Starting with June
Starting with June
Emilie Rose
Resisting June may be his toughest job Investigating small-town police corruption has never been on former marine Sam Rivers's radar. Still, taking this assignment gives him the opportunity to figure out what's next after his medical discharge. The task should be a straightforward one. That is, until he meets Deputy June Jones. Almost instantly the warm, sexy woman occupies his thoughts. For a man who craves solitude, suddenly he can't get enough of her.He also can't forget his reason for being in Quincey, North Carolina. As his investigation progresses, it threatens his secret relationship with June. But can he turn his back on all the love and hope she offers?
Resisting June may be his toughest job
Investigating small-town police corruption has never been on former Marine Sam Rivers’s radar. Still, taking this assignment gives him the opportunity to figure out what’s next after his medical discharge. The task should be a straightforward one. That is, until he meets Deputy June Jones. Almost instantly the warm, sexy woman occupies his thoughts. For a man who craves solitude, suddenly he can’t get enough of her.
He also can’t forget his reason for being in Quincey, North Carolina. As his investigation progresses, it threatens his secret relationship with June. But can he turn his back on all the love and hope she offers?
“Forget it, Rivers. Now go. Please.”
Sam watched June, not responding. Finally, she spoke again. “Leave me with a little pride, and let me pretend I didn’t just make a fool of myself.”
She pushed the door again, but when he held his position, she threw up her hands and retreated inside. A smart man would let her go.
“June, let me explain.”
She angled a hesitant, wounded gaze over her shoulder. “I’m mature enough to take no for an answer, Rivers. But it’s time you left.”
The cool and clearly false bravado in June’s tone only made Sam feel worse. Damn, she was tough. She could have begged, cried, thrown a tantrum or slammed the door on him. He would have expected, and knew how to handle, any of those reactions. Instead, she acted with dignity.
This was one firefight he wouldn’t win no matter what he did.
Dear Reader (#ulink_3c284e3c-6d0c-56dc-87f8-05e31c96a3b4),
Writing this letter is bittersweet. While I get to share the story of one of my favorite heroines, I’m also saying goodbye to Quincey—a town that has become like my second home.
Deputy June waited patiently in the background of my previous two Quincey stories, but it wasn’t until an accident forced hardcore Marine Sam Rivers to question everything he knew about himself that I discovered why June refused to get out of my head. Despite Sam’s repeated efforts to push her away, she’s determined to help him become the man he was meant to be—whether or not he wants her assistance. And in June, Sam finds the one woman he considers his equal.
There are times in our lives when we or someone we love needs a June—someone with a positive, persistent, kick-butt attitude and the life experience to help us through a rough patch. I hope you enjoy watching a woman who is everybody’s champion take on a man determined to stand alone.
Emilie Rose
Starting with June
Emilie Rose
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USA TODAY bestselling author and RITA® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in North Carolina with her own romance hero. Writing is her third career. She’s managed a medical office and a home day care—neither offered half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening, fishing and cooking. Visit her website, emilierose.com (http://www.emilierose.com), or email her at EmilieRoseC@aol.com.
In loving memory of my mother-in-law.
I wish I’d met her sooner.
Contents
Cover (#u57d88fd6-34c8-5b0c-ba7e-02453561c1b0)
Back Cover Text (#udf68395b-9175-5a24-b6e7-8e324ea450fb)
Introduction (#u336f6a28-fe28-5355-a692-7cc910dfe2fd)
Dear Reader (#ulink_069c50f8-9b4f-5a06-99d3-3c1e5603acac)
Title Page (#u406aea72-2061-52cb-9dc4-f4db9ca5abf2)
About the Author (#u77c9ffb1-c659-5513-b171-273f5c8caf72)
Dedication (#uf75590bd-f048-5a7e-957f-758177c9e4d9)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1bcff2a3-d63d-5c1c-b32f-c68f02007068)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_947e6675-72bd-5970-8746-fffe423c05e0)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c33f6ae7-46a4-56a8-9d6b-7380914c78d0)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_2e8772bb-ae19-538a-aba7-1358f8a735ec)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4a130a84-d81a-54dc-9f29-389b6e11b4e3)
SOMETIMES LIFE SUCKED. This was one of those times, Sam Rivers decided as he exited the building on MCB Quantico with the words he’d never expected to hear still ringing in his ears.
Separated from the corps. Medically discharged.
Over. His military career was over.
He caught a trace of movement near his Charger. Instantly alert, he squinted through the glaring sunlight that not even his Wiley X sunglasses could block. Was the subject a friend or foe? A foe on a domestic base was unlikely. But old habits were hard to break.
The man slouched against the car’s front fender was none other than Roth Sterling. As close to a brother as Sam would let any man become. Sam should have known the former sniper who’d watched his back for years wouldn’t leave him to face the bad news from the Medical Evaluation Board alone. But Sam hadn’t called him. How had Roth known today was D-day?
His buddy straightened as Sam approached. Roth had been out a few years, but civilian life and his recent marriage hadn’t changed his parade-ready posture.
“Who called you?”
“Does it matter?” Roth answered.
Did it? Not really. The end was the end. Unless he could heal and convince his superiors it wasn’t.
“I appreciate you coming up, Roth, but it wasn’t necessary.” Sam clasped Roth’s fist and bumped his shoulder. An invisible hand wrapped a choke hold around his throat. He blocked the rising tide of panic and uncertainty. He and Roth had been through some deep shit together, but he wouldn’t drag his buddy into this pig pond. This was his problem and his alone.
“Yeah, it was necessary. Meet me at the Fire Breathin’ Dragon, and I’ll tell you why.” Roth about-faced and made his way to a pickup parked two rows down.
Sam debated arguing, but he needed something better than his own company at the moment. And he could use a drink. Or three. Maybe more. It’d been a long time since he’d needed a ride home. But tonight might be one of those rare evenings.
Thirty-one and washed up.
Done.
He slid into his car, slammed it into gear then headed to the old biker bar with Roth’s truck on his tail. Neither he nor Roth rode a motorcycle, but the hole in the wall was close enough to base to be convenient yet far enough away that they weren’t likely to run into anyone they knew. The other patrons would leave them alone. And the beer was cheap.
Thank you for your service. The words echoed in his head. He’d heard them hundreds of times from civilians and they’d filled him with pride. Today the words had been a death knell to the life he’d lived and loved for thirteen years—the life he’d planned to continue until they sent him home in a box.
His superiors had sat across the table from him today and told him that surgery had failed to completely correct the detached retina he’d sustained compliments of his last deployment, and the chance of a full recovery was slim. A visually impaired scout sniper wasn’t of much use to anyone, they’d said. A blind spot, however small, could put him on the receiving end of a round rather than on the sending end. Plus, the risk of reinjury from another explosion was too great. So they were letting him go. For his own good.
He was expendable.
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. What in the hell was he going to do with the next fifty years of his life? He’d go crazy with nothing to occupy him but reliving stories of his glory days. He’d done a lot of good. Saved a lot of lives—taken a few, too. His data book was impressive, but that was history. He’d never planned for life after the corps, because statistically, he shouldn’t have made it out alive. Not in his line of work.
He was a hunter. But he’d also been the hunted. He hadn’t feared death. But he sure as hell feared living...broken. He’d prepared for every eventuality. Except this one.
He parked and followed Roth into the shadowy interior of the bar. The last time they’d been here, they’d been celebrating Sam’s return from a nasty but successful deployment. The uneven wooden floorboards creaked beneath his Danner boots. Except for two gray-haired, ponytailed dudes in leather vests bearing multiple motorcycle patches at the end of the bar and a bottle-redheaded bartender who’d spent too much of her time tanning, the place was empty. Not a surprise given it was midafternoon and midweek.
Wednesday. Hump day. Or dump day, as his career went.
As if they’d last been here yesterday instead of years ago, Roth straddled a chair at their usual table. Sam did the same, bracing himself for a blast of pity or platitudes. He couldn’t handle either. Not today. Until two hours ago he’d planned to return to duty once he healed. Or at least transition into an instructor role if he had to leave the field. He hadn’t come to terms with the end of his military career and didn’t want to talk about being cut from the corps. Not even with Roth.
Sam’s jaw hurt from hours of clenching his teeth so tightly. “How much do you know?”
“All of it. But that’s only part of why I’m here. I need a favor.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the timing. Someone had leaked intel—info he had deliberately not shared with anyone. Not even his family. But he doubted his circumstances involved a security clearance. “Yeah?”
“You’ve been so entangled in red tape I didn’t bother you with the details, but four months ago I arrested and fired my senior deputy. He was dirty.” He signaled the bartender for two beers, pointing at the neon sign on the wall above their table to indicate the brand. “That’s where you come in.”
Sam had been surprised when Roth had told him he’d taken a job in his hometown as chief of police since his buddy had always hated the place. Armpit of America, Roth had dubbed Quincey, North Carolina. Roth’s plan had been for it to be a short duty station while he settled a few old scores before he returned to his old job with the Charlotte SWAT team, a job he’d loved almost as much as the corps.
Instead, Roth had discovered he had a pubescent kid he’d known nothing about. Shortly after that he’d rekindled an old flame with his son’s momma, and now a gold band glinted on his left hand. Sam hadn’t seen that one coming, since both of them had sworn off long-term relationships, but Roth had seemed happy and hunkered down for the long haul as a family man when Sam had visited Roth, his new wife and his kid last month.
“How can I help? I don’t know any of your men.”
“I need to know how deep the corruption runs in my department. I want someone I trust to infiltrate. Recon is your specialty, Sam. Your ability to smell dirty from a mile away kept us alive too many times to count. You’d see something that didn’t add up. I want to hire you to replace the deputy.”
Only Sam’s training kept him from reacting. There wasn’t anyone he trusted more than the man sitting across the scarred wooden table from him. He would—and had—put his life on the line for Roth Sterling. “You fabricated this job to keep me busy. I appreciate your effort. But no.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m being straight with you, Sam. I have a job opening. And I need help—help I can trust.”
Roth looked serious. But the timing was too coincidental, and Sam hated pity parties. “I’m not a cop. No MP training. Not interested. But thanks.”
“That’s the beauty of Quincey. I can hire and fire whoever I want. I want you. Your military training is sufficient to cover the minimal qualifications. I’ll provide the intel you need to cover the rest. You’re a damned good detail man, and you have time on your hands while you figure out your next step. You’ll be in and out in a couple of months, tops. Work with my team, feel ’em out and give me a report—then you’re free to go and do whatever you line up next. I’ve already found a house for you to rent. Fully furnished. Just bring your Skivvies and a toothbrush.”
Still sounded fishy.
“What makes you think I want to do anything but sit back and collect my dis-dis—” crap, that was hard to say “—disability check? I have a severance package coming, and I’ve squirreled away some money over the years. I’ll be okay.”
Financially. Mentally was another story. He might never recover from what he considered a betrayal of the corps. But he’d give ’em a chance to make it right once he healed.
“No one hates a handout more than you, and you’ll go crazy with nothing to do. You’re too smart to sit and watch TV all day. Do you have a plan?”
“To get back in.” He tried not to snarl, but Roth more than anybody knew Sam never wanted to be anything but a Marine and he damned sure wasn’t a quitter. “But right now they won’t even let me apply to come back as an instructor or as a private contractor in the Precision Weapons Section.”
He’d begged for a job. Begged. And damn it, this Marine didn’t beg for anything.
“I swear to you, Sam, this isn’t BS or pity. I need you. A few months in Quincey will buy you time to put a plan together while you heal. I’ll help in any way I can. The salary isn’t bad either.”
Sam searched the strained face across from him, seeing how difficult it was for Roth to ask for a favor. “How many on your force?”
Not that he was considering it.
“Five, including me.”
Nope, not even thinking about it. Stagnating in a backwater swamp wasn’t anywhere on his bucket list. He’d lived in North Carolina during one of his dad’s stints at Lejeune. He hadn’t hated it. But he hadn’t seen any reason to return either.
“How many do you suspect?”
“All four until proven otherwise.”
Not good. “You don’t have anyone you can trust with your six?”
“No. I’m telling you, Sam, this small-town department isn’t run like any operation either of us has ever seen. There’s no black-and-white. It’s all shades of gray, and the corruption went on for a long time. What I have to figure out is where a favor for a friend or looking the other way crosses the line into illegal activity and how many of my officers are doing it.”
Sam stalled by wrapping his lips around the bottle and letting the cold beer roll down his throat. He had that itch between his shoulder blades—the one that told him he was in somebody else’s crosshairs. Time to seek cover.
But how could he refuse Roth’s request? Roth never asked for anything. Not only did Sam owe him, Sam had nothing better—nothing, period—to do. He sure as hell wasn’t going home to his family. Not that his dad, a recently retired Marine, wouldn’t try to be supportive. But his mother and sisters would smother him.
Short of going to ground, did he have a choice? Maybe he could hang in Quincey until he healed enough to approach the corps again. “It’ll take ’em a few weeks to process my paperwork.”
“I can wait.”
He had to be crazy. “Shoot me whatever you have on your deputies.”
“No. I want your unbiased first impressions—they’re always damned accurate.”
Flying in blind. But as Roth had said, the assignment would keep Sam occupied while he healed and plotted his next step. Working with Roth again might be fun.
How bad could it be?
“I’ll see you ASAP.”
* * *
TO ALLEVIATE THE scorching heat, June Jones spritzed herself with the water bottle and kicked her feet in the four-foot-diameter plastic wading pool she’d bought for her nieces and nephews. She had three days of vacation with nothing to do but work on her tan and wait for the new tenant to arrive.
Idleness was not her thing, and vacations...well, she rarely took them. Someone else always needed the time off more than she did, and she loved her job. Why leave it? Labor Day weekend was just one of fifty-two in the year for a single woman whose friends had recently paired up with their Mr. Rights. The unofficial end of summer didn’t mean family trips to the beach or mountains for her—unless one of her siblings needed an on-site babysitter. Labor Day meant the opportunity to earn some overtime.
But not this year. Even though she’d volunteered to cover the holiday shifts, her new boss, who happened to be the husband of one of her two besties, had ordered her to stay away from the office.
She squinted at her watch. Approaching one o’clock on her first day off and she was already climbing the walls. She might go crazy before the seventy-two hours passed. Shifting in the lawn chair for a comfortable position, she dredged her brain for something more productive to do than sit here and sweat. But she’d already done everything that needed doing.
She’d risen at five and fed her landlord’s animals, baked cookies, brownies and cheese puffs for the new tenant’s welcome basket and cleaned both houses, hers and the rental next door. Her friend-slash-landlord, Madison, was spending the long weekend with her fiancé and had told June she had no idea what time the new tenant would be arriving. But June took her assignment as deputy lessor very seriously. That meant twiddling her thumbs for as long as it took even if it drove her to adding tequila to her pitcher of virgin margaritas.
Determined to prove to her naysayers that she knew how to relax, she refilled her glass and took a sip of the tart slushy beverage, then tilted her head back, sprayed herself with the water again and tried to pretend she was enjoying the final day of August. Why hadn’t she planned ahead and picked up books from the library, rented movies or bought ammo?
The cackle and scatter of the chickens brought her to instant alertness. Remaining still, she eased her eyelids open, scanned the area and the sky from behind her dark lenses and listened for what had set them off. She heard nothing—not even the usual country critter sounds—and she didn’t see a hungry hawk. Animals didn’t lie. Their silence spoke volumes. She wasn’t expecting anyone except the man who’d rented the cottage beside hers. But in Quincey, North Carolina, neighbors tended to drop in unannounced, especially when they wanted to know your business. But neighbors made noise.
Movement drew her eye to the corner of the empty cottage thirty feet away. A blond-headed guy just over six feet tall eased around the back corner with slow, silent footsteps. He wore dark wraparound sunglasses, charcoal cargo pants and an olive T-shirt that conformed nicely to his torso—not too lose or tight.
He wasn’t from around here. Was he her new neighbor? She hadn’t heard a vehicle drive up.
“Can I help you, sir?” she called out while sitting up. And without seeming to move, he suddenly seemed more alert.
Madison had given June no details beyond the name of the new tenant—which June wouldn’t volunteer. Cataloging his erect bearing, muscular build, hyperalertness, and military-style pants and boots, June rose and so did the warning hairs on the back of her neck. This wasn’t a hunter or antiquer who’d wandered off course.
Dang it. She’d left her service revolver inside.
Even though he barely moved and she couldn’t see his eyes behind his tactical sunglasses, she felt his gaze raking over her and cursed her choice of attire. Of all the days to wear her sister’s discarded bikini. But the elastic in her only other swimsuit had dry-rotted from disuse and her sister had handily stored her prepregnancy-sized clothing in June’s attic.
“I’m renting this place.” He jerked a head toward the white cottage. “The note on the front door said ‘Pick up key at yellow house next door.’”
Wow. The women of Quincey were in for a treat. The town’s newest citizen was a hunk with a hard jaw, full lips and a voice as deep as a rock quarry. They didn’t grow men like him around here. She ought to know. Except for a short stint at the police academy up in Raleigh followed by a few months of blind stupidity, she’d lived here all her life.
She snuffed the memory and stuffed her feet into the idiotic flip-flops that matched the bikini, then crossed the grass snip-snapping with every step. She hated the sandals, but nothing said vacation like the useless rubber thongs. She wished she had a towel or a cover-up or something with her, but inexperience with loafing meant she’d come outside ill prepared.
“I’m June. Your name?”
“Rivers. Sam Rivers.”
That matched what Madison had told her. “You have ID, Mr. Rivers?”
He dug into his back pocket and flipped out a worn wallet with precise movements. She checked his name, Samuel Zachariah Rivers; age, thirty-one; eye color, blue. “You’re from Virginia?”
“Yes.”
Had she imagined that hesitation? “I’ve been waiting for you. I have your key and the lease. What brings you to Quincey?”
“Work. The key?”
Okay. Not the friendliest guy. Quincey would either fix that or run him off. “I’ll get it.”
She hustled into her cottage as quickly as possible, then retrieved the key and the goody basket she’d prepared. She debated covering up, but her skin was slick with suntan oil and she didn’t want to ruin good clothes. Digging for old ones would take too long. Besides, covering up would imply he made her uncomfortable and give him the upper hand. Nope. Not doing that.
He stood where she’d left him and extended a hand as she approached. She hooked the basket handle over his palm. “I’ve baked you a few things to tide you over until you can get to the store.”
He shoved the basket back in her direction. “Thanks, but I only need the key.”
Wasn’t he charming? She left the hamper hanging and passed him, heading for his front door. A huge duffel bag sat on the porch. How had she missed his arrival? And how long had he been skulking around before the chickens had alerted her? She scanned the driveway.
“No car?”
“In town. I hiked in.”
Strange. Maybe he was a health nut—he was definitely built like one. “I’ll show you around the house.”
“The building’s only twenty by forty. I’m sure I can find my way.”
Mr. Personality he was not. “No doubt. You won’t even need to leave a trail of breadcrumbs.”
No smile. “There’s only one exit. Isn’t that a fire code violation?”
That hitched her step. Interesting observation. “Not around here. But if you’re worried, you can always escape through the bedroom window. It’s not painted shut, and with the weather we’ve been having, you’ll probably want to leave it open at night to catch the breeze anyway.”
She climbed the stairs, inserted the key, gave it its customary jiggle and opened the door. Shoving her sunglasses on top of her head, she entered the cottage. “Most folks around here don’t bother locking their doors. The citizens of Quincey are good people.”
She’d locked this door only so he’d have to check in and sign the lease before moving in.
After grabbing his duffel, he followed her, saying nothing. He kept his sunglasses on. Too bad. She’d like to see those blue eyes. It was easier to judge a man’s character that way. He carried her basket as if it held fresh manure, but she wouldn’t let his poor manners get to her.
“As you can see, the place is fully furnished. Sofa, chairs, TV, but no cable. Madison, our landlord, provides wireless internet. The password is written on a card in the basket, along with a listing for local TV stations, fire and police departments’ numbers, a trustworthy auto mechanic, etc. Your copy of the lease agreement’s also in that envelope. I’ll give you time to read over it before you sign, but I’ll need it back this evening.
“Water, electricity and internet are included in your rental fee. If you want satellite, you’ll have to pay for it and have it installed yourself. There are plates, utensils, and pots and pans in the kitchen, but there isn’t any bakeware. If you need that, I have some you can borrow.”
“I won’t.”
She suspected his good looks had contributed to his lack of personality. At least, that was how it had worked with her siblings. The better-looking their dates, the worse their dispositions. And Sam Rivers was definitely top-notch in the looks department, from his short, spiky hair to his stubble-covered square chin and fitness magazine–cover body.
She walked down the short hall. “Water from the tap is safe to drink. You don’t have to waste money buying bottled water.” She flipped a wrist. “Washer-dryer here. Spare sheets and towels are on the shelf above them. Bathroom there. Bedroom here. I put clean sheets on the bed today. I have a grill on my back patio. You’re welcome to use it. And of course, you saw the pool, but you’ll need to bring your own lawn chair and swim at your own risk. There’s no lifeguard on duty.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. What a grouch. He stepped into the bedroom, being careful to keep a few yards between them, and glanced around.
“The chickens are egg layers,” she added. “You’re welcome to as many as you can eat. The eggs. Not the chickens.” Again, nothing. Man, he was a hard case. “Don’t worry about the skunk in the barn. He’s descented.”
“Skunk?”
Of all she’d said, that was what got his attention? “Yes, he’s the landlord’s pet. Don’t let him out of the cage—no matter how much he begs. Do you need a ride back to your vehicle? I’ll help you unpack it.”
He lifted his bag slightly. “This is it.”
“Not staying long?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Do you always avoid answering them?”
“Thanks for the tour, June. I won’t keep you from your pool party any longer. Better get back before someone steals your seat.”
So he got her jokes. He just didn’t have a sense of humor. And he was observant. “I’m next door, if you need anything. My cell number’s in the envelope, too. Text or call if you have a question or problem. I’ve lived in Quincey most of my life. If I don’t know the answer, I know where to find it. Also, there are some pretty good hiking trails down near the river. I can show them to you sometime, if you’re interested. Welcome to the neighborhood, Sam.”
She stuck out her hand. He ignored it and jerked a nod instead. She couldn’t help but feel insulted. Good thing her landlord was about to move to a larger, more affluent veterinary practice and didn’t need the rent money from this jerk, because June was hoping Sam Rivers wouldn’t be around for long.
* * *
SAM SET HIS keys on the dresser after a fruitless trip to town. Movement outside the single bedroom window caught his eye. He paused to watch the blonde make her way toward the barn. She’d released her hair from the stubby ponytail and put on clothes.
Too bad.
Negative. He was grateful she’d covered all that golden skin. June might be nice eye candy, but he didn’t need the complication. Slip in. Slip out. Leave no trace or ties. That was his MO in the field and out of it. And nothing would change that.
Jeans skimmed her legs and a red polo shirt clung to the breasts that had been about to spill out of her bikini top. The lace-up boots on her feet were a surprise. Her ruffled bathing suit and sequined flip-flops had led him to believe she was a heels kind of girl...even without pedicured toenails, which his sisters considered a necessity of life.
June hadn’t been the least bit self-conscious playing tour guide in a bikini, but then, she shouldn’t be, with her compact, fit figure. He hadn’t seen any fat on her, just curves. Oh yeah, she had those. In all the right places. And slipping her number into the food basket she wouldn’t let him refuse... He shook his head. He had to hand it to her. She wasn’t shy. But then, women weren’t these days—especially around a military base. Sometimes that was convenient. Now wasn’t one of those times.
Roth must have put her up to it. His buddy probably thought Sam needed the distraction. Why else park him next to a beauty? Thanks to the surgeries and the end of his career, Sam hadn’t been up for any drama of the female variety in months. It had been one hell of a long five months. But his life was a three-ring goat screw at the moment. He had no direction, and he wasn’t dragging anyone else into that mess—even temporarily.
June disappeared into the barn. His neighbor was nothing more than another meddling female, albeit an attractive one with her bright green eyes and blond hair that dusted her shoulders, but the last thing he needed was another nosy woman trying to manage his life. He grimaced at the reminder that he hadn’t informed his family of his status change or relocation. He should, but if he made that call, his parents, three older sisters, their husbands and their entourage of noisy teenage daughters would convoy down from Crossville to offer love, support and advice he didn’t want or need.
Translation: they’d smother him, try to baby him and tell him what to do.
