Chapter 8

Logan

Static crackles from the two-way radio and I hear, “Chief…you there?”

I lift my feet off my coffee table, lean to the left, and grab the mic. “What’s up, Cheri?”

There’s a small pause, a burst of static, and then she says, “I just got a call in from The Wounded Caribou about a domestic disturbance going on there. You need to go check it out.”

“If Tommy Hill and Brian Amundson are fighting again, I swear I’m going to put both of them in jail for a week,” I grumble into the mic.

“It’s not them,” Cheri says in an amused voice.

“Then what is it?” I ask with exasperation.

“It’s that new girl in town…the redhead,” Cheri says with a snicker. “Darla called it in; said she’s dancing naked on the tabletops and the guys are getting rowdy.”

“Son of a bitch,” I snarl as I lurch up from my couch, my eyes scanning my living room to see where I’d ditched my boots when I’d gotten home about an hour ago.

Being the only full-time law enforcement officer has its perks because I get to call all the shots. But it also is a job that never stops. I have some part-time deputies I’ll bring in on the weekends, and Cheri works as my dispatcher from her house. She’s disabled and this gives her some income to help out with expenses.

But times like this, where I have to leave behind what would have been a relaxing evening watching sports to go pull a naked Valentine French off a tabletop…Well, that just pisses me off.

“I’m on my way,” I growl into the mic before I slam it back in the cradle, and then hastily put on my boots. I strap on my gun belt and grab my suede and sheepskin coat, as the temperature dropped into the thirties tonight. As I head out the door, I clip my badge to the front breast pocket.

The drive from my house—which sits up on the mountain—down to The Wounded Caribou only takes five minutes, but my mind has been running wild imagining what in the hell I could be walking into right now. It could be something harmless, or if the men inside are drunk enough, it could be ugly.

Goddamn that Valentine French.

There’s not a parallel spot available so I park in the small back lot and head in through the service door in the rear. The minute I step inside I hear raucous catcalls, whistles, and what sounds like fists banging on tables. My gut tightens as I stride through the kitchen, which is strangely empty. Ted has at least a cook and a few servers on duty each night.

When I step through the swinging door that opens into the bar area, I take in the scene with a calm eye so I can decide what to do.

The most obvious thing that’s going on is that Valentine is indeed on top of one of the rectangular tables, and she is indeed dancing. She is not, however, naked.

The jukebox is cranked up loudly playing Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again,” and all the men are singing it at the top of their lungs while surrounding the table upon which Valentine is dancing.

It’s a sexy dance.

No, it’s a fucking hot as hell dance, made even more sexy by the fact she’s wearing a black dress that’s practically painted onto her body, the hem of which comes to midthigh. She has on a pair of black high-heeled boots, but these are different from the ones she wore the other night as they come over her knee by a few inches. When she turns slightly away from me, I can see the back of her dress is practically nonexistent and cut so low in the back I don’t see how she’s wearing panties under that thing.

“Jesus,” I mutter to myself, but then I let my gaze sweep around the rest of the bar.

Nothing seems out of order to me other than a smoking-hot woman dancing for some horny men. No one’s touching her and none of the men are fighting, only enjoying the show she’s putting on.

But then I see her, and I know exactly why Darla called the police station. She’s standing at the edge of the crowd of men, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes focused on Valentine with malice. She doesn’t keep them there, though, but cuts them over to Monte, who is one of the guys standing right at the edge of the table and looking up at Valentine with a dopey grin on his face and a hint of lust in his eyes.

“Jesus,” I mutter again. Then I mutter, “Women.”

Ted somehow ends up beside me and nudges his shoulder against mine. He nods toward Valentine and says, “She’s a good dancer, huh?”

“I can’t believe you seriously let this go on,” I snap at him.

His eyes go all wide and innocent looking. “What? She’s not hurting anything. It’s all under control.”

“For now,” I grumble as I head to the end of the bar, because Valentine really needs to step down off there before some trouble is started.

Before I can even make my way out, the song dies down. The men cheer and whistle, and yell for more. But then there’s a lull in the noise and a distinctly peeved and pissed-off female voice says, “You need to get off that table, tramp. No one wants to see you shaking your ass all around like that in your hooker costume.”

My eyes close briefly and I let out a pained sigh, because this is getting ready to get ugly. When I look back at the table, I see Darla has pushed her way to the edge and is glaring up at Valentine.

Valentine is glaring right back down at Darla, as I’m sure she didn’t appreciate being called a tramp and a hooker.

Now I could see this playing out in a lot of ways, but I never would have guessed that Valentine would hold her hand out delicately in a silent plea for someone to help her down. Monte gallantly steps forward, which makes Darla’s face flush red with anger, and Valentine somehow manages to elegantly step down from the table to the wooden bench to the pine floor.

