The Braddock Boys: Colton. Kimberly Raye
She’d turned her back on family once before.
He could still see the billows of black smoke on the horizon and smell the putrid stench of ashes and burned cattle flesh. It had been one hell of a homecoming after four years raiding for the Confederacy. He and his brothers had given Quantrill and his boys a run for their money way back when, but the effort had been wasted. The South had lost and the Braddock boys had headed home to the Circle B to pick up where they’d left off.
He’d ridden up ahead of the others to find what was left of his beloved home, the buildings a smoldering pile of charred wood, the livestock either scattered or dead. And the people …
His throat tightened and bitterness worked its way up. A half-dozen ranch hands had died that night, burned beyond recognition. And the foreman. And his mother. His son. His wife.
Or so he’d thought.
But Rose was alive.
Guilty.
While he had no idea if she’d started the fire herself, he knew she’d played a part. Thanks to his younger brother Cody, they all knew the truth now. Rose hadn’t died that night. She’d fled the scene with another man and left them all to perish.
But Colton and his brothers hadn’t burned to death. They’d been saved by a vampire, turned just in the nick of time. Garrett Sawyer had happened on the scene by chance and given them another shot at life.
At revenge.
Ironically, he’d bestowed the same gift on Rose. Unknowingly, of course. The ancient vampire never would have turned her if he’d known that she’d practically murdered her family. When he’d run across her a few miles from the scene, he’d thought her and her partner an innocent couple ravaged by savage Indians.
He’d been wrong.
The past stirred along with images from that night. The burning house. A frantic horse. The limp body of a small boy, his face charred so badly he was unrecognizable.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The metal bent, giving way beneath his strength until his prints were permanently indented.
It had been so long since he’d thought of his son. Too long. But with the memory came the pain and so he tucked it back down deep until the pressure inside of him eased. His grip relaxed, but he didn’t let go.
Not of the steering wheel, or the anger. He held tight, feeling the heat as intensely as the hunger that now lived and breathed inside of him.
He’d lost everything because of Rose. She was a liar. A traitor. She’d sold him out, which was why his pride hesitated to believe that she would show up now in support of her last living relative. But his head … His head knew the truth.
The pattern was clear. Every reported escape mentioned a visit by a mysterious redhead just prior to the breakout. It had to be her.
And if she’d come all those other times, she would come now.
In the meantime …
His gaze shifted to the front window. Through the bars, he watched the deputy pull off her hat and set it on the corner of her desk. Her breasts trembled ever so slightly beneath the stiff blouse, the motion so subtle that he doubted anyone inside even noticed.
He did.
He noticed everything. The slight quiver of her bottom lip. The frantic staccato of her heartbeat. The sweet, succulent aroma of a woman who’d gone far too long without a man.
He fought against a wave of heat, but it was a fight he was destined to lose. He was burning up from the inside out after seventy-two hours cooped up on surveillance. Hungry. Desperate.
For an up close and personal look of the jail, he reminded himself. He’d been biding his time, sleeping during the day and watching all night, waiting for his ticket inside so he could vampire-proof Jimmy’s cell in preparation for Rose.
It wouldn’t have been a problem if Jimmy had been your average prisoner, but the jail was on lock-down with all deputies on high alert and a ball-busting Texas Ranger parked inside. While Sheriff Matt wanted to help the Braddock boys, he couldn’t jeopardize his reputation in the process. Colton needed a believable cover and proper clearance if he wanted access.
Enter Brent Braddock. Colton’s brother was an ex-security specialist with friends in high places. He’d managed to get to the right people and pull some strings. Soon Colton would enter the Skull Creek Sheriff’s Office as a county-contracted security consultant. His job? To evaluate and perform an upgrade on the current system.
His ticket inside would be ready first thing in the morning and he could quit watching and start doing.
Tomorrow.
He just had to hold out a little longer, bide his time a few more hours. That’s what Colton told himself, but damned if he didn’t slide from behind the wheel and start across the street anyway.
3
IT WAS TOO QUIET.
Shelly came to that conclusion the minute she sat down at her desk and realized that Bobby was nowhere in sight. Not hunched over his computer or playing video games on his phone or standing in front of the coffeemaker. Her gaze shifted to the men’s room.
No doubt the double cheeseburger he’d had at noon had finally caught up to him.
That’s what she told herself, but she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that something wasn’t right. Something besides the local diner’s lunch special or the fact that Monty Darlington had left a message on her voicemail asking her if she wanted to get busy back at his place tonight.
Take that, Minerva.
“Bobby?” She tapped on the door. “You okay?”
The only sound that prickled her ears was the steady hum of the air conditioner. She knocked harder. Once. Twice. Her hand tightened on the knob. A loud creak and she found herself inside the one-stall bathroom.
Empty.
Panic sizzled through her for a split-second before she tamped it back down. He was probably out back, talking the hat off the Texas Ranger on duty with Holbrook. Probably shooting the shit and drinking coffee.
She turned toward the containment area, ready to prove her theory when Bobby’s voice crackled over the dispatch speakers.
“Mama Bear, this is Baby Bear. You copy?”
A few swift strides, and she punched the button on the microphone. “Would you stop with the nicknames?”
“It’s not a nickname. It’s code. You never know who might be listening.”
“I know exactly who’s listening. Martin down at the feed store is the only one with a police band radio and he only tunes in on bridge night to make sure his ex-wife doesn’t drink too many mimosas and start streaking again. Where are you?”
“Picking up Honey Gentry. We got a call that she was soliciting outside the Sac-n-Pac,” he continued. “They needed a squad car out here asap, so here I am.”
“But I told you to stay put.”
“And I told him otherwise.” The grizzled voice came from behind her and she turned to see her resident Texas Ranger standing in the doorway that led to the cell area.
Rumor had it Beauford Truitt was the oldest Texas Ranger still on active duty and, some said, the toughest. He had snow-white hair, a weathered face and a pickled expression that said he wasn’t too happy to be stuck in a one-horse town with Texas’s Most Wanted prisoner in tow.
He held a cup of steaming black coffee in one hand and a half-eaten bear claw in the other. “Ain’t no sense in him neglecting his duties. Just go on about your business and leave Holbrook to the professionals.”
“We are professionals.”