Borrowing Trouble (11 page)

He pulled Sloane in closer. “Hey, I know this is a little slow paced for you. Hell, at your age I would've died of boredom in a department like this, but it's a good group. And there is plenty you can learn here—things that will make you a better cop no matter where you go in the future.”

“I know. It's all good, Jake. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for hooking me up here.”

Connie approached. “You ready to go?”

“Three-dollar margaritas, here we come.”

They threw on coats—Sloane had already changed into something more festive for Jake's party—and went a few doors down to the Ponderosa. Mariah waved to them from behind the bar, motioning that they should take any table they wanted. The restaurant's happy hours were popular, but the after-work crowd hadn't yet shown up, so they had the pick of the place. They settled on a table for two tucked under the staircase. She'd heard the second floor was Tater's apartment.

“Want nachos?” Connie asked.

“That sounds good.”

“What about potato skins, fully loaded?”

“Aren't you still full from the shower?”

“No,” Connie said. “That's why you're a skinny bitch.”

Not if she kept eating Brady's food. “Okay. Let's get both.”

“And a pitcher of margaritas.”

A server came, took their orders, and returned with two margarita glasses.

“So you're the big boss while Rhys is away, huh?”

“It's just because Jake is busy with wedding stuff.”

“It'll be good to get Rhys out of the office for a few days. He's been driving me up the wall. Don't get me wrong, I love him like a brother, but he needs to get laid.”

Sloane nearly choked on her water. “I don't think we should talk about the chief's sex life.”

“I do. It's not like I have one to talk about. How 'bout you?”

“Nope. But I just moved here. What's your excuse?” Sloane figured Connie, who was cute in a tomboy way, was in her early thirties and should have no problem meeting men.

“Slim pickings.”

“What are you talking about? I've never seen so many good-looking guys. It's like they grow on trees here.” Sloane bent over the table. “What about Griffin? You can't get hotter than him.”

The server put down their appetizers, poured them two margaritas, and put the pitcher down in the center of the table.

When she left, Connie said, “Everyone knows he's in love with the chief's sister.”

“Everyone but me. Who's the chief's sister?”

“Lina Shepard. She just moved back from San Francisco. She's going to the University of Nevada now and is splitting her time between here and Reno. They used to be lovers.”

“But they're not anymore? If not, you should go for him.”

“Not my type.”

“All right, what's your—” Before Sloane could get the rest of the sentence out, the server returned with a plate of fried calamari. “Uh, we didn't order this.”

“Compliments of the chef.” The waitress rolled her eyes and in a low voice said, “They're from Tater. He made me say that.”

Connie laughed, and at the top of her lungs yelled, “Thanks, Tater.”

When the waitress walked away, Sloane asked, “What about Tater? Is he single?”

“He's single but I'm not into him. What about you? Got your eye on anyone?”

“Not really,” Sloane said and played with the potato skin on her plate. “I'm still getting a lay of the land.”

“What about your neighbor, Brady Benson?” She made a purring noise that made Sloane snort with laughter. Sloane tried to imitate it but couldn't pull it off.

“How do you do that?” she asked Connie, whose attention had turned to the door.

“Here come the Addisons.”

The couple grabbed a table on the other side of the dining room. “So that's them, huh?”

“Yep. Be prepared for them to come over to say hello. They think they're friends with my parents. Secretly, my folks hate them. They'll also want to suck up to you, since you're the po-po and all.”

Just as Connie had predicted, the minute they spied her they came trotting over. And they had on the matching bear hoodies Harlee had mentioned.

“Hi, Connie,” the woman said, and then just stood at the edge of their table, gawking at them.

“Hey, Sandy and Cal. This is my friend Sloane McBride. She's our new officer—well, not so new anymore.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Sloane stuck out her hand. Neither of them shook it and Sandy eyed her margarita. “Connie and I just got off duty.”

“What's going on with that body you found?” Sandy asked.

“We're awaiting lab results. Do you have any idea who it might be?” Sloane had been putting out feelers everywhere she went.

“It's probably one of those drug dealers left over from Lucky Rodriguez's cowboy camp. Ever since he came back to town we've had nothing but trouble.”

Not from what Sloane had seen. “Well, if you hear of anything just let us know.”

They didn't even say goodbye or nice to meet you, just turned on their heels and left.

“Asperger's,” Connie said.

“What's up with the Garanimals?”

Connie laughed. “Yeah, they're a freak show. No one really likes them, but they have clout because they own the Beary Quaint. Before the Lumber Baron, it was the only game in town and brought in a fair amount of tourism. People are afraid to cross them.”

