She falls back against the pillows, her jaw clamped tight, her chest heaving as she glares at me. The flush on her neck goes all the way down to her collarbone.
“You’re a maniac!” she shouts, straining against the cuff. “I am literally not wearing pants, and you cuffed me.”
“You broke in,” I shoot back, hyper-aware of the long line of her bare legs under the hem of the shirt. I force my eyes up to her face. “You’re lucky I don’t drag you to the station right now.”
“Do it,” she snaps, her chin lifting. “I’ll tell everyone you handcuffed me to a bed half-naked, you creep.”
Did she just... try to blackmail me?
I step back, my hand on the radio at my hip. I should call it in.And keep her right there,a dark, heavy part of my mind whispers.Cuffed until morning.
I shake my head.Focus.
Calling this situation weird would be a massive understatement. And while I definitely need to figure out what’s going on, I am exhausted. The thought of a three-page incident report and a midnight drive to the county seat sounds like an absolute nightmare. So maybe...
I step closer to the bed and her breath catches, her eyes going wide as my shadow falls over her.
I lean in, reach down... and free her wrist.
She blinks, rubbing it in surprise.
“Get dressed,” I say, my voice rough as I step back toward the door. “I’m bringing you in for questioning.”
8
Luna
“Go sit,” the deputy says, the cottage door slamming shut behind us.
The interior opens into a large, rustic living space anchored by worn plaid sofas, a stone hearth, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. I am marched straight toward the wide kitchen area at the far side, noting the worn wooden floorboards beneath us.
The kitchen centers around a massive, rough-hewn oak island, and he nudges me toward a wooden stool tucked against, his hand releasing my arm the second my weight shifts. Without a word, he slams both palms flat onto a mess of invoices and bank statements, leaning over the paperwork to stare me down.
I meet his gaze head on.
“I have a theory,” he says.
“How thrilling for the both of us,” I reply, lifting my chin. Granted, the gesture probably loses some of its edge when you factor in my oversized heather-gray hoodie, which readsWorld’s Okayest Readerin faded collegiate lettering. In my defense, I only had about forty seconds to get dressed.
“You waited,” he ignores my jab, his voice low and official. “You hid your car until Jenna left, then slipped into Cabin Seven once the property was clear.”
I press two fingers to the bridge of my nose. “I’ve explained how I got the key. Twice.”
“And I don’t believe a word you said.”
“Well, then we’re at an impasse.” I cross my arms. “But please,Officer. Workshop on. The taxpayers are surely getting their money’s worth.”
“Deputy,” he says, flat.
“Whatever, deputydick. I’ll let you know I—”
“Hey, Bram,” a voice calls as the door opens, accompanied by the heavy thud of boots. “We got company?”
The deputy—Bram, apparently—tightens his jaw, still holding my gaze. ‘Where have you been?’
“Shift,” the voice says as the footsteps draw closer. “Then beer at the fire station. You know how it is.”
He rounds the corner into the kitchen, and the air in my lungs immediately departs.
