Cowboy Cop Read online

  He didn’t have anything to worry about. She was a librarian, after all.

  How dangerous could she get?

  3

  “This is illegal,” Nick muttered as his gaze quickly scanned up and down the street. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

  “We’re not technically breaking in,” Lucy said, wishing he’d stop worrying so much and just jimmy the lock already.

  Or let her do it.

  Her fingers itched to give it a try. For the first time in her life, she’d be participating in an adventure instead of just reading about it. “I really do have a key to this place somewhere. I just can’t seem to find it.”

  His only reply was an unhappy grunt as he stood in front of the door. Half the streetlights were out and there wasn’t another human in sight, although she did hear the sound of small varmints moving in the shadows.

  Lucy peered over his shoulder, watching him wiggle the nail file she’d given him into the keyhole. “I’m guessing you didn’t serve time for breaking and entering. Why is this taking so long?”

  “Because I’m giving myself a manicure.”

  “You don’t have to yell at me.”

  “I am not yelling at you,” he said, slowly enunciating each word. “I’m all yelled out from you slamming the car door on my foot.”

  “I already told you that was an accident. And for somebody who said he didn’t want us to attract any attention, you certainly made enough noise.”

  Lucy heard him swear softly under his breath, but she wasn’t sure if the oath was directed at her or at the stubborn lock. That antihistamine he’d taken earlier was obviously making him cranky.

  “I never should have agreed to come here tonight,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “We should have waited until tomorrow to search this place. On a nice, safe Tuesday.”

  “I have to work tomorrow,” she said. “Besides, somebody might see us roaming around in here during the day.”

  Somebody who might not like her snooping around the Hanover Building again. Maybe the same person who kept making crank phone calls to her apartment in the middle of the night and leaving footprints in the flower bed outside her bay window.

  She watched Nick’s back muscles shift under his chambray shirt as he picked the lock. She felt safer now, with him by her side. And more than a little guilty for not telling him about the possible danger.

  But she didn’t know for certain if the phone calls and the footprints and the eerie sensation of someone watching her were connected to the fire and Melvin. And he hardly seemed like a man who would trust a woman’s intuition. Especially hers.

  “So what if somebody does see us?” he asked, twisting the file in the lock. “Your brother still owns this place, right?”

  Lucy considered the question. “Well, actually…”

  But a sharp metallic click interrupted her. Nick turned to her and smiled. “We’re in.”

  Excitement shot through her as she followed him into the historic building, inhaling the faint residual odor of acrid smoke in the cool, musty interior. Old places like this had always held a fascination for her. They were full of untold stories of the people who had come and gone. She loved to imagine the events that had played out here for more than a century.

  She sighed inwardly, thinking of Melvin’s unfinished story. Hopefully she and Nick could steer it in the right direction. Because Lucy always hoped for happy endings.

  “Stay here,” Nick ordered. “I’ll check out the upper floors.”

  He left her side before she could tell him she had no intention of becoming a bystander in this investigation, although she admired his take-charge attitude. And she really liked his smile, realizing it was the first time she’d seen it today. She especially liked that tiny cleft in his chin that made him seem almost friendly.

  Unfortunately, his command hadn’t sounded very friendly. It had sounded brusque. Impatient. And downright bossy. It reminded her of similar commands she’d reluctantly obeyed as a girl. Melvin’s commands, delivered in an equally aggravating manner. You stay put, Lucy. And stay out of trouble. He hadn’t trusted her to evade the bad crowd that was always so easy to find on Bale Street.

  He’d never let his baby sister tag along with him and his rough-and-tumble gang of misfits, either. Boys like Snake and Buzz and Weasel. Melvin didn’t want her tangled up in his wild adventures.

  Her brother had always worried about her. When she was six, she’d developed severe asthma and suffered from chronic bouts for several years. Her wheezing terrified him. Especially since he was responsible for her while their mother worked double shifts at the cheese factory. Their father spent most of his time at the corner tavern, in between visits to his parole officer.

  Melvin and Lucy had soon learned to depend on each other. She’d helped him with his homework, while he’d administered her medication and kept her supplied with plenty of library books. She spent most of her childhood curled up with a book, keeping company with a fascinating array of fictional characters living in amazing places around the world.

  Even in high school, she preferred the heroes in her books to the aimless boys hanging out on the street corner. Too many of her friends had gotten sidetracked by a handsome face. Bale Street was filled with women who had loved the wrong man. They’d traded their dreams for rocky marriages and dead-end jobs and children to support.

  But not Lucy. She’d woven her own dreams and fantasies, inspired by the feisty, indomitable characters that filled the pages of her favorite books. She knew that a better life than Bale Street was possible. A life of respectability and opportunity and promise. So she played by all the rules.

  Both her parents had left Texas by the time she graduated high school, eventually divorcing and finding new lives for themselves—and new families. Now Lucy only had Melvin left. And her dreams. It was a long, hard climb, but she was almost there. Only it wouldn’t mean anything without her brother.

  It just wasn’t fair.

  He’d made a break from his troubled past, but now faced twenty years in state prison for a crime he didn’t commit. She was determined to overcome any obstacle, take any risk to set him free. Especially since she’d always wanted to do more than read about daring escapades and spine-tingling adventures.

