Convicted
by Dee Tenorio
Copyright © 2014 by Dee Tenorio. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Marketta, California
The new cop was lying under a tree again.
Sheriff’s Deputy C. Evigan had stormed into town and begun making friends in a big way. Four drug busts in as many days had netted him the general enmity of everyone in the Wheels of Pain motorcycle club. The damages caused by those busts all over town had probably caused the enmity of pretty much everyone else.
Now thanks to the undersheriff’s bulldog arguing, twelve members of the club had spent a full five days in county lockup. While the initial charge was assault—the possession with intent to distributecharges had disappeared like magic thanks to another evidence breach—he’d managed to getdisorderly conduct added for being high and fighting the officers when they’d been picked up. Again. The entire town knew the charges wouldn’t stick, but it would keep those men out of everyone’s hair for another few days.
Well, everyone’s hair except Katrina’s.
She had to haul her ass to the Municipal Center’s detention building most every day to deliver any communication from her “boss.” Frank Carter had run the club—and the town—ever since her delinquent uncle got himself locked up a few years ago. Katrina had the fun of maintaining Cooper’s Tavern—Uncle Red Dog’s shithole biker bar—until he got out. Playing lackey to Frank was Red Dog’s idea of putting her in her place for running away as a teenager and the subsequent decade of silence before coming home. Red Dog had been suspicious of her claim that she had nowhere else to go—he was always suspicious—but he’d put her to work and never imagined he’d let a DEA agent right in his front door.
She smirked at that thought. It was probably better payback than her uncle realized. Dealing with Frank Carter fell somewhere below “being mauled by a pack of rabid animals” on her list of good times. But here she was, day in, day out, putting up with his shit. Because she had to, for now. The second she didn’t, she’d take enormous pleasure in kicking that sadist as close to death as humanly possible and dragging his ass to jail. Until that beautiful moment arrived, she made due with whatever distractions she could find.
Thus, watching the new deputy’s comings and goings.
She shouldn’t have, of course. Everything about him screamed Don’t even think about it. First, he was a stranger. Unlike most people in Marketta, he wasn’t born there and he didn’t have family to vouch for him. Second, cops didn’t exactly think highly of biker bars, and according to the gossip that was the life’s blood of their small town, this cop didn’t seem to think highly of anything. He didn’t speak to anyone, preferring to either nod or stare at people until they left. That included Frank’s men, which might have been a good thing since most of the other deputies were on Frank’s payroll, but it sure made folks nervous. Rumors were already flying that he’d taken some kind of serious damage during his military years so he was likely to lose his mind and kill them all at any moment. She cringed inwardly every time she heard that particular story, even as she told herself his possible mental issues had nothing to do with her. Her orders were to keep an eye on Frank Carter and the rest of Wheels of Pain, not to get turned around every time some sexy military man walked by.
But he was hard to ignore while she waited for her visitation.
Deliciously tall, he’d let his black hair grow way too long. He’d brushed it out of his eyes and under his hat at least twice each time she’d seen him. He wasn’t used to that hat, she realized pretty quick, but it seemed to be growing on him. He visibly relaxed a little every time he put it on again. Broad shoulders, long legs, and a hell of a lot of muscle made her wonder exactly what it was that brought him home from the Middle East. Nothing she could see, at least not from the window. It was tempting to get close enough to find out.
Well, tempting for her. Most other people seemed to give the big man an insultingly wide berth whenever he walked by. Just her luck, she had serious problems staying away from trouble, and this new bad-cop was definitely trouble.
She paused on the steps leading to where she’d parked her bike. In the distance, kids climbed on a play set. Shrieks of laughter carried a long way, as did the sound of parents giving warnings and probably being ignored. That was where the new guy parked himself every day, right under the big oak tree that topped the slope of grass. With all the noise, he would probably never even hear her coming. She could get a good look, satisfy her curiosity, and get the hell out. No big deal.
If anyone on Frank’s payroll noticed her lingering, she could just tell Frank she was checking to see if the new guy might be someone she could work up.
Yeah, Frank would like that.
Maybe. He hated when people thought of things before he did, though it didn’t happen often.Paranoid and pathological weren’t adjectives she used lightly, but they sure fit Frank to a T.
Still… She took the first step toward the park.
This is a stupid move, Killian.
The last thing she needed was to complicate her tenuous situation.
So, sooo stupid.
Because her feet began a steady stride on the sidewalk leading to the rolling green hillside surrounding the Municipal Center and she wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop herself. She just wanted a better look. How much could a look hurt?
