Shotgun Justice. Angi MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
but you’re here because of you. She’s been tight-lipped for the past hour and I wanted some answers.”
“Deputy Jackson, you’re smarter than I gave you credit.”
“Thanks. I think. Easy mistake. I’m a lot older than I look.” The deputy retrieved the key and swung the door open. “Avery had your car brought to the office. Keys are across the street.”
“You aren’t going to keep me here till I spill what’s going on?” Jesse slid through the water on the floor and darted through the door before the deputy could change his mind.
“Smarter. You should remember that later.” He smiled, making himself look younger than before. Then he handed over the blue duffel. “Go inside the office across the street and collect your keys. Avery wanted to know if you needed directions to her house.”
“I got it, thanks.”
Keys. Paperwork. A short drive down unfamiliar streets. Jesse’s mind was blank following the directions on the map he’d printed out. He hadn’t thought of what he was going to say this time. As he pulled into a driveway, a motion detector flooded the yard with light. His eyes adjusted and he saw her sitting casually on the front porch.
Relief coursed through him like dousing a sunbaked body in a cool stream. She was safe. Exposed. Beer in one hand. Shotgun lying next to her bare thigh.
Very short shorts. But who was he to complain? She was safe. Avery had long, terrific legs that he’d admired for most of his life. Sand volleyball at Baylor had been eye-opening when he was eighteen.
“Sorry for losing my head on the highway.” She took a short sip from the bottle, never taking her eyes from him. Her short pixie cut—and he knew that only because of his mother telling him years ago—was under a black hat.
“Sorry that I didn’t give you a heads-up before arriving.” He took a couple of steps closer, wondering if that shotgun was for him or Tenoreno’s hired man. “Got another one of those?”
“Didn’t you bring your own weapons?” She sipped, then set her bottle on top of the water ring already on the old porch. “Oh, you meant a beer. Sure.”
The amber bottle had been sitting behind her for a while. Evidenced by the moisture dripping from its surface. He didn’t care if the beer inside was hotter than hell; he’d guzzle the peace offering he recognized being offered to him.
“Nice hat.” They tapped the bottle bottoms together and each drew a long drink.
“I bought it when I moved here. Symbolic. Rangers wear white, et cetera.”
Crickets chirped, the floodlight went off. It was a calm he could be thankful for. No words were necessary. In spite of their differences, they could work together. Old friends, falling into sync with...
“Your assassin waltzed into the sheriff’s office this evening.” Avery tipped the bottle for another swallow. “Want to see his picture?”
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