Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(11)

One of Sweet Hill’s favorite taco trucks was parked outside the building. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed everyone stampeding outside. CPS shared office space with several other government entities.

There was always a bit of guessing where Frank’s would be from day to day. It was early yet. They were lucky that the line wasn’t too long.

“So?” Wendy asked as they sat side by side on a concrete bench eating their tacos. “Excited for your hot date Saturday?”

She chewed her last bite of pulled-pork-and-pineapple-slaw taco, covering her stuffed mouth with her fingers. She nodded assent.

“Brendan Cooper.” Wendy whistled. “Girl, he’s a catch.”

Faith nodded, finally swallowing her bite. “I know. I’ve been hoping he would ask me out for a long time.”

“Well, c’mon. It’s not easy for any guy in this town to get up the nerve to approach you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your dad is the retired sheriff. Your brother is scary as all get-out and he’s the new sheriff. Your other brother is like a flippin’ Green Beret.”

“Army Ranger,” she corrected, using a napkin to wipe at her lips.

“Whatever. Not much distinction. He can still kill a man with his bare hands.”

She nodded. “This is true.” Hale, for that matter, could do the same. He’d served in the Army as well, before returning home to work with Dad.

It was the same song and dance from when she was a teenager. She thought it didn’t matter so much anymore. She thought that any man worth his salt wouldn’t be so intimidated. Not if he really liked her. At least that’s what she always told herself.

“So. Where are you and Brendan going?”

“I don’t know. He texted me this morning to ask where I would like to go to dinner.”

“Oooh. I hope you said someplace really good. Like Ruby’s Steakhouse,” she suggested, naming the expensive restaurant

Faith toyed with the edge of her taco. “Not sure if I want to eat an enormous steak dinner on our first date.”

“Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t want to feel stuffed and bloated if you get naked.”

She snorted. “I think you forgot a key phrase there. First date.”

Wendy stared at her with wide, solemn eyes. “You never know. You haven’t been on a date in a good while and he’s a good-looking man. He might make a move. Just saying . . . you better be sure to shave above the knee.”

She tried not to let Wendy’s words fluster her as she went back to work. She wanted a relationship. She wanted love . . . and sex. Now there was a prospect of that on the horizon. She should be thrilled. She was.

She blamed it on this clash with her neighbor. It hung over her like a thundercloud. Hopefully by the end of the day all this could be sorted out and put behind her. Maybe even by the time she got home, he would have read her note and be ready to clear the air between them.



He found the note on his windshield.

It was midmorning. He wasn’t clocking in at work until one o’clock today.

He exited his backyard through his side fence, carrying the large copper-and-aluminum sculpture he needed to deliver to Dr. Perry, a local dentist who’d hired North to create a piece for the waiting area of his office. He existed primarily on his salary from the garage, but his freelance work was gaining momentum and starting to bring in a nice bit of income. His reputation was growing. Three months ago he’d created a sculpture for an agent in Nashville, so word was getting around. A year ago he’d developed a website featuring his work and he received a steady amount of inquiries. It kept him busy. Busy was good. Kept his mind from thinking too much, from going places he didn’t want it to go.

Grunting, he lifted the heavy piece into the back of his truck, managing not to wrench his back, when he noticed the paper stuck there, fluttering in the barest breeze. Grabbing it, he read the note on some kind of soft green stationery.

At your earliest convenience . . .

So f*cking proper. Only a woman who baked scones would use such a phrase.

Faith. Even her damn name was proper. She was probably old and matronly . . . living with a bunch of cats and scones. That’s probably what she fed her cats. Her day-old scones.

He was sure she had some gripe or complaint. Why else would she have left a note on his windshield? He speculated for a moment, wondering what had prompted the request. He kept to himself. He wasn’t particularly loud. Unless—

Ahh. Red. The dancer from last night. He wasn’t loud, but she, on the other hand . . . she had been very loud.

The minute they’d finished he had regretted bringing her back home with him. Even if it took the edge off, he just wanted to take a shower and go to bed. Alone.

He wasn’t much into kissing. Kissing was too personal and he didn’t want that kind of intimacy from the women he took to bed. He just wanted a quick release.

That said, women always wanted kissing, so he did his part and gave them one or two at the beginning. Red had tasted like the ashtray he’d predicted and her whimpers reminded him of a kicked puppy. Her speaking voice wasn’t much better. It was nasal and overly loud. He was relieved when she didn’t stick around and he didn’t have to be the * and ask her to leave. The worst was when they wanted to cuddle. Things really got awkward then.