Dallas Fire & Rescue: Relentlessly Mine (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Base Branch Series Book 11) Read online

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Paige Tyler. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Dallas Fire & Rescue remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Paige Tyler, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Relentlessly Mine

  Megan Mitcham

  Contents

  PRAISE FOR THE BASE BRACH SERIES

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Copyright Warning

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published by MM Publishing LLC

  Edited by Jenny Sims

  Proofread by Tina Rucci & Lynn Mullan

  Cover Design by RBA Designs

  Relentlessly Mine

  All Rights Are Reserved. Copyright 2017 by Megan Mitcham

  First electronic publication: May 2017

  PRAISE FOR THE BASE BRACH SERIES

  “Megan Mitcham's books are well-paced, well-plotted suspense novels edged with stunning sensual intensity. Her lovers are cold and deadly--except when they are skin-to-skin. I can't wait for the next book in the series!”

  - DELILAH DEVLIN

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

  "A true gift from an exceptional storyteller.."

  - CRISTIN HARBER

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

  “Megan now joins my elite team of must read authors. I fell in love with her work in Enemy Mine, and it just gets better the more I read."

  - TNT Reviews

  To Paige Tyler,

  Relentlessly Mine came to life in the strife of opposing small-town families and the unrequited love between their households. My characters—Gannon and Margo—spend time with Jax, Skye, Dane, and Lexi, struggle to save the innocent, and right the wrongs of their past and present. Thank you for inviting my Base Branch Special Forces hero into your steamy world of brave men and women.

  As a child, I was told never to play with fire or covet others’ toys, but it sure was fun! You rock!

  Sincerely,

  Megan

  1

  “Don’t even think about snooping around.” The cracked-pavement face of the detective had changed into the smooth, pink cheeks of a new recruit. Too bad the same eat-shit-and-die attitude remained pointed firmly in Gannon’s direction.

  Ah, coming home. Good to know some things never changed.

  Gannon hiked his brows but stilled his gaze from roaming to the ceiling tile he’d used to escape all those years ago. He took a seat at the table in the center of the brightly lit room and folded his hands on the cold metal.

  “Detective…” Sitting, Gannon took the opportunity to eye the rafters and briefly relive the time he’d scuttled through and dropped into the old hack’s office to find out what the small-towner had on him. “What was your name?”

  The short, stocky man grabbed the butt of his gun and puffed his bench-press-formed chest and the beginnings of his late-night beer belly. “Detective Sweeney. Sawyer retired more than five years ago, but don’t think I haven’t heard stories about you, Gannon Lee.”

  “You haven't heard anything about me, Detective.” Gannon let his quiet baritone work in the naked room. “Not in ten years.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sweeney jutted the chin Gannon would sock him on before all this was said and done.

  He stared at the sheen of sweat blooming above the lawman’s eyebrows. Gannon had changed, but the backwoods, small-minded folks of Combine, Texas, wouldn’t see past his name. Not ever.

  “Detective Sweeney, good afternoon to you, son.” Elvin Pate’s rich boom squeezed past the detective. Tension permeated the room. How many times had he heard that distinctive voice at this stage in the game? More than his mother’s, he expected.

  A twinge of uncertainty fired icy impulses from every synapse along his spinal cord. So much for training and maturity. They needed to get this show on the fucking road so he could put the past where it belonged … about a million clicks back on his six.

  Sweeney turned and greeted the largest black man Gannon had ever seen with a curt nod and swift shift, allowing Elvin to squeeze himself through the doorway and into the tiny room. Gray had overtaken his sideburns and crept its way toward the crown of his head almost as aggressively as his belly peeked out between the button holes of his shirt. He still had his signature pink bowtie. He’d worn it since before pink was a fashionable color for guys to wear as long as it was called salmon.

  “Be still my beating heart!” Elvin grabbed his chest with one hand while the other chucked a massive briefcase onto the table. It boomed throughout the tiny station.

  “The last thing you need is a still heart.” Gannon stood and stepped around the table. “Christ, El. Lay off Layla’s pies. They’re walking you into an early grave.”

  Elvin drew up short. His many jowls cascaded toward the ground. He gasped, nearly sucking the air from Sweeney’s lungs. Behind Elvin, Sweeney turned a quarter stance and maintained a sure grip on his sidearm.

  “But they’re so good,” Elvin barked in laughter. “Come here, kid.” The only person in a fifty-mile radius on Gannon’s side threw his arms wide.

  In opposition to every reserved, over-cautious bone in his body, Gannon tackled the big fella in a bear hug and held on a few seconds too long. Ridiculous as it seemed, Elvin Pate’s soft heat chased away the doubt that’d crept into his psyche from being in this insidious place. Combine. Shit. He’d rather be in jail than back ‘home.’

  “Sweeney, be kind and bring two coffees back along with my client, Mr. Griffin Lee.” The door slammed. Elvin whispered, “If he brings coffee, don’t drink it. It’ll piss him off even more.”

