He lifted a hand in the air. “Don’t fuckin’ hit me with that again. Jesus. I think you fried my nipple off.”
“Answer me!”
He grabbed onto her open door and began to pull himself up.
She pressed the button again on the stun gun and jabbed it in his direction.
He let the door go and stumbled back, falling on his ass. “Christ, woman!”
“I’m calling the police.”
“The fuck you are. There’s no fuckin’ coverage out here.” He kept rubbing at this chest. “Goddamn it. I might be maimed for life.”
“Answer my question. Did Billy Warren send you?”
He got onto his knees and pushed himself to his feet, this time at a safe distance from her car. “No. Put that damn thing down.”
“Fuck you. You don’t tell me what to do. I want to know why you’re following me. Start talking or I’m going to shove this against your balls and make some fried oysters.”
His hand automatically covered his crotch and he took another step backwards, almost tripping again. He caught himself and lifted a palm out. “Christ, give me a sec to unscramble my brain.” He blew out a breath, ran both hands down his face and then stared at her. “Was comin’ to make sure you were all right since you hit a goddamn tree.”
“I hit the tree because of you!” she shouted.
“You hit the fuckin’ tree ‘cause you swerved to avoid that damn deer!” he shouted back.
“I wouldn’t have had to avoid the damn deer if you weren’t following me.”
He shook his head. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Put that thing down and I’ll explain.”
“No. I have no idea who you are and why you’re here. This is staying in my hand while you explain. Start explaining and quickly.”
Chapter Four
Deacon might have to blow his whole load right there on the side of the road. In the dark. In the woods. He would need to reveal why he was in town and who he was. He wasn’t thrilled about doing it. But if the woman who just shocked the shit out of him was R. Ackerson, then, if anyone should know the truth, it would be her.
He winced. His nipple still felt as if it was on fire.
“You live back there?” He tilted his head in the direction from where they came. He figured he’d been made when she blew right past her own driveway.
“First of all, why would I ever tell you where I live? And secondly, you’re supposed to be explaining, not asking me questions.”
“I need the answer to my question first.”
“So you can use that information against me?”
“Yeah, just like a fuckin’ lawyer does,” he muttered.
Her mouth dropped open, then it snapped shut. “How do you know who I am?”
“Just puttin’ the pieces together.”
“What pieces?” she asked, her eyes narrowed on him. He couldn’t see the color since the only light came from the interior of her fancy BMW whatever-the-fuck-it-was. But he had noticed they were green when he talked to her back at the bar.
He had plenty of time to check her out while she checked him out. In those few minutes when he stood by her table, she had assessed him thoroughly and also made a judgement about him because of his looks.
He couldn’t admit he followed her back to her office because that might shut her down before she even opened up. He had to choose his words carefully.
And stay clear of that fucking stun gun.
“If you live in that house up on that mountain, then I’m looking for the woman staying there. Reilly Porter.”
Her grip tightened on the stun gun which she still held out in front of her, probably in case he lunged at her.
He would love to lunge at her, grab that fucking thing and whip it out into the woods.
“I have no idea who that is,” she lied.
If he didn’t know better, he might believe her. But she was a lawyer and lawyers could lie their asses off and sound believable.
But then, so could he.
“She’s hidin’ out on a property owned by R. Ackerson, LLC. A company owned by you.”
She stared at him, her face a blank mask. She was checking to see how confident he was on his information.
He couldn’t be one hundred percent sure Reese Ackerson was R. Ackerson, but his gut instinct told him she was. It wasn’t a common last name, and there was no other reason to be traveling that dark, desolate mountain road late at night unless she lived on it.
“How do you know my name?”
“Bambi called it out when you walked into the bar.”
“No, my last name.”
“I asked Bambi.” If she was going to lie, so was he. Singed tit for tat.
“Before or after you approached my table?”
Fuck. “Does it matter?”
“Did you know who I was before you approached my table?” she asked in a commanding voice. Probably the same one she used in the courtroom. The “tell me the truth or else” tone. It was actually kind of hot.