Complicated

  Hix pulled out, rolled off Greta, tagged her around the waist and hauled her up and around until she was on her knees in front of him, her back to his front.

  He took her hand, planted it under his in the headboard, positioned behind her, guiding his cock with his other hand, then he drilled inside.

  Damn.

  So sweet.

  Her head flew back and hit his shoulder and she lifted her other hand and braced it into the wall above her headboard, rearing back into his thrusts.

  He slid his hand from her belly to her tit, rolled the nipple then pulled it.

  “Hix,” she gasped, dropping her head forward and taking his cock.

  He brushed the hair at her nape aside with his chin and then rested his lips there, grunting against her skin as he fucked her.

  They’d never fucked.

  She got off on it.

  He did too, including the fact she did.

  She tipped her ass up and slammed back into him harder.

  Hell yeah.

  She got off on it.

  “Yeah, Greta,” he growled into her skin, pulling her nipple.

  She whimpered and drove back into him faster.

  “Fuck yourself, baby,” he encouraged.

  Her head fell back again and she puffed out, “Yeah.”

  He left her nipple, slid his hand down between her legs and pressed in at her clit.

  Her body jerked against him.

  “Hix.”

  She was pounding into him now, no rhythm, no control, panting and reaching for it.

  He pulled out again.

  She cried out, “No!” but he turned her, walked into the headboard on his knees, lifted her up and slammed her down on him, this getting him a breathy, “Yes,” right before she shuddered in his arms, her limbs wound around him going tight, and her pussy convulsing around his dick as she came.

  He rode her against the headboard, trying to focus on the beauty of her face as she gave it to him.

  But he lost focus when the pressure built in his balls and he grunted, pounding fast and hard, his eyes closing tight, white exploding behind them as he shot into the condom inside her, coming spectacularly.

  Her lips were working his throat when he came down, and he bumped his chin gently against her head to tell her where he wanted that.

  She gave it to him, tipping her head back and offering him her mouth.

  He took it, kissing her hard then softer until they were mostly brushing and nibbling lips.

  Only then did he mutter, “Gonna clean up.”

  “Okay, darlin’.”

  He touched his mouth to hers, slid out, moved back, laid her in bed and then exited it.

  He got rid of the condom and washed up in a dark bathroom before rejoining her in bed.

  Hix didn’t have to hook her around the waist to pull her into him that time.

  She cuddled right in after he’d settled on his back and as he was yanking the covers over them.

  “Who’s snuggling now?” he teased.

  “Shut up, Hixon.”

  He grinned to the ceiling, curled his arm around her and drew circles on her hip as she pressed her naked body into his side, snaking a hand along his gut, curving it around his other side and holding him close.

  “You’re in a better place tonight,” she noted.

  Earlier, on her porch, he hadn’t had bourbon, he’d had beer. He’d also had some cold fried chicken he found out she’d bought for him just in case he came early enough to eat, or late but without dinner.

  It had been the last.

  She’d also shown him the three dresses on her laptop that she’d bought that night (all three he’d given his wholehearted approval). She’d told him the salon was on fire with talk about Calloway’s murder. And she’d assured him that everyone had faith in him and his crew finding who did it.

  She’d also said, “A beauty salon is not a confessional, but you know, it wouldn’t be good to lose a client. So it was a little bird that told you that the Mortimers’ neighbor’s son loved his dog a whole lot. Not to mention, he’s got a paper route he does for spending money, thus the means to buy spray paint his parents didn’t know about, as well as a grudge his dog was shot and his parents were forced to use the money they were saving up to buy him the latest Xbox for his birthday in order to save that dog’s life. Insult to injury, he mighta acted on that. And his folks mighta found the paint cans. And they mighta reamed his ass even if they still thought it was pretty damned funny. So they might be comin’ in to share their son acted unwisely in his anger or they might not. Just act surprised if they do and don’t give me up if they don’t.”

  “Talked to them already, Greta, and they told me their son would never do that,” he’d replied.

  “Well, after they did that, they checked to make sure the statement they gave the sheriff was indeed correct and found that it was not.”

  Even though he was grateful for the knowledge and amused she was so funny in the way she provided it, he shared gently, “You’re not my booty call. You’re also not my informant, sweetheart.”

  She’d just smiled back. “I know. What I am is the chick who’s cool with ratting out one of her clients’ sons if it takes a least a little something off your mind.”

  After that, with no will to fight it, he’d dragged her ass off the porch then nailed it in her bedroom.

  “We made headway today,” he replied to her mentioning he was in a better place.

  She gave his middle a squeeze. “Good.”

  “Yeah.”

  They both let that settle before Hix spoke again.

  “Think that Reuben had magical powers, eating it, I saw somethin’ I hadn’t noticed from the photos we got and I’d been givin’ those a lot of attention.”

  She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him through the dark. “Then no more bitching about me feeding you.”

  He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, grinning at her and murmuring, “No more bitching, baby.”

  She gave him a flash of a smile and settled back in on his shoulder.

  Hix took his time drifting his fingers along her cheek as he slid his hand away.

