Joey Hendricks—he’d seen her several times on television beside the governor. Holy hell. She was a hotshot special investigator with the state.
And she was also the daughter of the oil baron Leland Hendricks, who’d been accused of the kidnapping and murder of his own child. Hendricks and his ex-wife, Donna, had been major suspects in the murder of Lou Anne Wallace.
The reason she was here hit him like a fist in his gut. She had come for the same reason he had.
Because of the Wallace homicide investigation.
And if he guessed right, her parents were probably suspects in this new murder as well as the first one.
JOEY STRUGGLED TO STEADY her breathing. Her adrenaline was still racing from the confrontation with Dennison and then nearly getting mowed down in the street. And the sight of this biker dude…wow.
All that black leather, dark black scraggly hair down to his shoulders, scruffy bearded face, sweat beading on his forehead gave him a threatening look.
But not in a way that said he might physically hurt her. In a way that screamed raw, primal sexuality. Like a man who’d just returned from a long, heated battle against a beast in the wilderness, a battle he’d no doubt won.
As he would win over any woman he met. All it took was one look into those enigmatic, brooding eyes and the sound of that husky deep voice, and she’d forgotten the fact that he’d nearly killed her.
The moron.
Then again, on closer inspection, his eyes did hold a level of intelligence. Street-smart, not all book-bred. This guy had been around and knew the ropes.
And heaven help her, that incredibly fit body conjured wicked fantasies. He had wide broad shoulders. Pecs to die for. Muscular thighs that could pin a woman beneath him while he tortured her with his tongue.
He gestured toward the bartender, and she took advantage of the moment to assess him in more detail. Even his hands were large, broad. His blunt, strong fingers were sprinkled with dark hair that made her wonder what they would feel like on her. Touching her. Stroking her sensitive skin.
A jagged scar jutted out from the neckline of his black T-shirt, and she imagined the rest of his body beneath. A chest sprinkled with the same dark hair, another scar maybe. And a tattoo or two hidden somewhere on his bronzed skin.
What was she doing? He wasn’t her type. She liked sophisticated, educated men. Men with jobs. Men who shaved and bathed regularly.
“What’ll you have, sugar?” he drawled.
You. She gaped at his mouth, then realized that she was acting like a fool. And Joey Hendricks, professional investigator for the governor, was not a fool. Never had been. Not over a man.
She’d taken notes from her parents’ disastrous divorce and her father’s infidelities, and decided relationships just weren’t worth the trouble. Although a one-nighter, especially with a hunk like this guy, might be fun. A stress release. Maybe even mind-altering. Certainly hotter than any night she’d experienced in years.
Then she remembered her reason for coming to Justice and vetoed the idea.
The drink would have to suffice. “A shot of tequila.”
He arched a thick brow, and she raised her own in challenge. “What? You don’t think I can handle it?”
“Honey, I think you can handle anything that comes your way.”
With one flick of his hand, he waved the waitress over—a twentysomething girl who turned eyes of adoration toward him—then ordered Joey a shot and a Stella for himself.
He would order a beer with a woman’s name. “You don’t like tequila?” she asked.
He leaned back against the booth edge, stretched his long legs out so one of them brushed hers beneath the table. “On the contrary. José and I have been best friends for years.”
She couldn’t help herself. She grinned at his statement. He looked like a tequila-drinking hellion straight from a biker’s fest. She imagined him stuffing dollars into the bras of women as they bared their chests for him, and her senses hummed with awareness.
What was wrong with her?
For all she knew he might be a freeloader who had women in ten different cities, and kids to go with each one. Kids he’d never claimed.
Or he could be a criminal.
He turned his dark eyes on her just as the waitress delivered their drinks.
“Thanks.” He grabbed the beer and moved the shot in front of Joey.
The girl stood beside him for a moment as if waiting for him to address her again. Annoyed when he didn’t pay her more attention, she gave Joey a decidedly unfriendly stare as if they were schoolkids fighting over the only boy in town.
Pickings must be slim in Justice. She should warn the waitress to steer clear of men like him—untrustworthy men in titillating packages that screamed with sex appeal—then decided to heed the warning herself.
She didn’t intend to be in Justice long. Then again, she’d have to stay until this case was solved.
And deal with her parents…
What if one of them was arrested? What if they were guilty?
Her lungs tightened at the thought, and she sprinkled salt on her hand, licked it, tossed down the shot, sucked the lime, then dropped the shot glass onto the table with a smile. As she swiped her hand across her mouth, an intense, hungry look flared in his deep-set eyes.
“You want another one, Joey?”
Her breath caught. How did he know her name?
The newscast…he must have seen it.
“In a minute. But I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” She straightened, reminding herself that her image counted. Especially if she intended to counteract the negative one she’d been saddled with thanks to her mother and father’s tawdry actions. “You know who I am, but you haven’t introduced yourself.”
His cocky smile faltered slightly. As if stalling, he took a long pull of his beer, set it down and scraped his hair off his forehead. Then finally he leaned forward, his dark eyes trained on her. “Sergeant Cole McKinney, Texas Ranger.”
Joey licked her lips in stunned silence.
This hot-as-all-get-out biker bad boy was Cole McKinney? The Cole McKinney, illegitimate child of Jim McKinney? The boy who’d been shunned by the McKinney family?
And he was a Texas Ranger? A law enforcement agent?
Not a freeloading biker or a criminal.
“I see the wheels turning in your head, Joey Hendricks.” His husky voice skated over her raw nerve endings. “And yeah, I’m that Cole McKinney, a sum of all those rotten things you were thinking. And a few more you don’t even know about.”
“I…what are you doing here?” she whispered.
A bitter laugh followed, husky and filled with emotions she was certain he hadn’t meant to reveal. Then quiet acceptance registered in his intense eyes as if he expected skepticism. Even disdain.
And he probably did. He’d been an outcast from the town all his life.
“Believe it nor not,” he said quietly, “the Texas Rangers requested my services as a tracker to help find Sarah Wallace’s killer.”
Suddenly at a loss for words, she didn’t protest when