Once there, she pulls her hand from Monte’s, takes two steps toward Darla, and snarls, “What did you just call me?”

And that’s when I notice it.

Valentine’s dismount off that table was just some lucky maneuvering, because now I notice her words come out slightly slurred and she’s swaying slightly.

Christ…she’s drunk.

I round the end of the bar as Darla leans into Valentine, punches a finger into the middle of Valentine’s chest, and growls, “I called you a tramp and a hooker.”

Notably, not once single guy steps in to stop this, and I’d bet my badge if there was a vat of Jell-O nearby, the most the guys would do is throw both women in there and let them duke it out.

I’m two paces from the women, pushing my way through the men, when Valentine slams her hands into Darla’s chest and pushes her back so violently she’d have gone down if a few of the guys hadn’t caught her.

Darla issues a feral sort of snarl and tries to launch herself at Valentine. Valentine braces as best she can, still swaying a little, and even eggs her on a bit, “Come on, Darla. Let’s see what you got.”

“You bitch,” Darla screams while two of the guys hold her by her arms. “Think you can come to this town, dress like a whore, and sleep your way around? We don’t tolerate that sort of stuff here, you low-life piece of trash.”

Fuck, that was harsh, and before I can get ahold of Valentine, she surges toward Darla again since no one is holding her back. She cocks an arm to hit Darla and I manage to nab her around the waist just as she starts to swing. I pull her away but not far enough, and the edge of her knuckles catch Darla across her chin.

It was a glancing blow, didn’t even rock Darla backward, but it was enough to have her screaming bloody murder. “She just assaulted me, Chief. Did you see that? I demand she be arrested. I want justice.”

Valentine struggles in my arms, trying to twist around to look back at Darla. “Yeah…well, I’ve got more of that for you if you want some.”

Someone yells out from the back of the room, “Let ’em go at it, Chief. Most excitement we’ve had in ages.”

“Hear, hear,” someone else yells, and then all the men are cheering and whistling.

I drag Valentine back behind the bar with my arm still around her waist, all the while she’s twisting to get out of my hold and cursing at Darla. Ted meets me at the kitchen door with a shit-eating grin on his face. I glare at him and jerk my head over my shoulder. “Get someone sober to take Darla home, will you?”

“Sure thing, Logan,” he says, still smirking.

“And next time,” I add, nodding my head down to the squirming Valentine in my arms, “don’t let her dance on the tables.”

“But she’s so good at it,” Ted murmurs.

“Damn right I am,” Valentine adds in a slurred voice. “I took pole lessons once with a bunch of girlfriends.”

Jesus, I do not need that image burned in my brain when I’ve already got that sexy dance taking up residence there.

I release my hold around Valentine’s waist and take her by the elbow. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I don’t want to,” she says as she pulls herself away from me, stumbles back two paces, and then catches herself on the back bar. “I’m having fun.”

“You’re drunk,” I say, pointing out the obvious.

“That’s totally Rusty’s fault,” she pouts, and fuck…do her lips have to look that spectacular? “I think it was part of his plan to get me up on that table dancing. He dared me to and at first I refused, but then about seven shots of tequila later, and I was ready to rock and roll.”

Well, that proves Rusty is a pecker head. He only wanted to get her drunk to get in her pants I’m sure, but I’m not about to tell her that now.

“Let’s go, Valentine,” I say firmly. “You’ve had enough fun tonight. I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not going,” she says as she lifts her chin and crosses her arms under her breasts, which of course pushes them up.

Christ, I don’t need this shit in my life.

“Let’s go,” I say again, harsher this time, and take her elbow.

She jerks away, then gives me a tiny shove. “Leave me alone.”

“Okay, that’s it,” I say, my patience already worn thin and pissed that I’m even here having to deal with this. Pissed I was pulled out of my warm house, and pissed that Valentine was drunk and dancing for the entire town of East Merritt to see, and now super pissed that she just won’t let me take her home. It’s time to teach her a lesson.

I bend forward and easily toss her over my shoulder. I immediately walk through the swinging kitchen door. To help balance her, I put one hand to the back of her thighs, tugging the bottom of her dress down, as I don’t want anyone to get a peek of that.

“Put me down,” she yells, and then beats her tiny fists against my back.

“Two choices,” I tell her as I walk through the kitchen. “I’ll take you home to Sarah’s or to jail. Which do you want?”

Valentine snarls in outrage—which I get is fueled by the alcohol coursing through her system—and continues to pound on my back.

“Jail it is,” I say as I push my way through the back door and out into the chilly night.

When I reach my truck, I bend over and carefully set Valentine down. She wobbles but I hold her arms to keep her upright. Her eyes are seething at me and she lifts that stubborn chin again. “You wouldn’t dare take me to jail,” she says defiantly.

