His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,25
Jail trying to get Lucky’s attention. He wasn’t far, his back against the common cell bars, and she could have easily reached out and touched him. But she’d been told many times never to stick her hand in the cage of a wild animal. Tonight, he qualified for that description.
They’d been incarcerated for a little over two hours, thankfully separated from the other patrons of the bar, who were housed down the hall. She could hear them, yelling and bitching about the supposed violations of their constitutional rights, and she thought she heard someone whining and crying about being too young to be arrested without his parents being notified.
Lucky had been eerily quiet since Sheriff Burke had slapped the handcuffs on him at the Jolly Gent, and no amount of coaxing on her part had dragged him out of his funk. The only time he’d spoken was to update the sheriff on everything he’d observed at the Jolly Gent—the bald guy, underage patrons, possible drug business in the back room, and improper documentation for his workers. The sheriff had paused at the last one, casting a glance her way before shaking his head, thanking Lucky for the information and leaving the room.
“Hey.” She leaned into him, so close her breath moved the few strands of hair curling out from under his ball cap. She plucked at the overlarge sweatshirt and sweatpants the sheriff had lent her to wear and racked her brain for something to say that would alleviate the oppressive tension in the room. “You always said you wanted to see me in baggy sweats.”
He turned quickly, standing up and looming over her, the vehemence in his face catching her off guard. His hands fisted at his sides, white-knuckled, clenching and unclenching in a pulsing rhythm. She’d seen him irritated before, but never this angry. The change was disconcerting.
“Taylor, do you have any idea how dangerous that was tonight?” He stared at her, blue eyes blazing, and she was too shocked to answer him. “If any of those assholes had gotten their hands on you or had a weapon—”
His words broke off in a growl as he swiped the ball cap off his head and dragged rough fingers through his hair. His chest heaved and he gulped in ragged breaths in a clear effort to calm himself down and get some control. She let his breathing even out a little more before she reached for him through the bars. He left her hanging.
“Lucky, I’m fine, and you were there to protect me. I was never worried.”
“Well, you should have been.”
“I wasn’t.” Since he refused to touch her, she put her caress in her tone and hoped it calmed him down. “We had a plan and it was working out fine. Hell, even our preparation for what to do if trouble broke out went according to plan. Stop beating yourself up. I’m a grown woman.”
“Yeah? Well, then you should know better than to take such a crazy risk for nothing.”
“It wasn’t for nothing. I was trying to help you find Sarah.”
“How can you be so damn carefree about every single thing?”
“How can you be so cautious all the time?”
“Because I’ve learned that actions have consequences and someone always has to pay!”
She opened her mouth to respond but stopped when the sheriff, Teague and Beck entered the room.
Teague raked over her appearance, his deep frown causing a groove to form between his eyebrows. Suddenly, she was self-conscious standing there in garish stage makeup and dishwater gray, jail-issued clothing.
The sheriff stepped forward, pulling the keys from his belt and unlocking their cells, ushering them both out with brisk, impatient movements.
“You two can go.” Sheriff Burke didn’t look happy about letting them out, and he glared at Lucky over the rim of his reading glasses. “Your story checks out and I appreciate you giving me all the information you gathered.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” they answered in unison. Taylor wasn’t sure if either of them could pull off a meek tone very well, but it seemed to pacify him for now.
“The bald guy, he matches the description of a guy who works for Eddie Wilkes,” Sheriff Burke said. “He’s a silent partner in lots of local businesses and we’re guessing he has an interest in the Gent.”
“Shit. That’s not good,” Lucky muttered as he rubbed his eyes.
“Who is Eddie Wilkes?” Teague asked.
“The closest thing Roanoke has to a mob boss. He’s a legitimate finance guy, owns banks and other things like that, but he also