  Lucy wasn’t going to play by the rules anymore.

  She walked toward the south end of the Hanover Building, to the makeshift apartment Melvin had lived in during the renovations. Stopping in front of the door, she was surprised to find it slightly ajar. The fire hadn’t come close to this part of the building and the last time she’d been here, shortly after his arrest, this door had been locked.

  She pushed it open, assuming the police had come back at some point for more so-called evidence. And done a very sloppy job of it, she observed, as she moved into the middle of the disarray Melvin used to call his living room. The second-hand love seat and both armchairs lay overturned on the scuffed linoleum floor, foam stuffing spilling out of the jagged tears in the fabric. Glossy posters hung haphazardly on the wall, and dry cereal was piled in sugary pyramids on the kitchen counter next to the empty boxes.

  All courtesy of the Pine City cops, who obviously didn’t bother to clean up after themselves. No doubt they assumed a former resident of Bale Street wouldn’t notice the difference.

  Lucy tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t budge. As she turned into the tiny utility kitchen for a glass of water, she heard footsteps outside the apartment door.

  “Nick?” she called out, hearing something scrape against the closed door and then more footsteps.

  “Nick?” Lucy called again, only louder this time.

  No answer. No sound at all now outside that door. Then her breath caught in her throat as she heard the distinct shuffle of feet overhead. Nick checking out the upper floor. Which meant…

  Which meant somebody else was down here with her. Somebody who didn’t want her to know it.

  Lucy plas
tered her back against the wall next to the door and frantically dug through the purse slung over her shoulder for some kind of weapon. She found a comb, a pack of gum, a bookmark, and an old throat lozenge. But nothing really useful like a gun or a taser. Unfortunately, Nick still had her nail file.

  She heard a low grunt on the other side of the wall and then more footsteps. Her fingers suddenly curled around another object inside her purse. It might not stop whoever was out there, but it could possibly slow him down long enough for her to escape.

  She took a deep, shaky breath as more sounds emerged from beyond the door. She had two choices. Stay trapped in here while the intruder planned his next move, or confront him, using the element of surprise.

  I can do this… I can do this… I can do this. Lucy pulled the impromptu weapon out of her purse and took one step toward the door. Then two. Then three.

  The sounds had stopped again, but the hair prickling on her arms told her someone was still out there. She pulled the door open, wincing at the creak of the hinges, and peered out into the murky expanse. The silence seemed ominous now, the shadows malevolent, the air really dusty.

  She sneezed—twice. Her gut twisted and her heart slammed against her ribs as she moved quickly away from the door, edging along the hallway wall. Even through her fear she sensed a frisson of excitement zipping through her body. The realization that her first adventure was just about to begin.

  She could only hope it wouldn’t be her last.

  She froze as the soft patter of footsteps echoed just around the corner. They were steady now, determined. Her arms trembled slightly as she held them out straight in front of her, her weapon at the ready. She resisted the urge to turn and bolt, to flee instead of fight, and then a strange detachment settled over her. When a dark figure suddenly rounded the corner, bearing down on her, she didn’t scream or throw up or faint like she’d always imagined she might when confronted with danger. She just screwed her eyes tightly shut and squeezed the nozzle under her fingertip.

  A yelp of pain ripped through the silence, followed by a thud. Lucy cracked open one eye to see the shadowy intruder hunched down on his knees, his face bent to the floor.

  “Gotcha!” she exclaimed, ready to strike again if he so much as moved one of those bulging muscles. She tightened her hold on the travel-size can of hair spray and aimed the nozzle toward his dark head.

  The man took a deep, shuddering breath. “Are you some kind of deranged lunatic?”

  She stared down at him in horror. “Nick?”

  “Of course, it’s me,” he roared. “Who were you expecting…Jack the Ripper? I think you’ve blinded me. What is that stuff? Pepper spray?”

  “No, it’s hair spray. Super hold. Unscented. I’m pretty sure it’s nontoxic.”

  He slowly straightened up and moved into the light, squinting as he reached into his shirt pocket. He fumbled inside it for a moment before pulling out a handkerchief. “Pretty sure. Well, that’s a big relief.”

  He wiped the sticky hair spray out of his eyes. Then he swabbed at his wet forehead, the dark strands of his hair stiff and glistening in the slivers of moonlight streaming through the grimy windows. “Don’t you think you’ve already done enough damage to me for one day?”

  “You don’t understand. I heard footsteps.” She dropped her voice down to barely a whisper. “Someone’s in here with us.”

  “Yeah, well, if it’s the hair police, I’m safe.”

  “Just listen,” she implored.

  He cocked his head to the side and listened for all of two seconds. “I still don’t hear anything.”

  “That’s because you’re yelling at me again. You’ve probably scared him off by now.”

  He stuffed the handkerchief back into his shirt pocket. “See how much easier that is than assaulting people with hair care products?”

  Lucy resisted the childish urge to stamp her foot on the floor. Why wouldn’t he take her seriously? “But it might be the arsonist, returning to the scene of the crime.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve been reading too many mystery novels. That hardly ever happens. If you did hear something, it was probably just a mouse.”

