Circle Eight Millennium: Lazarus (4 page)

After the glazier left, her stomach yowled at the lack of food. Bea couldn’t leave the store yet. Not until she secured the inventory that hadn’t been stolen, which consisted of gun parts, slings, cleaning materials and such. Not big money, per se, but it was all part of her financial investment. She told her stomach to stop whining and finally focused her efforts. The air conditioning was off since there were no windows in the front of the store; she wasn’t going to waste electricity trying to cool down the entire state of Texas.

She pulled a couple of fans out and turned them on, moving the hot, sticky air around. Bea stood in front of a fan for a few minutes, letting the air rush past her. It wasn’t much but it was something. She put the fans on oscillate and got back to work sweating.

After another two hours of moving, locking cabinets, and stuffing the safe as much as she could, Bea was finally done. Until the glass could be replaced, she couldn’t sell anything. What she needed to do was go buy some plywood to put up on the front of the store with a sign notifying people she was temporarily closed.

The idea of boarding up her parents’ store made her heart hurt. Cartwrights had been in Brier Creek for thirty-five years. Her grandfather had started the business with her father, a partnership that evolved into a successful family business. Bea had grown up in the store. Admitting it was no longer open to its customers was almost like conceding defeat.

Yet it was just regrouping. Bea would come back swinging, even if it was with a baseball bat and a snarl. She printed a sign that said “
TEMPORARILY CLOSED. WILL REOPEN SOON. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE. CARTWRIGHTS.
” She used a staple gun to hang it on the wall beside the front door. Her anger at the senseless crime simmered in her gut like acid. She needed to step away from the store and get the plywood.

The afternoon heat washed over her like a hot, wet washcloth when she stepped outside. To make things worse, the sun was midway down the sky. It turned the world into shadows and painful shards of bright light. She shaded her eyes but it didn’t help.

“A damsel in distress?”

Bea whirled around to find Samuel Graham standing on the sidewalk. The cowboy was the biggest of the lot with massive arms and shoulders, the same blue-green eyes as Laz, and a scar on his jaw from a horse kick when he was twelve. He was a charmer, sweet as honey and more dangerous than any of the Grahams.

He smiled at her and held out his arm. “I’m yours to command, darlin’.”

“Pfft.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I’m not a damsel and I sure as hell aren’t in distress, Sam. Why are you here?”

“Rose tells me Laz was around. I came to see if it was true.”

She shook her head. “You’re a gossip and I have things to do.”

He glanced at the store. “I’m sorry about this shit. Laz will find whoever it is.”

“I’m on my way out. Is there something you need?” She frowned at him. “I won’t be selling any inventory for a few days.”

“I came into town early to get some ammo and pick up a few things at the feed store. I’ll come back after you’re open.” He smiled, tipped his hat and walked back to the enormous, shiny black pickup parked nearby.

She shook her head. He came by to find Laz and for no other reason. Sam might be charming but he was trouble walking. There was a reason he was on the hunt for his cousin, not that it was Bea’s business. She didn’t want to be involved with the Graham men. They were nothing but trouble.

Then why had she hugged Laz or tried to kiss his cheek?

Momentarily lack of reason. Temporary insanity. Full-on stupidity. Any of those reasons would suffice. If she dug deep and examined the why, it might have been because she’d always been attracted to him, no matter if he’d been a jerk. Bea hadn’t been with many men and even then, she was super picky.

Or she might have hugged him to keep him off balance and to control their relationship, in whatever form it took, for once. She wanted the power and the ability to guide her fate.

No matter where it took her.

‡

T
he sun kissed
the horizon with pink and orange licks as Laz drove into Brier Creek. His gut tensed at the sight of the familiar sight of the large magnolias his ancestors had planted so long ago. They had grown wider in the years Laz had been gone. Their blossoms’ sweet scent drifted through the vents in the car.

He pushed away the memories, unwilling to get drawn back into his old life. Yet here he was driving back to Cartwrights to face the woman he’d not done right by. Perhaps it was a salvation for him, to right the wrongs of his past. That meant confronting who he’d been and what he’d done. That wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

Fate seemed to have intervened, regardless of his plans. It yanked him back into his past. The emotions of the day before had left him exhausted and he hadn’t slept well. His thoughts ranged from the softness of her lips, to the violence of the crime against her store, then they swung back to the brief moment her breasts had been pressed against his chest.

He was a complete fool to think simply helping her solve a crime would grant him atonement. Laz hadn’t just burned bridges when he left Brier Creek. He’d blown them sky high, along with everything around them.

He sipped at the coffee, but it was bitter and lukewarm, as hotel coffee usually was. If Laz was honest with himself, he’d left early to avoid seeing anyone. Bea thought they were meeting at eight but she was wrong. He was arriving at six and they were going to get started on this foolish partnership. He’d updated his case files and told his boss he was working a new angle but failed to mention Bea.

No, he needed to keep that little tidbit to himself, safe and sound, away from the prying eyes of the rangers. His coworkers would latch onto the idea he had accepted her help and never let it go. In the years he’d been working for the rangers, Laz hadn’t lasted more than three months with a partner. It was why he was assigned to a county-wide investigation. He was good at sleuthing out seemingly disparate events and data.

Laz also hadn’t had a relationship with anyone in all that time. He dated on and off, had sex on occasion but he continued to be alone. Some might call it self-flagellation. He called it giving back to the world in his own way by being a ranger. Being happy was never a guarantee for anyone.

Especially Lazarus Graham.

