The Runaway Daughter. Anna DeStefano
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ten years older than you are.”
“Damn straight! I like my women more experienced and ready to teach me somethin’.”
“Don’t be an ass.” If whatever this was between them was about sexual experience, he was a dirty old man, and she was the jailbait.
He tipped back his own longneck bottle and raised an eyebrow at her get-real glare.
“Okay,” he conceded. “Maybe I like a challenge. Pushing limits can be a whole lot of fun.”
“If getting fired is the kind of limit you’re looking to blow, then I’m your girl.”
“No one’s getting fired.” His settled his shoulders against the cushioned seat with a thump. “Lighten up, will ya?” There wasn’t much punch behind his complaint. Without looking her in the eye, he toyed with the label he’d shredded off his beer. “Why is everything so damn serious with you? You’ve got so much moody bottled up inside, you feel enough for ten people. Probably why we’re such a good fit.” He chuckled. “Lord knows, there’s no other woman in town who’d get me within ten feet of talking about feelings.”
And there it was.
That hint of something beneath the good ol’ boy facade.
Tony Rivers played Mr. Good Times like a Hollywood star. But turbulent currents ran beneath all that practiced nonchalance. There were glimpses of passion and determination, always at the most unexpected times. A sense of responsibility and duty to others that contradicted both his party lifestyle and his youth. A spark of intensity flashing behind come-here-baby brown eyes that sucked her in even quicker than his smile.
And he was poking fun at her moodiness?
“Serious is the only way my life works.” How she made it through the day. “I work hard, and I don’t make careless mistakes like this.”
“Not being the most controlled person in the room might be fun for a change. Why not give it a chance?” His lips curled playfully. “Who knows, darlin’. You might just like a bit of carelessness in your life.”
“Carelessness is something I can’t afford to develop a taste for. I’m leaving.” She cringed at the schoolgirl waver in her voice.
She stood, her frazzled nerves screaming to sprint, not walk, toward the door. His hand caught her wrist, and her skin tingled with excitement, same as any other time they touched.
“I’m sorry.” All teasing drained from his voice. “Look, you’re right. This was a mistake. The last thing I want to do is cause you trouble, but…”
His unfinished sentence vibrated between them. Words beyond good friends and easy camaraderie. Words that would shove the craziness they’d started tonight over the invisible line between careless and too far.
How many times had they almost had this conversation? How many months had she let this drag on, as they flirted with the ugly way this could turn out for both of them?
Against her better judgment, she let her gaze caress his face. The bar’s dim lighting and the uncharacteristic worried expression Tony wore had produced a sight few in town would believe. Roughness edged the jaw of Oakwood’s golden boy and shadows eclipsed his nonstop cheerfulness. The restraint it took not to smooth away his frown made her ache.
They’d only talked about his parents once or twice, but she knew enough, and had guessed plenty more. He’d lost them both too young—his mom, when she’d split only a year after he was born; then his dad, killed while on the job as sheriff six years later. And ever since, he’d made a point of not letting himself want anything or anyone he couldn’t walk away from with a shrug and smile. Keeping everyone at a comfortable distance while he was the life of the party was more Tony’s style. A warped world view Angie couldn’t help but appreciate. She hid behind her man’s uniform and her career. He overindulged in shallow relationships with women. The end result was the same.
Sometimes she wasn’t sure who was lonelier.
“Let me go, Tony.”
“Come on, don’t leave like this. It won’t happen again.” His grip on her arm tightened. “We see each other at work nearly every day. You’ve been friends with my family for years. We’re going to have to figure out what to do when—”
“There’s nothing to figure out. There is no when!” She pulled free and slammed the door shut on her indecision. “And you’re damn right this will never happen again. I’m your superior officer, Deputy Rivers. That means hands off, for both of us.”
She made herself walk out of the Eight Ball. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need him.
She’d rebuilt her life from nothing. She’d regained a speck of the peace she’d thought she’d lost for good. Her job as a deputy, and then chief, had saved her. Her run for sheriff was the future.
It was enough.
It had to be.
“ARE YOU TELLING ME you want a lady sheriff?” Deputy Martin Rhodes asked with a sideways glance. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Would that be so bad?” Tony ducked his head farther into his locker.
It was a little after three o’clock; he and Martin were rolling off their morning shift, and all the man wanted to talk about was their chief deputy.
Perfect.
“Angie’s a good cop.” Tony kept his mind focused on the job, and only the job. “Everybody knows that. She’s been chief for three years now.”
“Yeah, but that’s with your brother overseeing things.” Martin was practically pouting. An alarming sight on the burly man, who looked better suited for a career in professional wrestling than small-town law enforcement. “Eric is old-school, like I hear your daddy was. Laid back, until he has to bust some balls. Then he’s the point guy you want leading the charge. Angie… Well, you know how she is.”
Tony’s grunt said he didn’t know a thing about their chief deputy, which was the God’s-honest truth. He fished in his locker for street clothes to replace the sweaty uniform he’d shucked off. Not even interested in a shower before he dressed and left, he stripped down to his boxers and let the frustration of all he and his riding partner hadn’t accomplished that day wash over him. Drugs were leaking into Oakwood and the surrounding county. From where, the department wasn’t sure yet. But they had damn well better figure it out.
Their sleepy little corner of Georgia had the unfortunate distinction of being strategically located on a major north-south interstate running from the Carolinas down through Florida. A convenient crossroads, as it turned out, through which producers of the latest narcotic commodity of choice could network with southeastern buyers and dealers.
Crystal meth—inexpensive and instantly addictive—had wormed a filthy trail through Oakwood over the last year. And each of the nine deputies in the department was committed to finding the dealers and their runners before any more damage was done. Before any more people were hurt. Just last month, the town’s first drive-by shooting had resulted in an unknown man riddled with bullets and left to die on a street corner not two blocks from the Oakwood Youth Center. No ID. No one came forward to claim the body. No clue to who’d killed him.
Tony had been on duty since six, after a near-sleepless night, hunting a mobile drug lab one of Martin’s contacts had fingered as a sure-thing tip. Only the lab had vanished before they’d gotten there, leaving Tony and Martin roaming dirt roads on the outskirts of town, searching for an unmarked four-wheel-drive SUV with a trailer attached. They’d found nothing for their efforts but rising July temperatures and more questions. Like how the local drug network always managed to stay one step ahead of the department.
And if trudging through mosquitoes and steamy weather hadn’t been bad enough, his partner’s relentless preoccupation with Angie’s bid to become the next sheriff kept veering into downright uncomfortable territory.
“You