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Suddenly, it didn’t seem so damn crazy.

Was this how Tommy felt? And, she gulped, how would he react if he ever suspected that she took one look at this officer and wanted to jump his bones?

Grace pushed those thoughts away. No. She hadn’t come to Hamlet to find a man who would make her forget that Tommy Mathers was out there. As big, as strong, as rugged as this officer appeared to be, she doubted even he would be a match for Tommy and his goon.

“Uh, yeah.” Her voice came out like a croak. Grace liked to think it was from disuse, not the butterflies flapping wildly in her belly. Yeah, right. She cleared her throat. “Thanks for stopping. If you can’t tell already, I’m lost.”

The officer nodded solemnly. “Thought so. I didn’t recognize the car and I figured you might need some help.”

Hamlet helps, she mused. “I do. Thanks.” Leaning over, she grabbed Lucas’s directions. Using it as a shield, she lifted it up to her face, reading the address straight from the paper. “12 Orchard Avenue. Do you know where I can find that?”

His brow furrowed. “12 Orchard?” he echoed. “You’re looking for Maria De Angelis?”

Did Lucas tell her his sister’s name? She couldn’t remember. The last name was the same, so that had to be it. “Yes.”

“You’re heading in the right direction.” As Grace lowered the paper so that she could see him again, the cop started gesturing down the road. “Keep going down Main. In about five minutes or so, you’re gonna see a big white house. There’s a stump on the corner. Take a right, that’ll bring you to First Street. Do you want to write this down? I got a pen.”

The idea of taking his pen, maybe brushing one of her slender fingers against his, was too tempting. She shook her head. “I’ll remember.”

He shrugged. “Once you’re on First, it’s about another five, six minutes. The street lights will have black poles. Once you see one with a purple ribbon on it, take another right. That brings you to Orchard Avenue. Maria has a sign out front, too. You won’t be able to miss it.”

“White house, stump on the corner,” Grace said, speaking under her breath as if committing it to memory. “Go right. Keep going until I see a black pole, purple ribbon. Another right. Ophelia.” She dared a peek up, irrationally pleased when she saw that the cop was nodding in approval.

“You got it.” He paused for a second, then said, “You want to follow me? I can show you the way if you’re concerned you won’t find it. We’re not all that used to outsiders around here and some might find our village hard to navigate.”

“No!” Did she scream that? It sounded like a scream. The officer drew away from the side of her car, his expression going even more stony. She gulped. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s been a long drive and I guess I’m a little punchy.”

The officer nodded. “No worries. If you get lost, or need more help, make sure to buzz the sheriff department. Someone will be on the radio.”

Buzz the sheriff department? Radio? She had no idea what he meant. But he was leaving and she didn’t have to follow him, so she considered that a win. It would be a lot easier to make sense of the way she reacted to him if he wasn’t around to tempt her.

Because this man? The easy way he talked to her, the kind way he offered to help her without wanting anything in return? He was very, very tempting.

“Sure. Thanks. I, um, I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. Have a nice night,” he said, nodding again before he went back to his cruiser.

Grace ran his instructions through her head as she watched him fit his muscular bulk inside the compact cruiser. He turned his car on, making sure the flashing lights were dim again, then backed up, turned around, and headed off into the night.

She waited until he was out of sight, repeating his directions again and again so that she didn’t forget them, then drove off in search of the big white house and the stump he told her about.

6

Rick Hart’s head felt heavy on his neck. He tilted it back, squinting at the bright station house lights as he stepped inside. A tweak to the left. A jerk to the right. A loud crack, then sudden relief.

Ah.

It was an old injury, and a recurring one. After twelve hours on the beat, it was no surprise it was bugging him. He lifted up one of his hands, rubbing at the point where his neck met his shoulder before scratching his fingernails through the longish dark brown strands of hair that curled around his ears.

It was getting close to time for another h

aircut. Too many years wearing it shorn close to his scalp had him getting itchy once it grew out past a certain length. He would have already had it trimmed if he hadn’t been dodging Dave down at the barber’s shop ever since he swapped a pair of hair clippers for a deputy’s badge.

One person he couldn’t dodge, though?

Wilhelmina. The second he stepped into the main room of the station house, she zeroed right in on him.

She was sitting at her desk, a tall stack of paperwork hiding most of her. Her head of tight, platinum-colored curls popped out over the top, the rest of her coming into sight when she wheeled her desk chair over so that she could peer at him. Long, red nails tapped impatiently on the top of her desk.

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