19.

"I loved them," Shelby sighs wearily on our way home.

"They love you, too," I say with absolute conviction.

"If it bothers you to talk about it, it's okay, but I was hoping you would tell me about your brother Rutherford?"

The question hangs for a moment. I do my best to keep my voice neutral and not show how much the topic angers me. "He went to Afghanistan, did three tours. The war changed him. He had a best buddy who died over there, too. That was bad enough. Then my brother Andrew was murdered while working the border. Rutherford didn't handle it well, to say the least. He didn't make it home in time for the funeral. He showed up two months later, no longer in the Marines."

"I'm so sorry," Shelby says.

"He went to Mexico to find the men who killed Andrew. It didn't matter what we all told him. The government was doing everything they could to find and prosecute the drug cartel. He didn't call my parents for months at a time. My mother was sick with worry, my father furious. He showed up one night when we were all at my parents' and told us he was moving to Phoenix, and we needed to stop worrying about him and stay out of his business. My brother Calvin took that as a challenge and discovered everything he could about Rutherford's new life."

Fuck, it's hard to get the words out.

"It's okay, Lincoln. You don't need to tell me."

I glance at her before looking straight ahead again. "You need to know. He went to work for a crime syndicate. He's implicated in everything from running drugs to murder. We don't know why or even how he hooked up with the man he calls boss. That man now has his fingers deep in the New Mexico underworld. Rutherford, or Rack as he's known to his buddies, could be sentenced to prison for the rest of his life. It will be worse if he's taken down in Arizona. They're a death penalty state. His actions are destroying my parents."

"I'm sorry," she whispers and leans over to kiss my cheek. "Maybe one day he'll change."

That's the sunshine and roses perspective, but I don't say this. When you're into organized crime as deep as my brother, there's no getting out unless you die. Daisy whines from the back seat. It's the first time he has stirred since we left my parents' house. "It's okay, boy." He knows I'm upset. The damn dog totally has my number. I unhook my fingers from Shelby and reach back and scratch his neck. "I'm sorry the little devils weren't friendlier."

Shelby laughs. "They drove him crazy, and he has a tender nose from Chihuahua teeth."

"Those tiny suckers are vicious."

Daisy did his job and lightened the atmosphere in the truck. I'm thankful. I don't like talking about my brother.

Six months have passed since Terry's arrest. Shelby lives in my house along with many of her crazy decorations. Our place is an organized mess. Organized because I do everything I can to keep it that way and a mess because Shelby's idea of comfortable is chaos. Her free spirit works for me.

We're going out to dinner and Shelby is bitching because she can't find her purple scarf to accent her yellow skirt.

"I know, boy," I tell Daisy with a nice pat on his head. "Your mom is bonkers, but we love her anyway."

Daisy whines, which is his way of agreeing.

"Found it," she yells from the back of the house. She comes out with the scarf around her head. The long tails of material hang to her waist. Her curly hair is barely controlled. She's beautiful. I peer downward and see ballerina slippers covering her feet.

I'm in dark slacks and a pale green dress shirt minus a tie. It's a little on the fancy side for me when I'm off work and heading out with Shelby. The slight bulge in my pocket causes an insecure feeling in the pit of my stomach. For most women, a high-end restaurant would be the place you ask the most important question of your life. I knew it wouldn't work for Shelby. I've made reservations at an out of the way micro-brewery she's wanted to try.

Over beer, after we've eaten our dinner, I take Shelby's hand across the small table. "I love you," I tell her simply. I haven't said the words before, though I've wanted to each and every day. Her answering smile gives me courage. "When you're ready, I would like to marry you." Probably not the most eloquent way to phrase it.

Her eyes drop to our hands. When she lifts them, I see her tears. "I love you, too," she whispers. I remove the ring box from my pocket and lay it on the table. She looks back and forth between me and the small black box.

"Open it," I coax.

She releases my hand and shakily picks up the box. I hold my breath when she lifts the top. Her smile is worth the wait. I had the ring designed in the Black Hills of South Dakota, the only place you can get the unique jewelry. It's not your typical engagement ring, but it's purely Shelby. The grape leaves twine throughout the band and meet at the top. The gold, pink, and green of the ring signify the authenticity of Black Hills Gold. I didn't include the wedding band that fits snugly to this band and completes the ring. I'm saving it.

"When you're ready," I say again.

More tears run down her cheeks, and she doesn't bother wiping them away. "I'm more than ready."

The pounding of my heart doubles. I reach over and lift the ring from the box and slip it on her finger. She runs a finger from her other hand over the design. "It's perfect," she whispers. "Absolutely perfect."

I pull out my wallet and toss a few bills on the table. I take her hand and pull her up. "Let's get out of here," I say with a soft smile.

She laughs, grabs the small black box, and we walk out. I want her at home, in my bed, and crying out my name.

"It really is beautiful," she repeats in the truck.

"I wanted something you would wear with all your crazy clothes."

"You love my crazy clothes," she says with a laugh.

"I love you naked more."

