Close To The Edge (Westen #2) (2 page)

“Oh, hell. I’m heading there right now.” He put the car in drive and headed out of town.

“Hey, you can’t take me with you. I’m—” Bobby said from the backseat.

“Not another word.” He pointed at her in the rearview mirror, the intensity in his narrowed eyes silencing her reply. He opened the glove compartment and removed a handgun.

Bobby closed her mouth, her protest dying on her lips. She glanced at the cruiser’s windows. She hoped they were bulletproof—especially if a farmer with a shotgun started shooting.

A few minutes later they pulled up to where several trucks sat blaring their horns at the small herd of cows mulling over the road and the creek running nearby. The sheriff maneuvered the cruiser past the angry drivers and into the grass right near where the cows had obviously knocked the thin wire fencing to the ground.

Bobby watched in fascination as the sheriff climbed out of the cruiser, slipping his gun into the back waistband of his jeans. Hands in front of him, he slowly approached the farmer—who was indeed holding a shotgun, albeit he had it pointed at the ground—like he was out for a Sunday stroll. She leaned forward to hear through the open driver’s window.

“Tell the old guy to get out of the way!” a burly trucker yelled from his truck cab. Two other truckers sounded their horns.

“Just hold your breath, sir.” He held a palm up as if commanding a dog to sit and stay. Once the man complied, the sheriff turned back toward the farmer, his tone low and respectful. “Ralph, seems we have a problem here.”

“Ain’t no problem, Sheriff. My girls wanted a drink over in the creek. Seems like these fellers here would just run ‘em over if they had a chance.”

“How about we give the girls a nudge back to your property so these people can get on down the road?”

“I suppose I could get ‘em moving that direction, but who’s gonna keep these fellers from hittin’ the gas before they’re back home?”

The Sheriff held out his hand. “How about you give me the shotgun and I’ll make sure no one moves until the girls are back safe and sound.”

The old farmer eyed the truckers on both sides of the road. Bobby thought he might refuse. After a tense moment, he nodded and handed the weapon to the sheriff. “Guess you’ll do.”

As the farmer started shooing his herd back across the highway, Bobby exhaled with relief. Where she came from people didn’t carry weapons unless they meant to use them, and unfortunately they did.

What impressed her most was how the same man who’d unreasonably handcuffed her, had just very quietly disarmed a dangerous situation. Maybe she could work with him after all?

“Ralph, you have to get this fence repaired,” Gage said as he held the gate while the old farmer shooed the last of several errant cows back into the pasture.

“Well now, Sheriff, I could get some of that new fencing I saw at the county farming fair, but neither your daddy nor I could see the sense of putting up something these ladies are just going to knock down first chance they get.”

Ignoring the reference to his dad, Gage closed the gate and signaled the line of cars and trucks to pass. He resisted the urge to arrest a few drivers who kept hitting their horns. If he didn’t already have one questionable detainee in the cruiser, he might’ve done it anyway. “This is the third time since the spring thaw that your cows have blocked the highway.”

Ralph pulled off his hat and wiped at his brow. “Ain’t my fault the county put the road smack between my pasture and the creek over there.”

Gage took a slow breath and counted to ten. “I’d sure hate to lock you up if one of your cows causes an accident or someone gets hurt.”

“I’d sure hate for you to do that, too. I’ll see if I can’t get that lower section mended a might stronger.”

Gage doubted that the threat of jail would make much difference to the farmer.

God save him. His life had gone from the dark and seedy world of undercover narcotics investigation to herding cows from the highway.

As he walked to the cruiser his cell phone rang. He stopped and pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the caller ID.

Moira Dudson. The Franklin County Assistant District Attorney, herself.

Just reading the woman’s name made his teeth grind. He hadn’t exchanged two words with her since before his shooting, and hadn’t laid eyes on her since the divorce proceedings. But for some reason, for the past two weeks she’d been calling him almost daily.

He clicked answer immediately followed by
end call
.

Message sent. She could wait until hell froze over.

For a moment he took off his cap and ran his hands through his hair, studying the woman in the back of his cruiser.

Private Investigator.

