The Braddock

Boys: Brent

Kimberly Raye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my mother.

Sometimes when life doesn’t turn out as planned,

the only thing we can do is hang on for the ride.

I know it’s been bumpy, but keep

hanging on for me,

I love you!

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Copyright

1

BRENT BRADDOCK HAD NEVER been the type of man to beat around the bush when it came to something he wanted. He was straightforward. Determined. Persistent.

One hundred and fifty years as a vampire who fed off both blood and sex hadn’t changed him much.

While the average bloodsucker tried to curb the lust with a little roll in the hay, Brent preferred going straight for the jugular, no pun intended.

Not that he didn’t like sex.

He loved it, and he sure as shootin’ fired off a round whenever possible. Once upon a time, he’d been one of the fastest guns in the Confederacy and the most precise. Now he called himself a bodyguard and offered his skills to the highest bidder, which meant he spent a great deal of time in the big cities.

New York. Chicago. L.A. Prime hunting ground when it came to getting down and dirty. He could fall into bed with the prettiest filly around and never run the risk of seeing her again.

But this was small town central.

If he bedded a woman tonight, he was sure to bump into her again and again before he said goodbye to this map dot. While she might not remember him thanks to his vamp mojo, he would remember her. Worse, she would become more than a face. And that he didn’t like.

He didn’t want to know that she’d been voted Most Popular back in high school or that her dad owned the local feed store or that she went to the VFW Hall every Thursday night for spaghetti dinner. He didn’t want to know her, period.

Knowing made it harder to turn his back and walk away.

And Brent Braddock always walked away.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” muttered the woman who pushed through the rear Exit of the Dairy Freeze. “I’m a waitress not a bus boy. I do tables, not trash.”

The door creaked shut behind her, muffling the whir of a shake machine and the hisss and poppp! of a burger grill. June bugs bumped against the single bulb that burned near the back door.

She wore a white button up blouse with her name embroidered in pink across the right pocket, white shorts and a pair of white sneakers. Her breaths echoed in his ears and he tuned in to the steady thump of her pulse.

A knife twisted inside of him and his muscles clenched. Heat hummed the length of his spine. His hunger stirred. He watched as she dumped an empty banana crate near the dumpster a few feet away from where he stood in the shadows.

She started to turn, but then her gaze hooked on him and she started. “Holy Toledo,” she touched a hand to her chest, “you scared me.” She eyed him. “We don’t allow customers out back.”

“I’m not a customer.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Waiting.” His words slid into her ears and just like that, her annoyance faded and her interest piqued.

Her brow smoothed and her eyes sparked. “For who?”

“Who do you think?” He stared deep into her eyes and tuned into the rush of feelings bombarding her. Her anxiety because she was only one of two carhops on duty on a busy Friday night—the other was old lady Dolly who waited tables about as fast as a Thanksgiving turkey sharpened his own ax. Her anger because she’d spotted her ex, aka The Rat Bastard, having a banana split with some tramp named Bernice. Her insecurity because she should have remembered to put on a swipe of lipstick before taking out the trash.

Talk about stinking rotten luck. In the six years since she’d graduated high school, she’d spent a fortune trying every dating service known to mankind only to meet Mr. Tall, Dark and Yummy on her way to the f-ing dumpster.

She licked her lips and tried to think of something witty to say. “Why don’t you come around front? I’ll bring you one of our new Fat Cow burgers. It’s a double decker with bacon and three slices of cheese. It sounds like a heart attack just waiting to happen, but it’s really awesome. Especially with our double deluxe strawberry malt—” “I don’t want a hamburger.” “Then what do you want? If it’s French fries, I could definitely make that happen—“

“You,” he murmured again, but this time he made sure she got his meaning loud and clear. “I want you.” He held her stare and willed away everything except the passion bubbling inside her. “Don’t talk.” He fed her lust with his own until her cheeks flushed. “Don’t think.” Her breaths quickened. Her eyes sparked. “Just feel.”

The clenching inside your body.

The wetness between your legs.

The heat licking at your skin.

He sent the silent messages and her gaze smoldered. Her hands trembled as she stared back up at him, her expression slightly bewildered. Then a light bulb seemed to go off and suddenly she knew exactly what he wanted. Her eyes sparkled as she slid the buttons free on her blouse. The material parted, revealing a white lace bra. She popped the front clasp and pulled the cups apart. Her breasts sprang free. Her nipples pebbled at the instant rush of air.

His gaze fixed on a faint blue vein barely visible beneath her translucent skin. Her heartbeat drummed in his ears, the sound as intoxicating as the ripe smell that spiraled into his nostrils. His gut tightened and his desperation stirred and then everything faded into a sweet red rush.

He leaned her back over his arm, opened his mouth wide and sank his fangs deep into the flesh just to the right of her nipple.

Soft skin cushioned his lips and liquid heat spurted into his mouth. His fangs tingled and his entire body convulsed. He drew on her harder, deeper, her essence tunneling down his throat and warming him from the inside out. She trembled and gasped and he knew she felt the pleasure as keenly as he did.

The satisfaction.

It rolled through him after several delicious seconds and the tightness clenching his muscles started to ease. The fist in his gut loosened and suddenly he didn’t hurt so much.

He indulged for a few delicious seconds before sanity sent up a red flag and a loud Enough! The beast was sated.

For now.

Easing the pressure, he retracted his fangs. He licked the tiny prick points, savoring the last few drops before leaning back. He caught her gaze and willed her to forget everything.

