Free Texas! Lucky by Sandra Brown

call Sheriff Bush right now," she said suddenly, turning toward the phone. Lucky's arm shot out. He caught her hand.
    "I can't let you do it, Susan."
    Her bright smile dimmed. "Why not?"
    "You could get in a lot of trouble by lying to federal investigators. I can't let you do that for me."
    "I want to."
    "And I appreciate it," he said with what he hoped sounded like sincerity. He could see, however, that she wasn't convinced. "Let me think about it. You know, Susan, perjury is a serious offense. I need to think it through before letting you do it."
    Her smile returned, but there was a definite edge to her voice when she said, "Don't mull it over too long. I'm not sure how long my offer will stand."
    What a conniving little bitch, he thought. Forcing himself to smile, he said, "You're something, you know that? When I first met you, I had no idea there was so much complexity beneath the surface."
    "Whatever I want I go after. It's as simple as that."
    God help the man she got her hooks into. Lucky silently vowed then and there that it wasn't going to be him. "Well, I've got a lot of thinking to do, Susan, so I'd better be going."
    "Must you?" she whined.
    "I must."
    "Take this with you." She looped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and ground a wet, suggestive kiss upon his mouth. When she eventually pulled back, she whispered, "Maybe that'll make you think twice before going to another woman."
    Lucky endured the kiss because he recognized the difference between feminine wiles and real treachery. Susan Young exercised the latter. She would resort even to blackmail to get him to marry her.
    As he went down her front walk, having made good a temporary escape, he wiped the remains of her kiss off his lips with the back of his hand.
    It hadn't repelled him. It certainly hadn't stirred his ardor. It had left him feeling totally indifferent to it, something that hadn't happened since he first discovered kissing under the tutelage of the preacher's daughter behind the choir loft of the First Baptist Church during vacation Bible school. Between that first titillating mouth-to-mouth experimentation and Susan's ardent kiss, what had happened to immunize him against the effects?
    A taste of Dovey, that's what.
    * * *
    The bartender groaned when he looked up and saw Lucky straddling one of the barstools. "I'd just as soon you take your business somewhere else tonight, Lucky, and give the place a rest."
    "Shut up and draw me a beer. I'm not looking for trouble."
    "As I recall," the bartender drawled, "that's what you said yesterday." He slid the beer in front of his customer.
    Lucky sipped. "I'm in a jam."
    "So I hear. It's all over town that you need an alibi for last night."
    "Jeez, the grapevine around here is faster and more accurate than a fax machine."
    The bartender's face split into a wide grin. "If you don't like the gossip, you shouldn't keep such a—what do they call it?—a high profile. Plain folks are fascinated by the activities of local celebrities."
    Lucky cursed and took another sip of his drink. "You remember anything about that woman?"
    "Not as much as you do, I'd bet," he chortled. His sappy grin faded beneath Lucky's warning glare. "Uh, well, let's see, natural redhead, wasn't she? And I don't mean anything lewd about that," he added hastily.
    "Dark auburn hair, yeah."
    "'Bout so tall." He marked a spot near his shoulder, holding his hand parallel to the ground.
    "I don't need a physical description," Lucky said impatiently. "Do you remember anything significant about her?"
    "Significant?"
    "Did you see her pull into the parking lot?"
    The bartender searched his memory. "I think so. Came from the south, I believe."
    "The south." Lucky assimilated that. "If you saw which direction she came from, you must've noticed her car."
    "Sure did."
    "What kind was it?"
    "Red," he announced proudly, glad to be of service.
    "I know it was red," Lucky growled. "But what kind?"
    "Foreign, I think."
    "Make?" The bartender