Her hand goes to the bulge in my pants and she runs her fingers over the material. I should have asked her at home so we didn't have the long drive to find privacy. I groan in surprise when Shelby unhooks her seat belt and unzips my pants. I start to say no, but she moves over me too quickly, and the last word I'll ever say when her mouth is on my dick is "No." I concentrate on driving. It's not easy.

"Can you handle this, big boy?" Her hot breath hits my cock before her warm tongue slides around the head again.

"Not fucking easily, but I'll survive."

She chuckles and takes me fully in her mouth. No. Can. Do. I see a small dirt road off the edge of the highway up ahead. I slow, put on my blinker, and make the turn. My truck takes the dirt easily and we end at a large metal cattle gate. I turn off the headlights, shut off the engine, and slide one hand into Shelby's hair. The headband slides off with a little help and my fingers sink into her hair while my other hand grips the steering wheel.

She peers up at me and I can just make out her swollen lips. I place my hands beneath her arms and lift her so her back presses against the seat. She lifts her hips and I push her skirt up. "No fucking panties, you dirty, dirty girl."

"I thought it would go to waste."

"Never." I do a wiggling act that would make a contortionist proud and manage to push my pants and boxers halfway down my legs. I slip my fingers along her thighs until I find what I'm seeking. She's wet and ready. I ease over her and thrust my hips to slide into her tight heat. We stopped using condoms a week ago. Shelby's on the pill and we're both clear of STDs.

"I love you," she sighs.

I'll never get tired of hearing it, and I'll never be tired of making love to her. Shelby is my unconventional soul mate.

I know the contoured seats must be uncomfortable for her, but she doesn't complain. She goes off in a matter of minutes, and as soon as she does, it takes two more thrusts for me to join her. We've barely caught our breath when headlights shine in the back window. "Fuck," I say when the red and blues give a short flash.

Shelby starts laughing. This could go very bad. I do another contortion act and pull my pants up. Shelby is doing everything she can to squelch her laughter and is failing miserably. I power my window down as the flashlight comes closer and approaches my side. The bright light hits my eyes and I squint.

"A little old for this don't you think, Detective Street?"

I knew whoever pulled up would run my plate. Shelby's arm shoots across in front of me and she flashes her new ring at the officer. "You're never too old for a little whoopee in the car when you get engaged."

I thought, maybe, I could get away with telling the officer we were having a make-out session.

The officer's laughter fills the cab of the truck. "Congratulations, Street," he says. "I'll let you get back to the whoopee." With that, his flashlight turns away and he walks back to his car. I hear him laughing until the car door slams.

"That was very gentlemanly of him," is Shelby's opinion.

I don't tell her the entire police department will know about this. Really, I don't care. The woman I love has agreed to marry me. It's a night to celebrate.

20.

Shelby wants to wait a year to marry me. I chip it down to six months. We both want children after she graduates from law school. She was months away from her master's when she decided to quit school the first time. The University of New Mexico accepted her into their law program, and she'll graduate in three years. She's still volunteering for HHW. We made a deal that if she feels the need to hit the streets at night, I'll accompany her.

I'm working another homicide case and have been exhausted for the past two weeks. Shelby keeps me fed and I try hard to get home at a decent hour. Tonight I fell asleep on the couch and Shelby's soft kiss on my cheek wakes me.

"Come on, sleepyhead," she says with a tug on my hand.

I follow her and shed my clothes when we're in the bedroom. She folds them neatly and then tosses hers to the floor. We complement each other. I pull her into my arms and close my eyes. I have no idea how long I've been asleep when my cell rings. I reach over Shelby and grab it.

"Linc?"

I instantly recognize the voice. It's my brother Rutherford. "Yes," is all I can answer because so many emotions are running through me.

"I need your help. Before you turn me down, I have a woman with me. We're in trouble."

Fuck and double fuck. "What do you need?"

"A safe place to stay for a few days." His voice is so damn stiff. No plea, just stating facts.

"Can you get yourself here?" I had just bought this place when he took off.

"Yes, two hours." The line goes dead.

I'm sitting up. I move the phone from my ear and stare at it.

"Is everyone okay?" Shelby asks sleepily.

"I'm not sure. That was my brother Rutherford. He asked to stay here."

"My place is available for as long as he needs."

Another reason to love this woman. I rest my phone on the nightstand and pull her into my arms. I'll kill my brother if he endangers Shelby. Fuck, I'll probably kill him within ten seconds of seeing him.

In my entire adult life, Rutherford has never asked anything from me.

He's with a woman, and that surprises the hell out of me. My number one priority is keeping Shelby safe. If Rutherford fucks that up, there'll be hell to pay.

About the Author.

Holly S. Roberts is a retired homicide and sex crimes detective who loves long walks on the beach and sweet music. Not really... she hikes mountains with her Rottweiler and listens to hard rock with heavy bass and bad words. She's the USA TODAY Best-Selling author of the Completion, Club El Diablo, and Hotter Than Hell series. If a book doesn't have enticing romance, steamy sex, and hot alpha men, she doesn't read or write it.

Also by Holly S. Roberts.

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