“They’re not interested in making friends with me.” I shrug, not bothered.
“She can’t do this!” someone else yells.
By now, Shepard is getting pissed. “She can, and she’s already told you the reasons why. If I have to repeat them, I’ll arrest you all. It’s too early for you to be trying my patience,” he snaps.
Nobody moves for a moment before someone drops the saddle they were holding. “Fuck this. Who wants to work for a murdering bitch anyway?” He storms off, others following suit. A few people hang on longer, glaring at me like they want to rip my head off. After dealing with my father for years, they’ll have to do better than that to intimidate me.
I don’t relax until the last of them has gone, my shoulders slumping in relief.
“You okay?”
I nod, tipping my head up to look at him. “Yeah. Thanks for coming. That could have turned ugly.”
“It’s probably what Dale and Porter were hoping for.”
“Hence why I called you guys, and look how well that turned out.”
He holds out his hand to me. I stare down at it, confused.
“Gimmie your cell phone.” I do without thinking about it. He hits a few keys before handing it back. “Now you have my personal cell phone number. You have any trouble or you…need anything, give me a call.”
I narrow my eyes at his smile. “Sheriff, are you flirting with me?”
“Clearly not very well.” He sighs before lifting his hat so he can run his fingers through his hair.
“I’m a convict, and you’re a cop.”
“I’m aware.”
“I really shouldn’t need to spell this out to you.”
He leans closer, his lips so close to my ear that his warm breath skates across my cheek, making me shiver. “I’m not looking to marry you, Poppy. I want to fuck you. I figure fifteen years is a long time to go without being able to have fun. If you get the urge, give me a call. I’ll be more than happy to be your playground.”
He kisses my cheek before placing the hat back on his head and sauntering off as if he didn’t just fry all my synapses.
I watch him walk through the back door to the front, unable to say a word. I stand there, like an idiot, as he turns back and winks at me before heading outside. The second he steps across the threshold, the door closes behind him.
I slide down the wall, feeling like a hot, sweaty mess. “And he thinks I’m trouble. What the actual fuck?”
Chapter Nine
Not sure how I feel about having strangers traipsing in the house, or if the house will allow it, I set up a little interview space on the front porch.
By the time I’m done, I’m starving. I head in and grab a pastry and a fresh mug of coffee. I take a bite and groan at the cinnamon taste just as the house chirps once more. I head out to the porch in anticipation of my first interview, only to find a couple of delivery trucks heading my way. I frown, place my coffee down on the small table I dragged out here, before dialing Jen.
She doesn’t answer, but a text chimes.
Yes, the trucks are supposed to be there. I took liberties. Deal with it.
I shake my head, finish my food, and wash it down with a mouthful of coffee. “I apologize in advance, but I think we’re about to get an influx of people wanting to come in and out,” I warn the house, so it doesn’t get spooked. I bite my lip when I swear I hear it sigh.
The trucks pull up next to each other before everyone starts jumping out. One guy walks my way, holding a clipboard. “You Calliope Hart?”
“I feel like I’m going to regret this, but yes.”
His lips twitch. “Sign here, please.”
I take the pen from him, sign where he points, and hand it back to him. “What can I do to help?”
