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Grady scowled at—she assumed—the naked shock on her face. “The sooner you question him, the sooner you can clear him. You said you know he didn’t do it, after all.”
“I didn’t say that,” Laurel returned, shaking herself out of her shock and going for a notebook and a pen.
“What do you mean you didn’t say that? Never mind, Clint. Let’s go.”
Laurel stepped in front of him, holding out a hand to stop him. Somehow that hand landed on his chest. Because even though it was something like thirty degrees outside considering the sun was just beginning to rise, he only had a leather jacket on, unzipped, so that her hand came into contact with the soft material of his T-shirt, covering the very not-soft expanse of his very broad chest.
She jerked her hand away and focused on her notebook. “Calm down,” she said, hoping she sounded calm. “I said I don’t think he did it. I’m only out for the truth, and if the truth is Clint’s nose is clean, I’ll make sure my investigation reflects that.” She lifted her chin and met his blazing blue gaze.
She’d never seen Grady this riled up before. He was more of the “annoy the crap out of people till they took a swing at him, then gleefully beat them to a pulp” type.
Which was why it didn’t surprise her in the least when he relaxed his shoulders and his gaze swept down her chest. “Nice jammies.”
She sidestepped him and gestured Clint to a seat at her small kitchen table. “Sit, Clint. I have a few simple questions for you. Now, right now, we don’t know what happened, so I need you to be honest and forthcoming, because the more we know, the quicker we can get to the bottom of this.”
Clint sat in the chair, slumping in it, looking everywhere but at her or Grady. “Sure. Whatever,” he muttered.
Laurel opened up to a clean page in her notebook and quickly jotted down Clint’s name, the date and time. She left out Grady’s presence, and she didn’t have time to wonder about why. “Now, Mr. Jennings said you came to his door around ten asking to make a phone call. Is that true?”
Clint shrugged again, fidgeting and sighing heavily. “Guess so.”
“And why did you go to Mr. Jennings’s door?”
“Crap car broke down not far from that rancher’s house. I walked up, asked to use his phone since mine was dead, and then my girl came and picked me up.” He pulled at a thread on the cuff of his jacket. “I wasn’t anywhere near that field.”
“How did you know the dead body was in the field?” Grady growled before Laurel could voice the same question.
Clint opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Laurel had to close her eyes. The idiot kid couldn’t even lie? Hell, she’d come up with one if Grady’s furious blue gaze was on her like that.
“You promised me you were telling the truth,” Grady said, leaning over the table and getting in Clint’s face. “So help me God, Clint, you do not lie to me and get away with it.”
“Gentlemen,” Laurel said in her best peacemaking tone, smiling encouragingly at Clint and then Grady. “Let’s take a calming breath.”
She was pretty sure Grady’s calming breath included picturing breaking her neck, but he stood stock-still, fury and frustration radiating off him.
If she hadn’t grown up in this town, if she hadn’t fascinatedly watched against her will, her whole life, how the Carson clan worked, she might have been concerned.
But where the Delaneys were all cold silences and sharp words, the Carsons exploded. They acted, and it was oftentimes too much and foolish, but Laurel had never doubted it came from the same place her family’s way of dealing came from.
Love. Family.
Grady was pissed and frustrated—not just because Clint was lying to him, but at the fact Clint was clearly in trouble and Grady couldn’t fix it.
“Let’s start from the beginning, Clint,” Laurel said evenly and calmly. “With the truth this time.”
“Why are you making me talk to a Delaney?” Clint demanded of Grady. “She’s going to railroad me no matter what I say.”
Grady’s entire face looked hard as marble, and the way he had his impressive arms crossed over his chest, well, Laurel didn’t think she’d mess with him the way Clint seemed to be doing.
Clint sighed heavily, slouching even further in the chair. “Okay, yeah, I saw the body.”
“You...” Grady was clearly working very, very hard not to come unglued.
Laurel held up a hand, hoping it kept him quiet rather than riling him further. “And you didn’t call the police because?”
“Because me plus a dead body was only going to make me a suspect. I’m not stupid. I know how you cops work. Maybe you got something on Grady or are getting naked with him, but you got nothing on me.”
Laurel hated that a blush infused her cheeks. Naked with Grady? Ha. Ha ha ha. What a laugh. But somehow she couldn’t stop thinking about how she didn’t have a bra on under her pajamas.