  Gannon gave him one last squeeze and released his unlikely friend.

  “Woo-we!” Elvin held his shoulders and only let him retreat to arm's length. “You were a looker before, but now … You are a full-blown man with all the muscles of one of those cage fighters. I might prefer you did that.” Thick black lips squished into a massive pucker, and he shook his head. “Layla’s going to have to beat the ladies away with the broom.”

  “Won’t be here long, El.”

  “Shoot. Nothing to run away from now. You’re an upstanding citizen. Hell, a real American hero. And we’re getting your brother situated.”

  “Oh, ye
ah?” He let his gaze roam around the interrogation room.

  “Look, now. You’ve been gone for a while. Things are changing. You know—”

  “How’s Miss Layla these days?” Gannon asked, Hail Mary-ing the attention off himself.

  Elvin eyed him but then harrumphed. “That woman? Still refusing to marry me.”

  “She’s still baking you pies every day?”

  “That she is.” Elvin released Gannon and batted two hands on his round belly. “That she is.”

  “You could refuse her pie like she refuses your proposals.” Gannon pulled out a chair for his friend and took his across the table.

  “I could, but what’s the fun in that?”

  “I hear you.” He chuckled.

  “Do you?” Elvin’s laughter died. “I suppose if anyone knows what it’s like to yearn for someone for twenty years, you’re the one.”

  The smile fell off Gannon’s face, a casualty of friendly fire. All the warmth fled his chest, and in its place opened the gaping wound he’d been worrying for so long it would never heal. The skin around it had grown thin like that of a diabetic’s. The cells themselves had given up hope.

  “She asks about you.” Elvin pressed his fingers into the gaping flesh.

  “Don’t.”

  His friend’s meaty hands flipped up in surrender, but he drew a deep breath.

  For the love of all that was holy. His friend was about to wade into dangerous territory for them both.

  “I wish you’d see what you’ve become. You should be proud, kid.”

  Gannon shoved away the stupid hope trying to take root inside him. The door handle twitched, twisted, and opened. His brother stood in cuffs under the thumb of the latest Combine Police Detective. He waited for Elvin’s gaze to find his. “I see what I am. This town never will.”

  “I’d like to go back to the holding cell now.” Griffin jerked back toward the hallway, but Sweeney’s grip on his arm kept his brother from getting far.

  “Get your ass in here, Griffin Lee.” Elvin stood and stabbed a finger at the chair where he’d been sitting.

  Sweeney shoved him into the room and toward the chair. “I’ve fucking got it.” Griffin wrenched free and slumped himself in the seat. “You can leave now.”

  “I’m not going far,” Sweeney retorted as though Griffin had meant the jab for him. Gannon knew his brother directed it at his only blood relation inside the suffocating room. Grif glared. For a moment, it was like staring into a mirror. The accusing and guilty blue eyes looked so much like his own. That’s where their similarities started and ended. His older brother by two years was light in complexion, hair color, bone structure, and giving a fuck.

  “Good luck getting him out of this one, Pate.” The detective stepped out of the room but leaned back inside. “If you don’t, you’ll be out of work for a long while. We don’t play around with arsonists.”

  Kaboom! Was it the door slamming shut or the word arson that echoed as loudly as a grenade blast inside the cramped space? Screw calm. Gannon straightened and pounded his fists on the metal, joining in the ruckus. “Jesus Christ, Griffin. I thought you’d turned a corner.”

  “Fuck you, Gannon. No one asked you to come.” His brother shifted his gaze to the ceiling like the brooding child he was.

  How had he been born the younger brother? He’d out matured the guy at age five. Gannon had cleaned and stored both their dishes when their mom had been at work. He’d monitored their bedtime and gotten them up and ready for school with enough time for his mom to do Grif’s homework before she dropped them off for the day.

  “Actually, I did.” Elvin waved a hand in front of Grif’s face to pull him back from the fray.

  “What the hell for?” Grif snarled.

  “Someone has to pay the bill.” Gannon delivered the low blow with no remorse.

  Elvin’s nose wrinkled, but his head bobbed. “You know, you’re right.” He chuckled. When no one joined in, he stowed it. “I asked him here because, for better or worse, I’ve been your attorney for the largest part of two decades. No matter the stupid or illegal things you’ve done …” They all knew he was talking about Griffin, so Gannon kept his mouth closed. “… you’ve never lied about it. I don’t think you’d start now.”

  “You don’t think he set the fire?” Gannon eyed Elvin and then swung his gaze to Griffin. The glare he received was hot enough to melt the paint off a gun—and let him know his brother hadn’t set the fire. Or if he had, he didn’t want to get thrown in the clink because of it. It had been so long since Gannon had seen his brother. Their only dealings these days were centered around Grif’s fuck-ups, which were mostly in the past. He’d thought the guy was making good on his promises, but who the hell knew.

  “Where were you when the fire was set?” Gannon demanded.

