Chapter 10
Present day
Jett leaned his elbow on the high cocktail table and pressed his finger to his mouth
as if pondering one of life’s deepest questions—like why the Rangers hadn’t made it
into the playoffs? Though, of course, he already knew what he was going to say—he’d
set up this line ten minutes back. He deliberately let his gaze do a lazy up and down
over the sexy blonde sitting next to him, spending ample time on the size D implants.
Hey, he had nothing against surgical enhancements. This was an enlightened age. If
a woman wanted to make her cleavage the center of a man’s attention, he was all for
it. “A model,” he said, finally answering the question of what profession he thought
she was in.
The blonde laughed in an “I don’t believe you, but I’m flattered anyhow.” Genuine
or not, the sound was pretty.
“No, really.” He shook his head. “I’m good at this. With those cheekbones you have
to be on the runway.”
Blondie had done her hair in soft curls down her back, and in her strapless red dress
and very high f-me shoes, she was definitely on the hunt—a hunt for a rich, available
man. He hated to tell her that wasn’t him. He was rich, all right, but definitely
not available—at least not in the way she was hoping. She’d figure it out soon enough.
They all did.
At his father’s social events these women were a dime a dozen, or as he liked to joke
with his buddies, for every natural beauty there were a dozen women cosmetically enhanced.
Not that he was complaining, he liked boobs, real or fake. But those weren’t the only
type of women at these campaign dinners. There were older ones—usually with enough
power and money to maintain their unnaturally thin bodies and faces pulled tight and
pumped with Botox. Those were the ones he had to watch out for because, like it or
not, the pretty ones were usually related to the unnaturally thin ones with faces
pumped full of Botox.
It was all part of the game, wielding power and influence through a show of elegant
ballroom parties with overpriced food. His father’s main objective as a senator was
to work the room securing campaign funds. Jett’s was simply to make sure everyone
invited had fun. It was a fine line keeping the hookups short and sweet for everyone
involved, but he’d had a lot of practice.
Blondie crossed and uncrossed her legs, angling her body even more toward him, a sure
sign that he was taking her home tonight—even if he hadn’t asked yet. Her name was
Ana Price. A sweet name for such a goal-oriented girl, but what would one expect with
a father who was one of the wealthiest oilmen in Texas. A person didn’t make it to
the top by playing footsie.
Jett took her hand and brought her ring finger up to his mouth for a whispered kiss.
He loved women—loved how sweet their skin smelled, how full their lips were, how their
eyes told him when their reservations about coming home with him had melted. Ana’s
pale eyes were like puddles in her face.
He smiled and unobtrusively felt for his keys in his pocket as he stroked the soft
skin at her wrist. All it would take was one last push. Something along the lines
of how he was staying at the five-star hotel not far from here or that he had a bottle
of champagne waiting on ice in his room. All things that could be made true in one
press of the speed dial on his phone.
Then said phone vibrated in the side of his tux jacket. He ignored it. Not important,
not now. His phone went silent and then started its annoying buzzing again.
“I don’t mind if you answer. It may be important.” Ana’s face had lost a bit of that
dreamy look.
He grinned. “Whoever’s calling is not nearly as important as who I’m talking to.”
There, the dreamy look was back.
His phone went off again. He refused to groan out loud.
“Go ahead. I’m not going anywhere.” Ana slipped on a sexy grin as easily as one would
a silky scarf and pulled her hand from his grasp.
Yeah, maybe. He held up a finger. “One moment.” But for reassurance he softened his
words and took back her hand, placing a kiss in the center of her palm.
Jett stepped away from the table and glanced down at the caller ID. His gut tightened.
His night was gone before he could even answer. He grunted a hello.
“Hey Jett, it’s me, Suzy.”
“I know.” He gave himself credit that he could grind even that much out. It wasn’t
Suzy’s fault that she worked at the police station and seemed to have his number on
speed dial.
“Well, what do you expect from a Logan?” Suzy sounded tired. She didn’t like working
the night shift.
He couldn’t speak—the muscles controlling his vocal cords were frozen. He stretched
his jaw from side to side and tried to remember how to breathe.
“Ahh . . . so you coming or what? I can’t be here all night. Don has trouble sleeping
when I’m not there.”
Jett disconnected before he’d let out the words building up inside. He had to remember
it wasn’t Suzy’s fault. Nope, he’d save his choice phrases for the person who really
was to blame.
He turned back toward Ana. Her green eyes were so clear and simple, her face so willing
and uncomplicated. He sighed. He liked clear and simple. Liked willing and uncomplicated.
So then, why was he determined to get involved with the most drama-ridden, complicated,
smart-mouthed woman he’d ever known?
Jett walked into the police station, the sound of his dress shoes echoing on the polished
cement floor. There were rows of empty desks, some cleaned off, some piled with papers.
Sheriff O’Hannon ran a tight ship. His station was clean and neat, displaying his
philosophy that just about any chaos could be managed with a broom and a mop.
Suzy looked up from behind her desk, a worn paperback romance in her hand, dark intelligent
eyes a sharp contrast to the soft roundness of her face. Like most people in Grove
Oaks, they had known each other their entire lives. And though at 5 feet 4 inches
Suzy wasn’t the most intimidating officer of the law, she had a knack of finding the
significant pieces in a person’s story and rooting out the truth.
He took pride in being able to sweet-talk any woman from nine to ninety, but tonight
he seemed to have met his quota for game playing. Instead, he just dove in. “What
is it this time?”
Suzy shrugged her plump shoulder. “I think it was officially disorderly conduct, but
it could’ve been inciting a riot. Some of the deputies are getting a little creative
in their charges.”
“Where at?” Jett had undone his bow tie, but still tugged on his collar.
“The Pitt. Mike’s not too happy. I hear they trashed his bar good.”
