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The Slayed family had been pioneers when the town of Dansboro Crossing was founded. However, I’m not sure about using the family name for their business, even if they have been handing it to the next generation for over one hundred years.
Still Slayed Mortuary is one of my top clients, so I do whatever is necessary to meet their accounting needs. If only Dad wouldn’t mumble “You stab ’em, we slab ’em” every time we drive by their business.
I’m trying not to think about what falls under the category “chemicals” when I feel the air in the room shift. Looking up, I find him standing at the door glaring at me.
It only takes me a moment to take in all that glorious muscle standing in my office before my gaze returns to his face. He seems tenser than the last time we met. This doesn’t bode well.
“Sheriff Steele. What can I help you with today?” I’m positive he’s not here because he needs his expenses placed in the proper categories. By the look on his handsome face, I’d say he has something else in mind. He reaches into a sack I didn’t notice until just now and holds up a can of spray paint. He shakes it at me.
“What’s that?” There are three choices when cornered with an accusation: deny everything, make it look like their fault, or beg forgiveness. You always try to get away with it first. If that doesn’t work you can try to act indignant. If all else fails, cry. I’m going with the first one. I cock my head and try to look perplexed.
He lowers his eyes into a squint and tosses the can into my trash. Pulling out another can, he repeats the motion while he waits for me to speak. Poor man, he has no idea I’m the queen of denial. By the fourth can, it’s obvious he’s lost his patience.
“You can’t prove those are mine.” I can tell he’s not buying the innocent act. The ringing noise my metal trash can is making is a pretty good clue. I silently curse myself for forgetting the stupid cans in the bushes. Very environmentally unfriendly of me.
He raises one eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge in his uniform. How does he make khaki look so sexy? I bet his thighs bulge inside those slacks too. Maybe something else bulges too. Yeah, you flex that thing, baby. Why is he scowling at me? What are we talking about?
“There are three giant letters on the street in front of the school. G. E. C. Who do you think they belong to?” he growls. Oh, that’s right. Spray paint.
“Hmmm.” I tap my finger against my chin in concentration.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He runs his strong hands through his hair, making it stand up in all the right directions. Because he isn’t sexy enough already. Craptastic. I need to get whatever raging hormones I’ve kicked into high gear under control. “At least tell me one thing. Are you working your way up to a felony?”
I snort a laugh, and he seems to relax a little. “Felonies. I spit in the face of felonies.” Jesus, I’m a dork.
“Okay. That’s something I guess. Listen, as much as I enjoy chasing you around, I do have a real job to do.” His deep-brown eyes meet mine. I think I could drown in them. “Like finding Mrs. Holcomb’s cat. Again.”
“That cat’s a menace. Just leave some tuna on her back porch, and he’ll show up in a hurry.”
“Thanks.” I wait for him to say more, but he just stands there. Is he debating the cost of tuna? He’s starting to freak me out.
“Was there something else?” I ask.
“Oh, um, no, I guess not. Just… stay out of trouble.”
“Aye, Captain.” I give him the stupidest fake salute possible. He doesn’t turn to leave. He doesn’t do anything. Finally, as if shaking himself out of a daze, he backs out the door. I wasn’t going to shoot him in the back with a firecracker if that’s what he was thinking. He could have just walked out like a normal person.
“Um, are you busy?” he asks, popping his head back around the doorjamb. It startles the hell out of me.
“Of course I’m busy. It’s the end of the month. I’m buried in paperwork.” That came out much bitchier than I intended it to. “Sorry.”
“No, I understand. I can imagine how much more work there is for you at the end of the month. Maybe tonight you can get some extra sleep instead of, you know, painting the street in front of the school.” I look up to be met with a brilliant smile. Wow. I want to eat those dimples for lunch. Okay, that sounded creepy to me too.
“I confess to nothing,” I answer, hoping the smile on my face convinces him I’m not as awkward as I feel. His eyes lock with mine for just a moment before he sighs.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair. Have a good evening, Eliot.”
“You too, officer.”
“Owen.” With one last smile, he disappears down the hall. Wait, come back. I sigh deeply and bend back over my computer screen. No use lusting after the new beefcake in town. Someone is bound to snatch him off the market soon, and I’m not fooling myself into believing it will be me.
I have better things to think about anyway. Pulling a small notebook out of my desk, I turn to the first page. Taking my pen, I mark through the line that reads “Spray paint the street in front of the high school.”
Checking the next line, I debate if I can get it in this weekend. Why not? I’m free tomorrow night, might as well get on with it. I smile as I store the notebook back in my desk. That will make four behind me. At this rate, I’ll work my way through all of it before my deadline—my thirtieth birthday.
four
OWEN
