou,Laney?”
“Aboutthebeeroryoubeingfollowed?”
“Thepeoplefollowingme.”
Therewassomethinginhisexpressionorthewayhesaiditthatmadeanalarmringsomewhereinside

me.Prettydarncurioustohearhisexplanation,Isatup.“Ouch.”Iwincedaspainshotstraightthroughmy
hip.“Whydoyouthinkyou’rebeingfollowed?”

Hiseyesflickeredtowardthefrontwindowthenbacktome.Heleanedoverthepillow,scrunchingit

beneathhisbeerbelly.“Youremembertheotherdaywhenyouranmeover?”

Igroaned.“Ididn’trunyouover.”
“Toeachhisown,”hehuffed.“Idon’tthinkIsleptthenightoffoutsideofRusty’sSaloon.”Boomerbit

down on his lips and picked up his already empty beer, letting the last remaining drops leak onto his
tongue.“Isthisallyouhave?”heaskedswishingthebottomofthebottleacrosshisshakingknees.

“Ihaven’thadtimetohitupthestore.”Itooktheemptybottlefromhishandsandplaceditbackonthe

coffeetable.“NowtellmewhyyousuddenlythinkyousleptsomeplaceotherthanoutsideRusty’s.”

Hehunchedintohisshouldersandfellbackagainstthecushions.“RustysaysIwasneverthere.”
Iranabatteredhandthroughmyrattyhair.“Whatdoesthishavetodowithwhyyouthinkyou’rebeing

followed?”

“Just a hunch,” Boomer shrugged, “I saw a strange truck driving up and down my street the past two

nights.”

Well,thatgotmyattention.NooneintheirrightmindwouldcaseoutBoomerCopley’sneighborhoodat

night.Hell,Iwouldn’tevengothereduringtheday.Hestoodandpickeduptheemptybottles.

“Laney,doyoumindifIstayhereforacoupleofnights?”hepleaded.“JustuntilNathan’sback.”
Irolledmyeyesathim.“Whatthehell.It’snotlikemylifecouldgetanyworse.”
“Thanks,”hesmiledandwalkedintothekitchen.
Iswitchedoffthelamp.“Goodnight,Boomer,”Ishouted,headedtowardmybedroom,tookalookatall

thosestairs,andthoughtbetterofit,turninginsteadtowardthesmallparlortotheothersideoftheentry
whereIkeptapull-outcouchforunexpectedguests.BoomermetmeinthehallbeforeIreachedit.

“Here,youcouldusethis.”Boomertossedapackageoffrozenpeasatme.
“Thanks.”Ipulledasmile,feelingthepinchingpainontheleftsideofmyface.AsIsteppedinsidemy

guestroom,acoolnightbreezeblewacrossmyface.Earlier,I’dleftthewindowsopeninanattemptto
freshenuptheplace,andthelacecurtainswereflappingagainsttheframe.Iwalkedoverandjiggledthe
oldwood-framedwindow,pullingitshutanddoubledcheckingthelock.Agoodsoakinmyclawfoottub
was calling my name, but I was going to settle for one in the smaller bathtub my aunt had added to the
houseasanafterthoughtafewyearsbeforeshedied.Ipeeledoffmyfilthy,bloodyclothesandsankinto
thebath.Thehotwaterwashedovermystomach,thenspilledovertheporcelainedges.Iscrubbedaway

thebloodandgrime,thensankdeeperintothemurkywater.Itdidn’ttakelongformyskintoshrivelup
likeaprune,soIpoppedtheplugandsteppedout.

IslippedonanoversizedRangersbaseballjersey,grabbedacoupleofblanketsfromthelinencloset,

anddraggedmyselfintothelivingroom.Boomerwasalreadysnoring,huddledupandclutchinghislegs
on the couch. I dropped a quilt over him and picked up the shotgun that sat by the front door. Then I
paddedbackintotheguestroomandturnedthelockthreetimesonthebedroomdoorjusttomakesureit
hadclicked.Simplyput,Iwasscaredshitless.NotonlyhadsomeoneshotGunnerandkilledBosleyin
Odessa,buttheywerehell-bentonhangingmeouttodry.

Iplacedtheshotgunnexttothenightstand,crawledunderthecovers,andsmashedthefrozenpeasto

myswollencheek.Foralongtime,Ilaythereunabletosleep,wishingI’dtakenGunneruponhisofferto
joinmeinsidethehouse.Sure,Boomerwashere,butIdidn’tthinkhe’devenwakeupifsomeonetriedto
getinheretofollowuponthebeatingI’dalreadybeengiven.

The sound of a tree branch clawing away at the window pane made me jolt painfully upright.

Unfortunately, terror can be a great motivator, and I suppose I had a tendency to let my fears run full
throttle. I snatched up the shotgun and cradled it at my side, pressed my head back into the pillow, and
stareddownthewindowlockuntilthesleeptookme.

ChapterEleven

Thenextmorning,thesmellofbacondraggedmefromslumber.Stiffandscreamingsore,Igotoutofbed
slowerthananysnailcouldpossiblymoveandhobbledintothekitchenwhereBoomerwasstandingover
thestove.Thefryingpansizzledashehummedoffkeyto‘FriendsinLowPlaces’blastingfromtheradio.
Sunlightbeamedagainstthewindow,beatingdownonthewhitetilefloor.Iruffledmybedheadhairand
wobbledupbehindhim.

“Ididn’tknowyouknewhowtocook,”Isaid,sniffingthefattysmelloffryingbacon.
“Ihadto.Itwasn’tlikemymotherwasgoingtocookmebreakfastbeforeschool,”hesaid,flippinga

stripofcracklingmeat.

Ipulledoutachairandshakilypouredmyselfaglassoforangejuice.Hisscrubbyappearancehadn’t

changedmuchfromthenightbefore.“Howdidyousleep?”Iasked,sippingthejuice.

“From the looks of it, better than you,” he said, turning to face me. “Are you going to give me the

rundownonwhathappenedtoyoulastnight?”

Aftertossingthestripsofbaconontoapapertowel,hecarriedthemovertothetable.Iwatchedhim

ferret around the top shelf of my cupboards until he finally found what he was looking for—my secret,
reservebottleofJimBeam.Hepouredhimselfamugofcoffeeandtoppeditoffwithasplashofwhiskey.
Bythetimehehadtakenhisseat,Ihadalreadyeatenthroughhalfthebaconandthreeslicesoftoast.

“Thisisgreat,”Isaidthroughamouthfuloftoast.
“Notaccustomedtoahotbreakfast,areyou?”Hetookastripofbacon.
“I’mmorethegrabandgokindofgirl.”
“Andbythat,youmean?”
“Coffee and a pack of powdered donuts,” I answered meekly. Hell, listening to myself say that, I

realizedthatevenmyalcoholicbestbudtreatedhimselfbetterthanIdid,food-wise.Howpatheticwas
that?

Iwentforanotherstripofbacon.Boomerslappedmyhanddownonthetableandlookedmestraightin

theeye.“Theblackeye.Starttalking,”hedemanded.“Anddon’tthinkIdidn’tseeGunnersittinginside
MartyStockherd’struckwhilepullingoutofthedrivelastnight,either.”

This beat everything. I was getting scolded by the town drunk of all people. I slumped down in my

chair,felttheweightofmythrobbingheadpounddowntomyneck,andtriedmybesttogivehimasweet
smile.Hefrownedatmyattempttocharmmywayoutoftheconversation.

“It’s not what you think,” I said, trying to play the whole thing off like it was nothing. “Gunner just

broughtmehomeafterwallopingtheguywhobeatmeup.”

“Come on, Laney,” he shouted, clearly fed up with my evasion. “What kind of mess have you gotten

yourselfinto?”

“You’reonetotalk,”Iholleredback.“Breakingintomyplacebecauseyoudon’tevenknowwhereyou

slepttheothernight.”

Hescootedhischairbackfromthetableandslouchedovertothecoffeepot.Thiswasoneofmymany

problemswhenitcametomyrelationshipwithBoomerCopley.Hethoughtofmeasthesisterhenever
had,andIpushedeverybuttonIcouldtofrustratehim.Ifiguredifhewantedasistersobad,whynotgive
ittohimfullforce.

“Forone,whatareyoudoingwithGunnerWilson?IfI’mnotmistaken,thatringonyourfingerbelongs

toNathan,”hesaid,pouringhimselfanotherhelpingofwhiskeyandcoffee.“Andsecond,whythehellis
someonebeatingyouup?”

Myexactquestionalso.I’dbeenupallnightthinkingaboutthemaskedlunaticGunnerleftinthestation

jailcell.

Ifinishedoffacoupleofmorestripsofbaconbeforepushingmyplateaside.“Ishouldgetready,”I

said,standingupwithagroan.“Wouldn’twanttobelatetowork.”

Boomereyedmespeculatively.“Areyousuregoingintodayissuchagoodidea?”
“I’llbefine.Howaboutyou,stayingherebyyourself?”Imaneuveredmywayslowlyovertothecoffee

potandpouredanothertotakewithmetogetdressed.

“Don’tworryaboutme,”hesaidbeforeshootingbackaswallowofwhiskeydirectlyfromthebottle.
Actually, I was more worried about my whiskey. That bottle of Jim Beam would be lucky to last

Boomeruntilnoon.

Itookaquickshower,enjoyingthewaterdrippingovermybruisesbutwincingwhenithitmyscraped

palms. I doctored the deep scraps, biting my bottom lip as the alcohol hit the open flesh, and wrapped
themingauze.Afterwards,Iinchedmypainfulwayintoapairofwornbluejeansandmytrustycotton
uniform T-shirt. My hands protested when I tugged on my boots, pulled back my wet hair, and globbed
somemuchneededconcealerontomyleftcheekbone.Itdidn’tdothetrick.Thebrightbluebruisestill
laughedbackatme.

BoomerwasgonewhenIreenteredthekitchen.Hehadtapedanotetothefridgestatingthathewenton

abeerrun.IgrabbedthekeystomyoldFordpickupandheadedoutsidewheretheheatslappedmeinthe
face.Ipulledmyaviatorsunglassesovermyeyesandeasedmyselfcarefullyupintothetruck.Ithadbeen
awhilesinceI’dtakenitforadrive—thefuelcostalonehadkilledmyjoyriding.Ifireduptheengine,let
theoldbeastgrowlamoment,thenbarreledofftothestation.

Iparkedinfrontofthestation,lungedoutofthetruck,hobbleddownthesidewalk,andyankedopenthe

passengerdoorofGunner’sYukon.ItwashardtobelievetheOdessaCrimeLabhadalreadyreleasedthe
Yukon,butthereitsat.ItwasjustlikeGunnertohaveeverythingfallinhislap.Themanneverseemedto
godownwithoutafight,notevenwhenI’dchosentoattendseniorpromwithLukeWagnerafterthenight
Gunner’dplayedhide-n-seekwithmypinklacepantiesinthebackseatofhisjackeduppickup.Ithad
beenakickinthepantstoseehimallriledupoverthatlittle“inyourface,Wilson”fromme.

Istuckahandinsidetheglovecompartmentandrootedaround.Myfingersgrazedtheedgeofamap,a

Tylenolbottle,andaBowieknife.Buttherewasnogun.Damnit.Ipushedthepassengerseatbackand
wincedmywaydownontomyscrapedhandsandkneestosearchbelowtheseat.Thesweatwastrickling

downmyspinewhenIheardasetoffootstepsnearupbehindme.

“Losesomething?”Gunneraskedfrombehindme.
Ishotup,bangingmyheadonthedoorframe.“Sonofabitch,”Isaidrubbingmyscalp.
Gunnerwasstandingbehindmetwirlingmy9mminhishand.Hesmiledandhelpedmetomyfeet.
“Didn’t think you’d be coming in today,” I said reaching for my gun. “You know after yesterday, and

all.”

Hepulleditback,teasingmysnatchinghand.“Darling,Tylenolworksmiracles,especiallywhenit’s

gotcodeineinit.”

“SoIcansee.Nowgivememydamngun.”Ileapedforit,feelingastabbingpainjoltupmylegs.
Gunnershookhishead.“Onlyifyoucanconvincemeyou’reokayenoughtohandlethis.”Hewaggled

the Glock in my face. “And also that this tough girl act you’re putting on isn’t just a front to keep me
away.”

“I’mfine,”Isnarled,eventhoughitwascleartobothofusthatIwasn’t.
Justthen,Dobbstappedonthewindowfrominsidethestation.Gunnerturned,givingmeawindowof

opportunity.Isnaggedmygunfromhishands.

“Youjustdon’tplaynice,”Isnappedandhobbledinside.
The air conditioner was at full blast. Dobbs had cranked it up to ‘deep freeze’ cold. Two box fans

whistledawayoverinthecorner,andElroyhadhimselfpositionedinfrontofboth,blockingtheflowof
airandsendingitdirectlyintohisglisteningface.IpulledoutaseatnexttoSheriffDobbsandpressedmy
buttintotheclothcushionwithrelief.Movingaroundmighthelppreventmefromstiffeningupagain,but
itstillhurtlikeblazes.Gunnercameupbehindmeandleanedovermyshoulder.

For someone who’d just been shot, he was fairing way too well. Also, having him breathe down my

neckwasn’tthemostfunthingtoeverhappentome,bothbecauseitwasmakingmymemoriesofthetwo
ofusitch,andbecauseIhatedtohaveanyonebreathingdownmyneck,letalonehim.Iinchedmychair
forwardtoputsomespacebetweenus.Dobbshuffedandwipedadropofsweatfromhisforehead.He
pulledachairtomysideandfloppeddownintheseat.

“Youbothlooklikeshit,”hewheezed,“Sowhobeatupwho?”
“Mymoney’sonLaney,”Elroychimedin.
Ishothimtheevileye.“Andwhywouldthatbe?”
Hegulped.“You’recrazierthanaJuneBug,”hestuttered.
ImadeamoveasiftodrivemyelbowintoElroy’sgut.
HewincedasthoughI’dactuallydoneit.“Ouch.See?That’sexactlywhatI’mtalkingabout.”
Dobbsbuttedin,officiallyderailingourlittlecatfight.“Asyouknowbynow,BosleyConrad’sdead.

Theoldcoot’sbodyhasbeenreleasedfromtheOdessacountymorgue,andIexpectally’allinattendance
tomorrowathisfuneral.”Hecoughed,spatteringathinringofsalivaaroundhislips.“AndoldGunner
got shot in the process.” Dobbs snickered. He looked over in Gunner’s direction. I knew what he was
thinking.Can’tthemanprotecthisdamnass?

Gunnerpushedbothhandsdownontomyshoulders,leanedintomyneck,andbrushedhislipsagainst

myear.“Ihopeyou’refeelingbetter,too,sweetheart.”

Ichoked.

SheriffDobbseyedmedown.“Laney,youlooklikesomeoneworkedyouoverwithabaseballbat,”he

said. “Got an anonymous call this morning from someone telling me I’d find some guy handcuffed and
lockedupinmyjailcellafteranincidentoutfrontofthestationlastnight.”

“Really…”Iplayedshocked.
Hepressedhiselbowsintohisroundthighs.“Doyoumindtellingmewhathappenedtotheidiot?”
Ifeltahotflushclimbmycheeks.“What?”Iaskedconfused.
“Where’stheshitheadwhobeatyouuplastnight?”Dobbsshouted.
I turned to look at Gunner as sweat started to pool between my breasts. He shrugged and shook his

head.Feelingsuddenlynauseousandlightheaded,Itriedtopushmyselferect.

“Willy’allexcusemeforaminute?”
Ihoppedup,regrettingmyurgetobailwhenpainshotupmyside,andlimpedtothebackofthestation,

knowingIhadonlysecondsbeforeGunnercameafterme.Leaningmyforeheadintothepaintedcement
block wall, I tried to think. My friendly neighborhood Texas Ranger had slammed my attacker around
prettygood,thenwantedtostomphimuntiltheguywassixfeetunder.Whatthehellhadhedoneafter
droppingmeoffathome?

“Itwasn’tme,”Gunnersaidfrombehindme.
I turned my head to see he’d braced a hip against the doorjamb. “Then who?” I asked him. “Who,

besidessomeonefromthisoffice,wouldhaveakeytoreleasetheguy—orwhowould’vetakenthetime
topickthelockandgethimoutofhere?Youdidn’tleavehiminverygoodshapetobeescapingonhis
ownifmemoryserves.”

Helimpedtowardme,shakinghisheadashepushedbackthebrimofhishat.“Luke?”Gunnerasked,

probingmyfrazzledexpression.“IsawhistruckparkedoutsideofRusty’swhenIarrived.It’spossible
thatguyworkedforhimorhisfather…”

Icaughtmygazewanderingdownhisbodyandsettlingontherattlesnaketattoothatpulsatedwiththe

rippleofhisforearm.Hisshirtrustledup,givingapeektohisflat,tonedstomach.AndIguessoldhabits
diehard.MyeyesbegantodriftdowntothebuttonflyofhistightWranglers.Thewaythosejeanscupped
himwassinful.DearGod,Ineededtogetagrip.Nathan,Iremindedmyself,engaged.

I blinked myself back to the topic. “I suppose Luke’s possible. We ran into each other at the bar. He

probablysawtheguychainedtothepoleafterlastcall.”

I straightened back up and tried to squeeze past him. Gunner reached out and latched onto my arm,

swingingmeintothesolidwallofhischest.“WhatwereyoudoinghangingaroundLukeWagner?”His
voicewashot.

Iguessitwastimeforhimtoplayuphisbullshitmachofacade.
“Letgoofme,”Idemanded.“Notthatit’sanyofyourbusiness,butIwasn’toutwithLuke.Heshowed

upatthebar.”

I wriggled, and Gunner let go, stumbling a few steps back and falling into a chair with a painful

grimace.Heshoterectasquicklyasthestitchesinhisasswouldlethim.“You’remakingmenuts,Laney.
Ican’thavewhatIwantduetothatpussyfiancéofyours”—hismouthcurledwithderision—“andthenI
wanttowringthatbastardLukeWagner’sneckforcominganywherenearyou.”

IallowedmyselfamomentofsympathysinceIfeltprettymuchthesamewayaboutwomenwhohung

aroundhim.“What’slifewithoutafewcomplications?”Iasked.

Hesighed.“Tellmeaboutit.”
Elroy popped his head around the corner, dangling a bag of Cheetos from his fingers. “If this little

quarrelisover,wehaveameetingtoattendto.”

Ishothimacoldlook.Elroyjumpedandhidbehindthedoor.
“I’llseey’allupfront,”hesaidandscurriedthatway.
I eyed Gunner, wishing he wasn’t so pretty and I didn’t still want him and wasn’t so…well, needy.

“Shallwe?”Iasked,tryingtokeepitlightwhenthechargebetweenuswasanythingbut.

“Iguess.”Gunnereyedmewistfully.“Laney…”
Feeling like a rabbit caught in the stare of that rattlesnake tattoo, I shook my head. “Bad timing,

Gunner,”Isaid,wishingitwasn’t.

…

Dobbshadmovedhisplushybodybehindadesk.Therewerehugeheapsoffileslaidoutontop.Elroy
wassittingnexthim,clickinghistongue.“Takeaseat,”heordered,hardeninghismouth.

Heshuffledaroundacoupleoffilesbeforeshovingtwoinfrontofthebothofus.Iflippedoneopen.

Nothing new, mostly pictures of the dead cows from Bosley’s land and Pacey Monroe’s body. I fanned
throughtherestandstoppedonthelastpage.ItwasarecentclippingfromtheHarperRidge’sGazette,
anothersmalltownnotfarfromPistolRock.Dumbfounded,IreadthearticleaboutSpecialKpoppingup
inthetown.Itstatedthataknowndrugaddictandaprostitutehadbeenfounddeadintheirhomes.Cause
ofdeath:alethaldoseofSpecialK.

Iorderedmyselfnottogagatthedisgustingpictures.“You’rekiddingme,right?”
Dobbs shook his head and took a seat. I pushed the file in front of Gunner. He flipped through the

contents.

“Here’sthedeal,”Dobbssaidroughly,“Ithinkthisthingisbiggerthanwethought.”
“Noshit,”Iblurted,clappingahandovermymouthafterthefact.
Dobbs ignored me when Gunner flapped the file in his face. “Where did you get this?” Gunner

demanded,agitated.“TheFederalofficehasn’tevengottenwindofthis.”

“Justcameintoday.”Dobbsgottohisfeet.
Gunnerslammedthefileontothedesk.“Idon’tbelieveyou,oldman.”
Thesheriffdustedhispalmsonthelegsofhistrousers.“Believewhateveryouwant,Gunner.Itdoesn’t

matter.”HemadeshooingmotionsattheTexasRanger.“I’mstillsendingLaneyouttheretomorrow.”

“Thehellyouare,”Gunnerlashedback.“Notwithoutbackup.”
DobbschuckledatGunner’shotheadedness.“Shedoesn’tworkforyou,”hesaidandwaddledofftothe

bathroom.

Whenthedoorshutandthetoiletlidcrashedback,Gunnermovedinfrontofme,stuffedhishandsinto

hisbackpockets,androckedforwardinhisboots.“Idon’twantyougoing.”

Ipushedmychairbackandcametoastand.“LikeDobbssaid,it’smyjob.”
Gunnerlookedannoyed.“Doyouevencarethatyoucouldgetkilled—hell,thatsomeone’sbeentrying

tokillyousinceyoucaughtthiscase?”

Iswallowedhard,buteyedhimsteadily.“Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”Iaskedhimfuriously,limping

overtopushthestationdooropen.“Runawayandhideeverytimesomethingbadhappenslikeyoudid?”
Itwasacheapshot,butIdidn’tcare.Iwassickofhimtryingtotellmewhattodoandhowtodoitwhen
hedidn’tevenlivehereanymorebecausehecouldn’tfaceuptomemiscarryingourbabyfiveyearsago.
“You’rethereasonI’mnotakindergartenteacheranymore,whichmakesyouthereasonItookthisjobin
thefirstplace.Getoverit,andgetoutofmyway.”

Swingingthedoorshutbehindme,Iwobbleddownthesidewalktomypickup,scootedmyassbehind

the wheel, and closed the door. As I was sticking the keys in the ignition, a hand lightly tapped on my
window.Gunner’sexpressionwasfullofthunderclouds,butwhenIrolledthewindowdown,stoppingit
rightbelowhisnose,allhesaidwas,“Youwanttograbsomelunch?”Staringstraightahead,Ishookmy
head.“Nope.Can’tdo.”

“Andwhy’sthat?”heasked,duckingtogetabetterlookatmyface.“AfraidImightwanttotalkabout

whathappened?”

“Thethoughthascrossedmymind,butIgotbabysittingduties.”
Gunnerlaughedharshly.“Whointheirrightmindwouldhireyoutobabysit?”
Irolledmyeyesathimandstartedtheengine.“BoomerCopley,”Iansweredandbackedawayfromthe

curb.

…

BoomerwaskneedeepindirtandhunchedoverinmygardenwhenIcruisedupthedrive.Hehadarake
in one hand and a beer in the other. Always the reliable drunk. He looked up and waved. I parked the
truckandgotout.

“Yougotapackage,”Boomersaid.
“Thanks,”Icalledbackandslowlyhittheporchsteps.
Iwentinsideandheadedintothekitchen,almostlosingmyfootingatthesmell.Clean.Thearomaof

freshlemonsandthymelingeredintheair.Allthedishesweredoneandacleandishtowelwashungover
the oven door. Who would have ever thought Boomer was domesticated? In the middle of my kitchen
table sat a clay pot filled with daisies. I picked up the envelope and slid a thumbnail under the fold,
slicingitopen.