After watching the way his mother and half sisters had worried each time his dad was deployed, Sam had learned to keep his trap shut regarding his location. The less they knew, the less they worried. His family had his and Roth’s cell numbers, in the event of an emergency. That was all they needed. And Roth had his momma’s.
The whole lot of them resided in Tennessee, eight hours from Quincey, the same distance it had been from Quantico. Yet the long drive hadn’t kept his family from ambushing him. After a surgery a few years back, some shavetail Louie had called Sam’s mother instead of Roth, Sam’s primary contact, and the whole extended clan had descended on him like ants on a picnic. While he’d been laid up in the hospital, his sisters had rearranged his tiny apartment, thrown out food and possessions and replaced them with crap he’d never touched except to put it in the Dumpster. They’d grilled all his apartment neighbors to find out who he was dating and how long he’d been seeing them. He’d learned his lesson, and he wasn’t setting himself up for that kind of “help” again.
Sam would show up at his parents’ place when he was ready for company and the females’ tag-team analysis torture. That wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Separation from the corps still ached like a recent amputation. Until he was past the rawness and had an idea of what he was going to do with his future or how he’d get reassigned to a base, he didn’t need a bunch of hens clucking around him and telling him how to live his life. That included his temporary neighbor.
His phone vibrated. The screen indicated a text message from Roth.
Settled in yet?
Affirmative. In my hide, Sam tapped back. Streets rolled up at dusk. Grocery store closed before I could stock up.
Yep. At six on Saturday. Welcome to Quincey. Backwoods, USA. Need anything?
Calling would have been easier than texting, but Roth had insisted no one, not even his wife, know the real reason Sam was here until he reported for duty. Conversations could be overheard, and info was on a need-to-know basis.
Negative. I have rations. Did you send her?
Who?
The blonde.
There was a pause before the next text came through.
June?
Yeah.
No. Why?
She brought food.
Eat whatever she cooks—especially her brownies. She’s famous for those.
Except for extracting the lease, Sam had left the basket untouched on the coffee table. For dinner he’d planned to eat one of the MREs in his bag. Brownies sounded better. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one. He headed for the living room/kitchen combo.
The cottage wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it was clean, comfortable and a hell of a lot nicer than most of the places he’d slept since enlisting. He kept a rat rack in Q-Town. It was more like a hotel room than an apartment, but it came furnished and made dealing with his stuff during deployments uncomplicated.
Had kept, that is. Everything he owned was packed into his Charger. Turning in the key this morning after keeping the place so long had been...an adjustment.
Did she ask about your job? Roth wrote.
Tried. I didn’t crack.
Good. Word spreads faster than flu in Q, and it’s imperative that no one know you’re investigating my squad.
Affirmative.
What do you think of her?
What did he think? Words tripped through his head. Attractive. Annoying. Aggressive. Available. But he settled for typing, Nosy.
Everyone here is. See you Tuesday 6 a.m. Acclimatize till then.
Roger.
Sam deleted the texts, pocketed his phone, then filled a glass with tap water and returned to the basket. Beneath the red-and-white-checked cloth napkin he discovered neatly stacked resealable plastic containers. He located one neatly labeled Brownies with Walnuts, grabbed it and headed for the front porch with his makeshift dinner. The minute he opened his door a mouthwatering aroma assaulted his taste buds. His stomach grumbled. Trying to ID the scent, he parked his tail in a rocking chair.
A rocking chair, for pity’s sake. Like a geriatric retiree. He pushed that U-G-L-Y visual aside.
Chicken. Someone was grilling chicken. One from the henhouse? His lips twitched when he recalled June’s remark. Blondie had a sense of humor. Blocking out the memory of her sparkling green eyes and the tantalizing smell, he bit into a brownie. The rich chocolaty taste of the moist treat almost made him groan. He shoved the remainder of the square into his mouth and reached for another.
“Do you always eat dessert first?”
He jumped. His neighbor had snuck up on him. Nobody ever got the drop on him. In his line of work—former line of work—that meant death or torture. Preferably the former. He swallowed.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” June stood on the ground beside his porch watching him through the pickets.
“You didn’t.”
Her megawatt smile revealed she knew he’d lied. “If you say so, Rivers. I heard the store closed before you got there.”
Had she spoken to Roth? “How?”
“Lesson one about Quincey. People here know what you’re doing before you do. And they talk about it. Gossip is our local sport and we have the championship team.”
He’d known he was being watched when he’d hiked back to get his car, but he’d hoped to blend in with the weekend antiques hunters wandering the streets. He’d have to work harder at moving under the radar if he was going to do his job well.
She lifted another plastic container the shrubbery had hidden from view. “Here’s half a beer-can chicken, a couple of ears of grilled corn—locally grown—and some garlic-cheddar biscuits.”
His taste buds snapped to attention, but the rest of him balked. He wasn’t stupid. There was only one reason a woman baked and cooked for a man, slipped him her number and offered to show him hiking trails while wearing a bikini that displayed the smorgasbord on offer. The phrase she’d said when they first met echoed in his head. I’ve been waiting for you, she’d said in that throaty voice of hers.
Sam did not need any local honey sticking to his feet and making extraction difficult. The best thing he could do was head her off at the pass. It would save them both a lot of embarrassment later.
“June, I appreciate your generosity, but I’m a no-strings kind of guy. I am not looking for a relationship.”
Her spine snapped as straight as a new recruit’s. Then crimson flagged her cheekbones. “Zip it, Rivers. I’m not trying to get into your britches. I’m only being neighborly and looking out for you the way Madison asked me to. I brought food to get you through until you can get to the store tomorrow afternoon. They don’t open until twelve-thirty on Sundays—after the owner gets out of church. Ditto the diner.”
She shoved the container under the porch rail. “It’s not like I lit candles, slipped into something sexy and invited you over. Eat this or don’t. I could not care less if you starve. But don’t leave my dishes outside. The nocturnal critters will destroy them.
“You’re on your own for breakfast, though. Like I said, there will be eggs in the coop. Get ’em yourself. If you dare. Brittany has a sharp beak and a mean streak. I’ll let you figure out which hen she is.”
Then she pivoted and stalked across the grass toward her rear patio. Chagrinned, Sam mentally smacked his forehead and silently cursed as he watched the angry swing of her departing hips. Infiltrating meant making nice with the locals and blending in—something he’d done hundreds, no, thousands, of times. But he’d struck out on both counts with his new neighbor. Her observations also made him realize that if he wanted to keep his privacy, he’d better shop outside of town.
As for donning something sexy...if June could see the way those jeans hugged her butt, she’d realize she was far off target on that comment.
Worse, he’d forgotten to give her the signed lease. He’d have to face her again tonight...unless he could figure out a way to circumnavigate that land mine.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_beb18181-de14-52b8-b7ce-1fb135ff8e12)
JUNE HIT THE punching bag hard enough to rattle her teeth and make her wish she’d put in her mouth guard. Then she gave her leather target a one-two combination. The smacks of solid contact didn’t give her much satisfaction.
She usually took the Sunday shift so the other deputies could go to church with their families. But not today. Today she was wailing the tarnation out of an inanimate object. Because she couldn’t wallop her new neighbor.
Sam had taped the signed lease to her front door last night while she’d been out on her run. He hadn’t even had the decency to give it to her face-to-face. And he’d rumbled down the driveway this morning in his black Charger without visiting the henhouse for eggs. She wouldn’t mind if he never returned. The last thing Quincey needed was another sexist prick.
“Idiot.” Cross. Pow. “Jerk.” Uppercut. Thump. “Coward.”
As the only female deputy on the Quincey PD, not only currently but in the history of the department, she’d had her fill of males who considered her weak or inferior. She had to work doubly hard and be twice as good as her male counterparts to be taken seriously. There were those who claimed she had been hired only because she’d spent a chunk of her childhood at the retired chief’s house playing with his daughter. That might be half-true, but she’d make darn sure Piper’s dad never regretted his decision.
Liver punch. Hook. Elbow stab. Pivot. High kick. Sweat rolled into her eyes. She impatiently swiped it away with her forearm.
“Who rattled your cage?”
June spun around. Piper, the retired chief’s daughter, stood just outside the barn. June lowered her arms. “The new tenant. He’s a chauvinistic ass.”
“He’s here?”
“Moved in yesterday. Drove out at seven this morning.”
“What’d he do? I’ve never seen you so worked up.”
“I prepared a welcome basket and then took him dinner last night. He thought I was making a pass and let me know it was an unwelcome one.” Her skin burned anew with a fresh rush of humiliation.
Piper wrinkled her nose. “He’s not from around here, is he? What does he do?”
“He’s not a local, and I don’t know what he does.”
“Your interrogation skills failed? Because I know you tried.”
Okay, so she asked a lot of questions, but knowing what people were doing was part of her job description. “He wouldn’t say and since your husband ordered me to stay out of the station, I can’t run the guy’s tags or do a background check on him.” Though she had memorized his driver’s license number just in case she got a chance to slip into the office.
“Do you think you should check him out?”
“I’m going to live next to him. None of us lock our doors. And he’s...” She tried to find the words to explain her gut feeling. Sam made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know why. “I don’t know. He has a hard edge and he hides behind wraparound sunglasses all the time—even inside. Something’s not right.”
Piper frowned. “Your instincts aren’t usually wrong. I’ll ask Roth to check him out.”
“Why don’t you just call your dear hubby and tell him to let me go into the office and I’ll do it myself?”
“Roth looked at your file and said that you never use your vacation time. He claims you don’t know how to take one. Which is true, by the way. He’s the one who suggested I invite you to attend church with Josh and me to keep you from trying to sneak into the station.”
June prickled as the comment hit its mark. “I do too know how to relax. I sat by the pool yesterday for thirty-six minutes.”
“Wow. Thirty-six whole minutes. That’s a record. And you timed every wasted second. You have just enough time to shower and change if you want to go with us.”
“Thanks for the invitation, but no. Until I get a feel for this guy, I’m not leaving the property unprotected unless it’s for work. Madison will be returning late tomorrow night, and I don’t want her walking into any surprises.”
“Understandable and commendable. I’m going to miss our lunches with her when she marries Adam and moves to Norcross. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her and thrilled she found someone after all she’s been through, but...” She shrugged.
“Yeah. Me, too.” June had known Piper forever. They’d both grown up in Quincey, and when Madison had bought June’s grandfather’s farm and veterinary practice six years ago, the two of them had taken her under their wing. The trio had formed a single-gal alliance of sorts. Now June was the only single one left. An outsider. A fifth wheel. “I hope she’ll call if she needs us for anything.”
“Speaking of people calling when they need something...have you heard from any of your siblings lately? Aren’t they overdue for wanting or needing something?”
June grimaced and tugged off her gloves. Her twin older sisters and two younger brothers were notorious for contacting June only when they wanted something.
“No, I haven’t heard from them, and I don’t know what they could possibly need from me. They already have everything.” Perfect spouses, children, homes and jobs. She was proud of them. But a little envious, too. She couldn’t find Mr. Right with a compass, a map and a bloodhound, and three of her siblings were living the American dream.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a loan they’ll never repay, a free babysitter or storage space, to name a few. You’ll be strong this time when they call?” Piper asked.
June rolled her eyes. “I will resist the urge to empty my bank account for them if they call, but my nieces and nephews are adorable, and it’s hard to say no when they need something.” Though she wouldn’t spoil her own kids nearly as much—if she ever had any.
“I know you like being needed, but at the rate your siblings spend, they’re going to burn through your inheritance. They’ve already burned through theirs. Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The lecture wasn’t a new one. Unfortunately, it was deserved, so she couldn’t protest. But she felt guilty that her grandfather had made her his primary beneficiary and left her father and his other grandchildren very little. PawPaw claimed it was because he’d given the others more than they deserved while he was alive and only June had asked for nothing. But her brothers and sisters didn’t want to hear that. “You sure you don’t want to join us? The tenant’s out somewhere and your dad’s a decent preacher.”
“I’ve heard Dad’s sermons all my life. We all did. Why do you think all my brothers and sisters moved away? And remember, I’m the black sheep. He’d have to make an example of me if I showed up. I’ve sinned. Big-time.”
“June, you made a mistake. We all make them. But I get your point. And it would probably give him a heart attack if he saw you in one of his pews. I’ll see what I can get out of Roth. In the meantime, if the new tenant does anything shady, don’t hesitate to call it in.”
“If he does, I’ll handle it. I might not be in uniform, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of business.”
Because if she called her fellow deputies for help, it would only reinforce their opinions that little Justice Jones didn’t belong on the force.
* * *
SAM DRIED THE last of June’s dishes Sunday afternoon and stuck it in the picnic basket with the others. He had to return them. And apologize. He’d read her wrong and embarrassed her. For the sake of his assignment he had to make nice.
He’d walked or crawled into hostile territory too many times to count. He was not afraid of five and a half feet of angry female, for pity’s sake.
So why was he stalling?
He didn’t have an answer for that.
He grabbed the basket and exited his quarters, heading next door. Except for paint color, externally, the structures appeared identical, but hers, unlike his, looked lived-in. Pots overflowing with flowers cluttered the outside edges of the steps leading to her porch. More flowers spilled from baskets hanging on the railings or from hooks in the eaves, and another bucket of blooms sat on the coffee table between her twin white rocking chairs—chairs bearing thick ruffled posy-print cushions. A water fountain—made from a series of brightly colored tilted ceramic pots—babbled on the far end.
There was so much color it looked as if someone had bombed a paint factory. With all the girly stuff littering the porch, the utilitarian boot scraper at the bottom of the stairs looked out of place. Then he spotted a toy box with a cartoon train painted on it tucked into the back corner, and every cell in his body screeched a warning.
Kids? She had kids? He’d seen and heard no sign of them. Maybe she was divorced and the rug rats were away for the holiday with their father. He’d seen plenty of that in the corps. But where would she put them in the one-bedroom house? More than likely she wasn’t the primary caregiver. But what kind of mom lost custody of her children?
Her front door stood open. A wood-framed screen was the only thing between her and anyone who might enter uninvited into her home. Absolutely no security. Through the mesh he registered that her floor plan was identical to his.
He could see June bustling about the kitchen concocting something with a series of bowls scattered across the countertop. She wore cutoff jeans that showed off her legs and a white T-shirt that molded every curve. Her feet were bare, her hair held behind her ears with a wide black band.
He rapped on the door. June startled, turning. “C’mon i-n.”
The last word fractured into two syllables when she saw him, and her smile melted. “What do you want?”
“I’m returning your stuff.” He swung the picnic basket into view.
Wiping her hands on a towel, she made her way across the room. “You could have left it with the lease.”
He ignored the jab. Not one of his finest moves to drop the paper and take cover. “I would have, but you said not to leave your dishes outside.”
She unlatched a hook inside, making her smarter than he’d thought, and pushed the screen open just enough to take the basket. “That’s hardly any security, June. Anybody who wanted access could cut through the screen and be inside in seconds.”
Her tight smile and the glint in her eyes took him aback. “That would be a mistake.”
“What would you do about it?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Overconfidence can get you hurt. If you’re not worried about yourself, at least think of your children.”
Confusion clouded her eyes. “Children? I don’t have children.”
He nodded toward the toy box. “Whose are those?”
Her face softened with what could only be love and...was that yearning? “My nieces and nephews. I babysit as often as I can. Don’t worry—I’ll keep them away from you.”
She reached for the basket and pulled the handle. He held on. He didn’t know why he was so determined to make her see sense. Probably because he’d worry about his sisters if they were in a remote place like this. “The owner of the farmhouse is away. You’re a half mile from your nearest neighbor. Who would hear you if you screamed for help?”
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Who says I’d scream or that I’d need help?”
Not the answer he’d expected. “You weigh what? One twenty-five? No match for a man.”
“My weight is none of your business. Was there anything else you wanted—besides to pester me, Mr. Rivers?”
This was not going as planned. “I apologize if I misunderstood earlier.”
“If?” She looked angry enough to spit. Red flagged her cheeks and chest, and fury burned in her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t give you the opportunity to misinterpret my Southern hospitality again.”
His teeth clicked together. He was trying to be nice. She wasn’t making it easy.
June snatched the basket quickly and with enough force to remove it from his relaxed grip. He hadn’t seen that coming. Then she stepped back, letting the screen slap shut, and closed the solid interior door in his face. The lock clicked.
“Guess you got tired of being neighborly,” he called out. “Thanks for the food.”
No answer. But then, he wasn’t expecting one—at least not a polite one. She was probably shooting him the bird through the door. He headed back to his temporary quarters. Antipathy between him and Blondie was a good thing. She wouldn’t ask questions about why he was here, and he wouldn’t have to lie. His mission was to help Roth, then get the hell out of Quincey. In. Out. Over.
June would have been a complication.
So why was he disappointed?
* * *
SAM ZEROED IN on his target—a ten-point buck—exhaled, slow and steady, then squeezed his trigger finger. His camera reeled off three rapid-fire shots. The deer stiffened, his ears pricking forward and the hairs along his back going erect. He searched for the adversary he hadn’t yet spotted and pawed the ground. Sam pressed the shutter button again. The buck’s head snapped up, his big dark eyes locating Sam in the tree above him. The deer snorted a warning, lifted his white tail, then bounded off through the woods. Beautiful.
Sam relaxed into his borrowed hide—a hunter’s tree stand that he’d come upon during his morning hike. In his line of work—former line of work—he’d seen a lot of nature as he’d crept up on his insurgent targets, and he’d learned to appreciate it, but during a mission, he’d never been able to take pictures. He’d been too worried about getting in undetected and out alive.
He checked his watch. He’d been perched in the tree for almost five hours. Time to call it a day. If he didn’t leave soon, it would be dark before he made it back. Not that darkness was an issue, but hunger was. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
He rose. Old injuries protested. They’d stiffened up while he’d sat practically immobile.
He turned and eased down the ladder, and only then did he notice the rain tapping on his jacket—he’d endured and tuned out far worse conditions. The rainy weather had worked to his advantage today. The people who should have been hiking the trails by the river on the Labor Day holiday had stayed inside. That meant he’d been able to explore Quincey’s surroundings without interference—and without his neighbor as a tour guide.
Using his compass, he hiked back toward his temporary quarters. Eight klicks. He circled the perimeter of the farm. From the edge of the woods he noted June’s diesel crew-cab truck still parked in the driveway. Diesel engines and sparkly sandals didn’t go together. He filed away the incongruity.
It didn’t look as though she’d moved her vehicle since he’d left just before dawn this morning. There were no tracks in or out of the gravel driveway and the rocks beneath her vehicle were dry. He returned the same way he’d left—on the blind side of his house where his nearest neighbor couldn’t see him coming or going unless she was looking out her window at his porch. He climbed the stairs, eyeing no-man’s-land—the strip of wet grass between his quarters and his neighbor’s.
June’s blinds were open and her lights on as dusk approached. He could see her clearly through the window. Her sports bra and low-waisted knit pants clung to her curves, revealing the narrowing of her waist and swell of her hips. Her pose was unmistakably yoga. Power yoga had become popular on base. One of his commanding officers had required the platoon to attend classes because the exercise supposedly improved physical training scores and helped with PTSD. Yoga hadn’t been a total waste of time—it had increased his flexibility. But Sam preferred relieving his tension through other means. Emptying a couple of dozen clips on the range. Swimming or pumping iron until his arms felt as if they would fall off. A good run. The latter had a purpose because it could save his life if he was detected and had to haul ass.
A pang of regret hit him. He wouldn’t be running for his life anymore unless his eye healed and he could convince brass to let him re-up.
June shifted from a low lunge to a shoulder stand, then rolled smoothly down into a boat pose. She held the V shape steadily, toes pointed up, arms forward with nary a wobble. That explained her flat abs. Tight. Strong. He’d underestimated her muscle tone.
He shook himself. What in the hell was wrong with him, standing here on his porch gawking at a woman working out? His knuckles bumped the gun on his hip as he dug his keys from his pocket. He didn’t have a concealed-carry permit for this state, but he wouldn’t be here long enough for the paperwork to clear, and there was no way he’d go into foreign territory unarmed. He’d better mention that to Roth. He’d have to open carry when he wasn’t wearing his police issued weapon, and he wasn’t sure how Quincey’s citizens would take that.
He unlocked his door and entered his lodgings. His gaze immediately swung to the window but he kept out of sight and didn’t turn on the overhead light. June had her legs spread wide and her breasts pressed to the floor between them. The woman was flexible. That took his brain down a path it definitely did not need to travel. Undeniable hunger burned in his gut. It was unfortunately not an appetite that could be satisfied with a bowl of the stew he’d left simmering on the stove before he’d gone out this morning.
It was not one that would be satisfied—period—during this assignment. But she provided one hell of a view.
* * *
JUNE PUSHED OPEN the station door Tuesday morning feeling as if she’d been away for months rather than exiled for three days. Thank heaven her vacation was over. It felt good to be back in uniform and back to her home away from home with her family by choice rather than blood.
Unfortunately, Madison, her friend/landlord, had returned sometime last night after June had gone to bed, and her house had still been dark when June left this morning. Getting answers about the new tenant would have to wait until lunchtime when June could swing by Madison’s office to see if her friend had any details.
But on a positive note, June had managed to avoid Sam this morning. His cottage had been dark when she’d left for her prework run, and his Charger had been gone when she’d returned. If she was curious about where he’d gone at such an early hour, well, it was none of her business as long as he stayed out of trouble. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t see him all day. Nevertheless, she’d locked her doors last night and this morning—something she’d rarely done since returning to Quincey, and she’d silently locked Madison’s while her friend slept.
The other two deputies were already at their desks. That surprised her enough to make her toe catch on the tile with a noisy squeak. Once in a while the chief beat her in, but usually she was the first to arrive. She liked coming in early while the building was quiet and then preparing and sipping her coffee while she reviewed files and bulletins that had come in overnight. She had a lot of ideas about bringing the antiquated filing system up to current-day standards, and her new boss seemed receptive to them.
“Morning, Justice,” Alan Aycock, the oldest and most chauvinistic of her fellow deputies, stated.
She’d given up long ago on convincing them to call her June rather than by the name her father and his cronies used. “Good morning, Alan. Mac. What’s going on? Did I miss a memo about a morning meeting?”
“Nah. Chief hired a new man. He starts today,” Mac replied. “We wanted to check him out.”
How had she missed hearing that? “When did he tell you that?”
“Yesterday. You gonna make the coffee?” Aycock asked. “We’ve been waiting.”
“You go ahead. I have to clock in and check the bulletins.” She ignored his sputtering and headed for the old-fashioned time clock. It was original to the building, which was only a few years short of historic. That meant it was temperamental.
“What’s in the bag?” Aycock pestered.
“You’ll find out after you make the coffee.”
She heard him grumbling. Then his chair squeaked as he pushed to his feet. “Do I use four scoops or eight?”
“Depends on whether you want to read through it or drink it.”
She’d learned early on not to pander to Alan’s passive-aggressive personality. If he could get out of doing something by doing it wrong, then he would. But to her way of thinking, a man was never too old to learn new tricks. Like how to make coffee. And other than that and his chauvinism, he wasn’t a bad guy. He’d raised his two kids single-handedly after his wife had run off with the propane deliveryman. The kids had turned out all right. Both were on the high school honor roll. You had to give him credit for that and for being a fair deputy.
“Hope you enjoyed your time off,” he groused.
“Been a long time since you worked a holiday, hasn’t it, Aycock? Years? Right?”
He stiffened at the reminder that she always covered for him and his complexion turned ruddy. “Yes. Which was nice... Time with the kids and all that.”
“Thought so.” She went through her morning routine by rote, clocking in, then depositing the homemade donuts in the break room. The station door opened as she returned to the main room. Roth, the chief, walked in followed by Sam.
Sam in a uniform identical to June’s.
Shock glued her feet to the floor, and her stomach did a loop-the-loop up her throat and down again. It was small consolation that when Sam’s eyes—the first time she’d seen them without sunglasses save his DMV photo—fixed on her, the same dismay registered on his face.
“Deputies, I’d like you to meet our newest officer. Sam Rivers.”
Sam’s unblinking gaze held hers, then skimmed downward, taking in her badge, her equipment-loaded duty belt and her polished shoes, then returned to her face.
“Sam, this is Alan Aycock, my senior deputy, and Mac Morris.”
Sam’s attention abruptly shifted elsewhere. June used the reprieve to gather her composure while Sam shook hands with each of the men. But her break was short-lived.
