Caught Up Page 7

  “Joel Neely was found dead Monday morning,” Kyle said, watching for her reaction. Her companion had the face of a Smurf: round, adorable, just a little comical. His ears were too big, his smile lopsided and warm. And he had a knack for locating every last detail about a tract of land and its owners, even the undocumented stuff, the good stuff. The gossip. “They’re calling it a homicide.”

  “I know.”

  Kyle cocked an eyebrow Cassie knew he waxed.

  “Cut to the chase, buddy.”

  “Right. The Lucas brothers.” Kyle grabbed a still-steaming slice of pizza. “Courthouse talk is that one has his parents’ blood on his hands, and the other screws everything that moves.”

  That wasn’t the same kind of information she’d gleaned from the courthouse, and exactly why she’d asked Kyle to poke around. She could only guess which brother belonged with which accusation and decided she wouldn’t be wearing her tight-fitting jeans anytime soon. Still… “Screwing isn’t illegal.”

  “No, but assault is.”

  “Like charged with assault? And battery? That kind of thing?”

  “Exactly that kind of thing.” Kyle swallowed his bite. “Both parents are deceased, you know that from the title. But did you know the father was killed by a gunshot to the head then dumped in some creek on their ranch?” No. And which creek? The one with the dam crossing? Grimacing, she took another sip of wine. “The mother had some sort of accident not long after.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “The gruesome kind, I’m sure.” Kyle shook his head. “The courthouse ladies here might love me, but I’m still an outsider, just like every other landman.” Like she needed the reminder. “It’s more than that, too. It’s like the town doesn’t want to have anything to do with them. Or them it.” He nibbled a crust. “Since you’re still here, I take it your meeting the other night went well?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. This particular Mr. Lucas wouldn’t talk terms, either.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I agreed to a date with him,” she mumbled.

  Kyle chuckled. “Sounds like he offered you some terms.”

  Cassie held her tongue and sipped some wine (not the two hundred dollar Bordeaux).

  “I can see your hesitation.” Kyle reached for another slice. “Take control. You go pick him up. Go all lease hound on him, baby. Get aggressive.”

  Laughter erupted from the bar at Cassie’s back, and she leaned towards Kyle, enunciating each word, so there was no mistake. “You just told me he screws everything that moves.”

  Kyle bent over the table, serious now. “I didn’t tell you that.”

  “Yes, you did,” she hissed. “One brother has blood on his hands and the other—”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t say which brother.”

  “Are you freaking saying that Clint Lucas is the playboy, and Jase had something to do with his parents’ deaths?” Great. “Which one got arrested?” she asked.

  “That would be your boy.”

  “Jase? But you said the one who likes to screw is the one who likes to fight.”

  She snatched a slice of pizza off the pan. Kyle and his mixed-up gossip! As if the jumbled mess wasn’t enough to process, the snorting laugher from behind set Cassie’s teeth on edge.

  “He’s also a combat Marine, enlisted right out of high school. He—”

  “Yeah, the dog tags kind of gave it away,” she said around a mouthful. “I’m sure he knows a lot of fighting moves.”

  “Damn, girl. Marshall should have given this tract to Jim,” Kyle said, echoing her sentiments exactly. “But I can see why it went to you.”

  “And why’s that?”

  He shrugged. “Tough sell, pretty woman… Sleazy, yes, but…” Kyle paused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Marshall offered you an override on this one.”

  She fought to keep the color from rising up her cheeks. Royalty cuts tended to be hush-hush affairs. Especially between landmen. Resentment and all that.

  Kyle’s face fell. “Reid, three o’clock.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. And she didn’t know the back way out of this place. Swallowing the ball of dough caught in her throat, Cassie found and stared at the back of Reid’s head. He stood among a group of men, all wearing some variation of the landman dress code: cowboy boots, khakis, big belt buckle, and tucked-in shirt—polo or button-up acceptable (though it did need to be starched).

