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“Ah, shit,” she muttered, belatedly realizing he must’ve spotted her as they approached the door.
“Hmm, quite a good look on you, I have to say.” Amusement sparked to life in his eyes as he turned to look at her, frozen in the same position—one leg still hovering in the air, her arms lifted as though she was about to jump him, and her body hunched forward. “Perhaps you should just remain as you are until I’m done... for your own good, of course.”
“Don’t be silly,” she finally managed to pull herself together, dropped her arms, and lowered her leg. “I’m going inside with you.”
“So, you thought spooking me would be the best way to gain access inside the building?” He planted his hands low on his lips and leaned in closer to whisper loudly, “And then what? Do you honestly think you’d be allowed to interview any of the prisoners without the necessary authorization?”
“Well, no,” she cleared her throat. This wasn’t going anywhere near how she had envisioned it would. Being caught in the act like a half-crazed witch, the least of them! “I was hoping you would’ve realized by now that I would be an asset in your investigation.”
“An asset?” His brows drew together in a dark frown. “Come now, Ms. Fowler, be honest. You’re here for one reason only.”
“I am? Well, do tell, Sheriff Scott.” She crossed her arms, and her left foot automatically started tapping out her annoyance. “Why am I here?”
“For your next big story. To have another accolade to put on your shelf as the fearless reporter sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong... or sure as hell not wanted.” He leaned so close, their breaths mingled in the space between them. “You don’t know half of the shit that’s going on, but you insist on digging in your heels. Get this through your head, Daphne. I don’t want or need your help. Now... git!”
“You’re wrong, and I’m insulted, to say the least. For one, I am resourceful.” She tilted her head at his dubious look. “You don’t believe me? Well, I know the perpetrator you’re about to interrogate is a man by the name of Baker Cowell—a listed sex offender and suspected numerous times of sex trafficking. I’m not after an accolade, Sheriff Scott. Yes, I’m after the story, but only because I want to see justice done.” The tapping of her toe increased. “Do you even wonder how I know about this case? Why I’m here so early in the investigation?”
“Everyone knows about it since Bob McCarthy’s press conference the other day.”
“True, except your investigation and who it implicates was brought to my attention via an email a week prior to that.”
Carter straightened. A dark shadow crossed over his face. “From whom?”
“I don’t know. All I’ve been able to confirm is that it came from the Utah County’s office.” She hesitated to gauge his reaction. “To be more specific, from the personal laptop of none other than Bob McCarthy.”
Muttering a string of expletives, Carter grabbed her arm and pulled her along inside.
“Slow down! I don’t have stilts for legs like you,” she protested as she had to run to keep up with his long strides. He, the darn bully, chose to ignore her plea, and she had no choice but to keep jogging next to him lest she be dragged by her heels. They were already drawing enough attention as everyone stopped to stare at the spectacle. She refused to turn into the joke of the day and look like a puppet he was slugging along.
“That was totally unnecessary,” she complained indignantly as she straightened her coat when he released her once inside a small conference room.
“You’ve become like an unwanted itch, Ms. Fowler. One that I just can’t get rid of, no matter how much Benadryl cream I slap on.”
“Well, some itches are good to scratch,” she said with a secret smile. “You just need the right—”
“Lord help me,” Carter muttered as he pressed his fists on the table and appeared to be praying for strength.
“Not to sound facetious, but I’m closer than the Lord, and I promise you, I’m quite adept at scratching certain... itches.” Her response was tongue-in-cheek, but the dark look he shot at her quickly doused the heat rising inside her loins. Being alone with him in the small room made her imagination run rampant, not to mention igniting her libido. She held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, you’re right. Certain itches are a serious matter. I shouldn’t joke about it.”
“The email... are you saying it came from McCarthy himself?” Carter chose not to indulge her in favor of returning his focus to what had brought them to the secluded room in the first place.
“Not necessarily. Most of us leave our laptops on our desks during the day when we go out for lunch, to the restroom, or, in his case, even to court. Anyone could’ve used it to send the email. Point is, someone wanted me to know about him. I believe it’s a person who either knows or suspects he is involved.” She smiled victoriously as the frown on his brow dissipated. “So, now do you agree that I can be a part of your investigation?”
“No, I don’t. All it proves is that exploring the allegations, which not only exploded suddenly but also opened a Pandora’s Box, was the right thing to do. From this point on, no one can be trusted.”
“Come now, Carter. Surely, you don’t suspect me?”
“I don’t know you, and since I have trusted others who are implicated in this shit show, I’m on the fence about you. Until you can prove otherwise, everyone is a suspect.” He waved off the protest jumping to her lips. “Don’t bother. More words aren’t going to change my mind.”
“Maybe this might do the trick.”
Daphne breached the distance between them, and like before, she took the kiss she so desperately wanted. Now that she’d had a taste of his delectable lips on hers, it seemed she couldn’t get enough. Once again, Carter wasn’t a passive participant and kissed her back, although he was the one who broke it off and stepped back.
Eyes flashing, he growled softly, “You shouldn’t have done that, Lovebug.”
“Well, I did.” She pushed out her breasts as a sign of bravado. “So, Big C, what do you intend to do about that?”
“Take you up on your offer.”
