Falling Hard and Fast by Kylie Brant

then?”
    His voice noncommittal, Cage replied, “We’re following up on some leads.”
    â€œMy office is at your disposal. Anything you need help with, just let me know.”
    The offer was perfunctory, and both men realized it. “I appreciate it. Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”
    Civilities over, Runnels added, “Of course, with only two officers, I don’t have the manpower to offer you much assistance in the actual investigation.”
    â€œI think my men can handle the job. Thanks for the offer.” Cage stood, in an effort to hasten the man on his way. Runnels peered over his shoulder at the open file on his desk.
    â€œPretty grisly stuff.” His gaze met Cage’s. “I expect the man who found the killer would be something of a hero in these parts.”
    With great care, Cage replaced the cigar in his pocket and wished unwelcome memories could be tucked away as easily. Hero. It was a term society used too freely, applied too generously. It seemed ironic to herald as a hero a man who did nothing more than react to a crime. And when that reaction came a split second too late, the word could ring with its own resounding mockery.
    â€œIt’s been my experience, Boyd, that when these things are over, the only heroes are the survivors.”
    Â 
    Two hours later Cage’s car was crawling down the road to his house. Despite the long days and sleepless nights he’d had recently, the peace of his home failed to beckon. Usually he looked forward to his evening routine of warming up the meal Ila—the housekeeper for as long as he could remember—had prepared and relaxing after dinner for a much-deserved nap in the hammock. He’d always done his best thinking sprawled out in that hammock strung between two giant cypress trees. A little relaxation with an icy beer in his hand and a hat tipped over his eyes did wonders for a man’s ability to reflect. That the image failed to tempt him now was serious indeed.
    He laid the blame for that firmly on Zoey’s creamy white shoulders. Never before had he allowed the pesky thought of a woman to worm its way into his mind and make it churn in a way that was downright exhausting. Sexual attraction was pleasant and uncomplicated. It didn’t cause the brain to fog and the senses to slow. At least, he thought with a hint of a scowl, it never had before.
    On impulse, he eased the car off the road and up a badly rutted lane lined with overgrown grass and brush. The house that sat in the clearing had probably known paint once. There was still evidence of the original white coat clinging to cracks and hollows in its siding. But Cage didn’t remember a time when the McIntire house had looked other than it did right now—like a structure doing a gradual slide into complete deterioration.
    The porch still listed badly to one side. But the corner post that had been missing for decades had been replacedrecently, and judging by the neat pile of lumber on the ground, it looked as though the steps were the next to be repaired. Cage took the improvements as a positive sign. Billy must be going through a good spell.
    As he was getting out of the car, the front door opened. Billy McIntire stared silently at him for several moments. Cage crossed his arms on top of the open car door and greeted him.
    â€œHey, Billy.” He nodded at the porch. “Looks like you’ve been keeping busy lately. Hot work in this weather.”
    â€œSheriff.” The big man lumbered down the sagging steps and stopped just shy of the car. Billy had to be close to Boyd Runnels’s age. They’d gone off to fight in the same southeast Asian jungles within five years of each other, but it was the way they’d come home that had differed. There had been no medals pinned to Billy’s chest, no tales of glory surrounding his return; just a quiet discharge for a young man deemed unfit for duty, a man whose mind had