Sloane remembered what Brady had said about them giving the Lumber Baron a hard time over their food permits. “Just as long as they're law-abiding.”

“I doubt they're running a brothel out of that hellhole they call a lodge, but maybe while Rhys is gone we could raid 'em.”

“What are you two laughing about?” Tater pulled a chair up to their table.

“Hey, that's the most I've ever heard you say at one time.” Connie got up, went to the bar, brought back another glass, poured a margarita, and slid it over to Tater. “We were laughing at the Addisons.”

He turned his head to where they were sitting, and grunted something unintelligible.

“You on a break?” Sloane knew that in an hour the place would be packed with diners.

“Mm-hmm. What's going on with the body?”

You'd think it was the O. J. Simpson case the way everyone talked about it here. In LA they found bodies all the time. Unless it was a movie star, the discovery rarely made the news. “Nothing yet. But if you can think of anything that might help us . . .”

“Will do,” he said. “You like the calamari?”

They'd barely touched it. “It was delicious, Tater. Thank you for sending it out, but it probably isn't a good idea in the future.”

“Why not?” He looked slightly offended.

“Because the police can't take free stuff.”

“Oh,” was all he said, and gave a half shrug. “I wasn't giving it to you because you're a police officer.”

“I know. You were just being nice. But others might see it as currying favor. It's just the rules.”

“But you can give me free stuff,” Connie said. “I'm just a lowly dispatcher.”

Tater smiled and Sloane noticed he wasn't that bad looking. Not up there with the rest of the Nugget hunks, but less scary when he smiled.

“Brady said you used to be in a famous band. Is that true?”

“Gold Country.” Tater nodded. “But we weren't that famous.”

“What did you play?”

“Bass.” Connie was right, Tater wasn't much of a conversationalist. “I've gotta get back to work.”

After he disappeared inside the kitchen, Connie said, “They were a pretty big deal. They opened for Ryan Adams.”

Sloane didn't know who that was. Her tastes ran more toward pop music. “Why do you think he quit?”

“He didn't like all the touring. Plus, his parents are getting up there in age. I think he wanted to be around to help them out. He'll occasionally sit in with a couple of the local bands. We could go see him one night.”

“I'd be up for that.” Why not? It would be fun.

Sloane's cell phone vibrated with a text. She considered ignoring it, not wanting to end a fun evening with another gruesome picture of Sweeney swinging from a noose. Then again it could be work. As it turned out, the text was from neither. It was Brady.

L
ina came into the Gas and Go looking ready to spit nails.

“Uh-oh,” Griffin muttered to himself, and shut the hood of the car he'd been working on.

“My truck won't start,” she said.

“Careful where you walk there.” She had on a skirt and high heels. The garage was covered in grease. “Where is it?”

“In front of the Lumber Baron, parked in the square.”

“You walked all the way over here?” He eyed her shoes again, letting his eyes drift up her legs.

“It's only five blocks. In San Francisco I walked everywhere.”

People in Nugget drove two blocks to go to the grocery store. It was a ranching town, folks liked to be close to their trucks.

“All right, I'll take a look at it.” He grabbed some tools and jumper cables and told her to hop in his truck.

They drove back to the square in awkward silence. Fine with him. He pulled his truck up to the Scout and told Lina to pop the hood. Frankly, he was surprised the old truck had made it this long. After she got inside the cab and pulled the latch, Griff took a look at the engine. Lina came up behind him and watched over his shoulder.

“See that?” He poked at her battery terminals with a wrench. “Corroded.”

“Can it be fixed?” She was so close he could smell her perfume. It was different than what she used to wear, less sweet and more spicy.

“I can clean it, but more than likely you need a new battery.” He turned to face her. “Weren't you looking for a new car?”

“I'm looking, but anything decent is out of my price range.”

“How much you looking to spend?” He hadn't come across anything for her anyway, but when he did, it would be good to know her budget.

“A few thousand.” She seemed embarrassed, even though there was nothing to be embarrassed about. It was a lot of money for a full-time college student.

“I'll continue to keep my eyes out.” He nudged his head at the Scout. “What do you want to do about this?”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “What do you think I should do?”

“I'll take a stab at cleaning the terminals. See if we can get it started that way. If not, and you need a new battery, you'll have to decide whether you want to spend the money. It might not be worth it if you can find something else.”

“All right. How much will cleaning the terminals cost?”

He gave her a hard look. “Give me a break, Lina.”

“Well, I don't expect you to work for free.”

“Then find another mechanic.” He started to walk away, but she came after him.

“This is your business, Griffin. Do you go giving away free labor to everyone?”