“You’ve already met Justice Jones,” Roth added.
Sam paused a fraction of a second before extending his hand to June. “You told me your name was June.”
His grip was warm and as firm as his accusatory tone. He held on a second longer than necessary, then released her, but the tingle traveling through her tissues lingered. “My friends call me June, but you can call me Justice or Jones since we’ll be working together.”
A slight tightening of his lips was the only sign that he’d understood her insult. “Justice because you’re a cop?”
“Justice was my mother’s maiden name. It’s Southern tradition to tag daughters that way.”
“Jones is a native of Quincey,” Roth continued. “She’ll be showing you the ropes.”
June’s and Sam’s heads snapped toward Roth’s.
“Me?”
“Her?” they chorused in horrified unison.
“That’s right. Sam, you’ll ride along with Jones until you get a feel for Quincey. Then you’ll get your own cruiser.”
“But, Chief—” June protested. Something dark and dangerous in the boss’s eyes severed her words. “Yes, sir.”
Roth tossed her a key ring. “Jones, would you get Sam’s weapon and badge from the safe? The mayor will be here in a few minutes for his swearing in.”
She took advantage of the excuse to escape to the solitude of the back room and regroup. Her day—heck, her month, her year, her life—had just taken a nosedive into the manure pile. Her obnoxious neighbor wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Having him as her shadow was the last thing she wanted, but as the officer with the least seniority, she had no authority to complain.
She was stuck, and she didn’t like it one bit. Maybe Piper—
No. She would not put her friend in the middle and cause friction between the newlyweds. She would get through this. One way or another.
Without shooting the new deputy.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_65858ed9-2073-57d7-b568-d48abdef30ce)
SAM FELT AS IF he’d been ambushed by his best friend and the betrayal stung. He stabbed Roth with a hard stare. “Can I speak to you in your office?”
Roth nodded and strode into his space, closing the door behind Sam.
“You set me up.”
“No. I dropped you into position without bias so you could get a feel for June without either of you knowing who the other one was. I didn’t even tell Piper you were coming, and trust me, I’m gonna catch hell for that. But those three women—Piper, June and Madison—are as tight as cellmates. What one knows, they all know. It helped that Madison was out of town. You met her when you had dinner with Piper and me.”
“Back up. You wanted me to get a feel for June without bias?” Roth’s words and matter-of-fact tone rolled around in Sam’s head until the answer sifted through. This wasn’t about getting Sam laid. “You think she’s a dirty cop?”
“What do you think?”
Sam considered her bright eyes and straightforward conversation, the flowers littering every surface of her porch, the toy box, her goody basket, ruffled bikini and ridiculous sandals. Crooked? No. Too sweet and naive for her own good? Definitely. Sexy—
Do not go there.
“No.”
“Good.” Roth rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope you’re right because of her connection to my wife, but I don’t trust anyone at this point. Keep your eyes open. Again, I apologize for the deception, but I didn’t see any other way.”
“How old is Jones?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“I would have guessed twenty-one at the most. How long has she been with the department?”
“Four years, almost five. Less time than the corruption has been going on.”
“Where was she before that?”
“She trained and worked with Raleigh PD before moving into the rental house on Madison’s farm—a farm that June inherited from her grandfather, then sold to Madison. She applied for a job with Quincey PD, and Piper’s dad, the former chief, hired her on the spot, cutting through the usual red tape like a hot knife through butter. That caused a little friction in the department, I’ve heard, and it raised a lot of questions for me as to the presence of corruption in this department.”
“Is she qualified?”
“I wouldn’t jeopardize your safety by partnering you with an incompetent.”
“An incompetent under investigation.” Everything in Sam wanted to retreat. Roth must have read it on his face.
“Jones graduated in the top five percent of her class. C’mon, Sam, you’ve had women in your platoon before. You’re no sexist pig like the other two out there.”
That raised his hackles again, but only because he didn’t like to think of his sisters being treated unfairly. “This isn’t about her being a woman, Roth. How am I supposed to investigate her when we live twenty feet apart and she brings me food?”
“You’re not a hostage dependent on her. A few brownies won’t give you Stockholm syndrome. And don’t feel too special. June feeds all of us. How else do you think I knew she could cook? The close quarters puts you in a perfect position to see who comes and goes at her place. I’m not asking you to date her. Just keep your eyes open.”
“You’re a native, too. Why can’t you show me around?”
“I’ve been away too long, and, of course, I arrested one of their own. Never mind he was caught red-handed moving moonshine. I pissed off a lot of people by calling in the ATF instead of handling the situation discreetly in-house and giving him a gentle tap on the wrist. Locals don’t trust me yet.
“Aycock and Morris worked with that deputy for more than a decade. That makes their conduct the most suspect. The Feds questioned them and don’t think they were directly involved, but I need your help deciding whether they looked the other way, if they’re good liars or not smart enough to see what was right under their noses.”
“Your father-in-law wasn’t.”
“That’s different. Lou and the dirty deputy were buddies. Lou trusted too much and ignored the obvious—something Butch White used to his advantage.”
Sam shook his head. “It’s strange hearing you defend a man you once cursed, the same man who ran you out of Quincey and threatened to lock you up if you ever returned or contacted his daughter again. But pairing me with June—not a good idea. She’s my neighbor...”
“You’ll deal with it. As a female, June is less likely to be part of the good-ol’-boy network. But she’s lived in Quincey long enough to know how this town operates and to possibly have been contaminated by all the I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine crap.”
Sam still wanted no part of being strapped to his pretty neighbor. “Let me recon solo. It’s what I do best.”
“You should have realized by now that Quincey’s like a fishbowl. Our fine citizens have been watching your every move since you drove into town. You don’t fit our typical tourist stereotype. That’s one reason we didn’t get together before this morning. Here, solo, you’d be suspect. But June is Quincey’s sweetheart. With her by your side, folks will let down their guard. Give it a month, Sam. Then you’ll have your own car or you’ll be finished with the assignment. Can’t you handle four weeks—less if you provide evidence to who’s dirty and who isn’t sooner?”
Sam gritted his teeth. What choice did he have? He’d made a promise. “Affirmative.”
“Good. Then let’s get you sworn in. Our esteemed mayor has arrived.”
The sarcastic bite to the word esteemed caught Sam’s attention. “Not a fan?”
“He’s a big fish in a little puddle. Likes to throw his weight around. What do you think?”
They’d both had their share of abuse of power—usually the short officers with big mouths and bigger egos. “Roger. Trust him?”
“He’s a butt-kissing politician.”
Negative. “’Nuff said.”
Roth yanked open his office door. “Jones, bring Rivers’s gear. We need a witness. You’re it. Let’s get this show on the road. We have work to do.”
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER June closed her cruiser door and turned to face the man riding shotgun. Her goal was to make the loop around town, introduce Mr. Bad Attitude to as many people as possible, then dump him back at the station.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were the new deputy?” she demanded.
“I didn’t know you were with Quincey PD.”
“How long have you known the chief?”
“What makes you think I do?”
Anger and exasperation vied for supremacy. “Can’t you just answer the question? Your evasions are really irritating.”
“What makes you think I’m dodging?”
She battled an urge to bash her head on the steering wheel. “You answer every question with a question. But the answer you’re seeking is—when you’re with the chief, your body language isn’t that of two men who just met.”
“You’re a body-language expert?”
Cocky bastard. “Let’s just say it’s a hobby. Where did you train?”
“Marine Corps.”
“Mar—” And then it hit her. “You’re Roth’s friend. The one who—” Lost his career over an eye injury. Piper and Madison had mentioned him. But Sam had the sunglasses back in place, so June couldn’t check for visible damage. “You just got out,” she amended when he stiffened.
“Affirmative.” His head turned toward her. There was no reflection in his lenses despite the sun rising behind her back. But then, a sniper wouldn’t want to give away his position with a glint in the sunshine, and Sam, according to the stories she’d heard from Piper, had been a scout sniper like Roth.
“How much visual impairment do you have?”
Tawny brows slammed down behind his shades and those soft lips compressed into a firm line. “Enough to lose my job, but not enough to keep me from doing this one.”
Dear Lord, please keep me from beating this man to death with my baton.
“What made you become a cop?”
“Roth needed help. Do you put everyone through an interrogation or am I special?”
June was the patient one in her family, the peacemaker, the temper soother, the freakin’ Rock of Gibraltar. If her siblings could see how close she was to totally losing her control at this moment, they’d be shocked.
“You’re carrying a loaded weapon and supposed to be watching my back. That makes you pretty darned special—to me. I don’t doubt your skills as a Marine or at handling weapons since you and Roth are still alive, but have you had Basic Law Enforcement Training or worked as an MP?”
“Negative. As the chief knows. But I don’t engage without intel. Roth sent me BLET textbooks and Quincey’s regulations. I’m prepared.”
Textbook trained. No practical experience. Sam must be desperate for a job. And Roth...well, he was a really good friend to Sam. Sympathy battled frustration. Sam might be an obnoxious ass, but his career had been taken from him, and he was struggling to find a new place. The way veterans were treated was shameful. As her godfather had been, Sam would be a fish out of water until he found his footing. That went a long way toward explaining his defensive behavior and bitten-off responses.
She could help him adjust. But to do that she had to accept that he wasn’t going to be an equal partner for a while. He’d be like a rookie, a liability, and she was responsible for making sure nothing happened to the chief’s pal until Sam was ready to work on his own.
The real challenge would be helping him without smacking the inconsiderate, rude jerk upside his handsome head. No small task. But she, the mediator and voice of reason in the Jones clan, was up to it.
She hoped.
* * *
OVER THE PAST three hours Sam had been grilled by what seemed like half the population of Quincey. He felt like a carcass—after the buzzards had finished their meal. Capture and interrogation would have been easier because at least then he wouldn’t have had to be polite.
June checked her mirrors, then pulled the cruiser back onto the road again. Sam spotted yet another citizen a quarter mile away “checking her mail,” and June, predictably, lifted her foot from the gas pedal.
“Are we going to stop every fifty yards?” Sam groused.
“The chief ordered me to introduce you to the people you’ve sworn to protect and serve.”
“My sisters are less nosy.”
The smirk on her face was unmistakable.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused.
“Oh yeah.” She flashed a blinding white smile. His heart jolted—but only as a result of her driving through a pothole that should have broken the front axle. The irregular rhythm had nothing to do with the mischievous sparkle in her green eyes.
“How old are your sisters?”
He had a feeling she hadn’t missed one thing the citizens of Quincey had tortured out of him. “Forty-four, forty-one and thirty-nine,” he bit out through clenched teeth. He’d managed to avoid answering June’s questions, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell the octogenarian at their last stop to mind her own business.
“And you’re what? Thirty-seven? Thirty-six?”
Did he look that old? He tried not to be insulted. But hell, he was. “Thirty-one.”
“Big age gap. I would never have guessed you’re the baby.”
Something in her tone stiffened his spine. “Why?”
“Youngest children are usually charming people pleasers, and you are definitely not, Deputy Rivers. Were you a surprise baby?”
She was just full of joy today, wasn’t she? “My mother’s second marriage.”
“Ah.”
“What in the hell is that supposed to mea—” The squawk of their radios cut him off.
“Jones. Report.”
Sam ID’d Roth’s voice.
“On Deer Trail, Chief,” June responded. “Still making the rounds.”
“Someone’s egging cars over on Oak Hill. Check it out.”
“Will do.” She flipped on the blue lights, accelerated and waved as they passed a senior citizen waiting by her mailbox. Despite the woman’s obvious disappointment, June didn’t stop. Sam said a silent thank-you. He’d been grilled enough today.
“Eggers are usually kids, aren’t they?” he speculated. “And kids should be in school.”
“Speaking from experience?”
He refrained from answering. A few miles later she rounded a bend, slowed and turned off the lights simultaneously. He spotted two heads rising from the ragweed in the ditch, arms reared back. Boys. In their early teens. They dropped their ammo and took off.
“We have runners,” she said into her radio. June threw the car into Park, flung open her door and raced after the kids. Sam followed, a beat behind, logging details as he sprinted through the waist-high weeds. Deputy Jones was fast and agile. The boys split up.
“Take right,” June called over her shoulder, then veered after the one on the left.
Sam thundered across the unfamiliar terrain. He was used to creeping undetected, not trampling plants, careless of the noise he made. Adrenaline pumping, he went down into a shallow creek bed and back up the other side, gaining on his target and ignoring the briars ripping at his clothes. “The farther you run, the more you’ll piss me off,” he shouted, but his quarry didn’t slow.
Sam could take down and incapacitate an insurgent in seconds, but he had no clue how to deal with a troublemaking kid not wearing explosives. This one showed no signs of surrendering. Sam made a running tackle, banded his arms around the brat and hit the dirt. He rolled to take as much of the impact as he could and skidded across the leafy forest floor holding on to the bucking boy. When they stopped, he pinned the kid to the ground and scrambled for the cuffs on his belt. It took a couple of tries with the unfamiliar equipment before he had the subject hog-tied. Now what?
He rose and yanked the redheaded, freckle-faced youth to his feet. They were both breathing hard.
“I didn’t do anything,” Freckles shouted.
“Then why’d you run? Running from cops can get you shot.”
“It was Joey’s idea.”
No loyalty. A Marine would never give up his man. “Let’s go.”
Grabbing the narrow biceps, he frog-marched the teen back to the patrol car and met June and her quarry strolling side by side out of the woods. No cuffs. She took one look at Sam and though she said nothing, her disapproval was clear in the hiking of those golden eyebrows and her down-turned lips.
“Suspects apprehended,” she said into her shoulder radio. “It’s Joey and Tyler.”
“Affirmative,” Roth responded.
“What were you thinking?” she asked the boys as they approached the patrol car.
“Aw, c’mon, June, it’s not like we were hurting anything.”
“Eggs damage paint. Get in the back, Joey.”
“But, June—”
“Save it.”
Sam circled to the opposite side of the cruiser and opened the door. That was when he noticed neither June nor her kid were covered in leaves, twigs and debris the way Sam and his prisoner were.
“Deputy Rivers, please remove the cuffs before putting Tyler in the back.”
The kids referred to her by name, and she knew theirs. Frequent fliers? She returned to the ditch, grabbed a basket, which she put in the trunk, then climbed back behind the wheel. She acted as calm as if they’d taken their guests on a picnic. His blood was pumping. This was probably routine for her. Not so for him.
“That’s Miss Letty’s basket, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” she repeated when they ducked their heads and didn’t answer. “You know she and her son live off what she grows. She’s poor, and Jim Bob isn’t like the rest of us. And you took their food. Shame on you.” The boys shrank into their seats.
“You’re not gonna call our parents, are you?” the one Sam had nailed wailed.
“Oh, I’ll talk to your parents, but first I have something else in mind.”
Sam glanced through the grate and saw worry and dread in the faces too young to shave. “Vandalism is a crime. Do you want a criminal record to ruin your futures?” He used his sternest voice, trying to scare the piss out of them. Their pale faces and wide eyes told him it had worked.
“Guys, this is Deputy Rivers. Sorry you had to meet this way.” June put the car in motion, heading away from the station instead of toward it. Was she going to torture her passengers with the same parade through town Sam had endured?
Two klicks down the road she turned up a dirt driveway flanked by overgrown grass and weeds. A small, old, formerly white clapboard house smaller than his rental came into view. She tooted the horn. A tiny woman as weathered as the peeling building came out the front door. The teens sunk even deeper into the seat with a chorus of Oh man’s.
June got out and released her passenger. Following her lead, Sam did the same. Then she retrieved the basket from the trunk. Sam kept an eye on the boys, expecting them to bolt.
“Miss Letty, this is Deputy Rivers. He helped me catch these rascals. They’ve been in your henhouse.”
June cut a razor-sharp glance at the boys, who shuffled their feet and tucked their chins, then mumbled, “Sorry, Miss Letty.”
“Ya stole my eggs?”
Heads bobbed. “Yes, ma’am.”
June passed her the basket. “There are a few left. After school tomorrow Tyler and Joey will each bring you two dollars.”
They boys eyed June, then each other in dismay.
“Well, I...” the old lady started to protest.
“It’s the least they can do, Miss Letty.”
The old woman nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”
June snapped her fingers. “Back in the car, boys.”
Sam was more than a little surprised when they docilely did as ordered. June crossed to the old woman and gave her a hug. “Have a nice afternoon, Miss Letty. Tell Jim Bob I said hello. I’ll be back on Thursday with banana bread. If these boys don’t show tomorrow, you let me know.”
“What was that about?” Sam asked her over the car’s roof after the boys were back in the car and before she opened her door.
“Around here we don’t steal, and we take care of our own.”
Take Care of Your Own was a motto Marines lived by and could be iffy if abused. Was June overstepping her authority by forcing the boys to pay the woman? Seemed like it.
Again June steered away from the station. Approximately ten klicks down the road she turned the cruiser into a church parking lot, and the boys groaned. “C’mon, June. We’re sorry.”
“You will be.”
The building was old enough to have a historic marker out front. Founded in 1898 by Ezekiel Jones, it proclaimed. Signs along the road and driveway advertised a barbecue fund-raiser being held this Saturday.
“Just call our parents, please,” Carrottop pleaded.
“I did that last time. It didn’t work, did it? ’Cause here you are, hitching a ride with me again,” June replied. “This is the second time I’ve picked you two up for malicious mischief.”
She stopped the cruiser in front of the stone house beside the church, exited the car and then released their prisoners. The boys exchanged panicked glances.
“Don’t even think about running,” June warned, and the boys’ shoulders sagged. “I’m faster than both of you and I know where you live.”
They obediently followed her up the walk with scuffing feet and bowed heads. No cuffs. No use of force. What in the hell? Each one outweighed her but they made no attempt to escape. Sam took rear guard just in case. June knocked on the arched wooden door and a few moments later it opened, revealing an older man in a suit.
“Hi, Daddy.”
The words floored Sam. June was a preacher’s daughter? Then he noticed the lack of welcome in the man’s eyes—the same green as June’s—and the absence of a hug. His father would have crushed him with one if he’d shown up on the doorstep. That thought drove a bayonet of guilt into Sam’s ribs. He wanted to talk to his father, to get his advice, and yet he didn’t want to admit failure. Being separated from the corps was definitely a failure. Unless he could fix it.
“Justice.”
“Joey and Tyler have come to volunteer their services to the church this Saturday. They’d like to wash cars during your barbecue. They won’t charge the church, but they’ll accept donations for the youth mission fund.”
The boys grumbled again until the preacher’s hard stare silenced them. “Is that so?”
He continued giving them the beady eye until they nodded and Yes, sir’d.
“They’ll be here at eleven and they’ll stay until the last car leaves. I’d appreciate it if you’d feed them and keep them hydrated.”
“Good to know some of our members know how to repent,” the preacher said, and June paled. “I’ll see that they get lunch.”
“See you Saturday, then, Daddy.” She turned on her heel and headed back to the cruiser. The teens fell in behind her like baby ducks following momma duck.
Sam took another look at the man’s harsh face, then at June. He couldn’t help wondering if the clichés about a preacher’s daughter being wild were true. From the man’s comment about repenting and his chilly attitude, it sounded like it, but that didn’t fit June’s image as Quincey’s sweetheart. As Roth had predicted, everybody they’d encountered this morning adored her.
One thing was certain. His fellow deputy had just become a whole lot more interesting if she’d done something her father couldn’t forgive.
* * *
SAM STALKED INTO Roth’s office at the end of his shift. The day had been worse than enemy capture and torture. “You have to pair me with one of the men tomorrow.”
Roth pointed at the chair in front of his desk. Sam sat, relieved to see the end of his first day as a deputy. “Why?”
“After we apprehended the egg throwers, June took them to the lady they stole the eggs from and promised they’d reimburse her. Then your deputy took them to her father’s church and volunteered them to wash cars for a church fund-raiser. She never Mirandized them. And that’s not by the book.”
“No, it isn’t, but neither is it out of line. They weren’t formally charged.”
Matter of opinion. Not Sam’s. “After that she took them to school and told their science teacher that the boys would like to do a report and a presentation to their class on how eggs damage auto paint. She touted it as a great learning experience for all.”
Roth’s face remained inscrutable. “Is that right?”
“Only then did she drive each one of the brats to his daddy’s office and tell the fathers what their sons had done and where the boys would be on Saturday and about the school project. Instead of wasting an entire afternoon on these little vandals, she should have hauled them here and tossed them into a cell to cool their heels until their parents posted bail and picked them up. June is more mommy than deputy.”
Roth rocked back in his chair. “I told you small-town policing is like nothing you’ve ever seen. I had issues with June’s technique, too, when I first started here, and then my father-in-law set me straight. June’s approach may be unconventional. It certainly wouldn’t work in Raleigh, where she trained. But it works here. For what it’s worth, Miss Letty barely scrapes by since her husband died a few years back, and the boys attend Pastor Jones’s church. They’re probably even going on the mission trip. Reparation might not be a bad idea. As for the school thing...we could do with a few less juvenile delinquents. They’re Quincey’s biggest problem.”
Dumbfounded, Sam stared at his friend. “What has small-town living done to the rule-following Marine I knew? June’s dispensing her own brand of justice. Hell, she was judge and jury, too.”
“Supposing she’d done as you suggested and brought the boys to the station and charged them with petty vandalism, following textbook procedure. Tyler’s daddy’s a lawyer, a good one, I hear, and Joey’s dad was Quincey’s all-star quarterback fifteen years ago. He took the team to the state championship and threw the winning touchdown. That’s something folks around here don’t forget. I suspect the judge would have thrown out both boys’ cases.”
“You have to be kidding me. We caught them red-handed.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Sam, and now you understand some of my frustration. In reality, strings would have been pulled, charges dropped, etc. The boys’ punishment would have been over before the ink dried on the paperwork, and they’d have learned that their daddies can get them out of trouble. Or if by some fluke the charges weren’t dropped, the boys would have a permanent juvenile record for stealing and throwing a couple dollars’ worth of eggs. You and I both did worse as kids.
“Now put yourself in their current situation.” Grinning, Roth shook his head. “June’s going to torture the ever-livin’ hell out of them for a week. Tyler and Joey will also serve as examples to their peers when they’re stuck washing cars Saturday afternoon while their buddies are eating barbecue and throwing around the football on the church lawn. And when they’re forced to stand up and give that oral report, the message will be driven home again. Screw up in Quincey and you pay. You tell me which punishment is more likely to discourage repeat offenders.”
As soon as Roth said it, Sam got it. He didn’t like it. He preferred rules and clear-cut consequences for breaking them. He liked going through the proper chain of command. But he understood June’s angle. He nodded.
“I hear you, but I’d still like to work with Morris or Aycock tomorrow. That woman likes a captive audience. She nearly talked the boys’ ears off. Mine, too.”
Roth cracked a smile. “Sam, she’s the most even-tempered woman I’ve ever met or worked with. How did you manage to get on her bad side so quickly?”
The chair suddenly felt harder. “What makes you think I did?”
“She’s beat you in here by ten minutes to request that your training be handled by one of the other deputies.”
That rankled. Sam had never had anyone refuse to work with him before. On the contrary, he’d had more ask to be assigned to work with him than his superiors could accommodate. He was imperturbable, eternally patient, a damned good shot, and top-notch at calculating trajectories, wind velocities and spindrift.
“She doesn’t want to work with me? What’s her problem?”
“You. She claims you’re too rigid and used excessive force when you handcuffed Tyler Newsome for throwing eggs.”
“I cuffed the little bast—brat for evading arrest. He ran.”
“He’s barely thirteen.”
“So were two of the suicide bombers I was sent to take out.”
A sobering silence filled the room. Roth had been there, done that. The first kid Sam had been sent after hadn’t even started shaving, but the explosives wrapped around his chest as he’d strolled into a crowded marketplace that had included many Marines had been impossible to miss. That had been a hard one. The bastards over there had used women and children on a regular basis. Subsequent assignments hadn’t gotten any easier. But Sam had done what was necessary to save lives.
He replaced the bad memories by dredging up an image of angry green eyes and golden hair pulled into a stubby ponytail instead.
“What else is she whining about?” Sam groused.
“She claims you were abrupt with the citizens who tried to welcome you. You even refused Mrs. Ray’s turtle soup.”
That bit him like belly-crawling over a ground nest of yellow jackets. “I don’t like turtle soup, and I met a hundred people today. June never got the car above ten miles per hour. And then she took me to the diner for lunch. A cavity search would’ve been less invasive. It was like being autopsied while I was still alive.” He’d barely been able to eat for people dropping by their table and grilling him.