Laurel managed to clear her throat and look condescendingly at Clint. “Would you like me to arrest you? Because I can.”
Clint began to bluster, but Laurel continued on in her even tone, because she would not be upset by a couple Carsons in her cabin. “Or you can truthfully answer my questions and allow me to investigate this. And, if you had nothing to do with it, this questioning will be all there is to it.”
“I stood up for you with your mom, kid. You screw that up, you’re out of chances, and you know it.”
Clint stared at the table, but clearly, whatever Grady was talking about got through to him. “The story’s all true. I just broke down on the other side of the ranch. I was walking up to the door to see if I could make a call when I heard a shot. I thought it was...” He shook his head. “Well, anyway, it was dark. I didn’t see anything. But I heard the shot, a thump like a guy fell over, and footsteps running away.”
Laurel scribbled it all down, her heartbeat kicking up. This was something. A lead, no matter how tiny, and that was important. “That’s all you heard?”
“Think so.”
“Thinking isn’t good enough,” Grady sneered.
“All right. That’s enough out of you.” Laurel stood and began pushing Grady into her bedroom. “You are officially uninvited to this questioning. You just stay in here until I’m done.”
She pushed him and pushed him until he was far enough in her room she could close the door. Which she did. On his mutinous face.
* * *
GRADY STARED AT the rough-hewn wood of the door and tried very hard to resist the urge to punch it.
What did Clint think he was doing? Noah had found Clint holed up in the stables early this morning and they’d all surrounded him and demanded to hear what he knew. To make a plan. To protect their kin.
In that moment Clint had said he hadn’t seen anything, that he was the innocentest of bystanders. That was the only reason Grady had decided to throw Clint on his motorcycle and drive him to Laurel’s place.
If Grady had known the kid had seen it? Witnessed the murder go down and walked away? He would have called any lawyer he could afford.
Instead... Grady swore angrily, pacing Laurel’s tiny bedroom. His idiot brother had just made everything ten times worse and in the house of a Delaney. How the hell was Grady going to get Clint out of this one?
He took a deep breath. He had to curb his temper, because getting angry wouldn’t help Clint. He needed a cool head and a plan.
He took stock of the room around him. Neat. Tidy. The bed was unmade, but considering Laurel was still in her pajamas, maybe she hadn’t had a chance. Deputy Delaney did not seem like the type to leave a mess lying around.
She had a tiny bed, all in all. Bigger than a twin, he supposed, but not by much. Which was when he knew the best way to find a sense of inner calm in order to formulate a plan. It was not to go out there and bang his head against a hardheaded moron teenager, but to irritate the hell out of Laurel Delaney while she beat her head against Clint’s teenage woe-is-me.
Grady settled himself in the middle of Laurel’s bed. Comfortable, he’d give her that. The sheets were nice, and the pillows firm and plump and a lot better than the ones he had back at his apartment above the saloon or his bedroom at the ranch.
He grinned to himself, imagining asking her about where she got her pillows. Her eyes would do the fire thing, and she’d probably fist her hands on those slim hips.
Hips that had been settled in this bed this morning. In those ridiculous flannel pajamas. Except, he didn’t think she was wearing a bra under said pajamas, and he wouldn’t mind seeing what Laurel looked like a little unwrapped.
As it was, he could smell her. Something floral and feminine and so unlike her usual asexual appearance he was a little tempted to get his nose in there and take a good sniff.
Which was insane and more than a little perplexing. He didn’t care what a woman smelled like. Vanilla. Citrus. Nothing at all. It was all the same to him as long as they were warm, willing and up for anything.
Laurel Delaney would not be up for anything.
Yeah, couldn’t let himself go down that particular road. At least, not unless he was making her blush while he did it.
The door opened. Laurel stood with her notebook and pen in hand, her mouth opening to say something that was no doubt important.
Then she saw him and fury flickered across her features like a thunderstorm sweeping through the valley. “Get out of my bed, Grady.”
“You know, a woman has never ordered me out of her bed before,” he returned conversationally, crossing his ankles.
“There’s a first time for everything. Your brother’s answers are sufficient for now, but he needs to stay in town in case I have more questions, and it’s very possible he’ll still be considered a suspect if I can’t find something more concrete. But I don’t have enough on him to apply for warrants, so I suggest you do your darnedest to get through to him.”
“Will do, Deputy.”