He had nothing to complain about since he’d grown up on a ranch with enough money for anything he wanted. Laz worked hard at helping his father on the Circle Eight, but it hadn’t meant anything except more allowance. He hadn’t connected with the land and what it meant. Truth be told, he was a failure as a Graham. A family with a legacy of fighting for what they believed in, no matter the odds, true Texans through and through.

Laz had skated through the first eighteen years of his life. If he allowed himself to look back, he could get lost in regrets and then he would never be able to move on. But had he? Beatrice Cartwright reminded him quite plainly that he hadn’t moved on. Laz had simply stepped to the side and walked on, leaving behind the steaming pile of shit he’d created of his life.

He pulled into the parking lot beside the gun shop and got out. Bea lived above the shop, which meant the burglary occurred while she was asleep, unprotected, upstairs. The thought of her catching the violent criminal in the act made his jaw ache from clenching it so hard. She no doubt had several guns upstairs and would have defended her store if she’d heard the intruders. He wondered if she slept hard or if the insulation was spectacular. Either way, she hadn’t heard the crime.

Laz had no business protecting her from herself, but he would protect her from further harm. That was his job, along with solving the crime. His feelings for Bea, the nonexistent ones, were of no consequence. There was no emotional connection to her. Or at least there shouldn’t be. Couldn’t be.

Wouldn’t be.

He closed the car door and walked toward the side entrance. It was an indistinct steel door painted a dark green. A doorbell with a speaker had been installed beside it, but there was no sign indicating what, or for whom, a visitor would ring for. Yet he knew it was Bea’s private quarters, but he wasn’t sure how he knew.

He rang the doorbell, glancing at his watch and noting it was barely ten minutes past six. Laz hoped she was an early riser. Belatedly, he remembered he should have brought coffee and breakfast in hand as he’d promised.

A full minute went by before the speaker crackled.

“What?”

“It’s Ranger Graham.” He winced at the formality in his voice but he was there in an official capacity.

“Son of a bitch! Lazarus?” Her voice was husky, either from sleep or distorted by the speaker. “You said eight. It’s barely past six. Is the sun even up?”

“I thought we could get an early start.” He leaned against the wall, regretting the impulse to avoid his past.

“And you forgot how to use the phone? Don’t they teach you that at ranger school? I thought you were done being an asshole.” Her annoyance seemed to grow by the second.

He deserved it, but in for a penny, in for a pound. “I brought all my notes with me.” Perhaps he could appeal to her with a bribe. “I thought we could go over them together.”

A few moments passed.

“Shit, that’s dirty pool, Graham. I can’t resist seeing your notes and you know it. I don’t suppose you brought the coffee and food?”

“No, I didn’t know where to buy it, but I thought we could get some together.” Oh, how low he had fallen. Ridiculous that he felt the need to tell half-truths. “Let me revise that. Will you join me for breakfast and we can review my notes?”

This time more than a few moments passed. “Fine, but you’re fucking paying. Give me ten minutes. And you’re still an asshole.”

Laz cooled his heels by the door while he waited for Bea. When she emerged, her wild curly hair was up in a ponytail and she wore a pair of cutoff jeans and a
Dr. Who
T-shirt with a pair of Keds. The most surprising thing was she wore black-rimmed glasses. Instead of detracting from her appeal, the casual look made her more attractive.

Sexy as hell, if he were honest with himself.

“Let’s go down to the café so I can get some coffee. I won’t function without caffeine.” She yawned so loudly, her jaw cracked.

“Is it walking distance or should we drive?” He gestured for her to precede him back to the front of the building.

“It’s six blocks. I can make it if you can.”

Laz considered how many people would see him walking down the street in Brier Creek. He couldn’t hide forever, not that he was actually hiding. It was more like avoiding.

He stopped at his car and picked up the binder he’d compiled with all the notes from the crimes. She nodded appreciatively at the black turbo-charged vehicle. Laz did like speed and power in his car, one of the few indulgences he allowed himself.

After reviewing some results from the crime scene techs, Laz had a few ideas, but he needed to put all the information together. Bea was smart and seemed to want to give her opinion on everything, whether or not he wanted to hear it. That was what he needed. Someone to push him beyond the obvious and into the unknown.

There was little traffic on wheels or on two feet as they walked down the street together. Her head barely reached his chin but she had a long stride because of those long legs of hers. She was curvy, feminine, confident, and strong all at the same time. Bea had matured into a hell of a woman. Her best feature, as always, was her breasts. He had to force himself not to look at them, although that proved as difficult as telling his dick not to notice them.

The café proclaimed itself “The Roasted Bean” with a cartoonish-looking coffee pot on the sign. A few cars were in the parking lot beside it. Bea strode through the door with Laz on her heels. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and coffee washed over him.

After ordering coffee and cinnamon buns, Laz insisted on paying. She murmured a thank you. Bea grabbed a number on a holder and picked a table near the window. Laz was starting to feel like a puppy following her, not that the back of her was a bad view. Her ass moved with a delicious swagger. He shook off the attraction that seemed to want to take over his thoughts.

He set the binder down and tapped the top. “I’ve compiled all the information on each of the crimes in here. Details on the crime scenes, the evidence, and each business.”

“Are they all gun stores?” She peered at the black cover with obvious interest.

“No, a dry cleaner, craft store, travel agency, and florist.” He waited while she digested that information.

“And they all had damage like mine?”

“Similar but not exactly the same.” He shook his head. “The problem is no business has anything in common.”

Her lips twisted and he had the gall to notice they were plump. Kissable. He remembered the brief seconds that mouth was pressed near his, not to mention the press of her incredible breasts against him. She was soft and sexy all over.

Holy fuck.

“Are you listening to me?” She frowned.