Roth’s grin widened. “Welcome to Quincey. Give it time. It’ll grow on you.”
“Like fungus?”
Roth laughed. “Ah, you remember my description of coming home. See you in the morning. If you’re nice, maybe June will let you drive.”
Frustrated, Sam rose. “If I wanted to be tortured by females, I’d go home to my sisters.”
“Good idea. I’ll give you three days’ leave if you want to visit your family. But you’re still partnered with Jones.”
His sisters made the citizens of Quincey look like amateur sleuths.
“I don’t need leave.”
At least he and June agreed on one thing. Neither wanted to work together. But he’d change her mind. Then when he repeated his request for a different partner, maybe Roth would listen.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_a53879ef-1994-510d-b87b-a17ea70f0808)
JUNE PACED HER tiny den, waiting for Madison to get home. But instead of her landlord’s truck, she heard the low growl of Sam’s high-performance engine rumbling up the driveway. Tension snapped her nerves as tight as overwound guitar strings. He parked in front of his cottage and headed for his front door.
If it had been anyone else, she’d have invited them to join her for dinner. It was the neighborly thing to do. But not Sam. She’d had enough of his impatience and disapproving glares today. Not that she’d been able to see his condemning eyes through the dark lenses, but the way he’d looked at her, with censure pleating his brow and turning down the corners of his compressed mouth, she’d seen all she needed to see.
Why had he taken this job if he hated small-town life so much? Or maybe he just hated her. That bothered her more than it should have. His opinion did not matter.
A minute later her landlord’s truck turned into the driveway. June grabbed the Crock-Pot and picnic basket and, juggling her load, hurried across the yard to meet Madison as she climbed from the cab.
Madison spotted June, and her dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Hi. Please tell me that’s dinner. I’m starving. Piper and I didn’t get a lunch break.”
June struggled to contain her questions and forced patience she did not feel. “It is. I made white chicken chili, corn bread and salad. Busy day at the office?”
“There are always pet emergencies after a holiday weekend, but today everyone’s ‘emergency’ was more of a need to stop by and question me about my wedding plans and my replacement, Dr. Drake.”
“You got in late last night,” June said in an attempt to make polite chitchat before getting down to facts as they crossed the yard together.
“It was hard to say goodbye to Adam.” Madison’s time with her fiancé and his family had been good for her. She looked more relaxed than June had ever seen her.
Madison, June and Piper had often shared meals, potlucking it at each other’s houses until Piper and now Madison had become engaged. Once Madison moved to Georgia after her wedding, June would be solo. Except for her annoying neighbor...unless she could convince her landlord to turf him. But she couldn’t blurt out that demand. She’d have to work up to it.
Madison twisted the backdoor knob, then frowned over her shoulder at June. “You locked my back door again. Why?”
“You don’t know your new tenant. I don’t trust him.”
Madison dug her keys out of her pocket and opened the door. “Oh, c’mon. Sam’s a nice guy. And I don’t think you can get a better referral than from Quincey’s chief of police.”
Nice guy? June practically choked on her own saliva as she followed Madison into the kitchen. She set the slow cooker, basket and salad bowl on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me Roth’s friend was renting the cottage?”
“Because Roth asked me not to mention it. He said Sam needed time and privacy to get his head together about being forced out of the military. And Sam was as pleasant as he could be when I met him at Piper and Roth’s, so I didn’t think it would be a problem. Of course, that was before he lost his job. That might affect his mood, I guess, if he’s acting differently with you.”
“He’s the new deputy. Roth stuck me with training him.”
“Ah...you’re working together.”
Madison’s knowing tone raised her hackles. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It explains the friction between you. You have not had great luck with the men you’ve worked with. You especially don’t like guys who are condescending or boss you around. Does he?”
Had he? No. Not in that way. “He accused me of coming on to him when I took him the key and a welcome basket.”
Madison’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet you gave him your phone number, too.”
“In case he had questions. What’s that got to do with it?”
“A pretty single neighbor brings food to the new guy. And I know you. That basket was probably loaded with delicious home-cooked stuff. Then that neighbor offers her phone number. How do you think a stranger to Quincey would take that kind of overture?”
When Madison put it that way... “As a pickup attempt?”
Madison nodded. Then June put the pieces together and grimaced. Heat climbed to her hairline. “To make matters worse, I was wearing Kelsie’s bikini. He showed up while I was killing time by the pool.”
Madison chuckled. “Poor Sam. That explains a lot. Your sister’s taste borders on trampy. He’d never know you’re as comfortable in a bathing suit as you are jeans and a T-shirt, thanks to your siblings’ enthusiastic sports matches at family get-togethers.
“You and Sam got off on the wrong foot. Once you get to know him, you’ll see he’s a decent guy. He made it very clear when I met him that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Again, that was before he lost his job. I don’t know if his status has changed. But to be on the safe side, treat him like one of your brothers and you should be fine.”
Even at their worst her brothers had never been so irritating. They had never questioned every decision she made or looked at her as if she was wasting their valuable time. And they never handcuffed children.
Madison gathered plates and bowls from the cabinets and set the table. “I’m glad you’re here. I was going to knock on your door later anyway. Adam and I are having trouble deciding where to get married. I value your levelheaded advice.”
June would prefer to talk about Sam and find out everything Madison knew about the former Marine. But that would have to wait. She gathered utensils, then sat and dished out the food while Madison poured sweet tea. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to get married in the Drakes’ church. That’s where I married Andrew.”
“I can see where taking vows to your deceased husband’s identical twin in the same spot might be awkward.”
“Exactly. Plus, it gives a negative vibe. That marriage didn’t work out. On the rare occasions I attend services here I go to your father’s church with Piper. But I don’t want your dad marrying us either. He may be a gifted orator, but I don’t like the way he treats you, and I really want you and Piper with me when I promise forever to Adam.”
“This is your wedding, Madison. Get married wherever you want. I can handle my dad.” June would be there—even if it meant going to her father’s church, where he’d humiliated her in front of all of Quincey.
Madison shook her head. “No way. I still remember the excitement in your voice when you called to tell me your guy had planned a special dinner and you thought he was going to propose. Then I remember the pain in your eyes when you showed up on my doorstep three days later dragging a U-Haul trailer and telling me you’d quit the job you loved and left Raleigh and you needed a place to stay. Your parents should have been there for you.”
“I didn’t need them. I had you and Piper.”
“And we were happy to help—even though you wouldn’t let us castrate the lying, adulterous bastard. But that’s not the point, June. You didn’t know the jerk was married. You were the victim and not the offender. Your father shouldn’t have condemned you then and he shouldn’t continue doing so now, years later. I wish your mother would grow a backbone and tell him to go to hell for treating you so badly.”
“My mother only has an opinion if Dad gives her one. She never thinks for herself. Can we talk about something more pleasant? Like your wedding? Are we going to have ugly bridesmaids’ dresses?”
Madison laughed. “That’s between you and Piper. Y’all get to pick them out. I don’t even care what color you choose as long as you’re both there—wherever ‘there’ is.”
“Have you and Adam considered a destination wedding? Savannah, Charleston and the Outer Banks are close by. Or you could go to the mountains.”
“That’s a good idea. One I’ll run by Adam and research. But I need a promise from you. Promise me you’ll be at the wedding wherever it is. It’s scary as hell to be doing this when I swore I’d never tie myself to a man again.”
Especially with her dead husband’s identical twin, June thought. She didn’t know the whole story of Madison’s first marriage, but she knew it had gone from heaven to hell at some point. “Do you have doubts?”
“Not a one. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. That’s the scariest part. He’s either perfect for me, or I’m completely besotted and blind.”
“I don’t think it’s the latter. I’ll be there no matter where, no matter when and no matter how ugly my dress is.”
That was one promise she’d have no trouble keeping.
* * *
FOR THE FIRST time ever, June dreaded going into work. She sat in her truck outside the station trying to rally her enthusiasm for the day ahead.
Yesterday had been tough with Mr. No Personality—correction, Mr. Unpleasant Personality—riding shotgun and wearing a perpetual scowl. She’d never met a more rigid, disagreeable, impatient, judgmental man...except maybe her father. But at least her father knew how to turn on the charm for his flock. He just didn’t waste it on her.
But after her conversation with Madison, June had decided to give Sam the benefit of the doubt and a second chance at being a decent human being. She climbed from the cab, shifted her duty belt at her waist, then marched from the parking lot into the station. As usual, she was early and the other deputies’ desks were empty. The only light came from the chief’s domain.
“Jones, my office,” Roth called out.
She stopped in front of the chief’s desk. “Yes, sir? Have you rethought my request to reassign Sam?”
“Not a chance. I had calls from each of those boys’ fathers last night. They both think you went overboard with the punishments.”
She hadn’t even clocked in and her day had begun to circle the drain. “But, Chief, this was their second offense, and after all the vandalism we had with those other teens a few months back—”
He held up one finger to stop her defense. “I disagreed with them. And I told them as much. You turned what could have been a bad and expensive experience into a learning opportunity—not just for these boys, but also for their peers.”
Surprised and relieved, she sighed. She and Roth didn’t have enough of a track record for her to know how he thought. “Thanks for the backup, sir.”
“I also told them if they’d take the time to parent their sons, Quincey PD officers wouldn’t have to.”
She winced. “That, uh, might not have been a good idea.”
“I’m not going to pander to egos. My predecessor was too nice and too lenient. No one will ever accuse me of that.
“Jones, I want you to take Rivers to the shooting range first thing this morning. Introduce him to Tate Lowry and empty a couple of boxes. Sam needs to get a weapon in his hands again and become familiar with the HK. Lowry’s expecting you. The department will cover the cost of the rounds.”
Sounded like fun—even with the bad company. “Yes, sir. Is that all?”
“No. Don’t shoot my new deputy.” He said it with a straight face, but humor sparkled in his eyes.
“I’ll do my best to resist the temptation, Chief, but I make no promises, because he is a pain in the butt,” she responded equally deadpan. The office had changed since Roth took over. Piper’s dad had been a good boss, but more things got done with the new chief always pushing for improvement.
“Let me give you a piece of advice in dealing with Sam. His eye is still healing and his vision isn’t what it once was. The doctors said it would take up to a year for it to stabilize. He’s on shaky ground now—not sure if he’ll end up with a permanent visual impairment. He’s a man of actions, not words. Let your accuracy do the talking this morning. And show no mercy. Give him all you’ve got. Understood?”
She bit her lip. As much as she disliked Sam, she wasn’t comfortable with kicking the man while he was down. “That seems a bit...cruel given his injury, sir. Are you sure that’s the best way to handle this?”
“I’m sure. Sam thrives on adversity. He thinks his clearest when under extreme pressure. That skill saved our asses on more than one occasion. The sniper motto is Death Before Capture. There were a couple of times I was certain there was no way out of our predicament, and I was contemplating eating my own bullet rather than surrendering. But each time, Sam’s ingenuity got us out of trouble.
“Trust me, Jones, he’ll take this as a challenge, and improving his skills will give him something to focus on besides being cut from the corps.”
She wasn’t convinced, but an order was an order. “If you say so, sir. I’ll do my best to wipe the floor with him.”
Roth laughed. “That’s exactly what he needs.”
The exterior door opened, then closed. Silence followed. No sound of clunky footsteps heralded Morris or Aycock. Instead, June looked up and saw Sam standing in the chief’s doorway. Without the sunglasses. The impact of his icy blue eyes on hers winded her like a bad tackle in a family-reunion football game.
“Repeating your request to dump me?” he growled.
Be nice, June. It won’t kill you. But it might come close.
She stretched her mouth into a smile so wide it nearly cracked her cheeks. “Good morning, Rivers. On the contrary, I’m getting our assignment. Clock in. I’ll be waiting in the cruiser. The chief is sending us on an expedition.”
She headed for the door and paused for Sam to step out of the way.
“Hold it, Jones.” The chief’s voice stopped her inches from her new partner.
So much for a quick escape. She pivoted to face the boss. The subtle aroma of man filled her nostrils. Sam. Not cologne. Her mouth dried. She was too close, but she refused to give away her unsettled reaction by backtracking. “Yes, sir?”
“The idea you submitted for modernizing our records and converting our paper files to digital is a good one. When the equipment I’ve requisitioned comes in, you and Sam will be in charge of that operation. Copy that?”
She wouldn’t be passing Deputy Rivers off to someone else anytime soon. Not good news. “Yes, Chief.”
“That’s all.”
She turned and looked at Sam. His cold gaze drilled hers, but he stubbornly held his ground, blocking half the doorway. Was he trying to intimidate her? If so, he was wasting his time. She’d endured far worse from her brothers and her fellow officers in Raleigh who’d been determined to run off the female country bumpkin—especially once she’d shown them up on the range.
She brushed past him, being extremely careful not to bump him, but at the last second the duty pack on her belt snagged on him, jolting her pulse into a wild rhythm. Ignoring it, she headed for the break room. She needed coffee and distance before closeting herself in the car with him.
Treat him like a brother, Madison had said. But neither Michael nor Rhett had ever had this disconcerting effect on her. On second thought, maybe she didn’t need the caffeine after all. Her pulse was pounding like a woodpecker against her eardrums, and she was already jumpy. If she wanted to be able to hit the target, she needed to steady her nerves.
Calm. Cool. Whoop his butt.
Yes, he was an ex-sniper. But that meant he was used to long-range rifles. Thanks to her grandfather, she was an expert with handguns. And as Roth had said, Sam had visual issues, too.
Time for some humble pie, Deputy Sam.
* * *
SAM HAD NEVER minded silence. Before now. He was used to solitude and didn’t need entertaining. He definitely did not need or miss June’s chatter or stopping every five yards to meet Quincey’s people.
Recon was his thing. The scenery—fields, woods, farms—was self-explanatory. He saw what he needed to see and made a mental map of the region. He didn’t need her to identify the plants that provided cover or the hollows where someone could hide, or for her to tell him stories about the odd characters who lived up each dirt driveway the way she had yesterday. Quiet suited him fine.
But he was flying blind with no intel to their destination and he didn’t like it. June was edgy. He could feel tension rolling off her like heat off an airstrip. The uneasy feeling of being on the verge of walking into an ambush grew stronger by the minute.
Another mile passed without June taking her foot off the gas except to allow a gaggle of geese to cross the road. On the outskirts of town she hit the turn signal. Sam muffled a groan. He should have known the reprieve wouldn’t last. After the kid fiasco yesterday she’d taken him to dozens of backwoods holes-in-the-wall to meet the citizens who operated Quincey’s mom-and-pop businesses. Was this yet another one?
Then she turned the car into the gravel lot and a plain hand-painted sign came into view. Hunt and Bait Shop. He liked to hunt and fish. Maybe this wouldn’t be unbearable.
June parked, climbed out of the patrol car and headed for the long, low cinder-block building without a word. He tracked after her. The sign in the window said the place wouldn’t open for another hour, but after a quick knock, she barged through the unlocked door.
Sam followed a little more cautiously. Dozens of taxidermied dark eyes stared down at him from the walls. Deer, beavers, foxes, raccoon, bobcats, assorted fowl. There were a couple of pictures of a guy in ACUs tucked unobtrusively among them. A red steel door marked Live Fire Beyond This Point caught his attention.
A shooting range? In Quincey? His day suddenly looked more interesting. Sam hadn’t fired a weapon in over six months—not by choice. He’d been warned after the surgery to avoid anything jarring like recoil for three months, but an hour before giving him the boot, his doctor had given the okay to resume normal activities.
Normal. Ha. His life was anything but normal now.
He itched to unload the semiauto in his holster. He’d come back tonight after work.
“Tate?” June called out.
A fifty-something buzz-cut-wearing man came out of the back office. The guy from the pictures—minus the uniform. A scar now marked the right side of his face and he walked with a mild limp.
“June, I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” Then his gaze slid to Sam and he extended his hand across the glass display case containing an assortment of pistols, revolvers and a sweet Benchmade knife. “You must be the new deputy. I’m Tate Lowry, Master Sergeant, US Army, retired, but I won’t hold being a jarhead against you.” He delivered the rivalry insult with a smile.
The guy knew who he was. Sam shook his hand. “Sam Rivers. Staff Sergeant, USMC. Former staff sergeant,” he corrected, and the words pierced him like an enemy’s bayonet. “And I won’t hold being a dogface grunt against you.”
Lowry guffawed. “That’s the spirit.” Then he reached beneath the counter and set two boxes of .40-cal ammo on the surface. “Chief called an’ told me you two were coming. I don’t open to the public for an hour, so you have the place to yourself.”
Shooting? That was the detail Roth had in mind for today? Thanks, buddy.
“I’ve set targets on all four lanes,” Lowry continued, “and there are more stacked by the door. Have at it. If you need more ammo, you know where to find me.” The old guy winked at June.
She grinned back, and her smile hit Sam like a sucker punch. “Thanks, Tate. I owe you a pecan pie.”
“You owe me nothing, sweetheart, but I’ll take a pie off your hands anytime.” He turned back to Sam. “You need ear or eye protection?”
Sam nodded, and Tate added clear-lens glasses and a set of earplugs to the ammo pile. Sam registered that he didn’t offer June either safety precaution.
“Use of the shooting range is on the house for QPD. You’re welcome anytime. Rifle shooting is done out back. If you need to get in before or after my official hours, just give me a call and I’ll make it happen. I got nothing better to do.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it,” Sam said, eager to see the range.
“You and I need to swap stories sometime. Not many people around here want to listen to an old fart talk about the good ol’ deployment days. Might be dumb, but I miss ’em.”
“Copy that.”
June grabbed a box of ammo and headed for the red door. Sam did the same. It would be good to know if the woman watching his back could hit anywhere close to her mark or if he’d need to take cover if she ever unholstered her weapon. Roth had said she’d graduated at the top of her class, but seeing was believing. The door closed behind them, and the familiar sulfur smell of gunpowder filled his nose.
June stopped by the first lane. “If you have questions about the HK, let me know. Here’s the deal—one magazine per target, loser buys dinner. Highest number of winning sheets eats free. Just so you know, it’s going to be me, Rivers. I’ll be down there shellacking you.” She pointed to the far side of the room, then headed that way.
Her cocky wager—not the sparkle in her eyes or the confident swing of her hips—grabbed his attention by the throat. He’d fired more makes of guns than there were weeks in a year. He took the closest lane. “I think I can figure out this weapon, and I’ll take that bet, Jones. I haven’t had a good steak in a while.”
“You’ll be buying those steaks, Deputy.”
Her vaunt made him laugh. “Do you know what I did for a living?”
“I know.” She pulled ear and eye protection from her small bag and donned both before disappearing into her booth. The fact that she kept her own equipment in the car made him wonder if she needed that much practice. He couldn’t see her over the six-foot protective walls, but he could see her target downrange.
He pulled his spare magazines from his belt and lined them up on the rubber-matted board. Anticipation and adrenaline—not her challenge—made his heart race as he emptied his police ammo, then refilled each clip with cheaper target rounds. He was almost done when the distinct crack-thump of June’s weapon pulled his gaze to the paper rectangle. She’d hit an inch left of center. Not bad. Lucky shot? Her second round drilled the target. Bull’s-eye. Before the paper stopped fluttering, a third round ruffled the edge of the same hole, then a fourth. He blinked and looked again.
The blonde who wore sequined sandals and a ruffled bikini and cooled herself off with a squirt bottle was a sharpshooter?
“No effin’ way,” he muttered.
Roth would have warned him. Or would he? His buddy had a twisted sense of humor. Had he been messing with Sam’s head and enjoying a private joke? That had to be it. Oh yeah, today would be fun. He’d school June on how it was done. Nice to know she’d be a worthy opponent.
She proved her skills further with eight more rounds. Then she ejected her magazine and backed out of the booth. Frowning down the aisle at him, she removed an earplug. “Need help loading?”
He realized he’d stopped to watch her, and that was wrong, wrong, wrong. He was a professional, not a spectator. “No. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
“There’s nothing to do in Quincey but fish and hunt. I used to hang out with my grandfather and two younger brothers. I’m a bit...competitive, or so they tell me.”
“Not bad, Deputy. But not good enough to get a free meal out of me.” He stepped to the line. He’d never fired this weapon, had no idea if the sights were accurate, and it had been months since he’d discharged a pistol. But if there was one thing he knew, it was ballistics.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled, slow and steady. His first shot went wide right, barely tearing the edge of the paper. He mentally adjusted for sights that were off and tried again. Low and outside. Damn. He fired a third and missed again.
He was shooting all around the paper. Was it the gun or him? His mind spun, calculating distance, trajectory, velocity and a hundred other things. He was alive because he was a damned good shot.
Was?
The thought rocked him to the core. Had to be the HK.
He tried to focus, to slow his respiratory and heart rates and still his unsteady hands. Damn it, he was shaking. He didn’t shake—not even when his life was on the line. He emptied the clip, replaced the target, then braced his elbows on the deck and emptied another magazine with the same bad results.
His surgeon had warned that he might have some depth perception issues for a while due to the unequal pressure in his eyes. Was that the case here?
“Take your time, Sam,” June said from behind him, and rested a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed her moving to the back of his lane. Her palm burned through his uniform. The concern in her tone ratcheted up his tension. He stood, reeled in the tattered target and replaced it, then ejected the magazine and popped in the next one.
Compensate. Figure out what’s going wrong and fix it.
Her scent drifted across the booth, disrupting his focus. Mind games? Blondie was playing with him—a man who’d been trained to block out biting insects, snakes and other vermin and even bodily functions to get his shot. Hell, he could lie in wait for hours or days, if necessary.
He’d better concentrate if he didn’t want to spend a meal looking into smug green eyes.
Come on, Rivers. You’re better than this.
He shook off her hand and fixed his gaze on the intersecting lines, very conscious of the woman watching him. He exhaled, ignoring her as best he could, squeezed the trigger repeatedly until his magazine was empty. His anxiety level rose with each shot.
He looked at the Swiss cheese of his target—pitiful—then at June. For a moment he thought he saw sympathy in her green eyes, and his spine turned to steel.
Then she shrugged. “Sixty-one more rounds to go. I like my steak medium rare with a baked potato drowning in butter on the side.”
He had to keep his head in the game. “You think you’re gonna beat me.”
“Of course. I know this weapon as well as I know my own face. You, on the other hand, are still learning your HK’s quirks and you’re out of practice.”
Her cockiness would have been cute if anxiety hadn’t been chewing a hole in his stomach. “My sights are off.”
She offered him her weapon, grip first. “Use mine.”
In other words, put up or shut up, Marine. What choice did he have? He exchanged guns with her. “Are you going to yap all day or shoot?”
Her eyebrows arched above the clear lenses. Then she about-faced. She took lane three. He moved to lane two, beside her.
He heard the telltale sound of her popping in a magazine and loading one in the chamber. He’d do better with her weapon. The sights were on target. Her accuracy proved that.
But he didn’t improve. Four magazines later he admitted it wasn’t the weapon. It was him.
He was a sniper, a sharpshooter, without a single bull’s-eye. If he couldn’t hit his target, where did that leave him?
Unemployable and without marketable skills.
Was the blind spot in his peripheral vision not enough of a curse? Was his visual impairment permanent? It had been five damned months since his final surgery. He was counting on healing and proving the doctors wrong.
Movement downrange caught his attention. June reeled in yet another target with a gaping hole in the center. Each perfect sheet had ratcheted up his tension until he was almost ready to burst out of his skin. His targets looked as if he’d used buckshot. A new recruit who’d never touched a weapon before boot camp would have had better results.
Desperation filled him, forcing out oxygen. He had to improve his scores. Again and again he reached for the box, until there were no rounds left. He’d wasted one hundred rounds and hadn’t scored a single winning sheet. He’d improved his score by shooting with his injured eye closed, but he was still nowhere near his previous proficiency.
“Nothing more we can do. Give it time,” the doctors had said.
Sometimes life sucked.
And then it got worse.
He removed the glasses and wiped his face, then backed out of the booth, facing one cold, hard fact. He was no longer a Marine. He was no longer a sharpshooter.