“First of all, you're not everyone. Second of all, it's a lousy fifteen-minute job.” He didn't wait for her to respond. “Go to the inn and bring me back a cup of water with a tablespoon of baking soda. If you could find me a toothbrush, that would be good too. Try to hurry—we're losing the light.” Griff looked at his watch, then across the square at the folks rolling into the Ponderosa. Happy hour.

She hurried into the Lumber Baron. Every time he saw her she seemed to get more cosmopolitan. He guessed now that she was working part-time at the inn, she had to dress up. Lina looked good in skirts and high heels. Who was he kidding? She looked good in everything.

It didn't take her long to return with the things he'd requested.

“Thanks,” he said, and loosened both cable nuts and unfastened the cables from their posts. “I don't see any cracking or acid, so maybe you don't need a new battery.”

He dipped the toothbrush into the baking soda solution and scrubbed the corrosion off the top of the battery, the clamps, and posts until they were clean. In the back of his truck, he grabbed a water bottle and rinsed everything off, then dried it with a rag. He squirted some protection spray on the exposed metal, reattached the cables to their proper terminals, and twisted until they were tight.

“Try to start it,” he told Lina.

She climbed behind the wheel and turned the ignition. After a few coughs and sputters the engine finally turned over.

“You fixed it.” She beamed so bright it was like sunshine and he wanted to bask in the glow forever.

“Let's let it run for a few minutes to make sure it won't stall while you're driving.” He stood with his arm resting on her window, listening to the engine. “Were you in a hurry to get somewhere?”

“No. I was on my way to Rhys and Maddy's. They're going to San Francisco for a few days while Maddy's mom watches Emma. I'm planning to stay the weekend to help her.”

“What about Sam?” That was Rhys and Lina's little brother. “He's staying with Cody McCreedy. That way Clay can take the boys to their basketball practices. They're inseparable anyway.”

“You liking Reno?”

“I am. My classes are great and it's a lot cheaper than San Francisco, plus I get to be near my family.”

He wondered if she'd be going to Jake and Cecilia's wedding. If she'd be taking a date. He didn't ask, though. It might send the wrong message.

“You're probably good to go now. But, Lina, try to get something soon.” He knocked on the roof of the Scout. “This old thing doesn't have too much left in her.”

“I will. And, Griff, thanks so much.”

“
De nada
,” he said, and watched her drive away.

 

Sandra was back with a vengeance. Brady had found eight more emails in his old account, a few voice mails, and a Facebook post boasting about their wonderful time together in Cabo last month. Except he hadn't been to Cabo in January. Not with her, or anyone else. And it was pretty safe to say that between freezing his ass off in Nugget and soaking in the Mexican sun with Sandra, Nugget would win every time.

As usual, he sent everything off to Santa Monica PD, knowing full well there was nothing they could do. At least he was being proactive, unlike Sloane, who actually had a crime to report. As much as he didn't want to get involved with her, most days he found himself gazing at the clock, waiting for lunchtime, hoping she'd come to the Lumber Baron for a meal. At home, he listened constantly for her truck coming down their driveway. When he heard her rustling around next door after work . . . well, he thought about things he shouldn't, like watching her strip off her clothes.

A few minutes later he heard the crunch of gravel and positioned himself at the window. Sloane parked in her usual spot, slid out of the driver's seat holding a six-pack, climbed their porch steps, and knocked.

He opened the door. “I thought you already ate.”

“I did.” She handed him the beer. “This is a peace offering.”

“For what? Going to happy hour without me?” He grinned.

“For getting pissy with you about going to Rhys.”

“I was just looking out for you.” He raised his arms, palms out. “Not that you're not capable of looking out for yourself, but I don't like the tone of those texts, Sloane. I don't like 'em at all.”

She nodded. “I'll tell him when he gets back from his mini vacation.”

Frankly, he didn't think it should be put on hold, even for a few days. The person, or people, harassing her needed to be dealt with immediately. But last time he'd stuck his nose in, she'd gotten defensive.
I'm a cop; I can take care of myself
.

He opened the door wider and swung his arm for her to come inside. “Have a beer with me.”

“Let me change first.”

“Okay. You sure you don't want anything to eat?”

“Positive. When you texted, Connie and I had worked our way through nachos, potato skins, and fried calamari. I may never eat again.”

While waiting for her, Brady stashed his laptop in the bedroom and stuck two pilsner glasses in the freezer and the beer in the fridge. Sloane came back in her typical after-work attire. Yoga pants and some kind of stretchy top that crisscrossed under her breasts. And not for the first time he noted she had a hell of a body. Her hair was down and she'd also put on perfume. He was trying not to read anything into that.

Like always, she had a pistol tucked into her elastic holster. He pointed to the gun. “Are the threats the reason you always wear that?”

