No Ordinary Sheriff. Mary Sullivan
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Frank showed up this evening.
Another noise, softer this time, pulled him out of his reflections. Snap out of it. Self-pity wasn’t usually Cash’s thing, but at the rate Hailey and Jeff were going, they’d have children long before he ever did.
Crazy teenagers. They were going to curse him from here to Memphis because, really, where were a couple of horny teenagers supposed to go when they still lived with their parents?
He strode down the hall and banged his fist on the wall to give them a chance to cover up before he walked in.
Hailey must be wearing that great-smelling perfume.
“You two had better be using condoms.” He stepped to the doorway.
The bed was empty but he had the sense of someone being in the room. The skin on the back of his neck tingled, but before he could react, the door slammed against the side of his face and pain exploded in his forehead. “Son of a bitch!”
He reached for his weapon.
A woman jumped from behind the door with a gun in her hand.
They stared each other down, weapons drawn and aimed, tension as thick as honey in the room.
Cash didn’t glance down to see what kind of gun she held, semi-automatic or pistol. He watched her eyes. If she planned to pull the trigger, she would show it a fraction of a second before with a subtle flinch.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Who am I? You’ve got a lot of nerve, lady, breaking into my buddy’s house. What did you think you could steal?”
“I’m not stealing anything. My sister lives here.”
Then why hadn’t he met her? “What’s your sister’s name?”
“Janey Wilson. At least, that’s who she used to be. Now, she’s Wilson-Wright.”
Okay, so she knew Janey. That didn’t mean she was Janey’s sister.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Who wants to know?”
He had to give her credit. She was cool as a brick of ice. All business. Even with a gun in his hand, he didn’t intimidate her.
“I’m Cash Kavenagh, Sheriff of Ordinary.”
Her eyelids flickered. She knew his name.
“Let me see ID. Slowly,” she said.
He drew his wallet out with careful movements, his aim never wavering and his eyes still focused on hers. Amateurs got trigger happy and people died.
He handed the wallet to her and she double-checked that it was he in the photo.
“Okay, you’re the Sheriff.” She handed it back.
“Now that we’ve got that settled, who are you?”
“Shannon Wilson. Janey’s sister.”
“You don’t look anything like Janey.” Janey was short and voluptuous, a dark-haired Goth with immaculate white angel’s skin. This woman, a cool drink of lemonade on a hot day, had long golden hair, flawless tanned skin and pink lips. Her toned athlete’s body made his libido race double time.
Some of Janey’s attitude shone through. Man, she was gorgeous. And tough. He liked that.
“Your turn,” Cash said. “Let’s see ID.”
Still aiming her gun, she took her driver’s license out of a purse she picked up from the bedside table and handed it over.
Okay, she was Shannon Wilson, but…
“Let me see the permit for the gun.”
She looked like she might refuse, then sighed and passed it to him.
It was legit. What was a woman doing with a Glock 23.40?
“Why do you carry it?”
“Protection. I’m an investigative journalist. Sometimes I get into sticky situations.”
Why carry a semi-automatic revolver instead of a small pistol?
Growing up in the house of Kavenagh, Cash had developed a finely tuned bullshit detector, courtesy of his father. At the moment, it clanged like a fire alarm.
“What are you doing in Ordinary?” he asked.
“Vacationing.”
A lie.
“No way. Janey or C.J. would have warned me if you were going to stay here.”
She shrugged. “I only called Janey to tell her a minute before you showed up.”
“How’d you get in?”
“I have my own key.”
“Why haven’t we met before?”
“We have.” She dropped her permit back into her purse. “At Janey’s wedding. It was a long time ago.”
He had a vague memory of a pretty blonde, precocious and flirtatious. She’d come on to him, but had been eight or nine years younger than he. He’d run the other way.
“Because of my job,” she continued, “I haven’t visited a lot, but Janey and I talk on the phone all the time.”
“You haven’t visited once in ten years?”
“Yes, but you and I seemed to miss each other. You were visiting your mom a couple of times. Once you were on a training course in Bozeman.”
“How do you know that?”
“Janey told me.” She smiled. “I asked where her good-looking friend from the wedding had got to.”
She’d been interested in him. She’d been too young, though. She wasn’t too young now. She was beautiful, with a woman’s body and knowing gaze.
He was interested, all right.
He tucked his gun back into his waistband and she put hers away in her purse.
Cash leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “You wanna tell me why you’re really here?”
She raised one blond eyebrow.
He waited her out.
“Fine. I’ll tell you the truth, but first I need a coffee.”
She brushed past him and that great-smelling perfume followed her out of the room. So did Cash, like a bird dog on the trail.
Vanilla. She smelled like sugar cookies.
Cash’s hand touched that stuffed animal on the stair rail again and his gaze fell on the sway of Shannon’s hips. She had great hips.
Downstairs, she turned on lights as she went.
She took her time making a pot of coffee, not once looking at him.
He sat at the table in silence, enjoying the elegance and efficiency of her movements. A couple of minutes later she put coffee mugs on the table, along with the box of donuts, and sat across from him. She pulled something out of her back pocket—a black leather badge holder like his—and slid it over to him. He opened it. DEA. Special Agent Wilson.
Stunned, his gaze flew to hers.
“Janey never said you were a cop.” It put her off-limits. Damn.
Unlike his father, he didn’t fool around with co-workers, even if she didn’t work in Ordinary. He didn’t want to have anything to do with female cops. His dad had screwed everything with breasts, no matter her age or her occupation, from female cops to hookers.
He’d cost one cop her job. It had been the end of his career, too.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were DEA?”
“Because