Leah

Vasquez's Auto Care was right on Main Street, a short drive off the highway and two blocks down from grease heaven, also known as The Hamburger Shack. Leah had caused a total work stoppage when she'd parked the Aston Martin inside their service bay. With the way Jorge Vasquez and the rest of the mechanics were looking at the car, she kinda felt like a pimp.

Seriously, it was getting a little awkward. The guys were whispering to it for the love of Pete.

"I just need a new tire," she called out to the group of men enthralled with the Aston Martin.

Jorge Vasquez looked up at her, made a tsk-tsk sound and shook his head. "Can't do that."

And she thought only her best friend Grayson Cleary was this weird about cars. "Why not?"

"It would be a sin to put a non-manufacturer-endorsed tire on this beauty." He crossed himself and kissed his thumb.

This was Catfish Creek. Population: Lotsa Crazy. There was no way she'd hear the answer she wanted but she had to ask anyway. "Do you have one of those?"

"Nope."

"Jorge, you're killing me," she said with a groan. "I'm only in town for a few days for the reunion, I don't have time for you to baby a rental car."

"Shhhhhh," Jorge said, looking at the Aston Martin. "Don't listen to her, mi tesoro, she doesn't understand you."

Despite her rising frustration, no doubt helped on by her run in with Drew, she couldn't help but laugh at the scandalized expression on the mechanic's face.

Jorge smoothed his hand across the Aston Martin's gleaming hood. "I've already reached out to the rental place listed on the registration to get pre-approval to work on the car and find out who their parts supplier in Fort Worth is. I'll have the tire tomorrow morning, plus, that will give me time to make sure you didn't damage the wheel driving around on a flat like that."

Okay, not the best news in the world, but not the worst either. "Good thing I can walk to the hotel."

He tipped his head back toward where her bag was sitting on a stool near the garage door. "We took your bag out of the trunk and popped everything from the interior into here." He handed her a manilla envelope, his gaze still locked on the Aston Martin.

"You know I'm coming back for the car," she said.

"Yeah, but this way you don't get to the hotel and realize you forgot something." He grinned and gave her a quick wink. "It's small town service. Bet you don't get that up in Denver."

"It's definitely not Catfish Creek."

Not by a long shot. She'd gotten out of town as fast as she could after high school graduation and hadn't regretted her decision once. The fact that her shop in Denver, Botanical Solutions, was only a block away from the garage where Grayson worked made it even better—she got to keep the one part of Catfish Creek she'd liked. If only she was attracted to Gray. Oh yeah, he was cute and inked up and funny, but not even at her horniest had she ever wanted him. Drew on the other hand? Her panties got wet just thinking about him and she hated his guts after what he'd done. That whole Jackson family was nothing but bad news. Principal Christianson had been right about one thing when it came to her, she made some pretty shitty choices--especially when it came to that summer and acting out on the Drew Jackson fantasies she'd had from the first time she'd slipped her fingers beneath her panties and got herself off.

And before she could start thinking too much about the firmness of Drew's ass and how it felt when the muscles moved as he pumped into her, she grabbed her wheeled bag and headed south toward The Hamburger Shack. She smelled it before she hit the front door and by the time she walked through it, her stomach was rumbling for the kind of artery-clogging goodness that came with cheese, bacon and a hunk of red onion sandwiched between two toasted buns and served with a side of spicy fries.

Fifteen minutes later she was two bites into a heart attack when something—or someone, really—blocked the sun streaming in from the restaurant's huge glass window. Glancing up, she took in the no-neck, muscle-bound pseudo cowboys in store-starched Western shirts, jeans, and boots so gaudy only a tourist would even think to pick them up. Both wore sunglasses. One was blonde, the other had carrot red hair and a dimple in his chin. If they were local or here for the reunion, she'd forsake the homemade lemonade that had come with her burger—and that stuff was liquid gold.

"Table's taken," she said before turning her attention back to her meal.

Blondie snorted. "We see that."

"So move along." She took another bite, chewing slow while watching the men out of the corner of her eye. These two set off a whole passel of warning bells, but she wasn't about to flinch. Botanical Solutions may sell legal marijuana but that didn't mean that all of her clientele stayed on the right side of the law. She'd learned to listen to her danger early warning system.