Which was what she’d always asked herself as a kid, right before she hopped on someone else’s bike for a joyride.
That memory almost stopped her, but she gave a mental shrug and kept going. That was the danger to coming home. Who you really were had a sneaky way of disappearing into who you used to be.
Her boot heels sank into the rich grass, each step kicking up the fresh scent of sun-warmed, freshly watered earth. But earth wasn’t what had her attention. No, that was firmly trained on the length of man stretched out where the ground had just started to slope.
Arms folded behind his head, wide-brimmed green felt hat over his face, those long legs crossed at the ankle, and his chest rising and falling evenly, he was the picture of relaxation. She slowed, allowing her gaze to trace the thick ropes of muscle where his biceps escaped the short sleeves of his brown uniform. Arms the size of anacondas, she decided, feeling a curl of inappropriate interest rise like smoke in her belly.
Six-three if he was an inch, the guy was head-to-toe muscle. His chest spread the confines of his uniform shirt so far he’d had to undo several buttons to allow his arms up like that. The fabric of his pants strained at the upper curve of his quads. She glanced briefly at the not-so-subtle bulge at his groin. Definitely not a eunuch, this one.
The smoke grew thicker…
All too easily, she could picture herself straddling his hips and rubbing her breasts against that massive chest. Skin to skin, sweat blending together, breath coming in frantic pants… The image was so clear she shifted to press her thighs together, holding onto the phantom sensation her imagination created completely on its own.
What would it be like, sex with a man containing so much physical power? To know he could take complete control of her anytime he wanted? She’d never considered that to be a turn-on, but a man like this? One who caught her attention without even trying? It could be something she’d be willing to test out—
Until she heard the quiet click of a hammer cocking from under the hat brim.
Sonofabitch.
“Seen enough?” His voice was almost painfully gritty. Like gravel over her senses, rough and abrasive. Which didn’t at all explain why she liked it.
“Not really, you’re still wearing clothes,” she replied, since it was the truth and she always found that to be a fun novelty. “But I guess it’ll have to do.”
The hat lifted a little and she caught sight of one narrowed dark eye and the glint of his small handgun. Okay, then. Man with a gun and rumored post-traumatic stress disorder. Brilliant idea, traipsing up to him and ogling him while he slept. Just fuckin’ brilliant.
She quickly searched for signs that he might be at all in distress. No sweating, his gaze didn’t dart nervously, and most important, the gun didn’t waver though she knew she’d confused him.
She smiled, deciding to go with flirty, since that hadn’t set him off so far. “Do you always say hello with a nine-mil, or are you just happy to see me?”
“To people who sneak up on me in this town, yes.” He must have decided she wasn’t a bullet-worthy threat because he applied the safety and sat up, slipping the handgun into his shoulder holster at the same time. The heavy weaponry, she noted with surprise, remained at his hip. A flat-black M45, if she wasn’t mistaken. She never was, when it came to guns.
It wasn’t every day you got your hands on one of those. Military issue, she assumed, though pretty sure that wasn’t exactly legal, even for law enforcement. A second later, he was sitting up, still staring at her cautiously.
“Light sleeper?” she asked unnecessarily, hoping to set him at ease.
More staring.
Yeah, ease probably didn’t come real natural to this one. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
Not surprisingly, he didn’t respond.
“That’s okay, I am.” She took the fact that he kept both guns put away as a positive sign. “Mind if I sit?” Figuring it wasn’t a good idea to wait until he gave her an answer, she lowered herself to the ground a few feet from him. It was a bit squishy, which she hoped like hell wouldn’t ruin her leather pants. “So how have you been?”
“Excuse me?”
Finally, a reaction. Katrina clapped her hands between her open knees to get the dirt and grass blades off. Definitely wet. She bit back a sigh and glanced at the man next to her.
Dark brown eyes caught just enough sunlight to turn the irises a brilliant gold as he studied her. A strong jaw, squared and shadowed with dark bristles, though he’d clearly shaved that morning. His skin was pale, as if he’d been in hiding or sick recently.
“I asked how you’ve been since you moved to Marketta. People treating you right?” When he still didn’t say anything, she sighed. “You’re this close to bruising my ego, Tiger.”
His snort of disbelief made her grin. He might not talk much, but he was listening.
“Yeah, okay, my ego is pretty impenetrable, but it’d still make a girl feel pretty if you answered her questions.”