Ihopeyou’refeelingbetter,cutie.Tookcareofyourlittleproblem.Don’thesitatetocall.
ItwassignedLukeWagner.
Damn.Gunnerhadbeenright,itdidsoundlikeLukehadturnedmyattackerloose.Thequestionwas,

why—andhow?Iwasespeciallyuncomfortableoverthatlastthought.Buthey,thedaisieswereanice
touch.Itookasniff,thenturnedthewiltingsideclosertothesunandhobbledupstairs.Itseemedtobe
easiertomovearoundthanithadthismorning,butIhadnodoubtI’dstiffenupagaintonight.Istripped
outofmyjeans,pulledonapairofkhakishorts,thensteppedbackintomycowboyboots.Igrabbedthe
RangersballcapoffofmydresserandunhookedHank’sleashfromthecloset.Maybeawalkwouldhelp
mysoremusclesandbruisestoloosenupevenmore.

Hankwassunbathingundertheporchswing.Hepoppedopenaneyelidattheclunkingofmyboots.I

kneltdownandstrokedhisback,thenswungtheleashintohisview.“Readyforsomeexercise?”

Hegruntedandrolledhisheadtotheotherside,awayfromme.
“You’renotgettingoffthateasy.”Ipulledhiscollarandlatchedtheleash.“Justlookatme.”Iwaveda

handatmyself.“Idon’tthinkyou’dlastadaywiththesekindsofinjuries.”

Hanksnortedandwobbleduponallfours.Iwatchedhimstretchhisbackandpophisheadforward,

thenshakehisbuttdownthestairs.

“I’mgoingforawalk,”ItoldBoomer.
Hestuckhisheadupfromthegarden.“Areyousurethat’sagoodidea?Youknowwiththeinjuriesand

all.”

“Ha.I’mtoughasnails.”
Boomer rubbed a hand at his cheek, smearing a line of dirt across it. “Just keep telling yourself that

honey.”

Igavehimafingerwaveandheadeddownthedirtpath,lettingHanktakethelead.
Hankpressedhissnoutintothedriedmudandpusheduspastapileofbrushoutintotheopenfieldthat

overlookedmyproperty.Theweedswerehighatthistimeofyearanddriedyellow.Imaneuveredpasta
stalkofovergrownscrubs,kickingthemwiththetipofmyboot.Theleavesscrapedagainstmybarelegs
andleftathin,pinkmarkdownmycalf.OnoccasionsIfoundthesilencedeafening,butthisafternoonit
was a welcome respite from the chaotic past couple of days. Nathan was right to be worried about
Gunner’sreturn.Isurewas.Theseold,romanticfeelingswerebecomingharderandhardertohidefrom.
The way I felt around Gunner was also making me question the way I didn’t feel around my fiancé. I
rubbedmylefthand,twirlingtheonecaratdiamondaroundmyfinger.Itfitnicely,wasnevertoobig,my
fingerdidn’tswelltoomuchformetoweariteveninthedeadheatofsummer.

Hankpluggedalong,suddenlypickingupspeed,andpullingatmyarm.Hestartedtosprint,tuggingme

along,andIwasbeginningtoregretmyideaofawalkwhenHankcametoanabruptstop.Hestoodthere,
growling,hisbodytensedwithhistailhikedstraightupintotheair.

“Whatisitboy?”Iaskedcrouchingnexttohim.
Hank started panting. I patted his belly trying to calm him. It didn’t work. He stepped forward, I

instinctivelytuggedhimback,andHanksnappedtheleash,takingoffbeforeIwasabletolatchontohis
collar. He spread the brush with his body, and I ran after him in a dead heat, ignoring the pain that
screamedthroughme.WhenIreachedtheouteredgeofthehighweeds,Ibentover,gaspingforair.When
Iwasfinallyabletowipethesweatfromeyesandlookup,Hankhadvanished.

“Hank,”Ihollered.“Comeonboy.”Nothing,excepttherustlingofgrassblowinginthewind.“Damn

it,”Ihuffed.

I straightened, bunched the leash in my hand, and headed for home. Hank and I had our differences.

There’d been a couple of times I’d wanted to kick him to the curb for his middle- of-the-night howls.
Normally,Iwouldn’thavebeenbotheredbyHankspreadinghiswings,butwithallthechaoscirclingme
likevulturessettlinginontheirprey,itmademesicktoleavethefieldwithouthim.HankwasallIhad
left of my former connection with Gunner Wilson. I cherished our moments together on the front porch
swing—theybroughtbackmemoriesofahappiertimebetweenGunnerandme.

Ten minutes later, I was home. A lite breeze had picked up, and dust coated my view of the mid-

afternoonsky.Iwasbeat.Idraggedmyselfacrossthegraveldrivewayandploppedmyexhaustedasson

thebottomporchstep.Lettingoutashrillwhistle,Icalled,“Hank,yououtthereboy?”

Cricketschirpedabovethebustlingwind,adieseltruckflewbythecountryroadliningmyproperty,

and then complete silence. The storm door creaked open. Boomer staggered out, my lace apron slung
aroundhisbeergutandabottleofMerlotdanglingfromhishand.Heputthebottletohislipsandguzzled
somedown.

“Youlookmiserable.”Heburpedandwipedhiswine-stainedlipsclean.
“Hanktookoffthroughthepasture,”Isaid,shakingtheemptyleash.
Hesmiled,wobbledtohisotherfoot,andtookanotherdrink.Beforedessert,Boomerwouldbepassed

outunderthekitchentable.Ihadalottolookforwardtofortheevening.“Don’tworry,Laney,”heslurred
andfellbackintothestormdoor.“IbetHanksniffedhimselfoutajackrabbitandwillbebackbefore
I’vefinishedmywine.”

Mygutscreamedotherwise,butitwassortofuselesstoarguewithadrunk—evenonewhocouldclean

myhousethewayhehad.“You’reprobablyright,”Iconceded.

Wewentbackinside.Boomerhadlaidoutallthetrappingsofascrumptiousdinner.Steaks,cornonthe

cob,andbakedpotatoessatonthetable.Iwasstartingtothinkthisdrunkmightbeakeeper—breakfast
andnowtonight’sdinnerwerethebestmealsI’dhadinawhile.Itookaseatandfoldedmynapkinacross
mylap.Boomergottwobeersfromthefridgeandhandedmeone.

Hepoppedthecapandtookadrink,thensatdown.“HeardfromNathanlately?”heasked.
Ilookedupathim.Hewasstuffingahunkofsteakintohismouth.Itookalongdrinkofbeer.Ihadn’t,

andNathanusuallycheckedinwithmeeverynightwhenhewasawayonbusiness.“It’sbeentwodays,”I
saidandtookabiteofthemouthwateringsteakbeforecontinuing,“He’sprobablybusywithwork,you
know,anditsortofslippedhismindtocheckin.”

Boomergnawedathiscornonthecob.Hepulledthecornawayfromhismouthandslowlywipedhis

chin.“Whendidhesayhe’dbehome?”

“Toldmehe’dbebackbytheweekend,butI’mhopingsooner,”Iliftedaneyebrow,“ifyoucatchmy

drift?”

“Mmhmm,”heanswered,butteringhispotato.“ButIsawwhosentyouthoseflowers.Justpromiseme

you’llstayawayfromLuke.”

I paused, looking at Boomer for a moment, and wondered what he might know. I’d already lost one

formerclassmatetowhateverwashappeningaroundhere,Iwasn’tinthemoodtoloseanother.Refusing
togiveintothatlineofthought,Imademyselfrollmyeyes.“Andwhy’sthat?”

“He’sasnake.Coldbloodedandknowntostrikewhenyouleastexpectit.”
“Finally,weagreeonsomething,”Isaidandpokedmyforkintothepotato.

…

Iofferedtodothedishes,andBoomerboltedoutthefrontdoorwithabottleofJackandacopyofField
andStreamforalittlenightcapinsidemybarn.AsIwashedup,Ifoundmyselfglancingcontinuallyout
thekitchenwindowtoseeifHankmightbecomingbackhomeacrossthepasture.Hewasn’t,so,oncethe
lastdishwasclean,Isnaggedabeeroutofthefridgeandmademywayintothelivingroom.Mostofthe
timeIlikedtobealone,sprawledbackonthecouchwithabeerinhandandthetelevisionblaringthrough

theroom.Iusuallyconsideredmylifesimple.It’shardtoleadaglamorouslifeoutinthesticks.Itooka
sipofmybeerandleanedbackintothearmrest.Boy,hadmylifeturnedintoamess.

A brick soared through the front window, snapping me out of my moment of self-pity. I ducked and

threwmyselftothefloor,gotonallfours,andhauledasstothefrontdoor.Myheartwaspoundingatmy
chest, my breathing heavy and frantic. As I began to reach for the doorknob, I could hear someone
chanting“Here,here,littlepussy.”Insteadofopeningthedoor,Iscootedmybackalongthewall,slipped
beneath the window, and took a look outside. A black pickup was making a hell of a dust storm on my
brittlelawn.Itstoppedshort,thenreversedandbackedup,clippingtheopentailgateontheporchrailing.
Apairoflankylegsdangledoffthetailgate.

“Nowdon’tmakemewaitallnight,sweetheart.AllIwanttodoisplayalittlegameofshowandtell,”

theownerofthelegsheckled.

Damnit,Ithought,halfwishingGunnerwouldshowupagaintosavemyass.Butmaybeitwastimefor

metoactlikethelawenforcementofficerIwasandtakemattersintomyownhands.Lastnight,whoever
owned these guys had sent someone to assault me. In my capacity as an Ector County deputy sheriff, I
grabbedtheshotgunnexttothestaircaseandkickedthefrontdooropen.Adrenalinesurgedthroughmy
blood—nobodywasgoingtocomeonmyturfandtrytointimidateme.Ieyedthesorrybastarddownthen
lineduptheshotgun’ssightbeadwithhishead.

Insteadofcoweringasheshouldhave,helaughedandscootedtotheedgeofthetailgate.Thatpissed

meoff.Imarcheddirectlytowardthetruckandshouted,“Getthehelloffmyproperty,asshole!”

“Well,well,DeputyBriggs.Youfinallydecidedtoshowyourface,”themantaunted.
Something about how he called me by name caught me off guard and caused me to stop walking.

Somethingwasn’tright.Ilearnedwhatwhenherolledabrownknapsacktotheendofthetruckbed.

“Iwantedtogiveyouapresent”—hesmiled,stretchingtheblackskimaskcoveringhisface—“butit

didn’tseempolitetodoitbehindyourback.”

Heflickedacigarettelighterandtorchedthebundle,thenpusheditoffthetailgatetoburnonmylawn.

Thenightskywassetablaze.Smokedfilledtheyardandthentheporch,burningmyeyesandcloudingmy
vision.Icuppedahandovermymouth,tuckedtheshotgunundermyarm,andsteppedforward.

“EnjoyyourearlyChristmaspresent,bitch,”hecalledovertheroarofthetruckfleeingthescene.
Idroppedtheshotgunandrushedovertothefirescreaming,“Help!Boomer!Fire!Boomer!”
Thebarndoorsflewopen,andBoomersprintedout,ajointbobblingathislips.Forasecond,hestood

there,takinginthesituationasifhecouldn’tbelieveit.Thenheloosedastrangled-sounding,“Holyshit,”
andstartedtowardme,tossingthewhiskeybottleonthelawnashecame.

Ipointedattheshed.“Getthehose.”
Hedashedbehindtheshedandreturnedwiththewaterhose.Hisgazedartedacrosstheburninglawn,

and then he twisted the nozzle, blasting water at the flames. I shielded my eyes, took a step back, and
watchedthewatersubduetheflames.WhenBoomerfinallygotthefireputout,andthesmokehadcleared
enough,Idecidedtocheckoutthedamage.Idrewmyshirtupovermynoseandmovedinonthecharred
remains.

“Laney,stop,”Boomerordered,droppingthehose.
Likealways,Iignoredthewarningandkickedabootattheashes.Iimmediatelyregrettednotheeding

hisadvicewhenIsawHank’sdogcharm.“OhGod!”

Iturnedawayandhurledupdinner.

…

Irestedmyheadontheswing.I’dstoppedcryingwhenmypitypartywasovercomebythesuddenrageat
the thought of my case not only coming so close to home, but killing the dumb beast I loved. I’d had
enough.Itwasobviousthatsomeonewasdeadsetonmakingmecomeunglued.Whoeverthispersonwas
knewtherightbuttonstopush.Iwipedmysnottynoseandslumpedbackintotheswing.Thescreendoor
opened.

“IcalledGunner,”Boomersaid.Heplacedaglassofwhiskeyinmyhand.“Drinkup.”
Ilistenedtothedoctor’sordersandshotbackthewhiskey.Theburnofitfeltgood.Ilookedathim;

there was pity in his eyes. I was mess. He knew it, and I knew it. And now I was worrying that he’d
called Gunner and not the sheriff to report the crime. My gaze dropped to the lawn. “He was just an
innocentdog.”

Boomer sat down and draped an arm around me, pulling me tight into his chest. “People do cruel

things.”

Iclosedmyeyesandletthewhisperingsoundsofthenightdrownoutmycrying.Iawoketothesound

oftirescrunchinggrass.TheDodgetruckbrakedtoastopinthemiddleofmylawn.Nathanleapedout
andlookedthelengthofmyyard.

“Laney,areyouokay?”heholleredasherushedtothefrontporch.
Ijumpedoutoftheswinganddoveintohisarms.“SomeonekilledHank.”

ChapterTwelve

Smokelingeredinthenightsky,leavingtheairpungent.Thebugzapperfriedanothermosquito.Ilooked
through the haze at Hank’s charred remains. I was numb, but most of all, I was angry at myself for
allowingthosebastardstonotonlygettome,butmydog.Whatthehellhadeitherofusdonetothem?

“I’lltakecareofeverything,”Nathansaid.Tenderly,hekissedmeandsweptmeintohisarmstocarry

meinside.

“Youalwaysdo,”Irepliedandburiedmyfaceathistear-soakedshirt.
Mybutthitthecouch,andIwastooexhaustedtoeventossmylegsoverthearmrest.Nathangentlylet

me go and tugged off my boots. For the first time tonight, I looked into his green eyes, cool, calm, and
collected.Iwasarottenwoman.Myheartwasrotten,andmynewlyreturnedfeelingsforGunnerwere
rotten.Nathanwasagoodmananddeservedabetterfiancée.

Heleaneddownoverme,brushedsomehairoutofmyeyes,andsaid,“Yourest.I’llbeoutsidetaking

careofthings.IsthereaspecialplaceyouwantHanktorest?”

“Underthepecantreeoutfront.”
Hekissedmyheadandsteppedbackoutside.
IwaiteduntilIheardthescreendoorlatchtopulltheholeyquiltovermyhead.Iwasonthebrinkof

tears,andthiscasewascuttingtooclosetohomeforcomfort.ItwaspossiblethatsomeoneIknewwell
hadkilledHankandmaybewantedmedead.Iclosedmyeyesandwasfightingbackthetearswhenafirm
handgentlycuppedmythigh.

“Sweetheart.I’msosorry.”Gunner’svoicerancalmandsmooth.Iinchedtheblanketdownmynose

andstaredintohissad,concernedeyes.“WhatcanIdo?”heasked.

Ishookmyhead.We’dboughtHanktogether.Ithadbeenourfirststepatmakingthisoldfarmhouseour

home.

Apparently realizing the path of my thoughts, Gunner whipped off his hat and tossed it on the coffee

tablebehindus.Hegrabbedmyhandsandsqueezed,pullingthemtohislips.

“Ialwayslovedthatdumbdog.Hecouldbeapainintheass,butIdidlovehim,”Isaid.
Gunnergrinnedandreachedouttome.“Heneverhelditagainstyou.I’mprettysureheknewhowsorry

hecouldbeattimes.ButI’msureheneverdoubtedthatyoulovedhim.”

Ichokedbackatear.“Whatthehell’sgoingon,Gunner?”
Hekissedmyknucklesandlookeddownatthefloor.“Idon’tknow.Butsoon,everythingwillbeback

tonormal.”

Hereleasedmyhands,straightenedup,dustedoffhishat,andslippeditonhishead.Thescreendoor

crashedopen,puttinganendtooursentimentalmoment.

“Laney,”Nathansaid,stickingtheshovelagainsttheporchwallbeforecominginside.“Howaboutyou

comeandstaywithmeforawhile.”

Gunner took a few steps back, nodding at Nathan in agreement, and added, “Probably a good idea,

Laney.”Hegrabbedmyhandandhauledmetomyfeet.Ilookedhimintheeyes,notsurewhatIthought
I’dsee—orwantedto—buttheonlythingIsawwasthepainofawoundedman.

Nathanquicklypulledmeawayandsnakedaproprietaryarmaroundmywaist,tuggingmetohisside.

“Whydon’tyougopackyourbags?”Nathansaid,“I’llfinishupdownhere.”

Itsuddenlydawnedonmethathewasn’tsupposedtobehomeuntilthisweekendandtodaywasonly

Wednesday.Apartofmeregardedhimwithsuspicion.“Ithoughtyourflightdidn’tleaveHoustonuntil
thisweekend,”Isaid.

Hisjawtightenedvisibly,andheviewedmeblankly,thenfinallysmiledatme,unlockingthetensionin

hisjaw.“Afterourlastphonecall,Idecideditwasbesttocomeonhome.”Heglancedoutthewindow
towardthefrontyard.“LookslikeitwasagoodthingIdid.”

Istudiedhim,stilluncertain,feelingasthoughtherewassomethingnotquiterightabouthisresponse.

Still,fiveminuteslater,I’dwadedthroughadozenshoeboxesandkickedasideafewhangerstofindmy
duffelbagsmashedbeneathapileofdirtyclothes.Ordinarily,runninglikeascaldeddogwasagainstmy
nature,butordinaryhadflownoutthewindowalongwithmysanityacoupleofhoursago.Istuffedmy
bagwiththenecessities,achangeofunderwearandmytoothbrush,snatchedmypistoloffthedresser,and
stopped when I saw the date on the calendar. It’d completely slipped my mind that tomorrow was
Thursday, the day of my dress fitting with my mother. Even given everything that had happened, a rain
checkwasoutofthequestion.Mymotherwouldn’tletmeoutofthisone.Iwasstartingtohavedoubts
aboutthiswedding,butIcouldn’ttellher,oranyone,aboutthat.

I zipped up the bag, tossed my brown leather jacket over the satchel, and closed the bedroom door

behindme.

WhenIlimpeddownstairs,Nathanwassittingonthecouch,hisheadbackandhiseyesclosed.Iheard

the sound of the swing swaying outside, and I dropped my bag behind the couch and went out. Gunner
loungedintheswing,hislonglegscrossedattheanklesashestaredoutacrossthelawn.Hecockedhis
headbackatme.

“Youpromisemeyou’reokay,Laney?”heasked.“I’veneverlikedseeingyouupset.”
Itookaseatnexttohimandanswered,“Nathanwilltakegoodcareofme.”
“That’smybiggestfear.”Heuncrossedhislegs,stoodup,andpulledhishatbackdownoverhiseyes.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye out for Boomer.” Gaze locked on my face, he smiled and winked, then
turnedandsteppedofftheporch.

“StillwantingtotakemetoHarper’sRidgetomorrow?”Icalledafterhim.
Gunner stopped with a hand latched around the driver’s door to the Yukon. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t

passupachancetobealonewithyou.”

“Hmmf,”Igruntedashisdeeplaughechoedthroughthesilentnightair.Hetippedthebrimofhishat

backatmeandclimbedbehindthewheel.Theheadlightswashedacrosstheporchashebackedawayand
disappeareddownmygraveldrive.

“Are you ready? I called your mother to let her know you’d be staying at my place,” Nathan said,

leaningupagainstthescreenholdingbothmybags.

“Yeah,”Isaid.
Thekitchenlightturnedon.Boomerpulledbackthecurtainandwavedgoodbye.

…

Nathan parked his truck out in front of Bovine Health Services and killed the engine. He looked at me,
pullingmyhandsintohis.“Howdoesashowersound?”heasked.

“Prettydamngood.”
Smiling,heletgoofmyhandandswungopenhisdoor.
He lived directly behind the veterinarian clinic in a two-story townhouse. A cobblestone pathway

connected both buttercream-colored buildings. Potato vines hung from pine arboretums along the
sidewalk,boxwoodswerescatteredalongthepaveddrive,andtotheleftofthehousewasarosegarden.
Lastspring,he’dplantedthegarden,fillingthedeadspacewithyellowrosesinafeebleattemptattrying
togetmetomovein.ThoughIappreciatedthegesture,Istillclaimedtheoldfarmhouseashome.Inside,
theplacehadbeenfurnishedwithIkeablackleathercouches,glassendtables,andmodernartworkthat
failedmiserablyathidingthedismal,beigewalls.

“I’llgrababottleofMerlot,”hesaid,shuttingthefrontdoor.
“Soundsgood.”
I scooted upstairs, took a quick shower, and brushed my teeth. When I returned, Nathan was on the

couch,ESPNwason,andaRanger’sgameblaredthroughthetinylivingroom.Twoglassesofwinesat
on the coffee table in front of him. He tipped his head back at me and patted the cushion next to him. I
picked up a glass of wine, slid into his side, and leaned my head on his shoulder. He dropped an arm
acrossmyshoulders,pulledmeclose,andkissedmycheek.

“Laney,youknowIloveyou,”Nathansaid.
“AndIloveyou.”
Hepushedafewstrandsofwethairoutmyeyesandtippedmyfaceuptomeethis.“Whatdoyousay

wemoveuptheweddingtotwoSaturdaysfromnow?”

Immediately,mythroatwentdry.Iblinkedthenswallowed,hard,andlookedupintohisgreeneyes.“I

thinkthat’sdoable,”Istrangledoutandsnuggledintohisside.

…

IawoketofindNathan’ssideofthebedempty.APost-Itnotehadbeenstucktothepillow.He’dalready
leftforwork,andcoffeewasbreweddownstairs.Maybecohabitatingwouldn’tbesobad.

AndmaybeI’dspokentoosoon.Ihadn’tevengottenthechancetorubthesleepfrommyeyeswhenmy

mother’sshrillvoicesoundedfromoutsideontheporch.

“Laney,areyouup?”Shepoundedawayatthedoor.
Ialmostfelloutofbed.Thesoundofadentist’sdrillcomingtowardmymouthwasmorecomforting.

Less stiff than I’d been yesterday morning, I floundered around the bedroom, finally finding a pair of
shortsbythedoor,andscurrieddownstairs.Sheslammedahandintothedooragain.

“Laney?”shesquawked.
“Holdyourhorses,mom,”Ishoutedbackandwrenchedthefrontdooropen.
Ifmymotherhadbeenanyclosertothedoor,herearwould’vebeenSuperGluedtothepeephole.She

was straddling the doormat, tapping her high heel, and puffing away on a cigarette. “Took you long
enough,”shehuffedandsteppedforward,crushingaclumpofdeadgnatsbeneathherbeigepump.“Hope
youdon’tthinkyou’reskippingthisdressfittingontheaccountofthatdumbdogdyinglastnight.”

Istaredather,wonderingwhyshecouldn’thavecalledoffthedressfittingaftertalkingwithNathanthe

other night and why she hadn’t just wanted to console me. It irked me that she’d known not only about
Hank, but where to find me and hadn’t bothered to say anything. I wanted to say something sharp and
cuttingaboutherlackofsensitivity,butknewitwoulddonogood.Sympathywasaforeignlanguageas
farasshewasconcerned,andshedidn’tspeakit.

“Whatevergaveyouthatidea?”Isaidandsteppedasidetoletherandhercigarettein.
Mymothersniffed,tookonefinaldragofhercigarette,andprieditfromherwrinklylips.Shesnuffedit

out with an acrylic nail and flicked it into one of Nathan’s potted ferns he kept inside by the window.
“Don’tpatronizeme,LaneyBriggs.”

Doingmybesttoignoreher,Isteppedintomyboots,grabbedasetofhousekeysfromthebasketonthe

halltable,andpushedpasther,stalkingaboutthehallway.

“Bytheway,Ineedtobebackbyone,”Isaidovermyshoulder.“Gunner’sswingingbytogetmeso

wecanheadouttoHarper’sRidge.”

