Free Bringing Delaney Home (Cates Brothers #1) by Lee Kilraine Page A

the back of her head.
    “Feel what?” Yep, she was the Bruce Lee of denial.
    “This.” He kissed her. His firm lips and stroking tongue stole her every thought from her head. Her head must have exchanged oxygen for helium because it was about to float up into the clouds far, far above her.
    He ended the kiss abruptly, pulling back a step, his breath uneven as it struggled in and out of his lungs. Just like hers.
    She stiffened her spine and drew herself away and inward, a solitary island with a sole survivor.
    “Fair warning, I aim to wear you down like the water shaped those rocks down below. I’ll keep flowing around you, smoothing out the sharp angles, and wear away your resistance. Now, no more fishing off the bridge, because I have a fantasy with you and a pair of handcuffs, but it’s not that.”
    His gaze raked over her, leaving a trail of goose bumps and a serious case of oxygen deprivation. Then he walked to his police car and drove away as if he hadn’t just knocked a fissure in her well-constructed wall of defense. How did he do that? Quinn might think she was trouble, but she knew he was a sure heartache.
    She couldn’t afford to open her heart to his words. She’d been broken for many years, but avoiding expectations and commitments kept some of the pain at bay. He was going to drive her crazy with his plan, but she had a plan too. She just had to stick to it, because her plan to get back to D.C. as fast as possible might just be the only way to save her sanity.

Chapter Eight
    I t was ten o’clock on a Friday night, which meant it was time to brew a fresh pot of coffee at the Climax Police Department. Quinn always tried to get the coffee started before Hawk, since Hawk liked his coffee so strong it tasted like it had been brewed by some process involving a nuclear meltdown. He dumped the scoops of coffee grounds in the basket and then poured the water quick since he heard Hawk’s whistle working its way down the hall. Once the switch was flipped, he stepped back and relaxed, knowing his stomach would live another night.
    Hawk walked in the break room and strode immediately over to the coffee station. “All right, who made the coffee already? Y’all know I’ve got a special way of making it.” He turned, looking at the other cops in the room before turning accusing eyes on Quinn.
    “Your coffee has a special way of eating through the lining of my stomach.”
    “Well, maybe, but it keeps you awake, doesn’t it?”
    “That I can’t deny. But it’s Friday night. We’ll be awake and busy long into the night.” Quinn pulled two Styrofoam cups off the stack. He poured a cup, handed it to Hawk, and cringed visibly at the four teaspoons of sugar and powdered creamer he dumped in. It wasn’t the best coffee to begin with, but the man managed to turn it into toxic sludge.
    Hawk shook his head. “Yeah, awake, busy, and bored. They’re doing the same crap we did ten years ago. Hell, can’t teenagers think of anything new these days?”
    “Apparently not. Because, like clockwork, one of poor old Mr. McClatchy’s cows will get tipped, and an illegal bonfire will burn in the woods next to Webster’s abandoned barn, where the moonshine and alcohol will flow like sweet tea on a hot day. Any teenager who evades us during all that will then converge up on Copper Lake for a mini-Woodstock love fest, only without the LSD and with a lot more pickup trucks.”
    Hawk grinned at him. “Yup, same stuff we did, and your brothers before that. I’d just appreciate something different for a change.”
    “I’ll grant you it can get boring, but I’ll take our small-town Friday night over the shootings, drug busts, and gang activity over in Greensboro and Raleigh.”
    “Good point.” Hawk didn’t look any happier.
    “The task forces we share with them twice a year are a kick-ass adrenaline rush, but I’m happy to come back to our sleepy little town.” He didn’t hate working Friday nights, but he had to