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“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?