No tall, dark cowboy lurking in the alley behind the Dairy Freeze.

No uncontrollable lust urging her to strip down.

No fangs sinking into her breast.

Nothing but a sweet, intoxicating orgasm brought on by a very delicious daydream.

He pulled her blouse together. His fingertips lingered at one ripe nipple before he pulled away, buttoned her up and sent her back inside to finish her shift.

After that, he turned on his heel and did what he’d been doing for the past century and a half, ever since he’d been turned into a vampire on that fateful night so long ago—Brent Braddock walked away and never looked back.

2

“WHAT CAN I DO you for, sugar?” asked an ancient woman wearing a white button-up blouse, white polyester slacks and a pink apron.

“I’ll have a double chocolate malt.” Abigail Trent gave the hand-held plastic menu another once-over. “With extra whipped cream.”

Dolly—according to the name embroidered in hot pink on her left pocket—pushed up her cat’s eye glasses. “You sure about that?” She gave a pointed stare at Abigail’s plain black combat boots before shifting up, over a pair of worn Levis, to her Go Navy hoodie. “We’ve got some nice fruit smoothies, sugar. Why don’t you have one of those?” The old woman winked. “Half the calories.”

Abby ignored the pinch to her ego and held tight to her resolve. “I’d rather have a malt.”

Dolly wiggled her carefully penciled in eyebrows as if she were about to dangle a carrot. “We’ve got fresh mango banana.”

“I don’t like bananas.”

“Strawberry Kiwi.”

“I don’t like kiwi.”

Dolly gave her another once over. “You know, sugar, you’re not half bad. What I can see, that is. If I were you, I’d definitely lose that there Unibomber look you got goin’ for yourself. Especially if you want to rope a cowboy.”

Abby narrowed her gaze at the presumptuous woman. “Do I know you?”

“The name’s Dolly Cook and the real question is, do I know you?” She waved a crippled hand. “See, I know everybody in this town. Been working here for the past forty-eight years since me and my husband opened up the place. He passed on about five years ago, God rest his soul. My son took over the kitchen on account of the arthritis in my hands makes it impossible to grip a spatula. Luckily, it ain’t spread to my feet and I can still walk up a storm.” She indicated the white orthopedic shoes that she wore. “I handle the tables on account of I have a crackerjack memory and don’t need to write anything down.” She narrowed her gaze. “I ain’t never seen you here before. You’re new in town.” Dolly arched a white brow. “Visiting family?” Abigail shook her head and the old woman added, “Looking for a job?”

Abby shook her head. “A person.”

“Just what I thought.” She waved a hand. “We get it all the time, what with the divorce rate sky high and the number of good men dropping faster than the stock market on a bad day. Why, women drive in from at least a dozen counties to scope out the local pickins. It’s closer than driving to San Antonio or Austin and there’s a lot less traffic, lemme tell ya.”

“I’m not here looking for—“

“’Course when they realize the women around here are just as desperate,” she went on before Abby could finish, “they usually end up heading for the city. Take that group over there.” She let her gaze shift to a nearby table full of women nursing glasses of pink froth. “They’ll load up on strawberry smoothies and then head for the honky tonk out on Route 9. When they strike out there—and they will strike out on account of every man this side of the Guadalupe will be over at the VFW for poker night—they’ll head for Austin. They might have better luck there, but I wouldn’t put my money on it. A good man is hard to find these days.” Her gaze shifted back to Abby. “Sugar, if you want to lasso yourself a decent cowboy, you need to give yourself every advantage. That means ditching the fatty malt.”

“I’m not trying to lasso a cowboy.”

“Sugar, you can deny it all you want. But I see what’s right in front of me. You’ve got desperate, hopeful and horny written all over your face. You’re looking for a man, all right.”

Yeah, she was. But it wasn’t what Dolly thought.

Command Master Chief Petty Officer Abigail Trent wasn’t looking for just any man. She was hot on the trail of her man, aka Rayne Montana, the best of an elite group of Navy Seals that Abby had hand-picked and trained herself. He’d gone AWOL two weeks ago in the mountains outside of Afghanistan.

Her first thought was that he’d gotten himself killed. But they’d yet to recover a body. If he’d been kidnapped (her second thought), his abductors would have contacted the Navy to bargain a trade for one of their own by now.

The MPs had come to the conclusion that he’d snapped from the pressure and bailed. They were in the process of tracking a credit card trail from Afghanistan to Switzerland.

But Rayne was too smart to leave such obvious clues. Even more, he was too good to cut and run. Too loyal. Too trustworthy. Like Abby, he’d been career military. Married to his job. Proud of each and every operation. He took his duty seriously. He wouldn’t have abandoned a mission and compromised his entire unit unless he’d had no other choice.

Unless he was in serious trouble.

Despite what the higher ups were saying.

They were blaming Abby. They were convinced he’d cracked and that she’d been remiss and failed to notice. She’d been the Officer in Charge. The sole person responsible for the success of the mission and the safety of each man involved. It had been her duty to bring everyone home. To account for each and every man in her unit.

And that’s what she intended to do.

Abby had let the MPs go on their wild goose chase while she’d taken a two week leave and hopped a plane for Rayne’s hometown. It was Psych 101. When people were scared, they often gravitated back to the familiar. And if there was one thing Abby knew, Rayne Montana had to be scared. Fear was the only thing that would have pulled him away from the military.

And kept him away.

