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Adam removed Harvey’s hand. “Mr. Primm, if you wish to discuss potential problems that might arise as a result of the library board’s vote, stop by my office.”
With that, Adam turned and plowed through a small crowd of people, many of whom likely overheard the exchange if their silence was any indication.
Harvey didn’t follow him, but Adam could feel the hard stare of the man burrowing into his back. A prickle of unease crept up his spine. Harvey, who had wholeheartedly supported Adam’s hire as the new police chief, was turning out to be trouble. Adam supposed the man thought a younger appointment would be easier to control.
Guess he hadn’t done his research.
Adam was definitely by the book, but he also wasn’t a man to be pushed around by the whims of an egotistical, right-wing looney bird.
A flash of red caught his eye.
But it wasn’t Scarlet. It was Betty Monk wearing a lavish red sequined dress paired with matching cowboy boots. Not quite fitting with the homespun, earthy decor of the reception. How he knew it was homespun and earthy was beyond him. Must have been something he picked up from the decorating magazine Roz had left in the john at the station.
Time to shake Brent Hamilton’s hand, then get out of Dodge. Go to the station. File a report. Drink a cup of Roz Lane’s bitter coffee. Forget about buxom beauties and how splendid they looked in black leather and red lipstick.
Betty raised her painted-on eyebrows and started barreling toward Adam.
He slid to the right, ducking behind a cluster of occupied tables. He didn’t want to hear about how no one picked up after their dogs when they walked through the downtown park. Nor could he tolerate her incessant touching. She flirted as if she were a twenty-year-old. And seemed absolutely convinced he was into her.
To hell with shaking Brent’s hand. Adam would grab cake and head for the hills.
He was a good cop, but he wasn’t a saint.
CHAPTER THREE
SCARLET LEANED HER HEAD against the fluffy pillows on the bed and studied Rayne. The last time she’d seen her had been four months ago when she’d come to New York City to meet with producers and TV execs. At that time, her older sister had looked thinner and more stressed. Scarlet had concluded the wear and tear to be caused by her career and dealing with being a single mother. She hadn’t known Rayne had been seeing Oak Stand stud-muffin-extraordinaire Brent Hamilton. When Rayne mentioned she’d been seeing the man, Scarlet had nearly gone through the roof of the upscale bar they’d sat in.
It was obvious Rayne had given little credence to Scarlet’s warning about how men like Brent never changed, since she sat in a ladder-backed chair, wearing an ivory wedding dress.
Scarlet had to admit. Rayne looked good. She’d gained weight and as she’d glided down the church steps, hand in hand with her new husband, she’d been glowing most radiantly. God, Scarlet hoped Rayne wasn’t pregnant.
Now, as the shadows fell and the party-supply workers packed up the tents and folding chairs outside, Rayne looked…uncomfortable, like a kid who faced the dreaded flu shot.
Scarlet crossed her arms and glared at her older sister until their gazes finally met across the room.
“I called you,” Rayne said. “I left two messages this past week alone.”
Scarlet sniffed and tossed her hair over one shoulder.
“Summer,” Rayne said, her words plainly apologetic. “I called and left a message on your answering machine. And I sent you an email. Have you checked your messages?”
“My name is not Summer. Not anymore.”
Rayne frowned. “I know, but you’ll always be Summer to me.”
Scarlet shrugged, dismissing the mushy sentiment. She’d changed her name to Scarlet when she started acting. She preferred it over the misnomer her parents had given her. Nothing light and sweet about her. Especially now that her heart had been broken into a billion throbbing pieces. “You know my cell-phone number. Any thought I might be on the move, since we’re on hiatus?” Scarlet drawled. She wasn’t buying her sister’s story. She had an inkling Rayne hadn’t wanted her here for the wedding. Which hurt like hell.
“You never answer your cell. I called the number you gave me. I did.” Rayne spread her hands apart. “You never called me back.”
“That’s not tr—” Scarlet snapped her mouth closed. Okay. She vaguely remembered a call from her sister several weeks ago. She’d been at a party. She’d had two gin and tonics in her attempt to have fun. She hadn’t accomplished her mission. And she’d forgotten about Rayne’s call. Damn.
“See.” Rayne gave her the I’m-always-right older-sister nod. The one Scarlet hated beyond all others. Rayne clung to the power she wielded as the eldest.
