Justiceman

Aspen Dove knows how to get what she wants from every man -- until she meets her match in FBI Agent Evan Blaze. While trying to get a story for a doomed newspaper about a local vigilante killer named Justiceman, Aspen becomes the target of not only the mob, but a gang of vigilante bikers with temporary pony tattoos on their cheeks, a serial killer lacking a few brain cells, and Justiceman himself.

Excerpt

I braced myself for impact in the back of the hearse, feeling as if it took forever. Once it hit the guardrail, I was shoved into the rear glass wall with a thud while the coffin pressed against my back, flattening my falsies even more. At least I had padding.

When I thought it was safe, I took mental inventory of myself. Since I was fine, I stared out the front to make sure the hearse wasn't heading over the edge past the guardrail. Steam billowed into the air in the darkness of the moonlit night, but the car remained motionless.

"All I did was crawl out of the coffin and wave," I said to no one. "What did the driver think I was, a ghost or something?" I pushed the coffin away from me and shoved it against the side wall.

The back of the hearse flew open, making me stare into the moonlit countryside. No one was there except for the barrel of a handgun appearing at the edge of the door. "If you're alive, come out with your hands up." It was a loud nervous male voice, probably the driver. Considering we were in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, on a warm June night, it had to be the driver. No one else was around or they'd probably be eaten by coyotes. I wasn't deaf, but the good-looking driver must've thought the dead couldn't hear from the way he yelled.

I moved a little bit closer to the door. "If I'm alive? What do you think?"

The driver, with the dark slightly curly hair, popped his head forward toward the open door, keeping his terrified-looking eyes on me.

I hiked up my breasts with my hands, then reached down into my size triple-D cup on the left side and removed a falsie. "I hate that part." I did the same on the right while the cutie with the gun moved in front of the open door, staring at my boobs with his mouth hanging open.

He blinked twice, probably reliving a childhood dream in his head. "You just removed—"

"Yep. Falsies. Get over it." I stuffed the pieces of covered foam into my tight shorts pocket and moved closer to him at to the back of the hearse. "I want to thank you for rescuing me." I thrust out my hand in a greeting.

The man lifted his mouth from where it had been hanging, but didn't shake my hand. As I dropped my arm in awkward embarrassment, he lowered his eyes to my breasts, to the coffin, and back to my breasts again. "Excuse me?" he said. "Rescuing you? But you weren't the dead guy in that box. Where is he?"

"I'm definitely not him." The man in front of me wasn't wearing a ring, so I shot Mr. Adorable my 'come-hither' grin in the moonlight. "He's sitting at a bus stop on the Vegas strip, waiting for a taxi. He was so tiny; it was easy to pull him out of the back of your hearse. Was he a midget or something?"

"Yes, but it's more politically correct to call them 'little people.' He worked as an actor on the strip."

"I'll make a note of the little people name." Not. I wasn't into being politically correct. "Thanks."

I crawled out of the back, standing a good ten inches shorter than the sexy man still holding the gun. I was a sucker for men with guns. Actually, I was a sucker for men, period.

As I took a breath to hike up my breasts even more, I grinned at the guy. "I pinned a note on the 'little person' so someone would send him to the home of none other than Giuseppe Pasquale."

Mr. Sexy raised his eyebrows. "The mob boss?"

I stared down at my bust line again, adjusting my top. "I hate falsies. Now the bra's too big and I might fall out." As I lifted my eyes to his grin, I winked. "Yes, the mob boss. He hired me—"

Mr. Sexy's grin morphed into a frown as he lifted his gun higher. "Hired you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I'm a cop for the Las Vegas Police Department."

I glanced toward the hearse in confusion. "Cops drive hearses now? Is money that tight for the LVPD that they have to outsource?"

"No. My brother owns a mortuary and I help him out every once in a while. I'm not on duty as a cop right now."

I grinned and inched up closer to him in a come-hither move. "Cops turn me on."

"No, you don't, missy." He raised his gun as he took a step backward. "You have the right to remain silent—"

"What for? I didn't do anything wrong." Other than take a body from the back of a hearse and put it on a city bench…oh yeah…and steal money from Giuseppe. But stealing from a thief didn't sound illegal to me.

The cop-slash-hearse driver leveled his gaze on my face. "Giuseppe Pasquale hired you and that's good enough for me to arrest you."

My hands flew to my hips. "For being a cop, you're kind of naïve. Are you a rookie?"

"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean I can't use this gun." The sidearm shook in his hand. Definite rookie.

I reached up and flipped on the safety. "You're not going to shoot me. I'm not a threat to you, so put the gun away and face me like a man."

He swallowed hard as his expression turned innocent, and stuffed the gun back into his pocket. "Yes, ma'am?"

"That's better." I moved closer and stroked the hair on his temples. "What's your name, handsome?"

"N-n-ame?"

I leaned into him, moved my hand to his chest, and met his gaze. With the full moon, I could make out enough of his face, light-colored eyes, and studly body. "Yes, your name. A cute hunky man like you has a name, right?" I stroked his chest because he looked more like a stroker to me than a take-charge kind of guy.

"Buddy," he whispered.

I leaned in and touched my lips to his. "Well, Buddy, this is your lucky day."

He shifted his jeans a bit. "It is?" His voice cracked.

He was right where I wanted him.