“Now, if you aren’t out of my bed and my room in ten seconds, so I can get dressed, I will get my weapon and shoot.”
Grady folded his arms behind his head and flashed a grin at her. “Go ahead and get dressed. I don’t mind.”
She made a squeal of outrage, or maybe she was actually having an aneurysm. “You have got to be the most infuriating man alive.”
“Part of my charm.”
“I’ll claim immunity.”
“Oh, don’t tempt me to test that when I’m in your bed, princess.”
“Ten, nine, eight...” She began to count, looking at the ceiling, which he’d count as a bit of a victory, because if she wasn’t glaring at him maybe she was at least having a few inappropriate thoughts about him in her bed.
He would have been more than happy to let that countdown run out, see what she did. Would she really pull her gun on him? He doubted it. But whatever fun he was about to have was completely ruined when he heard his motorcycle engine start.
Without him anywhere near it.
Grady swore and hopped off the bed so fast the bed screeched against the hard floorboards. He ran past Laurel and out the door of her pretty little cabin and yelled after Clint’s retreating form.
“That little punk will rue the day he touched my bike.”
“Rue the day, huh?”
Grady whipped around to glare at Laurel, who was leaning against her open doorway, looking more than a little smug.
“No one, and I mean no one, touches my bike.”
“It appears he already did.”
Clint had indeed, and he would soon find out what it meant to cross Grady Carson, half brother or no half brother.
“I’ll get dressed and drive you into town. Just wait for a few minutes,” Laurel said, pushing off the doorway and stepping inside. Grady took a few steps toward the doorway, but Laurel lifted an eyebrow.
“Out here,” she added. And for the second time this morning, she slammed a door in his face.
Chapter Four (#uce746380-9f89-51ff-a5c4-6e35043b0edc)
Laurel hummed to herself as she poured her coffee into her thermos. Turned out watching Grady get the crap end of the annoyance stick was quite the morning pick-me-up.
Plus, now she had a lead. It wasn’t much of one, all in all, but Clint hadn’t heard any yelling. Just murmured voices, which Laurel could safely assume meant Jason knew his murderer. Knew him and agreed to meet him in a field in the middle of nowhere.
Which meant Jason had been more than likely into something shady. So, her investigation needed to start focusing on her deceased distant relative.
It was a relief, in some ways, that it might be personal or even professional rather than random. Random was harder to solve. Random was more dangerous.
But Jason had known who killed him, there was a trail to follow, and she’d do her job to follow it.
With renewed purpose, and the image of Grady nearly losing his crap firmly in mind, Laurel slipped on her coat, hefted her bag and grabbed her thermos before heading outside.
She frowned a little when Grady was nowhere to be seen. Had he decided to walk back into town? No skin off her nose and all that, but quite the long walk in the cold when he didn’t have to.
She walked to her car parked on the side of the cabin, and that was when she saw him.
He stood with his back to her, clearly surveying the sprawl of Delaney buildings—houses, barns, stables. Shiny, glossy testaments to the wealth and success of the Delaney clan.
It shouldn’t make her uncomfortable. Her family had worked long and hard for their success, and they’d always upheld the law while they did it. She was born of sheriffs and bankers and good, upstanding people. She knew that.
But no matter how traitorous the thought, she’d always been a little jealous of the Carsons. Not their wildness by any means, but the way they treated their history. They didn’t just know the dates and the people, they lived it. Embodied it. A Carson today was not much different than a Carson one hundred years ago, she was sure.
Laurel had always felt a little disconnect at her father’s edicts of bigger, better and more when they had so much to be proud of just in who they were.
“Tell me something, princess,” Grady said, his voice something like soft. Which might have bothered her, or affected her, if she thought it was sincere. As it was, she figured he was just trying to lower her guard.
“What’s that?”
He turned slowly, those blue eyes of his direct. Sometimes she wondered if she couldn’t just see the past through them.
Get a hold of yourself, idiot.
“You don’t believe in the feud,” he said in that rusty scrape of a voice that might have made women weaker than her shiver. “So, what do you believe in?”
She didn’t need to think about it, or even look away. “Bent.”
He sighed heavily, his gaze traveling to the mountains in the distance. “I was afraid that’s what you’d say,” he muttered. “I suppose we don’t agree about the way people go about it, but I feel the same. As long as Clint’s a suspect, Bent’s at risk.”
“I agree.”
“So, I’m going to help you.”