  “Don’t answer that,” Elvin instructed Grif.

  “Elvin, I like you but so help me.” Gannon placed his hands on the table. “If you want your bill paid, he’ll answer every goddamned question I ask.”

  The eyeballs he knew nearly as well as his own bounced back and forth between him and Elvin several times.

  Gannon waited him out, letting the harsh lights, his I’ll-fuck-you-up-in-a-heartbeat physique, and hauntingly hollow eyes weight the silence.

  “Shit, man.” Griffin shifted in his chair, looking for a comfortable position he wouldn’t find. “Fine.” He gave up and smacked his forearms onto the table. “I was at home.”

  That was a lie.

  A sour burn in Gannon’s throat or an ache in his gut should have followed the betrayal. Their relationship was screwed enough that he didn’t register any change after the blatant smack in the face. At least, he cared enough to hate the Novocaine state of their rapport.

  “The Foster estate is waiting for word from the arson investigator before they press charges, and the police can’t hold you any longer because they lack evidence.” Elvin flipped open his briefcase, ignorant to the bare knuckles punch he’d applied to Gannon’s forehead.

  Stars shot past Gannon’s head like they fell from the sky. That couldn’t be right. Griffin wasn’t suicidal enough to set fire to…

  “You didn’t know?” Grif’s mouth gaped. “Shit, Elvin. Did you tell him anything?”

  The two men bickered back and forth for a moment while Gannon sought footing in a world of quicksand. His chest squeezed. He struggled for breath and clarification. Surely, he’d missed a step or ten. “What do you mean the Foster estate?”

  “That’s where the fire was set,” Grif whispered. His head hung. Light strands of hair blocked parts of his sorrowful eyes. He chewed on his cheek. “It could have been any other place but there.”

  Maybe Grif wasn't as dumb as he acted sometimes. Then again, maybe he’d gotten better at screwing people over.

  Gannon rose. His chair shrieked across the concrete floor. The brunt of his knuckles found the table, and he leaned his thinly veiled rage across it. “If they don’t have evidence to hold you, then why were you brought in and held in the first place? And for your safety, brother, don’t lie to me.”

  Grif nodded, shoved the blond hair off his forehead, and met his gaze straight on. “An anonymous caller placed me at the scene.”

  This fucking, no-good town couldn’t ever let gossip sleep. Why on earth had he hoped they’d finally decided to let the dead lie?

  “Get him out of here, Elvin.” Gannon shoved off the table and rounded it before the emotions clogging his soul broke free. He’d learned to harness them over the years. He put them to work for the greater good.

  One hour in this place and everything threatened to crumble.

  “Just where are you going?” Elvin bellowed behind him.

  “Do you have to ask?” Griffin offered.

  “That’s not a good idea.” Gannon let the door close on the lawyer’s words.

  He blew past the detective behind the old desk he’d carved his initials into at age eight.

  G. D. L
.

  “Hey!” The top-ranked dick jumped.

  Through the double doors that used to weigh a thousand pounds, the waning sunlight and fresh air could have been a hailstorm and midnight skies for the effect it had.

  A thud and whoosh of the double doors sounded a few seconds after his combat boots left the sidewalk. “Stop, Gannon,” Sweeney ordered. Too bad he had shit for a commander’s voice.

  “You arresting me, Sweeney?”

  “I need to know what your intentions are in Combine,” the detective shot back.

  “No, you don’t.” Gannon depressed the unlock button for the black on black F-250 he put 1,400 miles on in the last twenty hours and climbed inside. “You just want to.” He shut out the detective’s retort, started the engine, and pulled slowly out of the parking lot of the shitty shack they called a police station.

  He put ten more miles on the machine as he rolled through town. His gaze never settled on any one thing for too long. Diner. High school. Football stadium. The touchstones for so many crap memories that weren’t worth remembering.

  When he pulled up to the wrought-iron gate with the massive F scrawled out of metal, he might as well have rammed it going a hundred miles per hour. It would have hurt less. Conditioned to endure pain beyond reason, he leaned out of the window and pressed the code he hadn’t dared try in a lifetime. The metal swung wide, shocking him more than an enemy combatant at point-blank range.

  Lacking the audacity to drive up the brick path and park between the grand door and the ornate fountain at the center of the circular drive, Gannon parked on the grass just inside the gate and walked up. He just needed to see the house, the damage, so a clandestine visit worked beautifully for him. He had zero desire to see Elise Foster and all the desire in the world to see her sister, which was why he couldn’t.

  After the last curve, the mansion of his dreams and nightmares came into view. The red brick front, rows of white columns, hell, even that fucking fountain didn’t look as regal as it had before. Before, the Foster family had been the pinnacle of the American dream while his single mother and her two bastard children had been the cautionary tale. Thank fuck he’d seen life outside the Combine city limits. Now, he had a real American dream that had nothing to do with white columns and a concrete kid with wings squirting water out of his mouth.