Free Justice Burning (Hellfire #2) by Elle James

department, he couldn’t help but study the make and model and commit the license plate to memory.
    Most of the vehicles in the parking lot were trucks or SUVs. The vehicle making the turn was a dark, four-door sedan, either navy blue or black. The windows were darkly tinted, disguising how many people were inside. And if that wasn’t enough to make the hairs on the back of Nash’s neck stand at attention, the vehicle moved slowly, as if the driver was looking for someone or something.
    Nash stood near a tree, outside the glow of the pale yellow light on the back porch of the saloon. He doubted the sedan’s driver had seen him, or he probably wouldn’t be casing the joint or the other trucks and SUVs in the parking lot.
    As the sedan rounded the side of the saloon aiming for the front, Nash followed the glowing brake lights.
    The sedan performed the same routine, driving the length of the parking area, turning and driving just as slowly back. Finally, the driver pulled out onto the highway and sped off.
    Armed with the license plate, Nash called in to Martha, the woman on night duty at dispatch.
    A few moments later, she called back. “The vehicle belongs to a Frances Maynard, an eighty-year-old woman living in Fort Worth.”
    Which could explain why she was driving so slowly, but not why she was in the area to begin with—unless she was looking for her husband. In which case, the car should have been in his name as well. “And it wasn’t reported stolen?”
    “No. Why do you ask?”
    “I saw it cruising around the Ugly Stick Saloon. You might have someone call Mrs. Maynard and ask her if she knows where her car is.”
    “This late at night?”
    “If it was stolen, the sooner we know, the sooner we can recover it.”
    “Will do,” Martha said and ended the call.
    With that odd feeling still prickling the skin on the back of his neck, Nash rounded to the front door and entered the saloon, his gaze going automatically to the redhead serving drinks to his brothers.
    Rider was smiling and talking to Phoebe, like he always did with the women. Normally, his flirting didn’t bother Nash. Rider fancied himself a ladies’ man. Only this time, it rubbed Nash the wrong way. Maybe his brothers were right, and he was jealous of any man flirting with Phoebe. So what? Didn’t mean he wanted her for himself. He just didn’t want anyone else to have her.
    He cursed beneath his breath and marched across the wooden dance floor to the table he’d been sharing with Beckett, Kinsey, Chance and Rider. Audrey had come to sit with them, taking the seat Nash vacated.
    When he arrived at the table, she hopped up.
    “No need to leave.” Nash genuinely enjoyed Audrey’s company, her sharp mind and business sense when it came to running the Ugly Stick Saloon. She’d helped more than her share of what he called “stray” humans get back on their feet when they hit hard times. The woman had a big heart and an open door. If someone needed something, she was there to help.
    “I have to get back to work,” Audrey insisted. “I just wanted to wish Chance a happy birthday. Sit,” she commanded. “Phoebe was about to take orders.”
    Nash sat in the chair, still warm from where Audrey had been. When he glanced up at Phoebe, her gaze met his. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it, before asking. “Can I get you anything?”
    “Long neck, Bud Light,” he said, his voice gruff, the urge to kiss that bottom lip stronger than ever before.
    Phoebe nodded, spun on her heels and hurried away.
    “Hey,” Rider said, a frown denting his brow. “She didn’t take my order.”
    “If you weren’t so busy flirting, you might have told her,” Beckett said.
    “You snooze, you lose,” Chance added with a smirk.
    Rider shrugged. “That’s okay. I need to move.” He glanced around the saloon until his gaze landed on two women sitting at a table on the opposite side of the dance floor. Clapping his hands together, Rider