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    Double Deuce: Ian Coulter's Amethyst Cove, #1
    Double Deuce: Ian Coulter's Amethyst Cove, #1
    Double Deuce: Ian Coulter's Amethyst Cove, #1
    Ebook118 pages1 hour

    Double Deuce: Ian Coulter's Amethyst Cove, #1

    By KC Kendricks

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    About this ebook

    Free spirited Ian Coulter works hard and plays harder. An ex-cop turned private investigator, Ian enjoys meeting new men and making new friends. A night out ends up with one man on the floor at his feet, and another asking for his help. Big trouble's brewing in little Amethyst Cove, and Ian's a step behind. He's quick to see Rick Mohr is the man holding the flare at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

    Undercover agent Rick Mohr walks a fine line, serving two masters. Insider trading, counterfeit printing plates, and a blown-up yacht have Rick stuck between two Federal agencies, one of which has been compromised. Rick has to discover the mole before it's too late. When Ian Coulter walks into his life, Rick grabs the chance to salvage his assignment with both hands.

    It doesn't take Ian and Rick long to discover joining forces, and sharing resources, has definite perks - ones not found in any departmental manual.

    * * * * *

    "And yet, here you sit across from me."

    "For one thing, this is the first time I've actually gotten a look at you. No one ever said you were so…" He paused and blinked at me.

    I helped him out. "Hot?"

    Rick grinned. "The very word I was searching for."

    "You're full of it, Rick Mohr. What do you really want?"

    "I've heard you like to have fun—safe fun. Was I misinformed?"

    And they called me a slut. Rick had me beat for moving in on a guy fast. "I love to have 'fun—safe fun,' but I don't know you. I haven't seen you around at any of the local haunts."

    "Well, you know how it is. Boy meets boy. Boy falls in love. Boy gets dumped after eleven years and has to work hard to get back into the swing of things."

    I tapped the wide silver band he wore on his left ring finger. "Hmm. I've heard of that. Some weird word that starts with an 'R.'"

    "Relationship?"

    I snapped my fingers. "That's the one! Can't say as I have any first-hand experience with it."

    Rick sighed. "I actually liked it, although I thought it would have a longer shelf-life."

    I sipped the lemony drink I'd had such a craving for. That craving, and another stronger one, was about to land me in trouble, I just knew it.

    "I'll tell you something, Rick. I don't like men who cheat on their partners."

    His level gaze met mine. "I don't have a partner. I have an ex-partner."

    "Why not take off the ring?"

    "Truth? I'm not quite ready to have guys hitting on me. Maybe you can help me get over the hump."

    Years of cruising men, of reading their body language and looking into lots of pretty eyes gave me a good read on him. He wasn't being honest with me about something, but it had nothing to do with the ring, the ex-partner, or the fact he liked to have control of the situation. The little voice inside, the one that never steered me wrong when it was time to cut and run, was silent, and I wanted to learn more about him.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWhite Deer Enterprises/White Deer Books
    Release dateApr 1, 2016
    ISBN9781524203108
    Double Deuce: Ian Coulter's Amethyst Cove, #1
    Author

    KC Kendricks

    KC Kendricks calls herself an accidental writer. After completing her first novel writing as Rayne Forrest, she was urged to submit it to a publisher, and everything snowballed from there. Today, the author has had over seventy books published. In July of 2021, she tried to retire but her employer offered her a deal to work at home. She accepted. Now she balances work, writing, and hearth and home in a controlled chaos. A native of scenic western Maryland, the author enjoys most activities that don’t include snow. In warm weather she might be found walking the dog, biking on the C&O Canal towpath, planting delicacies in her garden for the deer to munch on at night, playing in the creek, or lazing on the patio with her Kindle reader or laptop. She recently began to research her family history and can't drive past a cemetery without stopping to search for family sites. Her mission is to photograph old tombstones before the elements erode the stones and the names are lost to time. For more about KC Kendricks and Rayne Forrest’s writing life, please visit the Between the Keys blog at http:kckendricks.blogspot.com . If you’d like to know more about the author’s country lifestyle and her daily activities full of simple country pleasures (and a lot of work), please visit the Holly Tree Manor blog at http://hollytreemanor.blogspot.com . KC can be reached through her blog, Between the Keys. All comments are strictly moderated by the author and personal messages are treated as such. Follow the author on Twitter for up-to-date announcements at Twitter.com/KCKendricks.

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    • 3/5
      I enjoyed the story, but it can use a little cleaning up.

    Book preview

    Double Deuce - KC Kendricks

    CHAPTER 1

    Decisions, decisions. Which of the two delectable-looking fellows sitting at the famed surfboard bar of The Double Deuce should I cruise first? I looked at their reflections in the mirror behind the neat rows of booze bottles and couldn’t decide. I hadn’t seen either of them in here before, ergo, they weren’t boarders.

    Of course, according to half the clientele, neither was I. They’d call me a hido and they’d be right. I tried like hell to keep my feet beneath me, but I spent a lot of time bobbing under the waves instead of riding over them.

    The skilled surfers were always friendly to me, though. They welcomed me into their inner circle and tried to give me pointers. The sad truth was, no matter how much fun I had, I would always be better at surfing the Internet than surfing the Pacific.

    I fed the jukebox another dollar, punched in my selections, and turned around in time to see one of the hunky dudes slither bonelessly to the sandy vinyl floor.

    That could not be good.

    I hesitated for a split second, then took the only available action open to me.

    Time was, I wouldn’t have paused to think about the ramifications of rendering assistance, but my world had changed. Those days, along with the career I’d fought so hard to build, were gone. I shouldered through the crowd.

    Let me in. Out of my way.