  Slender and blond, with close-cropped hair and an equally short attention span, Reid was the polar opposite of Jase, but not unlike the other men she’d dated. Polished and successful and more in love with themselves than her, the majority had cheated, as if it had been their right. This included Reid. And because that wasn’t bad enough, he’d blamed her for the indiscretion. Make that indiscretions. Plural.

  “Stop staring,” Kyle said. “You’re going to bore a hole in the back of his head.”

  “Does that mean he’ll keel over?”

  Kyle smirked. “Not worth the effort, honey.”

  Cassie nearly gagged when Reid pushed his chair back and started their way. “Hide the knives and forks, Kyle. There’s an asshole on the move.”

  “You know you’re still brandishing a weapon there…”

  She gripped her glass tighter. “Lay a hand on my stemware and die.”

  Kyle’s chuckle was cut short by Reid’s arrival. “I heard you were in Marian, Cass.”

  “Yep,” she said. “What do you want?”

  “Also heard your negotiations on the Lucas tract weren’t going so well.”

  She really wished eyes could shoot daggers. To her supreme disappointment, that only worked in books. She settled for a healthy glare.

  “And how would you know that, Reid?” Kyle asked.

  Oh, Lord. Inflections got Kyle in trouble. It was just…the way he did it.

  Reid seemed unfazed. “I met with Clint Lucas yesterday.” Cassie’s fingers tightened around her wineglass, and she wondered if she’d break the damn thing. “He had a lot of questions about seismic operations and drilling locations, but all in all, it went pretty well.”

  What. The. Hell.

  Maybe Clint Lucas was the (not unheard of) sort who preferred to negotiate with a man. Or with an actual oil and gas attorney, which Reid was. On both accounts.

  “Of course, I was able to fill him in on all of those details.”

  Of course you were, a very immature part of her mimicked silently. Out loud, a more mature voice asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Thought you might know where to find the brother. Works for Black Drum Drilling?”

  An unexpected possessiveness slid through Cassie’s veins, and the alcohol making its way down her throat turned to acid in her stomach. “If I knew where to find him what makes you think I’d tell you?”

  “To save yourself some trouble. You don’t want this tract split and neither do I.”

  She met those arrogant eyes. “So I’m just going to let you have it?”

  “Neither of us wants a bidding war.”

  “You’re busting our block.”

  “It happens.”

  It did. And it sucked.

  “Are you going to sell the lease to our client?” Kyle asked.

  Reid leaned toward Kyle, head cocked, eyes wide. “What’s that, small fry?”

  “Must be a third party then.” Kyle winked at him. Winked. That same stunt had earned him a hospital visit a few years ago while working the Frio Sand. Yes, homophobia still ran rampant in more places than she liked to think about. “Or are you going to try to sell it back to us?”

  Reid’s stare had gone long, past Kyle and toward his buddies at the bar. “You want to find out?”

  “As a matter of fact, I—”

  She cut Kyle off before he could wink again. Or throw a kiss. Gah. “Beat it, Reid.” She gave him her sweetest smile then downed the rest of her wine, somehow managing not to spew it as Narcissus himself treated them
to his most condescending chuckle and sauntered away.

  “He’s just trying to rattle you,” Kyle said, going for another slice of pizza.

  “Yeah, well, if I wasn’t already rattled, it might have worked. Now I’m just pissed.”

  “You’ll get Clint, too.”

  She glared after Reid. “I want you there.”

  “Come again?”

  “Wherever Jase and I end up on Saturday night, I want you there. We’re at a restaurant, I want you ordering a chicken-fried steak. We’re at a honky-tonk, I want you boot-scootin’.”

  “Chicken-fried steak? Are you serious?”

  “A little meat won’t kill you.”

  Kyle made a disagreeable huffing noise. “So you’re going to meet him at his place?”

  “Yes, and text you our destination.”

  “I don’t do honky-tonks, either.”

  “Kyle.”

  “Okay.” He finished off his wine.

  A man seated near the end of the bar turned toward them and…Jesus, as if she needed any more drama. And what stared back at her definitely qualified as dramatic. Or maybe traumatic.

