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sly grin. “You look like you could use a stress reliever.”
    My eyes narrowed as my temper did an uncharacteristically slow burn. I was not going to let this asswipe get the better of me just because I missed Gunner’s teasing—and body. Jumping to my boots, I cocked a brow at him. “Shooting at you is the most fun I intend on having with you,” I gritted out and stormed past him. “Elroy, you think you can hold down the fort?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder at my partner. “And don’t forget to let Rip sleep off the booze in the drunk tank.”
    Elroy mindlessly nodded while food fell from his mouth.
    “I’m gonna head over to Abby Sims’s place early tomorrow morning to see if Mrs. Granger spilled her guts to her bowling-league partner.” I pushed open the door and added, “Will you call Clark Woodville and ask him if the Grangers’ bank account has been drained?” I tilted my head back to look at Colt. “We need to check and see if the marshal’s story adds up.”
    Elroy nodded again.
    Personally, I figured that was the best I was going to get. “Okay, then.” I stepped outside.
    Hard to believe I still had six more hours until daybreak. Tonight was starting to eat at me. If I could wrap up all the loose ends, then maybe my head might hit the pillow before the night was over. I pulled out my keys as I pounded down the sidewalk. God, I was tired, my head hurt, and I was so regretting that half a beer at Rusty’s when a hand coiled around my elbow.
    I jumped, dropping my keys, and whirled to face the man who was probably Pistol Rock Motor Lodge’s only guest. The Stetson stepped into my line of sight and then a tan hand scooped my keys up off the pavement.
    “I think you dropped something,” Colt said, tossing my keys in his hands.
    I reached for them, but he skipped backward, shaking his head.
    “Oh no you don’t, Deputy.” He shoved my keys deep into the front pocket of his jeans and pinched the brim of his hat back at me. “I think you might want to hear what I have to say.”
    I looked at him, waiting. His high-handedness reminded me too much of Gunner, and that bothered me more than a little—mostly because whenever Gunner got this way, I tended to do my best to one-up him, which frequently landed us in bed. I was good with that when it came to my Wrangler-wearing cowboy but hated the thought that Colt Larsen, a federal marshal, could make a reasonable substitute just because my lethally sinful, bad boy Texas Ranger was out of town. It was not something I liked to admit about myself—that one arrogant, barking-mad cowboy might be as good as another when it came to a certain kind of itch.
    “Why would I want to do that?” I said finally when it was clear one of us would have to give in and go first, and he clearly didn’t plan to. His grin was smug. “Because maybe I can help you solve this case.”
    The man had finally said something I wanted to hear.
    “Go on,” I said, straddling the curb. “Although I’m not sure how you plan on solving this case when our only lead is probably right now swimming across the Rio Grande.”
    “Folks have a way of talking to federal marshals.” He rocked back on his heels. “Plus, I have a feeling that you and this Sims gal aren’t exactly close.”
    I extended a hand. “Meet me at the station at ten.”
    Colt smiled and dropped my car keys into my palm. “Early risers are my kinda of women.”
    My cruiser clipped the mailbox as I drove down the gravel path leading up to my house. I watched the dead grass roll past the window and listened to the night air beat and whip against the car doors. At that moment, I was so antsy to flop back on my pillow that I had to force my eyes to stay open. I coasted to a stop out back by the shed, killed the engine, and stepped out under the humid Texas night sky.
    The storm door burst open and out strutted a pair of black cowboy boots, and then that infamous black cowboy hat filled the