“Fine. I remember it now. I was at a party in the Village. The cute guy from that hospital show was there. Sober, but still yummy. I, on the other hand, had a few drinks too many. I forgot about the call.”
Rayne closed her eyes. “Good gravy, you are a piece of work.”
Scarlet tossed her sister a smart-ass smile. “Why, thank you.”
Rayne opened her eyes and leveled her gaze. “Look, I know you have reservations about Brent, but—”
“Reservations? Yeah, you could call them that,” Scarlet said. “Rayne, he tried to pick me up at a bar three years ago. Slimy pick-up line and he didn’t even buy me a beer. He’s not the marrying kind. Guys like him don’t change.”
Rayne waved her left hand in front of Scarlet. The diamond on the wedding band caught the sunlight streaming into the room. “I beg to differ. He is the marrying kind.”
Scarlet shook her head. Rayne had no clue what she’d done. She’d married a veritable slut. No way would Brent be faithful. Scarlet knew his kind. They smiled, cajoled and had a gal’s ankles over her head before she could even get his digits. No way this ended well. “I’m sorry I can’t be happier, but this has heartbreak written all over it.”
Rayne laughed. “Says the girl who has never been in love. What’s your longest relationship? A month? You flit from one thing to the other. Deep Shadows is the biggest commitment you’ve made thus far, so I don’t think you’re qualified.”
Little do you know, big sis.
“I don’t have to be in love to know you just screwed the pooch,” Scarlet snipped. “And let’s not bring me into this. We’re talking about you. Wholesome, smart, accomplished Rayne. Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. You don’t know about the big, bad wolves in this world.”
The ones that rip out your heart and then tap-dance on it.
“So I have to live in New York City to recognize people for what they are? Jeez, I didn’t know. I suppose I should have consulted my experienced, world-weary twenty-six-year-old sister on the steps I should take on falling in love.”
“Love?” Scarlet snorted. “I don’t think you should call your desire to get into a hunk’s undies love.”
Rayne flushed. “You wouldn’t know love if it slapped you in the face.” She usually looked sweet and fragile. She wasn’t. She fought dirty and pulled hair. “This is not about sleeping with Brent. I could do that without a ring on my finger. I love him and he loves me…and Henry.”
Scarlet shook her head. “I’ve been around Oak Stand. I’ve been around him. You want to believe that because you’re lonely and Phillip is gone.”
Rayne looked as if she might physically lash out at her. “This has nothing to do with being lonely or Phillip. You can’t understand, because you’re not capable. This is my life. If I make mistakes, they’re on me. I don’t need you to save me. You have enough on your plate.”
Scarlet couldn’t disagree. Her life had been tough since she and John had split well over a year ago. What good would it do to toss her pain out for others to see? Her heart still ached, but no one would ever know how broken she truly was. She wouldn’t allow it because she couldn’t survive in her business by admitting to being vulnerable. To being dumped like last year’s fashions.
Her sister rose. “You know, I won’t be able to change your mind. That’s obvious. Maybe if you hang around for a couple of days, you might see things differently.”
“You’re not going on a honeymoon?”
“Not until October, when we go to San Antonio for the Christmas show. Brent has a deadline at the end of September and I’m a working wife and mom. Plus, every day with Brent is—”
“Don’t say it.” Scarlet knew she sounded like a snotty kid who didn’t get the last piece of candy. Her intentions had been honorable. She hadn’t wanted to see her older sister suffer through more than she’d already suffered after the death of her first husband. Didn’t want her to feel the aching emptiness Scarlet felt each time she closed her eyes. Time didn’t always heal wounds. “I’ll stick around for a few days, but don’t count on my changing my mind on lover boy anytime soon.”
Rayne opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. She kept her hand on the doorknob for a moment, gazing hard at the Tiffany lamp on the nightstand next to Scarlet. Finally she made eye contact. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate your caring enough to try to save me from a perceived mistake.”
“You’re welcome,” Scarlet said, trying to keep her stern resolve, but a warm spot pooled in her heart at her sister’s words. She’d always craved Rayne’s approval. Probably because Rayne had been such a steadfast influence in a world that had rocked arpeggio Scarlet’s whole life. From the moment she’d been born, her artisan parents had dragged their children around the country, living in communes, on Indian reservations and sometimes in campers in the middle of huge national forests. Scarlet’s childhood had been both magical and discordant. The two little girls had needed more stability than either parent was willing to deliver in their quest for peace, love and rainbows.