"Be glad to," Red said as he swiped one of her fries off her plate. "Just as soon as you give it back to us."

She edged her hand closer to the steak knife by her plate. It wouldn't do a lot of damage but jabbing it into one of the Rhinestone Cowboy's softer spots might be enough of a distraction for her to slip past them because she had no fucking clue what they were after. "It?"

"Don't play dumb," Red said. "We know Jessup gave it to you."

Fucking A. This was like being in one of those dreams where she had no clue what was going on beyond the fact that it was probably really bad. "Jessup?"

Red took off his sunglasses, planted his palms on the table on either side of her plate, and leaned forward, not stopping until he loomed over her. "Give it up or pay the consequences."

His breath smelled like stale cigarettes and onion rings. Not a great combination. Keeping her gaze locked on him, Leah curled her fingers around the knife handle and gripped it tight, ready to do what needed to be done to get out of here before 'roided-up Red decided it was time to get really serious.

Movement to her left flashed in her periphery.

"The only one who's gonna be paying is you," Drew said, his hand resting on the butt of his still-holstered gun.

* * *

Drew

Paid muscle. It wasn't something Drew spotted every day in Catfish Creek, but he'd run up against enough thugs for hire when he was in Fort Worth to recognize the breed. They were big, cocky, and no doubt had at least one gun concealed on their persons. His money was on their ugly-ass boots since their pearl-button shirts were too tight to hide anything.

"The door's that way." He jerked his chin in the direction of the front door, thankful that the smattering of customers at The Hamburger Shack for a late lunch were more interested in watching the show rather than getting involved in it.

The goon straightened up until he could almost look Drew in the eyes and puffed out his chest. "This has nothing to do with you."

Wrong answer.

"I say it does." Especially when it comes to Leah Camacho.

"Don't get your panties in a twist," the guy said as if it were an insult. "We'll be gone soon." He glanced back down at Leah, offering her a cold smile, before putting on his shades. "One way or another."

The men ambled out as if they hadn't just delivered a promise there was no way he'd let them keep. Standing his ground, Drew watched their progress as they exited The Hamburger Shack and got into the extended cab pickup truck that was a match for the one that had slow rolled by Leah’s car earlier. He snapped the loop back over his service weapon and noted the license plate number for later—and there would be a later, he had no doubt about it. There always was with their type. He wasn't worried about catching up with them when he needed to later though because it was hard to hide that much douchebaggery in a town this size.

The waitress dropped off a glass of sweet tea just as Drew slid into the chair opposite Leah.

"Thanks, Marsha," he said.

He took a long sip of tea while Leah continued to eat her fries, as if what had just gone down was a normal part of her daily life. Shit. For all he knew, it was. She did sell pot for a living.

"You following me?" she asked, licking the dusting of fry seasoning off the tips of her fingers.

Distracted by the sight of her pink tongue and the memories it conjured of what it looked like when she'd used the same technique on the swollen head of his cock, it took a few moments for her words to sink in.

He shrugged. "Noticed the truck from earlier parked outside and figured trouble was stirring. How about you finish your burger and tell me what's really going on."

She gave him a haughty look and pushed her plate away. Stubborn woman. Only place she liked to be told what to do was in bed--and even then sometimes it got a little dicey.

"They think I have something of theirs."

"Drugs?" he asked.

It seemed the obvious choice considering what she did for a living, but judging by the fire in her brown eyes as they narrowed and the snarl that curled up on one side of her full lips he'd chosen poorly.

"No," she retorted with enough attitude to all but give him the single finger salute. "Believe it or not I'm not packing our most popular HEA brand of marijuana to my high school reunion in Texas because that would be illegal."

Testy. It looked good on her. Always had. Every time she'd gotten all riled up that summer, they'd spent fucking each others brains out on any flat—okay, any—surface, the wildest times had always happened when she'd gone all spitfire on him. His cock thickened against his thigh and he had to shift in his seat. Her not-so-subtle glance down and smirk confirmed she hadn't missed his maneuvering.

Fucking A.

"So what do they want?" he asked.

She shrugged. "No fucking clue."

Okay, she didn't trust him to help. That was as obvious as his half-staff hard-on, but he had one week left on the job and he wasn't about to let his jurisdiction go to shit because of some out-of-town trouble hot on Leah's ass. She knew something, she just may not know it. Time to figure it out.

