Relentlessly Mine: The Base Branch Series, #11

By Megan Mitcham

Caught between the past and the woman he loves but can't have...
 

Combine, Texas, labeled Gannon Lee a ruffian by age ten. If only they saw him at twenty-eight; a nomad who followed the fight wherever it took him, an untamed extinguisher of lives. He never intended to give them the chance. Too bad his brother, the only guy in the backwoods town who outranked him in delinquent behavior, landed himself behind bars…again. For the first time, Gannon doesn't think his blood committed the act of arson in question.

Gannon's sole focus had been his brother's extraction and the evasion of his previous life—until he learned that Margo Foster had been the victim. She was the only one in the god-forsaken place to know him, understand him, love him. Tragedy ripped them apart decades ago, but Gannon's love for her never faltered. Before he can put the past where it belongs, a thousand clicks back in his rearview mirror, he must find out who tried to hurt the woman he loves and cannot have.

Margo Foster works her ass off as an EMT for Dallas Fire & Rescue to prove she is nothing like her family. She is a modern woman who takes care of herself, and her sister who's too busy clinging to the past. Margo's father had blown the family fortune long ago, but her stubborn little sis lived off the name and Margo's good will.

When a crappy arsonist threatens to destroy what Margo has worked so hard for, she's ready for battle. Against anyone but Gannon Lee. His presence in her carefully constructed life sends her for the hills. However, once he reveals the perceived arson was really an attempt on her life, she'll cling to the only ally she has, even if his touch breaks her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Megan Mitcham
• Release date: Feb 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781941899335

Book preview

1

D on’t even think about snooping around. The cracked-pavement face of the detective had changed into the smooth, pink cheeks of a new recruit. Too bad the same eat-shit-and-die attitude remained pointed firmly in Gannon’s direction.

Ah, coming home. Good to know some things never changed.

Gannon hiked his brows but stilled his gaze from roaming to the ceiling tile he’d used to escape all those years ago. He took a seat at the table in the center of the brightly lit room and folded his hands on the cold metal.

Detective … Sitting, Gannon took the opportunity to eye the rafters and briefly relive the time he’d scuttled through and dropped into the old hack’s office to find out what the small-towner had on him. What was your name?

The short, stocky man grabbed the butt of his gun and puffed his bench-press-formed chest and the beginnings of his late-night beer belly. Detective Sweeney. Sawyer retired more than five years ago, but don’t think I haven’t heard stories about you, Gannon Lee.

You haven't heard anything about me, Detective. Gannon let his quiet baritone work in the naked room. Not in ten years.

What’s that supposed to mean? Sweeney jutted the chin Gannon would sock him on before all this was said and done.

He stared at the sheen of sweat blooming above the lawman’s eyebrows. Gannon had changed, but the backwoods, small-minded folks of Combine, Texas, wouldn’t see past his name. Not ever.

Detective Sweeney, good afternoon to you, son. Elvin Pate’s rich boom squeezed past the detective. Tension permeated the room. How many times had he heard that distinctive voice at this stage in the game? More than his mother’s, he expected.

A twinge of uncertainty fired icy impulses from every synapse along his spinal cord. So much for training and maturity. They needed to get this show on the fucking road so he could put the past where it belonged … about a million clicks back on his six.

Sweeney turned and greeted the largest black man Gannon had ever seen with a curt nod and swift shift, allowing Elvin to squeeze himself through the doorway and into the tiny room. Gray had overtaken his sideburns and crept its way toward the crown of his head almost as aggressively as his belly peeked out between the button holes of his shirt. He still had his signature pink bowtie. He’d worn it since before pink was a fashionable color for guys to wear as long as it was called salmon.

Be still my beating heart! Elvin grabbed his chest with one hand while the other chucked a massive briefcase onto the table. It boomed throughout the tiny station.

The last thing you need is a still heart. Gannon stood and stepped around the table. Christ, El. Lay off Layla’s pies. They’re walking you into an early grave.

