Page 3 of Bourbon and Secrets

My brother Grant was a cop not too long ago. He respects the rules and the people who make them, but I like to bend them when needed. Sometimes that makes things dirty, and other times, bloody. I don’t care to judge anyone who might do the same, but this isn’t someone I’d expect to find out in the dark, up to something clearly sketchy.

I lower the light, but I keep my focus on her. “I’m assuming this isn’t part of your interview process for joining the Fiasco PD?”

She shifts with a wince. Her chin dips down, like the observation physically hurts to hear. The question is, is she in trouble? Or is she the source of it—covered in blood and mud along the edge of a cornfield?

“You going to ask how it got there? Or are you just planning on staring at me?” she asks as she shifts her weight and reaches for the hem of her shirt, smirking. I raise an eyebrow in challenge. She’s going to try for a distraction, but I’m not interested in playing into whatever she’s up to.

I sniff out a small laugh before I stupidly step closer. With just a few feet between us, my eyes wander down her legs toward her muddy pink Converse sneakers and up again. It’s hard picturing her as a cop right now. “Nah. Don’t really care,” I say nonchalantly. I look down her body and then meet her glare. “And believe me, I’m not looking.”

She shifts closer, her proximity raising goosebumps along my forearms. Despite the way she’s trying really fucking hard to harden herself with her shoulders back, standing tall, and an air of false bravado, she worries her lip.

I blink away all the small things I’m noticing about a woman I barely know. I don’t look at women—I’m not the kind of man to break a promise.But what if that promise was already broken?Stepping back, I hold up my left hand as I say, “Married.”

“You sure about that?” she bites back.

A simple jab like that is enough to make me react.No, I’m not sure about that.I take only a few more steps before I’m in her space, crowding her.

A clipped yelp leaves her throat, not expecting me to move so quickly. But she doesn’t pull back. In fact, she leans forward slightly, as if to welcome my anger. She’s shorter than me, but she isn’t dainty or fragile. She’d pack a punch if she knew how to throw one correctly.

But as I look down, I realize my mistake immediately. Almost toe to toe, her arm brushes mine as she clears her throat. I shouldn’t have gotten this close to her. There’s enough light for me to focus on the small beauty mark that sits on the apple of her cheek. And to notice the way her eyes bounce between mine and then drop down to my mouth.Fucking hell.Anger and chaotic emotions have me looking at someone I’d never planned on seeing.

“Did I hit a nerve with that one?”she taunts in a quiet voice.

Too close.

“Don’t,” I warn. Tonight’s not the night to push me. “Go home.”

Whatever she’s gotten herself into, I don’t need it anywhere near me. I need to get out of here. Away from her and this fucking shitshow of a situation.

I turn my back to her, moving toward the horse.

“Your back pocket,” she calls out. I stop in my tracks, turning just as she whips off her muddy tank top, leaving her in a sheer bra that, even in a dark field, leaves nothing to my imagination. I’m caught off guard and, like a fucking pervert, it feels impossible not to scan the curve of her body and the swell of her tits. I feel into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out the heavy metal piece, the size of my palm, rubbing my thumb along the grooves of it. I know it’s a folded switchblade, but I ask anyway, “What’s this?” Because it sure as fuck isn’t mine.

What she does next happens too fast for me to prevent it. She drapes her tank in her hand like a glove and snatches back the knife. “If anyone comes asking, you never saw me.” She raises her eyebrow, expecting me to agree.

I’m not in the mood for this shit. It’s almost comical how quickly this night keeps getting worse. But I’m not laughing.

“Or what?” I clap back, very aware that I just put my fingerprints all over what I can only gather is a weapon that fucked someone up tonight. The question is, how much? Threat? Assault? Murder?

The knife was heavy when I held it. I should have felt her slip it into my pocket. I played right into her hand and just became her perfect alibi.

She takes a step back and away from me, but it’s not far or fast enough.

Too bad for her, I’ve had too many years of wrestling with my brothers. That and relieving stress via sparring partners has honed my reflexes. It only takes a step and a half to reach her again and seconds to wrap my arms around her middle and yank her against my body. A gasp escapes her mouth as her chest collides with mine. A move I should have thought through first because, in a blink, I forget what I’m doing. The reason I’m out this late and why I’m pissed off at the way my life looks like something I no longer recognize. I stare down at this practicalstranger pressed against me and an exhale rushes out. Her chest heaves, moving as rapidly as mine.

“I don’t do well with people threatening me,” I say, voice low as I speak inches away from her face.

She leans in closer, staring at my mouth in a way that makes me hold my breath. In an instant, her lips are pressed to mine. I don’t expect it. But I don’t pull away, I part them for her. Her tongue brushes mine teasingly and she sways into me. For a fraction of a minute, I forget everything else as I kiss her back. All of it. Lost in the unpredictability, I allow everything that’s wrong about this to roll closer and settle around us like fog.

The loud snap of thunder echoes in the distance, and like a starting bell, she pushes away and stumbles back, like she wasn’t the one who made the move in the first place. Her fingers move to her lips, as if she’ll find the marks that mine left.

Faye looks down at her right hand, still draped with her tank and clenched around the switchblade I stupidly held. “You never saw me.”Lightning illuminates the horizon in brief flashes. A warning. The storm isn’t coming, it’s here. Looming over us.

“You never saw me,” she repeats. “And as long as that’s your story, then this will never need to be found.” She holds up the knife.

I shove down any attraction that may have crested. The anger that had been coursing through me surfaces as I step forward, reaching her quickly as I cuff my hand around her neck nice and tight. If she wants to play, then we’re going to play. But now, it’s by my rules.

She struggles to keep her confidence intact. I don’t want to know the details of what she did before I showed up. I have no interest in guessing what she might have gone through to be in this position or if she’s just some deranged level of sociopath. I care about one thing: my family. What’s left of it, at least.

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