“GoodLord,Laney,”sheexclaimedloudenoughtospookthecrowsoffthephonelines.“Nathan’sa

damnfooltotrustyouridingaroundwithGunnerWilson.”

Ishrugged,usedtoherlowopinionofme.“We’reworking.”
Castingaskepticalglancemyway,shescootedbehindthewheelofher1987goldOldsmobile.“I’m

notstupid,dear,”shesaidandstarteduptheclunker.

Itchokedandspitthensputteredoutinthedriveway.
“Goddamnpieceofshit!”shescreamedandgavethesteeringwheelabeatingthatwould’veknocked

thetattoooffofMikeTyson’sface.

Afterthesteeringwheel,andthedashboard,haditssmackdown,shecrankeditonemoretime,andthe

engine turned. She gunned the Oldsmobile away from the vet clinic and burned rubber down Center
Street.

…

I’d been to Shotgun Weddings Inc. once before, and the memory of peel and stick eyelashes and glitz
dresses still haunted my dreams. When I was ten, my mother had gotten the insane idea of parading me
aboutthekiddiepageantcircuit.Atthetime,I’dfeltlikeBarbiewithouttheboobjob.

“Hereweare,”mymothersaid.
Sheopenedherdoorandslidoutoneheelatatime.Liftingahandtoshadehereyes,shesashayedupto

thedoorofthedressshop.

“Birdie, you remember my daughter, Laney,” my mother said and tugged at my arm. “She’s getting

marriedtoourNathanPrescott,PistolRock’sveterinarian.”

BirdieMincerhadownedthetaffetaandlaceshopbeforetheinventionofmicrowavesandhadbeen

theonetofitmydressesforthekiddiepageants.Shenodded.“Whyyes.Yourdaughterhereisahardone
toforget.”Shenarrowedhereyesatme.“Ibeteveryfellaintownisdamnnearheartbrokenoveryour
goodfortune.”

Ididmybestnottorespondtothatobviousperformance.ItwascommonknowledgethatBirdiethrived

onthemisfortunesofothers.Shescarfeditdownforbreakfast,lunch,anddinner.

“SoIhearGunnerWilsonishangingaroundtownagain,”Birdiesaidcoyly.“Wasn’tsureiftherumors

weretrue.”HerthinlipsstretchedbackinagrinwhenIsquirmed.

Mymother’sgreeneyesnarrowed.ItwasfrighteningthedamagethatlookcouldstilldoevennowthatI

wasatwenty-six-year-oldsheriff’sdeputywhocarriedagun.“GunnerWilson,”shesneeredandslapped
meontheback.“GunnerWilsonishistorynowthatmydaughterismarryingright.”

I glared at her and said, “Working, mom.” I gestured at myself. “Deputy Sheriff, Texas Ranger,

working.”

“Idon’tgiveafuckingfliphowyouwanttosugarcoatthisone,Laney.”Sheslungherpursestrapovera

shoulder.“You’reabouttowalkdowntheaislelikearespectablewoman,sothatboyisofflimits.Do
youunderstandme?”

Grindingmyteeth,IturnedtoBirdie.“Canwehavethedresstogo?”
Birdieshiftedherweight.“Ithoughttheweddingwasnextmonth.”
“Webumpedthedateup.We’llbegettingmarriedintwoweeks,”Isaid.
Mymothertossedupherarms.“Well,hell!Wasanybodygoingtotellme?”
Weddingshaveatendencytobringoutthecrazies,andmymotherhadaVIPcardtotheclub.Isuffered

throughseveralminutesofabusiveharangueaboutwhatashittydaughterIwasnottohavetoldherabout
Nathan’sandmychangeofplansbeforeBirdiefinallyspokeup.

“IshouldhavethedressreadybynextWednesday,”shesaid,clearlyenjoyingwatchingmymotherflip

out.Theepisodewouldbeallovertowntheminutewelefttheshop.

“Okay.”Ipulledtheshopdooropen.“Mother,youcoming?”
Shepivotedaroundandjammedacigarettebetweenherlips.“Birdie,I’llseeyouattheJuniorLeague

brunch.”

Shelitthecigaretteandsteppedoutside.

…

ThedrivebacktoNathan’swasmoreunbearablethanaSundayafternoonspentinfrontofthetelevision
drinking beer and watching NASCAR with my father. I begged my mother for a rain check on lunch,
knowingImightshootherifwedidn’tconcludethismother–daughtertimesoon.Sheignoredme,chatting
away about cake toppers while I slumped down in my seat and stared at the passing road until she
suddenlyslammedonthebrakes.

“When it rains, it pours,” she grumbled, disgusted. She stuck a hand inside her purse to pull out her

thirdcigaretteoftheshortdrive.“Can’tthemangetaclue?”Lightingup,shepuffedobsessivelyaway,
staringhardatNathan’shouse.

Isquintedoutthewindow.Gunnerwasperchedontheporchstoop.Hetippedhishatatusandstoodup

tosaunteroverandleanonthedoor,stickinghisheadthroughmymother’swindowwithawink.

“Goodtoseeyou,Ruth.”
Mymotherclenchedherteeth.“WhendoyougobacktoHouston,Gunner?”
“Notsoonenough,Iguess.”
Heopenedmydoorandofferedhishand.Iscootedpasthimandwavedbackatmymother’ssourpuss

face. She sucked a long drag, punched the gas on the Oldsmobile, and started edging back out of the
driveway.

“Justremember,”shecalled,danglingthecigarettefromherpursedlips.“Laney’samarriedwoman.”
“Not’tilJuly,”Gunnerreturned.
“Tryintwoweeks,”mymotherholleredbackandleftusinastormofdust.
Gunner’seyeshadsetonme.Hewaswaitingforanexplanation.
“What?”Idismissedhimwithashrug.“NathanandIdecidedtomoveupthedate.”
“Youcan’tbeserious.”
“I’mprettydamnserious.”
Hesnorted.“Youdon’tlovethatdouchebag.”
“Proveit.”
Gunnermovedinandnuzzledmyneckwithoutmedoinganythingtopreventit.Whenheliftedhishead,

we locked eyes, and then he kissed me. His mouth was gentle, and the kiss was delicious. My blood
pressurespiked,myheartraced,andIswearmyarmsturnedtoputtyatmyside,leavingmebreathless.
Hismouthbrushedjustbelowmyearlobe.“That’salltheproofIneed.”

“Pig.”Ipoundedafistonhissmug,self-satisfiedchest,wishingIcoulddosehimwithanotherloadof

rocksaltandknowingIwastheonewhoshouldbeshot.

“Don’tmarryhim,Laney.He’sallkindsofwrongforyou.”
Igrittedmyteethagainstthetruth.Iwasaliar;mymotherknewit,Gunnerwitnessedit,andmyheart

deniedit.ButhellwouldfreezeoverbeforeI’dadmitit.“Bullshit!”

Ipushedpasthim,givinghisshoulderahardshoveasIstompedtowardtheYukon.Ijerkedopenthe

passenger door and was about to slide in when I looked back at the clinic. Nathan was standing at the
window staring at me. Guilt chewed me up. So this was how Gunner’d felt five years ago. It sucked
getting caught in the lie I’d been telling myself since I started dating Nathan. I pulled the door shut and
slippeddownintheseat,tryingtohideout—fromNathanandmyself—alittlelonger.

GunnercrammedhimselfbehindthewheelandstarteduptheYukon.“You’remad.”
Isighed,notquiteabletohatehimevenasIrealizedhe’dknownNathanwasthereallalong.“You’rea

flawedindividual.”

“I’veneverdeniedit,”headmitted.

…

Being trapped inside the car with Gunner after that made me sweat. His deep, gut-twisting brown eyes
keptdriftingmyway.Anditdidn’thelpthatwestillhadathirtyminutedrivetoHarper’sRidgeaheadof
us.Iwedgedashoulderintothedoorandpressedmycheekagainstthehotwindow.

“Youlooklikeyou’regoingtobesick,Laney.”Hescootedahandoverthetopofmythigh.

Icouldhavesmackedhim.Somemenlackedanysense.
Somewomen,too.
“I never said you could touch me,” I snapped and flicked his hand away. “You’ve done more than

enoughasitis.”

Hereachedoutandtuggedatmyhair.“IguessI’mjustcrazy,”hesaid.
I looked at him. Gunner was many things—cunning, charming, manipulative…but crazy? No, crazy

wasn’toneofthem.Truthis,Iwastheonewithascrewloose.

“Justkeepyourhandstoyourself.”
Heputtheoffendingappendagebackonthewheelandhitthegas,chucklingwhilehegunneditoutof

town.

…

Harper’s Ridge was Pistol Rock’s twin. The town’s main drag shot straight through Main Street. The
local watering hole was the only way to waste away the dull days, and the sheriff’s office lacked a
competentboss.TheonlythingthatmadeHarper’sRidgedifferentfromPistolRockwasthatthelucky
dogshadscoredaWhataburger.Frankly,bothtownscould’vebeensquishedtogethertohelpthecensus,
butfolkswereunwillingtogiveuptheforty-year-oldfootballrivalrybetweenus.Andthelasttimesome
foolhadmentionedunitingourtwotowns,PistolRock’sheadfootballcoachthreatenedhislife.

Yep,wewerespecial,wewere.
Gunnerwhippedintoaspotoutsidethestation.Hekickedhisdooropenandgotout.Ifollowedsuit,

easingmysoremusclesdownfromtheYukon.Hot,dryairimmediatelyattemptedtosuckthelifeoutof
me.IadjustedmysunglassesandstruttedtothefrontoftheSUV.

“Iseethewindowgotfixed,”Isaid,loweringmysunglassesdownmynose.
Gunnerlockedhisdooranddroppedmeacharmingsmile.“Thebossdoesn’tlikehisRangersdriving

piecesofshit.C’mon.”Hegrabbedmyhandandtuggedmeacrossthelot.Whenwereachedthestation’s
door,hesteppedasideandpulleditopen,waitingformetopassthrough.

Inside,therewasafunkintheair.Asingledesksatinfrontofaboxedfan.Tothebackwasavending

machine loaded with a variety of Tom’s products—crisp chips, salty snacks, and tasty pastries. Gunner
raisedaneyebrowatme.

“IthinkPistolRockmightbefaringbetterwhenitcomestolawenforcementfacilities,”hesaid.
“Let’sgetthisoverwith.”Ilefthissideandwalkedtothebackbythefilecabinets.
Amanwithanassthatlookedliketwopigsfightinginapotatosackhackedanddippedhisheaddeeper

intoafiledrawer.Itappedhimontheback.Helurchedupandhithisheadonanopendrawer,smoothed
downthethreeunrulywhitehairsonhisscalpandturnedaround.“CanIhelpyou?”heasked,displeased.

Ittookmeasecondtoanswer.Iwantedtobepolitebutfoundmyselfstrucktemporarilydumbatthe

sightofhisonemilky,deadeye.

“TexasRangerGunnerWilson,”Gunnertoldhim.Hetippedhishatatmeandsmiled.“Andthishereis

DeputyLaneyBriggsfromoverinPistolRock.Wecameonahunchthatyoumighthavesomeinformation
pertainingtoacasewe’reworkingconcerningsomeSpecialK.”

Theheavysetmancoughedandclearedhisthroat,wipedhishandsonhispants,andofferedahand.

“SheriffBobNeal,pleasuretomeetyouboth.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said and gingerly shook his sticky hand, hoping like all hell the stickiness was

nothingmorethansweatordonutglaze.

SheriffBobnodded.“SpecialK,yousaid?”Herustledthekeyringathiswaistbandandsaid,“Give

meaminute.”Heheadedtowardadoorontheothersideoftheoffice,returninginacoupleofminutesto
tossastackofpapersontothedesk.Hesighedandfellbackinhischair.

“Thisisallwehave.You’rewelcometolookthroughit.”Hefannedthepagesthenpushedthemacross

thedesk.“There’snotmuch,Iknow,butMrs.AdamssnappedaphotoofaguyoveratBristolMillswe
believewasslingingthedrugs.”

BristolMillswasthecountybrothel.KennyPerkinsowneditbutwassmartenoughtokeeptheplace

operatingunderalegalpremise.

“Who’sMrs.Adams?”Iasked,reachingforafile.
SheriffBobfrowned.“Theminister’swifeoveratCalvaryFellowship.Pattysuspectsherhusbandof

droppinghispantsinplacesheshouldn’t.”

IraisedaneyebrowatGunner.Heignoredmeandsnatchedthefileoutmyhands.Quickly,hescanned

thedocumentsthenpushedthepapersbackatBob.“Where’sthephoto?”Hescatteredthepapers,making
amessonthedesk.“Thisisallshitwealreadyhave.”

“It’snotexactlyhere,”SheriffBobsaid,pickingatapieceoffoodbetweenhisteeth.“Seethatdang

photo.It’sblurred.Mrs.Adam’sain’tthebestphotosnapperaround.Shehasashakyhand.”Herocked
back in his chair. “I sent it off to Austin—been waiting to see if they can clean it up for the past three
weeks.”

Gunnercrouchedoverthedesk.“Doyouthinkwecouldgetourhandsonitwhenitcomesin?”
SheriffBobsnortedandflickedthefoodscrapinthetrash.“Don’tbothermeabit.IheardaboutBosley

Conradgettingcapped.”Heeyedus.“Youtwodon’tthinkhehadsomethingdowithallthis?”

“Peoplegetkilledinadriveby,there’susuallyareason,”Isaid.
“I hear ya,” the sheriff agreed, scrabbling together the contents of the file Gunner had scattered and

stuffingitinhisdesk.

Straightening, Gunner paced around to sit on the desk, leaning toward Bob confidentially. I couldn’t

help but admire the way his black T-shirt tugged at his massive biceps, but it also really had me
questioningifIshouldseekoutprofessionalhelp.Iwasaboutreadytofindaphoneanddojustthatwhen
heslidabusinesscardatBob.

“Willyoucalluswhenthatphotocomesin?”heasked,tappingthecard.
SheriffBobtookthecard,gaveitaquickglance,andnoddedatGunner.“Notaproblem,”hesaidand

tuckedthecardinhisshirtpocket.

“Thanks.Yourhelpisappreciated.”Gunnerstoodupandturnedtome.“Laney,weshouldgetgoing.”
IgavetheHarper’sRidgesheriffapastedonsmile.“Haveagoodday.”
“Youtoo,doll.”Bobwinkedandstretchedbackinhischair.“AndgiveoldDobbsahelloforme.”
I hustled out the door and strolled across the parking lot. Gunner leaned against the Yukon’s bumper,

headdown,lostinthought.HelookedupwhenIapproached.

“Well,thatwasadeadend,”hesteppedforward,frowning.“Wheretonow?”hisgazedroppedtomy

chest.“Haveyouhadlunch?”

Ishuffledinmybootsandstaredback.Probably,itwasbesttoheadhometogetmycruiser.IfIspent

any more time being carted around by the likes of Gunner—or my mother for that matter—I’d pee my
pants.“CouldyoudropmeoffatmyplacesoIcangetthecruiser?”

“Sure.”Heopenedmydoor.Isliddownintomyseatandaimedtheairatmyface,thenclosedmyeyes.

“Areyouokay?”Gunnerasked,turningthecaron.

“I’mjustexhausted.AndIwanttomakesureBoomerhasn’tleftthestovetop’spilotlighton.”
“Workingacaselikethiscandothattoyou.”
Icrackedopenaneye.HissmilewassodamnunnervingthatIquicklyclosedmyeyeagain.Icouldn’t

standitanymore.BykissingmesenselessatNathan’sthismorning,he’dprobablyscrewedupnotonlymy
relationshipwithmyfiancé,butmyimpendingnuptialsaswell—andIhadn’tdoneanythingtostophim.

Ihadn’treallywantedtostophim.Butnow…
Thestrokingofhisroughhandalongmykneegotmyattention.Ishotupinmyseatandcoldlyglared

backatthebullheadedman.“Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?”Isnappedandattemptedtopushhishand
offmyleg.“Itoldyoutokeepyourdamnhandsoff.”

Hisdarkeyesweresoftandmischievous.“Laney,wecouldjustrunaway.Nowedding.Nonote.”
“You’vegottobekiddingme.”
“TheoldLaneywouldhavejumpedattheoffer.”
Igrunted.“You’reright.Shewould’ve.”
“WhathappenedtothatLaney?”
“Shegrewup.”
Sadly, he looked out the window and backed up to pull out of the lot and head for the highway.

“Haven’tweall,sweetheart…”

Weflewdowntheold,two-lanecountryroadandbreezedpastthecitymilemarkerwelcomingusboth

back into Pistol Rock. The hard right turn down FM 167 threw me forward in my seat. I caught the
dashboardasGunnerhauledtheYukonovertherailroadtracksandhookedthecornertomyhouse.

“Ineedyourphone.IforgottograbminebeforeleavingNathan’s.”Iwavedforhimtoplaceitinmy

hand.

Gunnerhuffedashestruggledwiththeseatbeltthenhandeditover.“AmIallowedtoaskwhy?”
“IshouldcheckinwithNathan,”Isaid.
Helookedannoyed.“So,he’skeepingtabsonyounow.”
“No,I’mjustthesweetgirlfriendhecaughtyoudraggingdowntoyourlying,cheating,sneakinglevel

thismorningbykissingmeinhisdriveway.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen Gunner shocked before, but shaken by that statement, he was. The big,

arrogantcowboygapedatmeforamoment,thenturnedeyesfronttostareoutthewindshieldattheroad,
hurt.

“Damn,Laney,”hemumbled.“Thatwaslow.”
“Aslowasyouthinkingit’sagametryingtosabotagetheonlysteadyrelationshipI’vehadsinceyou

screwedWynonaBerkleyinourbed?”

“Aw,Laney…”

“No,Gunner.”IshookmyheadasIdialedtheclinic.“Thefactisthataslimpasyourkissesmightmake

me,Idon’ttrustyouanymore.Myheartdoesn’ttrustyou.Doesn’tmatterwhatyousayaboutNathan.He’s
solidandsteadyandtrustworthy,andyou’rejustGoodTimeGunner,sameasyouwerebackinschool.”

Notwaitingtoseehowhemightrespondtothat,Iturnedmyattentionbacktothephoneasthelinerang

twicethenpickedup.

“ThisisNathanPrescott,”heansweredinamonotonevoice.
I sighed, wishing there was a way to avoid this conversation, knowing there wasn’t. “It’s Laney, just

wantedtocheckinandseehowyourdaywasgoing.”

Therewasalongsilenceonhisendoftheline.ThenIheardasnortandthesoundofafistslamming

downonthedesk.

“I saw that son of a bitch kiss you. I want you to stay away from him, do you hear me?” he yelled,

angrierthanI’deverheardhim.

“I’llseeyoutonight.”
“Damnit,Laney.Iwantyouhomenow.”
“Tonight,”Irepeatedanddisconnectedourbittersweetconversationbeforeeitherofussaidsomething

we’dregret,andhandedGunnerhisphone.

“Thatdidn’tsoundpleasant,”Gunnersaid,tossingthephoneintotheconsole.
Istaredstraightahead.“Youthink?”
Wecruisedupthedriveway,flyingpastmymailboxfasterthannecessary.Iwasn’tlookingforwardto

seeingmyfiancétonight.Iwasachickenwhenitcametoconfrontationsinmypersonalrelationships,and
Ihadasinkingfeelingthatbeforetonightwasover,I’dbeinthemiddleofonehellofabitterfight.

ThetiresscreechedasGunnerplantedafootonthebrake.HethrewtheYukonintoparkandscowledat

me.“Wereyouexpectingcompany?”

Ilookedoutthewindow.LukeWagnerloungedagainstthedriver’sdoorofhissilverFordpickupthat

he’dparkedontopofmyweedinfestedfrontlawn.

“Shit!”
Gunnercrackedhisknuckles,pulledhishatpasthiseyes,andsteppedout.“Whatthehellareyoudoing

here?”hedemanded,stalkingovertoLuke.

Lukeplayedwiththetoothpickbetweenhislipsandsmiledashepushedittothecornerofhismouth.“I

couldaskyouthesamething.”Hekickedforwardandheadedtowardus,wearingthatshit-eatinggrinof
his,hiswildblondhaircasuallytuckedunderhiscowboyhat.Hepinchedthebrimnoddingbackatme.

I swallowed hard and stepped out of the car. Speaking of confrontations I didn’t want to have…

Between the daisies taking up space on my kitchen table and the note that suggested he knew what
happenedtotheguywho’dattackedmetheothernight,theconversationIneededtohavewithhimmight
wellendupwithhiminhandcuffsdownatthejail.AlmostmademegladGunnerwaswithme.

Almost.
“Weneedtotalk,”ItoldLuke.
A slow smile slipped across his face. “You see that, Gunner”—he cut an eye in the Texas Ranger’s

direction—“Laneywasexpectingme.”

As though I’d never said anything to him earlier about keeping his hands to himself, Gunner slung an

armaroundmywaist.“Talk,”hesnarledandtuggedmecloser.

IpunchedhimintheshoulderashardasIcouldandtuggedoutofhisproprietaryembrace.TimeIdid

more than try to tell him anything. “Talk,” I told Luke even as Gunner attempted to step between us. I
dodged around him, coming to a halt toe-to-toe with Mitch Wagner’s son. “What the hell do you know
abouttheguyGunnerarrestedoutsideofRusty’s,andifyouhadanythingtodowithkillingmydog—”

“Whoa-whoa!”Lukehelduphishandsinapacifyingmannerandbackedupapace,spittinghisever

presenttoothpicktotheground.“IjustheardaboutHankandwantedtopaymyrespects.”

“Iappreciateit,”Isaid,soundinganythingbuteventomyself,“Nowtellmewhatthehellyoumeant

whenyouwroteabouttakingcareofmylittleprobleminthatnote.”

“Shit,Laney.”HestartedbackpedalingasfastashecouldwhenIsteppedforwardintohisfaceagain.

“Nothin’,Imeantnothin’byit.”

“Nothin’,Luke?”Gunnertriedtograbmyarm,butIshookhimoff,poppedahandtoLuke’schest,and

shoved. He stumbled backward and sat down on his ass, hard. I leaned over and stuck my face in his.
“Nothing,Luke?”

“ChristAlmighty,Laney.”Heputahandoverhisheart,heldtheotherhigh.“HandtoGod,Iswear.I

hadnothingtodowithHank.”

“Then what was that note about? What did you do with that guy Gunner beat up outside the sheriff’s

station?DidyoumanagetotalkElroyintoreleasinghimtoyouorsomething?”Ifhehad,Iwasgoingto
kickthatsorryexcuseforadeputy’sassallupanddownCenterStreetthenlockhimupforamonth.

GunnerswaggeredforwardandmovedmebodilyoutofthewaytodragLukeupoffhisbuttbytheshirt

collar.“Whatnote?”heasked,deceptivelycalm.“AndwhatabouttheguywhobeatupLaney?”

LukeshookhisheadandlookedatmeashepeeledGunner’shandawayfromhisshirt.“Really,Iam

sorryaboutoldHank.”

Isteppedtowardhimagain.“Damnit,Luke!What’dyoudo?”
Hestartedtoreachouttocupmyface,butGunnerslappedhishandaway.Lukegrimacedandshrugged

atme.“Cutie,ifItellyou,thenyoumighthavetoarrestme.”

“Goddamnit,Luke.Areyoucompletelyinsane?”
“Laney,it’snotlikeIkilledthebastard,justscaredtheshitoutofhim.”Hegrinnedatme.“Sonofa

bitchpissedhispantsatthesightofme.Youshouldhaveseenit.Itwaspriceless.”

Igavehimanoncommittalnod.“Ibet.Justtellme…isheokay?”
“Ifyoumeantheassholewillhavetowearanicepacktapedtohisbuttforthenextmonth”—heraiseda

brow—“thenyeah,he’sfine.”

“Whereishe?”Gunnerthundered.
Heneverhadlikedbeingleftoutofaconversationifhecouldtakeitover.
Lukeshookhisheadenigmaticallyanddustedoffhispants.“Justthoughtyoushouldknow,Laney,my

fathertookoverBosley’sland.”