  She snuggled closer and muttered, “Pancakes okay for breakfast tomorrow?”

  “Hope to God I close this case but now hope to God I do it without packing on fifty pounds.”

  She gave him a warning shake. “What was that we agreed about no more bitching?”

  “Right. Sorry,” he mumbled then spoke distinctly, “Pancakes will be good.”

  “Excellent.”

  The hour, the dark and the sex settled in, so Hix did too, relaxing and feeling sleep coming when Greta asked, “You talk to your kids?”

  “Shaw called tonight after football practice, heard what happened, checking in. He handed the phone off to his sisters. So yeah. They’re worried about their dad but think they’re all old enough to get this is part of the job. At least that’s what they gave me. I’ll know better when I got ’em back.”

  “Good.”

  Hix hadn’t shared with Greta about Hope’s visit that day.

  Since Reva had been there when Hope showed, Greta might already know if that news had hit the salon and she just wasn’t mentioning it. Or she could not know and he wasn’t going to bring his ex into her bed.

  What he was going to do was carve out some time where his mind was not centered on a murder and consider what was happening with Greta.

  He had friends. He had female friends. He’d never had a friend with benefits, he was thinking that might be nice, but it still wasn’t what this was.

  No, he was thinking that wasn’t what he wanted this to be.

  It was too soon but he was also beginning to think he didn’t give a shit.

  She was great and it might not be the best timing, but he’d be a fool if something that gave every indication it was just that awesome walked into his life and he didn’t work with her to discover where it might go.

  That con
versation would have to happen after he found a murderer.

  But it was going to happen.

  So as Hix fell asleep feeling Greta’s warm weight pressed to his side, along his stomach, smelling her, he found he had another reason to catch a killer.

  And fast.

  Really Fuckin’ Simple

  Hixon

  THE NEXT MORNING, Hix woke up again before six, alone in Greta’s bed.

  He hauled himself out and went to her bathroom, flipping on the light switch and seeing poking out of her pail, with its bouquet of rolled washcloths, a toothbrush in its packaging with a blue bow stuck to it that was five times the size of what it was stuck to.

  He grinned, did his thing, including brushing his teeth with a new toothbrush, went back out and got dressed but carried his boots with his socks stuffed into them down the stairs, dumping them at the foot and smelling sausage as he rounded the steps to head to the kitchen.

  She was standing at the sink in her robe, body facing her windows that now had the sheer shades drawn up, a coffee cup held aloft in front of her, but her head was turned, eyes to him.

  “Thanks for the present,” he said, strolling into the room.

  “You’ll learn I’m bountiful with my generosity,” she joked.

  He stopped close to her side, dug his fingers in her hair and held her in position as he bent and took her mouth in a morning kiss that shared far more gratitude than any toothbrush was worth.

  When he broke the kiss and lifted slightly away, he watched her slowly open her eyes and breathe, “Today, I’m totally buying you dental floss.”

  He started chuckling, doing it dipping in to touch his mouth to hers before he let her go and went to the coffee.

  She went to the stove to turn sausage links.

  Once he made his mug, saw hers was still mostly full, he rested the side of a hip against the counter, turned to her.

  “I catch this guy, I’m taking you to dinner.”

  Slowly, she pivoted to face him.

  “Dinner?” she asked.

  With the look on her face, Hix knew she got him.

  “Dinner,” he confirmed.

  “Hixon—”

  “Not now,” he whispered. “Not now, baby. I need this, what you’re givin’ me. Need it to be easy. Need it to be uncomplicated.”

  “Okay,” she said softly.

  He said what he said but he still held her gaze and made sure she understood him.

  “At dinner, you’re up for it, we’ll complicate things.”

  Something lit her eyes, her face, making her early-morning, makeup-less beauty awe-inspiring.

  Hope, maybe.

  Excitement, absolutely.

  “I’m up for it,” she told him.

  He smiled at her.

  She smiled back.

  And there was the hope.

  Christ.

  Yeah.

  Awe-inspiring.

  “Since that’s gonna happen, sweetheart, feel at this juncture it’s not takin’ it too far to ask your last name,” he remarked.

  She stared at him before she busted out laughing.

  He was smiling at her because he liked her laughter and it was funny they were where they were and he didn’t know her last name, but he was just glad she also found it amusing, when she quit laughing and shared, “Dare. It’s Dare.”

  Greta Dare.

  He liked it.

  “Bonus, my middle name is Kate,” she went on. “Not Katherine. Just Kate. Apparently my mother wasn’t into too many syllables.”

  “It’s pretty,” he murmured.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “Timothy,” he told her.

  “Sorry?” she asked.

  “Your bonus.”

  She grinned then her eyes went strange and her body started visibly shaking. “Ohmigod,” her voice was shaking too. “You’re Sheriff Hixon T. Drake. You totally need to start going by that handle on your CB.”

  He liked the fact she shared his and his son’s sense of humor, not to mention got in on a joke she didn’t even know was their joke.

  “This has been suggested by my son,” he noted.

  She gave him a blinding smile. “Well, that’s two votes.”

