Justice for a Ranger

Chapter Two

Cole gripped the handlebars with a white-knuckled grip as he skidded sideways. Sparks flew from the asphalt, and his tires ground against the gravel, sending small rocks scattering in a dozen directions. Instead of having the good sense to move, the leggy blonde froze in place, making the blood rush to his head and sending a shard of panic through his chest.

He had to miss her, but damn—he didn’t want to tear up the expensive machine below him, either.

Okay, she was much more important than his Harley, but still…

He caught the bulk of the bike’s weight with his muscled strength, tilted his body sideways to compensate for the spin and to keep the Hog from rolling, then roared past her and skidded to a stop near the rail hitching post in front of the Last Call. She jumped into the shadows of the awning just as he cut the engine.

Hissing a sigh of relief and frustration, he shot off the bike, whirled around and glared at her. Adrenaline fired his veins and sent a furious round of curse words sailing past his lips. He wanted to wrap his hands around her delectable little throat. “What the…didn’t your mother teach you not to stand in the street?”

“You moron!” she shouted back at the same moment. “You nearly killed me.”

Moron? “You’re questioning my intelligence?” He ripped off his helmet, then slung his hair out of his face. “Dammit, sugar, you’re the one who needs to watch where you’re going!”

“I could say the same thing to you.” She jabbed a sharp red fingernail at his chest. “I don’t know what kind of hole you crawled out of, but pedestrians have the right-of-way in this town, and the speed limit is…well, you were way over it.”

Her scathing words reminded him too quickly what he’d already known—that he shouldn’t expect a warm welcome in Justice. That some people here thought he was a low-life slime just because he was the bastard son of Jim McKinney.

The very reason he’d headed to the bar first thing.

Before he faced his half brothers the next morning, he intended to have a cold one, unwind and cool off. And where better to get the local scoop than the town’s pub?

Loose lips liked to talk….

A sliver of moonlight caught her blond hair and sassy eyes, and his gut did an odd flip-flop. She was the hottest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her bare legs came up to her neck, the suit jacket she wore had popped the top button and a generous amount of cleavage spilled over the top of a black lacy camisole beneath. Damn.

He’d never met a drink or a woman he didn’t like, or at least wanted to taste. And this was one tall drink of water that tempted his thirst, badly.

“You give every man you meet this much trouble?”

She gave him a scathing look. “Men are nothing but cheaters and liars. They use women, then walk away when they’re finished.”

“Ouch.” She’d been hurt badly by someone. He swallowed against the sudden dryness of his throat. He felt as if he’d eaten dust. Or maybe her comment hit too close to home. “What if I said I’m sorry?”

She tossed a silky-looking strand of hair over her shoulder. “For yourself or for the sorriness of all those with the Y chromosome?”

His mouth twitched. “Both.”

Her lips finally quirked. “All right. I…I…guess you’re forgiven.”

She glanced back at the jail cell standing like a monument in the center of town across the street, and he realized she might have just come from that media circus. She didn’t look happy about it, either.

He’d sped past it, irritated at the thought of facing the mangy reporters. He imagined the headlines with a snarl.

Poor little illegitimate son shows up in town to help exonerate his father.

So what was her problem with them?

Not that he cared, but looking at her was a nice diversion. “Let me buy you a cold one. You look like you need it as much as I do.”

“You can’t imagine.” She rolled her shoulders, and a whispery sigh escaped her that made his chest tighten.

Man, he did like women. All their softness. The way they smelled. The feel of their skin against his.

And hers looked soft and creamy. And her voice, now she’d stopped screaming at him, sounded low and throaty.

Sultry.

Oblivious to the train of his lustful thoughts, she sashayed ahead of him and reached for the door. His gaze latched on to the rounded curve of her hips in that short, tight skirt, and his hands itched to reach out and wrap themselves around her tush.

He shoved them into his pockets instead. Women were trouble, and he was here on business, not to get laid or involved with a local.

A sea of smoke and noise engulfed him as they entered the bar. Willie Nelson’s voice droned out from the jukebox, peanut shells littered the scarred wooden floor, and the scent of beer and cigarette smoke clouded the room.

Ahh, pure heaven to a man’s senses.

She hesitated slightly, though, and he noticed the men in the back stop their pool game to gape at her. At the same time, two old-timers sharing a pitcher turned to ogle her, and the bartender, a forty-something bald man with a thick neck, raised an appreciative brow. This girl would not be paying for her own drinks. No sirree.

But what would the jerks expect in return?

Cole’s protective instincts surged to life. “How about a booth?”

She plunked into a corner one, and he claimed the seat across from her, then shot the other men a warning look as if to say she was off-limits. Outside the shadows of night and the awning had shielded her face, but although the lights were dim now, he saw her face clearly. He’d thought he’d sweated outside in his leathers with the summer heat beating down on him on the ride into Justice, but his temperature skyrocketed toward the hundreds as he realized who this sexy bombshell was.

Joey Hendricks—he’d seen her several times on television beside the governor. Holy hell. She was a hotshot special investigator with the state.

And she was also the daughter of the oil baron Leland Hendricks, who’d been accused of the kidnapping and murder of his own child. Hendricks and his ex-wife, Donna, had been major suspects in the murder of Lou Anne Wallace.

The reason she was here hit him like a fist in his gut. She had come for the same reason he had.

Because of the Wallace homicide investigation.

And if he guessed right, her parents were probably suspects in this new murder as well as the first one.

JOEY STRUGGLED TO STEADY her breathing. Her adrenaline was still racing from the confrontation with Dennison and then nearly getting mowed down in the street. And the sight of this biker dude…wow.

All that black leather, dark black scraggly hair down to his shoulders, scruffy bearded face, sweat beading on his forehead gave him a threatening look.

But not in a way that said he might physically hurt her. In a way that screamed raw, primal sexuality. Like a man who’d just returned from a long, heated battle against a beast in the wilderness, a battle he’d no doubt won.

As he would win over any woman he met. All it took was one look into those enigmatic, brooding eyes and the sound of that husky deep voice, and she’d forgotten the fact that he’d nearly killed her.

The moron.

Then again, on closer inspection, his eyes did hold a level of intelligence. Street-smart, not all book-bred. This guy had been around and knew the ropes.

And heaven help her, that incredibly fit body conjured wicked fantasies. He had wide broad shoulders. Pecs to die for. Muscular thighs that could pin a woman beneath him while he tortured her with his tongue.