At least that was her latest theory and the one that had brought her to Skull Creek, Texas, to see if maybe, just maybe she could find a clue as to his whereabouts. Maybe he’d reached out to an old friend. Called them up. Paid them a visit. Sent them a letter. An e-mail. A text. Something.

She’d driven into town just a half hour ago and now she was here at the local drive-in, the only place open past sundown on a Friday night.

Located on the outskirts of town, the Dairy Freeze was the quintessential small town scene and the exact opposite of the various cities where her father had been stationed while she’d been growing up. Twelve of them to be exact, in as many years. He’d been a leading Naval recruitment officer back then, a job that had demanded constant travel and so they’d moved regularly. But while the address had changed, the atmosphere hadn’t. Crowded. Noisy. Impersonal.

This place was crowded and noisy, too, but it was different. People knew each other. They smiled. They talked. Her gaze shifted to the cluster of round wrought iron tables that sat in front of a sliding order-up window. At one table, a busy mother handed out ice cream cones to a group of messy youngsters. At the next, an elderly couple drank root beer floats, shared an order of onion rings and offered up a stack of napkins when one of the kids dumped his ice cream in his lap. Next to them a cluster of teenage boys in high school letter jackets and cowboy boots mingled with a handful of girls from a nearby car. Rows of drive-up stalls, filled with everything from pick-up trucks to mini-vans, lined either side of the busy courtyard area. People rolled down their windows and chatted with whoever sat next to them while the latest George Strait song drifted from the outdoor speakers. The smell of chili cheese fries and sugary sweet soft serve filled the air and stirred a strange sense of longing.

For food, of course.

Abigail had been living on powdered milk and beef jerky in the mountains outside of Kabul for the past six months. She certainly wasn’t feeling suddenly hollow because the entire scene reminded her of her late mother and the one visit she’d paid to her grandparents when she’d been five.

She pushed aside the strange sense of melancholy and steeled herself as she faced Dolly.

“Thanks for the advice, but I’d rather have the malt.” Words to live by as far as Abigail was concerned. Men were distracting. She’d learned that firsthand back in high school when she’d almost thrown away a full ride to the Naval Academy for one measly date with the captain of the hockey team. She’d lusted after him for months, dreamt about him, penciled his name on her notebook. He’d been so perfect and she’d wanted him so much. Enough to miss her application interview in favor of getting her hair done for the first—and only—time to try to impress him.

A wasted effort because the Hockey Hunk had stood her up for the head cheerleader. A girl who wore short skirts and high heels and lots of makeup. Luckily Abby had had a perfect record and so the acceptance board had rescheduled her interview and given her one more chance.

She’d realized then and there that she simply couldn’t compete when it came to all the girlie stuff. Her hair would never curl quite as much and her body didn’t fill out the sexy clothes quite as well. She’d also vowed to never let a man make a fool of her ever again. While she went out every now and then (she was a grown woman with needs, after all), she didn’t let herself get emotionally involved. She didn’t sit around dreaming of a big wedding or a happily ever after. She was living her dream—to stand on her own feet, command her own unit and serve her country.

She was good at it. She liked it. Even if it was a little lonely every now and then.

“Oh, and add a double chili dog to that,” she added, eager to ignore the sudden tightening in her gut. Real food hadn’t been the only thing she’d done without all those months in Afghanistan. It had been over eleven since she’d been with a man and she needed a really good orgasm in a really bad way. Not that a man was required in order to have one, but vibrators had yet to become standard issue special ops gear and so she’d been forced to leave her deluxe model Big Man at home. Since she didn’t fraternize with her men and in-field operations didn’t permit time or energy for fooling around, she’d done without. Add the fact that Rayne was missing, and her superiors were holding her personally responsible to the mix, and she was definitely feeling some major frustration.

“Add a double order of chili cheese fries to that, too,” she told Dolly.

“Whatever you say.” The old woman pursed her lips. “Damned young folks. Never listen to one iota of advice.” She turned and waddled toward the glass door that led inside.

“With extra cheese,” Abigail called after her before turning her attention to her surroundings.

She wasn’t asking any questions yet. She’d come off a hellacious flight and she was tired. Which meant that tonight was all about doing a little recon and memorizing the lay of the land while she ate her first decent meal in ages. Then she would check into the nearest motel, plan her strategy for tomorrow’s Q & A and get a good night’s rest in a real bed.

She did a quick visual assessment, noting the faces and the cars and the details. She was good with details. It was one thing that made her a top notch commanding officer. That, and her instincts. She could assess a situation in the blink of an eye and note any threats, and then she could take the appropriate action. Deploy. Advance. Flank.

Run!

The warning echoed the moment she spotted the cowboy who rounded the side of the building. He made his way toward a beat-up 1967 Chevy Camaro parked near the road.

A pair of black jeans outlined his long, muscular legs. A black button-down shirt, the tails un-tucked, framed his broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to reveal the detailed image of a six shooter that had been tattooed on the inside of his left forearm. He wore a black Stetson tipped low on his head, shrouding the upper part of his face.

While he fit with the locals—he certainly looked the part with his boots and Stetson—he didn’t fit.

She tried to picture him swapping stories at the local feed store or hanging out here at the Dairy Freeze, and she couldn’t. His entire persona seemed much too intense, too detached, too mysterious for a small town like Skull Creek.

Too sexy.

The thought struck as her gaze hooked on his sensual mouth. An unexpected visual struck—of that mouth pressed to her throat—and her nipples snapped to attention. Need sliced through her, sharp and swift, and her stomach hollowed out.