I eyed him for a minute then glanced at Gunner. We were back right where this started—with Mitch

Wagner wanting to grab Bosley’s land, only now with Bosley Conrad conveniently dead, Mitch had
apparentlydoneit.

Lukegrinned.“CanyoubelieveImissbickeringwiththeoldfart?”

“Sure,”Isaidsarcastically,“whynot?”
“Yep,”Lukesaid,steppingtowardhistruck,“Isuredo.”HeopenedtheFord’sdoorandthrewmean

unsettlingsmile.“Dousallafavorandstayouttrouble,LaneyBriggs.”

Thenhejumpedintothetruck,fireditup,andbackedoutofmydrive.Whatthehellwasheupto?I

wondered.Itmightbelikehimtocomeouthereandtrytomakeapassatmebyofferingmecondolences
overmydog,butthatrandomshareabouthisfathertakingoverBosley’sspreadreekedofmore.

Gunnertappedmeontheshoulder.Ijumpedandturnedtofacehim.“Iguessthat’smycue.”Herattled

hiskeys,lookingmeover.“Whatthehell,”hemumbledandleaneddowntoplantawetoneonmylips.
“Likethemansaid,LaneyBriggs,stayoutoftrouble.”HewinkedandheadedfortheYukon,turningback
withhishandonthedoor.“SeeyouatBosley’sfuneraltomorrow,”hecalled.

Istaredafterhim,appalledathisaudacity—butitstilltookmeasecondtostopdaydreamingabouthis

handstravelingallovermybodyasIwatchedtheYukondisappear.Whenitwasgone,Iwentinsidein
searchofmykeys.AnotetapedtothefridgeinformedmeBoomerhadgonetotheliquorstore.Tappingit
once,Igrabbedmykeysoffthecounter,tookalastlookaround,lockedthedoor,andleftforNathan’s.

ChapterThirteen

“So,youfinallydecidedtocomebacktomyplace,”Nathansaid,leaningagainsttheframeofhisfront
door,armsfoldedoverhischest.

“Hadsomeworktofinishup,”Isaidandpushedpasthimthroughthedoor.
His eyes dropped to my keys and then back to my face. “You really think I’m buying that shit?” He

snatchedthekeysoutofmyhandandstuffedtheminthebackpocketofhisjeans.

“Hey!”
Nathanfrowned.“Weneedtotalk,”hesaidandbackedoffthewall,closinginonme.
Inarrowedmyeyesathim.“Howdoestakingmykeyshaveanythingtodowithustalking?”
“Areyouinlovewithhim?”
Ishookmyheadno.“No,Iloveyou.”
He stalked forward and jerked at my shoulders. “You do realize that’s my God damn ring on your

finger.”

IletoutahystericallaughasIrubbedmydiamond.
“Uh,yeah.Whoelsewould’vegivenittome?”
“Fromthelooksofit,IsuspectyouthinkGunnerWilsondid,”hesnarled,digginghisfingernailsinto

myarms.

“Ouch.”Ijumpedbackandstiffenedmyarmsatmyside,scowlingathim.“Whatdoyouthinkyou’re

doing?”

Nathan aggressively shoved me back into the wall. Even with a throbbing head and blurred vision, I

could still taste the stench of dried beer on his cracked lips. His fingernails latched into my skin, and
whenhedugdeeperintotheflesh,Icouldfeeltherawburnoftearingskinslicingdownmyarms.Istared
backintohisdeadgreeneyes.Neverhadheliftedahandtome.Neverhadhelostcontrol,andnow…
well,nowIwasn’tentirelycertainwhatIwasdealingwith.Thenoutofthecornerofmyeye,Isawhis
raisedfistmakingaplayformyface.Iduckedtothesideandheardhisknucklesslamintothewall.

“Holyshit!”Ihalfwhispered,halfyelled,turningtolookwithastonishmentanddreadattheholehe’d

putinthewall.“Whatthehellhasgottenintoyou?”

“Is this what you want?” he asked, eyeing me down and shaking out his hand. “You want me to take

what’smine?”

“Nathan,whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Iloveyou.Doyouunderstandthat?”Hisstalevoicebristleddownmyneck.“Laney,you’remineand

onlymine.”

Fearnotallowingmetodoanythingelse,Iviolentlynodded.“Yes,I’myours.”

He smiled as he roughly swept a piece of hair behind my ear. There was something about his eyes.

Somethinginsidethemthatmademewanttoshrivelintoaballinthecorneranddiebeforethiswentany
further.Iknewwhathappenedwhenamanturnedonawoman—I’dseentoomanydomesticsonthejob—
andIconcludedtheonlywaytosavemyselfrightnowwastoplaythepartofthedotingfiancé—atleast
untilIcouldgetoutofhere.

“Ihatethatfuckingprick.I’mgoingtoripouthisfuckingthroatfortouchingyou,”hesaidandsealed

hismouthsoroughlyoverminethatItastedblood.Thenhebackedofftorunhishandsupanddownmy
arms.“Tellmeyoufeelthesame.”

Ilookedintohisangrygreeneyesandgulpeddownthebilerisinginmythroat.“Imissedyou,”Isaid,

tryingtokeepmyvoicefromtremblingasatearfelldownmycheek.God,I’dscrewedupbad.Iknew
whathewasdoingtomewasn’trightnomatterwhatGunner’ddone—whatI’dlethimdo—bykissingme
thismorning.Butdamnedifguiltwasn’tridingmehard,tellingmeIdeservedthis,too.

NomatterwhatItoldtheotherwomenI’dseenwho’dbeenworkedoverbytheirmenforbothmore

andless.

AnddamnedifIdidn’tnowunderstandwhytheyputupwithitandwhytheydidn’treportit.
AndIhatedmyselfforit.
Thehardlineofhismouthfaded.Hewrappedanarmaroundmywaistandkissedmytear-stainedlips

andpulledback,smiling.“IloveyouLaneyBriggs,”hesaidthroughanotherkiss.

Ituggedathissweatyblondhair,crushinghimtome,andkissedhimback.“We’llallbeokaysoon,”I

said,feelingtheliestick,allhotandseedy,inthebackofmythroat.

Itwasn’tthefirstlieI’devertold,butitmight’vebeenthebiggest.

…

Half an hour later, when he’d finished imprinting himself on me by taking me with bruising force right
there on the floor, he rolled me with a self-satisfied grunt and rose. I sat up, feeling awkward at my
nakedness,andquicklyyankedmypantsandshirtbackon.Nathansteppedintohisjeans,shruggedhisT-
shirt back on, and went into the kitchen. I heard cabinets open and shut, a corkscrew pop, and then the
shufflingofbarefeetacrossthefloor.

“Wouldyoulikeadrink?”Nathanasked,passingmeaglassofwhitewine.
Itooktheglassandstaredathim,notrecognizingthemanstandinginfrontofme.He’dchangedsince

comingbackfromHouston.Myactionshadn’thelped,butthisNathanwasanentirelynewandfrightening
beast.

Itriedtosmileandraisedmyglass,toasting,“Tous.”
Nathansnorted.“Yeah,tous,”hesaidcoldlyanddownedhiswine.
Igulpedandfinishedoffmine.“We’reokay,right?”Iasked,climbingtomyfeet.
Heturnedonhisheels,leavingme,thenstoppedinthedoorway.“Itwouldmakemefeelbetterifyou

saidyouhatedthatasshole’sguts,”hesaid.

I wanted to be convinced his hysterical anger and bruising roughness was nothing more than a

consequence of the stress boiling over in our relationship. He’d always been such a calm man, never
hotheadedortemperamental.Thatwasmyroleintherelationship.

Islowlyliftedmyeyestohisface.Hisupperliptwitchedinanticipationatmyanswer.Ineededtoget

out of here, but there were answers I wanted from him first—answers I might never get if I somehow
managedtowalkoutonhimnow.Ifhedidn’tmanagetolockmeupandthrowawaythekeyorkillme
beforeIcould.

AtleastthisiswhatItoldmyselfrightthen—it’llbeallrightifIdowhathewants—exactlytheway

thousandsofotherwomenhadtoldthemselvesabouttheirmen.

Despisingmyselfforit,Itookasecondtosteadymyvoice,thensaidthroughclenchedteeth,“Ifindthe

mandespicable.”

TheboyishgrinthatalwaysusedtosettlemynerveswhenIwashotandbothered—theoneI’dnever

againbeabletolookatwithoutflinching—returned.“HowaboutIstartussomedinner?”Nathansaid.

Afewminuteslater,steakssizzledoverthegasstoveasNathantossedmushroomsandonionsintothe

fryingpan.IpulledoutachairatthetableandtriedtorelaxasIwatchedhimplateupthefood.Thiswas
right,Itriedtoconvincemyself.I’dmadealifetimeofmistakesandhadalmostscreweduptheonething
thatIoncethoughtI’dgottenright.

Iwassuchaliar.
Heputtwofullplatesonthetableandthentookhisseat.“WasoutattheWagner’sranchtoday.”He

lookedupatme.“HadaninterestingchatwithLuke.”

Istoppedinthemiddleofchewingabiteofsteak,almostchokingonthegristlymeat.“Oh,yeah,and

whatdidy’alltwochatabout?”

Hisexpressionhardened.“HowyouaccusedhimofhavingsomethingtodowithBosley’sdeathwhile

killingacouplebeersoveratRusty’s.Andthenthatguybeatingyouup,it’salmosttoomuch.”Henodded
andgavemeanoncommittalsmile.“Youdon’tneedtohidethingsfromme,Laney.I’mhereforyou.Butif
IlosetheWagnersasclients,I’llbeneuteringhuntingdogsfortherestofmylifetopaytheelectricbills.I
needthem.”Thetingeofanimosityhe’dbeenholdingbackwasclearasadirectthreat.“AndIneedyou
toquitantagonizingthemoverthingsI’msuretheyhadnopartof.”

Well,hell.Whycouldn’tthatlittleshitkeephismouthshut?Andwhyhadn’tNathanjustaskedmeabout

LukeandmybruisedfaceyesterdayatmyplaceafterHankwaskilled?Hemust’venotwantedGunnerto
hearhowhewasinbedwiththeWagners,sincetheTexasRangerwasonawarpathtotakedownLukeat
any cost. I swallowed and washed down the steak with a drink of wine, mustering up the courage to
speak.“Ididn’twanttoupsetyou,”Isaid.

He tossed his fork at the table, clanking it against the dinnerware. “I would have come back sooner,

Laney.”Heglaredatme.

Ishrugged.“Itwasn’tthatbad.”
Nathanslammedhishandsdownonthetable.“Luketoldmeadifferentstory,”hesnapped.“Hetoldme

he saw Gunner pull the guy off you after you’d been punched and kicked.” He gave me a hard look. “I
wantyoutoquitthiscasebeforeIendupcallingDobbsmyselftohavehimtakeyouoffit.”

Iwaslivid.Tellingmewhattodo,threateningtocallmyboss.Iwasanadult,thiswasmyjob,andhe

wasneithermymothernorthebossofme.“It’snotyourcall.”

Nathanflunghischairback.“Damnit,Laney!Haveyoutakenalookinthemirrorlately?Youlooklike

shit.” I picked up my plate and pushed back in my chair, then walked over to the kitchen sink. Dinner

didn’tlookthatappetizinganymore.Itossedthefooddownthedrainandflippedonthegarbagedisposal.
Iwashedmyhandsandpivotedaround,leaningmybuttbackintothecountertop.“I’mworkingthiscase
straightthroughtotheend,Nathan.”

He picked up his chair and shoved it under the table. “You’re stubborn as hell.” He flung my keys

acrossthetable.“Idon’tknowwhyIevenbothersometimes.”

“Iknow.Andwe’llgetthroughthis,”Isaid.
Nathan looked at me, his eyes void of emotion, and without a word, picked up his brief case and

walkedoutthedoor.

I snatched the bottle of wine off the table, tucked it under my arm, and bolted for the stairs, locking

myselfinsideNathan’sbedroom.Iclimbedintobedandpulledthecoversovermyhead,beggingGodto
forgivememysinsbecauseIwascomingtorealizemyfiancéneverwould.

…

Itwasamuggysummermorning,stickyandwet,aperfectdaytoattendafuneral.Irolledover,andmy
handbrushedtheleftsideofthebed,coldanduntouched.Iambledintothebathroomandstoodunderthe
showerheadasthescaldinghotwaterblastedmeintheface.Iwashedmyface,scrubbedundermyarms,
rinsed my hair, and then stepped out. I wrapped a towel tightly at my chest and smeared a hand print
acrossthesteamed,foggedmirror.

GunnerwillbegonesoonIreassuredmyself,thenfrownedatmypatheticreflection.
I forced myself into a beige blouse, tucked it into a black pencil skirt, shimmied on a pair of nude

stockings,andsteppedintomyblackpumps.There.DressedforBosleyConrad’sfuneral.I’djustfinished
coveringmyyellowingbruisewithconcealerandwaspaintingmylipsredwhenIheardthefrontdoor
openandclose.

“Areyouready?”Nathancalled.
“Givemeaminute,”Ishoutedback,wonderingwherethehellhe’dsleptlastnight,thenremembering

withashudderhowhe’dtriedtotakeafisttomeandhowitallconnectedtomyex-boyfriendtrampling
hisbootsbackintoPistolRock.

I smacked my lips together, readjusted my ponytail, and rounded the stairs. I was expecting a huge

turnout today, even if the mourning was intended for the town’s bastard. There wasn’t much do on a
SaturdayinPistolRock.Therewouldbemanyblissfulweepersinattendanceatthiswake.

Nathan was waiting for me by the door, dressed in khaki’s, a white long-sleeved polo, and a grey

windbreaker.“Youlooknice,”hesaidandtookmyhand.

Ismiled,acceptingthecompliment.“Didyousleepwell?”
Heslippedmyjacketupanarm.“Ihadsomeworktofinishup,soIstayedattheclinic,”hesaidand

tuggedmyothersleeveon.

Weweregood.Wewerehappy.WhyelsewouldIbedraggingmyselfthroughthemud?
Nathankissedmyheadandpulledmeintohisside.“Canweforgetthefight,Laney?”heasked,tipping

mychinupwardsoI’dmeethiseyes.“I’msorry.Pleaseforgiveme.”

I looked at him, badly wanting to believe that last night had been an aberration, that it would never

happenagain,thattherealNathanwasbackandstandingbeforeme.“Noneedtoapologize.”

“Thankyou,”hesaid,pullingopenthefrontdoor.
Westeppedoutsidewhenthephonestartedtoring,stoppingusinourtracks.Hestalkedbackinside,

rippedthecordlessoffthewall,andhandedittome.

“Laney,it’sDobbs,”heholleredinthatvoicethatmadeeverythinghedidanemergency.“Weneedto

stopbytheelementarybeforeBosley’sfuneral.Boomer’spassedoutdrunkonthemerrygoround.”

…

The sky was a dismal gray, the air balmy but thick with the promise of an impending thunderstorm. I
wantednothingmorethantohaulBoomer’sassintothebackofthepickupandbuckitovertothefuneral.
Iwasanticipatingtheclosingofthecasketandcallingtherotteneventadonedeal.

I leaned into the window and watched the road fly by. Ten minutes later, we drove up to Bluebonnet

Elementary.Nathanbackedthepickuptothecurbandsteppedout,leavingtheenginestillrunning.The
windflappedathisgreywindbreaker,andhisblondhairwhirledabouthisface.Hetuggedatthekhaki’s
aroundhiswaist,tookastepforward,andsloshedhisRopersintoamuddypuddle,thenopenedmydoor.
Isteppedout,tightlywrappedmytrenchcoatupundermychin,andtookhishand.

Nathanhookedanarmaroundmywaist,smotheredmeintohisside,andusheredusovertothechain

linkfence.Iunlatchedthegateandplacedaheelonthedeadlawnoftheschoolplayground.Itdidn’ttake
longtofindBoomer.Hewasfloppedbackonarustingmerrygoroundsingingtheblues.Hisshortsleeve
Nirvanashirtpulledathisbeergut.TherewasanemptybottleofJackstuckinthemudrightnexttohis
bareleftfoot.ThechillywindbitatmynoseasIbentdownnexttohim.

“Boomer,”Iwhispered,tappinghisboneyknee.
Droolleakeddownhischin.Hegrumbledandtossedhisheadtotheright,thenslitaneyeopen,looking

backatme.

“Laney,Iknewyouwouldcomeforme,”Boomermumbled,grapplingforthemetalbarwhiletryingto

pullhimselfup.

Nathan moved in front of me and reached out a hand. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said,

grabbingBoomerbythewrist.

Boomerstumbledtohisfeetandmanagedtosendmeadroopysmilebeforefallingflatonhisface.He

snickeredandwobbledbacktohisfeet.“Sorry,musthavehadmorethanIthought.”

Inarrowedmyeyesathimandswungmyhandsonmyhips.“Comeon,Boomer.Forcryingoutloud,

today’sBosley’sfuneral.”

Boomershrugged,tossinghisarmsoutathisside.
“Givemeabreak,Laney.Can’taguyhavetherighttoclearhisheadsometimes?”
I was crabby, and if he didn’t back off, I might find it necessary to kick his wobbly legs out from

underneathhim.Itwasn’tlikethelousedidn’thaveitcoming.Iwaggedafingerinhisbloatedfaceand
said,“Youneedtogetyouracttogether,BoomerCopley.Doyoueverthinkofanythingbutthatgoddamn
whiskey?”

Boomerstaredatmeinshock.
Nathanpulledatmyarm.“Laney,easeupalittle.”
Irippedmyarmoutofhishandandspunaround,glaringbackatmyfiancé.“He’sdrunk,again.And

unlessheshapesup,he’lldiedrunk,too.”

“However true that is, get into it some other time. I’m cold, and we’re late for the funeral,” Nathan

statedandstartedwalkingbacktothetruck.“Arey’allcoming?”heholleredoverhisshoulderatus.

…

The double gargoyles rose above the hill as Nathan drove down the dirt path leading into Crestview
Cemetery.Longrowsofweather-beatentombstonessprawledthetreelessspace.Afewplotswerestill
fresh and adorned with baby’s breath wreaths. To the left of the chapel hung the weeping willow that
GunnerhadcarvedournamesintowhenmyAuntFayehadpassed.He’dswornthatdaytoneverleavemy
side.

While I waited next to my door for Nathan, I glanced around the grounds, finally stumbling across

Gunnerslouchedagainstthetrunkunderneathourwillowtree.Hisblackcowboyhathunglow,hidinghis
dangerousbrowneyes.Ifoundmyselfstaringathim,daringhimtotakenotice.Itwasn’tautomatic,but
eventually,hiseyeslockedinonmine.Hecasuallyliftedhischinatme,thenwinkedbeforesauntering
insidethechapel.

Inside,amustyodorfilledthedenseair.Themintgreencarpetlookedlikeithadbeenthrownupall

overthe foyer, alongwith the twelvedozen birthworts placed inevery flipping corner.I made my way
over to the knotty pine table in the center of the room and flipped the guest book open—one name was
scribbledinside,SelmaMartinez,Bosley’smaid.Ijottedmynamedownandwenttofindaseat.

Pistol Rock’s elders had packed the back rows, oxygen tanks in hand. Boomer was lounged back,

snoring away next to old man Wexler, who was hacking up a lung. I spotted Nathan sliding into a pew
threerowsbackfromthecasketandwalkeddowntheaisletojoinhim.Scootinginnexttohim,Itriedmy
damnedestnottogawkatGunner’stoned,muscledarmsslungacrossthebackofapew.

“This outta be entertaining,” Nathan said, startling me, “All these fools paying their respects to that

murderingmotherfucker.”

“Nathan,”Igasped.
“Laney,comeon.WeallknowBosleykilledPacey.”
“Likehellwedo.”
Nathanshrugged,relaxinghisarmacrossmyshoulders.“Whatever,”hesaid,brushingmeoffbyturning

towatchHildaDixontunetheorgan.

Foramanwho’dchoseneveryopportunitytoflaunthiswealth,BosleyConrad’sfuneralwasapathetic

testamenttotheformerdepthofhispocketbook.Asimple,blackcoffinhousedhiscorpsewithasingle
bouquet of yellow roses placed on top. Sadly, no one was shedding a tear for the coldhearted bastard.
Theywerehereforthe“show”,suchasitmightbe.

IwasfiddlingwiththehemofmyskirtwhenReverendDanielsapproachedthepodiumandclearedhis

throat.ThelasttimeI’dseenthereverendwaswhenhe’dcaughtmeskinnydippingwithGunnerinthe
baptismal.Effectively,thatlittleincidenthadcostmethepartoftheVirginMaryinthechurchChristmas
pageantwhenIwasfifteen.

“Welcome,everyone.”ReverendDanielsopenedhishymnal.“Pleaseturntohymnnumberonehundred

andten,”hesaidandwavedusalltoourfeet.

Weallobeyedlikesheepflockingtotheshepherdandbegantosinginnumerousoffkeynotes.Icould

hearmymother’svoice,screechingfromthefrontasshestrainedhertonsils,andeverybodyelse’sears,
withthehorriblesoundsexcretedfromherlungs.Ilookedthreerowsforward.Hernewlydyed,canary
yellowhairbouncedupanddownasshesang.

Reverend Daniels wrapped up the hymn and began the ceremony. “I know how all y’all enjoyed

Bosley’scompany,”hestated,notsoundingparticularlyconvincing.

Therewereafewsniffles,butmostlythetinychapelwasfilledwithacoldsilence.IcaughtGunner

staringatmefromacrosstheroom.HeslippedmeawinkthencuthiseyesoveratNathan,whoreturned
Gunner’sglarewithascowl.“Wouldanyoneliketopaytheirrespectsbysayingafewwords?”Reverend
Danielsasked.

Wealllookedaroundateachother,andIcouldn’thelpbutwonderifoneofthesefinecitizenswasthe

onewho’dsentthatvanouttokillBosley.IsawLukeWagnerstandupinthebackandlooklikehemight
wanttosaysomething,butthoughtbetterofitwhenMissSteven’sshothimadevil-eyedglare.Insteadof
re-seatinghimself,Lukeshruggedandleft.ThecopinstinctsthatIwasonlybeginningtodevelopcrawled
withuneaseatthesightofhim,butIfiguredthatmightalsobeduetoourhistorytogetherratherthanthe
threemurdersandtheassaultonmypersonthatIneededtofinishinvestigating.

Noddingwithsatisfactionoverhertriumph,MissSteven’sturnedherglareonReverendDaniels.“Are

youdonenow?’Causesomeofushavebetterwaystofillupourday,”shebarked.

Clearly,sheaddressedthefeelingsofmostthefuneralguestsbecause,asthoughoncue,hymnalsbegan

tocrashtothefloorandpeopleshufflederectorscootedtheirbuttsoutofthenarrowpews.

IheldNathan’shandasheusheredmeintothefoyer.Gunnerwastwostridesbehindus,makingmyhair

standonend.

“I’vegottogospeakwithMr.Michaels,”Nathansaid,lettinggoofmyhand.“It’llonlybeasecond.”

Hepeckedmycheekandleftmyside,headingbackinsidethechapel.

Iweavedthroughthecrowdandperchednexttothefoodandbeveragetable,pickingupashortbread

cookie and snipping off a piece. Glancing around, I smiled when I saw Gunner getting caught in the
crosshairsofoursixty-year-oldschoolnurse’slong-windedchats.Shehadhimbarricadedatthewalland
wastakingeverychanceshegottorubhistattoopokingoutfromunderneaththerolled-upsleeveofhis
black suit jacket. I snickered under my breath and grabbed two more cookies, then moseyed over to
Dobbs,who’ddistancedhimselffromthegeneralhubbubinthefarcorneroftheroom.

“How’severythinggoing?”Iasked,stuffingacookieintomymouth.
Thenormallyloquacioussheriffsimplysnorted.“Fine.”
I narrowed my eyes, sensing that things weren’t “fine”, then shook off the sensation. So Dobbs was

keepingatightlipforachange.Nobiggy.Besides,maybeitwastheplaceandthecompany.Ifso,Icould
dealwiththat.Inudgedhisarm,coaxinghimtorelax.“Comeon,something’sbotheringyou.”