“I’m fine.” Sure he was. Fine people always snarled.
She decided to sound happy with that. “Was that so hard?”
His glare should have set her on fire.
“You know, you could stand to work on your people skills. Most people around town don’t even know what your first name is. They just keep calling you that big fella. Even the other deputies. I heard there’s a running pool on what the C stands for.” If she had her usual access, she’d have found out in a heartbeat, but she was so far off the grid that local gossip was her main source of information and the town had a great big blank when it came to this particular tidbit. Call her a control freak, but she didn’t like holes in her knowledge. “The big money is on Cecil, but I hope to God you didn’t get saddled with that one. It’s just not the kind of name you can see yourself screaming in bed—”
“You’re with that biker crew, right?”
She brightened at his interruption, which made him scowl. “You been checking up on me?”
“Can’t check on people I’ve never heard of,” he scoffed, looking away from her. “The leather kinda gives it away.”
She looked down, taking a second to view herself the way he would. Leather pants weren’t exactly a prerequisite for bikers, she just happened to prefer them. Black tank top and only a few tattoos on her arms and shoulder. Maybe it was the matching black leather vest hanging open? Ah, well, her trainers at Quantico hadn’t exactly been fond of her tastes, either. “I run Cooper’s Tavern.”
He lifted a sardonic brow. “You run the crew’s bar?”
“Don’t be so critical your first week, Deputy. You might hurt yourself.” And possibly a few others. “For the record, it’s not a crew, it’s a motorcycle club or an MC. Most folks connected to the club wear jeans and T-shirts, just like everyone else. Shitty jeans, sure, but nobody’s perfect.” She let her gaze slide over his length again and bit back a sigh. Okay, so a few people were closer than most…
“You’re not with them?” He sounded so doubtful.
“With is such a subjective word, don’t you think?”
“No.”
She rolled her eyes. Military types were so literal. “They spend a lot of time in my bar.” Like, every waking minute.
“That’s a yes.”
She squinted at him. “Is that how you’re planning to run things? Judging people guilty by association?”
“No, but figuring out who’s most likely to get me killed in this town seems like a good idea.”
Ooh, that was practically an insult. He was definitely warming up. “Now why would I want to get you killed when you’re so”—she ran her gaze over him again, appreciating every inch as she did—“interesting alive?”
“You must have a strange definition of interesting.”
“Not really.” Mysterious handsome strangers would have any red-blooded woman’s antenna twitching.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, lady. I’m not interested in bikers.”
Lady?Her? Her brows went up this time. “You got a problem with bikes now?”
“No. I just don’t associate with criminals.”
“You’ve got the wrong hat on, then. Criminals are about all you’ll be associating with in this town.” The only innocent ones in Marketta were the kids in that playground.
“Drug dealers, then.”
“Me? A drug dealer?” She held her hand to her chest in mock offense. “How’d you guess? Is my Ecstasy showing?”
She knew he’d expect her to be flippant, because he couldn’t touch her on that score even if he’d caught her selling drugs on his front porch. Not if she was connected to the MC. Playing the part usually came easy, but his steady stare tore right through her illusion, turning the moment tense in a heartbeat. She put her hand down, dropping the artifice like the mask it was.
“You have proof of that accusation?”
“No.”
She nodded, pretending to think about his expansive answer. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up dead in his sleep.
“Let me give you a friendly tip, then. Don’t let anyone else hear you say it. You never know who plays recorder for Frank.” Too many did. Shop owners, county workers, the bankers, even the damn school advisors. She knew fear and desperation played a big part of it, but it still made her skin crawl when she thought about how many people around her had sold out.
“Not you?”
She shrugged. “I’m different.”
He settled his arms on his knees, his big hands falling between them so he could hold his hat and run it through his fingers. Round and round, the soft purr of the texture against his skin becoming a strangely soothing sound. “Seems to me being different around here isn’t much of a good idea, either.”
Hmm, that almost sounded like concern. “I’ll be fine. Frank gives me some leeway as long as I keep my head down and my mouth shut when he’s giving orders in my bar.”
He faced her again, definite interest now.
“He doesn’t have much choice. His boss told him I’m not to be touched.”
“Frank Carter has a boss?”
Shit. This just got worse and worse. “The sheriff didn’t brief you on this place before you came?”
“Rick Trelane gave me files when I got here, but I haven’t gotten through all of it.”