As if he sensed her reaction, he turned. He tipped the brim of his hat back and the light illuminated his high cheekbones and sculpted nose. A fierce green gaze blazed across the distance between them and collided with hers.

Her breath caught and her heart paused. It was a crazy reaction for a soldier who made it her business to feel nothing and stay focused.

But for the next few, frantic heartbeats, her brain seemed to scramble and she forgot everything except him and the way he looked at her. Into her. As if he could see past the thick outer exterior, to the soft, vulnerable woman beneath.

As if that woman even existed.

She didn’t.

Abigail had accepted that fact a long time ago when she’d failed so miserably with Hockey Hunk. Three hours in Chicago’s top salon hadn’t been enough to transform her from a pudgy tomboy into a desirable woman.

She’d still been too stocky, too shapeless, too ballsy.

Then and now.

But that was okay. She was a commanding officer, not a Hooters girl. She didn’t need that kind of superficial attention. She needed respect.

Well, that and a really rocking orgasm to ease her current nerves.

His gaze swept her from head to toe and stripped away every scrap of clothing. Anticipation zapped her and the air bolted from her lungs.

He grinned then and she had the unnerving thought that he knew her frustration. That he knew her.

She stiffened and put up the invisible barricade vital to a special ops soldier. No expression. No emotion. Nothing. Just name, rank and serial number.

His gaze widened and surprise flashed in the bright green depths. At least she thought it was surprise. But then he turned, the car door opened and he disappeared inside. The engine caught.

A rush of panic bolted through her and she pushed to her feet.

Because Abigal Trent didn’t waste her time thinking and analyzing. She was a field operative. Paid to trust her gut and act on it. And her gut told her something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t right.

He was hiding something, and there was only one way to find out exactly what that was, and whether or not it had anything to do with her latest mission. There was always the possibility and with her reputation hanging in the balance, she wasn’t leaving any stone unturned.

Abby headed for her rental car and took off after him.

3

SHE WAS FOLLOWING HIM.

He knew it even before he saw the blaze of headlights in his rearview mirror. He felt her. He’d felt her the first moment she’d spotted him.

Her piqued interest. Her pulse-pounding lust. Her surprise. She’d never reacted so fast, so fierce to any member of the opposite sex and it had freaked her out.

He knew the feeling.

It didn’t matter that he’d sucked down enough blood to last him several days. His gaze had met hers and bam, the hunger had sliced through him, cutting him to the quick and scattering his common sense. In an instant, he’d wanted to forget everything—particularly the all-important fact that his youngest brother Cody was waiting for him, along with the computer genius that was going to help him track down his sister-in-law. That’s why he was still stuck in this hole-in-the-wall. He needed a lead on Rose and her whereabouts. Once he had enough information, he would hit the road and find her. After he watched his youngest brother tie the knot next week, that is.

Then he would uncover the truth behind the tragedy that destroyed his family and his home one hundred and fifty years ago.

He could still see the flames on that fateful night. Smell the sharp scent of smoke and decay and death.

The Braddock Boys had ridden into the chaos together. Brothers who’d vowed to watch out for each other. A pact they’d made as kids when their father had abandoned them to ride off after some saloon whore. Lyle Braddock had died in a bar fight not long after, and not one of his boys had mourned him. They’d been too busy taking care of each other to worry over the no-good sonofabitch and the fact that he’d never been much of a father figure.

When Cody had up and left to join the Confederate cause, Brent and his brothers had ridden along to keep an eye on him. They’d seized supplies and helped Confederate troops and made a name for themselves as the most notorious raiding group the Union army had ever seen. They’d sure-as-shootin’ been a major pain-in-the-ass to Quantrill and his boys.

But then the war had ended, the South had lost, and the Braddocks had headed home.

They’d arrived to find the entire ranch—the main house, the barn, the outbuildings—consumed by flames. The herd had been scattered. And what was left of his family? Gone.

Dead.

A nightmare. That’s what Brent had thought as he’d leapt off his horse and tried to save what he could, who he could. The whole scene had seemed so surreal. The dead bodies, most burned beyond recognition, stretched out here and there——his mother, the half dozen hired hands, the ranch foreman, Colton’s wife Rose, their six year-old son. But then reality had hit along with a very real crack to the back of his skull. He and his brothers had been attacked from behind, each picked off one-by-one, and left to die.

They would have been six feet under for sure if not for Garret Sawyer. Garret was the creative genius behind Skull Creek Choppers, the fastest growing custom motorcycle manufacturer in the South. He was also the two hundred year old vampire who’d turned the Braddock Brothers that night and given them a second chance at life.

At vengeance.

Up until two weeks ago, Brent and the rest of the Braddocks had blamed Garret for the massacre. They’d been hellbent on finding him and doling out justice. Cody had been the lucky one who’d tracked him to Skull Creek first. Only, it had turned out that Garret had been innocent. He’d arrived after the attack and done all he could to save the brothers who’d been just this side of death. Garret had given them his blood and brought them over in the nick of time, but he’d been too late to save anyone else. Or so they’d thought. But Garret had revealed that he’d also turned a wounded couple he’d found several miles away. The vampire had assumed they were victims of an Indian attack and so he’d done what he could to help—he’d given them his blood the moment they’d taken their last breaths.

A man and a woman.

Rose.

After all this time, she was still alive. Still out there somewhere. A vampire.

While Brent had no idea what had happened that night—if she’d been an innocent victim or a cold, calculated murderess who’d orchestrated the massacre and sacrificed her own son—or who the man was that had been with her, he knew that she knew.

