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Hampton
WILD MUSTANG SECURITY FIRM
DELTA JAMES
Chapter
One
Her jeans fit her like a warm hug. The perky redhead with the curvaceous figure was stretched out across the pool table, lining up an important shot.
John Hampton bumped his long-time friend and partner, Ethan McDaniel.
“I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that,” he said, smiling.
Mac followed his gaze. “My guess is it isn’t just your hands.”
John chuckled. “True enough. I wonder what she’d do if I just sauntered over there and casually caressed her backside.”
“Knowing Mandy, she’d break that pool cue over your head and shove the wrong end up your ass,” Isabella Baez, the owner of the steakhouse, said. “I run a respectable place, Marshal Hampton. You behave yourself.”
Like Isabella’s brother, both John and Mac were in the United States Marshal’s service. They were just returning from an arduous assignment, bringing back a federal fugitive from Canada. What should have been a simple fly up to Canada, spend the night, pick up the fugitive, and return him to federal custody had become much more complex.
Izzy waved the two exhausted lawmen to a table with a bird's-eye view of the bar, where Mandy was making mincemeat out of her opponent and having the time of her life doing it.
“I don’t know that I like the look of that guy,” John said, indicating her adversary.
“Agreed.” Mac nodded. “He doesn’t like getting beat, especially by a pretty girl.”
“She’s not giving him much of a way to save face. If she doesn’t know all the people in here, she might want to rethink her behavior.”
“Or maybe not, and you could go rescue her, then point out the error of her ways when she’s face down over your knee.”
John chuckled, quickly appreciative of the idea.
“You’ve had worse ideas. You have to admit, that’s a glorious ass. I wouldn’t mind painting it red before taking it in my hands to mount her.”
Mac laughed. “Jesus, who put your quarter in and wound you up?”
“What can I say… it’s been a while.”
Mamacita’s Steakhouse and Tavern was a popular spot for families and those on a casual date. The Tavern side had pool tables and dartboards, and there was usually a live country band. Because of Isabella’s casual connection with law enforcement, it was frequented by cops—both local and federal—and the military.
“You boys look exhausted,” Izzy said. “The usual?” Both men grinned. “Right. Why do I even bother to ask? Medium rare rib-eye for Mac with a Guinness draught and sirloin rare for John and a Killian’s Irish Red.”
“Sounds great,” said Mac.
“Thanks, Izzy,” added John.
Their table was angled, so both men had their backs to the wall. There was something about the guy playing pool with thewoman Izzy had called Mandy that didn’t sit right. Not that it was a hardship to keep his eye on the girl who laughed unselfconsciously. John could hear the sound of her laughter over the low din in the building.
Their drinks arrived, and John nodded toward the redhead. “She’s playing way beneath her skill level.”
Mac looked up, “What makes you say that.”
Both men had honed their powers of observation throughout their years of service.
“She’s missing obvious shots, then making ones that are more difficult.”