“You need to.” Like, immediately. She should have known Clive Barrows had done nothing to fill him in—the sheriff was useless as hell—but she’d thought his former teammate would have been more thorough. “Red Dog Killian has run Wheels of Pain for over twenty years. He owns the bar they use for their headquarters. He got pulled up on a parole violation last year and he’s finishing his last sentence. Frank’s just holding down the fort ‘til Red Dog comes back.” Which, if she had her way, would never happen.
“Frank doesn’t seem like the second-in-command type.”
She agreed cheerfully. “He’s not, but Red Dog will rip off his head and shit down his throat if he takes a step out of line, and Frank knows it. I heard Red Dog once snapped this guy’s legs like toothpicks and staked him to the ground in the desert for stealing from him. By the time they found the guy’s body there wasn’t anything left to ID but the gnaw marks on the bones.”
“And he’s not up for murder?”
She snorted. “People don’t testify against Red Dog. If the cops could get more on him, believe me, they’d lock his ass up for life. He’s too slippery for that.”
“Sounds like real husband material.”
She laughed at his sarcasm, bumping his leg with her elbow. “He’s my uncle. I’m just here to keep an eye on the bar so he doesn’t shit down my throat.”
“Uncle?” His disbelief came through loud and clear.
“You really think I’d admit he’s family if I didn’t have to?” Red Dog wasn’t exactly her favorite relative, and she sure as hell wasn’t his. Deputy Sheriff Anaconda Arms could believe her or not.
“It’s probably not smart telling me all this.”
“Everyone else in town already knows. Trelane should have told you first.” But this man’s worry was heart-warming. “Don’t worry about me, rookie. I know six different ways to make a shiv out of a toothbrush. I’m safe enough.”
His jaw clamped shut and she saw all the relaxation she’d managed to get from him disappear. Damn shame, but probably for the best. Her curiosity about him was already getting the better of her.
“You’ve been to jail?”
She nodded, aiming for his solemn demeanor. “Not everyone grows up to be all they can be. I grew up boosting bikes and getting sent to juvie. Vicious circle, let me tell you. Do the circuit long enough, you start moving up to the big leagues. Does that mean you won’t be picking out any china patterns with me now?”
His grim expression had her failing to stifle a laugh.
“That’s okay, we can just have clandestine sex in shadowy corners instead.”
His scowl now was simply priceless. “Are you always this aggressive?”
“Only when it’s fun and trust me, Sergeant Sexy, hitting on you is just about the highlight of my life.”
He didn’t seem to like that at all.
“Don’t call me that.” For all that he hadn’t been effusive before, his voice was sharp as a blade now.
She blinked, trying to remember what she’d said that could have been insulting. “You don’t like being called sexy?”
The muscles in his jaw worked a few times, but he resolutely stared at the playground.
Okay, that wasn’t it. She frowned. The rank?
“You don’t like people knowing you were in the military?” Was that what had him twitching? She didn’t even bother to hold back her amusement. If so, he was just going to have to get over it. “Even if I hadn’t heard the new cop had served with Mr. High and Mighty, you’re an easy peg. You practically have Hard-Core Military tattooed on your forehead. Trust me, you’re gonna have to work a lot harder to shed that skin than just growing out your hair.”
Thick black brows crashed together as he finally looked at her again. “Known a lot of us, then?”
She snorted, deciding to ignore the implication in that question. “You guys have a posture, uniform or not. And you’re proud bastards. Doesn’t matter how long you’re out, it’s all over you.” She shrugged when he didn’t seem to be buying her explanation. “My dad was in the Navy, okay?”
That, he finally accepted. “Squiddy father and biker uncle, huh?”
“Both of them were, actually. Vietnam vets.” Which probably explained more to this man than it did to most. “You and Rick were Marines, right?”
He shifted those hawk eyes to the playground again, the movement sharp and dismissive. It felt like a wall slammed down on her fingers, the abrupt move almost making her gasp.
She could have left then. Gotten up and walked away. He wouldn’t have said a thing to stop her, and she knew that’s exactly what she should have done. Just talking was putting them both at risk.
But she stayed.
And he let her.
“Strange, isn’t it?” she asked, following his gaze toward the kids on the playground “How is it they don’t know what kind of danger they’re in? How are they so blissfully blind?”
“That’s not what I was thinking.”
She looked over, surprised he’d answered. She thought he’d keep ignoring her until she went away.
“I was thinking they don’t have anyone to protect them.” The wind, warm and strong, rustled his hair. He blinked, but never changed his focus.
“Is that why you come here every day? To keep an eye on them?” She couldn’t quite keep the disbelief from her voice.
