The Braddock Boys: Colton. Kimberly Raye

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he nodded. “If you change your mind about tonight, we’ll be at my place.” In the blink of an eye, he was gone and Colton settled back in his seat to keep watch.

      At least, he tried to settle in. But his nerves were wound too tight, his hands clenched, his gut tense.

      Not because of Rose. Brent was right about one thing—she wasn’t even close. Colton could sense other vampires and while he felt the steady hum from his brothers and the others in Skull Creek, that was it. No prickling up his spine. No tingling in his limbs. No spike of anger in his gut.

      Yet.

      But she would come eventually and he would have his pound of flesh. That would be the end of it.

      The end of him.

      Because this wasn’t just about defeating Rose. It was about punishing her for what she’d done, and then paying the price himself for not preventing it in the first place.

      That’s why he’d come here.

      Skull Creek would be the end. Of Rose and of the damnable guilt that ate away inside of him.

      Until then …

      The scent of ripe cherries teased his nostrils. His mouth watered and his gut twisted and he stiffened.

      He was in for a long night.

      SHELLY WAS ON HER third donut when Bobby arrived with a tall, tanned blonde in tow.

      “I wasn’t soliciting,” Honey Gentry said as the deputy steered her into a chair. “I was advertising.”

      Although well into her late thirties, the woman didn’t look a day over twenty-five. With long, dark blond hair and a figure that would make any Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader insanely jealous, Honey was the sort of woman who turned heads when she walked into any room. Especially wearing skimpy Daisy Duke shorts that accented her long, endless legs and a red tank top that outlined her perfect breasts. Add a pair of red cowboy boots and it was no wonder she’d caused a riot at the Sac-n-Pac.

      “Thank God. Finally I can talk to someone who doesn’t think with his crotch.” Heavily lined cornflower blue eyes shifted to Shelly. “This is all a big misunderstanding.”

      Shelly arched an eyebrow. “I thought you promised Judge Myers that you were going to turn over a new leaf if he let you off with probation last year?”

      “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

      “Not yet.” Bobby handed over a hot pink flyer. “I caught her just in time. She was handing out these. Gave one to the mayor’s wife. She’s the one who called it in.”

      “Pinkie Hamilton is as nutty as a squirrel turd. She’s just mad ‘cause her husband is one of my best customers.” Honey beamed. “He loves my honey buns.”

      “You might want to keep that info to yourself until you talk to a lawyer,” Shelly warned.

      “I was just advertising my product. That isn’t against the law.”

      “It is if the product is a sexual favor.”

      “It’s not a sexual favor.” Honey beamed. “I’ve expanded from breakfast pastries,” she indicated the basket that Bobby had plopped on Shelly’s desk, “to cupcakes. It’s my new business. I’m a cupcake caterer.”

      “Yeah, right.” Bobby snorted and glanced at the pink flier. “You’re trying to tell us that Decadent Thunder Down Under is the name of a cupcake?”

      “One of my top sellers.” Honey flicked her long mane of hair. “And it’s the mayor’s personal favorite which is why his wife hates my guts. She can’t cook a lick.” She motioned to the basket. “I’ve got a half dozen to deliver to him. He got stuck in a late meeting so I thought I’d do a little advertising at the Sac-n-Pac until he finished.” She motioned to the basket of sweet-smelling goodies. “It’s my granny’s recipe.”

      “Cupcakes, huh?” Shelly eyed the list. “Chitty Cherry Bang Bang and Lickety My Banana Split,” she read out loud and her gaze shifted to Honey. “Don’t you think those names might be misconstrued?”

      “It’s called suggestive branding. I learned it on the internet.” The woman shrugged. “It ain’t my fault if this whole town’s got their minds in the gutter. I’m just trying to beef up my business.”

      “Well you’re out of business for now,” Bobby informed her as he slid behind his desk and reached for an arrest sheet.

      “For soliciting?” Shelly asked the deputy.

      Bobby shook his head. “When I told Pinkie I couldn’t arrest someone just because of a flyer, she got the owner of the Sac-n-Pac to file charges for loitering.”

      “But that’s not fair,” Honey protested. “I wasn’t loitering. I was an actual customer. I even bought a large sweet tea and a bag of Doritos before I started handing out flyers.”

      “Tell it to the judge.” Bobby reached for his fingerprint kit while Shelly barely resisted the urge to put a stop to the nonsense.

      “I’m sure Judge Meyers will throw it out in a heartbeat,” she told Honey. “But we have to go through the motions when anyone presses charges.”

      “This sucks.” Honey blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m going to miss Lost.

      “Maybe not.” Shelly made a mental note to get Bobby to move the small television from the back room into Honey’s cell. Yes, it violated about ten different rules, but this was a small town and these were trumped up charges. Tit for tat.

      She gave Honey an encouraging smile and settled down behind her desk to finish up her own paperwork.

      Her thoughts kept going to Colton Braddock and the all important fact that out of all the men who’d crossed her path that day, he’d turned out to be The One. Also known as the answer to her sexually frustrated prayers. Which wouldn’t have been such a bad thing except he wasn’t here because he wanted to have a little fun. He was here to do a job.

      And he was coming back tomorrow.

      She stiffened and eyed the basket sitting on the corner of her desk. Icing clung to the edge of the lid and the warm scent of sugar and vanilla teased her nostrils. The trio of donuts she’d had hadn’t come close to touching the hunger that gnawed inside of her. She needed something more filling.

      She needed him.

      Shelly shook away the sudden thought and leaned forward. Her hand was an inch shy of the basket when the door buzzed open and a redhead wearing a pair of oversize sunglasses rushed inside.

      “Hide me,” said Shelly’s younger sister.

      “Sunglasses? Really? It’s seven o’clock in the evening.”

      “I don’t want to be recognized.” As if that would ever happen. At twenty-three, Darla Lancaster was tall and leggy with a killer body and enough sex appeal to have all the men in town chasing after her. She’d slowed down long enough to let one in particular catch up, only to leave him at the altar three days

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