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Emilie Rose
Resisting June may be his toughest job Investigating small-town police corruption has never been on former marine Sam Rivers's radar. Still, taking this assignment gives him the opportunity to figure out what's next after his medical discharge. The task should be a straightforward one. That is, until he meets Deputy June Jones. Almost instantly the warm, sexy woman occupies his thoughts. For a man who craves solitude, suddenly he can't get enough of her.He also can't forget his reason for being in Quincey, North Carolina. As his investigation progresses, it threatens his secret relationship with June. But can he turn his back on all the love and hope she offers?
Resisting June may be his toughest job
Investigating small-town police corruption has never been on former Marine Sam Rivers’s radar. Still, taking this assignment gives him the opportunity to figure out what’s next after his medical discharge. The task should be a straightforward one. That is, until he meets Deputy June Jones. Almost instantly the warm, sexy woman occupies his thoughts. For a man who craves solitude, suddenly he can’t get enough of her.
He also can’t forget his reason for being in Quincey, North Carolina. As his investigation progresses, it threatens his secret relationship with June. But can he turn his back on all the love and hope she offers?
“Forget it, Rivers. Now go. Please.”
Sam watched June, not responding. Finally, she spoke again. “Leave me with a little pride, and let me pretend I didn’t just make a fool of myself.”
She pushed the door again, but when he held his position, she threw up her hands and retreated inside. A smart man would let her go.
“June, let me explain.”
She angled a hesitant, wounded gaze over her shoulder. “I’m mature enough to take no for an answer, Rivers. But it’s time you left.”
The cool and clearly false bravado in June’s tone only made Sam feel worse. Damn, she was tough. She could have begged, cried, thrown a tantrum or slammed the door on him. He would have expected, and knew how to handle, any of those reactions. Instead, she acted with dignity.
This was one firefight he wouldn’t win no matter what he did.
Dear Reader (#ulink_3c284e3c-6d0c-56dc-87f8-05e31c96a3b4),
Writing this letter is bittersweet. While I get to share the story of one of my favorite heroines, I’m also saying goodbye to Quincey—a town that has become like my second home.
Deputy June waited patiently in the background of my previous two Quincey stories, but it wasn’t until an accident forced hardcore Marine Sam Rivers to question everything he knew about himself that I discovered why June refused to get out of my head. Despite Sam’s repeated efforts to push her away, she’s determined to help him become the man he was meant to be—whether or not he wants her assistance. And in June, Sam finds the one woman he considers his equal.
There are times in our lives when we or someone we love needs a June—someone with a positive, persistent, kick-butt attitude and the life experience to help us through a rough patch. I hope you enjoy watching a woman who is everybody’s champion take on a man determined to stand alone.
Emilie Rose
Starting with June
Emilie Rose
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USA TODAY bestselling author and RITA® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in North Carolina with her own romance hero. Writing is her third career. She’s managed a medical office and a home day care—neither offered half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening, fishing and cooking. Visit her website, emilierose.com (http://www.emilierose.com), or email her at EmilieRoseC@aol.com.
In loving memory of my mother-in-law.
I wish I’d met her sooner.
Contents
Cover (#u57d88fd6-34c8-5b0c-ba7e-02453561c1b0)
Back Cover Text (#udf68395b-9175-5a24-b6e7-8e324ea450fb)
Introduction (#u336f6a28-fe28-5355-a692-7cc910dfe2fd)
Dear Reader (#ulink_069c50f8-9b4f-5a06-99d3-3c1e5603acac)
Title Page (#u406aea72-2061-52cb-9dc4-f4db9ca5abf2)
About the Author (#u77c9ffb1-c659-5513-b171-273f5c8caf72)
Dedication (#uf75590bd-f048-5a7e-957f-758177c9e4d9)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1bcff2a3-d63d-5c1c-b32f-c68f02007068)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_947e6675-72bd-5970-8746-fffe423c05e0)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c33f6ae7-46a4-56a8-9d6b-7380914c78d0)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_2e8772bb-ae19-538a-aba7-1358f8a735ec)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4a130a84-d81a-54dc-9f29-389b6e11b4e3)
SOMETIMES LIFE SUCKED. This was one of those times, Sam Rivers decided as he exited the building on MCB Quantico with the words he’d never expected to hear still ringing in his ears.
Separated from the corps. Medically discharged.
Over. His military career was over.
He caught a trace of movement near his Charger. Instantly alert, he squinted through the glaring sunlight that not even his Wiley X sunglasses could block. Was the subject a friend or foe? A foe on a domestic base was unlikely. But old habits were hard to break.
The man slouched against the car’s front fender was none other than Roth Sterling. As close to a brother as Sam would let any man become. Sam should have known the former sniper who’d watched his back for years wouldn’t leave him to face the bad news from the Medical Evaluation Board alone. But Sam hadn’t called him. How had Roth known today was D-day?
His buddy straightened as Sam approached. Roth had been out a few years, but civilian life and his recent marriage hadn’t changed his parade-ready posture.
“Who called you?”
“Does it matter?” Roth answered.
Did it? Not really. The end was the end. Unless he could heal and convince his superiors it wasn’t.
“I appreciate you coming up, Roth, but it wasn’t necessary.” Sam clasped Roth’s fist and bumped his shoulder. An invisible hand wrapped a choke hold around his throat. He blocked the rising tide of panic and uncertainty. He and Roth had been through some deep shit together, but he wouldn’t drag his buddy into this pig pond. This was his problem and his alone.
“Yeah, it was necessary. Meet me at the Fire Breathin’ Dragon, and I’ll tell you why.” Roth about-faced and made his way to a pickup parked two rows down.
Sam debated arguing, but he needed something better than his own company at the moment. And he could use a drink. Or three. Maybe more. It’d been a long time since he’d needed a ride home. But tonight might be one of those rare evenings.
Thirty-one and washed up.
Done.
He slid into his car, slammed it into gear then headed to the old biker bar with Roth’s truck on his tail. Neither he nor Roth rode a motorcycle, but the hole in the wall was close enough to base to be convenient yet far enough away that they weren’t likely to run into anyone they knew. The other patrons would leave them alone. And the beer was cheap.
Thank you for your service. The words echoed in his head. He’d heard them hundreds of times from civilians and they’d filled him with pride. Today the words had been a death knell to the life he’d lived and loved for thirteen years—the life he’d planned to continue until they sent him home in a box.
His superiors had sat across the table from him today and told him that surgery had failed to completely correct the detached retina he’d sustained compliments of his last deployment, and the chance of a full recovery was slim. A visually impaired scout sniper wasn’t of much use to anyone, they’d said. A blind spot, however small, could put him on the receiving end of a round rather than on the sending end. Plus, the risk of reinjury from another explosion was too great. So they were letting him go. For his own good.
He was expendable.
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. What in the hell was he going to do with the next fifty years of his life? He’d go crazy with nothing to occupy him but reliving stories of his glory days. He’d done a lot of good. Saved a lot of lives—taken a few, too. His data book was impressive, but that was history. He’d never planned for life after the corps, because statistically, he shouldn’t have made it out alive. Not in his line of work.
He was a hunter. But he’d also been the hunted. He hadn’t feared death. But he sure as hell feared living...broken. He’d prepared for every eventuality. Except this one.
He parked and followed Roth into the shadowy interior of the bar. The last time they’d been here, they’d been celebrating Sam’s return from a nasty but successful deployment. The uneven wooden floorboards creaked beneath his Danner boots. Except for two gray-haired, ponytailed dudes in leather vests bearing multiple motorcycle patches at the end of the bar and a bottle-redheaded bartender who’d spent too much of her time tanning, the place was empty. Not a surprise given it was midafternoon and midweek.
Wednesday. Hump day. Or dump day, as his career went.
As if they’d last been here yesterday instead of years ago, Roth straddled a chair at their usual table. Sam did the same, bracing himself for a blast of pity or platitudes. He couldn’t handle either. Not today. Until two hours ago he’d planned to return to duty once he healed. Or at least transition into an instructor role if he had to leave the field. He hadn’t come to terms with the end of his military career and didn’t want to talk about being cut from the corps. Not even with Roth.
Sam’s jaw hurt from hours of clenching his teeth so tightly. “How much do you know?”
“All of it. But that’s only part of why I’m here. I need a favor.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the timing. Someone had leaked intel—info he had deliberately not shared with anyone. Not even his family. But he doubted his circumstances involved a security clearance. “Yeah?”
“You’ve been so entangled in red tape I didn’t bother you with the details, but four months ago I arrested and fired my senior deputy. He was dirty.” He signaled the bartender for two beers, pointing at the neon sign on the wall above their table to indicate the brand. “That’s where you come in.”
Sam had been surprised when Roth had told him he’d taken a job in his hometown as chief of police since his buddy had always hated the place. Armpit of America, Roth had dubbed Quincey, North Carolina. Roth’s plan had been for it to be a short duty station while he settled a few old scores before he returned to his old job with the Charlotte SWAT team, a job he’d loved almost as much as the corps.
Instead, Roth had discovered he had a pubescent kid he’d known nothing about. Shortly after that he’d rekindled an old flame with his son’s momma, and now a gold band glinted on his left hand. Sam hadn’t seen that one coming, since both of them had sworn off long-term relationships, but Roth had seemed happy and hunkered down for the long haul as a family man when Sam had visited Roth, his new wife and his kid last month.
“How can I help? I don’t know any of your men.”
“I need to know how deep the corruption runs in my department. I want someone I trust to infiltrate. Recon is your specialty, Sam. Your ability to smell dirty from a mile away kept us alive too many times to count. You’d see something that didn’t add up. I want to hire you to replace the deputy.”
Only Sam’s training kept him from reacting. There wasn’t anyone he trusted more than the man sitting across the scarred wooden table from him. He would—and had—put his life on the line for Roth Sterling. “You fabricated this job to keep me busy. I appreciate your effort. But no.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m being straight with you, Sam. I have a job opening. And I need help—help I can trust.”
Roth looked serious. But the timing was too coincidental, and Sam hated pity parties. “I’m not a cop. No MP training. Not interested. But thanks.”
“That’s the beauty of Quincey. I can hire and fire whoever I want. I want you. Your military training is sufficient to cover the minimal qualifications. I’ll provide the intel you need to cover the rest. You’re a damned good detail man, and you have time on your hands while you figure out your next step. You’ll be in and out in a couple of months, tops. Work with my team, feel ’em out and give me a report—then you’re free to go and do whatever you line up next. I’ve already found a house for you to rent. Fully furnished. Just bring your Skivvies and a toothbrush.”
Still sounded fishy.
“What makes you think I want to do anything but sit back and collect my dis-dis—” crap, that was hard to say “—disability check? I have a severance package coming, and I’ve squirreled away some money over the years. I’ll be okay.”
Financially. Mentally was another story. He might never recover from what he considered a betrayal of the corps. But he’d give ’em a chance to make it right once he healed.
“No one hates a handout more than you, and you’ll go crazy with nothing to do. You’re too smart to sit and watch TV all day. Do you have a plan?”
“To get back in.” He tried not to snarl, but Roth more than anybody knew Sam never wanted to be anything but a Marine and he damned sure wasn’t a quitter. “But right now they won’t even let me apply to come back as an instructor or as a private contractor in the Precision Weapons Section.”
He’d begged for a job. Begged. And damn it, this Marine didn’t beg for anything.
“I swear to you, Sam, this isn’t BS or pity. I need you. A few months in Quincey will buy you time to put a plan together while you heal. I’ll help in any way I can. The salary isn’t bad either.”
Sam searched the strained face across from him, seeing how difficult it was for Roth to ask for a favor. “How many on your force?”
Not that he was considering it.
“Five, including me.”
Nope, not even thinking about it. Stagnating in a backwater swamp wasn’t anywhere on his bucket list. He’d lived in North Carolina during one of his dad’s stints at Lejeune. He hadn’t hated it. But he hadn’t seen any reason to return either.
“How many do you suspect?”
“All four until proven otherwise.”
Not good. “You don’t have anyone you can trust with your six?”
“No. I’m telling you, Sam, this small-town department isn’t run like any operation either of us has ever seen. There’s no black-and-white. It’s all shades of gray, and the corruption went on for a long time. What I have to figure out is where a favor for a friend or looking the other way crosses the line into illegal activity and how many of my officers are doing it.”
Sam stalled by wrapping his lips around the bottle and letting the cold beer roll down his throat. He had that itch between his shoulder blades—the one that told him he was in somebody else’s crosshairs. Time to seek cover.
But how could he refuse Roth’s request? Roth never asked for anything. Not only did Sam owe him, Sam had nothing better—nothing, period—to do. He sure as hell wasn’t going home to his family. Not that his dad, a recently retired Marine, wouldn’t try to be supportive. But his mother and sisters would smother him.
Short of going to ground, did he have a choice? Maybe he could hang in Quincey until he healed enough to approach the corps again. “It’ll take ’em a few weeks to process my paperwork.”
“I can wait.”
He had to be crazy. “Shoot me whatever you have on your deputies.”
“No. I want your unbiased first impressions—they’re always damned accurate.”
Flying in blind. But as Roth had said, the assignment would keep Sam occupied while he healed and plotted his next step. Working with Roth again might be fun.
How bad could it be?
“I’ll see you ASAP.”
* * *
TO ALLEVIATE THE scorching heat, June Jones spritzed herself with the water bottle and kicked her feet in the four-foot-diameter plastic wading pool she’d bought for her nieces and nephews. She had three days of vacation with nothing to do but work on her tan and wait for the new tenant to arrive.
Idleness was not her thing, and vacations...well, she rarely took them. Someone else always needed the time off more than she did, and she loved her job. Why leave it? Labor Day weekend was just one of fifty-two in the year for a single woman whose friends had recently paired up with their Mr. Rights. The unofficial end of summer didn’t mean family trips to the beach or mountains for her—unless one of her siblings needed an on-site babysitter. Labor Day meant the opportunity to earn some overtime.
But not this year. Even though she’d volunteered to cover the holiday shifts, her new boss, who happened to be the husband of one of her two besties, had ordered her to stay away from the office.
She squinted at her watch. Approaching one o’clock on her first day off and she was already climbing the walls. She might go crazy before the seventy-two hours passed. Shifting in the lawn chair for a comfortable position, she dredged her brain for something more productive to do than sit here and sweat. But she’d already done everything that needed doing.
She’d risen at five and fed her landlord’s animals, baked cookies, brownies and cheese puffs for the new tenant’s welcome basket and cleaned both houses, hers and the rental next door. Her friend-slash-landlord, Madison, was spending the long weekend with her fiancé and had told June she had no idea what time the new tenant would be arriving. But June took her assignment as deputy lessor very seriously. That meant twiddling her thumbs for as long as it took even if it drove her to adding tequila to her pitcher of virgin margaritas.
Determined to prove to her naysayers that she knew how to relax, she refilled her glass and took a sip of the tart slushy beverage, then tilted her head back, sprayed herself with the water again and tried to pretend she was enjoying the final day of August. Why hadn’t she planned ahead and picked up books from the library, rented movies or bought ammo?
The cackle and scatter of the chickens brought her to instant alertness. Remaining still, she eased her eyelids open, scanned the area and the sky from behind her dark lenses and listened for what had set them off. She heard nothing—not even the usual country critter sounds—and she didn’t see a hungry hawk. Animals didn’t lie. Their silence spoke volumes. She wasn’t expecting anyone except the man who’d rented the cottage beside hers. But in Quincey, North Carolina, neighbors tended to drop in unannounced, especially when they wanted to know your business. But neighbors made noise.
Movement drew her eye to the corner of the empty cottage thirty feet away. A blond-headed guy just over six feet tall eased around the back corner with slow, silent footsteps. He wore dark wraparound sunglasses, charcoal cargo pants and an olive T-shirt that conformed nicely to his torso—not too lose or tight.
He wasn’t from around here. Was he her new neighbor? She hadn’t heard a vehicle drive up.
“Can I help you, sir?” she called out while sitting up. And without seeming to move, he suddenly seemed more alert.
Madison had given June no details beyond the name of the new tenant—which June wouldn’t volunteer. Cataloging his erect bearing, muscular build, hyperalertness, and military-style pants and boots, June rose and so did the warning hairs on the back of her neck. This wasn’t a hunter or antiquer who’d wandered off course.
Dang it. She’d left her service revolver inside.
Even though he barely moved and she couldn’t see his eyes behind his tactical sunglasses, she felt his gaze raking over her and cursed her choice of attire. Of all the days to wear her sister’s discarded bikini. But the elastic in her only other swimsuit had dry-rotted from disuse and her sister had handily stored her prepregnancy-sized clothing in June’s attic.
“I’m renting this place.” He jerked a head toward the white cottage. “The note on the front door said ‘Pick up key at yellow house next door.’”
Wow. The women of Quincey were in for a treat. The town’s newest citizen was a hunk with a hard jaw, full lips and a voice as deep as a rock quarry. They didn’t grow men like him around here. She ought to know. Except for a short stint at the police academy up in Raleigh followed by a few months of blind stupidity, she’d lived here all her life.
She snuffed the memory and stuffed her feet into the idiotic flip-flops that matched the bikini, then crossed the grass snip-snapping with every step. She hated the sandals, but nothing said vacation like the useless rubber thongs. She wished she had a towel or a cover-up or something with her, but inexperience with loafing meant she’d come outside ill prepared.
“I’m June. Your name?”
“Rivers. Sam Rivers.”
That matched what Madison had told her. “You have ID, Mr. Rivers?”
He dug into his back pocket and flipped out a worn wallet with precise movements. She checked his name, Samuel Zachariah Rivers; age, thirty-one; eye color, blue. “You’re from Virginia?”
“Yes.”
Had she imagined that hesitation? “I’ve been waiting for you. I have your key and the lease. What brings you to Quincey?”
“Work. The key?”
Okay. Not the friendliest guy. Quincey would either fix that or run him off. “I’ll get it.”
She hustled into her cottage as quickly as possible, then retrieved the key and the goody basket she’d prepared. She debated covering up, but her skin was slick with suntan oil and she didn’t want to ruin good clothes. Digging for old ones would take too long. Besides, covering up would imply he made her uncomfortable and give him the upper hand. Nope. Not doing that.
He stood where she’d left him and extended a hand as she approached. She hooked the basket handle over his palm. “I’ve baked you a few things to tide you over until you can get to the store.”
He shoved the basket back in her direction. “Thanks, but I only need the key.”
Wasn’t he charming? She left the hamper hanging and passed him, heading for his front door. A huge duffel bag sat on the porch. How had she missed his arrival? And how long had he been skulking around before the chickens had alerted her? She scanned the driveway.
“No car?”
“In town. I hiked in.”
Strange. Maybe he was a health nut—he was definitely built like one. “I’ll show you around the house.”
“The building’s only twenty by forty. I’m sure I can find my way.”
Mr. Personality he was not. “No doubt. You won’t even need to leave a trail of breadcrumbs.”
No smile. “There’s only one exit. Isn’t that a fire code violation?”
That hitched her step. Interesting observation. “Not around here. But if you’re worried, you can always escape through the bedroom window. It’s not painted shut, and with the weather we’ve been having, you’ll probably want to leave it open at night to catch the breeze anyway.”
She climbed the stairs, inserted the key, gave it its customary jiggle and opened the door. Shoving her sunglasses on top of her head, she entered the cottage. “Most folks around here don’t bother locking their doors. The citizens of Quincey are good people.”
She’d locked this door only so he’d have to check in and sign the lease before moving in.
After grabbing his duffel, he followed her, saying nothing. He kept his sunglasses on. Too bad. She’d like to see those blue eyes. It was easier to judge a man’s character that way. He carried her basket as if it held fresh manure, but she wouldn’t let his poor manners get to her.
“As you can see, the place is fully furnished. Sofa, chairs, TV, but no cable. Madison, our landlord, provides wireless internet. The password is written on a card in the basket, along with a listing for local TV stations, fire and police departments’ numbers, a trustworthy auto mechanic, etc. Your copy of the lease agreement’s also in that envelope. I’ll give you time to read over it before you sign, but I’ll need it back this evening.
“Water, electricity and internet are included in your rental fee. If you want satellite, you’ll have to pay for it and have it installed yourself. There are plates, utensils, and pots and pans in the kitchen, but there isn’t any bakeware. If you need that, I have some you can borrow.”
“I won’t.”
She suspected his good looks had contributed to his lack of personality. At least, that was how it had worked with her siblings. The better-looking their dates, the worse their dispositions. And Sam Rivers was definitely top-notch in the looks department, from his short, spiky hair to his stubble-covered square chin and fitness magazine–cover body.
She walked down the short hall. “Water from the tap is safe to drink. You don’t have to waste money buying bottled water.” She flipped a wrist. “Washer-dryer here. Spare sheets and towels are on the shelf above them. Bathroom there. Bedroom here. I put clean sheets on the bed today. I have a grill on my back patio. You’re welcome to use it. And of course, you saw the pool, but you’ll need to bring your own lawn chair and swim at your own risk. There’s no lifeguard on duty.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. What a grouch. He stepped into the bedroom, being careful to keep a few yards between them, and glanced around.
“The chickens are egg layers,” she added. “You’re welcome to as many as you can eat. The eggs. Not the chickens.” Again, nothing. Man, he was a hard case. “Don’t worry about the skunk in the barn. He’s descented.”
“Skunk?”
Of all she’d said, that was what got his attention? “Yes, he’s the landlord’s pet. Don’t let him out of the cage—no matter how much he begs. Do you need a ride back to your vehicle? I’ll help you unpack it.”
He lifted his bag slightly. “This is it.”
“Not staying long?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Do you always avoid answering them?”
“Thanks for the tour, June. I won’t keep you from your pool party any longer. Better get back before someone steals your seat.”
So he got her jokes. He just didn’t have a sense of humor. And he was observant. “I’m next door, if you need anything. My cell number’s in the envelope, too. Text or call if you have a question or problem. I’ve lived in Quincey most of my life. If I don’t know the answer, I know where to find it. Also, there are some pretty good hiking trails down near the river. I can show them to you sometime, if you’re interested. Welcome to the neighborhood, Sam.”
She stuck out her hand. He ignored it and jerked a nod instead. She couldn’t help but feel insulted. Good thing her landlord was about to move to a larger, more affluent veterinary practice and didn’t need the rent money from this jerk, because June was hoping Sam Rivers wouldn’t be around for long.
* * *
SAM SET HIS keys on the dresser after a fruitless trip to town. Movement outside the single bedroom window caught his eye. He paused to watch the blonde make her way toward the barn. She’d released her hair from the stubby ponytail and put on clothes.
Too bad.
Negative. He was grateful she’d covered all that golden skin. June might be nice eye candy, but he didn’t need the complication. Slip in. Slip out. Leave no trace or ties. That was his MO in the field and out of it. And nothing would change that.
Jeans skimmed her legs and a red polo shirt clung to the breasts that had been about to spill out of her bikini top. The lace-up boots on her feet were a surprise. Her ruffled bathing suit and sequined flip-flops had led him to believe she was a heels kind of girl...even without pedicured toenails, which his sisters considered a necessity of life.
June hadn’t been the least bit self-conscious playing tour guide in a bikini, but then, she shouldn’t be, with her compact, fit figure. He hadn’t seen any fat on her, just curves. Oh yeah, she had those. In all the right places. And slipping her number into the food basket she wouldn’t let him refuse... He shook his head. He had to hand it to her. She wasn’t shy. But then, women weren’t these days—especially around a military base. Sometimes that was convenient. Now wasn’t one of those times.
Roth must have put her up to it. His buddy probably thought Sam needed the distraction. Why else park him next to a beauty? Thanks to the surgeries and the end of his career, Sam hadn’t been up for any drama of the female variety in months. It had been one hell of a long five months. But his life was a three-ring goat screw at the moment. He had no direction, and he wasn’t dragging anyone else into that mess—even temporarily.
June disappeared into the barn. His neighbor was nothing more than another meddling female, albeit an attractive one with her bright green eyes and blond hair that dusted her shoulders, but the last thing he needed was another nosy woman trying to manage his life. He grimaced at the reminder that he hadn’t informed his family of his status change or relocation. He should, but if he made that call, his parents, three older sisters, their husbands and their entourage of noisy teenage daughters would convoy down from Crossville to offer love, support and advice he didn’t want or need.
Translation: they’d smother him, try to baby him and tell him what to do.
After watching the way his mother and half sisters had worried each time his dad was deployed, Sam had learned to keep his trap shut regarding his location. The less they knew, the less they worried. His family had his and Roth’s cell numbers, in the event of an emergency. That was all they needed. And Roth had his momma’s.
