Her Cowboy Doms(3)

“I’m fine.” She shot him a scowl, then wished she hadn’t. He only had her best interest at heart. Mack was a solid partner and an even better friend.

“Okay, okay. Just checking is all. No need to bite my head off.”

“Sorry.”

She closed her eyes and fought to keep from snapping at him again. Ever since that day six months earlier when she’d answered an urgent call from dispatch, then had walked in on the horror in that modest suburban home, her fellow officers had treated her differently. As though they thought less of her. Worse, as though they were afraid she might break in half. She’d never felt completely accepted into the man’s world of police work, but the way they acted around her now made her feel even more like an outsider.

The problem was that she wasn’t so sure they weren’t right. Some days she did feel like breaking.

She’d hoped Mack wouldn’t treat her the same way, but she couldn’t blame him. If the situation were reversed, she’d tiptoe around him.

Yet how did they expect her to react? She’d walked in on a multiple murder scene, a brutal slaying of two parents and their two children, ages twelve and eight. The father had put up a desperate fight, but he hadn’t had a chance against the knife the killer had used. The sight of their mutilated bodies had sent her stumbling out the rear of the house and upchucking in the yard.

When she’d finally stopped vomiting, she’d lifted her head and found herself staring at a man standing in the line of trees at the back. His upper body was shielded in the shadows of the night, hiding his face. But she’d never forget the jagged red line of blood that ran along his arm from his elbow to his hand. It had covered much of the strange tattoo covering his forearm, but she’d seen enough. The tattoo of a black snake with a white cross in the middle of its flat head wasn’t easy to forget. All at once, she’d known he was the murderer. She’d tried, but she’d been too shaken to give much of a chase. He’d gotten away, disappearing into the night.

Although she’d known it wouldn’t help, she’d spent hours poring over mug shots. Checking databases looking for a snake tattoo covering the right arm hadn’t given her any leads, either. When no other similar murders followed, many of her fellow officers had assumed that the killer had left town. They seemed almost thankful not to pursue the case any longer.

“You okay, Fox?”

“Damn it, Mack, stop bugging me.”

She bit down on her lower lip, asked Mack to call in their status, then she eased the car back onto the road. One of these days, she’d stop seeing that terrible bloody scene in her head. At least, that was what she kept praying would happen. For now, all she could do was try and keep her mind blank, devoid of the many haunting memories that plagued her.



* * * *



Destin Casing motioned to the bartender to give them another round. He and his brother Paul liked the hotel bar. Unlike most, it had a decent band and a steady crowd of customers. The rich mahogany walls gave the room a cozy ambience that hinted of past generations where men smoked cigars and argued politics. A deep red color accented the walls and lined the barstools and leather booths. It was a man’s kind of bar which, of course, meant it drew in a lot of women. Women who liked men of power and wealth. Women who were looking for more than a fun time and even a few who were happy to get paid for their company.

Although they’d never flaunt their money, both brothers were well off, owning not only Pleasure Ranch and its private club but other holdings in Texas and around the country. Several sexy women kept eyeing them, trying to lure them from a distance. At any other time, he would’ve sent them a bottle of champagne and followed the usual course of events that would come once the young women made their way over to them. But tonight, no matter what he tried, he couldn’t shake the memory of the beautiful policewoman. The other women paled in comparison.

“So what’d you think about her?”

He slugged back the shot the bartender placed in front of him. “What’d I think about who?” As if he didn’t know.

“Cut the bullshit, bro. I’m talking about the lady cop.” Paul swiveled his barstool around to watch the people mingle around them. Although he had his drink in his hand, he didn’t slug it back like Destin had. Paul always drank less than he did, disliking the feeling of being out of control.

“She was a looker, all right.”

“She was more than that. Even that God-awful uniform of hers couldn’t hide her body. I kept trying to keep my mind on what she was saying, but all I could think of was how hot she’d looked cuffed and slung over a spanking bench.”