He crowbarred his brain out of the gutter and put it into cop mode. "Where were you before you got to Catfish Creek?"

"Fort Worth to see my mom," Leah answered. "She and my stepdad bought a house there after Shana graduated."

There were five Camacho girls—besides Leah there was Ariella, a bush pilot out in Alaska or somewhere like that; the twins, Meira and Dalia, who had a ranch in Montana; and the baby, Shoshana, who, according to the Catfish Creek gossip mill, was getting a degree at UT—and one brother, Isaac, who'd been a year behind Drew in school. Isaac was a former military special ops type who was in Fort Worth now working with B-Squad Investigations and Security. Drew had run into Isaac several times while he'd still been working in Fort Worth. All of the Camachos had done like Leah and had gotten out of Catfish Creek as soon as they'd graduated—exactly like Drew had done until that call that came from his mom had dragged him back to town.

"Anything weird there?"

"Beyond the normal Camacho craziness?" Leah laughed. "Not much."

Okay, that knocked out his first and second theories. There had to be something though that would bring in heavyweights on Leah's ass. "After that?"

"I went to the car rental place," she paused, her eyes rounding with excitement. "Now that was weird."

His cop instinct started buzzing. "Explain."

She did, giving him a quick rundown of the sweaty guy at the rental car place who'd given her a free upgrade to the Aston Martin. Then, in the middle of describing the shady experience, she stopped dead and smacked her palm against the table.

"No fucking way," she exclaimed. "That thing can't be real."

Failing to come up with the same answer she had, he asked, "What thing?"

She sprang out of her chair and grabbed her purse, fishing out a wad of cash and tossing it on the table. "I've gotta go."

Oh, hell no. He clamped his hand down on the handle of her suitcase. She wasn't going anywhere without him. "You mean, we've gotta go."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Fine. Come on."

They hustled out of The Hamburger Shack and he followed her to Vazquez's Auto Care while she ignored every question he hurled at her. Once there, they hurried up to the sidelined Aston Martin parked in the garage, opened the passenger door, and searched inside the empty glove compartment.

"Hey, Jorge," she hollered to the owner, who was watching from the corner. "Did you guys grab the stuff out of the glove compartment when you cleared out the interior?"

"Yep." Jorge nodded. "It's in the big envelope I gave you."

Without another word, she pulled a manilla envelope out of her purse and opened it up. Then, she took out a goofy pink bag with a unicorn on it and emptied its contents into her palm. It was the biggest fake diamond he'd ever seen. At least, he figured it had to be fake.

He took a closer look. "That can't be real."

"That's what I thought too," she whispered. "Until the assholes in the truck showed up at The Hamburger Shack, but who leaves a million-dollar diamond in a glove box?"

Someone cleared their throat. Hand going to his gun, Drew whipped around to face the threat. Two men in matching dark suits stood with their hands clasped in front of them. Everything from their close-cropped hair to the way they held themselves screamed Feds. As if they had it choreographed, they flipped open their wallet badges.

"It's one point six million, actually," the guy on the right said. "I'm Agent Curtis. This is Agent Ritter. FBI. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Great. Drew swallowed a groan. His life had just gotten a lot more complicated. Why did that always seem to happen when he was around Leah? Still on guard, he stalked over to the men and inspected their badges. They were legit. The Feds had come to Catfish Creek. Lucky him. His last week on the job was supposed to be boring, filled with dumb shit like dealing with Beauford Lynch's eternal war against Maisy Aucoin's cat. Then Leah Camacho had come squealing into town with what was probably a stolen diamond and what was definitely bad news in the form of two paid thugs on her ass. He let out a sigh and surrendered to the inevitable.

He nodded at Curtis and handed him back his badge. "We can use my office."

"This doesn't involve you," Leah said, stubborn right down to the freckles on her toes.

Ignoring Ritter's arched eyebrow and the smile Curtis was failing to smother, Drew turned his attention to the woman who always seemed to disrupt everything about his orderly world. In her tight jeans, T-shirt and Doc Martens, with her long hair streaming down her back like an invitation to wrap around his fist and hold tight, she was nothing but trouble. And he wasn't about to let her out of his sight anytime soon.

"Sweets," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that he usually didn't use outside the bedroom. "Don't even try to fool yourself on that one."