Free Fever by Joan Swan Page A

week, and the new hair growth made his scalp itchy. “Do you argue with everyone or am I just lucky?”
    “You’re about as lucky as I am.”
    “That’s not a good sign.”
    “Tell me about it. Where did that jerk go? You said he’d be gone tomorrow morning.”
    Teague was too tired to make up a lie. “He went to get laid.”
    His statement was met with extended silence.
    “He has a girlfriend here?” she finally asked.
    “No.”
    Another silence. Then, “Why didn’t you go get laid, too?” He darted a look at her, surprised by her candidness. And irritated with the zing of heat in his groin. “Because I have more important things to take care of.”
    Her eyebrows shot up. “There’s a man on the planet who believes there is something more important than sex?”
    Teague bit the inside of his cheek to fend off the growing lust the subject brought on and pulled into the parking lot of Walmart, stopping the truck a respectable distance from the store.
    “You really did want to go to Walmart? I thought that was a code name for something.” She turned confused eyes on Teague. “This is the last place on earth I’d expect you to stop.”
    “Where would you expect me to stop?”
    “I don’t know, a liquor store, local drug dealer’s house, a McDonald’s drive-through ...”
    “I didn’t eat McDonald’s even before I went to prison.” Her lips turned, just barely. The lids of those sultry eyes lowered, almost imperceptibly. The effect was a little dreamy. Extremely sexy. “Then you’ve missed out on the best French fries on the planet. Mmm.”
    His throat squeezed. Mouth went dry. That hum nearly popped the button on his damn jeans. Fuck, he so didn’t need this. “You don’t look like you’ve ever eaten a fry in your life.”
    “I just don’t eat them all day, every day. Why are we here again?”
    Hell, if he knew. All his blood was somewhere below his belt.
    “We need supplies.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes and forced his mind clear. “I think I can get them all here.”
    “How long have you been in prison?”
    He dropped his hand, opened his eyes and stared out the windshield, half sure he’d imagined the question. But when he looked at her, she peered back with such keen interest, Teague was convinced she was waiting for an answer. In a sick way, he was glad she’d asked, because every degree of heat she’d fueled immediately chilled.
    “Too long.”
    “For what?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.” Or think about it. Or remember all the unbearable details.
    Teague pushed the driver’s door open, dropped to the ground and rounded the truck. He opened Hannah’s door and settled a serious look on her. “Here’s the deal. You stay close to me. And I mean close. If you try to get away or make any stupid move, like scream, complain, fake an injury, whatever, I’ll make sure Taz knows not only where you live, but where every member of your family lives as well.”
    He paused, waiting for that information to sink in, then put the punch behind the statement. “He murdered his baby sister for sleeping with a Mexican. He tied them both up, took them into a lettuce field, threw them into the dirt and ran them over with a discer while they were still alive. Do you know what a discer is?”
    Her big eyes glazed with shock. “I ... I don’t think I want to—”
    “It’s a tractor with a couple dozen rotary blades on the back. Each blade is the size of a semi’s tire. They’re used to till fields.”
    Hannah’s face scrunched as if she was in pain again. And he knew just how she felt. The stories Taz boasted about had caused Teague nightmares for months. But in this case, he needed to make a point, and she needed to get it.
    “They were picking up pieces of them both for weeks,” he continued. “The coroner came out to the farm with a bulk supply of evidence flags and stuck one where they found every body part—”
    “Okay.” She closed her eyes and held up her hand.