Lori Armstrong - No Mercy

“Why would I do that?”

“That’s what I’m asking, dumb-ass.”

His hand swept from my forehead down to the base of my skull.

My muscles went rigid as a 2x4.

“Either you’re in shock or you’ve got a head injury. Because no way in hell did I do this, and you should know that.”

I hated this. I thrashed against him.

Then Dawson had pressed my left cheek against the wood, layering his sweaty face to mine. “Mercy, say something.”

“Let me go.”

“Why won’t you let me help you… dammit. Stop squirming.” He released a pent-up breath. Slowly he angled back, muttering something.

I looked up at him.

Big mistake.

Those steely gray eyes locked on mine.

And I became acutely aware of how close we were. Of the solid feel of him against me and the fast beat of his heart against my chest. Of his ragged breath beading the perspiration on my skin. Of the adrenaline pumping between us like a dare.

Even our reactions to the situation were strangely synchronized.

My gaze dropped to his mouth. “Dawson-”

Then that mouth was on mine. His lips glided back and forth insistently until my lips parted for his. His hands came up from manacling my wrists to cradle my head. He fed me sweet kisses, hot kisses, hungry kisses, wet kisses. Kisses that plainly told me he’d imagined kissing me like this and wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass him by.

I wasn’t an idiot; I didn’t even pretend I wanted to push him away.

Neither of us had expected this complication. Hadn’t seemed to stop us from wanting it. Acting on it.

My last coherent thought for a while was holy shit.

Not a breath of wind stirred as our breathing leveled. I braced myself for that awkward moment when you realize you’ve done something incredibly stupid. When you want to kick your own ass and the ass of anyone else dumb enough to be within kicking distance of you.

Then his warm mouth searched for mine again. Damn if my lips didn’t open. Damn if I didn’t sink into the kiss like I hadn’t been kissed in years and had to stock up for those cold, lonely nights I found myself alone. Embarrassed by my emotional greed and physical need, I pushed his shoulders and ripped my mouth from his. “Let go.”

“Not until you look at me.”

I didn’t want to look at him. In my mind’s eye I saw his male smugness. A cocky, I-gave-it-to-you-good smirk, and I created several smart-ass comments that would diffuse the situation and give me the advantage.

I opened one eye at a time. No such expression distorted his face. “What?”

“Don’t pretend this thing is one-sided, or let loose a scathing remark that’ll cut me down to size. I couldn’t take it after…”

I bit my tongue and studied the spots scattered on the T-shirt stretched across his chest. Crap. Had I drooled on him?

He stepped back and raked a hand through his hair, making the strands stick up like baby chicken feathers. “Look. I can stay tonight-”

“No. I appreciate the offer, but we’ll be fine.”

“You won’t give an inch, will you?”

“If whoever did this sees your official vehicle parked out here all night, they’ll think I’m scared and then they win.”

“It’s not about winning, Mercy. It’s about your safety.”

“I’ve got eight guns, eight thousand rounds, and a really bad attitude. That’s all the protection we need.”

“Not what I meant and you damn well know it.”

I smoothed my shorts, trying once again to hide the ugly wounds on my upper thigh from his prying eyes. “So we lost our heads. It happens.”

He brooded, studying me suspiciously.

“Dangerous situations trigger reactions and a heightened sense of awareness. Kind of like combat stress.”

“ That’s your explanation for what just happened?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because it’s a bullshit excuse.”

“You have a better one?”

Dawson laughed. “Not an excuse, but a theory I might tell you sometime when you aren’t being such a pain in the ass.”

“Why is that funny?”

“Because after all that’s happened, you still don’t trust me, do you?”

My cool detachment took over. I looked him dead in the eye and answered, “Nope.”

It didn’t faze him. He stared back with equal aloofness.

Which pissed me off. “So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blab what just happened to everyone in the county.”

“No problem. No one would believe it anyway.” He spun on his boot heel and swaggered off.

Well, hell. That hadn’t gone the way I’d planned.

Early the next morning the phone rang and I answered it quickly to keep it from disturbing Hope. “Hello?”

“Mercy? Good, you’re there.”

A second passed before I placed the gravelly voice. “Rollie?”

“Yeah. I was afraid that uppity Sophie Red Leaf wouldn’t let me talk to ya if she answered.”

“So you disguised your voice?”

“Yep. You free for a bit this morning?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll swing by to getcha in about fifteen minutes.”

I grabbed my Sig and a water bottle. The day was sticky. Even the tease of moisture was a blessed change from the oppressive dry heat.

I meandered down the driveway, debating on whether a truckload of gravel would fill the gouges from the fire trucks and fire crews. Not that we pampered a green swath of manicured lawn anywhere on our place. Watering ornamental grass was a waste when we didn’t have enough water for our cattle. Or when our grazing land resembled a dust bowl. Or when one of our wells could go dry at any time.

Along the road, lavender starflowers waved in the wind, the cheery yellow centers nature’s smiley face. During my childhood, I decapitated those flowers and used the pretty blossoms as the crowning glory on my mud pies. My mud pies still looked better than my real pies, much to Sophie’s dismay.

I rested my forearm on top of the mailbox. A vehicle barreled toward me from the north, reminding me of the night I’d almost become a hood ornament. So many bad things had happened in the interim I’d forgotten about it. I wondered if Dawson had forgotten, too.

Rollie grinned from inside a rattletrap Chevy pickup. The jagged end of his braid swept the seat as he leaned across to open the passenger door. “Hoka hey.”

“Hey.” The makeshift vice-grip door handle clanked as I slammed the door shut. “Nice hat.”

His fingers swept the black felt brim. “My official PI hat. Makes me look mysterious and smart, eh?”

“Definitely. So, are we on official PI business, boss?”

“Yep.”

“Where we going?”

“Just for a drive so I can talk to you about them Warrior Society kids.” He shot me a sidelong glance as he shifted to third. “You still interested, right?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t think you were.”

“Guess mebbe I was curious so I asked around some.”

“You could’ve told me over the phone.”

He grunted. “Huh-uh. Face-to-face meetings only in this line of work. Do you know how much private and dangerous stuff people overhear because of phone conversations and the like? I prefer a controlled environment.” Rollie slapped the seat between us and a cloud of dust arose. “Like this one.”

Lucky me. “So how’d you get the information? Or is that a PI secret?”

Seemed Rollie might hedge. Finally, he sighed. “Verline. She was friends with Sue Anne. And with that Lanae girl who just up and took off. Verline went to talk to Bucky One Feather yesterday about what was going on with the Warrior Society. He told her.”

“Just because she asked?”

“No.” Rollie shuddered. “I don’t think she asked nice. Them pregnancy hormones are nasty.”