The whole lot of them resided in Tennessee, eight hours from Quincey, the same distance it had been from Quantico. Yet the long drive hadn’t kept his family from ambushing him. After a surgery a few years back, some shavetail Louie had called Sam’s mother instead of Roth, Sam’s primary contact, and the whole extended clan had descended on him like ants on a picnic. While he’d been laid up in the hospital, his sisters had rearranged his tiny apartment, thrown out food and possessions and replaced them with crap he’d never touched except to put it in the Dumpster. They’d grilled all his apartment neighbors to find out who he was dating and how long he’d been seeing them. He’d learned his lesson, and he wasn’t setting himself up for that kind of “help” again.
Sam would show up at his parents’ place when he was ready for company and the females’ tag-team analysis torture. That wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Separation from the corps still ached like a recent amputation. Until he was past the rawness and had an idea of what he was going to do with his future or how he’d get reassigned to a base, he didn’t need a bunch of hens clucking around him and telling him how to live his life. That included his temporary neighbor.
His phone vibrated. The screen indicated a text message from Roth.
Settled in yet?
Affirmative. In my hide, Sam tapped back. Streets rolled up at dusk. Grocery store closed before I could stock up.
Yep. At six on Saturday. Welcome to Quincey. Backwoods, USA. Need anything?
Calling would have been easier than texting, but Roth had insisted no one, not even his wife, know the real reason Sam was here until he reported for duty. Conversations could be overheard, and info was on a need-to-know basis.
Negative. I have rations. Did you send her?
Who?
The blonde.
There was a pause before the next text came through.
June?
Yeah.
No. Why?
She brought food.
Eat whatever she cooks—especially her brownies. She’s famous for those.
Except for extracting the lease, Sam had left the basket untouched on the coffee table. For dinner he’d planned to eat one of the MREs in his bag. Brownies sounded better. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one. He headed for the living room/kitchen combo.
The cottage wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it was clean, comfortable and a hell of a lot nicer than most of the places he’d slept since enlisting. He kept a rat rack in Q-Town. It was more like a hotel room than an apartment, but it came furnished and made dealing with his stuff during deployments uncomplicated.
Had kept, that is. Everything he owned was packed into his Charger. Turning in the key this morning after keeping the place so long had been...an adjustment.
Did she ask about your job? Roth wrote.
Tried. I didn’t crack.
Good. Word spreads faster than flu in Q, and it’s imperative that no one know you’re investigating my squad.
Affirmative.
What do you think of her?
What did he think? Words tripped through his head. Attractive. Annoying. Aggressive. Available. But he settled for typing, Nosy.
Everyone here is. See you Tuesday 6 a.m. Acclimatize till then.
Roger.
Sam deleted the texts, pocketed his phone, then filled a glass with tap water and returned to the basket. Beneath the red-and-white-checked cloth napkin he discovered neatly stacked resealable plastic containers. He located one neatly labeled Brownies with Walnuts, grabbed it and headed for the front porch with his makeshift dinner. The minute he opened his door a mouthwatering aroma assaulted his taste buds. His stomach grumbled. Trying to ID the scent, he parked his tail in a rocking chair.
A rocking chair, for pity’s sake. Like a geriatric retiree. He pushed that U-G-L-Y visual aside.
Chicken. Someone was grilling chicken. One from the henhouse? His lips twitched when he recalled June’s remark. Blondie had a sense of humor. Blocking out the memory of her sparkling green eyes and the tantalizing smell, he bit into a brownie. The rich chocolaty taste of the moist treat almost made him groan. He shoved the remainder of the square into his mouth and reached for another.
“Do you always eat dessert first?”
He jumped. His neighbor had snuck up on him. Nobody ever got the drop on him. In his line of work—former line of work—that meant death or torture. Preferably the former. He swallowed.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” June stood on the ground beside his porch watching him through the pickets.
“You didn’t.”
Her megawatt smile revealed she knew he’d lied. “If you say so, Rivers. I heard the store closed before you got there.”
Had she spoken to Roth? “How?”
“Lesson one about Quincey. People here know what you’re doing before you do. And they talk about it. Gossip is our local sport and we have the championship team.”
He’d known he was being watched when he’d hiked back to get his car, but he’d hoped to blend in with the weekend antiques hunters wandering the streets. He’d have to work harder at moving under the radar if he was going to do his job well.
She lifted another plastic container the shrubbery had hidden from view. “Here’s half a beer-can chicken, a couple of ears of grilled corn—locally grown—and some garlic-cheddar biscuits.”
His taste buds snapped to attention, but the rest of him balked. He wasn’t stupid. There was only one reason a woman baked and cooked for a man, slipped him her number and offered to show him hiking trails while wearing a bikini that displayed the smorgasbord on offer. The phrase she’d said when they first met echoed in his head. I’ve been waiting for you, she’d said in that throaty voice of hers.
Sam did not need any local honey sticking to his feet and making extraction difficult. The best thing he could do was head her off at the pass. It would save them both a lot of embarrassment later.
“June, I appreciate your generosity, but I’m a no-strings kind of guy. I am not looking for a relationship.”
Her spine snapped as straight as a new recruit’s. Then crimson flagged her cheekbones. “Zip it, Rivers. I’m not trying to get into your britches. I’m only being neighborly and looking out for you the way Madison asked me to. I brought food to get you through until you can get to the store tomorrow afternoon. They don’t open until twelve-thirty on Sundays—after the owner gets out of church. Ditto the diner.”
She shoved the container under the porch rail. “It’s not like I lit candles, slipped into something sexy and invited you over. Eat this or don’t. I could not care less if you starve. But don’t leave my dishes outside. The nocturnal critters will destroy them.
“You’re on your own for breakfast, though. Like I said, there will be eggs in the coop. Get ’em yourself. If you dare. Brittany has a sharp beak and a mean streak. I’ll let you figure out which hen she is.”
Then she pivoted and stalked across the grass toward her rear patio. Chagrinned, Sam mentally smacked his forehead and silently cursed as he watched the angry swing of her departing hips. Infiltrating meant making nice with the locals and blending in—something he’d done hundreds, no, thousands, of times. But he’d struck out on both counts with his new neighbor. Her observations also made him realize that if he wanted to keep his privacy, he’d better shop outside of town.
As for donning something sexy...if June could see the way those jeans hugged her butt, she’d realize she was far off target on that comment.
Worse, he’d forgotten to give her the signed lease. He’d have to face her again tonight...unless he could figure out a way to circumnavigate that land mine.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_beb18181-de14-52b8-b7ce-1fb135ff8e12)
JUNE HIT THE punching bag hard enough to rattle her teeth and make her wish she’d put in her mouth guard. Then she gave her leather target a one-two combination. The smacks of solid contact didn’t give her much satisfaction.
She usually took the Sunday shift so the other deputies could go to church with their families. But not today. Today she was wailing the tarnation out of an inanimate object. Because she couldn’t wallop her new neighbor.
Sam had taped the signed lease to her front door last night while she’d been out on her run. He hadn’t even had the decency to give it to her face-to-face. And he’d rumbled down the driveway this morning in his black Charger without visiting the henhouse for eggs. She wouldn’t mind if he never returned. The last thing Quincey needed was another sexist prick.
“Idiot.” Cross. Pow. “Jerk.” Uppercut. Thump. “Coward.”
As the only female deputy on the Quincey PD, not only currently but in the history of the department, she’d had her fill of males who considered her weak or inferior. She had to work doubly hard and be twice as good as her male counterparts to be taken seriously. There were those who claimed she had been hired only because she’d spent a chunk of her childhood at the retired chief’s house playing with his daughter. That might be half-true, but she’d make darn sure Piper’s dad never regretted his decision.
Liver punch. Hook. Elbow stab. Pivot. High kick. Sweat rolled into her eyes. She impatiently swiped it away with her forearm.
“Who rattled your cage?”
June spun around. Piper, the retired chief’s daughter, stood just outside the barn. June lowered her arms. “The new tenant. He’s a chauvinistic ass.”
“He’s here?”
“Moved in yesterday. Drove out at seven this morning.”
“What’d he do? I’ve never seen you so worked up.”
“I prepared a welcome basket and then took him dinner last night. He thought I was making a pass and let me know it was an unwelcome one.” Her skin burned anew with a fresh rush of humiliation.
Piper wrinkled her nose. “He’s not from around here, is he? What does he do?”
“He’s not a local, and I don’t know what he does.”
“Your interrogation skills failed? Because I know you tried.”
Okay, so she asked a lot of questions, but knowing what people were doing was part of her job description. “He wouldn’t say and since your husband ordered me to stay out of the station, I can’t run the guy’s tags or do a background check on him.” Though she had memorized his driver’s license number just in case she got a chance to slip into the office.
“Do you think you should check him out?”
“I’m going to live next to him. None of us lock our doors. And he’s...” She tried to find the words to explain her gut feeling. Sam made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know why. “I don’t know. He has a hard edge and he hides behind wraparound sunglasses all the time—even inside. Something’s not right.”
Piper frowned. “Your instincts aren’t usually wrong. I’ll ask Roth to check him out.”
“Why don’t you just call your dear hubby and tell him to let me go into the office and I’ll do it myself?”
“Roth looked at your file and said that you never use your vacation time. He claims you don’t know how to take one. Which is true, by the way. He’s the one who suggested I invite you to attend church with Josh and me to keep you from trying to sneak into the station.”
June prickled as the comment hit its mark. “I do too know how to relax. I sat by the pool yesterday for thirty-six minutes.”
“Wow. Thirty-six whole minutes. That’s a record. And you timed every wasted second. You have just enough time to shower and change if you want to go with us.”
“Thanks for the invitation, but no. Until I get a feel for this guy, I’m not leaving the property unprotected unless it’s for work. Madison will be returning late tomorrow night, and I don’t want her walking into any surprises.”
“Understandable and commendable. I’m going to miss our lunches with her when she marries Adam and moves to Norcross. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her and thrilled she found someone after all she’s been through, but...” She shrugged.
“Yeah. Me, too.” June had known Piper forever. They’d both grown up in Quincey, and when Madison had bought June’s grandfather’s farm and veterinary practice six years ago, the two of them had taken her under their wing. The trio had formed a single-gal alliance of sorts. Now June was the only single one left. An outsider. A fifth wheel. “I hope she’ll call if she needs us for anything.”
“Speaking of people calling when they need something...have you heard from any of your siblings lately? Aren’t they overdue for wanting or needing something?”
June grimaced and tugged off her gloves. Her twin older sisters and two younger brothers were notorious for contacting June only when they wanted something.
“No, I haven’t heard from them, and I don’t know what they could possibly need from me. They already have everything.” Perfect spouses, children, homes and jobs. She was proud of them. But a little envious, too. She couldn’t find Mr. Right with a compass, a map and a bloodhound, and three of her siblings were living the American dream.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a loan they’ll never repay, a free babysitter or storage space, to name a few. You’ll be strong this time when they call?” Piper asked.
June rolled her eyes. “I will resist the urge to empty my bank account for them if they call, but my nieces and nephews are adorable, and it’s hard to say no when they need something.” Though she wouldn’t spoil her own kids nearly as much—if she ever had any.
“I know you like being needed, but at the rate your siblings spend, they’re going to burn through your inheritance. They’ve already burned through theirs. Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The lecture wasn’t a new one. Unfortunately, it was deserved, so she couldn’t protest. But she felt guilty that her grandfather had made her his primary beneficiary and left her father and his other grandchildren very little. PawPaw claimed it was because he’d given the others more than they deserved while he was alive and only June had asked for nothing. But her brothers and sisters didn’t want to hear that. “You sure you don’t want to join us? The tenant’s out somewhere and your dad’s a decent preacher.”
“I’ve heard Dad’s sermons all my life. We all did. Why do you think all my brothers and sisters moved away? And remember, I’m the black sheep. He’d have to make an example of me if I showed up. I’ve sinned. Big-time.”
“June, you made a mistake. We all make them. But I get your point. And it would probably give him a heart attack if he saw you in one of his pews. I’ll see what I can get out of Roth. In the meantime, if the new tenant does anything shady, don’t hesitate to call it in.”
“If he does, I’ll handle it. I might not be in uniform, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of business.”
Because if she called her fellow deputies for help, it would only reinforce their opinions that little Justice Jones didn’t belong on the force.
* * *
SAM DRIED THE last of June’s dishes Sunday afternoon and stuck it in the picnic basket with the others. He had to return them. And apologize. He’d read her wrong and embarrassed her. For the sake of his assignment he had to make nice.
He’d walked or crawled into hostile territory too many times to count. He was not afraid of five and a half feet of angry female, for pity’s sake.
So why was he stalling?
He didn’t have an answer for that.
He grabbed the basket and exited his quarters, heading next door. Except for paint color, externally, the structures appeared identical, but hers, unlike his, looked lived-in. Pots overflowing with flowers cluttered the outside edges of the steps leading to her porch. More flowers spilled from baskets hanging on the railings or from hooks in the eaves, and another bucket of blooms sat on the coffee table between her twin white rocking chairs—chairs bearing thick ruffled posy-print cushions. A water fountain—made from a series of brightly colored tilted ceramic pots—babbled on the far end.
There was so much color it looked as if someone had bombed a paint factory. With all the girly stuff littering the porch, the utilitarian boot scraper at the bottom of the stairs looked out of place. Then he spotted a toy box with a cartoon train painted on it tucked into the back corner, and every cell in his body screeched a warning.
Kids? She had kids? He’d seen and heard no sign of them. Maybe she was divorced and the rug rats were away for the holiday with their father. He’d seen plenty of that in the corps. But where would she put them in the one-bedroom house? More than likely she wasn’t the primary caregiver. But what kind of mom lost custody of her children?
Her front door stood open. A wood-framed screen was the only thing between her and anyone who might enter uninvited into her home. Absolutely no security. Through the mesh he registered that her floor plan was identical to his.
He could see June bustling about the kitchen concocting something with a series of bowls scattered across the countertop. She wore cutoff jeans that showed off her legs and a white T-shirt that molded every curve. Her feet were bare, her hair held behind her ears with a wide black band.
He rapped on the door. June startled, turning. “C’mon i-n.”
The last word fractured into two syllables when she saw him, and her smile melted. “What do you want?”
“I’m returning your stuff.” He swung the picnic basket into view.
Wiping her hands on a towel, she made her way across the room. “You could have left it with the lease.”
He ignored the jab. Not one of his finest moves to drop the paper and take cover. “I would have, but you said not to leave your dishes outside.”
She unlatched a hook inside, making her smarter than he’d thought, and pushed the screen open just enough to take the basket. “That’s hardly any security, June. Anybody who wanted access could cut through the screen and be inside in seconds.”
Her tight smile and the glint in her eyes took him aback. “That would be a mistake.”
“What would you do about it?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Overconfidence can get you hurt. If you’re not worried about yourself, at least think of your children.”
Confusion clouded her eyes. “Children? I don’t have children.”
He nodded toward the toy box. “Whose are those?”
Her face softened with what could only be love and...was that yearning? “My nieces and nephews. I babysit as often as I can. Don’t worry—I’ll keep them away from you.”
She reached for the basket and pulled the handle. He held on. He didn’t know why he was so determined to make her see sense. Probably because he’d worry about his sisters if they were in a remote place like this. “The owner of the farmhouse is away. You’re a half mile from your nearest neighbor. Who would hear you if you screamed for help?”
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Who says I’d scream or that I’d need help?”
Not the answer he’d expected. “You weigh what? One twenty-five? No match for a man.”
“My weight is none of your business. Was there anything else you wanted—besides to pester me, Mr. Rivers?”
This was not going as planned. “I apologize if I misunderstood earlier.”
“If?” She looked angry enough to spit. Red flagged her cheeks and chest, and fury burned in her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t give you the opportunity to misinterpret my Southern hospitality again.”
His teeth clicked together. He was trying to be nice. She wasn’t making it easy.
June snatched the basket quickly and with enough force to remove it from his relaxed grip. He hadn’t seen that coming. Then she stepped back, letting the screen slap shut, and closed the solid interior door in his face. The lock clicked.
“Guess you got tired of being neighborly,” he called out. “Thanks for the food.”
No answer. But then, he wasn’t expecting one—at least not a polite one. She was probably shooting him the bird through the door. He headed back to his temporary quarters. Antipathy between him and Blondie was a good thing. She wouldn’t ask questions about why he was here, and he wouldn’t have to lie. His mission was to help Roth, then get the hell out of Quincey. In. Out. Over.
June would have been a complication.
So why was he disappointed?
* * *
SAM ZEROED IN on his target—a ten-point buck—exhaled, slow and steady, then squeezed his trigger finger. His camera reeled off three rapid-fire shots. The deer stiffened, his ears pricking forward and the hairs along his back going erect. He searched for the adversary he hadn’t yet spotted and pawed the ground. Sam pressed the shutter button again. The buck’s head snapped up, his big dark eyes locating Sam in the tree above him. The deer snorted a warning, lifted his white tail, then bounded off through the woods. Beautiful.
Sam relaxed into his borrowed hide—a hunter’s tree stand that he’d come upon during his morning hike. In his line of work—former line of work—he’d seen a lot of nature as he’d crept up on his insurgent targets, and he’d learned to appreciate it, but during a mission, he’d never been able to take pictures. He’d been too worried about getting in undetected and out alive.
He checked his watch. He’d been perched in the tree for almost five hours. Time to call it a day. If he didn’t leave soon, it would be dark before he made it back. Not that darkness was an issue, but hunger was. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
He rose. Old injuries protested. They’d stiffened up while he’d sat practically immobile.
He turned and eased down the ladder, and only then did he notice the rain tapping on his jacket—he’d endured and tuned out far worse conditions. The rainy weather had worked to his advantage today. The people who should have been hiking the trails by the river on the Labor Day holiday had stayed inside. That meant he’d been able to explore Quincey’s surroundings without interference—and without his neighbor as a tour guide.
Using his compass, he hiked back toward his temporary quarters. Eight klicks. He circled the perimeter of the farm. From the edge of the woods he noted June’s diesel crew-cab truck still parked in the driveway. Diesel engines and sparkly sandals didn’t go together. He filed away the incongruity.
It didn’t look as though she’d moved her vehicle since he’d left just before dawn this morning. There were no tracks in or out of the gravel driveway and the rocks beneath her vehicle were dry. He returned the same way he’d left—on the blind side of his house where his nearest neighbor couldn’t see him coming or going unless she was looking out her window at his porch. He climbed the stairs, eyeing no-man’s-land—the strip of wet grass between his quarters and his neighbor’s.
June’s blinds were open and her lights on as dusk approached. He could see her clearly through the window. Her sports bra and low-waisted knit pants clung to her curves, revealing the narrowing of her waist and swell of her hips. Her pose was unmistakably yoga. Power yoga had become popular on base. One of his commanding officers had required the platoon to attend classes because the exercise supposedly improved physical training scores and helped with PTSD. Yoga hadn’t been a total waste of time—it had increased his flexibility. But Sam preferred relieving his tension through other means. Emptying a couple of dozen clips on the range. Swimming or pumping iron until his arms felt as if they would fall off. A good run. The latter had a purpose because it could save his life if he was detected and had to haul ass.
A pang of regret hit him. He wouldn’t be running for his life anymore unless his eye healed and he could convince brass to let him re-up.
June shifted from a low lunge to a shoulder stand, then rolled smoothly down into a boat pose. She held the V shape steadily, toes pointed up, arms forward with nary a wobble. That explained her flat abs. Tight. Strong. He’d underestimated her muscle tone.
He shook himself. What in the hell was wrong with him, standing here on his porch gawking at a woman working out? His knuckles bumped the gun on his hip as he dug his keys from his pocket. He didn’t have a concealed-carry permit for this state, but he wouldn’t be here long enough for the paperwork to clear, and there was no way he’d go into foreign territory unarmed. He’d better mention that to Roth. He’d have to open carry when he wasn’t wearing his police issued weapon, and he wasn’t sure how Quincey’s citizens would take that.
He unlocked his door and entered his lodgings. His gaze immediately swung to the window but he kept out of sight and didn’t turn on the overhead light. June had her legs spread wide and her breasts pressed to the floor between them. The woman was flexible. That took his brain down a path it definitely did not need to travel. Undeniable hunger burned in his gut. It was unfortunately not an appetite that could be satisfied with a bowl of the stew he’d left simmering on the stove before he’d gone out this morning.
It was not one that would be satisfied—period—during this assignment. But she provided one hell of a view.
* * *
JUNE PUSHED OPEN the station door Tuesday morning feeling as if she’d been away for months rather than exiled for three days. Thank heaven her vacation was over. It felt good to be back in uniform and back to her home away from home with her family by choice rather than blood.
Unfortunately, Madison, her friend/landlord, had returned sometime last night after June had gone to bed, and her house had still been dark when June left this morning. Getting answers about the new tenant would have to wait until lunchtime when June could swing by Madison’s office to see if her friend had any details.
But on a positive note, June had managed to avoid Sam this morning. His cottage had been dark when she’d left for her prework run, and his Charger had been gone when she’d returned. If she was curious about where he’d gone at such an early hour, well, it was none of her business as long as he stayed out of trouble. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t see him all day. Nevertheless, she’d locked her doors last night and this morning—something she’d rarely done since returning to Quincey, and she’d silently locked Madison’s while her friend slept.
The other two deputies were already at their desks. That surprised her enough to make her toe catch on the tile with a noisy squeak. Once in a while the chief beat her in, but usually she was the first to arrive. She liked coming in early while the building was quiet and then preparing and sipping her coffee while she reviewed files and bulletins that had come in overnight. She had a lot of ideas about bringing the antiquated filing system up to current-day standards, and her new boss seemed receptive to them.
“Morning, Justice,” Alan Aycock, the oldest and most chauvinistic of her fellow deputies, stated.
She’d given up long ago on convincing them to call her June rather than by the name her father and his cronies used. “Good morning, Alan. Mac. What’s going on? Did I miss a memo about a morning meeting?”
“Nah. Chief hired a new man. He starts today,” Mac replied. “We wanted to check him out.”
How had she missed hearing that? “When did he tell you that?”
“Yesterday. You gonna make the coffee?” Aycock asked. “We’ve been waiting.”
“You go ahead. I have to clock in and check the bulletins.” She ignored his sputtering and headed for the old-fashioned time clock. It was original to the building, which was only a few years short of historic. That meant it was temperamental.
“What’s in the bag?” Aycock pestered.
“You’ll find out after you make the coffee.”
She heard him grumbling. Then his chair squeaked as he pushed to his feet. “Do I use four scoops or eight?”
“Depends on whether you want to read through it or drink it.”
She’d learned early on not to pander to Alan’s passive-aggressive personality. If he could get out of doing something by doing it wrong, then he would. But to her way of thinking, a man was never too old to learn new tricks. Like how to make coffee. And other than that and his chauvinism, he wasn’t a bad guy. He’d raised his two kids single-handedly after his wife had run off with the propane deliveryman. The kids had turned out all right. Both were on the high school honor roll. You had to give him credit for that and for being a fair deputy.
“Hope you enjoyed your time off,” he groused.
“Been a long time since you worked a holiday, hasn’t it, Aycock? Years? Right?”
He stiffened at the reminder that she always covered for him and his complexion turned ruddy. “Yes. Which was nice... Time with the kids and all that.”
“Thought so.” She went through her morning routine by rote, clocking in, then depositing the homemade donuts in the break room. The station door opened as she returned to the main room. Roth, the chief, walked in followed by Sam.
Sam in a uniform identical to June’s.
Shock glued her feet to the floor, and her stomach did a loop-the-loop up her throat and down again. It was small consolation that when Sam’s eyes—the first time she’d seen them without sunglasses save his DMV photo—fixed on her, the same dismay registered on his face.
“Deputies, I’d like you to meet our newest officer. Sam Rivers.”
Sam’s unblinking gaze held hers, then skimmed downward, taking in her badge, her equipment-loaded duty belt and her polished shoes, then returned to her face.
“Sam, this is Alan Aycock, my senior deputy, and Mac Morris.”
Sam’s attention abruptly shifted elsewhere. June used the reprieve to gather her composure while Sam shook hands with each of the men. But her break was short-lived.
“You’ve already met Justice Jones,” Roth added.
Sam paused a fraction of a second before extending his hand to June. “You told me your name was June.”
His grip was warm and as firm as his accusatory tone. He held on a second longer than necessary, then released her, but the tingle traveling through her tissues lingered. “My friends call me June, but you can call me Justice or Jones since we’ll be working together.”
