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.
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.