  The Hispanic gentleman only had one eye. He wasn’t trying to hide its loss, either. Skin puckered around the empty socket, and it crinkled when he smiled and raised a shot glass in her direction. The move was sensuous and slow, old-world. His lavender dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a wedge of smooth olive skin, and his dark slacks were pressed to perfection. He’d been handsome once, beautiful even, but something was missing now, and not just from his left eye socket.

  Swallowing back something unpleasant, Cassie managed a small nod then glanced down the bar to where Reid loitered with his friends. The bartender shushed them as he turned up the volume on a wall-mounted TV. It was an update on the horrific deaths near the county line. And there was Deputy Slick again, speaking at a press conference.

  The report had caught the one-eyed man’s attention, too. His face had gone stone cold.

  She couldn’t eat anything else if she tried, and the sudden urge to pay the bill and hit the road had her scooting her chair back in a hurry.

  That’s when Jason Lucas walked through the door. The Jason Lucas. With his confident stride and knee-weakening gaze, and holy hell those tattoos…

  “Shit.”

  “What?” Kyle asked, looking around like Curious Smurf.

  “Nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing when your chest seized up and your heart skipped a few beats. And Jason Lucas had that general effect.

  “I have to pee,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah,” she croaked, clearing her throat. “I’ll pay.”

  “Cass…”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Jase hadn’t spotted her, and more importantly, Reid hadn’t spotted him.

  Kyle bolted, and Cassie stood. The one-eyed man at the far end of the bar did the same. He reached for the stool beside him and retrieved a black cowboy hat by its crown. Securing the hat on his head, he pulled the brim low so it shaded his empty eye-socket. With a glance over his shoulder, he hurried toward the bathrooms.

  Jase approached one of the landmen, and Cassie threw three twenties on the table, not worried about change. The one-eyed man’s shoulder slammed into hers as he barreled past. Her purse slid down her arm, and its contents scattered across the floor.

  “Lo siento, muchacha.”

  She knew enough conversational Spanish to mumble a response. “Don’t worry about it.” She certainly wasn’t, not at the moment, not when Jase herded the big, bearded landman toward the double doors and away from his buddies, including a very curious Reid.

  She had to know what they were saying and scooped up her belongings as quickly as she could. By the time she exited the restaurant, careful to avoid Reid and his companions, Jase had “escorted” his new friend into the parking lot. She froze within the arched alcove.

  “…a new job,” the landman said, hands up and backtracking toward the doors. Toward her. “Out with the guys, you know?”

  Blue eyes bore into a face she couldn’t see. “New job, huh?” Menacing. It was the only word to describe Jase’s expression. “You need a job, you come to me.”

  The other man shook his head. “You know I don’t want it like that.”

  “As long as we’ve known each other? That’s some bullshit, Heath.” The controlled anger in Jase’s face, in his posture, in his every step, pushed Heath backward, ever closer to where Cassie stood, transfixed.

  “I know. I—”

  “What’s this about?”

  “They were looking to hire a local boy, someone who knows the landowners. I’m in a tight spot. I need the cash, man.”

  “Not anymore. Rig Three. Blackmore place.” That’s when Jase spotted her. A heart-stopping silence stretched over the parking lot and pinned her beneath his hard stare. “Tomorrow morning,” he said, his voice dropping its edge. “Be there at six thirty.”

  Heath nodded. “But I don’t want it to be like—”

  Jase’s gaze left hers, and she keenly felt its absence. “All it’s going to be like is you makin’ some bucks. I promise.”

  “Yeah.” And to Cassie’s surprise, Heath hugged Jase. “Yeah, man.”

  Heath headed to his truck without glancing her way. Jase though…two steps and he was crowding air space she normally coveted.

  “Hi.” His voice was husky and low and just for her.

  “Hi.” She doubted he heard her greeting. She was pretty sure the man had stolen her breath, and not just because he looked so damn good in the dim light. With a dread thud deep in her chest, Cassie also remembered he had a few deaths hanging over his head.

  “Couldn’t wait till Saturday to see you.”

  “You…” Followed me here?

  She took a step back. He took a step forward.