A slight tightening of his lips was the only sign that he’d understood her insult. “Justice because you’re a cop?”
“Justice was my mother’s maiden name. It’s Southern tradition to tag daughters that way.”
“Jones is a native of Quincey,” Roth continued. “She’ll be showing you the ropes.”
June’s and Sam’s heads snapped toward Roth’s.
“Me?”
“Her?” they chorused in horrified unison.
“That’s right. Sam, you’ll ride along with Jones until you get a feel for Quincey. Then you’ll get your own cruiser.”
“But, Chief—” June protested. Something dark and dangerous in the boss’s eyes severed her words. “Yes, sir.”
Roth tossed her a key ring. “Jones, would you get Sam’s weapon and badge from the safe? The mayor will be here in a few minutes for his swearing in.”
She took advantage of the excuse to escape to the solitude of the back room and regroup. Her day—heck, her month, her year, her life—had just taken a nosedive into the manure pile. Her obnoxious neighbor wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Having him as her shadow was the last thing she wanted, but as the officer with the least seniority, she had no authority to complain.
She was stuck, and she didn’t like it one bit. Maybe Piper—
No. She would not put her friend in the middle and cause friction between the newlyweds. She would get through this. One way or another.
Without shooting the new deputy.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_65858ed9-2073-57d7-b568-d48abdef30ce)
SAM FELT AS IF he’d been ambushed by his best friend and the betrayal stung. He stabbed Roth with a hard stare. “Can I speak to you in your office?”
Roth nodded and strode into his space, closing the door behind Sam.
“You set me up.”
“No. I dropped you into position without bias so you could get a feel for June without either of you knowing who the other one was. I didn’t even tell Piper you were coming, and trust me, I’m gonna catch hell for that. But those three women—Piper, June and Madison—are as tight as cellmates. What one knows, they all know. It helped that Madison was out of town. You met her when you had dinner with Piper and me.”
“Back up. You wanted me to get a feel for June without bias?” Roth’s words and matter-of-fact tone rolled around in Sam’s head until the answer sifted through. This wasn’t about getting Sam laid. “You think she’s a dirty cop?”
“What do you think?”
Sam considered her bright eyes and straightforward conversation, the flowers littering every surface of her porch, the toy box, her goody basket, ruffled bikini and ridiculous sandals. Crooked? No. Too sweet and naive for her own good? Definitely. Sexy—
Do not go there.
“No.”
“Good.” Roth rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope you’re right because of her connection to my wife, but I don’t trust anyone at this point. Keep your eyes open. Again, I apologize for the deception, but I didn’t see any other way.”
“How old is Jones?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“I would have guessed twenty-one at the most. How long has she been with the department?”
“Four years, almost five. Less time than the corruption has been going on.”
“Where was she before that?”
“She trained and worked with Raleigh PD before moving into the rental house on Madison’s farm—a farm that June inherited from her grandfather, then sold to Madison. She applied for a job with Quincey PD, and Piper’s dad, the former chief, hired her on the spot, cutting through the usual red tape like a hot knife through butter. That caused a little friction in the department, I’ve heard, and it raised a lot of questions for me as to the presence of corruption in this department.”
“Is she qualified?”
“I wouldn’t jeopardize your safety by partnering you with an incompetent.”
“An incompetent under investigation.” Everything in Sam wanted to retreat. Roth must have read it on his face.
“Jones graduated in the top five percent of her class. C’mon, Sam, you’ve had women in your platoon before. You’re no sexist pig like the other two out there.”
That raised his hackles again, but only because he didn’t like to think of his sisters being treated unfairly. “This isn’t about her being a woman, Roth. How am I supposed to investigate her when we live twenty feet apart and she brings me food?”
“You’re not a hostage dependent on her. A few brownies won’t give you Stockholm syndrome. And don’t feel too special. June feeds all of us. How else do you think I knew she could cook? The close quarters puts you in a perfect position to see who comes and goes at her place. I’m not asking you to date her. Just keep your eyes open.”
“You’re a native, too. Why can’t you show me around?”
“I’ve been away too long, and, of course, I arrested one of their own. Never mind he was caught red-handed moving moonshine. I pissed off a lot of people by calling in the ATF instead of handling the situation discreetly in-house and giving him a gentle tap on the wrist. Locals don’t trust me yet.
“Aycock and Morris worked with that deputy for more than a decade. That makes their conduct the most suspect. The Feds questioned them and don’t think they were directly involved, but I need your help deciding whether they looked the other way, if they’re good liars or not smart enough to see what was right under their noses.”
“Your father-in-law wasn’t.”
“That’s different. Lou and the dirty deputy were buddies. Lou trusted too much and ignored the obvious—something Butch White used to his advantage.”
Sam shook his head. “It’s strange hearing you defend a man you once cursed, the same man who ran you out of Quincey and threatened to lock you up if you ever returned or contacted his daughter again. But pairing me with June—not a good idea. She’s my neighbor...”
“You’ll deal with it. As a female, June is less likely to be part of the good-ol’-boy network. But she’s lived in Quincey long enough to know how this town operates and to possibly have been contaminated by all the I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine crap.”
Sam still wanted no part of being strapped to his pretty neighbor. “Let me recon solo. It’s what I do best.”
“You should have realized by now that Quincey’s like a fishbowl. Our fine citizens have been watching your every move since you drove into town. You don’t fit our typical tourist stereotype. That’s one reason we didn’t get together before this morning. Here, solo, you’d be suspect. But June is Quincey’s sweetheart. With her by your side, folks will let down their guard. Give it a month, Sam. Then you’ll have your own car or you’ll be finished with the assignment. Can’t you handle four weeks—less if you provide evidence to who’s dirty and who isn’t sooner?”
Sam gritted his teeth. What choice did he have? He’d made a promise. “Affirmative.”
“Good. Then let’s get you sworn in. Our esteemed mayor has arrived.”
The sarcastic bite to the word esteemed caught Sam’s attention. “Not a fan?”
“He’s a big fish in a little puddle. Likes to throw his weight around. What do you think?”
They’d both had their share of abuse of power—usually the short officers with big mouths and bigger egos. “Roger. Trust him?”
“He’s a butt-kissing politician.”
Negative. “’Nuff said.”
Roth yanked open his office door. “Jones, bring Rivers’s gear. We need a witness. You’re it. Let’s get this show on the road. We have work to do.”
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER June closed her cruiser door and turned to face the man riding shotgun. Her goal was to make the loop around town, introduce Mr. Bad Attitude to as many people as possible, then dump him back at the station.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were the new deputy?” she demanded.
“I didn’t know you were with Quincey PD.”
“How long have you known the chief?”
“What makes you think I do?”
Anger and exasperation vied for supremacy. “Can’t you just answer the question? Your evasions are really irritating.”
“What makes you think I’m dodging?”
She battled an urge to bash her head on the steering wheel. “You answer every question with a question. But the answer you’re seeking is—when you’re with the chief, your body language isn’t that of two men who just met.”
“You’re a body-language expert?”
Cocky bastard. “Let’s just say it’s a hobby. Where did you train?”
“Marine Corps.”
“Mar—” And then it hit her. “You’re Roth’s friend. The one who—” Lost his career over an eye injury. Piper and Madison had mentioned him. But Sam had the sunglasses back in place, so June couldn’t check for visible damage. “You just got out,” she amended when he stiffened.
“Affirmative.” His head turned toward her. There was no reflection in his lenses despite the sun rising behind her back. But then, a sniper wouldn’t want to give away his position with a glint in the sunshine, and Sam, according to the stories she’d heard from Piper, had been a scout sniper like Roth.
“How much visual impairment do you have?”
Tawny brows slammed down behind his shades and those soft lips compressed into a firm line. “Enough to lose my job, but not enough to keep me from doing this one.”
Dear Lord, please keep me from beating this man to death with my baton.
“What made you become a cop?”
“Roth needed help. Do you put everyone through an interrogation or am I special?”
June was the patient one in her family, the peacemaker, the temper soother, the freakin’ Rock of Gibraltar. If her siblings could see how close she was to totally losing her control at this moment, they’d be shocked.
“You’re carrying a loaded weapon and supposed to be watching my back. That makes you pretty darned special—to me. I don’t doubt your skills as a Marine or at handling weapons since you and Roth are still alive, but have you had Basic Law Enforcement Training or worked as an MP?”
“Negative. As the chief knows. But I don’t engage without intel. Roth sent me BLET textbooks and Quincey’s regulations. I’m prepared.”
Textbook trained. No practical experience. Sam must be desperate for a job. And Roth...well, he was a really good friend to Sam. Sympathy battled frustration. Sam might be an obnoxious ass, but his career had been taken from him, and he was struggling to find a new place. The way veterans were treated was shameful. As her godfather had been, Sam would be a fish out of water until he found his footing. That went a long way toward explaining his defensive behavior and bitten-off responses.
She could help him adjust. But to do that she had to accept that he wasn’t going to be an equal partner for a while. He’d be like a rookie, a liability, and she was responsible for making sure nothing happened to the chief’s pal until Sam was ready to work on his own.
The real challenge would be helping him without smacking the inconsiderate, rude jerk upside his handsome head. No small task. But she, the mediator and voice of reason in the Jones clan, was up to it.
She hoped.
* * *
OVER THE PAST three hours Sam had been grilled by what seemed like half the population of Quincey. He felt like a carcass—after the buzzards had finished their meal. Capture and interrogation would have been easier because at least then he wouldn’t have had to be polite.
June checked her mirrors, then pulled the cruiser back onto the road again. Sam spotted yet another citizen a quarter mile away “checking her mail,” and June, predictably, lifted her foot from the gas pedal.
“Are we going to stop every fifty yards?” Sam groused.
“The chief ordered me to introduce you to the people you’ve sworn to protect and serve.”
“My sisters are less nosy.”
The smirk on her face was unmistakable.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused.
“Oh yeah.” She flashed a blinding white smile. His heart jolted—but only as a result of her driving through a pothole that should have broken the front axle. The irregular rhythm had nothing to do with the mischievous sparkle in her green eyes.
“How old are your sisters?”
He had a feeling she hadn’t missed one thing the citizens of Quincey had tortured out of him. “Forty-four, forty-one and thirty-nine,” he bit out through clenched teeth. He’d managed to avoid answering June’s questions, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell the octogenarian at their last stop to mind her own business.
“And you’re what? Thirty-seven? Thirty-six?”
Did he look that old? He tried not to be insulted. But hell, he was. “Thirty-one.”
“Big age gap. I would never have guessed you’re the baby.”
Something in her tone stiffened his spine. “Why?”
“Youngest children are usually charming people pleasers, and you are definitely not, Deputy Rivers. Were you a surprise baby?”
She was just full of joy today, wasn’t she? “My mother’s second marriage.”
“Ah.”
“What in the hell is that supposed to mea—” The squawk of their radios cut him off.
“Jones. Report.”
Sam ID’d Roth’s voice.
“On Deer Trail, Chief,” June responded. “Still making the rounds.”
“Someone’s egging cars over on Oak Hill. Check it out.”
“Will do.” She flipped on the blue lights, accelerated and waved as they passed a senior citizen waiting by her mailbox. Despite the woman’s obvious disappointment, June didn’t stop. Sam said a silent thank-you. He’d been grilled enough today.
“Eggers are usually kids, aren’t they?” he speculated. “And kids should be in school.”
“Speaking from experience?”
He refrained from answering. A few miles later she rounded a bend, slowed and turned off the lights simultaneously. He spotted two heads rising from the ragweed in the ditch, arms reared back. Boys. In their early teens. They dropped their ammo and took off.
“We have runners,” she said into her radio. June threw the car into Park, flung open her door and raced after the kids. Sam followed, a beat behind, logging details as he sprinted through the waist-high weeds. Deputy Jones was fast and agile. The boys split up.
“Take right,” June called over her shoulder, then veered after the one on the left.
Sam thundered across the unfamiliar terrain. He was used to creeping undetected, not trampling plants, careless of the noise he made. Adrenaline pumping, he went down into a shallow creek bed and back up the other side, gaining on his target and ignoring the briars ripping at his clothes. “The farther you run, the more you’ll piss me off,” he shouted, but his quarry didn’t slow.
Sam could take down and incapacitate an insurgent in seconds, but he had no clue how to deal with a troublemaking kid not wearing explosives. This one showed no signs of surrendering. Sam made a running tackle, banded his arms around the brat and hit the dirt. He rolled to take as much of the impact as he could and skidded across the leafy forest floor holding on to the bucking boy. When they stopped, he pinned the kid to the ground and scrambled for the cuffs on his belt. It took a couple of tries with the unfamiliar equipment before he had the subject hog-tied. Now what?
He rose and yanked the redheaded, freckle-faced youth to his feet. They were both breathing hard.
“I didn’t do anything,” Freckles shouted.
“Then why’d you run? Running from cops can get you shot.”
“It was Joey’s idea.”
No loyalty. A Marine would never give up his man. “Let’s go.”
Grabbing the narrow biceps, he frog-marched the teen back to the patrol car and met June and her quarry strolling side by side out of the woods. No cuffs. She took one look at Sam and though she said nothing, her disapproval was clear in the hiking of those golden eyebrows and her down-turned lips.
“Suspects apprehended,” she said into her shoulder radio. “It’s Joey and Tyler.”
“Affirmative,” Roth responded.
“What were you thinking?” she asked the boys as they approached the patrol car.
“Aw, c’mon, June, it’s not like we were hurting anything.”
“Eggs damage paint. Get in the back, Joey.”
“But, June—”
“Save it.”
Sam circled to the opposite side of the cruiser and opened the door. That was when he noticed neither June nor her kid were covered in leaves, twigs and debris the way Sam and his prisoner were.
“Deputy Rivers, please remove the cuffs before putting Tyler in the back.”
The kids referred to her by name, and she knew theirs. Frequent fliers? She returned to the ditch, grabbed a basket, which she put in the trunk, then climbed back behind the wheel. She acted as calm as if they’d taken their guests on a picnic. His blood was pumping. This was probably routine for her. Not so for him.
“That’s Miss Letty’s basket, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” she repeated when they ducked their heads and didn’t answer. “You know she and her son live off what she grows. She’s poor, and Jim Bob isn’t like the rest of us. And you took their food. Shame on you.” The boys shrank into their seats.
“You’re not gonna call our parents, are you?” the one Sam had nailed wailed.
“Oh, I’ll talk to your parents, but first I have something else in mind.”
Sam glanced through the grate and saw worry and dread in the faces too young to shave. “Vandalism is a crime. Do you want a criminal record to ruin your futures?” He used his sternest voice, trying to scare the piss out of them. Their pale faces and wide eyes told him it had worked.
“Guys, this is Deputy Rivers. Sorry you had to meet this way.” June put the car in motion, heading away from the station instead of toward it. Was she going to torture her passengers with the same parade through town Sam had endured?
Two klicks down the road she turned up a dirt driveway flanked by overgrown grass and weeds. A small, old, formerly white clapboard house smaller than his rental came into view. She tooted the horn. A tiny woman as weathered as the peeling building came out the front door. The teens sunk even deeper into the seat with a chorus of Oh man’s.
June got out and released her passenger. Following her lead, Sam did the same. Then she retrieved the basket from the trunk. Sam kept an eye on the boys, expecting them to bolt.
“Miss Letty, this is Deputy Rivers. He helped me catch these rascals. They’ve been in your henhouse.”
June cut a razor-sharp glance at the boys, who shuffled their feet and tucked their chins, then mumbled, “Sorry, Miss Letty.”
“Ya stole my eggs?”
Heads bobbed. “Yes, ma’am.”
June passed her the basket. “There are a few left. After school tomorrow Tyler and Joey will each bring you two dollars.”
They boys eyed June, then each other in dismay.
“Well, I...” the old lady started to protest.
“It’s the least they can do, Miss Letty.”
The old woman nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”
June snapped her fingers. “Back in the car, boys.”
Sam was more than a little surprised when they docilely did as ordered. June crossed to the old woman and gave her a hug. “Have a nice afternoon, Miss Letty. Tell Jim Bob I said hello. I’ll be back on Thursday with banana bread. If these boys don’t show tomorrow, you let me know.”
“What was that about?” Sam asked her over the car’s roof after the boys were back in the car and before she opened her door.
“Around here we don’t steal, and we take care of our own.”
Take Care of Your Own was a motto Marines lived by and could be iffy if abused. Was June overstepping her authority by forcing the boys to pay the woman? Seemed like it.
Again June steered away from the station. Approximately ten klicks down the road she turned the cruiser into a church parking lot, and the boys groaned. “C’mon, June. We’re sorry.”
“You will be.”
The building was old enough to have a historic marker out front. Founded in 1898 by Ezekiel Jones, it proclaimed. Signs along the road and driveway advertised a barbecue fund-raiser being held this Saturday.
“Just call our parents, please,” Carrottop pleaded.
“I did that last time. It didn’t work, did it? ’Cause here you are, hitching a ride with me again,” June replied. “This is the second time I’ve picked you two up for malicious mischief.”
She stopped the cruiser in front of the stone house beside the church, exited the car and then released their prisoners. The boys exchanged panicked glances.
“Don’t even think about running,” June warned, and the boys’ shoulders sagged. “I’m faster than both of you and I know where you live.”
They obediently followed her up the walk with scuffing feet and bowed heads. No cuffs. No use of force. What in the hell? Each one outweighed her but they made no attempt to escape. Sam took rear guard just in case. June knocked on the arched wooden door and a few moments later it opened, revealing an older man in a suit.
“Hi, Daddy.”
The words floored Sam. June was a preacher’s daughter? Then he noticed the lack of welcome in the man’s eyes—the same green as June’s—and the absence of a hug. His father would have crushed him with one if he’d shown up on the doorstep. That thought drove a bayonet of guilt into Sam’s ribs. He wanted to talk to his father, to get his advice, and yet he didn’t want to admit failure. Being separated from the corps was definitely a failure. Unless he could fix it.
“Justice.”
“Joey and Tyler have come to volunteer their services to the church this Saturday. They’d like to wash cars during your barbecue. They won’t charge the church, but they’ll accept donations for the youth mission fund.”
The boys grumbled again until the preacher’s hard stare silenced them. “Is that so?”
He continued giving them the beady eye until they nodded and Yes, sir’d.
“They’ll be here at eleven and they’ll stay until the last car leaves. I’d appreciate it if you’d feed them and keep them hydrated.”
“Good to know some of our members know how to repent,” the preacher said, and June paled. “I’ll see that they get lunch.”
“See you Saturday, then, Daddy.” She turned on her heel and headed back to the cruiser. The teens fell in behind her like baby ducks following momma duck.
Sam took another look at the man’s harsh face, then at June. He couldn’t help wondering if the clichés about a preacher’s daughter being wild were true. From the man’s comment about repenting and his chilly attitude, it sounded like it, but that didn’t fit June’s image as Quincey’s sweetheart. As Roth had predicted, everybody they’d encountered this morning adored her.
One thing was certain. His fellow deputy had just become a whole lot more interesting if she’d done something her father couldn’t forgive.
* * *
SAM STALKED INTO Roth’s office at the end of his shift. The day had been worse than enemy capture and torture. “You have to pair me with one of the men tomorrow.”
Roth pointed at the chair in front of his desk. Sam sat, relieved to see the end of his first day as a deputy. “Why?”
“After we apprehended the egg throwers, June took them to the lady they stole the eggs from and promised they’d reimburse her. Then your deputy took them to her father’s church and volunteered them to wash cars for a church fund-raiser. She never Mirandized them. And that’s not by the book.”
“No, it isn’t, but neither is it out of line. They weren’t formally charged.”
Matter of opinion. Not Sam’s. “After that she took them to school and told their science teacher that the boys would like to do a report and a presentation to their class on how eggs damage auto paint. She touted it as a great learning experience for all.”
Roth’s face remained inscrutable. “Is that right?”
“Only then did she drive each one of the brats to his daddy’s office and tell the fathers what their sons had done and where the boys would be on Saturday and about the school project. Instead of wasting an entire afternoon on these little vandals, she should have hauled them here and tossed them into a cell to cool their heels until their parents posted bail and picked them up. June is more mommy than deputy.”
Roth rocked back in his chair. “I told you small-town policing is like nothing you’ve ever seen. I had issues with June’s technique, too, when I first started here, and then my father-in-law set me straight. June’s approach may be unconventional. It certainly wouldn’t work in Raleigh, where she trained. But it works here. For what it’s worth, Miss Letty barely scrapes by since her husband died a few years back, and the boys attend Pastor Jones’s church. They’re probably even going on the mission trip. Reparation might not be a bad idea. As for the school thing...we could do with a few less juvenile delinquents. They’re Quincey’s biggest problem.”
Dumbfounded, Sam stared at his friend. “What has small-town living done to the rule-following Marine I knew? June’s dispensing her own brand of justice. Hell, she was judge and jury, too.”
“Supposing she’d done as you suggested and brought the boys to the station and charged them with petty vandalism, following textbook procedure. Tyler’s daddy’s a lawyer, a good one, I hear, and Joey’s dad was Quincey’s all-star quarterback fifteen years ago. He took the team to the state championship and threw the winning touchdown. That’s something folks around here don’t forget. I suspect the judge would have thrown out both boys’ cases.”
“You have to be kidding me. We caught them red-handed.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Sam, and now you understand some of my frustration. In reality, strings would have been pulled, charges dropped, etc. The boys’ punishment would have been over before the ink dried on the paperwork, and they’d have learned that their daddies can get them out of trouble. Or if by some fluke the charges weren’t dropped, the boys would have a permanent juvenile record for stealing and throwing a couple dollars’ worth of eggs. You and I both did worse as kids.
“Now put yourself in their current situation.” Grinning, Roth shook his head. “June’s going to torture the ever-livin’ hell out of them for a week. Tyler and Joey will also serve as examples to their peers when they’re stuck washing cars Saturday afternoon while their buddies are eating barbecue and throwing around the football on the church lawn. And when they’re forced to stand up and give that oral report, the message will be driven home again. Screw up in Quincey and you pay. You tell me which punishment is more likely to discourage repeat offenders.”
As soon as Roth said it, Sam got it. He didn’t like it. He preferred rules and clear-cut consequences for breaking them. He liked going through the proper chain of command. But he understood June’s angle. He nodded.
“I hear you, but I’d still like to work with Morris or Aycock tomorrow. That woman likes a captive audience. She nearly talked the boys’ ears off. Mine, too.”
Roth cracked a smile. “Sam, she’s the most even-tempered woman I’ve ever met or worked with. How did you manage to get on her bad side so quickly?”
The chair suddenly felt harder. “What makes you think I did?”
“She’s beat you in here by ten minutes to request that your training be handled by one of the other deputies.”
That rankled. Sam had never had anyone refuse to work with him before. On the contrary, he’d had more ask to be assigned to work with him than his superiors could accommodate. He was imperturbable, eternally patient, a damned good shot, and top-notch at calculating trajectories, wind velocities and spindrift.
“She doesn’t want to work with me? What’s her problem?”
“You. She claims you’re too rigid and used excessive force when you handcuffed Tyler Newsome for throwing eggs.”
“I cuffed the little bast—brat for evading arrest. He ran.”
“He’s barely thirteen.”
“So were two of the suicide bombers I was sent to take out.”
A sobering silence filled the room. Roth had been there, done that. The first kid Sam had been sent after hadn’t even started shaving, but the explosives wrapped around his chest as he’d strolled into a crowded marketplace that had included many Marines had been impossible to miss. That had been a hard one. The bastards over there had used women and children on a regular basis. Subsequent assignments hadn’t gotten any easier. But Sam had done what was necessary to save lives.
He replaced the bad memories by dredging up an image of angry green eyes and golden hair pulled into a stubby ponytail instead.
“What else is she whining about?” Sam groused.
“She claims you were abrupt with the citizens who tried to welcome you. You even refused Mrs. Ray’s turtle soup.”
That bit him like belly-crawling over a ground nest of yellow jackets. “I don’t like turtle soup, and I met a hundred people today. June never got the car above ten miles per hour. And then she took me to the diner for lunch. A cavity search would’ve been less invasive. It was like being autopsied while I was still alive.” He’d barely been able to eat for people dropping by their table and grilling him.
Roth’s grin widened. “Welcome to Quincey. Give it time. It’ll grow on you.”
“Like fungus?”
