Keller County Cops Book Seven: Code of Vengeance (9 page)

"Fine," she said softly, defeat pressing down on her and making her chest ache. How would she ever get vengeance now, with the sheriff dogging her every move? Damn his sorry hide. Well, she might be down, but she wasn't out. She'd find a way. Not wanting him to view her as weak, she lifted her chin and stared right into his stormy gray eyes. "I
was
out here that night. So please take off the handcuffs. They're hurting my wrists."

"Ms. Riley--" Sheriff Blaylock glared at her for one long, tense moment, and then blew out a weary sigh. "All right, but if you give me one lick of trouble, I'm hauling you in."

"Yes, sir." She curved her lips in what she hoped came off as a grateful smile. Well, not exactly a smile, because how can a woman smile when she's on the verge of an explosion of fury? Her limbs shook as she turned and lifted her bound hands so he could undo the damned cuffs. As soon as they were off, she whipped around and rubbed her sore wrists. "Thank you. Even though I hate you."

"I'm not too fond of you right now, either." He sent her a measured look. "Why were you out here that night?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Goddamn it, Ms. Riley--"

"That's the second time you've called me that. How do you know my name?"

"Once I got your number from the nine-one-one call, I got a warrant. Your cell phone service provider was more than happy to fork over the info I needed."

"All because of Caller ID."
Damn. My bad.
She cringed.
If I'd had any inkling I'd have to call for help that night, I would've bought a burner phone.

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. You can thank the wonders of technology."

"Just perfect." She crossed her arms. "I wanted to remain anonymous."

"Sorry about that." He edged closer. "I want to hear your version of what happened out here that night, but first I want to know why a Keller County court artist was sneaking around in the shadows across the street from Hunter's Bayou's most notorious strip club after midnight on a Saturday night. You can either tell me now, or wait for the prosecution to subpoena you once we make an arrest -- and we
will
catch the guy who knifed Woodward. You can count on that."

"Not here. Please." The mist suddenly gave way to soft rain, and an icy chill swept over Keegan as it peppered down. She shivered. "Why don't we find another place to talk besides the sheriff's department? Like maybe a coffee shop, where we'll be more comfortable? There's a great little place on Main Street."

"Yeah, the Jumping Bean. You'll tell me everything?"

"Of course."
All you need to know, anyway. A girl needs to keep some secrets.
She shoved a lock of wet hair out of her eyes. No way was she telling him Dirk had murdered her sister. Let him figure it out. If she didn't mention it, maybe he wouldn't dig that deep.

Yeah, right.
She smirked at her burst of gullibility.
Well, I can hope, can't I?

A white car with some kind of logo on the side whipped onto the street and trundled toward them. She ignored it and lifted her eyes to the sheriff's face, only to find him staring at the car with hate-filled eyes.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, fury painting his cheeks a dark ruby red. He turned back to her and pinned her to the spot with that menacing glare for a quick moment, then nodded his assent. "All right. Get into your car, and don't talk to anyone except me. Got that? I'll follow you, but if you don't drive straight there--"

"You'll hunt me down and arrest me." She gnawed her lip. "I understand."

"Okay." He tipped his baseball cap and started off, his damp beige dress shirt outlining his broad shoulders. He wasn't wearing a uniform or carrying a gun, but he had his gold badge clipped to his belt and a tie around his neck. He glanced at the car again, apparently irritated that it had stopped, and then tapped her side window. "See you at the Bean in five. If that car follows us, do
not
talk to anyone who gets out of it. Understand that, Ms. Riley?"

"It's Keegan."

"What?" He lifted one dark eyebrow.

Her cheeks grew hot. "My first name. It's Keegan."

"Oh. Well..." He stared at her as if she'd suddenly grown horns. "Sure thing. See you at the Bean, Keegan."

Her whole body trembled as she climbed into her car and started the engine.

Now what do I do? I can't tell him the truth without incriminating myself, so I'll have to lie. What should I say? That I was going to the strip club to see naked women? No. He'd never believe that, unless I tell him I'm a lesbian or something. That might work, come to think of it, but I don't want him to think I don't like men.