Elvin drew up short. His many jowls cascaded toward the ground. He gasped, nearly sucking the air from Sweeney’s lungs. Behind Elvin, Sweeney turned a quarter stance and maintained a sure grip on his sidearm.

But they’re so good, Elvin barked in laughter. Come here, kid. The only person in a fifty-mile radius on Gannon’s side threw his arms wide.

In opposition to every reserved, over-cautious bone in his body, Gannon tackled the big fella in a bear hug and held on a few seconds too long. Ridiculous as it seemed, Elvin Pate’s soft heat chased away the doubt that’d crept into his psyche from being in this insidious place. Combine. Shit. He’d rather be in jail than back ‘home.’

Sweeney, be kind and bring two coffees back along with my client, Mr. Griffin Lee. The door slammed. Elvin whispered, If he brings coffee, don’t drink it. It’ll piss him off even more.

Gannon gave him one last squeeze and released his unlikely friend.

Woo-we! Elvin held his shoulders and only let him retreat to arm's length. You were a looker before, but now … You are a full-blown man with all the muscles of one of those cage fighters. I might prefer you did that. Thick black lips squished into a massive pucker, and he shook his head. Layla’s going to have to beat the ladies away with the broom.

Won’t be here long, El.

Shoot. Nothing to run away from now. You’re an upstanding citizen. Hell, a real American hero. And we’re getting your brother situated.

Oh, yeah? He let his gaze roam around the interrogation room.

Look, now. You’ve been gone for a while. Things are changing. You know—

How’s Miss Layla these days? Gannon asked, Hail Mary-ing the attention off himself.

Elvin eyed him but then harrumphed. That woman? Still refusing to marry me.

She’s still baking you pies every day?

That she is. Elvin released Gannon and batted two hands on his round belly. That she is.

You could refuse her pie like she refuses your proposals. Gannon pulled out a chair for his friend and took his across the table.

I could, but what’s the fun in that?

I hear you. He chuckled.

Do you? Elvin’s laughter died. I suppose if anyone knows what it’s like to yearn for someone for twenty years, you’re the one.

The smile fell off Gannon’s face, a casualty of friendly fire. All the warmth fled his chest, and in its place opened the gaping wound he’d been worrying for so long it would never heal. The skin around it had grown thin like that of a diabetic’s. The cells themselves had given up hope.

She asks about you. Elvin pressed his fingers into the gaping flesh.

Don’t.

His friend’s meaty hands flipped up in surrender, but he drew a deep breath.

For the love of all that was holy. His friend was about to wade into dangerous territory for them both.

I wish you’d see what you’ve become. You should be proud, kid.

Gannon shoved away the stupid hope trying to take root inside him. The door handle twitched, twisted, and opened. His brother stood in cuffs under the thumb of the latest Combine Police Detective. He waited for Elvin’s gaze to find his. I see what I am. This town never will.

I’d like to go back to the holding cell now. Griffin jerked back toward the hallway, but Sweeney’s grip on his arm kept his brother from getting far.

Get your ass in here, Griffin Lee. Elvin stood and stabbed a finger at the chair where he’d been sitting.

Sweeney shoved him into the room and toward the chair. I’ve fucking got it. Griffin wrenched free and slumped himself in the seat. You can leave now.

I’m not going far, Sweeney retorted as though Griffin had meant the jab for him. Gannon knew his brother directed it at his only blood relation inside the suffocating room. Grif glared. For a moment, it was like staring into a mirror. The accusing and guilty blue eyes looked so much like his own. That’s where their similarities started and ended. His older brother by two years was light in complexion, hair color, bone structure, and giving a fuck.

Good luck getting him out of this one, Pate. The detective stepped out of the room but leaned back inside. If you don’t, you’ll be out of work for a long while. We don’t play around with arsonists.

Kaboom! Was it the door slamming shut or the