Stranded With The Detective. Lena DiazЧитать онлайн книгу.
the last thing that Colby wanted to do. He was content to let the space between him and the Grays get longer and longer. Being the third wheel, or fifth wheel in this case, wasn’t exactly at the top of his “how I wanted to spend my Saturday” list.
Plan A had been to play couch potato and watch a rerun of last year’s Super Bowl. But his well-meaning friends, who were worried that he was “moping” over his recent breakup with his girlfriend, had forced him to dump Plan A. Plan B was to sneak out of the fair and go back home. Unfortunately, from the way Dillon kept looking over his shoulder, Plan B wasn’t looking too promising.
So much for a relaxing weekend.
His friends meant well, which was the only reason he’d given in to their pestering to come here. But their concern was hardly necessary. Colby and his ex-girlfriend had parted on good terms, mutually agreeing that they were better suited as friends than lovers. Neither of them was suffering over the breakup and she was already dating someone else. Just because Colby hadn’t started a new relationship yet didn’t mean that he was unhappy. But Dillon’s matchmaking wife, Ashley, couldn’t accept that he could be happy alone. And her ridiculously love-smitten husband ruthlessly used his position as lead detective and head of the SWAT team to force Colby to go along with Ashley’s wishes.
Judging by the occasional commiserating looks that Blake had shot him this morning, Colby was certain that he didn’t want to be here either. But Blake was still new to the team and was having a hard time fitting in. So he wasn’t about to put up a fuss. The SWAT team was going to the fair and then to a cookout at Max’s house, yet another member of their team, whether they wanted to or not. Dillon had decreed it.
Colby hunched into his police-issued jacket, grateful for the insulated lining that kept him relatively warm. The smell of buttery popcorn carried across the cold breeze that blew through the pine trees. Maybe he could snag a bag later to eat while he watched the recording of that football game. If he was ever allowed to go home.
Slowing his steps even more, he glanced longingly at his brand-new dark blue 4x4 Chevy pickup parked in a field of weeds that had been transformed into a parking lot for the week. But when he looked back toward his friends, he saw that they’d stopped. Dillon was facing him, right hand on his hip, about where his holster rested beneath his jacket. Colby rolled his eyes at the empty threat but plodded forward anyway.
The wind blew again, bringing with it something new—a sound. Something that didn’t fit with the crowd noise in the distance or the vendors restocking for the rush they expected after the derby.
He stopped and turned around. What had he heard? The scuffling of feet against dirt? Muted voices? A muffled argument? Something had the little hairs standing up on his arms and the back of his neck, and it wasn’t the wintry air. Had the sound come from the huge burlap tent about fifty feet away?
He’d noticed someone standing there earlier, their features concealed beneath a dark blue hooded jacket. But they’d ducked back when he’d looked their way. He’d been tempted to confront them, to see whether they were up to no good. But Ashley had distracted him by asking him a question. By the time he’d looked back toward the stranger, they’d disappeared.
The person he’d seen was probably just one of the handlers or one of the riders. When the derby and intermission were over, there was going to be a parade of horses to entertain the crowds. Ribbons and prize money would be handed out for a variety of categories. And after that there would be a horse race, one of the main reasons that Dillon had wanted to come. Horses were his life outside the SWAT team and his detective work.
Colby had grown up in Destiny just like Dillon. And since it seemed like every other house outside town had horses, including Colby’s family, he knew his way around them just as well as anybody. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hang around them in his off time. He’d much rather nurse a beer and put his feet up while he cheered on his favorite football team, even if it was a rerun.
Man, he’d really wanted to watch that game today.
When he didn’t hear anything else, he turned around and jogged toward Dillon.
A high-pitched scream sounded behind him.
Colby whipped around. Another scream rang out. It had come from the tent where he’d seen the hooded figure. He yanked his gun out of the holster and took off in a dead run.
Colby stopped just inside the makeshift stables, holding his pistol down by his side. There were two aisles of wooden stalls, enough to hold about twenty horses. He could see the horses’ graceful heads arching above the sides of the stalls, many of them snorting or stamping their hooves in agitation. A string of lights ran overhead down the center of each aisle. He edged forward, listening intently, every muscle tense and ready for action.
A whimper sounded down the left aisle.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” a voice hissed. “Grow a pair.”
Two people were visible through the wooden slats of the next-to-last stall. One of them was maybe a couple inches over five feet, wearing the blue hooded jacket he’d seen earlier. The other man towered nearly a foot over him, his broad shoulders encased in a dark jacket, a green baseball cap perched on top of his head.
Colby crept down the aisle. He’d almost reached the open stall door when the larger man screamed. A knife glinted in the overhead light between them.
Colby sprang into the opening, swinging his gun toward the tall man holding the knife. “Police, freeze.”
The knife wielder’s eyes widened and he immediately dropped the knife in the straw at his feet.
“Officer, it’s not what you—oomph.” He fell to the ground, writhing in pain and cupping his hands between his legs. The smaller man, the one wearing the hood, had just slammed his shoe into the other man’s groin.
Colby winced in sympathy and holstered his gun. He stepped into the stall and the smaller man kneeled over the one on the ground and drew his fist back.
Colby yanked him to his feet before he could take the swing.
“What part of freeze and police did you not understand?” He shook the man.
His hood fell back and a mass of glossy brown hair fell out, tumbling down his back. Correction. Her back. Dark green eyes glittered up at him under perfectly shaped brows that formed an angry slash.
Colby hesitated, his hands on her shoulders. Even with her face scrunched in fury, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her long lashes framed catlike eyes and cheekbones a model would have killed for. An adorable smattering of freckles danced across her sun-bronzed cheeks. Pink, plump lips gave her a sexy, sultry appearance that had his mouth going dry.
“Let me go,” she demanded, trying to wriggle free.
“Don’t let her hurt me,” the man on the floor gasped, still clutching himself.
Colby cleared his throat and let the woman go, taking a much-needed step away from her to look down at the man lying in a pile of hay. The knife lay beside him. Colby swiped it with his boot, sending it skittering out into the aisle.
“I’m Officer Colby Vale,” he said. “I heard someone scream.” He glanced from the large man to the petite woman.
“Well, it sure wasn’t me,” she snapped.
It took every ounce of control that Colby possessed not to smile at the gorgeous, infuriated hellcat. She looked incredibly insulted at the idea that she might have screamed.
The man in the hay coughed, his face turning bright red. “She had a knife,” he said, as if to explain, his voice coming out in a plaintive whine.
“You were the one with a knife when I got here,” Colby said.
“I’d just taken it away