“Backoff,Laney,”hespatandstalkedoff.
Okay,soDobbswasalittlegrumpy.Everyonehadtheirdays,andmaybethisjusthappenedtobehis

timeofthemonth.Iwatchedhimheadbackintothechapelanddisappearbehindtheorgan.

“Areyoudodgingme?”
Ialmostjumpedoutmyheels.IspunaroundtofindGunnerslouchedagainstthewall,givingmeasinful

grin.“Sortof,”Isaid.

Hereachedoutandsnatchedacookiefrommyhand.Hetookabiteandsaid,“Youmightwanttotry

harder.”

“Countonit.”
Hemovedinandranafingeralongthenecklineofmysilkblouse.Iblushedinvoluntarily.
“Hey,therearepeoplearound,”Isaid,slappingathishand.
Gunner’sgrinwidenedashetookasinglestepback.“Thatblouseofyoursiscausingmeallkindsof

paininalltherightplaces.”

I gave my blouse a once over and quickly decided that there was nothing wrong with the dang thing.

“Thenmaybeyoushouldgobacktoyourmotelroom,grabatowel,anddosomethingaboutit,”Itoldhim.

Hewrappedacallusedhandaroundmyfaceandtippedmychinup.Ourmouthswerewaytooclose.“I

couldusethehelpofagood-lookinglady.”

“Well, this one’s engaged,” I said, pulling my chin out of his hand and stepping back. “You keep

looking,though.”

Heshrugged.“IwouldifIthoughtitwoulddoanygood.Bytheway,ifyouhaven’tnoticed,thatfiancé

ofyourshasabuguphisass.”

Icouldn’tdenyit.“That’sbecauseNathanhatesyourguts.”
“Figuredthatmuch,”hesighedandpressedhisshouldersbackagainstthewall.
Ifellin nexttohim. Heslanteda glancedownat me,and thehardline ofhismouth faded.Hisdark

browneyesmeltedintohisface,andIfeltsomethinginsidememelting,too.Itwasjustthatkindofknee-
weakeninglook.

“Thisiscrazy,right?”hesaid.“Usbeatingaroundthebushlikethis.”
“Irresponsibleeven,”Iagreed,beforequicklylookingaway.
“Whythehellareyoumarryinghim?”heaskedsuddenly,soundingalmostplaintive.
Iletoutaresignedsigh.“Nathanneverbrokemyheart.”
IfIwasdiscountingyesterday,myrelationshipwithNathanhadalwaysbeenpictureperfect.ButI’llbe

the first to admit that I’m slow to figure out that perfection can be a dangerous path to walk down. It’s
hardtooutrunthepast.

Gunnergavemeasad-eyedlook.“Youcouldhaveletmetrytofixthat.”
“Wewould’veneverworked.”Thistimewhenhereachedformyhand,Iwasquick,tuckingitoutofthe

waybehindmyback.“IshouldgofindNathan.”

I turned on my heels and left him standing alone. How could sticking to my guns cause me so much

heartache?

MaybebecauseIwasstickingtothewrongguns?
Thethoughtdisturbedme,andIpickedupmypacetogetawayfromit.AsIwaspassingbythehallway

towardthebathroom,ahandreachedoutandpulledmeintothedarkcorridor.Ididn’tstarttopanicuntil
thatsamehandcoveredmymouthandslammedmeintothewall.Iraisedaheelandkickeditstraightinto
ashin.

“Shit,Laney,”Boomeryelpedandhoppedtohisotherleg.“Ineedtotalk.”
Ipeeledhishandoffmymouth.“Whatthehell,Boomer?”

Heliftedtwofingerstohislips.“Shush,pleasebequiet.”
“Fine,”Imumbledandcrossedmyarmsovermychest.“Sowhat’ssodamnimportantthatyouhadto

scaretheshitoutofme?”

Boomer’s eyes darted down the length of the hallway then back to me. He leaned in, breathing stale

whiskeyfumesintomyface.“IrememberwhereIwasthatnight,”hewhispered.

Ipushedhimbackandmovedoutfromunderneathhisarms.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Iasked.
He gulped. “Laney, I wasn’t at Rusty’s Saloon that night I forgot where I was.” He wiped the sweat

fromhisbrow.“IwasoutonBosley’sRanch.”

I stared at him. Boomer wasn’t always the best source for reliable information, even about himself.

“Whatexactlyareyoutellingme?”Iasked.“Thatyousawthemurder?”

Boomerhesitated.“Yes...”
Igavehimapunitivestare.“Well,spititout.Wedon’thaveallday.”
“Laney,you’renotgoingtolikethis…”
“Justcoughitup.”
Boomerloweredhiseyesandranahandthroughistangled,redmop.“LukeWagner.”
Iwasspeechless.LukeWagner?Noway…
But then I remembered what he’d said to me when he’d come to my place to offer his condolences

aboutHank.“HandtoGod,Iswear.IhadnothingtodowithHank.”Andthenhisnotewiththedaisies:
Tookcareofyourlittleproblem…Crap.Anythingwaspossiblewhenitcametothatbastard.

InarrowedmyeyesonBoomer.“Haveyoutoldanybody?”
“Justyou.”
Ijerkedathisarm.“That’sthewaywe’regoingtokeepit,”Ivehementlyordered.
Boomerswallowedhard.“YoumeanIcan’ttellGunner?”
Ieyedhimsharply,wonderingwhyhe’dwantto.GunnercouldbealmostasuntrustworthyasLukeona

goodday.“Damnstraightthat’swhatImean.”

Itookhimbythearmanddraggedhimoutofthechapel,decidingthatthefirstthingIwasgoingtodo

was lock Boomer up inside my house with a bottle of Jack for safekeeping. That would keep his lips
sealedforatleastfourorfivehours,solvingoneofmyproblems.Iwasgoingtohavetohavemywits
aboutmewhenIhightaileditovertoFourSpurs,demandinganansweraboutwho’dkilled…wellhell,
allofthem:Pacey,Skinny,Bosley,andHank.

I pushed open the double doors and stepped outside with Boomer glued to my side. All the vehicles

weregoneexceptforNathan’sredDodgeRam.Hewassulkingnexttothebumper,clearlyunhappythatI
hadn’tbeentheonewaitingforhim.ItuggedatBoomer’shandandmarchedacrossthegraveldrivetothe
truck.

NathanliftedhischinandstraightenedwhenIapproachedthedriver’ssideofthetruck.“Wherehave

youbeen?”heasked,openingthedoor.

I grabbed the overhead handle, hopped into the truck, and stared at his perturbed face. “Looking for

you,”Ilied.

…

AsNathanturnedintomydriveway,IdecidedtocheckonBoomertoseehowhewasholdingup.Sitting
thereintheextendedcab’sbackseat,hehadthelookofamanwhoknewhewasinoverhishead.Inall
fairness, it was killing him, my not letting him run straight to Gunner with his secret, but hell, for the
idiot’sownsafety,Ihadarighttodemandhissilence.Besides,hewassleepinginmyhousebecausehe
wasafraidsomeonewaswatchinghim.Givenwhathe’djusttoldmeaboutLuke,theremightbeareal
reasonforhisdrunkenparanoia.

Nathanstoppedthetruckandstartedtounbucklehisseatbelt.
Iplacedahandonhislap.“I’llwalkBoomerinside,”Isaidandjumpedout.“It’llonlytakeaminute.”
Chilly air hit my lungs. The storm had snuck upon us the way a fox pounces on its prey. I stuffed my

handsinmyjacketpockets,hunkeredintomycollar,andfollowedBoomer.Whenhetookaseatonthe
porchstep,Ihoveredontheporchabovehim,teethchattering.

Tilting his eyes skyward he said, “Nice weather, don’t you think?” I tried to crawl deeper into my

jacket.“It’sfreezing.”

“Feelsgood,”hesaiddreamily,“Likethecalmbeforethestorm.”
Inodded,tryingtohidemygloomyexpression.Yesterday’sheatwassomethingIcoulddealwith.Cold

belongedanywherebuthere.“Boomer,doyoureallythinkLukehadsomethingtodowithPacey’sdeath?”

Hesighedandbrushedhisfloppybangsoutofhiseyes.“Truthfully,no,butIknowwhatIsaw.Luke

was out at Arrowhead Range that night. And I think there’s more to the cattle poisoning then anyone is
letting on. Please be careful. I wouldn’t trust a single soul in town.” He looked across the lawn at the
pickupidlinginthestorm.“Notevenyourclosestfriends,okay?”

Ileanedbackonmyelbowsandlookedhimdeadintheeyes.“Don’tgetmad,”Isaid,“buthowdrunk

wereyou?”

Hechewedonhislowerlip.“Really…you’regoingtogothere?”
“Boomer,”Isaid,tryingforapatienceIwasfastlosing,“Ihavetoask,andyouknowit.Howmuchdid

youhavetodrink?”

He raised a hand and started counting his fingers. I watched them roll down into his palm once, then

twice before he gave up, and shook his head in dismay. “Maybe a twelve pack,” he admitted. “Hell,
Laney”—hischindroppedintohisneck—“theremight’veevenbeenabottleofwhiskeyortwo.”

I shook my head and peered down into eyes that asked me to believe in him for once. Then I turned

away to prop myself against the wall of the house, hoping it would be warmer there. “That’s what I
thought.”

“Youdon’tbelieveme?”heasked.
“We’ll talk about it later.” I opened the front door and gestured him into the house. “Please just go

insideandstaythere.”

Nothappyaboutit,heneverthelessdidasIasked.IwavedatNathanandpickedupmypacedownthe

stepsandovertothetruck.IheardthescreendoorcrashintothehouseasIclimbedin.

“Iseverythingokay?”Nathanasked.
Mouthtight,Istrappedonmyseatbelt.“Couldn’tbepeachier,”Isnapped,sinkingintomyseat.
AnddamnBoomerforbeingmybestfriendanyway.

ChapterFourteen

Itossedaboutmypillowandturnedonmyside,rollingintoNathan.Heslunghisarmacrossmychestand
kissedmyrumpledhair.

“Goodmorning,Laney,”hemumbledatmyear.
“I’llgogetthecoffeestarted,”Isaid,andbegantoinchoutofhisarms.
“What’stherush?”heasked,tuggingmeback.“Ican’tthinkofabetterreasontobelateforwork.”
Hewrestledwiththesheets,pullingthemoverhishead,andlazilysliddownontopofme.Atthesame

timethathepressedhistongueintomymouth,hescootedahandundermynightshirttocupmybreast.I
stretchedbackonthemattressandrestedmyheadonthepillow.

“Iloveyousomuch,”hewhisperedthroughasmile.Thenhetuggedoffmypanties.
Ashortwhilelater,Ipulledtheshowercurtainclosedandallowedmyselftosoakunderthehotwater.

Nathan’s lovemaking had been rougher and more possessive than usual—not quite a repeat of the other
nightinthefronthall,butnot…considerate,either.WhenI’dfinishedwashingmyhairandscrubbingmy
grimy-feelingskin,Isteppedoutandquicklydriedoff,thenpulledonapairofjeansandalongsleeve
navyT-shirt,andsteppedintomyboots.

Nathan was waiting for me in the kitchen when I came downstairs, sipping on a cup of coffee. He

smiledbackatmeandpeckedmeonthecheek,thenhandedmeamug.“So,whatareyourplanstoday?”
heasked.

Mostlytheusual,Ithought.Meaningthatfirst,I’dsmileatDobbs’scrabbinessandtrynottoberudeto

Elroyuntilnoon,andlastly,I’dhavetoforcemyselftoignoreGunneratallcosts.ExceptthattodayIalso
had to follow up on what Boomer’d told me about Luke while making sure Gunner didn’t step in and
screwthatpoochalltohell.

I sagged against the countertop and sipped my suddenly tasteless coffee. “Not much. It should be a

prettyboring.”Ishrugged.“IguessthemostimportantthingIneedtodoisswingbymyplacetopickupa
dressfortheCattlemen’sBalltonight.”

“Soundslikeabusyday.”Herinsedouthiscoffeecup.“I’llbehomearoundfive.”Hetuckedmyhair

behindmyears,smiled,andpressedahardkissonmylips.

Istoodslackagainstthecounterandwatchedhimsnatchhisbriefcaseoffthetable,yanktheclinickeys

fromthewallpeg,thenhewalkedoutthebackdoor.

Timetobitethebullet.
I dumped my coffee down the drain, grabbed Nathan’s truck keys, and hit the porch steps. I hauled

myselfupinsidethecab,andcrankedovertheengine,grippingthesteeringwheelasifitwasmydamn
lifeline.Theglimmerofmyengagementringsnaggedmyattention.FuckingsparklybastardknewIwas

lyingnotonlytoNathanbuttomyself.Idreadedmyimpendingnuptialsandabsolutelydidnotwanttogo
totheCattleman’sBall—notwithNathan,notwithanybody.

EspeciallynotGunner.
“Thisisridiculous,”Isaidoutloud,needingthesedoubtsofminetostop.Butnovoicefilteredthrough

thesilencetotellmeIwasjustsufferingacaseofnerves.Thatcoldfeetwerenormalbeforeawedding,
thatthemanIintendedtomarrywasagoodman…

Whohadn’ttriedtohitmetheothernightorbeentooroughlypossessivewithmethismorning…
BecauseIhadmoregutsandrespectformyselfthantoleteitherofthosethingshappen.
“Shit!” In a fit of helplessness, I gave the steering wheel a beat-down. In the end, all my little

breakdownrewardedmewithwasabrokennailandaheartthatfeltlikeatwo-tonbrickweighingdown
mychest.

I stamped a lead foot on the gas and spun the wheels backing out of the drive. Rain splattered the

windshield, making visibility almost impossible. I switched on the wipers, smearing dried bug guts
across the glass, and clipped the corner down Center Street. When I pulled up outside the station, the
Yukonwasalreadyparked,takinguptwospots.Ichuggedintotheonlyemptyslotandlumberedoutofthe
truck.WhatIdidn’tneedwasanotherconfrontationwithGunner—we’dbeatenthatdeadhorseintothe
ground.

Ipushedthroughthedoor,stumblingacrossthelegDobbshadsprawledacrossthedoorwaywhilehe

snoozedathisdesk.Unhappyandirritatedashell,Ikickedabootathisleg.Dobbspoppedforwardinhis
chair,snortingawakeashespuntofaceme.

Helookedmeoverthenspitawadofchewingtobacconexttomyboot.“Wasn’texpectingtoseeyou

today,”hesaid,swipinghishandkerchiefacrosshismouthtoblotawaythetobaccospit.

“IassumeIstillworkhere.”
Herolledbackinhischairandpushedhimselfupright.“Heardtheweddinghasbeenmoveduptonext

Saturday,soIthoughtyou’dbeplanningforthebigday.”

“Wheredidyouhearthat?”Iasked,takingaseatontheedgeofthedesk.
“Sorry, I might’ve let it slip,” Gunner interrupted, rounding the corner with two Styrofoam cups of

coffee.Hehandedonetome.“Coffee?”heaskedandsatdownbesideme.

Igrimacedbutnoddedthanks.Ididn’tneedthis.AndIsuredidn’tneedthosetightjeansofhisbrushing

mylegeverydamnsecond.

“Goodmorning,Gunner,”IsaidaspolitelyasIcouldandforceddownasipofthebitterstationhouse

brew.

Hegrinnedandsqueezedmythigh.“Sametoyou,sweetheart.”
I gave him a nasty look. He didn’t seem to care. I plucked his hand off my leg and let it drop hard

againsttheedgeofthedeskweweresittingon.

Thebastard’sgringotwider.
“Well,sincewe’vegonethroughthemorningpleasantries,”Dobbssaid,plantinghimselfinfrontofus,

“couldy’allinformmewhatwentdowninHarper’sRidge?”

Gunnertookasipofhiscoffeeandplacedthecuponthedesk.“It’scomplicated.Theyhaveaphotoof

a guy I’m assuming is our man.” He rose and stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his tight-assed

Wranglers.Igulpedandquicklytookanotherdrinkbeforemythroatwentdry.“ButSheriffNealsentthe
photoofftoAustinandisstillwaitingonthelabresults.”

AllthecolorvanishedoutofDobbs’ssaggycheeks.“Soyou’retellingmenoonehasaclueastowho

ourguyis?”

Itmighthavebeenmyimagination,buthedidn’tseemtheleastdisappointedbythebadnews.Tryingto

workthatoneout,Iscootedmybuttoffthedeskandtossedmycoffeeinthetrash.“SheriffBobsaidthe
labistryingtocleanupthephoto,andtheresultsshouldbebackinafewdays.”

“Dammit, I wanted to call this case closed,” Dobbs grumbled. He sat in his chair and popped his

knuckles.“WeallknowBosleyhadhishandsinthis.Whynotjustpinthewholedamnmessonhimand
callitaday?”

Gunner slammed his fists down on Dobbs’s desk and leaned into my boss’s face. “That would be a

stupidmove,oldman.”

“Tellmeagain,”Dobbssaidcoldly,“whythehellIhaven’tshippedyourassbackofftoHouston.”
“Youdon’thavetheauthority,forstarters,”Gunnerbarked,“andsomeoneisstillsellingtheketamine

outonyourstreets.”

Dobbslaughed.“LikeIgiveafuckaboutafewdeadwhoresanddruggies,”hesaid,stretchingbackin

hischair.

Istaredathim,appalled.Dobbswasashittyoldmanatthebestoftimes,butthiswas…thiswas…I

hadnowordsforwhatthiswas.

“Jimmy Dobbs, you’re the sheriff for crying out loud,” I gasped. “And those hookers and druggies

probablyhavemotherslookingforthem.”

Dobbsshrugged.“Well,iftheirmothersareanythinglikeyours,Ibetthey’regladtobedead,”heshot

back.

I had a mind to toss that crummy paper weight at Dobbs’s squishy face when I felt a tug on my shirt

sleeve.“Laney,let’sgetsomeair,”Gunnersaidandhauledmeoutside.

Westoodatarm’slengthfromeachother,huddledunderneaththewindowawning.Rainrushedoverthe

overhang, cascading in sheets onto the sidewalk. I stepped closer to my cowboy nemesis, looking for
shelter…andmaybecomfort.TheknowledgethatDobbswasevenlessthanIthoughthimtobewasnot
onlypainfulbutdisturbing.Previously,I’dbeenabletoshuntasidemydisrespectforhimasjustoneof
thosethingsIdid—Iwasn’tafanofauthority,anditgenerallywasn’tafanofme,either.Nowmydistaste
formybosswasjustonemorethingIcouldn’toverlookbecausenowIknewtherewasareasonforit.

The same way I was beginning to understand that there might be a reason I should think twice about

marryingNathan.

Gunnerwhippedhiscowboyhatoffandstartedtorakeahandthroughhishair.Thenhestoppedand

slowly turned his face to meet my eyes. There was no chance of me outrunning his hand, because he
snagged my arm up before I had a chance to retreat. Unhurriedly, he traced a finger down my arm,
stopping to circle my elbow, and finally finishing by clasping my hand in his. I didn’t want this, didn’t
wanthistouch,hisnearness,orhisunderstanding,buthewasgivingit,and…

Iwascomforted.
Damnit!

Smiling sadly, he let go of my hand and settled back against the brick wall again. “I’m not sure,” he

said,breakingthedeafeningsilencebetweenus,“butIthinkDobbsisdirty.”

“Youthink?”NotthatI’deverknownjusthowdirtyDobbswasmyself,beyondabitofgraftnowand

then,buthey,Iwaslearningitdidn’tpaytogiveGunneraninch.“Boy,ittookyoulongenoughtofigure
thatoneout.”

Thatgotmeascowl.“Amongotherthings,he’sbeenactingbentoutofshapeeversinceIarrivedback

inPistolRock.”

Irolledmyeyes.“Youhavethateffectonpeople.”
Ahumorlesssmileslashedhisface.“Iheardanastyrumortheotherday.”
AfterIgavethebrickwallagoodpoundingwithmyboot,Imumbledundermybreath,“Youtalkedto

Boomer.Thatrottenlittlesnitch.”

“Iwasn’ttalkingaboutBoomer,”hiseyesnarrowed,“butsinceyoubroughtitup,whatabouthim?”
Ishrugged.“He’sjustadrunk.”
“Liar.”
“Cheater.”
“Tease.”
“You’reahorse’sass.”
Gunnerwasgrinningwhenhetookastepawayfromthewall.Heturnedtofacemeandleanedforward

intothewall,proppinghimselfupwithanarm.

“Feelbetternowthatyou’vegotthatoffyourchest?”
Igavehimapissylook.“Maybeatad.”
Heflippedmyhairoffmyshoulder.“Whatdoyouknow,”hesaid,“anddon’ttrytohalf-assit.”
“Youfirst,”Ibegan,thenclenchedmyteethatalookfromhimandletitspillout.“BoomersawLuke

outonArrowheadRangethenightofthemurder.”

“Andwhatwhereyouplanningondoingwiththisinformation?”Gunnerasked.
“I’dplannedontalkingtohimtoday.”
Gunner’sjawlocked.“Letmehandleit,”hesaid.“YouandLukedon’treallyhavethecleanesttrack

record.”

Well, that was definitely the pot calling the kettle black, but I nodded anyway. “Sounds like a good

plan,”Isaid.

Ididn’tunderstandwhereitwascomingfrom,butthisfeelingofneedingtoprotectLuke’sasswasvery

unsettling.Almostasunsettlingasnotbeingabletosnapthetopbuttononmyjeansafteranightofputting
awayanentirecartonofBlueBell,mint,chocolatechipicecream.Mystomachtwisted,andeventhough
Iwasn’tlooking,IcouldsenseGunnerstaringatmewiththatmouthwateringsmile.

“I should get going,” I said. “You know, three murders to investigate, no time to waste playing…

whateveritiswe’replayinghere—unlessyouwanttotellmeaboutthatnastyrumoryoumentioned.”

Heworkedhismoutharoundthethought,thenshookhishead.“AfterwhatyoujusttoldmeBoomersaid

about Luke, I think I might have to revisit that situation before I say anything more.” He shook away
thoughtfulnessandwinked.“Trustme.Maybewecantalkaboutittonight.”

“Right,”Isaid,exasperated.“Butyouwanttrustfromme,yougottaearnitandreturnit.”Ipulledmy

keysoutofmybackpocketandstuckthemintothedoorofthetruck.“Behaveyourself,GunnerWilson.”I
pointedastifffingerathim.

He raised an eyebrow. “Laney, it’s not like I’m going to sock Nathan in the nose”—a wicked grin

slowlyformedathismouth—“Idon’thaveto.You’llcaveeventually.”

“Ifdrivingyourselfcrazymakesyoufeelbetter,thenbyallmeans,bemyguest.”
Istartedthetruckup,drowningouthislaughter,anddroveaway.

…

I followed up on a few dead end leads, hoping to discover the missing links to Boomer’s memory that
wouldeitherproveordisproveLuke’spartinPacey’sdeath.Atthesametime,Ialsotriedtofigureoutif
hecouldbeinvolvedintheketaminetraffickingthathadgottenSkinnykilled.Ididn’treallythinkhehad
anydirectlinktoBosley’sshooting,mostlybecauseLukewasanin-your-facekindofguy:ifhe’dwanted
to kill Bosley, he’d have done it, not arranged for a drive-by in which somebody else had all the fun.
Also,asmuchasIdidn’twanttofindout,Ireallyneededtoknowifhe’dhadanykindofhandinHank’s
death. That “Hand to God, I swear I had nothing to do with Hank” business in his note was really
startingtotwistmythoughtsallaround.