  “One of my deckhands managed to drive a piece of rebar through his foot. I took him to the hospital a few hours ago and saw your car here on my way back through town.”

  “Oh.” That was about all she could manage. Proximity. It was definitely a problem when it came to Jase.

  “Worked out good, too,” he said. “Not only did I get to see you, I put Heath on a rig where he needs to be.” What that had been about, she had no idea. “This doesn’t just happen. You know that don’t you, Miss Weather Bone?”

  “What?” she croaked, barely able to speak. It had to be chemical, pheromones, whatever it was, this thing between them. She’d never encountered the like.

  “You, Heath…” Jase jerked his head over his shoulder. “Both at the same place at the same time? That’s more than a coincidence.”

  Cassie’s gaze flitted back to the restaurant, and she wondered what was taking Kyle so long. “Good thing I was here then.”

  Jase leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I would’ve found you before our date.”

  She shuddered, wondering whether the guy was a stalker, a killer, or the man of her dreams.

  “I…I have to go,” she stuttered, reeling from Jase’s nearness, his easy intimacy, the way he nuzzled her jaw with his own.

  Wreck her? The man could break her. With stubble.

  “Yeah, me too.” He cupped her chin and stroked a thumb across her cheek. “Tomorrow.”

  She fought the urge to draw her lip between her teeth and whispered, “I’ll see you then.”

  She spun toward Roma’s entrance and saw the one-eyed man pressed against the alcove wall, his hat pulled down so the hole in his face rested in shadow. His viable eye was locked on Jase’s back. Goose bumps pricked her arms, and she wondered who Jase was to the man. It had to be something unfriendly; the guy was practically hiding.

  Kyle pushed out the door, and…shit…she couldn’t help it. Heart pounding, she spun toward Jase. He gave her a long, loaded stare before slamming his truck door—a move she’d have sworn she felt to her marrow. Oh God…

  It was nearly ten, and she hadn’t called her mother. Great. Daughter of the Y
ear over here.

  Her thought process was thoroughly muddled, but she somehow managed to intercept Kyle.

  “The pizza was good,” he said, heading for her car.

  “Sure was, buddy.”

  When a deep engine revved to life, she knew for certain she felt it in her bones this time.

  Chapter Six

  Her date with a maybe-murderer was about to commence, and of all things, Cassie was worried about getting her highlighter and bronzer right. As she wiped off and put away her powders and pencils, she wondered for the twentieth time—today—what the hell was wrong with her.

  But she knew.

  Jason Lucas was wrong with her. He’d been an after-hours fantasy, even after he’d kissed her. But now? Now she had a hint of the man behind that fantasy. Only this came hard on the heels of the news he’d been arrested and suspected in a murder. Or murders. She wasn’t too clear on that. Oh, and then there was Deputy Slick asking for him in the wake of Joel Neely’s murder, let’s not forget that.

  Fantasy had room for danger. Reality didn’t.

  Bad boy? Jase Lucas had it tattooed all over him. And she didn’t do bad boys. Only she was. But not really. Hell, she didn’t know what she was doing anymore. She did know she’d detected an all-too familiar arrogance in her landowner, only…it didn’t turn her stomach, and that unnerved her as much as the rest.

  She tossed a tube of lipstick onto the bathroom counter and checked her reflection one last time. She wore her hair loose—and not because she’d liked the feel of Jase’s hands running through it. She liked her hair loose, and she’d worn it long since childhood. It was her safety shield, something she could hide behind, and her long, eye-skimming bangs existed for exactly the same reason. But a mess of hair wasn’t going to keep her safe from the likes of Jase, especially after his surprise appearance last night. No, she needed heavy ammo for that.

  In the absence of a shotgun, she rummaged through her purse, sifting through the tangle of junk in search of an old canister of pepper spray. She honestly didn’t think she’d have to test the expiration date, not with Jase, but there was definitely some shady shit going on in Marian County. Best to be prepared. There it is. She hooked it on her key ring like she should have done when she’d discovered it in her Christmas stocking a few years ago. Her mom never tired of reminding her how concerned she was about the constant traveling.