Rayne had been the one to braid Scarlet’s hair, teach her how to tie her shoes and make sure she had milk money in her pocket. Rayne had sung lullabies, made macaroni and cheese, and helped Scarlet learn how to write her full name on broken-line paper. She’d been Scarlet’s angel right up until the day her parents had sent Rayne to live with Aunt Fran.
But they hadn’t allowed Scarlet to stay in Texas. They’d chained her to them, declaring her too young to be separated from them. They had bumped from town to town. And it had made Scarlet tough. She learned to take care of herself. To punch bullies in the nose. To connive members of the commune into giving her ice-cream money. To manipulate. To blend. To pretend. Her earliest experiences had been training ground for becoming an actress.
There was little Scarlet wouldn’t do for Rayne…even if it meant knocking some sense into her.
But it was too late for such drastic measures, thanks to Officer Tight Ass.
She swung her legs off the bed and padded to the window. The sun sank behind the neighbor’s house, thrusting brilliant fingers of light upon the deep green grass. It was peaceful and very, very different from the noisy streets normally outside her window.
Her mind flitted from her sister to the cop who had frisked her. Officer Adam Hinton.
When he’d touched her, she’d felt something that had been absent for well over a year—a stirring of desire. The flicker of feeling had rocked her. For the past few months, she’d been on a mission to feel something, anything, at a man’s touch. She’d forced herself to flirt, purposefully drank too much and bore sloppy kisses from strangers in clubs, but to no avail. She’d been dead to desire. Until a few hours ago.
So why now? Why him?
Adam Hinton was not her usual type. Or maybe he was. She couldn’t be certain. Until John, she’d liked young, wild and irresponsible in a guy. Now she didn’t have a clue what she wanted in a man. But something had been there between her and the cop. Perhaps his refusal to fall prey to her manipulation had poked her inner psyche. Maybe his by-the-book, take-no-shit attitude had reminded her of John. Had to be that. There was no other reason she’d felt anything other than anger at the squeaky-clean Officer Hinton.
She pressed her forehead against the warmth of the windowpane and touched the gold slipper nestled between her breasts.
Her heart felt like tissue paper, so how could she even contemplate being with another man when she still hemorrhaged from the only time she’d taken a chance on love? It didn’t seem right.
Still, Adam Hinton was utterly tempting.
Straight as an arrow, honest as a Boy Scout and clean as a… She couldn’t think what would be as clean. Not a whistle because spit got in it. Something about Adam made her want to smudge him with her fingerprints, and that baffled the hell out of her.
Because she was still in love with John.
THE COFFEE REMAINING in the pot at the police station looked as if it might cure a bacterial infection, so Adam skipped an evening cup of java and grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge beside Roz’s desk, which she kept stocked.
“Harvey Primm called again,” his on-duty officer, Jared Mullins, hollered from the desk he’d set behind a makeshift bookcase to prevent anyone from seeing the colossal amount of time he wasted on the internet.
From over the barrier, Adam saw Jared switch his computer screen from something on YouTube to the screen saver showing his dog, Winchester, holding a duck in his mouth. Jared was a decent person. Mostly. He wasn’t, however, a good officer. Because he was the nephew of the mayor, he’d stayed a permanent fixture at the Oak Stand Police Department for the past five years.
“Already saw him at the Hamilton reception. He’ll be on our doorstep Monday. Bank on it.” Adam twisted the top off the water bottle. “So I’m guessing you found a suspect for the Porky case.”
Jared rolled his chair backward and faced him. “Huh?”
Adam indicated the computer screen. “Find the culprit on YouTube? Is that how they got the statue from the parking lot? On a skateboard?”
Jared wasn’t smart enough to show shame. “Well, not really. But I’ve been checking out Facebook in case any of the little punks posted something about it in their status updates.”
Adam didn’t blink. “Sounds like good detective work.”
Jared grinned. “Yeah, I thought so, too.”
“Not good with sarcasm, are you?”
“You being sarcastic?”