Iparkedthetruckandjoggedacrossthelawnandthroughmyfrontdoortosprintupstairs.Iwasbeat

fromadayofchasingleadsthat’dfranklyleftmewithmorequestionsthananswers.Andnow,withthe
Cattleman’sBallonlyanhouraway,IneededtobusttailinordertobeatGunnertothepunch.Personally,
Iwasn’ttoogunghoeonhimquestioningLukewithoutmetheretoreininthemaletestosterone,butatthe
time,it’dbeenuselesstobuttheadswiththeTexasRanger.SoIfolded,knowingIhadeveryintentionon
whiskingLukeawaybeforeGunnergothishandsonhim.Forthemostpart,Gunnerwasmoreofthebust
’em-and-ask-questions-latertypeofguy,especiallywhenitcametoaWagner.Thosetwohadaboneto
pick.Ididn’tseethefeudendinginthenearfuture,soIconcludedmybestlineofdefensewastheperfect
littledress...andprobablyabeertoshowgoodfaith.

Icouldn’tdenythatithurttothinkLukewaskeepingsomethingfromme.AlltheseyearsI’dbelieved

he’d never once kept a secret from me—especially not one so hurtful. But if Boomer was right, and he
wassomehowinvolvedinanyofthemurdersIwasinvestigating…Well,Iguesshehadagoodreasonto
lie.Notevenyourclosestfriendssharedthatkindofinformationwithacop.Islungopenmyclosetdoor
andstoodback,ponderingwhattoweartonight.Iscouredthehangersinsearchofarespectabledress,
pushing aside my black cocktail dress in favor of the red silk. It had a low, scooped neckline and
spaghettistrapsthatcrossedinback.Ipluckedupapairofblackpumpsandsnatchedabottleofrednail
polishfrommydresser,thenIambleddownstairs.

FourhoursuntilIneededtobereadyfortheball.Islumpedagainstthecounter,thepressureoftonight,

themurders,andthefactthatIstillhadnoideawhysomeonewantedmeoutofthewaybadlyenoughto
beatmeupandkillmydoghadstartedtotakeitstoll.

Iwarilybrowsedmykitchen,suddenlyrealizingthat,damnit,therewasnosignofBoomeranywhere,

notevenacleaned-upcounter.Thatcouldn’tbegood,especiallyifanyonebesidesmeandGunnerknew
whatBoomerthoughthesawoutatArrowheadRange.Foramoment,Idebatedaboutgoingoutlooking
forthedrunkenreprobate.TheliquorstoreandRusty’sbarwereprobablythemostlogicalplacestolook

ifhe’dgoneoffonhisown,buttherewerealsodozensofotherplaceshetendedtogotogroundwhenhe
wentonabender,too.Ignawedmythumboverthequandaryforamoment.Whennosolutionpresented
itself,Ithoughtfuckitandhookedtheblackheelsovermythumb,foldedthedressovermyarm,locked
up,andleft.

Hell,yes,IwasconcernedaboutBoomer,buttherewasjustnowayformetokeeptrackofagrown

maninconstantsearchofself-destruction,soIsworeouttheserenityprayerandlethimgo.

ThelightswereonwhenIpulledupoutsideNathan’shouseandgatheredupthedressandshoes.He

openedthedoorholdinganearlyemptyglassofwinebeforeIwasabletoshovemykeysintothelock
andsteppedintothehumidair.Igavehimasmallsmileandpushedpasthimthroughthedoorway.

“Nicedress,”hesaid,casuallytouchingmyarm.
Ihuggeditintomyself,suddenlyunsurewherethiswasgoingorifIwantedittogothere.“Thanks.I

wantedsomethingmemorable.”

“Ithinkyouhitthemark.”Helettheredsilkslidethroughhishand.
“I’llbereadyinforty,”Isaid,slippingpasthimandupthestairs.Henoddedandwatchedmegobefore

headingbackintothekitchenformorewine.

I bathed quickly and stepped into the tight, red dress, fluffed my hair, and made up my face, paying

closeattentiontotheconcealerIusedtohidethestillvisiblebruisesonmyface.ThenIstoppedinfront
ofthemirror,appraisingajobwelldone.Myreddressscreamed“droolboys.”Ipulledmypocketbook
undermyarmandwalkeddownstairs.

Nathanwaswaitingbythedoordressedinapairofkhaki’sandawhitedressshirt.“Dang,Laney,”he

said.“You’regonnamakesomewomenjealoustonight.Anddrivethemencrazy.”

Isenthimanaughtysmileandtookhishand.Exactly,Ithought,Ineededtosnagmyselfacowboy.In

particularonenamedLukeWagner.

Heopenedthefrontdoorandstoppedtolookoverhisshoulderatme.“Bytheway,Dobbscalledwhen

youwereintheshower.Boomer’struckwasfoundonthesideoftheroadwrappedaroundastopsign
post.”

Igapedathim.DidIjusthearhimright?EveryoneknewBoomerwasadrunk,buthenevertossedback

thebottleandgotbehindthewheel.“Isheokay?”

“That’sthekicker—Boomerwasn’tthere.”Hisbrowspulledtotogether.“Honey,Dobbswillhandleit.

Justforonenight,willyoudomeafavorandnotthinkaboutwork?”

“Whynot?”Iliedthroughmyteeth.“Don’twealldeservealittleavacation,”Isaidandgrabbedhold

oftheoverheadhandle,hoistingmyselfupinsidethetruck.

But first thing first, I was going to capture Luke Wagner’s attention, then drag him out by the ears. I

didn’tcareifthelyingbastardkickedandscreamedthewholeway.IwasgoingtogettheinformationI
neededoutofhimnomatterwhat.IncludingtheinformationaboutwhereBoomerwasnow.

AndIdidn’tgiveaflyingfuckwhatGunnermightthinkwhenIdidit.

ChapterFifteen

NathancruisedthroughthewroughtirongatesmarkedwithtwosixfootgoldW’s,welcomingustothe
Wagner’sranch.Acastironsignflappedoverheadinthegustywind,andthepaveddrivewaysparkled
fromthewhiteChristmaslightsloopedaboutthetrees.Wewoundourwayupthedriveandparkednextto
abaronoaktree.

Islidoutandslammedmydoorshut,glaringattheblackYukonNathanhadparkedusnextto—andit

mademewonderifhe’ddoneitdeliberatelyasameanstowavemeinfrontoftheTexasRanger’sfaceas
aprizehe’dbeatenGunneroutof.

ItwasmomentslikethesewhenIdebatedbecominganoldmaidandtakinginadozenstraycats.
I kicked a heel at the Yukon’s driver’s door and squeezed between the bulky vehicles to find Nathan

slumpedagainstthetruck’sbumperwaitingforme.HestraightenedasIappearedandgaveGunner’sSUV
aself-satisfiedsmirkthatmademewanttoslaphimandslippedhishandinminetoleadmetowardthe
big,redbarndoors.

Thewindruffledupmydressandkissedatthebackofmyneck.Nathansmiledaswesteppedinside

thebarnandquicklybeganaslowsearchoftheroom.Ifelthishandtightenaroundminewhenhelocked
in on Gunner kicked back in his chair with his boots propped up on the table. The brim of his hat was
angledoverhissquarejaw.Thesleevesofhisblackpearlsnapwererolleduptotheelbows,givingmea
viewtohisinkedforearm.Heatsweptacrossmycheeks.Damntattoo.

ThegrinonGunner’sfacewidened.IheardNathanmutterafewchoicewordsbeforehedraggedmeto

ourtable.

Mitch had outdone himself this year. The room was decked out with lace table cloths and crystal,

hourglassvasesstuffedwithanoverloadofyellowroses.Nexttotheemptyhorsestalls,thestagewasset
upforthelocalband,TheNightWhistlers,whocouldn’tholdatuneiftheirlivesdependedonit.

Nathanslippedoffhiscoatandpulledoutachairforme.AsIwasabouttotakemyseat,ashoulder

brushed my back. I spun around to find myself face-to-face with Gunner. I gulped, watching that tight,
blackpearlsnapstretchandpullatthosewideshoulders.

“Howdy.”GunneracknowledgedNathanwithatipofhishat.
Nathanjerkedmebacktohisside,neverlettinghishatefulglareleaveGunner’sface.“I’mnotstupid,

Gunner.Iknowwhatyou’reupto.StayawayfromLaney.”

IshotanervouslookatGunner,whocasuallystuffedhishandsintothepocketsofhisWranglersand

slowlyrockedbackonhisheels.

“Wasn’tuptoanything,”Gunnersaidblandly.Hegavemeawidegrinthattwistedmystomachinknots.

“JusthavesomebusinesspertainingtoworkthatIneedtodiscusswithLaney.It’llonlytakeaminute.”

HecuffedNathan’sshoulder.“Ipromise.”

Nathanshruggedoutfromunderhishand.“I’mkeepinganeyeonyou,asshole,”hesnarled,thenlaid

onehellofawetoneonmylips.“AndI’mkeepinganeyeonyou,too,honey,”hepromisedmenacingly,
pulling away and leaving me with a pair of sore lips. “I’ll just be over at the bar, Laney.” He stalked
away.

Eyesnarrowed,Gunnerwatchedhimgo.“Someonehavingabadday?”
Iignoredthequestion,shufflingoutontotheplywooddancefloorwithhim.Whenheswungmeintohis

arms,Inarrowedmyeyesathim.

“Thisisn’twork.”
Heslippedmeawickedsmile.Hetwirledme,thenwhippedmeback,crushingmeagainsthischest.

“What,youdon’ttrustme?”

“Notevenalittle,”Isaid,tryingtoextricatemyselffromhisembrace.“Hasanyonetoldyoulatelyhow

sorryyouare?”

“Couldn’tpassupachancetogetmyfeelofyouinthisdress.”
“Gunner,weneedtogetdowntobusinessbeforeNathanlosesit,”Isaid.“Ifhedoes,itwon’tbeyou

whosuffers.”

IknewI’dmadeamistakewhenhisgazeonmedarkened,andhedrewourdancetoahalt.
“Ishehurtingyou,Laney?”WhenIshookmyheadwithoutresponding,heletgoofmywaistandrocked

backtostudymecarefully.Thenhisgazeshuttered,butallhesaidwas,“Okay,let’sdiscussLukethen.”

Igulped.“Fine.Buthere’sthedeal.Thisismytownandmyjob.I’mgoingtohandlethiswithLuke,

andyou’regoingtostepasideandletme.”

Hismouthformedagrimline.“It’smyjob,too,Laney.”
I’djustshiftedmyweighttostarehimdownwhenIheardadeepchucklebehindme.Iwhippedaround

tofindthemaninquestionhangingalloverthewomanI’doncefoundinbedwithGunner.

The trouble with small towns is that there are only so many people to go around, which makes the

likelihoodofrunningintosomeoneyouneverwanttoseeagainwaytoohigh.

“Well, if isn’t Gunner Wilson,” Wynona’s sultry voice purred. She flipped a clump of her platinum

blonde hair behind a shoulder and pinned her greedy, blue eyes on me. She might be president of the
JuniorLeagueandtheElizabethTaylorofPistolRockinthelooksdepartment,butshewasalsoanall-
aroundbitch.We’dneverseeneye-to-eyeevenbeforesheseducedGunner.Ofcourse,Imightbebiased,
giventhatIstillheldagrudgeovermymotherchoosingherovermeasMissTumbleweedineighthgrade.
The past is muddy, but the hatred was clear as day. “And Laney, how are you and Nathan doing these
days?”

I plastered on an insincere smile. “We’re doing great. Getting married next Saturday.” I cut my eyes

backtoLuke.“Ineedaword,”Itoldhim.

Wynona stepped forward and planted her manicured hand on my shoulder. “He’s with me tonight,

sugar.”

Besideme,IcouldfeelGunnerwindinguptogetdangerous.Isenthima‘nothere’glareandputsome

flintinmyvoicewhenIsaid,“Itpertainstoacasewe’reworking.I’llseeyougethimbackwhenwe’re
finished.”

Ofcourse,Ididn’ttellherwemightnotbefinishedwithLukeforawhile.
Shelookedlikeshemightargue,butLukedetachedhimselffromherwithafirm,“Iwon’tbelong”that

shecouldn’tignore.

“Youmightbe,”Gunnersaidunderhisbreath.
WhenWynonashothimakillingscowl,hesmiledatherasthoughmaybesheshouldsavehimadance

—ortwo—andsheturnedandflouncedawayalmostmollified.Isenthimadisbelievingstare.

“Really,”Isaid,“Righthereinfrontofherdateandme?Chainyourdog,Gunner.I’vestillgotplentyof

rocksalt.”

Heshrugged,unrepentant.“Gotridofher,didn’tit?”HeeyedLuke.“Westillneedtotalk.”
“What d’ya need?” Mitch Wagner’s son asked affably, leading us off the dance floor and over to a

privatecornerbehindTheNightWhistlersbandstand.

AssoonasIwasprettysurenoonecouldseeus,Ismackedafistintohischest.“Yousorrybastard.”

Myvoicespikedupanotch.“WherethehellisBoomer,andwhatelsehaveyoubeenlyingtomeabout
besidesnotknowingwhokilledHank?”

“What’sgotyouallhotandbothered?”Lukeasked,rubbingthespotwhereI’dpokedhim.
Itwouldbeimpolitetokeepthesonofabitchonhistoesallnight.
“Howcomeyoudidn’ttellmeaboutbeingonBosley’slandthenightofPaceyMonroe’smurder?”
I’lladmitthatstunnedlookslowlyspreadingacrosshisfacewasthehighlightofmynight.
Hestilled.“Whotoldyouthat?”
Ishoveddeeperintotheshadowsbehindthebandstand.“Boomersawyou.Nowhistruck’swrapped

aroundastopsign,andhe’smissing,sostarttalkingorIarrestyouonthespot.”

Outofthecornerofmyeye,IsawGunnergivemealookofstartledapprobation,thenabigthumb’sup.

Beforeme,Luke’spreviouslylaughingblueeyesturnedwary.

“Youwouldn’t.”
“Don’tpushyourluck.”
HeglancedatGunner,thenbackatme.“Withhimatyourback,Iwouldn’tdare.”
Iwasprettysuretherewassomehiddencommentinthatstatement—oneIhadnodesiretotakethetime

tofigureout.Takingtwogoodstepsback,Islungmyhandsuponmyhips.“Well,spititout.”

Insteadofdoingso,heseizedmywristandyankedmeafterhim.“Outside,now,”heordered,hisvoice

roughandhisbreathragged.

Gunnermadeagrabformeinpassing,butLukewasfaster,draggingmethroughthecrushofdancers

andpeoplemillingaboutbetweenusandthedoublebarndoors.Cursing,Gunnermadeabeelineafterus.
IcaughtaglimpseofNathanstaringcuriouslyafterus,thenwewereoutside,Luke’shathadflownoff,
andwewereheadedtowardatalloakhiddenfromhisguests’pryingview.He’djustslungmeagainstthe
roughtreetrunkwhenGunnerarrivedtojerkLukeawayfrommeandtwisthisarmbehindhisback.Then
itwasLuke’sturntowindupplantedagainsttheroughtreebark—facefirstwithGunner’sfistinhishair.

“Tellmetheplan,Luke,”hesaidwithsoftmenaceandreleasedLukewithaforwardshove.
“All right, okay.” Hands wide from his sides in an attitude of submission, Luke turned and slumped

againstthetreetrunk.Reachingintohisshirtpocket,hepulledoutatoothpickandrolleditbetweenhis
fingerandthumb.“HowwelldoyouknowNathan?”heaskedme,slippingthetoothpickbetweenhislips.

IlookedfromhimtoGunnerandback.“Oh…don’tyoudaretrytobullshitme,LukeWagner.”
Heflippedthetoothpickabouthistongue.“IfIwasbullshitting,cutie,youwouldn’tevenknowit.”He

kickedthetreewiththeheelofaboot.“There’salotyoudon’tknow.Forinstance,Ibetyoudidn’tknow
Nathanwashavingmoneyproblems.”Hepausedtoletthatsinkin.

IfeltGunnerslideastepclosertomebutsaidnothing,waitingforLuketohanghimself.
Watchingus,Lukehuffedoutalaugh.“That’sright,Laney,yourfiancébeggedmyfatherforaloanafew

days ago. He must be missing a few marbles, because everyone knows my old man doesn’t hand over
cash.”

I rammed a finger at his wide chest. “Is that the best you’ve got, Wagner? I thought you were more

cleverthanto—”

Lukereadjustedhisbackagainstthetree,shiftedhisboottotheground,andhunchedoverme.“AndI

thoughtyouknewbetterthanmostthateveryonehassecrets,”Lukeshotback.“Imean,youusedtolive
withthebiggestliarofthemall.”

“What?”Icouldn’tfathomwhathewastalkingabout,butdamnedifitdidn’tmakeanareaintheregion

ofmyhearthurt.“Whatdoesthathavetodowiththis?”

“Laney,”Gunnersaid,souncharacteristicallygentlethatmyhearthurtevenworse.Hefoldedmyfinger

awayfromLuke’schestandcuppedmyhandinhis.“Letthemanfinish.”

Luke’smouthtightened.“Iguessitdoesn’tmeannothin’,”hesaid,“exceptyouseemtohaveahankering

forfillingyourbedwithbastards.”

Istartedtoshakeasthebloodleftmyheadinarush.Iwouldhaveslappedhim,butGunnerkeptholdof

myhandevenashemadeamovetograbLukebythethroatthatIderailed.Thisprickwasmine—tobeat
down or arrest, whichever seemed most appropriate once we got out of him the confession we were
lookingfor.

“Iguessthatmeansyou,too,huh?”IspatatLuke,knowingthatIsoundednottheleastbitprofessional.

ButsinceIdidn’tfeelprofessionalrightnow,thatwasfine.“ButatleastIclearedyoursorryassoutof
mysheetsbeforeyoudraggedmedownwithyou.Nowgetoverourpastmistakesandfuckinggettowhat
youknowaboutallofthis.”

“Fine.”Heworkedhisjawaroundwhateverwascomingnext.“LikeItoldyou,Iwentbythatnightto

spook Bosley’s cows. Figured if they deserted him or something, my family could get hold of his land
faster.”Hekickedaweedwiththetipofhisboot.“IwasinthebarnsneakingaroundwhenIheardatruck
pullup.”Helookedatmeandhesitated,thenjustputitoutthere.“Laney,you’vegotnocausetobelieve
me,butitwasthatfuckerofafiancéofyourshavingaveryheatedtalkwiththeoldman.”

“Bullshit!”
Lukeshrugged.“Thoughtyoushouldknowbeforegoingthroughwiththatdamnwedding.”
“You’refullofshit.”Butsomethingtoldmehewasn’t.
“Luke,”Gunnersaidcarefully,“you’resureitwasNathanyousawouttherethatnight?Youcouldn’t

havemistakenhimforsomeoneelse?”

Lukesneeredathim.“YouthinkI’dsayitwasNathanifitwasn’twhenIknowhowsayin’itcouldhelp

yougetclosetoLaneyagain?Notachance.Itwasthatturd-plucker,andthat’sstraight.”

Gunnernoddedathim.“AllIneedtoknow.”Hepulledouthishandcuffs.He’dgottenasfaras,“Luke

Wagner,I’mplacingyouunderarrestforobstruction—”whenIspunonmyheelstofacethebarn.

“Fuck,”Isaidtightly.“Fuckinglyingbastard!”
ItwouldhavebeennicetoknowforsurewhichoneofthemImeant.
Tohellwithallofthem.Theycouldalljustkissmyass.
Lukebecausehewasthelying,sneaking,low-down,dirtyprickwho’dcomfortedmeafterGunnerleft,

andwhoI’dalwayswantedtobelieve—andbelievein.

Gunnerbecausehewas…well,Gunner.Hewasthecharming,lyingcheatwho’dbrokenmyheart.He’d

alsocalledwhatLuketoldus‘allheneededtohear’—whichleftmeconvincedhe’dknownwhereallof
thiswasheadedbeforehesetfootbackinPistolRock.Bytryingtoprotectmefromtheinevitable,he’d
leftmetoswinginthebreezewithoutrespectformypositionasadeputysherifforthefactthatIwasnow
afullygrownwomanwho’dbeenhandlingherownmistakessincehe’dleft.Thatmadehimworsethan
LukeanydaybecauseI’dexpectedmoreofhim,bothasafellowcopandasthemanwho’dknownme
best.

AndNathan…Nathanhadalotofquestionstoanswer,andIhopedhegavemetherightonesandmade

mebelievethem,orhewasgoingtoendupthesorriestassholeofthebunch.

Purposefully, I strode toward the barn to confront the dirt bag I was still engaged to—and slammed

directlyintohim.

“Shit!”Ijumpedback,reachingbehindmybacktowheremygunwasn’tbecauseitwasinmypurse.
“Thereyouare.”Nathansmiled.Helookedmeover,thentookmyhandandtuggedmetohisside.“I

wasbeginningtothinkLukehadrunawaywithyou.”

“He’snotthatsmart.”No,thatwasalie.Hewassmartenoughtorunmeincircleswhilehetriedto

stickawedgeinmyrelationshipwithNathan.ButthatchasmwasalreadywideenoughtofitMexicointo,
anditdidn’tlooktobeclosinganytimesoon.ItriedtosuckupthefactthatLukehadnoreasonIknewof
tolieaboutseeingNathanoutatArrowheadRangethenightofPaceyMonroe’smurder.Tounderstand
thatthemanI’dagreedtomarryaweekfromtodaymightwellbeamurderer.

WhileIwastryingtothinkhowbesttotacklehimonthatissue,Nathanhookedanarmaroundmyneck.

“Areyouokay?”heaskedwhenIduckedoutfromunderhisarm,slidafewfeetaway,andsquaredto
facehim.

“No,”Itoldhim.“Weneedtotalk.Doyoumindifwecallitanight?”
Hesteppedcloser,anglingintothelightfromthebarntogetabetterviewofmyface.“Youdolooksort

ofsick.”

Ifakedasmile.“I’djustliketogonow,please.”
“If that’s what you need, then let’s go. I’ll just get our coats.” He hurried through weathered, wind-

beatenbarndoors.

When he returned, we headed for his truck. Gunner’s Yukon was already gone when we arrived. I

assumedhewasdeliveringLuketolockup,butdidn’twanttothinktoomuchaboutit.Atthatmoment,I
wasn’tsureIcaredwhetherornoteitherofthemmadeittothejailinonepiece.

IhauledmyselfintoNathan’struck.“DoyoumindswingingbyyourplacesoIcangetmypickup?”
“Noproblem,”Nathanreplied.“Justdon’ttakeallnight.I’vegotanearlyappointmenttomorrow.”
“Icanmanagethat.”

Heturnedovertheengine,andwetookoff.
I was moody the entire drive. Funny how it’d only taken me a week to screw myself over. I knew

Gunnerwouldbetrouble,butshameonmeforleadingNathanon—andfornothavingtheballstostandup
to him when he vented his anger toward Gunner at me. Still, all I wanted to do was sweep the whole
incidentundertherug,letNathancallfoul,andletmewalkaway.ButaswedroveupthedrivetoBovine
Health Services, I could sense it would be a cold day in hell before Nathan would forgive my
indiscretions. And that was the issue that would keep me awake at night and the issue that scared the
livingdaylightsoutofme.

Nathan parked the truck, opened the driver-side door, and stepped out under dimly lit night sky. I

followed suit and rounded the front fender, coming face-to-face with the man who might have been
involvedinthemurdersofthreepeopleaswellasmydog,theoneIwasfixingtoerasefrommylifefor
good.Standinghereinthedark,nervousandcold,alonewithamanIwasjustcomingtoseecouldbe
highlyirrationalwhenthingsdidn’tgoexactlythewayheplanned…well,IknewwhatIhadtodo,butI
washavingreservationsaboutcallingitquits.

I looked him in the eyes. “I can’t keep doing this Nathan. You and me, this thing we call a

relationship…”Ibegantoslipoffmyengagementring,tryingtokeepmyvoiceevenandnotgiveaway
thedarkeraspectsofmythoughts.“Igavemyhearttoarecklesscowboyyearsago.Ithoughtthatpartof
mylifewasover,butit’snot.IfIstaywithyou,I’llonlybehurtingusboth.”Icuppedthediamondinmy
handandpushedmyfistatNathan’scrossedarms.“Idon’twanttohurtyou,Nathan,especiallynotlike
that.”

