Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

He knew the instant she fell asleep. Her body, which had been as unyielding as an I-beam, eventually relaxed. Her breathing became steady and deep and— What the hell was wrong with him? —sexy.

In order to get even halfway comfortable, he had to unbutton his fly again.

Which wasn’t such a good idea, because when he came out of a sound sleep hours later, he was masturbating. But then he realized it wasn’t his hand, but Bellamy’s, that was feeling around his alert cock.

He moaned pleasurably and turned onto his side, laying his arm across her waist, his leg over her hip, and pulling her against him.

“Dent.”

“Good morning,” he mumbled, smiling lazily, eyes closed.

She planted her other hand firmly against his chest. Now the woman couldn’t take her hands off him. How great was that?

“Dent.”

He took her groping hand, drew it to his straining erection, closed her fingers around it, and released a long, low sigh. “Tighter. Yeah. Like that.”

“Dent!” She wrested her hand away. “It’s your phone.”

“Hmm?”

“Your phone .”

He jerked his head up and back, eyes springing open. “What?”

“I was trying to get to your phone. It could be important.”

The jingle penetrated the passion that had fogged his mind and muffled his ears. He flopped over onto his back and lay gasping for breath and cursing liberally. Feeling blindly, he angrily yanked his cell phone from where it was clipped to the waistband of his jeans and blinked the calling number into focus.

He didn’t recognize it, but he had words for the person on the other end. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Who the fuck you think?”

“Goddammit, Gall! I’m gonna kill you!”

“Get in line.”

Dent, struggling to cap his arousal, covered his eyes with his forearm. “What’s that mean?”

“Your pickup-driving redneck?”

“Yeah?”

“He came calling. He’s out for blood, all right.”

Dent sat up, swung his feet to the floor, and drew his shirttail over his lap. Bellamy had also sat up, her eyes watchful and worried, correctly gauging the seriousness of his expression.

“Tell me,” Dent said into the phone.

“He was parked several hundred yards from the field a good part of the day.”

“How’d you spot him?”

“Didn’t. Guy from Tulsa on his way down to South Padre stopped here to refuel. He’d spotted the truck on his approach. Since it was out in the middle of nowhere, he thought it might’ve been somebody lost or broken down, needing help. I told him I’d check it out.

“Which I did. After he took off, I got some binoculars. The moron thought he was well hidden in the brush, but his truck was facing south. The sun was reflecting off his windshield like a spotlight all afternoon.”

“Could’ve been somebody hunting rabbits, taking in the scenery. How can you be sure it was my guy?”

“I got more than one good look at him. Big guy. Solid. Black leather vest. Tattooed left arm. Ugly son of a bitch, too.”

“Did he see you?”

“Anytime I checked on him, I did it from inside. And he had his own binocs. He was watching me. I went about my business, acted like I didn’t know he was out there. Night came on. He was still there, and I figured he’d been waiting for dark to pay me a visit. I was ready for him.”

“What did you do?”

Gall described the stage he’d set for the man they believed to be Ray Strickland. “He fell for it. He barreled into the hangar, screaming like a banshee, and shoved his knife into what he believed to be my gut. Was actually a piece of a blown-out tire. Looked pretty natural, though, when it was zipped up inside my coveralls. Same curvature as my belly.” He chuckled.

“Gall, this is nothing to laugh at.”

“No, I guess not.”

“What did he do when he realized he’d been tricked?”

“I’m not rightly sure. Messed hisself maybe. ’Cause I tripped the breaker switch and all the lights went out, the radio went off, and he was left in total darkness and silence, not knowing what the hell had happened.

“I could hear him cussing a blue streak as he tried to dislodge his knife from that tire, but in the end, he took it with him, my coveralls included. Just scooped it all up and ran like hell. Left my shoes, and I’m glad. I just now got them worked in.”

“Did he return to his truck?”

“Yep. Made it okay, I guess, ’cause I saw the headlights when he drove off. One good thing, before it got dark, I got his license plate number.”

“Did you call this in?”

“To that sheriff’s deputy who came out after your plane was trashed. I told him I thought it was probably the same guy. Gave him a description of Strickland. He said they’d lifted dozens of partial prints off your airplane, which they’re ‘sorting through.’”

“They’ve got missing kids to find and meth labs to shut down. I doubt my damaged airplane has priority.”

“Yeah, and if they stopped Strickland today, all they could hold him on is theft of a pair of coveralls. He’s probably disposed of them by now. Bastard. They were my favorite pair.”

Although Gall was making light of it, Dent could tell the older man had been shaken. Dent sure as hell was. Attacking him was one thing. Attacking Gall was a clear indication of just how vindictive this individual was.

Worried for Gall’s safety, Dent asked if he was still at the hangar.

“No, I got the place locked up good and tight, then left. Short night, but, you know.”

“This guy won’t appreciate being made a fool of. You’re probably not safe at home, either.”

“I didn’t go home.”

“My place?”

“No safer than mine.”

Dent remembered the strange phone number. “Whose number is this?”

“A lady I know.”

“ Lady? ”

“She’ll put me up for a day or two.”

“You know a lady?”

“What? You think you got a monopoly?”

“Not lately,” Dent grumbled, cutting a glance toward Bellamy. She’d returned to the armchair that she’d been sitting in the night before. She was listening intently to his side of the conversation and could probably hear Gall, too.

“Sorry to call you at this hour of the morning,” Gall was saying. “But I just got settled in here. Thought you should know right away.”

Dent agreed, he just didn’t know what to do with the information. He rested his forehead in his hand, weakened by the thought of what could have happened to Gall if that pickup had been parked facing north instead of south. “Sorry I yelled at you when I answered.”

“I’m used to it.”

“I’m still sorry.”

There was an extended moment of silence, which was full of understanding but no unnecessary sloppiness. Finally Gall asked about their meeting with Moody, and Dent gave him a rundown. “He and I had no kind words for each other.”

“You didn’t shoot him?”

“No, but I hit him.”

“Overdue. Got to give him some credit, though.”

“For what? Plotting to frame me for murder?”

“For admitting it.”

Dent didn’t say anything.

“What are you going to do now, Ace?”

“Hold on.” He covered the receiver and said to Bellamy, “Are you speaking to me this morning?”

“You kept your word.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular choirboy. One who’s desperate for coffee. The help-yourself bar in the lobby opens at six. I noticed the sign. Would you fetch me a cup?”

“What don’t you want me to hear?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not that much of a choirboy. You couldn’t look innocent if you tried, especially when you’re lying. But”—she stood up and got her bag—“I’m desperate for coffee, too. Besides, I need to check in with Olivia.”