Kathleen Pickering - Desert Heat

The fact that Tico was one of the good guys now made him a curiosity. One she had no time or inclination to explore, though, dammit all, her curiosity egged her on. She felt stupid when her heart thumped as she watched him stand there all arrogant and hot in his tight black shirt and jeans.

She spotted the rattlesnake tattoo immediately and used all her cop training not to stare. Given the many run-ins she’d had with rattlers in the desert, Butler’s lifelike tat, which curled around his forearm with the head and forked tongue resting just above his wrist, unsettled her right down to her toes. She honored nature in all its forms, especially with what she’d learned living closely with the Judumi, but she wasn’t a fan of snakes. Even more, she wasn’t one for tattoos. But that lean, golden brown rattler circling Tico’s forearm downright suited him.

She gestured to his tat. “Didn’t know you had a pet.”

He took a drag on his cigar and exhaled the smoke while watching her, but said nothing. The ash on the cigar between his fingers burned orange in the dark.

If he thought he was intimidating her, he was dead wrong. Meg swung from the saddle and looped the horse’s reins around the porch rail. Why did this guy bring out the worst in her?

Tico pointed to the horse’s reins. “Do you really believe a single loop will keep her from bolting?”

“She’s my horse. She won’t go anywhere.”

“Like mine obeyed me so well this morning?”

Meg thought it prudent not to comment on his horse abilities this time. “He wasn’t really yours. I’ve had Whisper since she was a filly. If you had a dog you raised from a pup, wouldn’t he stay by your side without a leash?”

Tico shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. Never had a dog.”

A boy and no dog? She couldn’t imagine. “Guess city living doesn’t make it easy for a dog.”

“My grandmother had a Chihuahua, but that’s not a dog.”

She laughed. “My roommate has one. He’s rather charming.”

“Charming is not how I’d describe a dog.” He waved her up the one step to the porch. “Have a seat. Do you mind if I smoke?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s a stupid question. You already are.”

He stuck the cigar back in his mouth. “Just being polite, ma’am.”

Meg took the one step to meet him square on. Crossing into his territory seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

“Polite would be for you to back away from the investigation.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. No can do.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Are you here to take my job?”

He bit down on the cigar. “Do you want the party-line response, or my true intentions?”

“I want to know why the hell you’re in my way.”

He leaned back on the railing and tugged the cigar from his mouth. “I am here because I plan on stopping some sewer rats from stealing and destroying innocent women. Drugs and human trafficking are disgusting, and I can help with the investigation.”

“That sounds like the party line.”

His gaze slid to a point over her right shoulder. A momentary frown creased his brow. “Despite what you may think of me or my motives, I came to get a job done.”

“What I think of you doesn’t matter at all. What did my father offer you?”

“I’m not going to discuss your father.”

“Then tell me about yours.”

A short, amused laugh escaped him. “Not a chance.” He cocked a brow. “What are you fishing for?”

She stared a long moment, growing uncomfortable as those restless Judumi eyes focused on her mouth, then her neck, before dropping slowly along the flower-embroidered neckline of her Mexican blouse. The scrutiny of men was nothing new to Meg, but Butler’s attention irritated her. No, she was wrong. His attention intrigued her.

Was that why she stood her ground in the dead of night, knowing she’d get his attention? Was her intention to do battle with the enemy—or to entice him so she would get her way? Her chin rose higher when his gaze slid down to her hips and trailed the length of her faded denims, stopping at the hole above her knee. She released a breath when his gaze finally fell to her well-worn but cherished tooled boots, then snapped back to hers.

He puffed on his cigar, just one small, easy draw. From behind the veil of smoke she caught his grin as he said, “Nice boots.”

She tapped her foot. “I’m not here for your amusement.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To tell you to go home. I have a damned good team, and we know what we’re doing. Despite what others may think, we can break this case.”

Tico used thumb and forefinger to take a piece a tobacco from the tip of his tongue. Did she see regret in his eyes?

“You obviously don’t get it. I was hired to come here. This is my job. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then stay out of my way.”

“Look, Detective. Why don’t we make an effort to unroll this investigation by working together? I see no threat here. The problem is yours.”

Meg actually snorted. “Clearly you are not familiar with small towns, Detective.” She exaggerated his title to make her point. “I know my father. I know Eric Longwood. Eric would never have let you question my credibility in front of my team if the three of you didn’t have a plan that’s been kept from me.”

Tico began to speak, but she stopped him with a raised hand. “I worked my ass off to get where I am today. I’ve chewed up and spit out men with far more brass than yours. Your brash attitude and stupid stunts don’t fool me.” She repeated her words. “Stay. Out. Of. My. Way.”

She’d gone so far as to poke his chest with a pointed finger to emphasize her words and met with sheer solid muscle. Without warning, he grabbed her hand, the snake on his arm flexing with his action. His grip was firm, his long fingers and wide palm warm—and surprisingly soft. A shiver ran along her spine. Damn. Damn. Damn.

“You’ve got this scenario all wrong, my dear.”

My dear? “Let go of my hand.”

He grinned again, and she wanted to slap his face. God, how he riled her! She wrenched her hand away just as he let go, and she lost her balance.

Again, with unexpected speed, he gripped her waist to keep her from falling. He took a moment to push a lock of her hair from her shoulder and dusted off her sleeve as if she’d fallen. When he spoke to her again, his tone was low and dangerous. “The mayor brought me in for this job. If you think you have enough influence with him, why don’t you have me sent home? Until then, I’m working with or without you.”

He pointed from her to himself. “The way I see it, we have a tough job ahead of us. So, it’s in your best interest to be nice to me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Oh, no. You’d recognize a threat, Meg.”

She hated the sound of her name on his lips. “I should have known better than to try to reason with you. And I’m Detective Flores.”

She climbed onto Whisper, her heart racing. The horse sensed her tension and tossed her head. Meg shifted her weight in the saddle, and with a flick of the reins, Whisper turned back toward home. Reining her in, Meg stole one last look at the outsider watching her from the porch of her father’s cabin.

Tico held up a hand. “Do cowboy cops eat donuts? I’ll bring some to the meeting tomorrow.”

“Rot in hell, Butler.”

Meg kicked the horse’s flanks. Whisper bolted, but not before she heard him grumble, “I’m already there, lady.”

* * *

TICO DROPPED THE cigar into the ashtray, disgusted. He’d let Meg goad him into another argument, the last thing he wanted with her. Damn it all. They had a very serious and very dangerous case to crack, and now they were in a pissing match. If she couldn’t get her emotions under control, she would have to step aside. He’d read the reports. She and her team had done everything right. All he wanted to do was advise them. Why did she have such a hornet in her hat over his arrival? He’d come a long way to help.