His head shake was faint. “I come because they’re peaceful.”
She turned a skeptical eye on the small people making crazy all over the slides and sand. Nothingpeaceful was happening over there.
“They’re perfectly content in their lives. They know something isn’t right around here, kids always do, but they still manage to be happy despite it.”
Her derision melted. Put like that, she felt kinda crappy for her other thoughts.
“Someone should protect that.”
Someone. “Not you?”
He shook his head again. “What I know how to do, children should never see.” The stiffness in his form made her own muscles ache. She’d have touched his shoulder, the granite line of his jaw, if she didn’t think it would shatter him. Voice thick with bitterness, couched in a finality that told her he wouldn’t answer any questions on this, he added, “I’m not the one for that job.”
She didn’t have the first clue what to say now.
“Why did you come here?” he asked suddenly. She found herself in the stark scrutiny of his dark brown gaze. “It wasn’t to hit on me, no matter what you want me to think. Women like you don’t have to do the chasing.”
Not usually, no. “Maybe I like to do the chasing.”
He didn’t flicker an eyelash.
Damn. So he wasn’t going to be swayed with feminine charm. In fact, he didn’t appear willing to be swayed at all. She drew in a careful breath, her heartbeat speeding up under that unrelenting stare. He’d wait all day for an answer, she realized, portent sinking in her stomach like a stone.
He didn’t move, hardly blinked, and he damn sure didn’t say a word, but in that moment, something became very clear to her. This one was going to be trouble. To her. To everything she was risking her life to achieve. Possibly to himself.
Of all the things on that list, for some reason the last one was the one that bothered her most.
For the first time in a long time, honesty seemed the best option. “There’s a rumor in town that you’re damaged from the war. I wanted to see for myself if you were safe.”
“I’m not. I think we both know that.” His solemn pronouncement didn’t help her discomfort. He made it sound as if everyone knew that. Or maybe he simply wanted everyone to think it.
“So how did you get this job if you’re not safe around people?”
Not even a shrug. “Sheriff can deputize whomever he wants.”
Katrina barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. “Is that supposed to make me sleep better at night? You’re armed, for fuck’s sake.”
He pierced her with a sharp glare. “Do you really think my guns are what make me dangerous?” He shook his head when she could only swallow. “The people in this town are safe enough from me. I passed all my psych exams before my discharge. That should give you your answer.”
She couldn’t say for sure if it did. In fact, the only thing clear from this conversation was that both of them were hiding something.
“Why are you stillhere?”
Breaking his intense gaze, she rolled to her feet. She wasn’t sure what had happened. One second she’d been following an unwise impulse she knew she could control, the next she was in over her head. “I’m curious about you.”
“Why?”
She didn’t know him anywhere near well enough to answer that. “I have no fucking idea.”
He took a few seconds to reply. “Is your curiosity satisfied?”
She turned to give him some kind of sassy answer, wanting to walk away with the upper hand in this conversation. He looked her in the eye, the same impassiveness on his face as had been there earlier, but the shadows in his gaze—even with the sun lighting them—struck her like a weight she couldn’t ignore.
No, her curiosity about this stranger wasn’t remotely satisfied. “Why are you here?”
Beneath his steely reserve, she sensed a deep, endless rage seething. Like a powder keg waiting to go off. A place like Marketta was the last place a man like this should be.
“To help my friend.” He raised his chin toward the playground. “Maybe if Rick has someone watching his back, we can keep some of them safe.”
“You won’t last long if you’ve really got a condition.” Not a threat. More a worry, one she couldn’t explain to herself or him. Which was okay, because he wasn’t asking questions. “You need to get some help.”
“Got all the help I need. Or want.” He rolled to his feet as well, the movement smooth as silk. Whatever his issues were, they weren’t physical. He might as well be a fine-tuned machine. His pants weren’t even wet from sitting on the damp grass. He dusted his hat on his thigh before plopping it on his head, nodded to her, then turned to walk away.
That bothered her. No, it itched. Like a rash.
“My name is Katrina Killian, by the way. Katy for short.” She hated that nickname, but it’s what people around here called her.
He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. Then he nodded again…and kept walking. As if she didn’t matter.
Like hell.
“So, sex on the second date, then?” she yelled after him, making sure everyone and their grandmother could hear her.
That big body stopped, spine rigidly straight. Nothing moved except his hands, which curled into big, white-knuckled fists.
She grinned.
There. Now he could leave.
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