Roth laughed. “Ah, you remember my description of coming home. See you in the morning. If you’re nice, maybe June will let you drive.”
Frustrated, Sam rose. “If I wanted to be tortured by females, I’d go home to my sisters.”
“Good idea. I’ll give you three days’ leave if you want to visit your family. But you’re still partnered with Jones.”
His sisters made the citizens of Quincey look like amateur sleuths.
“I don’t need leave.”
At least he and June agreed on one thing. Neither wanted to work together. But he’d change her mind. Then when he repeated his request for a different partner, maybe Roth would listen.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_a53879ef-1994-510d-b87b-a17ea70f0808)
JUNE PACED HER tiny den, waiting for Madison to get home. But instead of her landlord’s truck, she heard the low growl of Sam’s high-performance engine rumbling up the driveway. Tension snapped her nerves as tight as overwound guitar strings. He parked in front of his cottage and headed for his front door.
If it had been anyone else, she’d have invited them to join her for dinner. It was the neighborly thing to do. But not Sam. She’d had enough of his impatience and disapproving glares today. Not that she’d been able to see his condemning eyes through the dark lenses, but the way he’d looked at her, with censure pleating his brow and turning down the corners of his compressed mouth, she’d seen all she needed to see.
Why had he taken this job if he hated small-town life so much? Or maybe he just hated her. That bothered her more than it should have. His opinion did not matter.
A minute later her landlord’s truck turned into the driveway. June grabbed the Crock-Pot and picnic basket and, juggling her load, hurried across the yard to meet Madison as she climbed from the cab.
Madison spotted June, and her dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Hi. Please tell me that’s dinner. I’m starving. Piper and I didn’t get a lunch break.”
June struggled to contain her questions and forced patience she did not feel. “It is. I made white chicken chili, corn bread and salad. Busy day at the office?”
“There are always pet emergencies after a holiday weekend, but today everyone’s ‘emergency’ was more of a need to stop by and question me about my wedding plans and my replacement, Dr. Drake.”
“You got in late last night,” June said in an attempt to make polite chitchat before getting down to facts as they crossed the yard together.
“It was hard to say goodbye to Adam.” Madison’s time with her fiancé and his family had been good for her. She looked more relaxed than June had ever seen her.
Madison, June and Piper had often shared meals, potlucking it at each other’s houses until Piper and now Madison had become engaged. Once Madison moved to Georgia after her wedding, June would be solo. Except for her annoying neighbor...unless she could convince her landlord to turf him. But she couldn’t blurt out that demand. She’d have to work up to it.
Madison twisted the backdoor knob, then frowned over her shoulder at June. “You locked my back door again. Why?”
“You don’t know your new tenant. I don’t trust him.”
Madison dug her keys out of her pocket and opened the door. “Oh, c’mon. Sam’s a nice guy. And I don’t think you can get a better referral than from Quincey’s chief of police.”
Nice guy? June practically choked on her own saliva as she followed Madison into the kitchen. She set the slow cooker, basket and salad bowl on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me Roth’s friend was renting the cottage?”
“Because Roth asked me not to mention it. He said Sam needed time and privacy to get his head together about being forced out of the military. And Sam was as pleasant as he could be when I met him at Piper and Roth’s, so I didn’t think it would be a problem. Of course, that was before he lost his job. That might affect his mood, I guess, if he’s acting differently with you.”
“He’s the new deputy. Roth stuck me with training him.”
“Ah...you’re working together.”
Madison’s knowing tone raised her hackles. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It explains the friction between you. You have not had great luck with the men you’ve worked with. You especially don’t like guys who are condescending or boss you around. Does he?”
Had he? No. Not in that way. “He accused me of coming on to him when I took him the key and a welcome basket.”
Madison’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet you gave him your phone number, too.”
“In case he had questions. What’s that got to do with it?”
“A pretty single neighbor brings food to the new guy. And I know you. That basket was probably loaded with delicious home-cooked stuff. Then that neighbor offers her phone number. How do you think a stranger to Quincey would take that kind of overture?”
When Madison put it that way... “As a pickup attempt?”
Madison nodded. Then June put the pieces together and grimaced. Heat climbed to her hairline. “To make matters worse, I was wearing Kelsie’s bikini. He showed up while I was killing time by the pool.”
Madison chuckled. “Poor Sam. That explains a lot. Your sister’s taste borders on trampy. He’d never know you’re as comfortable in a bathing suit as you are jeans and a T-shirt, thanks to your siblings’ enthusiastic sports matches at family get-togethers.
“You and Sam got off on the wrong foot. Once you get to know him, you’ll see he’s a decent guy. He made it very clear when I met him that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Again, that was before he lost his job. I don’t know if his status has changed. But to be on the safe side, treat him like one of your brothers and you should be fine.”
Even at their worst her brothers had never been so irritating. They had never questioned every decision she made or looked at her as if she was wasting their valuable time. And they never handcuffed children.
Madison gathered plates and bowls from the cabinets and set the table. “I’m glad you’re here. I was going to knock on your door later anyway. Adam and I are having trouble deciding where to get married. I value your levelheaded advice.”
June would prefer to talk about Sam and find out everything Madison knew about the former Marine. But that would have to wait. She gathered utensils, then sat and dished out the food while Madison poured sweet tea. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to get married in the Drakes’ church. That’s where I married Andrew.”
“I can see where taking vows to your deceased husband’s identical twin in the same spot might be awkward.”
“Exactly. Plus, it gives a negative vibe. That marriage didn’t work out. On the rare occasions I attend services here I go to your father’s church with Piper. But I don’t want your dad marrying us either. He may be a gifted orator, but I don’t like the way he treats you, and I really want you and Piper with me when I promise forever to Adam.”
“This is your wedding, Madison. Get married wherever you want. I can handle my dad.” June would be there—even if it meant going to her father’s church, where he’d humiliated her in front of all of Quincey.
Madison shook her head. “No way. I still remember the excitement in your voice when you called to tell me your guy had planned a special dinner and you thought he was going to propose. Then I remember the pain in your eyes when you showed up on my doorstep three days later dragging a U-Haul trailer and telling me you’d quit the job you loved and left Raleigh and you needed a place to stay. Your parents should have been there for you.”
“I didn’t need them. I had you and Piper.”
“And we were happy to help—even though you wouldn’t let us castrate the lying, adulterous bastard. But that’s not the point, June. You didn’t know the jerk was married. You were the victim and not the offender. Your father shouldn’t have condemned you then and he shouldn’t continue doing so now, years later. I wish your mother would grow a backbone and tell him to go to hell for treating you so badly.”
“My mother only has an opinion if Dad gives her one. She never thinks for herself. Can we talk about something more pleasant? Like your wedding? Are we going to have ugly bridesmaids’ dresses?”
Madison laughed. “That’s between you and Piper. Y’all get to pick them out. I don’t even care what color you choose as long as you’re both there—wherever ‘there’ is.”
“Have you and Adam considered a destination wedding? Savannah, Charleston and the Outer Banks are close by. Or you could go to the mountains.”
“That’s a good idea. One I’ll run by Adam and research. But I need a promise from you. Promise me you’ll be at the wedding wherever it is. It’s scary as hell to be doing this when I swore I’d never tie myself to a man again.”
Especially with her dead husband’s identical twin, June thought. She didn’t know the whole story of Madison’s first marriage, but she knew it had gone from heaven to hell at some point. “Do you have doubts?”
“Not a one. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. That’s the scariest part. He’s either perfect for me, or I’m completely besotted and blind.”
“I don’t think it’s the latter. I’ll be there no matter where, no matter when and no matter how ugly my dress is.”
That was one promise she’d have no trouble keeping.
* * *
FOR THE FIRST time ever, June dreaded going into work. She sat in her truck outside the station trying to rally her enthusiasm for the day ahead.
Yesterday had been tough with Mr. No Personality—correction, Mr. Unpleasant Personality—riding shotgun and wearing a perpetual scowl. She’d never met a more rigid, disagreeable, impatient, judgmental man...except maybe her father. But at least her father knew how to turn on the charm for his flock. He just didn’t waste it on her.
But after her conversation with Madison, June had decided to give Sam the benefit of the doubt and a second chance at being a decent human being. She climbed from the cab, shifted her duty belt at her waist, then marched from the parking lot into the station. As usual, she was early and the other deputies’ desks were empty. The only light came from the chief’s domain.
“Jones, my office,” Roth called out.
She stopped in front of the chief’s desk. “Yes, sir? Have you rethought my request to reassign Sam?”
“Not a chance. I had calls from each of those boys’ fathers last night. They both think you went overboard with the punishments.”
She hadn’t even clocked in and her day had begun to circle the drain. “But, Chief, this was their second offense, and after all the vandalism we had with those other teens a few months back—”
He held up one finger to stop her defense. “I disagreed with them. And I told them as much. You turned what could have been a bad and expensive experience into a learning opportunity—not just for these boys, but also for their peers.”
Surprised and relieved, she sighed. She and Roth didn’t have enough of a track record for her to know how he thought. “Thanks for the backup, sir.”
“I also told them if they’d take the time to parent their sons, Quincey PD officers wouldn’t have to.”
She winced. “That, uh, might not have been a good idea.”
“I’m not going to pander to egos. My predecessor was too nice and too lenient. No one will ever accuse me of that.
“Jones, I want you to take Rivers to the shooting range first thing this morning. Introduce him to Tate Lowry and empty a couple of boxes. Sam needs to get a weapon in his hands again and become familiar with the HK. Lowry’s expecting you. The department will cover the cost of the rounds.”
Sounded like fun—even with the bad company. “Yes, sir. Is that all?”
“No. Don’t shoot my new deputy.” He said it with a straight face, but humor sparkled in his eyes.
“I’ll do my best to resist the temptation, Chief, but I make no promises, because he is a pain in the butt,” she responded equally deadpan. The office had changed since Roth took over. Piper’s dad had been a good boss, but more things got done with the new chief always pushing for improvement.
“Let me give you a piece of advice in dealing with Sam. His eye is still healing and his vision isn’t what it once was. The doctors said it would take up to a year for it to stabilize. He’s on shaky ground now—not sure if he’ll end up with a permanent visual impairment. He’s a man of actions, not words. Let your accuracy do the talking this morning. And show no mercy. Give him all you’ve got. Understood?”
She bit her lip. As much as she disliked Sam, she wasn’t comfortable with kicking the man while he was down. “That seems a bit...cruel given his injury, sir. Are you sure that’s the best way to handle this?”
“I’m sure. Sam thrives on adversity. He thinks his clearest when under extreme pressure. That skill saved our asses on more than one occasion. The sniper motto is Death Before Capture. There were a couple of times I was certain there was no way out of our predicament, and I was contemplating eating my own bullet rather than surrendering. But each time, Sam’s ingenuity got us out of trouble.
“Trust me, Jones, he’ll take this as a challenge, and improving his skills will give him something to focus on besides being cut from the corps.”
She wasn’t convinced, but an order was an order. “If you say so, sir. I’ll do my best to wipe the floor with him.”
Roth laughed. “That’s exactly what he needs.”
The exterior door opened, then closed. Silence followed. No sound of clunky footsteps heralded Morris or Aycock. Instead, June looked up and saw Sam standing in the chief’s doorway. Without the sunglasses. The impact of his icy blue eyes on hers winded her like a bad tackle in a family-reunion football game.
“Repeating your request to dump me?” he growled.
Be nice, June. It won’t kill you. But it might come close.
She stretched her mouth into a smile so wide it nearly cracked her cheeks. “Good morning, Rivers. On the contrary, I’m getting our assignment. Clock in. I’ll be waiting in the cruiser. The chief is sending us on an expedition.”
She headed for the door and paused for Sam to step out of the way.
“Hold it, Jones.” The chief’s voice stopped her inches from her new partner.
So much for a quick escape. She pivoted to face the boss. The subtle aroma of man filled her nostrils. Sam. Not cologne. Her mouth dried. She was too close, but she refused to give away her unsettled reaction by backtracking. “Yes, sir?”
“The idea you submitted for modernizing our records and converting our paper files to digital is a good one. When the equipment I’ve requisitioned comes in, you and Sam will be in charge of that operation. Copy that?”
She wouldn’t be passing Deputy Rivers off to someone else anytime soon. Not good news. “Yes, Chief.”
“That’s all.”
She turned and looked at Sam. His cold gaze drilled hers, but he stubbornly held his ground, blocking half the doorway. Was he trying to intimidate her? If so, he was wasting his time. She’d endured far worse from her brothers and her fellow officers in Raleigh who’d been determined to run off the female country bumpkin—especially once she’d shown them up on the range.
She brushed past him, being extremely careful not to bump him, but at the last second the duty pack on her belt snagged on him, jolting her pulse into a wild rhythm. Ignoring it, she headed for the break room. She needed coffee and distance before closeting herself in the car with him.
Treat him like a brother, Madison had said. But neither Michael nor Rhett had ever had this disconcerting effect on her. On second thought, maybe she didn’t need the caffeine after all. Her pulse was pounding like a woodpecker against her eardrums, and she was already jumpy. If she wanted to be able to hit the target, she needed to steady her nerves.
Calm. Cool. Whoop his butt.
Yes, he was an ex-sniper. But that meant he was used to long-range rifles. Thanks to her grandfather, she was an expert with handguns. And as Roth had said, Sam had visual issues, too.
Time for some humble pie, Deputy Sam.
* * *
SAM HAD NEVER minded silence. Before now. He was used to solitude and didn’t need entertaining. He definitely did not need or miss June’s chatter or stopping every five yards to meet Quincey’s people.
Recon was his thing. The scenery—fields, woods, farms—was self-explanatory. He saw what he needed to see and made a mental map of the region. He didn’t need her to identify the plants that provided cover or the hollows where someone could hide, or for her to tell him stories about the odd characters who lived up each dirt driveway the way she had yesterday. Quiet suited him fine.
But he was flying blind with no intel to their destination and he didn’t like it. June was edgy. He could feel tension rolling off her like heat off an airstrip. The uneasy feeling of being on the verge of walking into an ambush grew stronger by the minute.
Another mile passed without June taking her foot off the gas except to allow a gaggle of geese to cross the road. On the outskirts of town she hit the turn signal. Sam muffled a groan. He should have known the reprieve wouldn’t last. After the kid fiasco yesterday she’d taken him to dozens of backwoods holes-in-the-wall to meet the citizens who operated Quincey’s mom-and-pop businesses. Was this yet another one?
Then she turned the car into the gravel lot and a plain hand-painted sign came into view. Hunt and Bait Shop. He liked to hunt and fish. Maybe this wouldn’t be unbearable.
June parked, climbed out of the patrol car and headed for the long, low cinder-block building without a word. He tracked after her. The sign in the window said the place wouldn’t open for another hour, but after a quick knock, she barged through the unlocked door.
Sam followed a little more cautiously. Dozens of taxidermied dark eyes stared down at him from the walls. Deer, beavers, foxes, raccoon, bobcats, assorted fowl. There were a couple of pictures of a guy in ACUs tucked unobtrusively among them. A red steel door marked Live Fire Beyond This Point caught his attention.
A shooting range? In Quincey? His day suddenly looked more interesting. Sam hadn’t fired a weapon in over six months—not by choice. He’d been warned after the surgery to avoid anything jarring like recoil for three months, but an hour before giving him the boot, his doctor had given the okay to resume normal activities.
Normal. Ha. His life was anything but normal now.
He itched to unload the semiauto in his holster. He’d come back tonight after work.
“Tate?” June called out.
A fifty-something buzz-cut-wearing man came out of the back office. The guy from the pictures—minus the uniform. A scar now marked the right side of his face and he walked with a mild limp.
“June, I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” Then his gaze slid to Sam and he extended his hand across the glass display case containing an assortment of pistols, revolvers and a sweet Benchmade knife. “You must be the new deputy. I’m Tate Lowry, Master Sergeant, US Army, retired, but I won’t hold being a jarhead against you.” He delivered the rivalry insult with a smile.
The guy knew who he was. Sam shook his hand. “Sam Rivers. Staff Sergeant, USMC. Former staff sergeant,” he corrected, and the words pierced him like an enemy’s bayonet. “And I won’t hold being a dogface grunt against you.”
Lowry guffawed. “That’s the spirit.” Then he reached beneath the counter and set two boxes of .40-cal ammo on the surface. “Chief called an’ told me you two were coming. I don’t open to the public for an hour, so you have the place to yourself.”
Shooting? That was the detail Roth had in mind for today? Thanks, buddy.
“I’ve set targets on all four lanes,” Lowry continued, “and there are more stacked by the door. Have at it. If you need more ammo, you know where to find me.” The old guy winked at June.
She grinned back, and her smile hit Sam like a sucker punch. “Thanks, Tate. I owe you a pecan pie.”
“You owe me nothing, sweetheart, but I’ll take a pie off your hands anytime.” He turned back to Sam. “You need ear or eye protection?”
Sam nodded, and Tate added clear-lens glasses and a set of earplugs to the ammo pile. Sam registered that he didn’t offer June either safety precaution.
“Use of the shooting range is on the house for QPD. You’re welcome anytime. Rifle shooting is done out back. If you need to get in before or after my official hours, just give me a call and I’ll make it happen. I got nothing better to do.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it,” Sam said, eager to see the range.
“You and I need to swap stories sometime. Not many people around here want to listen to an old fart talk about the good ol’ deployment days. Might be dumb, but I miss ’em.”
“Copy that.”
June grabbed a box of ammo and headed for the red door. Sam did the same. It would be good to know if the woman watching his back could hit anywhere close to her mark or if he’d need to take cover if she ever unholstered her weapon. Roth had said she’d graduated at the top of her class, but seeing was believing. The door closed behind them, and the familiar sulfur smell of gunpowder filled his nose.
June stopped by the first lane. “If you have questions about the HK, let me know. Here’s the deal—one magazine per target, loser buys dinner. Highest number of winning sheets eats free. Just so you know, it’s going to be me, Rivers. I’ll be down there shellacking you.” She pointed to the far side of the room, then headed that way.
Her cocky wager—not the sparkle in her eyes or the confident swing of her hips—grabbed his attention by the throat. He’d fired more makes of guns than there were weeks in a year. He took the closest lane. “I think I can figure out this weapon, and I’ll take that bet, Jones. I haven’t had a good steak in a while.”
“You’ll be buying those steaks, Deputy.”
Her vaunt made him laugh. “Do you know what I did for a living?”
“I know.” She pulled ear and eye protection from her small bag and donned both before disappearing into her booth. The fact that she kept her own equipment in the car made him wonder if she needed that much practice. He couldn’t see her over the six-foot protective walls, but he could see her target downrange.
He pulled his spare magazines from his belt and lined them up on the rubber-matted board. Anticipation and adrenaline—not her challenge—made his heart race as he emptied his police ammo, then refilled each clip with cheaper target rounds. He was almost done when the distinct crack-thump of June’s weapon pulled his gaze to the paper rectangle. She’d hit an inch left of center. Not bad. Lucky shot? Her second round drilled the target. Bull’s-eye. Before the paper stopped fluttering, a third round ruffled the edge of the same hole, then a fourth. He blinked and looked again.
The blonde who wore sequined sandals and a ruffled bikini and cooled herself off with a squirt bottle was a sharpshooter?
“No effin’ way,” he muttered.
Roth would have warned him. Or would he? His buddy had a twisted sense of humor. Had he been messing with Sam’s head and enjoying a private joke? That had to be it. Oh yeah, today would be fun. He’d school June on how it was done. Nice to know she’d be a worthy opponent.
She proved her skills further with eight more rounds. Then she ejected her magazine and backed out of the booth. Frowning down the aisle at him, she removed an earplug. “Need help loading?”
He realized he’d stopped to watch her, and that was wrong, wrong, wrong. He was a professional, not a spectator. “No. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
“There’s nothing to do in Quincey but fish and hunt. I used to hang out with my grandfather and two younger brothers. I’m a bit...competitive, or so they tell me.”
“Not bad, Deputy. But not good enough to get a free meal out of me.” He stepped to the line. He’d never fired this weapon, had no idea if the sights were accurate, and it had been months since he’d discharged a pistol. But if there was one thing he knew, it was ballistics.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled, slow and steady. His first shot went wide right, barely tearing the edge of the paper. He mentally adjusted for sights that were off and tried again. Low and outside. Damn. He fired a third and missed again.
He was shooting all around the paper. Was it the gun or him? His mind spun, calculating distance, trajectory, velocity and a hundred other things. He was alive because he was a damned good shot.
Was?
The thought rocked him to the core. Had to be the HK.
He tried to focus, to slow his respiratory and heart rates and still his unsteady hands. Damn it, he was shaking. He didn’t shake—not even when his life was on the line. He emptied the clip, replaced the target, then braced his elbows on the deck and emptied another magazine with the same bad results.
His surgeon had warned that he might have some depth perception issues for a while due to the unequal pressure in his eyes. Was that the case here?
“Take your time, Sam,” June said from behind him, and rested a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed her moving to the back of his lane. Her palm burned through his uniform. The concern in her tone ratcheted up his tension. He stood, reeled in the tattered target and replaced it, then ejected the magazine and popped in the next one.
Compensate. Figure out what’s going wrong and fix it.
Her scent drifted across the booth, disrupting his focus. Mind games? Blondie was playing with him—a man who’d been trained to block out biting insects, snakes and other vermin and even bodily functions to get his shot. Hell, he could lie in wait for hours or days, if necessary.
He’d better concentrate if he didn’t want to spend a meal looking into smug green eyes.
Come on, Rivers. You’re better than this.
He shook off her hand and fixed his gaze on the intersecting lines, very conscious of the woman watching him. He exhaled, ignoring her as best he could, squeezed the trigger repeatedly until his magazine was empty. His anxiety level rose with each shot.
He looked at the Swiss cheese of his target—pitiful—then at June. For a moment he thought he saw sympathy in her green eyes, and his spine turned to steel.
Then she shrugged. “Sixty-one more rounds to go. I like my steak medium rare with a baked potato drowning in butter on the side.”
He had to keep his head in the game. “You think you’re gonna beat me.”
“Of course. I know this weapon as well as I know my own face. You, on the other hand, are still learning your HK’s quirks and you’re out of practice.”
Her cockiness would have been cute if anxiety hadn’t been chewing a hole in his stomach. “My sights are off.”
She offered him her weapon, grip first. “Use mine.”
In other words, put up or shut up, Marine. What choice did he have? He exchanged guns with her. “Are you going to yap all day or shoot?”
Her eyebrows arched above the clear lenses. Then she about-faced. She took lane three. He moved to lane two, beside her.
He heard the telltale sound of her popping in a magazine and loading one in the chamber. He’d do better with her weapon. The sights were on target. Her accuracy proved that.
But he didn’t improve. Four magazines later he admitted it wasn’t the weapon. It was him.
He was a sniper, a sharpshooter, without a single bull’s-eye. If he couldn’t hit his target, where did that leave him?
Unemployable and without marketable skills.
Was the blind spot in his peripheral vision not enough of a curse? Was his visual impairment permanent? It had been five damned months since his final surgery. He was counting on healing and proving the doctors wrong.
Movement downrange caught his attention. June reeled in yet another target with a gaping hole in the center. Each perfect sheet had ratcheted up his tension until he was almost ready to burst out of his skin. His targets looked as if he’d used buckshot. A new recruit who’d never touched a weapon before boot camp would have had better results.
Desperation filled him, forcing out oxygen. He had to improve his scores. Again and again he reached for the box, until there were no rounds left. He’d wasted one hundred rounds and hadn’t scored a single winning sheet. He’d improved his score by shooting with his injured eye closed, but he was still nowhere near his previous proficiency.
“Nothing more we can do. Give it time,” the doctors had said.
Sometimes life sucked.
And then it got worse.
He removed the glasses and wiped his face, then backed out of the booth, facing one cold, hard fact. He was no longer a Marine. He was no longer a sharpshooter.
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Emilie Rose
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Resisting June may be his toughest job Investigating small-town police corruption has never been on former marine Sam Rivers′s radar. Still, taking this assignment gives him the opportunity to figure out what′s next after his medical discharge. The task should be a straightforward one. That is, until he meets Deputy June Jones. Almost instantly the warm, sexy woman occupies his thoughts. For a man who craves solitude, suddenly he can′t get enough of her.He also can′t forget his reason for being in Quincey, North Carolina. As his investigation progresses, it threatens his secret relationship with June. But can he turn his back on all the love and hope she offers?