Why that was true, she didn't want to know. Her mind raced with other possibilities, but none of them made a damned bit of sense. She whipped the car around in the parking lot in front of the club, dodged the white car she now realized bore the WHBZ logo, meaning the press was on the prowl, and headed back toward Main Street with the sheriff following only inches from her bumper. She longed to stomp the brake just for spite, but decided he might haul her in for being a smartass -- and she had no idea what that stupid reporter might say about her if he did.

"This isn't good," she murmured, considering that terrifying scenario. "Today's going from bad to worse. Why didn't I just forget about that damned earring and go straight home?"

She moaned in frustration and forced herself to come up with a story Sheriff Blaylock might buy. Anything to throw him off her trail, at least for now.

"Maybe I can say I followed my boyfriend to the club. I can always pretend he promised he wouldn't go back there to ogle the strippers, but did it anyway." The idea appealed to her, and she sat up straight. Until the downside of her brainstorm dawned on her. Growing even more perturbed, she slumped back against the seat. "Damn it. He'll want to know the guy's name, and I haven't had a
boyfriend
in years. I can make one up, of course, but if the sheriff and his minions try to find him--"

She stopped at a red light and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Every sense she had told her to glance at the lawman in the rearview mirror, but she refused to give in to that desire. He was probably staring a hole through the back of her head, and she did
not
need visual evidence to confirm her suspicions. Just knowing he was back there, probably still being followed by the press, was bad enough.

The blare of his horn sent a ripple of apprehension down her spine. She gripped the wheel and jerked her gaze to the mirror. He waved his hand.
Oh.
The light had changed.

Her cheeks flamed as she pressed the gas and zoomed ahead, leaving him behind for only the time it took for her to reach the speed limit. No way was she going over it with him back there. Took him less than a second to catch up and dog her once again. She didn't see the white car right behind him, but it was probably back there somewhere.

By the time she reached the Jumping Bean, her nerves were shot to hell.

Keegan took a deep, steadying breath before climbing out of the car, but it didn't help. She still hadn't come up with a viable story. The sheriff stalked over to her, his dark gaze telling her she was in trouble. She bit down on her lip.
What in the world am I going to do?

"After you," Blaylock rumbled as he opened the shop's white french door. The enticing scent of his woodsy cologne collided with the delicious aroma of coffee pouring from the shop as she slid past him. Unnerved that she'd noticed how delicious he smelled, she drank in the coffee aroma and pretended he didn't exist. He closed the door and accompanied her to the counter.

"Coffee's on me."

"Like hell it is." She shot him a vicious look, dropped her purse onto the counter, and dug out her wallet. "I can buy my own."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, a look of amusement brightening his rugged face. He wasn't exactly handsome, more like just passably good-looking, and yet his features aligned in a pleasing way. His stormy gray eyes were his most arresting feature. The hint of dark stubble on his chin and cheeks gave him a dangerous air, and his muscular build made her itch to touch him.

Stop it.
She ignored the incredible tension arcing through her body and ordered a tall latte with two pumps of sugar free vanilla. If she was going to have to think on her feet, she needed fortification, and lattes were her favorite indulgence. After chocolate cake, of course.

His low chuckle drifted from behind her. "Figured you'd drink girlie coffee."

"Excuse me?" Keegan whirled and fired him another quelling glare.

He shrugged. "Only making an observation."

"Well, you can keep your observations to yourself."

"All right. Get your coffee and find us a table, okay?" He motioned toward the counter.

Keegan turned back and grabbed the Styrofoam cup the girl offered her before edging out of the way. The sheriff had turned his attention to the barista, who'd already paid far too much attention to their interaction. Keegan leveled the same look at her she'd given the sheriff, but the dumb blonde was too busy flirting with him to notice.

"Stupid bitch," she muttered under her breath. "Enjoy."

She turned away and searched for a table, finally locating an empty one beside the front window. Two men came in just as she reached it, and the bell on the back of the door jangled. She sat down without paying them much attention and scanned the sidewalk beyond the window.

