Don't Mess With Texas Read Online Free PDF Page A

minutes.”
    “Freaking fabulous,” Dallas said. “Is she willing to go to the police?”
    “Said she was. I got her info. We’re getting this kid off. Damn, that feels good.”
    “Hell, yeah.” Victory stirred in Dallas’s chest. Deep down, he knew this wouldn’t completely prove Nance innocent. The DA would argue the kid had time to getfrom the store to the park, but it would give his lawyer something to work with.
    An ambulance pulled into the parking lot, sirens roaring. Obviously, someone hadn’t explained that the situation wasn’t urgent.
    “Where are you?” Austin asked.
    “Would you believe a murder scene?” Dallas gazed back at the blonde.
    “That’s one way to round up business.” Austin laughed. “Who’s dead and who’s being unjustly accused?”
    The realization hit his conscience and went south, and Dallas felt as if it made a direct thump on his balls. He was doing to Blondie what everyone had done to Nance. What everyone had done to him. Hell, he’d even bet a twenty on her guilt.
    “Damn,” he muttered.
    “What?” Austin asked.
    “Gotta go.” Dallas disconnected. He turned around to see Tony talking to the woman. She’d stood up and had her arms wrapped around her middle as if she was about to fall apart. Maybe it was because she’d killed her husband—maybe it was because she was being accused of a crime she didn’t commit.
    “Oh God.” The blonde swung away from his brother.
    Tony moved in front of her. “I asked you a question.”
    Blondie sprinted five steps, and ran smack-dab into Dallas’s chest. When she bounced back a few inches, he grabbed her arms to steady her.
    Her tear-filled baby blues met his gaze and, for some crazy reason, all Dallas could think about was how soft her skin was under his palms. They stared at each other, one, two seconds.
    “You okay?” he asked, reading all sorts of panic in her expression.
    “No.” She shook her head and her curls bounced around her face. Then she doubled over and puked all over Dallas’s shoes.
    Stunned, he stared at his Reeboks and, before he came to his senses enough to move, she puked again—making a direct hit in the middle of his chest.

 
    A WHILE LATER , Nikki lay back on the hospital bed and stared at the IV pumping fluids and meds into her veins. Her mind reeled. She glanced around for her purse, wanting to call Ellen, needing a bit of moral support. Then she looked at the clock. Ellen had already closed shop. Gone to teach her yoga class.
    Gone. Gone
. The word stuck in her head.
    Jack was gone. Jack was dead. The image of his body being pulled out of her trunk flashed in her head. She remembered the blood and her stomach roiled.
    She was probably going to have to get new carpet laid in the trunk of her car. When she’d first spotted Jack curled up in her trunk, she’d missed the blood. But when the coroner had gotten Jack’s body out…
    The image flashed again. Her stomach threatened to revolt. Not that it had anything left to revolt with.
    The two-hundred-dollar dinner was long gone. She was down to dry heaves and felt certain she’d blown a lung in the process.
    Jack was dead
.
    Now she wasn’t sure if it was panic making her sick, or Venny’s chicken marsala.
    Finding out meant her overdrawn account now topped the thousand-dollar-mark. Yeah, she’d opted for the high-deductible insurance. Nikki seldom ever got sick. Plain and simple, she couldn’t afford to be sick.
    But she was sick now. So sick, she’d barfed all over her stomach medicine, all over her ex-husband’s body, and all over the guy she’d collided with at the parking lot. Had he been a cop or just a bystander? The question rolled through her head as another wave of nausea roiled through her stomach. Clutching the pink plastic tub the nurse had given her to use if she got sick again, Nikki fought the desire to throw up.
    She closed her eyes and could see the stranger back at the parking lot looking down at her—his blue eyes