“Never mind,” Adam said, pulling himself from where he leaned against the filing cabinet. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, head out and question the neighbors next to Porky’s. See if they saw any kids hanging out around the joint last night. Whoever took Bud Henry’s pig statue didn’t waltz out without someone seeing something. It’s pretty big.”
“It won’t be no trouble. I need to grab some grub anyhow.”
“Well, don’t let actual police work stand in your way of onion rings and a fried-chicken sandwich,” Adam drawled, heading toward his small office in the rear of the station. The place had been built over fifty years ago and still smelled like cigarettes. Adam supposed the chain-smoking former chief of police had overlooked the ordinance banning lighting up in public facilities. He’d also overlooked the chest pains that had landed him over at the Overton Funeral Parlor. He’d died in the very chair Adam now sank into.
Actually, not the “very” chair. Adam had purchased an ergonomic model when he first arrived in Oak Stand. But Dan Drummond had died in the office. The greasy fries got to him before the cancer sticks did.
Roz wouldn’t even come inside the office anymore. The administrative assistant handed him messages and files when he passed her desk. She said she felt a presence in the office. She believed in ghosts and karma and crap like that.
Adam didn’t believe in poltergeists, but he did believe the former chief’s influence hung over the station to the point of being stifling. Dan had been the chief for over thirty-three years before buying the farm, and Adam discovered very quickly the other officers and Roz believed Dan’s way had been the only way. Which had become a bit of a problem.
The next time he heard another “But that’s not the way we do it,” he might dock some pay.
Of course, he would never resort to something so cruel as to take bread from the mouths of his officers’ families, but he was damned tired of having every suggestion and order questioned because it wasn’t how they’d always done it. Frankly, how they’d always done it had been ineffective. The files were antiquated, the equipment not up to standards and the procedural elements redundant. The department had needed an overhaul for a long time.
Lucky Adam. He got to fix it. Not an easy task.
“You want me to pick you up something at the Dairy Barn?” Jared asked from the open doorway. Adam glanced up and suppressed a scowl at the way the man’s shirttail hung out on one side. He’d asked his officers time and again to make sure they looked professional. Jared seemed the most challenged in this area, especially as it seemed his shirt was a magnet for barbecue sauce, mustard and other nefarious condiments. But at least he was generous enough to ask Adam if he wanted a sandwich.
“No, thanks. I’ll grab something later.”
Jared sent him a wave, and moments later the heavy metal door slammed shut. The small building fell silent.
Adam leaned back in his chair and sighed. He had plenty of paperwork awaiting him, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like diving into it. He closed his eyes and was immediately assaulted by the image of Scarlet Rose.
He hated that he couldn’t shake the niggling of want that had burrowed inside him and taken root. He couldn’t act—
The harsh ring of the phone interrupted his self-admonishment.
Roz had clocked out. No one to answer but him. He should let the machine pick up, but it might be an emergency. He snatched the receiver off the hook. “Oak Stand Police Department. Hinton.”
“Well, hello, stranger,” the voice purred.
He closed his eyes. “Angi.”
“Oh, you remembered what my voice sounds like.”
Adam breathed a silent curse. One he’d never say aloud. “How could I forget? I heard it almost every day for the ten months we were together.”
“You changed your cell-phone number,” she breathed, ignoring his gibe about the length of their marriage. Her voice sounded gravelly from the cigarette smoke of the bar she had likely visited the night before. He could visualize her on the other side of the line. Tight dress, too much makeup with a glass of sweet tea cradled in one hand. She’d be sprawled across the bed on her stomach, likely barefoot, chewing a piece of spearmint gum to give her tea mint flavor. She’d likely taken a break in getting ready for round two for the weekend, where she would probably hit two or three clubs with her girlfriends. He knew her, and he knew her schedule. It hadn’t changed with their marriage and it sure hadn’t changed with their divorce.
“New life, new number,” he said.
Angi didn’t respond. A few seconds slipped by.
“That’s what you want? A whole new life? You want to just forget about us? About me?” Her poor-me routine was in full force, the one she’d perfected after losing their baby. The one that stirred guilt inside him every time.
He tried to dash away the feelings of sadness, anger and bitterness her words brought forth. “Don’t start, Angi. There is no us anymore.” Adam rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger. He didn’t need this now. Not when he had a report to file on a certain speeder. Not when he had a giant pig statue to locate.
