Free Mosquito Chase by Jaycee Ford Page A

“I don’t know, Caleb. Can’t I just leave and go to Hickory or Asheville or something?”
    “No. That’s not an option.” I closed the distance between us and fisted my hands, willing myself not to pull her into my arms. There wasn’t much I could fight anymore.
    Perhaps it was the living arrangement or that whatever was building between us was becoming too great to ignore, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded and sighed. “Fine, but I swear to God if you leave me alone with that girl, I will hurt you.”
    I couldn’t hide the smirk. The thought of being in a position where she could hurt me was appealing.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    She stared up at me. Thoughts of running my thumb across that pouty lip paralyzed me. As I stared back at her, unwilling to blink first, I suddenly realized what she was doing to me. She was making me fall in love with her.
    “Be careful today,” I whispered, breaking the longing silence between us.
    She playfully rolled her eyes, giving me the brush off. I reached out and gently brushed her bangs back, tucking them behind her ear. Wide-eyed, she slipped quietly into my arms as I pulled her to me and brushed my lips against her forehead. Her breath grazed my neck, her pulse rising as her hand pressed into my chest, not to push me away, but to touch.
    “You be careful. You’re the one with the gun.”
    I pulled my lips away from her skin and smiled. “I’m well trained on how to handle these types of things, Angie.”
    I released her and headed for the door. I glanced back at her before I exited and caught her eyes watching me from over her shoulder. I locked the door behind me and shook my head as I headed to my cruiser. Whatever my heart was going through, I couldn’t stop it.
    • • •
    The dark clouds gathered across the foothills. Parker and I drove to the outskirts of town, toward Sigmon Road. We didn’t know for sure what we’d find up at the old farmhouse, but we knew we wouldn’t find the owner. He stayed in Raleigh permanently after his son went to jail for operating a meth lab in the basement. We’d made the bust only a few days before Angie arrived on my doorstep, and everything seemed pretty quiet until Parker noticed some suspicious traffic out here.
    “So, Eric Sigmon lived here with his friend Miguel Santos,” Parker said as he looked at the file for the hundredth time.
    “I’m not familiar with anyone by the name of Santos.”
    “He’s not from the U.S. He’s from Mexicali.”
    My foot eased off the gas pedal. “Mexico?”
    “So, you did pay attention in Geography,” Parker joked, always the asshole.
    I shook my head, avoiding the jab. “What are we dealing with here?”
    “I don’t know, Caleb. I’ve got a weird feeling about this one.” He closed the file and stared out of the passenger window.
    My thoughts went back to Angie. Not the normal thoughts of her smile and her hair, though. She showed up on my doorstep out of nowhere, and now there was some weird activity up at the old farmhouse, not to mention Parker’s weird feelings about a drug case that should have been closed already. If her story was true and there were drug dealers chasing her … God, please let this be a coincidence.
    I pulled off the highway onto a dirt road that cut through trees and brush before spilling out onto Sigmon Road. The backside of the old farmhouse came into view. Its exterior needed a paint job, but it stood as solid and erect as it had been back in the early 1920s when it was built. A Sigmon had always owned the land. All of them, including current owner Roger Sigmon, had been a family of pompous asses. Roger became a businessman straight out of college and moved away from Olde Town. My father knew him in high school. Sherriff Harmon had known him too. I couldn’t speak about the feelings of the current sheriff, but the old one hadn’t liked Roger Sigmon much. I trusted my father’s instincts here. I didn’t know Eric Sigmon growing up. He lived with