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There was a knock on the front door that I turned to answer. I looked at the twins, and Lawson lifted his chin while Lance was looking at the counter, lost in thought.
Sheriff Bowen was standing on my front porch,not in uniform.
Fuck me.
I swung the screen door open.
“Chase,” I greeted. His badge was on the waistband of his jeans. He looked me in the eye, his baby blues telling me something was wrong. I stepped aside to let him in.
He went into the kitchen, facing my boys. I came up beside him and leaned my shoulder against the fridge, folding my arms over my chest.
“What’s going on, Sheriff?” I asked.
He looked at each of us for a moment before he started.
“Got some news, boys…”
Chapter Six
Valerie
“It’sapleasuretofinally meet the famous Valerie Cross in person.”
A large, cold hand engulfed mine.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moonie.”
I stared up at my boss. The boss of all bosses.
Mr. Tim Moonie, the son of the late, Charles Moonie.
Tim took over the company years ago when his father passed. He had sandy blonde hair and dull blue eyes. He was about my height and could only be just a few years older than me. There was something off about him though, something that had the hair on the back of my neck on end.
When he smiled at me, my stomach twisted.
There was a look in his eyes I didn’t like. He was hungry, greedy, he didn’t like hearing the word no.
We were in a fancy restaurant—that I wouldn’t remember the name of due to my nerves—in downtown Denver. He offered his arm and after I took it, we were escorted to our table.
Once we were seated, he took a good long look at me. I wore my hair up, twisted into a bun, secured by a big clip. I wore eyeliner, something I never did, but Mom said it would make my eyes look less puffy from crying. She also told me to wear the gray pant suit I’d gotten on clearance at Macy’s last season.
So here I was, hair up, in a pantsuit, paying to the good Lord above that I didn’t throw up on my boss.
He smiled. “You’re different. Far different than I expected,” he noted. There was an underlying message in his voice I couldn’t quite make out, but my gut was telling me not to trust this man.
I gave him a tight smile in return.
He chuckled, picking up his menu as our server approached. “Take that as a compliment, Ms. Cross.”
He turned to the waiter and ordered a whiskey for himself. I got water.
No way in hell I was drinking in front of him.
“Did you have a good flight here, sir?” I asked, opening the floor for conversation.
He nodded. “I did. Thank you for asking.”
“That’s wonderful to hear.”
