Tempting The Sheriff. Kathy Altman
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I hope you both choke. Lily poked at the bag containing her sandwich. Too bad her new deputy had taken her appetite with him.
* * *
CLARISSA MARCHED FROM one buzzing streetlight to the next, too frustrated to care about the darkness in between. Resentment spiked with every strike of stiletto on pavement. What was the use of offering to do someone a favor if you couldn’t do it with a smile? But damn it, she’d been doing good deeds all day and her cheeks freaking hurt.
First her neighbor in the apartment above hers had needed help picking out a suit for his job interview. Then the elderly couple below had needed a ride to the grocery store. After lunch, JD had called from his sickbed to ask her to find the designer sunglasses he’d spent an entire paycheck on. When she wasn’t on the phone or the radio, or running an errand for her grumpalicious boss, she was rifling through trash cans and walking the corridors of the courthouse, scanning the scuff-marked linoleum for JD’s shades. It might have been fun if she’d managed to recruit Vaughn to help. But he’d spent most of the afternoon with the mayor.
Which had nearly sent the sheriff over the edge. Hence Lily’s fouler than foul mood.
In the end, where had Clarissa found the blasted shades? In JD’s mail slot. Lily must have put them there then forgotten all about it. By the time Clarissa discovered them, she was mad enough to break the stupid things in half.
To top it all off, Lily had asked her to work late so they could finish three months’ worth of expense reports. That was what Lily did when she was upset—she worked overtime on top of her overtime, and every now and then Clarissa got to do it with her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Clarissa had thought to order more than one sandwich at lunch, or if the vending machine had offered more than pretzels and chewing gum. Lily, who never seemed to eat enough for half a person, let alone a workaholic, never even noticed Clarissa’s stomach grumbling.
Of course, she did have a lot on her mind. A lot of man on her mind. Clarissa doubted her boss was thinking about Vaughn Fulton for anywhere near the right reason, but still. She hadn’t seen Lily so infuriated since the mayor informed them he was cutting their office supplies budget because they used too much toilet paper.
Clarissa shifted the stack of books in her arms, almost losing the entire pile when the library’s air-conditioning unit kicked on. She passed the small garden built to screen the unit and breathed in the sweet, thick smell of honeysuckle. Her sour mood faded.
This was her final favor of the day, returning half a dozen hardback romances the clerk of the court had inadvertently left on one of the benches just inside the courthouse entrance. A quick text had ended up with Clarissa agreeing to take them back. Easy peasy. But if she hadn’t had to work late, she’d have been able to take care of it in the daylight.
Hang in there, chickie. As soon as you get rid of these, you can head home, scramble yourself some eggs and see what’s on BBC.
And tomorrow she’d tell anyone who asked for a favor to suck it.
She rounded the rear corner of the library and strode over to the heavy metal drawer built into the brick. Since all six books wouldn’t fit inside at once, she set the stack down on the brick pavers. She scooped up the top two books, opened the drawer and slid them in. No satisfying thunk from the other side of the wall. Shouldn’t there be a thunk?
She opened the drawer as far as it would go and peered inside. Nothing but black. She’d just have to trust the books had made it to safety.
She turned to grab the next two and almost choked herself. Her scarf pulled taut, yanking her backward. She’d gotten it caught in the drawer.
Oh, this is freaking unbelievable.
Her heels wobbled on the uneven bricks as she twisted around to face the chute. She tugged lightly on the length of silk, but it didn’t budge.
She swore again then remembered the LED light on her key chain. She reached into the front pocket of her capris and snagged her keys. She clicked on the light and aimed it into the drawer. One edge of her scarf had caught on the head of a screw. With her free hand, she reached for the fabric looped around her neck. Might as well pull the thing over her head so she didn’t choke herself for real.
A small shape swooped at her from the right and something leathery smacked against her cheek. Dear God, a freaking bat! She shrieked and dropped her keys. They rattled down the inside of the drawer and instinct made her dive after them. When her chest smacked into the edge of the drawer she jerked backward, hissing with pain.
She didn’t get far.
The other end of her scarf was caught.
She gulped down a half laugh, half sob and massaged the skin over her breasts. She’d have bruises in the morning. She’d also have a permanent hunchback if she didn’t get to stand up soon.
Bracing her hands on her knees, she stared down into the black maw of the library’s drop box. The stretch of her beloved silk scarf kept the drawer open. She gripped the edge of the metal to take the tension off the fabric, and realized she didn’t have enough slack to pull her head free.
She heaved a sigh. Time to play tug-of-war. Damn it, her one true piece of designer clothing and she was about to rip it to shreds.
“Fart!” she shouted, and a muffled version of her voice bounced back up at her. She wrapped a fist around each end of the scarf, drew in a breath and braced herself by spreading her legs and shifting her hips. She couldn’t help snorting. Praise be she didn’t have an audience, because she could only imagine what she looked like from behind.
“Evening.” A deep, amused voice sounded directly behind her. “You seem to be having some trouble.”
CLARISSA GASPED AND squeezed her eyes shut. Her nerves went lax and she lost her grip on the scarf. “You think?” she said, as casually as she could manage. Come any closer, buddy, and you’ll get a stiletto to the crotch.
The deep-voiced, shadow-lurking, could-possibly-be-a-killer stranger shifted closer. Goose bumps erupted across Clarissa’s skin. Shoes scraped across brick as he moved into her peripheral vision. He showed her his palms, in the universal I-come-in-peace gesture, but considering he was so tall she couldn’t maneuver her head back far enough to see his face, it did little to put her at ease.
The man was a freaking giant.
He bent forward and peered into the open drawer. White-blond hair gleamed in the halo of light cast by the nearest streetlamp and she caught a whiff of some spice—oregano?—before he shook his head and backed away. He made a humming sound and his palms rasped as he rubbed them together.
Thinking of her, or her predicament?
“Spaghetti or lasagna?” Clarissa blurted.
“What?”
“Quick, tell me what you had for dinner.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him scratch his chin. “A hell of a time to be thinking about food. I’m sorry to say, there aren’t any leftovers.”
“I’m not asking because I’m hungry. I’m trying to establish a bond between us so you won’t kill me.” She bit her lip. “Or worse.”
Silence. She couldn’t tell if he was grinning, or plotting nefarious deeds. If it was the deeds thing, she wished he’d get on with it because her feet were killing her.
“Spaghetti,” he said solemnly. “And I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said, and yanked. The scarf didn’t budge. She readjusted her grip and yanked again, this time adding a growl for good measure.
Not even the hint of a ripping sound.
Damn. She’d certainly