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"Morning, Sheriff." The voice of Willow DeVane broke into their conversation.
Both Raith and his boss lifted their faces. And there she strolled, moving toward them, not stopping until she was close enough to touch. But she didn't look at Raith. No. She smiled up at Tom Ballard.
"Well, hello there, Willow," the sheriff said, completely forgetting his conversation with his deputies. "How are you today?"
"I'm just fine, Sheriff," DeVane answered, her smile practically oozing with sugary sweetness. "
Wanted to make sure you got your invitation to Daddy's birthday party. It's going to be bash of the year. You don't want to miss it."
"Me and the wife are planning on going already. We're looking forward to it."
DeVane smiled once again at the older man and set her hand on his upper arm. "You won't be disappointed," she promised, the tone in her voice doing all sorts of crazy things to Raith's hormones.
He just wanted to pick her up, sling her over his shoulder and carry her off to his lair. His mouth was already watering, remembering how she tasted. But the damn woman still didn't give him one glance. Instead, she turned to Lewis next and took his arm, hooking their elbows together companionably and making the kid gape at her slim fingers on him. His Adam's apple nervously slid up and then back down.
"You're Officer Lewis, right?" she asked.
He bobbed his head, his eyes growing wider; Raith was surprised they didn't fall out of their sockets. He rolled his own eyes at the boy's response. What was worse, her simple attention to his co-deputy made him want to hit something.
"I was curious if you had served divorce papers to Laurence Wainright. I have a client who filed last week, but she doesn't think he's received the news."
"Wainright," Lewis repeated nervously, his hand reaching down toward his pants so he could wipe his sweaty palms on his thigh. "The name sounds familiar," he finally answered. "I think he's on my route today."
DeVane's smile glowed. "Great. I'll let my client know her husband will be getting his papers by the end of the day then."
Unable to take any more of watching her in action, Raith turned away and started off. If she didn't want to talk to him, look at him, tell him to piss off, fine. He wasn't going to stand there, mooning over her all day. He had a double to work.
~ * ~
By midnight when he clocked off his second shift, Raith was slap worn out and crabby to boot. Still blaming his mood on one woman, he drove by her place, curious as to who was keeping her company tonight. Was it the councilman? The lawyer? The dentist?
No, he decided, pulling to the curb and parking his patrol car. Tonight it was going to be the cop.
As he turned off the engine, he decided if she was going to control so much of his thoughts, he was going to get what he wanted from her in return. Through the chilly night and shadows cast by the street lamps, Raith wandered up her drive to the back yard where her kitchen light shone like a beacon, guiding him home. He stepped onto her back porch and knocked. When no one answered within thirty seconds, he tried the knob and found it open.
Shaking his head, he entered the quiet house. "Damn fool woman," he muttered. If she didn't learn to lock that door, she was going to find herself in a world of hurt when the wrong fellow decided to come right on in as if he owned the place.
"Hello?" he called, his voice echoing eerily around the empty room. "DeVane?"
He hadn't been in her house in over a week. The morning after the play, he'd risen early and snuck from her bed, leaving before she woke. A cowardly move, sure, but he didn't know how to deal with the morning after. Not with her. They had yet to talk about what was happening between them or pinpoint exactly what this was they were starting. For all he knew, they still fell under the category of a one-night stand that had accidently slipped into two.
He knew he wasn't invited, but when DeVane didn't answer, he frowned. A feeling of unease rolled through him. After working in a high risk job for as long as he had, he'd learned over the years to trust his gut. And his gut told him someone else uninvited had been trespassing.
Instantly, he pulled his gun from its holster. He wanted to yell DeVane's name again, locate her and assure himself she was okay. But if someone else was in the house—someone unwelcome—he didn't want to alert the intruder to his presence any more than he already had.
After checking the hall, he entered it, going through each room and securing them. He knew he'd probably scare the crap out of DeVane when he finally found her and she saw him with an unholstered weapon. But she'd get over it. He'd rather be safe than sorry.
The rest of the house remained pitch black, which was strange. He made his way along the dark floors, checking every nook and cranny, all the doors and windows, saving her bedroom for last.
Breathing unsteadily, a little afraid of what he might find, he kept his path true, not caring about anything except the moment he could see her again. He used his tactical training and walked with quick, evenly-spaced steps, keeping his gun level and stabilized.
Her breathing met him as soon as he entered the room. The slow, steady rhythm had his heart jerking with a sudden anxiousness that went beyond desire and bordered on bone-crippling relief. She was alive and safe. He dropped his gun to his side, and after taking a moment to let his heart stutter back into sync with the rest of his body, he returned the Glock to its holster.
In the dark, he barely made out the bed much less saw her sleeping on it, but he started in that direction anyway, focused on every breath she took.
As upset as he was at her for scaring the shit out of him, the situation reminded of him of back when he'd been married. Forgetting the lecture he'd planned on giving DeVane, he recalled how he'd worked plenty of night shifts in his day. And every night he came home to a dark house, he would tiptoe through the halls and undress in the dark so as not to wake Deb.
Doing exactly that now, he took off his duty belt and then shucked his shirt and pants, all the while missing the days when he had someone to come home to, someone there waiting. Even if Deb had reamed him out the next morning for never being home, he liked having another person around, filling the void.