  He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

  “Shame,” she muttered, still smiling and turning back to the stove.

  “You need help?” he asked.

  “Nope,” she told the sausage. “Just need you to pull over the stools and sit your behind on one. You probably won’t be relaxing for a while. You do it over breakfast, get your belly full, you’ll be able to face the day.”

  He stared at her back as she moved from the sausage to the counter by the stove, grabbed the handle of a spoon in a big bowl and started beating what sounded like batter.

  Then he moved to her. Right to her, right into her space, fitting himself to her back and putting his hands to the edges of the counter on either side of her.

  It was batter.

  Pancakes.

  Like she’d promised.

  He dipped his head and set his lips to the skin at the side of her neck.

  “Night before last you told me you liked me, and I didn’t share you got the same. But I’ll share more. It’s about pancakes. It’s about the way you sing. It’s about how amazingly beautiful you are, so beautiful, sometimes, if I don’t brace myself, it blinds me. It’s about you knowin’ I really need another bourbon and gettin’ me one when I’m tryin’ to do the right thing. It’s about you knowin’ better what the right thing needs to be. It’s about how hot it is when you fuck yourself on my cock. And it’s about how gorgeous you look when you come. It’s about stud muffins and gum drops. It’s about a lot of things, Greta.”

  “That all sounds really complicated, Hix,” she replied softly, her voice breathy.

  “No, sweetheart, all that is really fuckin’ simple.”

  On that, before it did get complicated, he kissed her neck, moved away and got the stools.

  He was ass to stool, sipping coffee, and she was pouring batter on a heated griddle when she commented, “I noted you chose stud muffin and not snuggle bug.”

  Hix started chuckling.

  She turned to him with happiness, playfulness and a little heat in her eyes, “I’ll admit, I prefer that one too.”

  He busted out laughing.

  Greta grinned as she set aside the batter.

  She didn’t feed him pancakes.

  She fed him big, fluffy buttermilk pancakes with sausage links and warmed syrup.

  She ate beside him.

  She was only halfway done when he’d finished, rinsed his plate, and got himself a syrupy-sweet kiss.

  “Meet you on the porch?” she asked after he’d pulled away.

  “Definitely.”

  “I’ve gotta sing at the Dew tonight, snuggle bug,” she reminded him.

  “I’ll see you there too.”

  Her eyes gave him a smile.

  He moved away but brushed his finger along the smile at her lips.

  Then he moved out of the kitchen, sat on a step to pull on his socks and boots, and called out, “Later, gum drop,” on the way to the door.

  “Later, stud muffin,” she returned.

  He shot a grin over his shoulder at her as he walked out her door.

  Mid-morning, Hix, with his ass leaned against the edge of the desk, his ankles crossed in front of him, Larry standing to his left, Donna and Bets to his right, Hal farther away but close to the whiteboard, stared at that damned board.

  All their eyes were to it.

  Larry had called Faith yesterday with the news they’d found the crime scene and he’d given her a call that morning just to check in.

  They’d sifted through a variety of messages Reva and Ida had taken from folks calling in after seeing the website, none of them having anything to do with what happened on 56, none of them pertinent, so they’d also moved on.

  They got their report that the slug and the
shell casings were from the gun that killed Calloway. They also got their report that there were trace amounts of blood the rain hadn’t soaked away in the soil forensics took from the crime scene and that blood was Calloway’s.

  So they had more.

  They still had dick.

  The slugs were not in the system.

  None of the team’s legwork the day before got them much of anything. They didn’t have hardly any homeless problem in McCook so any homeless anyone noted were known, not drifters, not the kind to shoot a man down while stealing his truck, not even the kind to be out on that road, and definitely not being in the position to own a gun.

  Regardless, his department couldn’t be seen rousting homeless and harassing them without reason—say a witness who saw them wandering 56 at any time, especially the day of the murder.

  They didn’t have that.

  No one had seen any drifters.

  There were a number of fugitives to look into and Donna and Bets were on that. But unless they could nab them there was nothing they could move on, and they couldn’t deem them a person of interest unless they’d been spotted at least in the county, but better, around the place of the murder or dump location at the time of either.

  Other than that, his crew had come up with zilch.

  “I need to pay a visit to our meth man,” he said into the quiet room. “He doesn’t deal here but he probably knows who uses and may feel compelled to keep our relationship copacetic by helpin’ out.”

  Donna looked to him. “A snake eats a rat, he doesn’t rat on a rat.”

  He lifted his brows to her. “Got another idea?”

  “Pissed to say I don’t,” she muttered.

  The phones rang throughout the department but Reva was catching calls so the team just turned their attention back to the board.

  The ringing stopped.

  Seconds later, Hix’s line rang.

  He reached across, picked up and put the handset to his ear, his eyes to the lights on the phone telling him he was getting a transfer from Reva.

  “Yeah?” he answered.

  “Call for you, Hixon, and you’ll wanna take it,” she said with urgency.

  He unhooked his ankles and straightened, turning toward the phone. “Send it through.” He heard a click and said, “This is Sheriff Drake.”