“I never know when I'll get called out,” she replied, but Brady got the sense she was evading the truth. She wasn't wearing her badge or carrying her car keys.

Although the glasses hadn't had time to get frosty, he pulled them out of the freezer, grabbed two beers, and poured them each one. Sloane followed him into the living room and sat next to him on the couch.

“How was Jake's party?”

“Good,” Sloane said, and her lips tugged up. “The cake was a big success. What did you do today?”

“I went to Reno to stock up on cooking supplies for the inn and for Jake and Cecilia's wedding. Other than that, it was pretty uneventful. You get any more texts?”

“Nope. Hopefully it was their last hurrah.” She hitched her shoulders, trying to act blasé about the whole thing. Brady knew better. “I have to work for part of Jake and Cecilia's reception. We all agreed to take short shifts so everyone could at least attend some of the party.”

“Seems like a good compromise. How's your case going?”

“I'm still waiting for lab results. Once they identify the sex and approximate age, I'll have a better idea of where I should focus as far as searching missing persons databases. So far, no one is missing from around here.”

Brady put his feet up on the coffee table and took a slug of his beer. “Sounds like it could take a while.”

“Yep. But I won't give up.”

He didn't think she would. Not in her DNA. In the short time he'd known her; she'd struck him as the type to take the job to heart. She'd gotten herself ostracized for doing the right thing. Yet, there was no doubt in his mind that Sloane would do it again. That's just how she rolled. And it made him even more attracted to her. The fact that she could take care of herself was damned hot. Although Brady was a Southern man with a protective streak as long as Alaska, a strong, smart, capable woman was sexy as sin. And Sloane had all that in spades, not to mention looks that slayed him. She was the whole package, all right.

“You'll figure out who he or she is,” he said, and moved a little closer to her on the couch. “There's no doubt in my mind. Let me ask you something, and I want you to be honest. You rattled over that text yesterday?”

She sucked in a breath and took some time to answer. “A little.”

“Good.” When she looked at him like he was an insensitive jackass, he continued. “Being rattled will keep you on your toes.” It had certainly worked for him. “Given how you reacted when I told you to go to Rhys, this'll probably piss you off too: I bought locks for all your windows and dead bolts for your doors. The security in this place stinks. So as a precaution, I'd like to install them tomorrow.”

“Brady, that was very thoughtful of you, but I'm perfectly adept at taking care of myself.” Her eyes moved to the gun around her waist.

“I have no doubt about that. But sometimes a man likes to feel useful. Humor me, would you?”

“Since I wouldn't want to put a crimp in your manhood”—she tossed him a wicked smile—“then go ahead and get your tools out and do what you need to do.”

“Yeah?” Brady leaned over to kiss her. Just something quick and sweet in case he'd misunderstood.

But when she opened her mouth for him and slipped her arms around his neck, he went all in. It was a supremely bad idea, but he couldn't help himself. Not when they'd been playing footsie for weeks now.

She hummed her pleasure, so he took the kiss deeper, exploring her mouth with his tongue. God, she tasted good. Like minty toothpaste, beer, and desire. He slid his hands to her back and slowly took her down on the couch so that he was on top of her. The handle of her gun pressed into his belly.

“You think you could take that thing off?”

“Sorry.” She lifted up, undid the holster, laid it on the coffee table, and plopped back down on the sofa.

He moved over her again and she pushed into his erection. “Yeah, that's better,” he said, covering her breasts with his hands.

Again, she purred her appreciation. Her top had been pulled down just enough so that the lace edging of her bra peeked out. He wanted to see more, so he pushed the shirt up to her chin. God, she was gorgeous. All smooth, toned skin and a pink push-up bra.

“I like this.” He traced the cups with his fingers. “It reminds me of your apartment. Girly.” Definitely a contrast to the nine-mil she kept as her constant companion.

The bra had one of those front clasp deals that Brady was fond of. He unsnapped it, freeing a pair of killer breasts. Round, pert, and ample, with pink, erect nipples.

“Mmm.” He held them in his hands, taking each one in his mouth.

She squirmed under him, tugging his shirt up. With one hand he pulled it over his head, then removed hers. The bra went too, and they were skin to skin. She watched him fondle her, taking in his tattoos.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Beyond okay.” She kissed his arms, then his chest, and his chin, licking her way to his mouth.

At some point she'd wrapped her legs around him and he was so hard it hurt. “I don't want to take this too far.”

“Why not?” she asked in a breathy voice that made him grow to bursting.

“Not a good idea.” But he was already working his hands down her hip-hugging yoga pants. Her panties were wet and he couldn't resist testing her with his fingers.