Page 4 of Blade’s Edge (L.A.S.T. Defense #1)
Emi
Five-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner, my ass.
I can’t stomach another bite of the rubberized chicken, lumpy mashed potatoes, and overcooked green beans.
If I’d stayed home, I’d be in a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt with my laptop and a mess of ribs from Emmitt’s BBQ instead of here, still hungry, and in a dress that leaves very little to the imagination.
Next to me, Christy carries on a truly mind-numbing conversation with Senator Kelman’s swimsuit-model girlfriend about Austin’s chances of hosting the Miss Fifty States pageant next year.
My gaze keeps drifting to a table steps from the stage.
And two men I know I’ve met, but for the life of me, can’t place.
They’re related. Brothers, if I had to guess.
They have the same build, the same crooked smile, the same nose.
One of them is in full Ranger gear—down to the distinctive double-belt and his sidearm.
The other is in a pair of Wranglers and looks downright miserable nursing a glass of amber liquid. Where do I know him from?
A vague memory rattles around in my head. “AJ. Shut up.”
AJ? I dig into my bag for the event program and flip to the schedule for the evening.
Dinner - 6:30 p.m.
Speeches - 7:30 p.m.
Presentation of the Thomas Distinguished Service Award to Captain AJ Stone - 8:00 p.m.
Dancing - 8:30 p.m. - Midnight
AJ Stone. The name doesn’t mean anything to me, but I pull out my phone and type in AJ’s name. In seconds, I find a handful of articles about the kidnapping of Grace Stone—AJ’s wife.
Grace Stone disappeared while out for a run near Lady Bird Lake.
Her mobile phone and water bottle were found in a ditch, but there were no signs of a struggle.
A reward of $50,000 has been offered by Grace’s husband, a captain with the Department of Public Safety.
Anyone with knowledge of her whereabouts should contact the Tip Line at 888-555-1212.
The woman disappeared a few weeks before my grandmother entered hospice care. Normally, I would have covered a story like this, but I was barely functional at that point.
A second article on Grace’s disappearance includes a photo of both men at the table across from me.
Captain AJ Stone and his brother, Lieutenant Jasper Blade, leave Austin PD after the investigation into the disappearance of Captain Stone’s wife was suspended. Grace Stone has been missing for three months. There have been no leads as to her whereabouts.
Jasper Blade. Shit. Now I remember. The explosion down on Grand.
Jasper almost died. Nelson sent me to Austin General to get an interview out of the man.
But he had a broken leg, his arm in a sling, and so many cuts and bruises I hardly recognize him now.
He kicked me out of his hospital room before I could get anything out of him.
Not that I blamed him. He’d just lost two of his fellow Rangers.
I’m torn between marching right over there to apologize and making a quiet exit before he remembers who I am. If he hasn’t already.
Reporters have to push for answers. Otherwise, the news would be nothing but vague stories no one would bother watching.
In my thirteen years, I’ve made more than my fair share of people cry.
But I’ve rarely felt the level of guilt I did after trying to interview Jasper.
The sadness—and downright despair—in his eyes that day stuck with me for weeks.
I had to cover the death of his partner, the investigation, the potential connection to the Cordova Cartel.
That was the job. But every report left me with a mountain of regret and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
It didn’t go away until I did the human-interest story on the Rangers who lost their lives in the blast.
“Matt Schaffer and Jonas Urbanski were two of the bravest men I knew. Urbanski died in my arms. You want a story, Ms. Marsh? Report on them.”
“I need some air,” I say—not that Christy hears me—and beeline for the hotel lobby. It’s cooler out here, with the scent of lilies perfuming the air. The Five Points went all out for this shindig, and large vases of flowers adorn almost every horizontal surface.
Finding a quiet corner, I lean against the wall and check my email. Half a dozen news alerts on my name, some SPAM, and a message from John A. Doe with several attachments.
“Yes!” I allow myself the smallest fist pump as I scroll through the photos. Evidence of three separate bribes Eugene Fowler paid to one of Austin’s building inspectors six months ago.
God, I’d give anything to get out of here and back to my laptop to cross-check these photos with bank statements and tax records.
I could sneak out. Christy can handle this puff piece.
All she needs to do is interview a few of Austin’s local celebrities.
She’s halfway there with Senator Kelman and his girlfriend.
Surely she’ll be able to find one or two others.