She held all the answers and he wouldn’t stop until he’d found her.

All the more reason to forget the damned ache in his gut, hit the gas and lose the woman trailing him.

Cody was waiting.

Even more, Dillon Cash was waiting. Dillon was the one doing the research on Rose, compiling information and trying to come up with a lead. He needed to get his ass in gear and head over to Dillon’s.

At the same time, he couldn’t shake the curiosity that churned inside him. Particularly since he had no clue who the woman was or what she wanted from him.

Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Which didn’t make a damned bit of sense because he was a friggin’ vampire. When it came to the opposite sex, he read every thought, anticipated every move. There were no surprises.

Until now.

Until her.

Sure, he’d connected with her initially like he did with all humans. He’d seen her initial reaction—the surprise, the lust, the longing. But then her expression had closed like a window slamming shut and he hadn’t been able to pick up anything else.

No name.

No background.

No intentions.

One hundred and fifty years and he’d always been able to read a woman’s thoughts. But damned if this one hadn’t shut him out. A fact that made him almost as hard as the lusty beast that lived and breathed inside of him.

He was intrigued. Aroused. Hungry.

And while the last thing Brent needed to do was waste his time with confrontations, suddenly it was the only thing he wanted to do.

He eased off the gas, pulled onto the side of the road and climbed out of the car.

This was not good.

The warning screamed in Abigail’s head the minute she pulled up behind the Camaro.

Her headlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating the abandoned car. Her gaze shifted to the pastureland that stretched for miles on either side of the road. He was nowhere in sight. No shadowy figure fleeing in the moonlight or trucking down the road. Which meant that while the car appeared abandoned, it wasn’t.

Fear made her heart pump faster and she drew on it. Despite what most people thought, fear could be good. It motivated people, kept their senses heightened and sharp. Most of all, it fed the survival instinct. The key was not to let fear get the upper hand and interfere with brain function. It was all about breathing and thinking. Abigail had learned that during her first special ops mission in Iraq. She’d been cornered by a small group of insurgents who would have captured her had she given in to the gripping terror in the pit of her stomach. The visions of interrogation and torture and death. But instead of the outcome, she’d focused on the moment. On thinking of a way to get to the knife in her boot. Plotting a line of attack. Finding a means of escape.

The fear had turned to power then and she’d made it out alive.

She forced another deep breath and stared at the car in front of her, her gaze searching for some sign that he was still in it. He had to be.

Her gut tightened, her instincts screaming yet again that something wasn’t right. Why would he hide unless he had something to hide? She killed her engine, leaving the headlights blazing, and climbed from behind the wheel.

A few seconds later, she eased up beside the car, every nerve in her body on high alert as she slid along the sleek finish and stalled just shy of the door. Her gaze sliced to the right, through the window and the thick darkness to find …

Nothing.

He wasn’t sprawled on the front seat or hunkered in the miniscule space in the back.

The Camaro was empty.

Impossible.

She whirled, drinking in the surrounding countryside. She’d been all of twenty seconds behind him. No way could he have crossed the wide open pasture in that short amount of time. Not flat out running. Not even hauling it on a four-wheeler.

Her mind raced as her attention shifted back to the muscle car. Her gaze dropped to the foot of space between the bottom of the car and the ground. It wasn’t enough to accommodate a man of his size. At the same time, she’d seen seven men stuff themselves into a crawlspace the size of a single shower stall to escape capture. Desperation was the mother of the impossible.

“You might as well come out.” Abigail summoned her most commanding voice. “I know you’re under there.”

“Actually,” the deep, timbre of his voice slithered into her ear a heartbeat before she felt his presence, “I’m out here.” A hand touched her shoulder. “Right behind you.”

4

SHE WHIRLED AND STARED up at him with blue eyes so clear and vivid that he should have been able to see everything going on in her head. She was startled. That’s all he got before the window slammed shut and he was pushed out.

For the first time, he found himself stuck noticing her features. The sparkle of her eyes. The fullness of her cheeks. The smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose.

Cute.

But Brent didn’t do cute. Even more, he didn’t do locals. So what if she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen and a pink, pouty mouth that inspired the most wicked thoughts? He wasn’t interested. No sir.

Her lips parted and the faintest intake of breath echoed in his super sensitive ears.

The sound echoed in his head, rumbled down his spine and made a bee-line straight to his cock.

Okay, so he was interested. But he knew it wasn’t the lust that drew him. He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind her closed expression, and how she managed it in the first place. No woman had ever shut him out before.

Except his new sister-in-law, that is. But Brent had always figured that had something to do with the fact that she’d been sucking face with his brother. She and Cody had exchanged blood and so she shared his strength. Translation? She wasn’t susceptible to another vampire’s influence.

But this woman didn’t draw her strength from another bloodsucker. It was all her own and damned if that fact didn’t turn him on in a major way.

She hadn’t had sex in a really long time.

It wasn’t a truth he read in her gaze. Rather one that he gauged in her reaction. The stiffening of her body, the rapid in and out of her breaths, the frantic pulse beating at the base of her neck.

He stiffened. “Why are you following me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was taking a drive and I saw your car on the side of the road. I thought you might have broken down.”

“I saw you back at the Dairy Freeze.”

“I like to drive after I eat. It helps the digestion.”

She killed the eye contact and cast a glance at his car. “So what’s up?” She rounded the front end and started to lift the hood. “Did you overheat?”

