Page 66 of Long Arm of the Cowboy

He dug around a bit more and saw that this was a dead game now that the two persons involved—blackwillow73 and darkstar76—had burrowed even deeper underground.

Clay hunched over his phone, sifting through every byte of information he came across and flipping over all the rocks until something caught his eye.

A religious affiliation for the kid known as blackwillow73.

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured to himself.

After spending more time researching the churches of that affiliation in East Canon and the surrounding area, more information unfolded.

At the age of sixteen, blackwillow73 did a stint in a drug rehab upstate. And one of those local churches of the denomination that he was affiliated with held recovery meetings.

Clay sat back in his seat, breathing hard. He had the kid’s motivation now—he fucking knew it. While attending the meetings, some dark evil twisted in the kid and planted the idea of bombing the church in his mind. Some anger at religion, life, the universe or even the rehab program.

Then he met up with the Quick Bunny guy and even more bombings were plotted between them.

Clay shoved to his feet, his muscles humming with the need to put his plans into action. Usually he took leaps like this in the middle of the night, but not in this case. He needed to visit the church, attend one of the meetings that blackwillow73 did. That needed to happen during daylight hours.

He could wait to share all this with Quaide too.

That left him with time on his hands…and a beautiful angel of a woman upstairs.

Should he go to her?

His feet were moving before the thought ever completed itself. He found the stairs and took them two at a time in a stealthy prowl until he reached the top. Four doors greeted him with options, his gut told him to veer left and try the first one.

Lifting a hand, he tapped a finger on the aged wood.

A very soft, “Come in,” sounded from the other side.

Clay’s heart lurched in his chest. Gently, he opened the door and scanned the dim room. A single lamp burned in the corner on an old desk.

Lark lay on the bed curled up on her side, wearing only a shirt. The halo of red curls against the pillow made Clay fist his hands with the urge to sink his fingers into the mass.

Her big eyes locked on his. His groin gripped with want.

“What do you need, Clay?” she asked.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak or move. Only stare at her and wonder how he could claim her for his own.

He ran his tongue over his dry lips and said something he never thought he’d hear himself say in all his life.

“Will you have me?”

* * * * *

Clay’s words grabbed Lark’s insides and twisted them into a knot. Slowly, she pushed into a sitting position.

And opened her arms.

The relief that crossed his face filled her with even more passion for this man. The fact that he was worried about her rejecting him; but still put himself out there only gave her a stronger appreciation for the man he was.

He closed the door and took a moment to remove his boots before approaching the bed in a slow stalk. When he reached the side, she pushed onto her knees and threw her arms around him.

His lips crashed over hers. Bearing her down on the mattress, he pinned her under his big body and kissed her until she was gasping.

One broad palm cupped her breast through her top. Her nipples pebbled at the heat scorching through the fabric and spreading across her flesh.

Small noises escaped her throat. She tore off his hat and tossed it across the room, then sank her fingers into his thick mass of brown hair.

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