  Then the distinct sound of loose bricks cascading to the floor echoed from one dark corner of the building.

  “Loud mouse,” she said dryly. “Do you want me to check it out?”

  He got slowly to his feet. “No, you and your hair spray have done enough harm for one night. I’ll handle it. You stay here.”

  Stay here. Again. Lucy pressed her lips together. Hadn’t she just shown him that she could take care of herself?

  But Nick didn’t stick around long enough to see if she obeyed his order. He turned and moved silently along the wall that led to the far corner.

  Adrenaline still pumped through her veins and her can of hair spray still had at least one or two good shots left in it. Nick needed backup and she needed to redeem herself for spraying the wrong guy. And prove to him that she could hold her own in this investigation.

  So she crept after him, unable now to even see his silhouette in the deepening shadows, but priding herself that her footsteps were just as soundless as his. Only one day in the cloak-and-dagger business and she’d already disabled a man who outweighed her by at least sixty pounds and was now tracking down a bad guy as if she’d been doing it for years. Lucy Moore—master spy.

  Her fantasy came to an abrupt—and bruising—halt when she bumped up against something big and hard and immovable. Something that made her heart leap to her throat. Something that grabbed her tight and wouldn’t let go.

  Nick.

  “Sorry,” she gasped as he whipped her around so fast, her head snapped against the wall. He pressed her back hard against it, the full length of his powerful body pinning her in one easy motion. Her breath caught in her throat at the sheer strength of him. The grip of his hands on her shoulders loosened, but he didn’t let go. She wriggled against him; her hands trapped against his hard chest.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear.

  “Did you see something?”

  He nodded, listening intently, his hands still grasping her shoulders and his rough cheek grazing her soft one. He stood there for several long, silent minutes. Then he lifted his head just far enough to look into her eyes, his mouth just a hairbreadth from her own. His heart beat a rapid cadence beneath her fingertips as his steely gaze flicked to her mouth.

  Lucy swallowed, mesmerized by the expression on his face. He leaned toward her; the motion so slight she couldn’t even be certain he’d moved at all. Then he pulled his head back abruptly and his flinty gray eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to do to me?”

  “I’m not doing anything to you,” she whispered. “I’m just trying to help.”

  His jaw twitched. “Lady, I don’t need your kind of help.” Then he pulled away from her, robbing her of the warmth of his body and any wild notions she might have entertained about Nick treating her like an equal partner in this investigation.

  “Maybe you don’t,” she whispered, trying not to sound disappointed. “But Melvin does. Do you think I’m going to just stand around, just stay put, when I could help find the proof we need to set him free?”

  He closed his eyes. “Lucy… We’re not going to find any—”

  A strangled cry echoed through the building as a wiry figure shot up from the corner and barreled through a pile of cardboard boxes as though pursued by demons.

  Nick spun around, one long arm extended to clothesline the man around the waist as he sped by, knocking the air out of him. The intruder went down like a rock, his eyes wide open and panicked as he gasped for air.

  Nick towered over him, one brown leather cowboy boot pressed against the side of his neck, almost daring him to move.

  “We caught him!” Lucy exclaimed.

  The man on the floor swallowed convulsively, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, then pointed one shaky finger in the dire
ction of the corner. “R-r-rat,” he breathed. “A big one.”

  Lucy squinted down at him. “Weasel?”

  Nick looked at her. “He said rat.” Then a hopeful gleam lit his eyes. “Lucy, if you’re afraid of rats, why don’t you wait for me in the car? I can handle this.”

  “I’m not afraid of rats,” she informed him evenly. “I’m not afraid of Weasel, either.” She smiled down at him. “Hey, Weasel, how’s it going?”

  “Hey…Lucy,” Weasel said, his panicked expression fading as he blinked up at her. His admiring gaze traveled slowly up the length her body. “Wow, you look great. Really hot.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, a blush warming her cheeks as she self-consciously smoothed down her black tunic sweater.

  Nick shifted his weight until Weasel’s eyes bulged out and odd gurgling noises bubbled out of his throat.

  Lucy frowned up at him. “You’re choking him. Get your foot off his neck and let him get up.”

  Nick eased off the pressure. “First, he answers a few of my questions.” He glared down at him, looking as if he’d rather squash him than interrogate him. “How do you know Lucy?”

  Weasel took a deep, unhampered breath, and then his mouth twisted into a smirk. “She’s my woman.”

  4

  By the time Nick abandoned the temptation to grind his heel down Weasel’s windpipe, Lucy had the guy up off the floor and resting comfortably in one of the wounded armchairs in Mad Dog’s apartment.

  Nick watched while she crooned over him, dabbing at the microscopic scrape on his forehead and reassuring him that the rat wouldn’t make any sudden appearances. And if it did, she vowed to annihilate it with her hair spray.

  Lucy the Terminator. Or in this case, Exterminator.

  Nick rubbed one hand over the thick stubble on his jaw and wondered how he’d let his life get so out of control. He thought he could handle starting over. Playing it safe while he rebuilt his life. Structuring some sort of future, however bleak.