He rested a hand atop the metal and pushed it back down with a loud whackkkk! “You’re good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t even blink.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re feeding me a load of bullshit and most people blink when they do that. But you haven’t batted an eye.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m not lying.”

“Or maybe,” he rounded the car and stepped up to her, “you’re just really, really good at it.”

Abby had the sudden urge to step back. He was too close and he smelled too good and she was too freaked out by both. Particularly since she didn’t get freaked out. Ever. She kept her cool. Her focus. Her objective. Always.

Until now.

Until him.

“What are you really doing out here?” His deep voice slid into her ears and made her heart beat that much faster.

Her hands trembled and she stiffened, determined to get a grip and keep her mind on her mission. “I’m looking for a man.”

He regarded her for a few frantic heartbeats before a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That much I can help you with.” His meaning hit and a wave of heat swept through her.

“That’s not what I meant.” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I’m looking for a specific man.”

“For a specific purpose?” He arched an eyebrow and her heart paused. He was playing with her. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in the deep timbre of his voice. “I’m a jack of all trades. Maybe I can help you out.”

Yeah, baby.

She ignored the frantic cry of her hormones and tried to remember the details of the story she’d worked out on the drive from San Antonio to Skull Creek. “I’m looking for my ex-boyfriend. We broke up last month and he moved back here. I think.” She didn’t sound half as convincing, but then that was the point. To play the sad, confused, pathetic ex-girlfriend and get the locals to talk to her. “One of his relatives passed on and left him quite a bit of money but the estate lawyer can’t seem to locate him.”

Something sparked in his gaze. “So you’re not from here?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got a place in Chicago, but I don’t see it much. My job keeps me busy.”

Sales. That’s what she was going to say when he asked what she did for a living. She’d been through enough interrogations to know that that was the next logical question.

“So what is it you’re after? A piece of the money, or do you still have a thing for him?”

“Sales.”

“Excuse me?”

Yeah, excuse me? Let him ask the question before you answer, dumbass. What are you thinking?

But she wasn’t thinking. Standing there, with the moonlight spilling down around them and his scent filling her nostrils, the only thing she could do was feel. The sweat trickling between her shoulder blades. The awareness rippling up and down her spine. The hollowness between her legs.

“That’s what I do for a living,” she blurted. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. So are you going to answer the question? Money? Revenge? Which is it?”

“Closure. Our break-up was really abrupt. He moved out with no warning and the only thing I got was a text message saying goodbye. I figured if I came here to tell him about the inheritance, it would give us a chance to talk about things.” When he gave her a doubtful look, she added, “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a girl thing.” Or so she’d heard. She’d never been much of a “girl”. Not in the way she acted—no strutting her stuff or wowing men or texting her BFF about her latest conquest—and certainly not in the way she looked—no skimpy clothes or make-up or lacey panties. That truth had always been something she’d been proud of.

But staring up into his gaze, she found herself wishing she’d put on something—anything—besides baggy jeans and a hoodie.

“So what’s his name?”

“Who?”

“The ex-boyfriend?”

“Rayne.” She stared deep into his eyes, searching for some spark of recognition. “Rayne Montana. Do you know him?”

“Can’t say that I do. I’m just passing through myself. I’m visiting my brother and his wife. In fact,” he glanced at his watch, “I’m running late. I was supposed to meet them fifteen minutes ago.”

She tried to ignore the sudden disappointment that washed through her. “Sorry about the misunderstanding.” She started to dart past him, but he caught her arm before he could think better of it.

His fingertips seemed to tingle, sending shock waves through her. Her stomach hollowed out and her nipples pebbled.

“No bother.” His gaze pushed into hers. “So what does he look like?”

She glanced up from the point of contact. “Who?”

“The boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to correct him except that she’d always been a stickler for facts. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that she didn’t want him to think she was actually attached. As if he’d even be interested.

But that was the thing. Despite her hoodie and baggy jeans and regulation cotton underpants, he did look interested. His gaze gleamed with a dozen wicked thoughts and she couldn’t help herself.

“We’re not together anymore.”

“I sort of figured that’s what ex meant.”

“He’s a little over six feet,” she rushed on, eager to ignore the heat creeping into her cheeks. Blushing? She didn’t blush. She didn’t stammer. She didn’t act like a freakin’ idiot. “Short, dark hair. Very fit. Scar on his left bicep.”

“If I see anyone that fits the description, I’ll send them your way. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Abby. Abby Trent. Yours?”

“Brent Braddock.”

“Nice to meet you, Brent.”

“My pleasure.”

The last word conjured all sorts of images as Abby climbed into her car and headed back to the Skull Creek Inn, and straight into a cold shower.

Because the last thing Abby intended was to get side-tracked by a man. She had a job to do and she fully intended to stay on course.

No matter how much she suddenly wanted to take the nearest Exit to Sexville.

5

“I’D ALMOST GIVEN UP on you,” Cody said when Brent finally walked into Mary Sue’s Wedding Nirvana. Mary Sue’s was the one and only bridal shop and tuxedo rental in Skull Creek and the last place Brent wanted to be at the moment.

His pulse pounded and his muscles clenched. He was wired. Desperate. Hungry.

“You were supposed to be here a half hour ago.” Cody stood to the left near a small sitting area. He worked at the buttons on his white tuxedo shirt. “All the other guys have gone and left.”

“Sorry to miss the party but I had something I had to deal with.” Brent sank down into one of the leather chairs and tried to ignore his brother’s curious gaze.

