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“Nichols, wait.”
“I’ve got other things to do, Morris.”
The deputy stepped off the curb and lowered his voice. “She might be an adult, but she’s my little sister. I don’t trust anyone with her.”
Dale studied the other man. Maybe this behavior was exactly why Heather’s social life was slim to none. According to the background he’d run since she’d dumped this potential corruption case on him, she hadn’t had a real relationship since graduating from Clemson.
“Relax, Morris. It’s just dinner.”
“Don’t hurt her.”
“I don’t intend to,” Dale said, closing the door on any further conversation. The opposite was true. He had the distinct impression if he didn’t take action, Heather would get herself hurt—or worse—trying to handle the situation on her own. This was business and when they finished, Heather could clear up any misunderstandings or perceived slights with her brother.
Dale would be back at the office, well out of the reach of Deputy Morris.
Chapter 2
Heather stood under the hot spray of her small shower, wishing she could linger. But that would only make this feel more like a real date.
And it wasn’t.
She’d finished her morning shift at the Rooster despite the questions and speculation dogging her every step. Ruth had been particularly determined to understand just what was going on between her and Mr. FBI.
It bothered her that it had been so easy to give them a dreamy-sigh kind of answer. She told herself being attracted to Dale served a purpose. It would only be dangerous if she tried to act on it.
The rest of her day, spent mostly alone, had gone smoothly. She’d finished inputting the latest reports on turkey populations for the Department of Natural Resources and then headed out to the animal shelter.
She should have known better than to swap her night shift with an afternoon. Afternoons were busy with visitors, surrenders, and feeding time. The hours had flown by, but she’d come home exhausted and wearing a stink better suited to a skunk than a date.
She lathered and rinsed once more from head to toe and then shut off the tap, knowing the clock was ticking closer to six.
Mr. FBI didn’t strike her as the type to be late for anything.
She checked the clock on the wall and swore, knowing she’d have to rush to be ready. While drying her hair, she mentally tried on and discarded several outfits. It probably only saved her a few seconds, but those counted as her doorbell rang just as her grandmother’s cuckoo clock started celebrating the hour.
Peering through the peep-hole, she was more than a little relieved to see him in the stylish suit she thought looked so good on him. Much of the day, her mind had wandered over where he was really taking her. At least she’d guessed right with the hunter green dress and heels. She took a second for herself, reminding herself to smile, and hoping she was ready for what would happen next.
She opened the door wide. “Right on time. Come on in.”
He paused, his eyes meeting hers, then drifting down her body and back up again. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.” Damned with faint praise, she thought. “You too.” He looked better than nice, but she wasn’t about to up the compliment game. At the moment, she was more concerned with getting him to come inside. So much for typical date behavior. “I’ll just get my coat.” The cool air was giving her a chill. She pulled her coat off the tree by the door and stepped outside, locking the door behind her.
She’d wanted to introduce him to Bentley, her Maine Coon rescue cat, but that would have to wait. Probably for the best, she thought. Dale might have thought meeting her cat meant she’d gotten the wrong idea about the evening being a real date. She knew this was business.
Her end of the porch on the front of the duplex had a small rocker and table and there was physically enough space, but she felt crowded. Turning, he was too close and she wanted to nudge him back so she could get her coat on without bumping into him. “Pardon me,” she said, hoping he would take the hint.
He didn’t. He took the coat and held it open for her.
“Thanks,” she murmured as his hands smoothed the warm wool over her shoulders. She pulled her hair out of the collar as she followed him down the steps.
She stopped, shocked when he opened the passenger door of a brand new Camaro. “Nice.” She used the word with more enthusiasm than he had. “What was this? An evidence seizure?”
“No.”
Well, he had taste—and some manners—she admitted grudgingly as he made sure her dress and coat wouldn’t be caught in the door. Sinking into the seat, she realized it was definitely his car. His masculine scent enveloped her. Watching him walk around the front of the car, she caught the slight hitch in his gait that showed up occasionally.
She didn’t know him well enough to ask about it, and she doubted he’d tell her anything anyway.