Next to politicians, private dicks were second on his list of people he wouldn’t save from a burning building. Didn’t trust them as far as he could spit. In his life he’d come in personal contact with two PI’s. One had been hired to take out a hit on his cousin Emma, and the other had helped to nearly get him killed. In his opinion, they were nothing but trouble. Yet the memory of watching Ms. Roberts’ bottom wiggle as she’d searched the dumpster sent heat directly back to his groin.

Oh yeah, this one would be trouble for sure.

“Done saving the world from runaway cows?” Bobby asked as soon as he climbed back into the cruiser.

Without commenting on her sarcasm he started the engine and headed back to Westen.

They fell into silence as he drove through the few streets of the small town. Finally, he pulled into an alley and for a moment her fear that he wasn’t on the up-and-up crossed her mind again, until he parked behind a door that had an official sign stating Westen City Jail above it.

Despite the real threat of being arrested, relief poured through her. When she passed her PI test, she’d dreamed of adventure. Being handcuffed and raped wasn’t one of them. An hour in jail was definitely a much better scenario. Heck, hadn’t every television PI been in jail at least once?

The man opened the door. She’d half expected him to haul her out and shove her in front of him. Instead he held her firmly by the upper arm, and helped her get out of the backseat as gracefully as she could, considering she wore cuffs. Thank God they were in back of the jail. She’d be so embarrassed to be taken into the jail in front of the whole town.

“If you’d just look in my purse—”

“Quiet.”

He might not be manhandling her, but he wasn’t any less angry. And for what she didn’t have a clue. Sure she had a gun, but she also had a permit to carry it. Was there some town law she’d unknowingly broken? Her book said trash in a public container was no longer considered private property. It hadn’t said she needed to check with the local authorities before searching the trash for information.

“I got a cell ready, Sheriff…” The giant standing in the hallway, dressed from head-to-toe in an official uniform, stopped mid-sentence as the sheriff walked her inside. “She’s the suspect?”

“Yes. I caught her rifling through the trash.” The sheriff turned her so her back was toward him then he unfastened the cuffs and gave her a gentle push into the cell.

“I thought we were going to talk. Why are you arresting me?” Bobby asked, just as he closed the cell door. The automatic lock clicked loudly. Her breath caught at the sound. This was not a good thing. Despite the openness of the bars and the window, the confining space wrapped around her like a smothering blanket.

“I’m not. For now you’re in protective custody.”

What? “Who are you protecting me from?”

“No one.” He pointed to his shirt. “I’m protecting the citizens of Westen from you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

He ignored her comment and stalked through the open door into the other room she assumed was the main office to the jail. She tried to rack her brain. Wasn’t she allowed a phone call? But whom would she call? Certainly not Chloe. Her sister might be a lawyer and at the moment her client, but the last thing she wanted was to give her younger sister a chance to say,
I told you so.

And she couldn’t call Dylan. Her youngest sister was getting ready to graduate from med school. She didn’t need the distraction of bailing her oldest sister out of jail.

No, she’d save her phone call for later. Right now she needed to figure a way out of this mess. She paced the cell a minute then stopped to listen for any information from the front room.

“What are you going to do with her, Sheriff?” she heard the other officer ask.

“I don’t know, Cleetus. She’s carrying a gun and claims to be a PI. Hell, she looks more like a schoolteacher than a PI.”

How was she supposed to look? She
was
a schoolteacher—or at least she had been the past eighteen years. Her handbook hadn’t said anything about looking different to be a PI. In fact the thing said the best ones blended in. What did the man expect? A trench coat and hat?

A drawer slammed in the front room. “Until I know for sure, I’m locking her weapon up and her too. Maybe that will keep her out of harm’s way.”

“Who’s she gonna harm? She’s just a little bitty thing.”

“Herself for one, me for another. Where’s my clean shirt?”

Several more drawers opened and closed.

“It’s in the back storeroom. Ruby said it wasn’t right to have clothes in the filing cabinets.”