Cody arched an eyebrow. “Something or someone?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, it’s just that you might want to watch yourself around here. It’s a small town. A safe town. The last thing we need are rumors flying.” He finished the buttons and shrugged on the black jacket. He turned towards Brent. “What do you think?”

“I’m glad you’re the one getting married and not me.”

“It’s not so bad.” He flexed and the fabric pulled and tugged. “Granted it’s not nearly as comfortable as a T-shirt and jeans, but I’ve suffered through worse. Speaking of which, the offer still stands. We’d really love to have you in the wedding.”

“I’m not really a wedding kind of guy. Love and marriage and forever and ever …” He gave a shudder. “Not my thing.”

“You don’t have to marry anyone. You’ll just be standing up with me.”

“Maybe next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Cody looked so certain that Brent almost believed him.

He might have if not for the all important fact that his brother was a friggin’ vampire. Translation? Temporary. Things might be picture perfect now, but it wouldn’t last. While Miranda herself seemed cool with it, there were others who wouldn’t be so accepting. Someone would eventually find out that there were bloodsuckers living in Skull Creek and then all hell would break loose. It always did.

Brent had learned that firsthand and it was a lesson he didn’t intend to forget. He’d barely gotten out of Jamison, Texas, without being staked, and all because he’d been stupid enough to fall in love. Or at least he’d thought it was love. It had been early on, right after he’d been turned. He’d been desperate for his life back. For a sense of normalcy. And then he’d met Lila. She’d been pretty and sweet and just like that he’d been able to see the two of them settling down and living happily ever after.

A stupid fantasy. That’s all it had been. He’d needed to feel like a man again, just a man, and she’d wanted someone to take care of her. The minute she’d seen the truth, she’d turned on him and run back to her family. Her father had told the entire town. They’d come for him then. Captured him. Tortured him.

They’d known he was a bloodsucker with the strength of ten men. But there’d been five times that many. They’d overpowered him, chained him up, beat him. They’d been ready to stake him, too, but he’d managed to work his hand free just in time. He’d made it out, but barely. He wasn’t risking his afterlife or his heart ever again.

Love—if there even was such a thing—sucked, no pun intended, and nothing good could come of it.

Not for Brent.

And certainly not for Cody.

His brother might be playing at normal now, but he wasn’t. He never would be and eventually the shit would hit the fan and he would have to leave.

“I’ve got Dillon compiling a list of all the Rose Braddocks in the United States,” Brent told him, determined to pull him onto a safer subject. One he could actually do something about. “Once he’s done, I’ll start checking them out.”

“Before the wedding?”

Cody looked so nervous for a split second that Brent couldn’t help himself. “I’ll be there next Saturday for the ceremony, I just can’t promise anything else.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“What difference does it make?” He shrugged. “So what’s with the blue? I thought most tuxedos were black?”

“Miranda likes blue. She says it brings out the blue in my eyes.”

Brent grinned. “You’re worse off than I thought, little bro.”

“Yeah,” Cody admitted, but there was none of the surprise or worry Brent would have expected at such an admission. His brother actually looked happy. “The house is almost done.” When Brent turned a questioning look on Cody, he added, “The one I’ve been building for the past six months? The one I’ve told you about a dozen times? My wedding gift to Miranda?” Brent shrugged and Cody added, “They just put the floors in yesterday. There are still a few minor things left to do like the phone jacks and the cable hookup, but for the most part it’s finished. I spent the day out there yesterday to make sure everything got done.”

“With workers in and out?”

“There’s a basement that locks from the inside. The workers only have access to the front door.” His gaze met Brent’s. “If you need a place to crash, I keep a key stashed near the front porch that unlocks the basement. You could camp out until the wedding.”

“The motel’s just fine.”

“I’d really like you to take a look and tell me what you think about the place.”

“Does it matter what I think?”

“No,” his brother said in all honesty, “but I’d still like you to see it. It’s out off old Farm Road 86, about six miles past the turn-off. We could head over after this and I could show you around.”

Brent shook his head. “I’m meeting Dillon. So do you have a guest list?” he asked, suddenly eager to ease the flash of disappointment in his brother’s gaze. Cody’s expression quickly shifted into surprise, and Brent added, “Just because I’m not your best man doesn’t mean I can’t throw you a bachelor party.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Just hand it over. A week from tonight. Mark your calendar.” He took the paper Cody pulled from his pocket and shoved it into his jeans. Pushing to his feet, he said, “I gotta go.”

“I was thinking you might want to stop off after you swing by Dillon’s and hang out with me and Miranda. I know she would love it. She wants to get to know you.”

“Dillon has a lot leads. It might take a while.”

Cody looked ready to argue, but then he shrugged. “Keep me posted.”

Brent nodded and walked out of the bridal shop.

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a renovated service station with a neon blue sign that read Skull Creek Choppers gleaming in the front glass window. It was the last place he would expect to find a nest of vampires, but then that was the point. The place was ultra small town with its antique gas pumps and old-fashioned Goo Goo Clusters sign. Unassuming. Inconspicuous.

Safe.

For now, Brent reminded himself. It wouldn’t last. It never lasted.

He rang the buzzer on the high tech security pad sitting next to the door. A split-second later, a lock released and the door opened. He walked into the small room that housed the office portion of the motorcycle manufacture. A tall, muscular man sat in front of a state-of-the-art computer system. He didn’t glance up. He didn’t have to.

