“That’s all right. I’ve been kept entertained,” his ex-burglar said dryly.
“Well, damn, guess I have to let you go.” And she would have decorated his jail cell so nicely too.
She shot him a nasty look, her appealingly full lips tightly compressed.
When she started to move, Alec tucked a finger under her belt to halt her. “Let’s make sure you aren’t hurt too bad,” he said. “Nails can be nasty.”
As he leaned forward, he realized the faint scent of blood wasn’t just from the nail; it came from multiple places. She had dark red-brown spots on the back of her T-shirt. The gasp when he’d lifted her from the windowsill-had that been from surprise or pain?
He studied her closer. Meticulously applied makeup covered a bruise on the side of her face. There was maybe a lumpy dressing on her shoulder under the T-shirt, and something more than a bra wrapped around her sides.
Now, all that damage might be from a car accident. But that wouldn’t explain why she was scared of him, the most likable fellow on this planet. So. He could be wrong-frequently was-but he picked the most logical explanation.
Someone had beaten the hell out of her.
“Where else are you hurt?”
Why would the big sheriff ask that? Vic wondered, feeling a chill. She’d covered the blood and bruises adequately. Had her description and injuries been on an APB?
Dammit, he’d already given her one scare. For a nasty moment, she’d thought Swane had hired him until it became obvious he was just a small-town cop having himself a good time.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding. “A little nail scrape doesn’t warrant all this concern.”
Nudging his arm away, she shook hands with the realtor. “Ms. Golden, nice to meet you.”
“Just call me Amanda.” Tall, blonde, wearing silky black pants with matching jacket, she was the epitome of a refined style that Vic had never mastered. After giving Vic’s hand a firm shake, the realtor frowned at the cop. “Is there a problem?”
“You got here just in time,” Vic said. “Your policeman was about to arrest me and haul me away.”
Amanda’s snicker wasn’t at all businesslike. “Ah, yes. If his jail’s not overflowing with criminals, Alec feels he’s not doing his job.” She leaned forward and whispered loudly, “Of course, it’s only a two-cell jailhouse.”
Vic smiled and glanced over her shoulder to see how the sheriff took being taunted. With one hip propped on the railing and a lazy grin on his tanned face, he didn’t look too upset.
When his focus shifted from Amanda to Vic, his gaze intensified, as if he were trying to see inside her. She felt a quiver low in her belly, but from worry or attraction-she wasn’t sure. Probably worry.
Towering six feet five or so with appallingly broad shoulders that narrowed to a trim waist, the man moved like a trained fighter. Not all spit and polish like a soldier though. His golden-brown hair brushed the collar of his khaki- uniform, and he’d rolled his sleeves up, revealing corded wrists and muscular forearms. She remembered how easily he’d lifted her, how those big hands had wrapped around her. He was damned powerful, despite the easy-going manner.
Yeah, the quiver was definitely from worry.
But then he smiled at the realtor, and a dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth. The laugh lines around his eyes emphasized a thin blue-tinted scar that angled across his left cheekbone as if someone had marked him with a pen. His voice was deep and smooth and slow as warm honey, and she felt her muscles relax. “You have a mean streak, Amanda,” he was saying. “I’ll have to warn Jonah.”
“He wouldn’t believe you,” the realtor said as she worked on unlocking the front door.
The sheriff turned, letting that should-be-a-registered-weapon grin loose on Vic, and her temperature rose. “So,” he said, “Ms. Waverly, will you be staying in Cold Creek?”
He was gorgeous, and he looked at her as if she was something tasty. 'Um…” she said and his smile increased a fraction, just enough that she realized what an idiot she was.
And the sooner she left this damn town, the better.
The breeze whipped his shaggy hair “Well, while you’re here-” he started.
“I need to get my stuff,” she interrupted. Anything to escape. Odd how the scare from the sheriff’s appearance had wiped out her need to pee.
To her annoyance, he followed her down the steps. “You’re going to enjoy Cold Creek,” he said. Before she could dodge, he slung an arm around her shoulders, and she felt his fingers trace the thick gauze dressing covering the cat-bite.
“Thank you, but I can manage,” she said, smoothly enough despite the way her heart was pounding. Then she looked up.
Dark green eyes the color of the mountain forests narrowed, and he studied her like she was a puzzle to be solved. A quiver ran up her spine as she realized the laidback manner and slow voice camouflaged a razor-sharp intelligence. Knives tended to come at a person in two ways: dark and hidden, or out in the open, all bright and shiny. A bright and shiny blade could still leave you bleeding on the sands.
She pulled away. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well then, I’ll take myself off so you can get settled in.” He waved at Amanda Golden and smiled at Vic, but this time the smile didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again, Ms. Waverly. Cold Creek’s a small town.”
Cordial, polite. And Vic heard the threat underneath.
Alec shoved open the heavy door to the Wild Hunt Tavern, picked his favorite table in the back corner, and settled into the chair for some serious pondering.
That had been an odd meeting and an odd woman. Over many years of law-enforcement, he’d arrested a few wife-beaters and interviewed their battered wives. Ms. Waverly’s injuries might have come from a fist, but she surely didn’t give the impression of an abused woman. That glare she’d given him, for whatever reason, was almost lethal.
Actually, the woman’s moods, within the space of ten minutes, had been as winding as a tornado. From being wary of him, to being attracted, to giving him a look like:
Now why did he find that so arousing?
“Excuse me, Sheriff, would you care for a beer?”
He looked up into the prettiest blue eyes on the planet and grinned. “Jamie, if you fetch me a beer, I’ll have to arrest your thirteen-year-old butt and throw you into my jail.”
She wrinkled a freckle-covered nose. “I won’t bring it-Daddy will, so I guess you still won’t have anyone in your jail tonight, huh?”
“Now that was a low blow,” he conceded, winning himself a delighted smile before she trotted off to the bar, all legs and bounce like a half-grown cat.
A few minutes later, Calum set a mug of Guinness and a glass of wine on the table, then took the empty chair.
Alec tilted his head toward his niece as she danced her way between customers. “I envy you sometimes,
His brother turned to look, and his gray eyes softened. “Indeed. She’s a blessing.” He sipped his wine, his gaze intent on his daughter. “And makes me afraid in ways I never thought I could fear.”
Alec took a drink of the rich, malty beer before commenting, “You’re not the type to shy from leaves blowing in the wind. What’s up?”
“I summoned the Daonain to meet tonight.”
Alec’s hand tightened on the mug. Shifter meetings were rarely called. He bowed his head to the God-chosen leader of the shifters in this territory and said formally, “Cosantir, I’ll be there.”
