Page 11 of Long Arm of the Cowboy

He shot a look at the sky and prayed for patience.

Suddenly, he cut the engine. “On second thought, we’re not taking your car at all. We’re taking my truck.”

Her smile widened.

“I mean,I’mtaking my truck.”

She stabbed a finger toward his chest. “Nope, you already said we. You get the bomb. I’ll grab the coffees.”

Hell. This day—this job—was getting worse by the second.

And if he had any guys on Sentry, he’d hand this entire thing over to them.

A minute later they were both settled in his truck with the bomb secured with tie-downs in the back. From what Quaide Livingston, his FBI contact, told Clay, the device was ticking but not unstable. As long as they made the drop-off before the timer ran out, they were fine.

While this job was definitely outside his comfort zone, it was exactly what he signed up for with Sentry. The woman? Not so much.

Why was he even agreeing to take Lark on this trip anyway? He couldn’t be responsible for her safety. That was her brother Andrew’s job. As teens, they were always annoyed that Andrew had to bring his little sister everywhere with him, but the Steeles were a package deal and they wanted Andrew around. He was a solid sidekick, and with his dry wit, good for a laugh.

Thinking back, Clay realized it was more of a dark humor. And no wonder, with their upbringing.

He punched in the coordinates on his GPS app and brought the coffee to his lips. Thankfully, Lark didn’t speak for the first twenty minutes of their drive. She just looked out the window and sipped her coffee, which was actually the undrunk one,

And was also black. A veryadultdrink. A kid would drink some flavored, sweetened, whipped-creamed confection.

Clay’s night was catching up with him. All those energy drinks and pills left him feeling paranoid and edgier than usual. Of course, this wasn’t a normal day. He’d never dealt with a high school buddy’s kid sister bringing him a bomb before.

And just what the hell was going on with that 911 operator oversharing details about a call that the sheriff was on? East Canon was more of a disaster than he originally thought before moving back here for the task force.

“You probably remember some of the old landmarks around here,” Lark commented.

He grunted.

“They tore down the drive-in theater though. Made it into a parking lot. Every year there’s a big town yard sale there.”

What was he supposed to say to that?

“They have some good vintage items, but they’re overpriced.”

“What does this have to do with you picking up a bomb?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to keep you awake.”

Hell, did he look as tired as he felt? Because that was bad.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t want me driving your truck.” She directed a red curl off her forehead and flashed that dimple.

He noticed that she wore two gaudy rings on her fingers. One had a big green stone nearly the same shade as her eyes and the other, unsurprisingly, was a mood ring that looked purple at the moment.

What did purple mean when it came to mood rings?

She turned her gaze on him now, and he got caught in the depths of her light green eyes for a moment too long before redirecting his attention to the road.

What the hell was that? He didn’t look at women, and when he did, he never searched their eyes like that.

Maybemorecaffeine wasn’t such a great idea, but he took another sip anyway.

A mile down the road, he was still thinking about her eyes. Lark had a way of not only looking at a person—but looking deep inside them. Hell, he still felt an odd awareness that came from her staring at him like she could see into his damn soul.

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