He smiled calmly. “You’ll be back.” He leaned into me, and could I feel his hot, sweaty breath rake

over me. The touch of his mouth brushed my neck, bringing a chill to my spine. “Keep the ring, babe.
ConsideritatokenoftheaffectionIhadforyouandHank.Besides”—hetookastepback—“Ihavethe
feelingonceGunnertapsyourtailagain,he’llmoveonlikealways.”

Andthenhewasgone.AndallIwasleftwithwasaslappingscreendoorandtheicyrealizationthat

Lukemightnotjustbeyankingmychain.

Nathanmightreallybethemurdererwewerelookingfor.

ChapterSixteen

IshutthewipersoffandletmypickupidleintherainoutsidethePistolRockMotorLodge.I’dgoneby
thestationfirsttoseeifGunnerwasthere,buttheYukonwasnowheretobeseen.OnlyElroyandLuke,
hissingleprisoner,hadbeenthere.AndLukehadclammeduptightandwasn’ttalkingtomeotherthanto
tellmetogofuckmyselfifIwasgoingtoletsomeshitfacedTexasRangerdohiminwhenhewasjust
tryingtobeagoodcitizen.

I’d thought about pointing out that if Luke had come clean from the start regarding his personal

whereaboutsandwhathethoughthe’dseenthenightPaceyMonroeandBosleyConrad’scowsdied,then
hewouldn’tbesleepingonthejailcotforthenight.

Truthfully, it had surprised the hell out of me, seeing Gunner arrest him for obstruction. The fact that

LukeremainedinjailwhenhisfathercouldprobablyhavecalledDobbsandgottenhimfreedsurprised
meevenmore.That’sthewaythegoodol’boynetworkworked:moneytalked,childrenwalked.

I eyed Gunner’s vehicle now, parked in its slot outside his room, and the lights were on inside. I

exhaled,allowingmyselftheluxurytobreatheagain,thenglancedatthegloveboxwhereI’dstuffedthe
ringNathanhadtoldmetokeep.Thefeelofhisbreathonmyneckwhenhe’dmentionedHankstillgave
methewillies.Realizingthathe’dshownuptotakecareofmerightafterthetruckfromwhichmydog’s
bodyhadbeendumpedroaredaway…thatsentachilldownmyspine.

Ididnotwanttobealonetonight.
RainspilleddownmyfaceasIscootedoutofthetruck.Iflippedmydrenchedhairoutofmyeyesand

benttoslipoffmyheels.Straightening,Itoldthenaggingvoiceinthebackofmymindtoshutup,thatthis
wasonlyaboutmebeingafraidtostayalonewhileNathandealtwithourbreakupandIdealtwiththe
uneasy thought of what he might be capable of, and made my way across the lot, sloshing through the
puddlestoroomsix.

GunneransweredthedoorattheverymomentIsteppedbacktowaitforhimandwaterrushedoffthe

overhang,drenchingme.Nodding,hetookinmysoddenappearance.

“Wonderedwhenyou’dshow,”hedrawled.
“WhatdoyouknowaboutNathanandPaceyandSkinnyandHankthatyouhaven’ttoldmeyet?”Isaid

boldly,shovingpasthimintotheroom.

“Youdidn’taskaboutBosley,”hecountered,steppingasidetoletmein.
Idroppedmyheelsnearthedoorandheadedforhisbathroom.Undertherightcircumstances,Ilikedto

bewetandsweatyandnaileddownbyGunnerinthethroesofsex.Thisverymotelroomhadseenthat
actionbetweenusmorethanonce.Butthatwasyearsandhistoryago,andallIfeltrightnowwastotally
soakedandawkward.

“Letmedryoff,andI’llberightback,”Imutteredandshutthebathroomdooronhim.
“Sure,”Gunnercalledafterme.“Yougetoutofmybathroom,I’llbehere.Wecantalk.”
ThenIheardhimmutterunderhisbreath,“Orsomething.”
ThethoughtgavemeevenmoregoosefleshthanIalreadysportedaftergettingchilledbytherain.
Quickly, I stripped and dried off. He’d left one of his T-shirts hanging on the back of the door, so I

grabbed it and slid it on. It fell to my knees and made me look like something the cat dragged in, but
maybe that was a good thing under the circumstances. Running a hand through my hair in an attempt to
detangleitaftertowelingitdry,IopenedthedoortotheroomwhereGunnerhaddefloweredme.

He stood on the other side of the room near the windows, scowling, looking like he was debating

whethertofeedmetothewolvesorkissme.Mybody,traitorthatitwas,foundthisenticing—Icouldfeel
mynipplestighteningtopinpointsagainsttheshapelesscottonshirt.I,whopreferredsextoconfrontation
ofanysort—witnessmywillingnesstohaveNathanontopofme—lickedmylipsandeyedthebed.

Gunner’sglowerdeepened.
Swallowing,Idartedmygazeatthemini-fridge.“Doyouhaveanythingtodrink?”
“Adrink.”Gunnerhuffedandmovedawayfromthewindow.“Whatthehell.Icoulduseacoldone.”

He went to the fridge and squatted, stretching the tight Wranglers around his firm ass as he opened the
door.“Willbeerdo?”HepulledouttwoBudLightsandrose.

“I’mnotcomplicated,”Ireplied.
Gunner snorted. “Right,” he said. “Almost as uncomplicated as a wounded cougar in a corner.” He

crackedopenbothbeersandhandedmeone.“Spititout,Laney.Whatdoyouwant?”

Itookaharshswallowofbeer,suckingupcourage.“ThatstuffLukesaidaboutNathan,”Isaidfinally,

“it’strue,isn’tit?Youknewitbeforeheconfirmedit.”

Hislipstwistedinakindofshrug.“Isuspected.”
Hesethisbeeronthenightstandandstretchedoutonthebedtoleanbackagainsttheheadboard.Heat

flushedmycheeksasIwatchedhisT-shirthikeuphisstomachtorevealaportionofhisrippedsixpack
and the dark curls that peaked out from the low-slung waistline of the jeans I hadn’t realized were
unsnappedandhalfunzipped.

“Likewhatyousee?”heasked.WhenIgulpedbutdidn’tlookup,hemadeatwo-fingeredmotionfrom

hisflytohisface.“You’reengaged,”heremindedme.“Eyes,uphere.”

Guiltily,mygazejumpedtohisface.Shit.Caught.Embarrassed,Iscannedtheroomforsomewhereelse

torestmyeyes.Thedeskchaircaughtmyattention,soIhauleditoutandsat,self-consciouslypullingthat
nowdamnedinadequateT-shirtdownovermyknees.WhyhadIcomehereagain?“Whydidyouarrest
LukeforobstructionwhenyouknoweitherMitchwilljustbailhimoutinthemorning,orDobbswilllet
himgotheminutehegetswindofit?”

Heliftedanddroppedashoulder.“Dobbsdoesn’thavejurisdictionovermyprisoners.IfheturnsLuke

loose,Icanhookhimupforobstruction,too.”

“But—”
Heshookhisheadandheldupafingerformetolethimfinish.“Look,Laney,Lukeisakeywitnessin

atleastonemurderinvestigationandprobablymore.WeknowDobbsisdirty,butweneedproof.Your
fiancé—”

“He’snotmyfiancé,”Isaidquickly,rippingthatbandageoffmywoundsandwigglingmyringfingerat

him,“IendeditbeforeIcamehere.”Andwasn’tthatjustthestupidestadmissionI’devermadetohim.

He looked at me, eyes darkening. Then he took a deep breath and roused himself from wherever his

thoughtshadtakenhim.“Okay,so,Dobbsisdirty”—hetickedhisfingersonebyone—“Bosleywasdeep
infinancialdifficultiesandsoisNathan,ifLukecanbebelieved.I’mstillnotsurehowPaceycomesinto
this,but—again,ifLukecanbebelieved—NathanandBosleywereseenarguingthenightbeforePacey
and Arrowhead Range’s cows died. We also know that the Wagners were after the Arrowhead Range
land,andtheygottheirhandsonitalmosttheminuteBosleydied.”

Inodded,tryingtokeepup,eventhoughthewholethingmademyheadhurtwiththeplotconvolutions.

AddtothatthedistractionofstaringatGunnerashelayjackeduponthebed,andmybrainwasgone.

Gunnertappedhisfifthorsixthfinger—I’dlostcount.“Skinnywasknowntocookmethanddealother

drugsonamodestscale,andketamineisbeingboughtandsoldthroughoutthearea.Asavet,Nathanhas
accesstoasmuchketamineashecanuse.SkinnywaskilledinDobbs’sjailcellonDobbs’swatch.”

He looked at me and took another deep breath. “We know the cows were killed by someone mixing

poison parsley into their water supply. Bosley is the likely culprit if he was looking for an insurance
payout,butwhatifhehiredNathantodoitinexchangeforaportionoftheinsuranceandPaceyfound
out?”

“But…” I started and subsided. I’d been about to say that I thought Nathan was out of town the night

Paceydied,buthehadn’tleftforhisHoustonmeetinguntilafter.Hecouldhavebeenanywherethatnight
forallIknew.Still,theideaseemedinsubstantialtome.“AreyousayingyouthinkNathanissomehow
involvedwithboththeketaminetraffickingandBosley’sdeadcowsaswellasPacey’sdeath?”Ishook
myhead.“AndyouthinkDobbsmurderedSkinnyand…”Isquinted.“Andthathe’salsoresponsiblefor
the drive-by that killed Bosley, which would mean that he…what? Took a payoff from Mitch Wagner
to…”Ilookedfortheword.“…facilitateWagner’sacquisitionofBosley’sfarm?”

Gunnergrinnedatthequestion,andIrolledmyeyes.Wow,lookatme!Biglegalwordscomin’outof

mybutt.

“That’s where I’m sorta headed.” He gave me an appreciative once over that made me realize I’d

slumpedbackinthechairaswetalked,andhisT-shirtwasnowridinghighupmythighsandexposingthe
crotchofmyalmostnon-existentpanties.“ButIcan’tthinkwithyoudistractingmelikethis.”Hewatched
meslouchforwardasIhauledtheshirtbackovermykneesandslidhiswaydownthebedtowardme.
“So,”hesaid,reachingthefootandleaningoverhiskneestowardme,“nomoreyouandNathan?”

MybreathcaughtandIshookmyhead.“No,”Isaidhoarsely,“nomoreNathan.”
Hereachedoutandroughlycuppedmyface.“Good,”hesaid,pullingmymouthinchesfromhis,“that’s

reallygood,becauseI’mstillinlovewithyou,LaneyBriggs.IhavebeensinceIwastwelveandsawyou
inthatreddresswithbrownpigtailssittingallaloneintheschoollunchroom.”

Thenhekissedme,andforthefirsttimesincehe’dleft,Icameundone.

…

ItwasstilldarkbythetimeGunnerandIfinallycameupforair.

Thunder and lightning rolled against the single pane window, a fitting tribute to our relationship. A

silenthumputteredfromthewindowboxunitasthedimlightingfadedacrossournakedbodies.Gunner
wasspoonedinbehindme,anarmslungacrossmychest,hisraggedbreathingwarmagainstmyback.He
wasgentlykissingmyshoulder,trailinghiswarmlipsdownmyarm,andstrokingafingerupanddown
mylimpthigh.

“I’dalmostforgottenhowamazingyourbareskinfeltunderneathmine,”Gunnersaidashekissedmy

neck.

Tuggingonthesheets,Irolledovertofacehim.Hesmiledandranhishandthroughmysex-rumpled

hair.

“I should get going,” I said, inching to the edge of the bed. I sat up and leaned over in search of my

panties.

Heproppedhimselfuponhiselbows.“Work?”heguessed.
“That crime spree we’ve been having won’t solve itself.” I snapped the covers back and found my

panties, then scooted off the bed, slipping them on. The black T-shirt I’d borrowed from him last night
wasscruncheduponthefloor;Icaughtitupandshruggeditovermyhead.

Gunnersighedandsatup,banginghisheadbackintotheheadboard.“Isuppose.”
Ipickeduphisboxers.“Doyoumind?”Iasked.
He shook his head while I pulled them on. I collected my now dry dress and picked up my heels as

Gunnereasedoutofthebedandsteppedintohisjeans,thenhepulledmeintohimandkissedmehard,
urgent,anddemanding.Ikissedhimbackinadistractedsortofway—whatthehellhadIdone,sleeping
withGunnerWilsonagain,butdamnhaditfeltgood—andtheneasedreluctantlyoutofhisarms.

“Work,”Iremindedbothofusandscoopedupmykeysonmywaytothedoor.Everythingwouldwork

itselfout,Itoldmyself—nowifonlyIbelievedit.Ipushedopenthedoor,steppedoutintotherain,but
stoppedandturnedwhenGunnerfollowedme.

“Becareful,”hecalled.“I’llbeintodealwithLukeinabit.”
Nodding, I waved and left, gaze on him where he slumped in the motel room doorway, watching me

throughtherain.ThenIpeeledoutofthelottoheadforhome,andhewasgone.

ChapterSeventeen

Afteralong-windedbitchfestwithmyconscience,Iwasabletocoercemyselfoutofthetruckandinto
thehouse.Isplashedcoldwateratmyface,catchingaglimpseofthedarkcirclescreatingcratersbeneath
my eyes, and told myself to grow some balls. My life was in shambles, and I was eyeballing the damn
culpritdown.

Also,Boomerwasstillmissing—orattheveryleast,stillnothere.
I’dalsoleftafewthingsatNathan’s—likemybadge—thatIwassuretoneedtoday.
I showered, brushed my teeth, and got dressed in my regulation shirt and a pair of jeans with worn

knees,andheadedforthekitchen.

Therewascoffeespiltonthecountertop,aplateofcoldeggsandtoastsatnexttothecoffeemaker,and

anemptybottleofJimBeamwasrestinginthesink.Achillranthroughme.Shit.Nathanhadbeenhere.
ThesamewayI’dleftmybadgebehindlastnight,Ihadn’tthoughttogetmyhousekeysbackfromhim,
either.

Feelingmorethanalittleleery,Ilaggedovertothecounter,dumpedthestalecoffeedownthesink,and

switchedonthecoffeepot.Whatpartof“here’syourringback”hadthemannotunderstood?Butmaybe
becauseIhadn’tthrownitontohisfrontlawnwhenhe’dtoldmetokeepit…maybethathadbeenenough
forhimtobelieveIwasn’tserious.

Damn,damn,damn.
Iopenedthefridge,readytostormitscontentsforacartonofcreamer,butlostallconcentrationwhenI

sawthePost-Itnotestucktothefreezerdoor:Dobbscalledwhileyouweresleeping.Boomercheckedin.
He’soverathismother’splace—Nathan.

Iblinked,staringatthejagged,scribbledhandwriting.Slammingthefridgedoorclosedwithmybutt,I

reached for the cordless on the adjacent wall, punched in the sheriff station, and waited. Three
excruciatingminuteslater,andElroy’svoicestungmyears.

“PistolRockSheriffStation,”hesaid.
“Goodmorning,Elroy.”Myvoicewassharpandunfriendly.“CanIspeakwithDobbs?”
He slurped, choked, and then the line went dead. Come on. How inconsiderate. Then, “Laney?” he

wheezed.

IthrottledthephonethewayIwantedtothrottlehim.“I’mstillhere.”
“Haven’tseenDobbsorGunneryettoday,”hesaid,“andsincewe’reonthetopic,aren’tyousupposed

tobeworking?”

While I wanted nothing more than to rush into work, I first needed to go to Nathan’s and pick up my

badge, my house keys, and whatever else I’d left there so that maybe my former fiancé would get the

messagethatIdidn’tjusthavecoldfeet,wewereoff.Theickypricklyfeelingthathe’dbeenherewhile
I’dsleptoveratGunner’sandmighthavedoneanythinghelikedtomyplacewasjust…reallyunnerving.

I sighed into the phone. “I’m sort of busy. Did you say Dobbs never called here about Boomer this

morning?”

“LikeIsaid,bothguysareanoshow.”Elroyhuffedannoyed.
The little bit of ‘it’s gonna be bad’ intuition that seemed to live permanently between my shoulder

bladestwitched.IhungupanddialedGunner’scell.Itwentstraighttovoicemail.Ilefthimamessageto
stop by my place later and disconnected. I should be used to spells of bad luck, but hell, this one was
eatingmealive.Itwastimetonailthiscoffinshut,sinceIdidn’tplanondiggingtwograves.Igrabbed
mytruckkeysoffthecounterandheadedforthedoor.ThenIsawthebriefcaseNathanhadleftsittingnext
tomybackdoor.

Again,thatspotbetweenmyshouldersitched.WhathadLukesaidaboutNathan’sfinancialsandhim

beggingforaloanfromMitch?

Givingmyselfonlyasecondtothinkbetterofit,Ipickedupthebriefcaseandwalkedoutthedoor.

…

The white tan line on my ring finger seemed to wink bitterly at me as I reached for the doorknob of
BovineHealthServices.Ididnotwanttobehere.Theinstincttoturnandrunwasstrong,butIbeatit
back,turnedthedoorknob,andsteppedintomyex’splaceofemployment.

Inside, the clinic was dark. The shades had been drawn, and the door to Nathan’s office was wide

open.Ilookedatthefrontdesk.Empty.Caroline,hisreceptionist,must’vehadthedayoff.Iscootedpast
thecoffeetable,enteredtheoffice,andswitchedonthelight.

Atrailerparkwouldhavefaredbetterinatornado.
Nathan’s desk was cluttered with papers, the floor was scattered with picture frames, and the file

cabinetswerespittingoutfolders.Icrossedbehindthedeskandpickeduponeoftheframes.Someone
wasnotahappycamper—ourengagementphotowasrippedtoshreds.Myskincrawled.EitherNathan
understood that I’d meant what I said about leaving him and had let himself in to wander my house
anyway,orhe’dfollowedmelastnightandseenmegotoGunner’s.

I set the frame back down on the desk and was about to leave when I spotted the orange pill bottles

spillingoutofthebottomdeskdrawer.Iwentover,shuffledahandinsidethedrawer,andpulledouta
couple.Ketamine.Notdamninginitself,butI’dbewillingtobetthathisunlockeddeskdrawerwasnot
theusualplacetostoretheprescriptionanesthetic.

Irummagedaroundthedraweralittlemoreandpulledoutastackofbouncedchecksthatwerestuffed

intheback.Whoa.NomatterwhatnastyorinsincerefaceNathanhadshownmeoverthepastfewdays,I
really hadn’t been expecting Luke to be right about his money problems. Every payment, from the
mortgageontheclinictoNathan’smedicalinsurance,hadbounced.Sorrylittleshit.

ItappearedthatthepiecesGunnerhadbeentryingtoputtogetherlastnightbeforewegotsidetracked

werestartingtoaddup.Iwasn’tsurewhyIwasshocked.Itwasn’tlikePistolRockwasahotspotfor
youngandambitiousprofessionalslookingtorelocate.Folkseithercameheretoescapeacrime,orthey
werebornandraisedhereandcometotheconclusionthatthereisnoescaping.WhenIthoughtbackover

histimehere—histimewithme—Nathanhadalwaysbeenanawkwardfit.

Iwaddedupthechecks,grabbedahandfulofthebottles,andstuffedthemintothebackpocketofmy

jeans.NevermindmybadgeormyhousekeysoranyotherbitsofmylifethatI’dleftinhisplaceacross
theway.NowaywasIdoinganymorewaitingaround.Ipushedthroughtheofficedoorandboltedoutthe
frontdoor.

Itwastimetoleave.Icouldfeeltheburningitchundermyskin,butIdidn’teverwanttohavetocome

backhereagain.IhustledupstairsandgrabbedmybadgeoutofthebackofthedrawerwhereI’dleftit,
thenyankedmyduffelbagfromthecloset.Hurriedly,IbegantostuffitwiththefewbelongingsI’dkeptat
Nathan’s.Afewpiecesofmyfavoritesexylingerieweremissing.Iscrabbledthroughthedirtyclothes
andshoeboxesscatteredaboutthebottomofthecloset,onlytocomeupempty-handed.

Fuckit,Itoldmyself,it’snotlikeyoudon’thaveotherpairsoffancypants.
Izippedmybagandslammedthebedroomdoorbehindme,sprinteddownthestairs,andmadehasteto

mytruck.

Thatominousfeelingbetweenmyshoulderbladesescalatedintoafull-fledgedpanicattackatthesound

oftirescrunchinggravelupthedriveway.Iturnedaround,stalledwithahandonthedoor,toseeNathan
blockingmyescapewithhispickup.AsIwatched,heflungopenthedoorandsteppedpurposefullyoutof
thecab.Driedmudstucktothecuffsofhisstainedjeans,andhisshirtwascoveredingrimeandsweat.
Dangling from his right hand was the half empty twin to the whiskey bottle I’d found in my kitchen. A
slow,evilsmilecreptacrosshisstonyface.

“Leavingsosoon,babe?”heasked.
Ifumbledwithmykeysandslungafootintomytruck.“Ijustcamebytopickupmystuff,butElroy

called,saysheneedsmetocomedowntothestation.”

Henarrowedhisgreeneyes,grunted,thenchuggedbackwhatwasleftofthewhiskeybeforetossingthe

emptybottletothelawn.Thenhesteppedforwardandlatchedholdofmyarmandjerkedmeoutofthe
truckandontothegravel.“Ineedyoutoseesomething.”Thenhedraggedmeacrossthelawnandback
throughhisfrontdoor.

Heslungmeintoachairatthekitchentableandstormedabout,slammingcabinetsandflingingopenthe

fridgetopulloutabeer.Hefellbackintothedoorandchugged,watchingmewhilehefinishedthebottle.

“Well,spititout,”heorderedwhilewipinghismouthclean.
Ithadoccurredtometheothernightthathemightbelosingit,butI’dtriedashardasIcouldtoignore

thewayhe’dtreatedmeandbelieveitwassomethingpassing.Prettystupid,nowthatIthoughtaboutit,
andmesomekindofcopandall,butseeinghowhostileanddangeroushelookedinthemorninglight,all
Icouldthinkwastoliethroughmyteeth.

“I’mnotsurewhatyouwantmetospitout,”IsaidascalmlyasIcould.“WebrokeuplastnightsoI

camebytoclearupmystuffandgetitoutofyourway.Ibroughtthis”—Idugtwofingersintothewatch
pocket of my jeans and dragged out his diamond, glad that I’d thought to retrieve it from the glove
compartmentbeforeIhithisoffice—“justincaseyouchangedyourmindandwanteditback.”

Nathan rolled up his sleeves and placed his elbows on the table, giving me a frightening smile. “I

thoughtyouwereabetterliarthanthat,honey.DoyouthinkI’mstupid?”Thesmilewidenedasheleaned
incloserandwhispered,“Tellme,whore,wasiteasyspreadingyourlegsforGunner?”

We stared at each other for a tense moment, making assessments of the impending damage. Then he

snatchedmeupbytheshirtcollarandbarreledafistintomyjaw.Myupperliptastedofblood,alltangy
and metallic. I blinked, barely able to focus as I scooted back against the wall, and swiped my mouth
clean.

HecrouchedinfrontofmeandjerkedmychinupwhenIflinched.“It’sapity,”hesaid,strokingmy

cheek.“Ialwaysthoughtofyouaspretty.”

Tremblingwithfear,Istillmanagedtocaptureenoughsalivatospitinhisface.“Asshole,”Ibitout.
Heroughlyshovedmyfaceawayandwrappedahandaroundmythroat.“Youhaven’tseenthehalfof

it,darling,”hecounteredandhauledmesavagelytomyfeet.Eyesonmyface,hepulledmyhandcuffs—
fuck, he had my handcuffs; the last time I’d seen them, Gunner’d used them to handcuff the guy who’d
assaultedmetoapoleinfrontofthestation—outofabackpocket.“Ithinkwecoulduseadrive.”Helet
go of my throat and twisted my arms behind my back, palms outward, and ratcheted the cuffs tightly
aroundmywrists.“Weneedtosortsomethingsout.Don’tyouthink?”