    The gawkers parted in a wave, and I dropped to my knees beside the guy on the floor. I felt for a pulse with hands long out of practice and finally detected one, thready and weak under my fingertips. No, it wasn’t good. I looked up at the guy’s drinking companion.

    What’s he on?

    Hunky dude number two shook his head. I don’t even know his name. He came in, sat down, said hello, and ordered a drink. We were discussing the weather, for God’s sake. He just...fell over.

    Yeah, the weather. They were probably determining who had a raincoat in their back pocket and which one of them would wear it. The guy standing was hot enough to give even a healthy man a heart attack. Or another kind of attack—a lusty one.

    Someone call nine-one-one! I barked at the sea of open mouths surrounding me. At least a dozen guys started fiddling with the screens on their cell phones. The dispatchers would love getting all those calls at once.

    The guy on the floor moaned. His eyelids fluttered. I kept a gentle hand on his shoulder so he didn’t try to get up.

    Be still, buddy. Help is on the way. I leaned over him. I’m not a cop, so tell me what you’re on.

    Nothing. I don’t do drugs. Gimme a kiss. His words slurred, and he seemed to pass out again.

    Kissing a man when he was down was not the evening I had planned.

    Friend, I don’t think so. I looked up at his companion. I think he likes me better than he likes you.

    I told you. I don’t know him.

    From the panicked look on his face, I figured I had about ten seconds before he rabbited out the door. I motioned for him to kneel down beside me, which he did.

    Like I said, I’m not a cop. You tell me what he’s on, and I’ll tell the paramedics.

    I can’t help you. I came here to get a drink, not pick up a date. I was just being friendly, and he hit the floor. He leaned forward, his ear close to the man’s mouth. He straightened and looked at me with worried green eyes. He said he has candy in his pocket and needs a piece.

    Of course—and thank God. Kissing me wasn’t his fondest wish at this particular moment.

    I slipped my hand into the front pocket of his slacks and discovered several pieces of neatly wrapped chocolate. I peeled the foil off one and very carefully put it against the downed man’s lips. His mouth opened and he started to chew. Had I had time to observe this poor fellow before his liquid slide to the dirty floor, I might have realized it was insulin shock. I reached for my cell phone and called the dispatcher. When she answered, I gave her my PI license number. That wasn’t good enough. She wanted my name.

    Ian Coulter. Pursuant to the emergency at The Double Deuce, the victim is diabetic.

    I listened as she rattled off the standard protocol questions.

    Victim is able to communicate. He had chocolate in his pocket and was able to verbally request it. He’s had two pieces. He is awake and responsive.

    She informed me the ambulance was on the way, but that wasn’t news. I heard the approaching sirens. Within seconds, the paramedics rushed in like the cavalry in a B-western, but they were too late. The guy on the floor had finished his chocolate and already looked two gazillion percent better. I was sure he’d live and I did my best to get the hell out of the way before they took much notice of me.

    The victim, able to speak for himself, kept thanking me. I didn’t want his thanks or accolades. It was back to Plan A for me. I wanted a drink, to find a suitable companion for the evening, and try to get a good night’s sleep. Implementing my plan suddenly looked to be easier as the other fellow from the bar gripped my wrist.

    I didn’t know who he thought he was to put his big hands with their neatly manicured nails on me, but all things considered, I didn’t mind. Much.

    Can I do something for you, buddy?

    You can let me buy you a drink. What’s your pleasure?

    What a loaded question. The sixth sense I’d developed as a cop kicked in. I knew he wanted to talk to me because he’d heard me say I was a private investigator, not because he thought my ass was just way too sexy for this joint, which, if I must say so myself, it was. I turned my head and listened to the fading sirens. I met his gaze and thought about giving his pretty green eyes a long look at my bedroom ceiling.

    That was a strange thought for me to have because I didn’t take men home to my place. I went to theirs.

    All right. I’ll claim a booth, and you can buy me a drink. I’ll take a Vodka Lemon Deuce.

    He grimaced, but I knew he’d get my drink. I didn’t give a fuck if he didn’t like the house specialty. He wasn’t the one going to enjoy it.

    I brushed off the knees of my jeans and found an unoccupied booth. He eased in across from me and slid a tall frost-covered tumbler across the table to me. We tapped the rims of our glasses and sipped. I sighed with pleasure as the icy liquid teased my throat and landed in my belly. The cold quickly fired and spread heat through me, hitting my joints with a relaxing punch.

    He held out his hand to me. I’m Rick Mohr.

    I shook his hand, warm palm to warm palm. Ian Coulter, as you heard.

    I have a question for you, Ian. He stared skeptically at my Vodka Lemon Deuce. How can you drink that shit?

    You don’t like vodka?

    Rick nodded. Sure, but not with lemonade and raspberry schnapps mixed in.

    I looked at the shot glass beside his draft beer. Shooters and a purist. I should’ve known. So what do you want to talk about, Mr. Rick Mohr?

    He leaned forward into the light cast by the fixture hanging low above the table and blinked his lovely green eyes at my blue ones. Damn, he had long eyelashes, as dark as his hair, which was as dark as mine.

    I lifted the straw fedora off my head and set it on the seat beside me. I shouldn’t have worn a hundred-dollar hat into this dive just because I had a hankering for a cold beverage and some hot action.

    He moistened his red lips with his pink tongue.

    Why? Why did I have to notice such things? Rick grinned and lifted his beer to me again.

    For starters, I’m a building code inspector with Amethyst Cove local government. I know who you are, Ian. I heard the scuttlebutt when you left the police force.

    I’m not sure about where this is going, girlfriend.

    Not to worry, Ian. I’ve been around long enough I don’t believe even a tenth of the horse-puckey that comes my way. He leaned back and stretched out his long legs, his foot briefly nudging mine before he hastily pulled it away. You’re gay, and our esteemed police chief is a homophobic prick.

    Mohr

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