I answer by locking handcuffs onto her wrists.

Valentine gasps and then screeches in outrage. “You didn’t just do that. I demand to speak to the mayor.”

“You’re speaking to him,” I tell her with a smirk.

“You’re not the mayor.”

“I am,” I assure her. “Run unopposed every term, although there’s not much to the job to be honest.”

“I demand you take these cuffs off me right now and—”

“You have the right to remain silent,” I say to her, and she screeches again and stomps her foot like a child, and yet she still is gloriously sexy. I’ll never admit to anyone that I’m enjoying the hell out of this for some reason.

“Are you seriously fucking arresting me?” She practically chokes out the words.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” I say with a grin.

I wait for her to yell at me again, but I’m completely thrown off guard when her eyes go round and her lips pout out. “I’m freezing.”

She steps into me and burrows against my chest. And yes…she is freezing, because I can feel her hard nipples rubbing through my Henley as I hadn’t bothered to zip up my jacket when I left my house.

What’s even worse, since her hands are cuffed in front of her, when she steps into me the backs of her hands brush against my crotch and I start to go hard.

I immediately bring my hands to her shoulders and gently push her back from me.

“Let’s get you in my truck,” I tell her.

“Or let’s go back inside and I’ll dance just for you,” she says in a throaty purr while her eyes practically sizzle with challenge.

I don’t answer her but instead open my truck door and hold her by the elbow as she manages to climb in. She sits back in a huff and glares at me. I don’t bother engaging with her further but round the truck and get in.

It takes me two minutes to drive her to the police station. When I pull up, she says again with utter disbelief. “You’re arresting me?”

“I’m teaching you a lesson,” is all I say before hopping out of my truck.

The station is locked up tight and dark, but it only takes me moments to get Valentine out of my vehicle and inside. I lead her back past the small lobby area, flipping lights on as I go, past my office and to the back of the station that has two jail cells side by side. I have to keep my hand securely on her elbow so she doesn’t stumble, but she remains surprisingly quiet.

I open one of the cells and lead her in, then I remove her cuffs. She doesn’t do as most prisoners do, dramatically rubbing her skin. Of course, I didn’t lock hers tight and she could have wiggled out of them if she wanted.

I point to the steel rack built into the wall with the thin mattress on top and a folded wool blanket at the end. “Your accommodations for the evening.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she grits out, and I can tell she’s sobering up slightly as the ramifications are settling in.

“Immensely,” I say with a grin. “Now, don’t go anywhere…I’ll be right back.”

I leave her in the cell and don’t bother locking the door behind me. I doubt she’d run, but part of me kind of wishes she would. This has turned out to be a bit of fun after all, and while I have no intention of charging Valentine with anything, I’m finding it funny she’s going to spend a night in my jail.

It takes me moments to grab what I need and I walk back to the cell where I find her sitting on the edge of the cot, one leg crossed over the other. This of course makes her skirt ride up so high that my eyes stay pinned on her legs and can’t seem to move away. It’s only when I hear Valentine snicker that I break contact and look into her eyes.

“Here,” I say as I hold my hand out. “Take these.”

She turns her palm up to me and I drop two Tylenol and then hand her a bottle of water.

“Drink it all,” I tell her. “It will help with the headache you are definitely going to have after all that tequila.”

I step back and lean my shoulder against the edge of the cell door and watch as she swallows the medication. She then takes a few sips of the water and puts the cap back on.

“You’re really going to leave me here tonight?” she asks again.

“I am,” I tell her with a nod. “And I’d tell you to use the time to think about how this could have turned out a lot worse for you.”

“I hardly even grazed Darla’s face,” Valentine mutters.

“Not just that,” I say sternly. “You could have caused a riot in that place with the way you were dancing.”

If I expected Valentine to be chastised by that, I’d be wrong. Instead her eyes light up and she asks me, “Was it that good?”

I can’t help it. I grin at her. “Yeah, Valentine…it was that good.”

She doesn’t say anything in return but has a triumphant look on her face as she swings her legs up onto the cot. I watch as she grabs the blanket and pulls it up those long legs before lying down. She tucks her hands under her head and stares at the ceiling.

“Good night, Valentine,” I say as I step out of the cell and shut it. The sound of the lock reverberates but she doesn’t move a muscle.

But as I turn away, I hear her say, “Good night, Chief. Consider this a lesson learned.”

I turn out the cell lights but leave the hall one on so she’s not in total darkness, then head to my office. I sit down in my cushy desk chair, lean back, and prop my booted feet on the desk. I snuggle down, cross my arms over my chest, and close my eyes. If it was any other prisoner, I’d go home for the night, but I’m not about to leave Valentine here all by herself.