“Anyone hurt?” If Mike had called the cops, things must’ve been bad.
Suzy shook her head. “No, but I hear Mike banned her from his bar.”
Jett groaned and rubbed at the pain that was starting on the side of his head. Not
good. Not good at all. “Has bail been set?”
“Not officially, but Sheriff O’Hannon won’t let her go until the damages to the Pitt
are covered.”
“Which are?”
“A thousand.”
“Dollars!?” Jett usually didn’t yell, but he seemed to be on edge tonight. Maybe it
was because he should be soaking in a hot tub at the luxury hotel, drinking champagne
from the navel of Ana Price, or maybe he was just sick of being the cleanup crew.
“We stopped accepting chickens about a decade ago, so yeah, dollars will work.”
“I don’t have a thousand dollars.”
Suzy raised one eyebrow like some hard-boiled detective who’d just been fed a line.
Jett threw up one hand. “Okay, I don’t have a thousand on me.” Hell, some people in
this town thought he was a walking ATM.
“No worries.” She placed the book facedown and started tapping keys on her computer.
“I can charge your account. I have your card on file from last time.”
“I have an account?” He had accounts in some of the finest bars, hotels, and stores
across Texas. To think he had an account at Grove Oaks county police station was a
humbling thought. Humbling and rather socially terrifying.
“Customary after the first three transactions.” Suzy might as well have added a
duh
for the look she gave him.
“Suzy?” He said her name real slow, more for his benefit than for hers. “Exactly how
many transactions have I had?”
“Well, jeez, Jett, that may take awhile. Does it really matter?”
Did it? No, he guessed not. Two or twenty-two, it wouldn’t change what he needed to
do tonight. But something had to give. He couldn’t very well keep this up until he
was old and gray. Though there was every indication that he’d be doing just that.
What did that bald shrink say on TV? The best predictor of future behavior was past
behavior. Jett pulled at the collar of his custom-fitted shirt again. Damn tailor
must’ve measured wrong. “Just escort me back.”
Suzy nodded and pulled her plump frame out of her chair. He followed her down the
hallway, the heels of his shoes in time with the
swish
,
swish
,
swishing
sound of Suzy’s thighs. The precinct in Grove Oaks was small, with only a couple
holding cells, ample enough for the few drunks and petty crimes that came in. They
stopped at the first metal door with a small double-paned window in the center. She
reached up to punch in a key code on the side panel. Without thinking it through fully,
Jett touched her wrist to stop her. “Wait a sec, will ya.”
Suzy nodded and stepped back. Jett didn’t know what he was after. Maybe a glimpse
at the person behind all the trouble? Hell, maybe an f-ing small indication of remorse.
Jett leaned forward and looked through the window, and knew immediately he’d hoped
for too much.
There, in a five-by-eight concrete room, sitting on a long wooden bench, was the same
thing he’d seen every time: the same smart-mouthed, angry girl he’d come to expect.
Black combat boots propped up one on top of the other, long tan legs stretched out
and bared since she had on the world’s shortest pair of jeans cutoffs. Her arms folded
across her chest, pushing her ample breasts to the upper limit of what her string
tank top could hold. Black piecey hair with some kind of unnatural highlight obscured
her face. Her head was back, resting against the wall, mouth wide open. And if he
listened hard enough, he could hear her snores.
Without looking at Suzy, Jett turned around and started to walk away.
“Jett?” Suzy called to his back.
“No.”
“What?” Suzy chased after him, the swishing of her pant legs doubling in time. “Wait,
you have to take her. She can’t stay here.”
“It’s a holding cell, Suzy. Of course, she can stay here.”
“No, Jett, she can’t.” Suzy panted after him.
Guilt tugged on Jett. He’d been raised to match his steps to a lady’s, not to outrun
her. He turned back around. Her face was flushed, but it was easy to see the wide-eyed
nervousness in her expression. “Why, Suzy, are you scared of Nikki? She’s locked up.
She can’t hurt you.”
“That’s not it.” She looked offended for a moment. “You know Don wants me home.”
Jett didn’t buy it. He’d wait her out. Suzy was the one with plans. Jett, unfortunately,
had all night.
Suzy cast her gaze away, back, then away again. “And . . . yes . . . well, you know
how she can get. That mouth of hers can skin a cat alive and that’s when she’s in
a good mood. You gotta take her with you.”
Jett shook his head. He knew all about Nikki’s mouth. Maybe too much for a girl who
should be like a sister to him. “Call her brother.”
“You know he won’t bail her out. He’s all about tough love, but that doesn’t work
on Nikki.”
“Hell—” Jett flung his hands up. “What I’m doing isn’t working either. Nothing seems
to get through to her.”
Suzy wiggled her nose back and forth. A gesture she made when something didn’t sit
right with her. “She’s had a hard life. No pa or ma to help her out. She’s lost her
way is all. But you can’t give up on her. Besides her brother, you’re the only one
she’s got.”
Anger put his teeth on edge. He took a step toward Suzy. “No. No. You’re not putting
this all on me. I’ve done my share. Do you know how many times I’ve come and gotten
her in the middle of the night? Do you know how many times I’ve offered her money
to help get her on her feet?”
Suzy had raised seven strapping tall boys, so Jett’s intimidating six-foot frame was
lost on her. She notched her chin up and glared at him from chest level, then poked
his breastbone with her sharp fingernail.
Jett stepped back and rubbed his chest. “Ouch.”
“You’re a fool, Jett Avery, and I expected better from you. Have you ever thought
maybe it isn’t money Nikki needs? You know how prideful the Logans can be.”
Sure he knew. Wasn’t he best friends with Cole? There was a picture of him in the
dictionary next to the word “pigheaded.” “Well, I don’t know what you want from me.
A man can only take so much.”