I have the coat check in sight when guilt slows my steps. Dammit. I had to give her a pep talk in the ladies room five minutes after I arrived tonight. While she dry heaved over one of the sparkling toilets.
With a sigh, I turn, but my toe catches on one of those infernal plastic cord covers running across the carpet.
Off balance, I flail my arms, searching for something—anything—I can grab onto.
My fingertips graze one of the large glass tables against the wall, but it’s too far away to save me from going down.
A strong arm wraps around my waist, and I’m yanked against a hard chest. “Easy there. You okay?”
“Fine,” I manage, though my heart is thumping half out of my chest. Turning, I peer up into Jasper’s warm blue eyes. God, he smells like leather and whiskey and I want to live in the scent. “Lieutenant Blade?—”
“Not anymore.” All that warmth fades in a single blink. Jasper steadies me for another beat, his hand lingering on my hip, then takes a step back. “Watch those heels tonight, Ms. Marsh.”
He does remember me. Not fondly, though. I should walk away. Leave the man to his demons—whatever they are. But instead, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and hold on. “Wait. Please? I’d like to talk to you.”
Jasper drops his gaze to my siren red nails resting against his tanned skin. “I need a drink,” he mutters. “But no one’s stopping you from followin’ me to the bar.”
Despite his uneven gait, he strides back into the banquet hall with a purpose I never see outside of law enforcement or the military. I have to rush to keep up with him. He’s got to be at least eight inches taller than I am.
Half a dozen people line up at the cash bar. Jasper rubs his right hip in long, slow strokes, then drags his hand through his dark brown hair. Scars etch his right cheek, down his neck, and disappear under the collar of his black button-down shirt.
“Thought you were on the crime beat,”he says, his stare boring straight through me.
“I am. Mr. Blade?—”
“Get the fuck away from my brother!” AJ Stone tries to get between us, and I take two quick steps back so I don’t topple over. “Jas, you all right?”
“For fuck’s sake.” Jasper shoots his brother a look I can’t quite read. “Last time I checked, I was still a grown-ass adult. Go back to the table. They’re gonna call your name soon.”
The two brothers face off for a moment, tension drawing tight between them, before AJ shakes his head. “Fine. Don’t know why I even bother…”
Jasper’s gaze follows AJ as he stalks back to the head table. “Sorry about that. My brother has a two-by-four permanently lodged up his ass.”
I stifle my chuckle in case that big stick has something to do with his missing wife.
That’s a story I want to dig into—later.
It’d make a great human-interest piece. Might even be award worthy.
Handsome Texas Ranger tragically loses his wife, spends his nights alone, no leads, no hope of finding her…
Oh, God. Stop, Emi. You’ve caused this family enough pain.
Jasper steps closer, bringing his scent along with him, and pulling my thoughts back to the present.
My body’s reaction to him is…unexpected.
I’ve never been one to swoon. Hell, I haven’t gone on a single date in three years.
I can’t afford the distraction. My vibrator does me just fine.
But those eyes…are staring at me like he’s waiting for some sort of answer.
Shit. Two-by-four. Up the ass.
“I’ve dealt with worse,” I say, flashing Jasper one of my practiced smiles.
“He’s five minutes older than I am. When we were comin’ up together…” he shakes his head with a faraway look in his eyes, “he used to think it was his mission in life to protect me. Until I kicked his ass in one of our trainin’ courses, and he broke his arm. That put me three months ahead of him.”
“And then it was your job to protect him ?” I ask.
Jasper snorts. “Hardly. I was a fuck-up when I started out. AJ was made for this job. Probably why he’s still doin’ it.”
The guy ahead of us ambles off with his Shiner. Jasper’s hand rests lightly on the small of my back for a brief moment before he jerks his arm away.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.
“Whiskey. Neat. Make it a double. And whatever Ms. Marsh wants.”
“Club soda with lime.” I offer Jasper a small smile. “I’m technically working.”
“Here?” His sudden concern is almost comical. “You ain’t about to tell me AJ’s under investigation, are you?”
My laugh eases some of the tension currently turning his shoulders into twin slabs of granite.
“No. Nothing like that. I was one of the few reporters without an on-air segment tonight. I drew the short straw. Christy McKnight—she’s Channel 5’s style reporter—is covering this event, but it’s her first solo gig.
” I nod toward our table in the center of the room.
Thank God. She finally has her notebook out in front of her. “I’m her backup. Her mentor. Or both.”