Fur Ball Fever

Chapter 14

Long after Gracie's tail lights vanished, Nick stood in the parking lot cursing his rampaging hormones. Until today he'd functioned tolerably well without her. It hadn't been easy and he hadn't always succeeded, but slowly, painfully, he'd banished her to the remotest recesses of his brain. So what if other women were shallow and pale by comparison? Peace of mind had seemed worth the price. Now he wasn't so sure. His need for her, urgent and agonizing, had returned in full force.

The kiss had exploded his comfortable bubble of amnesia. Memories sprang free to flood him with longing. He tried to shrug off the certainty that erasing her from his life was a huge mistake. On the other hand, how could he ever draw another easy breath wondering what screw-brained danger she'd placed herself in this time?

Gracie didn't do anything rash, certainly nothing you wouldn't do, an irritating little voice in his head reminded him. She even gave a rational explanation for going after Weasel.

The short walk to his SUV was endless as he struggled to readjust his perception. Once settled inside his vehicle, he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and banged it a couple of times for good measure. "I misjudged Gracie," he said aloud.

The more he thought about it, the more clearly he saw that her actions tonight had been relatively well-thought-out, if fraught with danger. He arrived at a conclusion. Although Gracie refused to admit it, she needed a bodyguard. And who better to protect her than a personal security specialist? The best way to keep her safe was to make her his partner.

And extend the partnership to the bedroom, his dick added hopefully.

Unlikely, he argued back. If he'd read her reaction correctly, she resented the sizzling kiss that had shattered his world. She wouldn't be enthusiastic about establishing a partnership, business or otherwise. So he'd give her a day or so to cool down before groveling. Women loved it when men groveled.

In the meantime he would crash Rodeo Nite for a little sleuthing of his own.

Satisfied with his plan, Nick headed home before realizing he hadn't checked over his shoulder for random shooters and assassins. While he drove he consoled himself with the thought that Gracie would never gain entrance to Kinki.

That, at least, was one less worry.

***

Nick drove around to let off steam. It was closing in on 2:00 a.m. when he pulled through the gates of Saltwater Estates. He made the final turn, glanced toward his house, and stood on the brakes. A black Dodge Ram, gleaming and ominous under the streetlight, sat in his laneway. Twin longhorns bristled as hood ornaments.

He slid lower in the seat, wheeled slowly past, and rounded the corner. When he was sure he was out of sight, he parked his SUV. Pine-scented darkness surrounded him as he positioned himself behind a tree for a closer look-see.

Tinted windows made it hard to tell whether or not the vehicle was occupied. He hoped not. The truck was big enough to house a quartet of angry gunmen, all bearing rifles, shotguns, even a machine pistol or two.

Nick didn't know anyone who owned a black pickup sprouting horns. He didn't want to. With a huge sigh, he patted his Glock for reassurance. This surely wasn't his night.

Dropping into a crouch, he abandoned his tree. A zigzag path and a dive behind a Nissan parked in its laneway took him closer. Several repeats of the process, and he found himself hunkered down in his laneway behind the truck. A low-frequency rhythm was barely audible.

Debating the wisdom of a confrontation, he placed one hand on the tailgate. The entire truck vibrated beneath his hand. Someone was inside and listening to music. A moment later the thump of a bass guitar joined the low pulsing sound. While reaching slowly under his jacket to touch the handle of his Glock, he edged toward the driver's door and paused. The visitor must be cranking up the volume because Billy Ray Cyrus' moan became recognizable, then deafening.