Dillon Cash was a computer guru and the third member of the infamous trio that made up Skull Creek Choppers. He worked with Jake McCall and Garrett Sawyer, both vampires and geniuses when it came to chopper design and construction. Brent had never ridden one of their bikes because he was more of a muscle car kind of guy, but he’d admired their designs more than once.

“So what’s up?” he asked Dillon. “Did you find anything specific?”

“Not yet, but I’ve posted several comments on the different vampire blogs out there detailing Rose and her physical description. It’s a long shot, but it worked once before when we were looking for Garrett’s maker.” He handed over a list of different blog sites. “I’ll be keeping an eye on the comments, but you might want to check things out to. That way if anyone posts anything that sounds familiar to you, you can let me know. In the meantime, I did a search for every Rose Braddock in the continental United States.”

“And?”

“There are over three hundred of them. I ruled some out based on background, birth certificates, etc., which leaves one hundred and thirty-six possibilities. That is, if she’s even using her same name.” Dillon handed over a print-out. “I’m doing more detailed searches to narrow it down, but it’s going to take time. Speaking of which,” he glanced at his watch, “I’ve got to run. I printed out the various blogs I commented on if you want to monitor them yourself. You might recognize something familiar. Meanwhile, we bide our time and keep looking.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“It’s date night. If I’m late, she’ll kill me.” He grinned. “Again.”

“Damn straight I will.” The comment came from the attractive blonde who appeared in the doorway. Brent caught her gaze, but he couldn’t read anything behind the twinkle in her eyes.

She came up to Dillon and slid an arm around him. “We need to hurry. The movie starts in five minutes.” Her gaze met Brent’s. “How’s the search going?”

“It’s going.”

“Keep the faith. If she’s out there, Dillon will find her.” She smiled up at Dillon. “He found Garrett’s maker.”

“That’s what I’ve been told. Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dillon said.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” the female vampire asked point-blank.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t do girlfriends.”

“Ahh,” a knowing gleam lit her eyes, “a boyfriend then.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend either.”

She shrugged. “Give it some time. You’ll meet Mr. Right soon.”

“I’m not gay.”

“A player?”

“Something like that.”

“Is it?” She leveled an intense stare at him. “Something like that? Because if not and you’re a halfway decent guy who’s just a little shy, I’ve got a really great girl I’d like you to meet.”

“Meg,” Dillon warned, “you promised you wouldn’t play Cupid.”

“I’m not playing Cupid. It’s just that I hired this new girl at the dress shop and she doesn’t know very many people in town. I’m guessing Brent here doesn’t either and nobody should be alone on a Friday night.” Her gaze shifted to Brent. “My friend’s name is Daphne. She’s really anxious to meet a good guy.”

His gut tightened and a frown pulled at his mouth. “I’m not a guy.”

“I know what you are.”

“Then you’ll understand when I say thanks, but no thanks.” He nodded at Dillon and then he turned and walked out because the last thing Brent Braddock needed was a fix-up.

He could get his own friggin’ date. If he wanted one, which he most certainly did not. He didn’t need company, he needed to feed again. Maybe then he could stop thinking about Abby and how badly he’d wanted to press her up against his car and feel her curves up close and personal.

His groin twisted, pressing against his jeans as he walked out of the shop. Hell, he still wanted to, a feeling that intensified when he pulled up at the Skull Creek Inn and saw her car sitting in the parking lot.

His stomach hollowed out and he sat there for a few minutes, staring, wanting.

What the hell was she doing here?

But he already knew. They were smack dab in the middle of small town central. Skull Creek wasn’t exactly a tourist mecca which meant the Skull Creek Inn was it when it came to motels. Damn straight she’d be here.

But understanding it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. He needed to stop thinking about her and with this new turn of events, he wasn’t placing any bets on that possibility. He stiffened as he caught sight of her through the lobby window. His muscles clenched and electricity sizzled up his spine. Anticipation coiled inside him and his gut contracted.

His fangs tingled as he watched her follow Winona down the concrete walkway toward his room. They stopped just one door shy and Winona shoved the key into the lock.

No way. No friggin’ way.

Even as the thought struck, Winona pushed open the door and led Abby inside. A switch clicked and yellow light spilled through the slats of the shade that covered the room’s one and only window. He caught a glimpse of Abby, her eyes sparkling and her lips slightly parted, before the shade closed. The air conditioning unit groaned and started chugging away, keeping time with the frantic race of adrenalin through his veins.

She’d checked into the room right next to his. Forget pushing her out of his head and avoiding her for the next few weeks. He was sure to run into her again. That and there was no escaping the fact that he was a vampire. Meaning, despite sheetrock and tacky wallpaper, he would be able to hear her. Smell her. Feel her. Want her.

Like hell.

He keyed the ignition, shoved the car into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot. And then he headed for his brother’s place.

6

THE FAMILIAR ROAR of an engine echoed in Abby’s ears and awareness rippled through her. She glanced at the motel room door and fought down the sudden urge to haul it open and see who was outside.

But she already knew.

The notion struck and she quickly pushed it aside. Just because the engine was loud, didn’t mean it belonged to a ‘67 Camaro. That was her own wishful thinking caused by deprived hormones and a desperate lack of sleep.

She gave herself a mental shake and forced her attention back to the old woman standing in front of her.

“… looks like you got lucky tonight.” Winona Adkins wore a blue and orange flower print dress, a pair of sagging knee-high panty-hose and white orthopedic shoes. “This is the only room we have open on account of the rodeo is in town, so we upgraded you. This here’s the executive suite.”

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