Acoupleofminuteslater,IsawmyGlockstickingoutofthebackofhisjeansashestrappedmeinto

thebackseatofhisextendedcab.

“Hold on tight,” he told me, “it’s going to be a bumpy ride.” Then he stamped a foot on the gas and

gunneditinthedirectionofmyhouse.

Afewminuteslater,myhouserolledintoview.Nathancuttheengineanddraggedmeoutofthetruck

andtowardthehouse.Itriedtojerkfreeandrun,buthecaughtme.Wetussled,butbetweenthehandcuffs
andNathan’sfury-enhancedstrength,Ilost.

Nathan tugged me inside. Nothing could have prepared me for the freak show my living room had

becomeintheshorttimesinceI’dleftit.Candlesliteverytable,androsesineveryshadeofpinkmadeit
looklikethePepto-Bismolfairyhadlostcontrolofherwand.

“I thought we could honeymoon early.” His voice oozed sweetness as he took the handcuffs off and

pulledmeintohisarms.“Ihopeyoulikepink.”

ItwasastrugglenottogagasIstaredintohiscalm,emotionlessface.“You’recrazy,”Isaid,tryingto

breakfreeofhishold.“Youknowthat,right?”

Asmilecreasedthecornersofhismouth,andhishandssunkdownmybacktomyassandmoldedme

againsthisfly.“Idrovearoundallmorningdebatingwhethertowashmyhandsofyou.Laney,youalmost
ruinedeverything,”hesaidandsqueezedmetighter.“ButI’mbetternow,andI’vedecidedtogiveyoua
secondchance.”

Well, shit me. Was I supposed to feel excited, grateful, or just plain disgusted? I was having trouble

pickingjustoneuntilmynosegrazedthestubblecloakinghisneck,andIsmelledthesourstenchofsweat
lingeringonhisskin.That’swhenmyinstinctforself-preservationtookhold.

Rockingontothetipsofmyboots,Iplacedmymouthinchesfromhisear.“Iknowallaboutthedrugs,

Nathan,”Iwhispered,“andjustcurious,honey,butwasiteasyputtingthatbulletthroughBosley’shead?”

Gently,hepushedmeawayandsmiled.“Notaseasyasit’llbetoputonethroughGunner’s.”
Theaircaughtinmylungs,andmyeyesflewwideasheturnedhisheadandplantedhistonguebetween

my parted lips. Instinct alone allowed me to go limp, open my mouth, and give him all I had. When he
thrust his erection against me, I smiled into his neck, tugged him forward—and rammed a knee into his

stiffdick.

“Holyfuck!”Hefellinaballonthefloor,takingmedownwithhim.
For a moment, I was immobile beneath his weight. Then I pushed him off and reached for the gun

stuffed into the small of his back. The cold metal slicked across my palm as I clasped the trigger and
gained my footing. I’d barely had time to admire my cleverness when the wind got knocked out of my
lungs,andIwasonthefloorwithabootslammingintomyside.

Pulling myself together, I blinked through the bone-deep pain and came face-to-face with Nathan,

hoveringabovemewiththe9mminhand,lookinglikearabiddog.

“Thought you had me,” he said, waving the gun at me. “But I know something you don’t.” He looked

over his shoulder, and I heard the clump of boots in the hall. Tugging at the elastic waistband of his
trousers,SheriffDobbsenteredtheroom.

“Ihaveapartner,”Nathansaid.Hegrabbedaholdofmyhairandrippedmyheadforward.“Laney,I

thinkyouknowJimmyDobbs.”

Dobbssquattedtolookatmewiththatdirty,oldmansmilethatalwaysgavemethecreeps.“Ibetyou

weren’t expecting this, sweetheart,” he said and spat a string of Copenhagen down the left side of my
face.

…

I’m not sure if I blacked out or if my brain just took me away somewhere until I could deal with how
stupidandnaïveI’dbeentoeverthinkJimmyDobbswasjustasimple,backwoodsgood-old-boywho
wasn’t exactly the cleanest cop who’d ever existed, but that he wasn’t exactly dirty, either—or that
Nathanwastheperfect,ifboring,manforme.

Whicheverhappened,IcametointimetohearNathansaysharply,“SheknowsabouttheSpecialK,

andsheknowsaboutBosley,too.”

Dobbssnorted.“Ican’tbelieveyoutoldher.Itoldyoutokeepquiet.”
“Hell,Jimmy,”Nathanshotback,“Ibentoverbackwardstryingtokeepheroutofthismess.Isetup

thatbeatingoutsideofRusty’shopingtoknocksomesenseintoher.Ievendidthatdamndoghopingto
scaretheshitoutofher.Butshe’salwayshadaknackforscrewingthingsup.”

Shit.He’dhadmebeaten,andhe’dkilledmydogwhenIthoughtthingsbetweenuswerestillgood.I

wasafuckingidiot.

Iheardhimpacethefloor.
“Jimmy, you said this would be easy money. Now we’ve got people dead and the Texas Rangers in

town.Doesn’tseemeasytome.”

“HowwasIsupposedtoknowthatprickWilsonwouldcomebacktotown?”
Theconversationhadturnednasty,andthetempershadbecomeheated.Lastnight,whenhe’dstartedto

layitout,Gunnerhadbeenright,andnoweverythingwasstartingtomakesense.Isuckedupmysanity
anddecideditwastimeforalittlerealitycheck—forallofus.

“It’sseemsy’allbothwenttoalotoftroublefornothing,”Isaid.Theyturnedtowardme.Imanageda

shrug.“I’llbetitseemedeasy,”ItoldNathan.“You’reindebttoyoureyeballs.Dobbsoffersyouanout,
andeverything’sfineuntilBosleywantstobedealtin.”

IforcedmyselfnottoflinchwhenNathanbentandtippedmyfaceuptomeethiseyes.“Allyouplanned

todowaskillafewcowstoputalittlescareintohim.Buttheneverythingwenttoshit.

“PaceyheardyourconversationwithBosley,soyouhadnochoicebuttodohim.WhenGunnershowed

up,youhadtoeraseyourtrail,soDobbskilledSkinny,andyoudidBosley,butit’sovernow.Ifyoutouch
me or Gunner, you risk bringing the full force of the Rangers and every other law enforcement agency
downonyou,because”—mylipstwistedandIstaredhardatthem—“wetakecareofourown.”

“Shit.” Dobbs slumped against the counter, nervously wringing out his sweat-soggy handkerchief.

“She’sright,”hetoldNathan,straighteningandfumblinghisweaponoutofitsholster,“we’refucked.”

“Dobbs,”myvoicecracked.
Dobbs shook his head dismissively. The next thing I knew, I was staring down the barrel of his gun.

BeforeIhadachancetoeventrytothrowmyselfoutoftheway,ashotblastedoff,rattlingmyeardrums.I
wasonmybelly,trembling,whenIheardNathan’svoicebuzzinginmyears.

“Thoughtyouwereagoner,didn’tyou?”hesaid,grabbingmyhairandpullingmetomyfeet.
“Holyshit…”Igasped.“YoushotDobbs.”
Thelineofhismouthtightened,andhegavemyhairanotheryank.“Dobbswasawasteoftaxpayer’s

money.”

“Getoffme,”Iyelledandshotmybootbackathiskneecap.
Wetumbledbackwards.Nathan’sgriponmeslackenedwhenheslammedintoachairandfell,losing

hisholdonmygun.Itthuddedtothefloor,andIspotteditlyingafootfrommyfingertips.Istruggledto
mykneesandsawNathandivefortheweaponevenasIscrambledtobeathimtoit.Thepistolslidaway
frombothofus.Myhearthammered,andIcouldfeelhisbreathonmyneck.Islammedanelbowback
intohisnoseandlunged.

I’d like to remember things differently. Like how I snatched up the gun and whipped back around,

pointingthesuckerstraightatNathan’shead.AndI’dliketoseekpleasureintheblastthatnailedabullet
tohisforehead.Mostofall,I’dliketoblockoutthememoryofNathanslammingmychinintothetable
legandsnaggingthegunoutofmysweatypalms.

“God,youjustkeepmakingthingsworseforyourself.”Heflippedmeontomybackandstraddledme.

“Nowthisisthewayit’sgoingtobe.”Heclampedhisfistsaroundmywrists,pinningmyarmsabovemy
head.“First,Ishowyouwhatit’sliketobescreweduntilyoubegmetokillyou”—hesnickered—“then
I’llkillyou.”

Heflatteneddownontopofme.“Andjustsoweallgooutwithabang,I’llcallthegoodTexasRanger

andtellhimyou’reintrouble,andwhenheracestoyourrescue,I’llputabulletinhishead,too.”

“Gunner’sgoingtokillyou,”Ibitout.“Nomatterwhatyoudo,it’llneverwork.Wehaveevidenceof

yousellingthedrugs.There’sapapertrailaboutyourfinancialtroublesamilelong.Nomatterwhatyou
do,they’llknow,Nathan.Theyalreadyknow.”

ButIwaswastingmybreath.Hewastoofargonetounderstandanythingthatmadesense.
Perhapshealwayshadbeen.
“Whatevidence?”heasked,liftinganeyebrowoveratthesheriff’slifelessbody.“Dobbswasthelast

personalivewhoknewanything,andwhenGunnerandyouareintheground,mysecretswillbeburied
withy’all—”

He broke off at the sound of the door bursting open and boots storming in our direction. The rage in

Gunner’s brown eyes as he charged into the kitchen and catapulted into Nathan was the most beautiful
thingI’deverseen.

“Youmotherfucker.I’mgoingtokillyou,”hesnarled.
I scrambled out of the way, screaming “Grab the gun,” at myself, trying to break through the tears

blurringmyvision.Swipingthebloodfrommymouthandnosewiththebackofmyhand,Ihobbledtomy
feet.

Alampcrashed,andthecouchscreechedacrossthewoodenfloor.Isawtheflashofbodiesbarreling

towardthewall.ThenIsawNathanbashGunner’sheadintothewall.Gunnerrespondedwithanuppercut
toNathan’sjaw.

Blood splattered my curtains as Nathan stumbled and fell onto the coffee table. I saw him scrabble

beneaththetableforsomething,andthenhecameupwiththegunpointedatmyhead.

Mygun.
“Saygoodnight,mylove,”Nathansaid,slippingafingeraroundthetrigger.
“NO!”Gunnershouted.
AndthenIheardagunfire.

ChapterEighteen

Thedayswerehotanddry,andmylawnlookedlikeit’dbeennukedinthemicrowaveandleftthere.We
didn’t have a new sheriff yet, but it’d been three weeks since the shooting, three weeks since the
gravedigger lowered Nathan into the ground, and three weeks since I’d learned that Boomer really had
gonebacktohismother’safterrunninghistruckintothatstopsignwhiledrivingdrunkforthefirsttime
ever.

It had also been three weeks since Gunner moved back in with me while the dust from Dobbs’s and

Nathan’sketaminecasesettledandwerecleanedup.Thingshadbeenunbelievablygoodbetweenusuntil
fivedaysagowhenhe’dgottenaphonecallfromhisofficeinHoustonandbolted.

Oh, he’d been all lovey-dovey apologetic beforehand, telling me there was just some stuff he had to

takecareofandtheneverythingwouldbefine.Problemwas,nomatterhowIfeltabouthim,Istillwasn’t
sureIcouldtrusthim,letalonebelievehimaboutanythingthatdealtwithus.

I’dspentthedayssincehisdeparturetryingtogoaboutmybusinessasusual—justbecausePistolRock

nolongerhadaSheriffdidn’tmeanwealsonolongerhadcrime,suchasitwas.ElroyandIhadbeen
busy—well, I’d been busy, anyway—cleaning up the mess Dobbs had left behind, sorting through his
files, and trying to do damage control when the whole Special K thing wound up hitting the national
eveningnews.

Lazily,Ipushedopenthepicketfencegateandmadeahalf-heartedattemptatdraggingmyassintothe

garden.SpendinganafternoonunderthedeadheatoftheTexassummersun,hackingawayatthebrittle
earthonmydayoff—lifesucked.WithGunnereitheroutoftownorjustplaingone—nomatterwhathe’d
said, I was keeping that option open, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise—I was alone
again.Paranoidthoughitmightbe,itfeltlikeIwasbacktobeingthegirlfolksgossipedaboutonFriday
afternoonwhiletossingbackacoldone,thenprayedforovertheSundaypotluck.

Isquatted,slowlyloweringmykneesontothehard,drydirt.Mybruiseshadfaded,butmyheartwas

stillonthemend—nomatterwhatkindofbastardNathanhadturnedouttobe,thefactthatI’dtrustedhim
enoughtothinkImightlovehimhurtlikethedickensalmosteverydangsecondofeverydangday.Gunner
beingaroundhadhelpedwiththatalot,buthewasn’there,andI’dbeenalonelongenoughforthepainto
catchupwithme.

I was about to reach for my garden tools when the sound of tires rolling up my drive stalled me. I

dustedmypalmsonmywhite,cottontanktop,tuckedafewstrandsofdull,brownhairbehindmyears,
andturnedaroundtogreetmyunwelcomedvisitor.

ParkedontopofmypricklylawnwasablackYukon.Thedriver’sdoorswungopen,apairoflonglegs

clad in Wrangler’s stretched out of the cab, and then Gunner stood in my yard. Heart in my throat, I

watched him casually scan my pathetic garden and slowly zero in on me. A smile tugged at his
cheekbones,andheheadedacrosstheyardtowardme.“Idon’tthinkitcanbesaved,”hesaid.

IliftedahandtocovermyeyessoIcouldlookupathim.“Miraclesareknowntohappen.”
“Everydamnday,”heagreedandrockedbackonhisheelsandpushedhishatbackonhishead.“Laney,

I—”

“Gunner,don’t.”Ipulledmyselfupoutofthedirt,smearedmyhandsdownthelegsofmyjeans,and

pushedthroughthegate.

“Okay,”hesaid.“ButyoumightwanttoknowIgotmyselfstationedinOdessa.”
I looked at him a minute in disbelief. “Odessa?” I whispered, waiting for him to tell me I was

dreaming,butallhedidwassmile.

Andholdhisarmsopen.
“Odessa!”Ibreathed—andthenIshrieked,“Odessa?Youbastard!Yougotyourselfstationedanhour

away,andyoudidn’tbotherto—”

ButIgotnofurtherbecausehe’dcrossedthespacebetweenus,scoopedmeintohisarms,andputhis

mouth at my ear. “I wanted to surprise you,” he murmured. “I thought you’d be okay with my working
closeenoughtoPistolRocksoIcouldbeherewithyou.”

“Okay?”Imumbledastearsstartedinmyeyesandspilleddownmycheeks.Ismackedhischestwitha

fist.“Yougiantprick.Ithought…Ithought…”

“Iknow,sweetheart.”Hismouthbrushedjustbelowmyearlobe.“That’swhyIdidn’tsayanything.I

didn’t want to get your hopes up in case it didn’t work out.” He moved in and nuzzled my shoulder.
“TherewasnowayIwasgoingtoleavemygirlagain.AndmybossandIbothagreeditwouldbeadamn
shameformetopassupmyonechanceathappiness.”Hefinishedthelongwindedexplanationbyplacing
asoftkissonthenapeofmyneck.

Foramoment,Ijuststaredathimindisbelief.Thensomethingthatfeltalotlikeforgivenessandmaybe

evenhappinessstirredinsideme,andIforgotI’deverbeenmadathim.

“Doyouthinkit’dbeallrightiftheprodigaljerkcamehome,Laney?”
Iwrappedmyarmsaroundhiswaistandgazedintohiseyes,unabletoholdbackasmileatthewicked

grinspreadingacrosshisface.“Tellme,then.Howdoyouplanonmakingthissounforgettable?”

Hegrabbedme,pullingmeagainsthisrockhardchest.“Darling,I’mabouttolayakissonyouthat’ll

besogood,you’llstillbethinkingofmewhenyourhairturnsgrey.”

Whenhebenttokissme,Idecidedlifewaslookingmorerecklessandpromisingbytheminute.
Andboy,didIlovearecklessride.

Acknowledgments

I have to give a big shout-out to my amazing husband, Jared. I could never have gotten PRETTY
RECKLESSpublishedwithoutyoursupport,time,andbeliefinmywriting.Youwerethefirsttoreadand
fallinlovewithLaney,Gunner,andallthingsPistolRock.ThankyouforlovingmesoIcouldtakealeap
offaithandpursuealifelongdream.

Mytwokids,JakeandMaggie,y’allarethebestsonanddaughteramothercouldeveraskfor.Mydays

arebrighter,andmylifehaspurposesincethetwoofyousteppedintotheworld.

Mysuperagents,SharonBelcastroandEllaMarieShupe.Icouldn’thaveaskedforbettersidekicks.

Thanksfortakingachanceonadebutwriter.Y’allhavegoneaboveandbeyondthecallofduty,andI
owe my deepest gratitude to the both of you for seeing something in me and running with it. Working
togetherissomuchfun.I’mtrulyappreciativeofthefriendshipandsupportyoutwohavegivenme.

MyeditorTereseRamin,youreditorialinsightcan’tbematch.Yougotmefromthestart,andthatmeans

theworldtome.Ican’tthankyouenoughforlovingLaneyandthewholePistolRockganglikeIdoand
helpingmetellherstory.Itrulyhavelearnedsomuchfromyou,andLaneywouldnotbetheLaneytoday
withoutyourattentiontodetailandpatiencewithanewbiewriterlearningtheropes.

AndtoallthetalentedpeopleatEntangledwhohelpedturnthismanuscriptintoabook.
AndtothewritersofIgnite,Entangled,andthelocalAustinRomanceWriterschapter,thankyouforall

theguidanceandadvice.

AndthankyoutomygrandmotherRuthforplayingmakebelievewithmeinherlivingroom.
Finally,tomywriterfriends,whoIhaveyettomeetinperson,butwhoreachedouttooffersupport,

guidance, jokes, and HOT pictures which helped get me through my first publishing journey. You guys,
rock!I’mveryluckytohavemadetheconnections.

Andtomyreaders,Ican’twaitforyoualltostartthiswildridewithLaney.Enjoy.

AbouttheAuthor

JodiLintongrewupacrossthestreetfromacowpasture,whereshewasmorelikelytobeenseenselling
Kool-AidinaDixiecupattencentsapop,orinvitingneighborsovertowatchoneofherplaysstagedon
herfather’sBassboat.Eventhoughsheneverownedoneofthebovines,she’lladmitthatthesmellof
cowmanurehadalastingeffect,makingiteasytospotacowamileaway.

In2001,shetradedintherednecks,cowboys,andmesquitetreesofherhometowntochasedestinyout

west.Afterafewyearsofmuckingitaroundwiththeroughnecks,duststorms,anddroughts,shedecided
to dust off her boots and head home. With a History degree in one hand and a marriage license in the
other,shefollowedherhusbandin2006totheTexasheartland,fabulousAustin.

Somewheredowntheline,shestartedwriting.Maybeitwastheboringjobsearch,ormaybeitwasthe

crazycharactersdancinginsideherheadthathelpputpentopaper.Whateverthecase,writingsurebeat
theheckoutofworkingforatempagency.ThefirststorywasaboutaboylookalikeIndianaJoneswho
chased after vampires in small town Texas. The second story was aYA contemporary about the Grim
Reaper,andwellhalf-waythroughshedecidedtoshuckthemboth,partlyduetothebirthofherson,and
mostlybecauseshewasn’tawestruckwiththepremises.

Takingabreakfromwritingtoraiseherson,shefilledthetimebyreading,andinsistentlyfellinlove

withmysteries,especiallyoneswithwitty,spunkyheroines.Fourmonthslater,shehadamanuscriptabout
asmart-moutheddeputyandherrottenex-boyfriendduelingitoutinsmalltownTexas.

AftersettlingintotheTexasHillCountrywithherhusbandandtwokids,shejoinedtheWriter’sLeague

of Texas, and signed with The Belcastro Agency. Today she can be found cozied up to the computer
escaping into a quirky world of tall tales, sexy, tight jean wearing cowboys, and a protagonist with a
sharp-tonguequickenoughtohanganymanouttodry.

There’sagoodchanceshe’sbrushedpathswithafewofhercharacters,butshe’llnevertell,thoselips

aresealed.

OtherBooksbyJodiLinton

ATCHA

ONNA

WITH

OWBOY

(novella,cominginsummer2014)

RETTY

HAMELESS

(comingfall2014)

Lovecowboysandranchers?Trythese...

EXAS

OLD

‘E

ByKayDavid

Partlawenforcement.Partcriminal.Andalldeliciouslybad…

Working undercover as part of an elite team of Rangers disguised as the Smokin’ ACES biker gang,

Timothy Santos walks the thin line between law-enforcer and law-breaker. With one of his informants
missing—andpossiblydead—atthehandsofviciouscartelleaderElBrujo,Santoswilldowhateverit
takestofindjustice.EvenifitmeansheadingtoRioCountytolookuphisformerlover…who’snotonly
thesheriff,butSantos’sonlylead.

Rose Renwick is not happy to see Santos. In the past, their chemistry had been explosive—raw,

sensual,andunforgettable—butshe’dbeenburned.NowSantosisbackintown,lookingjustaslethaland
asirresistibleassheremembered.ButSantoswantssomethingfromher—andsuddenlyRose’sfamilyis
indangerandhertownisunderattack.Theonlywayoutistotrusttheonemanshesworenevertotrust
again.Anteup...

Amazon

B&N

iTunes

ReadallofKayDavid’snovelsat:

http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/kay-david/

ACRIFICE

ASSION

ByMelissaBourbonRamirez

Somethingwaitsintheshadows…

On a Texas night twelve years ago, Vic Vargas kissed Delaney West so deeply that she almost came

apart.Laterthatsamenight,evilcreptintoDelaney’sroomassheslept–andeverythingintheirworld
fell apart. Now Vic is a rancher living a half-empty life punctuated by one-night stands and a strained
relationshipwithhis11-year-oldson.

ThenDelaneyreturnstoSanJulio,andthepastcomesrushingback…alongwiththedarkechoesofthat

night so long ago. Livestock are dying. Some say coyote, but others whisper another darker word.
Chupacabra.Bloodsucker.

Thepasthasn’tdisappeared–norhastheinstinctivedesirethatsnapsandcracklesbetweenDelaney

andVic.Andasthoseemotionsignite,sodoestheevilthathibernatedforthelasttwelveyears.Theevil
thatwaitedforDelaneytoreturntoSanJulio…andtoVicVargas.

Amazon

B&N

iTunes

ReadCurseofPassion,alsobyMelissaBourbonRamirez

http://www.entangledpublishing.com/curse-of-passion/

HREE

IVER

ANCH

ByRoxanneSnopek

Thiscowboydoesn’tknowwhathe’sinfor...

Real-estate tycoon Mitchell Granger has a problem. In order to secure a lucrative deal with an

eccentric client, he told the teeny white lie that he was engaged…and now he needs to prove it. Even
worse? The only name that came to mind was Sabrina Becker, the girl he was never good enough for
growingup,andwhostilllivesnearhisfamilyranch.

Sabrinadoesn’tmindposingasMitch’sfakefiancée—no,shedoesn’tmindatall.One,she’llmakehim

paywithnewconstructionforherbusiness.Andtwo,Sabrina’sgotaplantoexactrevengeonherfirst
love, the boy who left her and Three River Ranch behind. She’ll pretend so well, he’ll fall in love
withher…andthenhe’llgetatasteofwhattrueheartbreakfeelslike.

ButasMitchshedshiscorporateskinandpicksuphisdustyjeansandcowboyhat,willbothhisand

Sabrina’sgrandplansgetderailedbylove?

ReadallofRoxanneSnopek’sThreeRiverRanchnovels

http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/roxanne-snopek/

Document Outline

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Jodi Linton

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