I hit the door with my fist, rattling the frame.
“Who’s in there?” I demand.
Frantic rustling kicks up inside. Someone scrambling. The buzz keeps humming.
“Open up,” I bark. “I won’t repeat myself.”
More rustling, but no answer.
“That’s it, I’m coming in!” I throw my shoulder against the wood. The frame splinters, and the door swings inward.
“Eeeeee!” The sound is a high, distressed whine. An omega whine. I freeze in the doorway.
An omega? What the hell is an omega doing here?
I take out my flashlight, the beam sweeping across a suitcase and a pair of sneakers, then lands squarely on the bed, revealing a woman with ink-dark hair and a porcelain complexion.
She is scrambling backward against the headboard, bare legs tangled in the sheets under the hem of an oversized gray T-shirt,yanking the blanket over her chest to cover herself, her chest heaving.
She’s small, fragile-looking, yet her eyes are shooting absolute daggers at me. For some reason, every protective instinct I have flares up and I desperately want to step closer and smooth the terror out of her.
The splintered door scrapes against the floorboards as it swings back with the wind, the sound snapping me out of the brief haze.
“Who are you?” I demand.
“Who amI?” she snaps. “Who are you, some badge-wearing creep?”
“A cree—” I bite off the word, my jaw locking. “I own this orchard. You’re trespassing.”
“I amnottrespassing,” she shoots back. “I was told I could stay here!”
“You’re lying,” I say. “Nobody authorized that. The cabins are closed.”
“But—”
“No ‘but’,” I cut in, my hand dropping to the handcuffs on my duty belt. The low, mechanical hum is still vibrating through the mattress, a steady, rhythmic buzz that is definitely not an electrical fire. “And explain what that noise is.”
I shift the flashlight beam off her face, tracking the sound down to a tiny bulge in the center of the blanket, where the vibration is strongest. Her face goes completely red. “Nothing! It’s nothing.”
She scrambles, reaching under the blanket, but her sudden movement triggers my procedural training. Trespasser. Uncooperative. Reaching for an unknown object.
“Hands where I can see them!” I order, stepping forward.
“Are you serious?” she gasps. “What are you—”
“I am.” I lunge forward, grabbing her wrist, and snap the cuff around it, reaching for the headboard to anchor the other end. But as she kicks out, the movements drag the blanket off the mattress, revealing a small, bright pink wand tumbling out. It hits the wood floor with a loudthump, and goes skittering across the floorboards, buzzing angrily.
Is that a..?
My brain short-circuits. For a split second, my alpha goes absolutely rigid, a primal, heavy heat pooling low in my gut. She sits there, one wrist bound in steel, her cheeks flushed dark pink and her light brown eyes wide. A few strands of black hair are plastered to her damp forehead, and the oversized shirt has slipped off one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her collarbone.
Fuck, there’s something about her... she really is staggering, isn’t she?
The sudden gust of wind howls through the open doorway, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Come on, Bram. Get a grip. She’s a suspect, and you’re in uniform. This is wildly unprofessional.I drag my eyes away from her collarbone, my face heating as the deputy in me reasserts control.
I look down at the buzzing toy on the floor, then back at her. “A vibrator? Really? If you’re gonna trespass, you should at least get something with a lower decibel count.”