Bobby hurried to sit on the cot that passed for a bed in her cell, just as the sheriff stomped back through the hall. She sucked in her breath at the sight of the man. Apparently she’d gotten more than just an old banana peel on him when she’d fallen into his arms. He’d stripped out of the shirt and was naked down to his waist.

Lord, she hadn’t seen a naked man that looked like this…ever. From the brief side view she could tell he didn’t have weight lifter six-pack abs, but he was all muscle, and she was sure that if he stood still she’d be able to count his lower ribs. The man had locked her up, humiliated her by cuffing her, and all she wanted to do was run her hands over every inch of his torso? There had to be something seriously wrong with her.

Maybe she had a fever? She put her hand to her forehead. Nope. Cool and dry. This was not good. Not once in her life had she let a man get her flustered. Not one male teacher or administrator had ever interested her romantically. Because she wouldn’t date any of them some had even assumed she was a lesbian. They’d been wrong, but she hadn’t tried to convince them otherwise.

Flirt.
Oh, there was an idea. Lord knows she’d watched her younger sisters use the trick on their boyfriends for years.

She shook out her hair, and went to the cell door. “Sheriff?” she called in as sexy a voice as she could muster just as he started back up the hall. He’d put on the new shirt—same faded blue denim as its predecessor—and had it almost completely buttoned.

“What?” He still sounded surly as he removed the baseball cap and ran his hands over his short, military-cut, sandy-blonde hair, then slapped the cap back on.

This close she noticed the pierced holes in his left ear.
How odd
.

“Can’t we come to some compromise?” She cocked her head to the side, just like Dylan did when she was a little girl, and peered up at him.

He’d removed his glasses and she saw his eyes were the color of winter spruce. His lips twitched and he seemed to be buying her act.

The phone rang in the front room.

“And just what are you offering, Ms. Roberts?”

Heat from him radiated through the bars. She licked her dry lips. Nerves or excitement, she wasn’t sure which, but the man certainly had the effect of a desert storm on her mind and body.

“Well…”

“Sheriff, there’s a fire out at Aaron Turnbill’s place.” The other officer stood in the doorway.

“Shit. Call the county fire department.” His attention completely focused on his deputy he stomped away from the cell to the front room.

Crap!
She’d lost her chance.

“Aaron already did, both the county and the local volunteers. That would be me, too, Sheriff.”

“I’ll meet them out there. You’ll have to stay here this time.” Sheriff Justice grabbed his hat and glasses and hurried out back. He stopped in the doorway. “And Cleetus?”

“Yes, Sheriff?”

“She stays here, got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

With that order, he was out the back door.

Bobby’s heart sank. So much for sex appeal. She’d known it was a long shot, since she’d never had any before, so why had she thought she could conjure some up today? This day, her very first day on her very first case, was turning out to be a complete disaster.

What was the sheriff going to do with her when he got back? How was she going to convince him she was a legitimate PI investigating a case? And just how long did he plan to keep her in this jail?

Chapter Two

G
age turned from the asphalt onto the gravel country road, spinning dirt as he hurried to the Turnbill’s farm. However, his mind remained on the woman locked up in his jail.

What the hell had come over him? He’d never used his power as a policeman to manhandle someone, especially not a woman. So why had he gone off the deep end this time?

Simple. He’d liked holding Bobby Roberts, even though she’d dumped garbage on him. It’d been a long time since a woman had intrigued him, even if what intrigued him had been mostly her bottom half. But the minute he’d seen that gun, he’d reacted on instinct. Three years ago he’d naїvely let one woman’s looks almost get him killed. He wasn’t going to let another, even if she did look more like a schoolteacher than a dangerous criminal.

His radio crackled.

“Gage?” John Wilson, chief of the volunteer fire brigade was on the other end of the line. “You on your way out here?”

Gage lifted the mouthpiece. “I’m less than a mile from the farm, John. How’s it look?”

“Aaron called it in, but the fire isn’t really on his property, over.”

“Where
exactly
is it?”

“On that abandoned land next to his back forty.”

Shit. If he’d been told that before he left, he could’ve taken the paved road all the way to the property. He knew exactly the area John described. Driving the gravel road around the Turnbill place took him the long way round.