No Perfect Hero(10)

My question seems to strike the fury back into her.

Little Ms. Nosey turns her glare back on me, planting her hands on her tight, curvy hips.

Damn if my eyes don't go there.

She’s in cutoff shorts today, barely long enough to qualify as pants, tight-fitting enough to cut into the soft flesh of her thighs. The oversized baseball tee over them has been sawed off ragged, so it hangs loosely from her sweet pair, exposing hints of her midriff every time she moves.

Consider me completely screwed – or wishing I'd be. So distracted by the teasing glimpses of her navel that I almost miss her biting off her next question.

“What did you do to my car?”

“Car? The 'stang?” I frown, diverting my attention back to her face and those snapping green eyes, framed by a few ribbons of brown hair escaping in delicate little wisps from a messy clipped-up twist. “I fixed it for you.”

“Without my permission?”

“You were going to get it fixed anyway. Does it matter who did the job?” I shrug. “Hell, I saved you a little time and money. Sue me.”

Her rosy little cheeks fold in like she's just picked up a lemon with her teeth.

“You need a new carburetor, by the way, but I got the old one working. Well, enough to get you to Billings or the general vicinity.” I arch a brow. “Unless you really want to stay in this little Podunk town long enough for the local shop to order you a new one?”

I don't tell her Stewart said he could.

Her eyes narrow. There’s something stubborn in the set of her mouth. Something that tells me she just might take that as a challenge. “Really? I’m supposed to take some random stranger’s word that he fixed my car and it’s safe enough for me and a minor over open highway?” She sniffs as if she's holding in a how dumb do you think I am? “I’ll wait for a professional opinion, thanks.”

Goddammit.

She has a point, but I just – I can’t function with her here. Separated from me and my grand plan by a wall that's too thin. Sure as hell can’t make the kind of moves I need to corner Bress if she’s over my shoulder all the time. I growl in the back of my throat, glaring at her.

“Fine. Suit yourse—”

Suddenly, I’m staring at her back.

She tosses a middle finger at me and stalks away, slamming the door to her half of the duplex.

I drag a hand over my face, groaning.

God damn it.

Whatever.

She’ll get bored and move on soon enough. I can tell a city girl when I see one.

There’s not much in Heart’s Edge for people who are used to metropolitan night life. The mosquitoes get old real fast. Not to mention the constant call of the crickets and the lack of any high-end entertainment venues beyond a single pub with a dartboard that’s got more holes than a cork.

It’s everything that gives Heart’s Edge its charm.

I'm sure it’ll send her running for more civilized pastures by dawn with her kid in tow.

Sighing, I push myself back inside and close the door. I'm awake now.

I’ll have to make do on a few hours of sleep. Maybe catch a nap after sundown before I need to be up after dark again, playing secret agent around town, digging for more intel.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stumble into the shower, shocking myself awake with a cold, sharp rush of water right to the face. Old habit from the Army Rangers.

We’d be deployed too often in places where we’d be lucky to have running water at all. I learned to be mighty grateful for those cold showers to slap us back to our senses and keep us sharp.

That saying, water is life, never took on more meaning than with Uncle Sam.

I’m feeling more brisk by the time I towel off, dress, and head into the kitchen to whip together a quick breakfast scramble and coffee. I glance up, though, as I catch motion through the window over the sink.

Haley’s pulled the Mustang out of Flynn’s garage. It's parked off the little dirt lane running along the side of the house, just outside the fence, her and the girl rummaging in the back with several bags.

Packing it in and leaving.

Thank fuck.

The sharp relief lets me actually enjoy my coffee while I sink down on the couch, planning my day.

The gossip about me looking for a house to settle down in will help. Considering the extent that Bress’ business holdings have grown since he’s worked his way into Heart’s Edge like a bad infection, I'll take any excuse.

This one's perfect cover for cruising around town. I'll pretend I'm looking at For Sale signs on lawns to case his investments in broad daylight. I want to know every time Dennis Bress sneezes.

Where he spends his time. With who. What his weaknesses are.

And just what Jenna discovered about that asshole that made him kill her.

I’ve got a good idea where to start scouting from public records.

A few addresses, a route, a few more stops planned to make things look casual, then it's on.

I’m climbing in my pickup truck and heading up the highway into town.

No more sign of that pretty blue Mustang. The girls must’ve hotfooted it out without even saying goodbye.

If I didn't have a murderer's bug up my ass, I might feel sorry.

I’m completely distracted from any thought of the girls, though, when I round a corner off Main and catch sight of none other than Bress himself.