Free Liberating Lacey by Anne Calhoun Page A

“I partied as much as I studied.”
    “The opportunities were there, but Davis was a scholarship student and very ambitious. I’m—” She stopped as the waitress left two red plastic glasses filled with soda and ice, then back at into his eyes, unable to stop the embarrassed smile crossing her face. “After college we married immediately and I was working sixty, sometimes seventy hours a week for Western States Bank.”
    He studied her. “You don’t seem like you’d have to take a job where you work that much.”
    He’d been right about her attitude at Buff and he was right about whether or not she needed to work. But the pastimes chosen by most of her peers—decorating and charity fundraising—held no interest for her when compared to the thrill of the hunt and the visceral satisfaction of a long-fought, hard-won deal.
    “I like to work,” she said, then reached across the table for one of his large hands, determined to change the subject. Her hands spanned an octave at the piano but seemed tiny in comparison to his long fingers and broad, callused palms. She turned one hand over so it rested palm-down in hers, then traced the assortment of fresh scabs and bruises that covered the knuckles and the back of his hand.
    “I didn’t notice these earlier.” Because thirty seconds after you walked in my door you had your hands up my skirt. “Is this what happens when you can’t concentrate?” His eyes met hers, completely bland. “It’s what happens when a meth addict takes off after a traffic stop.”
    She cocked her head and looked at him, intrigued by the change in his demeanor.
    Just like that, he’d gone from reserved but relaxed to humming with energy and about two sizes bigger than he was before. “There’s more to that story.” 42

    Liberating Lacey
    “I pulled him over for expired plates and saw drugs and paraphernalia in the passenger seat. He took off when I ordered him out of the car. Me and six other officers ended up searching the gully on the east side of Memorial Park in the dark. We called in the chopper to find him with FLIR, the infrared cameras. He put up a fight when we found him. The bushes weren’t real friendly, either.”
    “I’d hate to see what he looks like,” she said, gently rubbing the skin around the scabs.
    “Not too bad. It was Tase him or hurt him pretty bad to get him cuffed. I Tased him.
    People high on meth feel no pain, don’t care if they live or die, or if you live or die.” He looked at her, his eyes gone forest green, and something very, very feminine submerged inside her surged to life. “Gonna kiss my boo-boos and make ‘em all better?”
    “I’ll kiss something that will make you forget the pain,” she said. “But not your boo-boos.”
    His fingers closed tight around hers, but they broke apart when the gum-smacking waitress thumped two taco platters and sodas in cans down on the table. Saliva filled Lacey’s mouth as she surveyed the assortment of hard- and soft-shell tacos.
    “I’m starving,” she said as she reached for a hard-shell taco and the side of guacamole.
    The food was good, filling, well seasoned and unpretentious. She sat cross legged on the booth seat and ate taco after taco, eventually disdaining the flimsy paper napkins for licking her fingers as Hunter gave her short answers to her questions about his job.
    The sun set, the street lights came on, the waitress changed the television channel to a soccer game. Traffic outside picked up as teenagers began cruising and the families left to put kids to bed. Lacey drank another Diet Coke and didn’t miss how effectively and persistently Hunter deflected attention back to her.
    “What exactly is a commercial mortgage broker? Is it like a real estate agent?” The question was casually framed in the context of their conversation when she brought up the available building across the street.
    “I help buyers arrange financing on large-scale projects,” she said. “Basically, if you