The WHBZ car sat in the middle of the parking lot facing the building.

Wonderful.
They probably had their damned camera zoomed in so they could video the place, meaning everybody and his damned brother would see her having coffee with the incumbent sheriff and think she was on his side. She scowled. Hell, she may have voted for him in the last election, but she wouldn't do it again. Her decision really didn't matter anyway, though, did it? If she were in jail at the time of the election, she wouldn't get to vote.

Although she hadn't actually broken the law yet, except for ordering those illegal weapons off the Internet. One day, that just might come back to bite her in the ass.

She picked up her coffee cup with both shaky hands and took a sip. The hot, sweet liquid spread warmth through her chilly limbs. 

"You couldn't find another table?" Sheriff Blaylock halted beside her, peered out the window at the WHBZ vehicle, and scowled. Then he turned his attention to her. "Your hair's wet. You might get cold sitting beside the window."

"I'll survive," she snapped, knowing why he really wanted another table and irritated he'd noticed how bedraggled she looked.

He huffed out a disgruntled breath and pulled out the chair across from her. As he lowered his large frame into it, her eyes fell on his badge, and a huge lump rose in her throat.

"Okay," he said without preamble. "Tell me why you were lurking across the street from the Kitty Kat Klub after midnight Saturday night."

"Well..." She gripped her coffee cup with both hands and summoned up the strength to go with the easiest lie.
The boyfriend story.
"I was just--"

"Stop screwing around and give me the fucking cash!" a male voice shouted. "Now!"

"Do it, damn it!" another man yelled.

She and Sheriff Blaylock whipped around to gawk at the two men who'd come in only a couple of minutes ago.

Each of them now held a gun pointed at the barista.

"Shit," Sheriff Blaylock murmured. His eyes turned steely, and a dark flush spread up his neck. He gripped the edge of the table and focused on Keegan. "Call nine-one-one."

"But--"

"No buts." Keeping his voice low, he rose from his chair. "Just do it, damn it."

"Sit down," she hissed, alarm spreading through her like wildfire.

He glared down at her. "Shh. Do you
want
to draw attention to us?"

"You're not wearing a gun." She kept her voice a murmur, too, and had to suppress the urge to yank him back into his chair. What in hell was he thinking?

He arched a brow in surprise. "Make the freaking call."

"Okay." Her stomach in knots, she grappled for her purse and tugged out her cell phone.

The sheriff turned his attention back to the men pointing guns at the now-hysterical barista. Her hands shook as she stuffed money into a white paper sack.

"My b-boss is going to k-kill me." She choked out a sob.

"I don't give a fucking damn. Hurry up." The man waved his gun at her, then nudged his partner. "Start on the customers. Get everything you can."

"Yeah, okay." He turned and leveled his weapon at a pair of women sitting near the register. "Give me your watches and rings. Any money you have. Now!"

"Please don't shoot us," one cried with a whimper. She picked up her purse.

The robber grabbed it. "Just give me the whole thing." He poked the gun into the other woman's face. "Yours, too. And that big ass ring."

Keegan hunkered down and got the 911 operator on the phone, her eyes on the sheriff as he rounded the sofa next to their table. Luckily, both gunmen had their backs to him. She noticed the tautness of Blaylock's limbs and the easy way he moved in spite of the incredible tension in his strapping body. His focus on the gunmen never wavered.

If only he had a weapon.

"The Jumping Bean," Keegan murmured into the phone. "On Main. Tell 'em to hurry!"

Blaylock edged closer to the register, a deadly look in his eye. He jerked his thumb at two customers he passed, and they got up, slipped around behind the sofa, and knelt on the floor. Keegan joined them. Hiding was preferable to sitting outlined against the window.

The sheriff took two more steps, halted, and picked up a chair.

The barista dropped the paper sack, and it fell behind the counter.

"You stupid bitch! Pick it up!" the gunman at the counter screamed, slamming the butt of his pistol against her head. She squealed and went down like a stone.

Keegan gasped.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, what's happening?" the 911 operator demanded in her ear.