She had never actually stepped inside the county sheriff’s department before. Not that she imagined it would be very different from the city police department she knew so well. She assumed it would be like any other bureaucratic building full of stuffed shirts and eyes that judged her without really seeing her.
She knew those eyes. She’d felt them on her all her life, roaming her skin like ants crawling on a mound. She felt them whenever the police were called in for one of her mom’s knock-down-drag-out fights with whatever guy she was dating. Or when her mom was pulled over for swerving all over the road and CPS had to come and get her, Malia and Cruz until their mom was later released and they were returned to her care. So many different occasions. When Cruz was arrested. When her mother died.
On the night Mom died the police had come to tell them she had crashed into a family of four. Because she was drunk. Again. Thankfully the family survived. One of the kids had been in a coma for a week and still suffered disabilities as a result, but thankfully Mom was the only fatality. That’s what people actually said to her. Thankfully your mom was the only one who died.
When the deputy relayed the news, his eyes said just what he thought. Her mother got what she deserved. There was no pity for Piper or Cruz or Malia. They were simply Walshes and pity-exempt.
So when she entered through the double glass doors of the county sheriff, she did not expect a warm greeting by law enforcement. She most especially did not expect to be greeted by a grandmotherly type wearing blinged-out eyeglasses attached to her neck with a colorful beaded rope.
“Hello, sweetheart,” the lady exclaimed. “Come in. Shut the door. You’re letting all the cold air out. It might be night out, but it’s still ungodly warm out there. Lud, this heat. It brings out the wild in folks. Phone been ringing off the hook all night. We’ve got every deputy out on calls right now.” She shook her head. “We need more staff . . .”
Piper obeyed as she continued to prattle on, pulling the door shut behind her.
“What can I do for you?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I was called. I’m here to collect Malia Walsh.”
“Ah. Yes. She’s having a drink in the break room.”
Piper straightened uncertainly as the woman stood and rounded her desk, revealing herself to be, rather impossibly, shorter than Piper. “She a sweet child, but ain’t no good ever came of a bunch of teenagers wandering the streets at night.” The desk clerk gave Piper a pointed look.
Piper tried not to squirm beneath the older woman’s scolding stare. She succeeded only partly. The fact of the matter was she did feel guilty. Her sister shouldn’t have been out wandering the streets at night. She should have been home in her bed with Piper home, too. Like the family they should be. In a perfect world that would have been the case. But then her world had never come close to perfect.
“I completely agree, ma’am.”
The lady nodded, seemingly pleased with Piper’s agreement. “Wait right here and I’ll go fetch her.”
She watched as she shuffled away, barely lifting her feet from the ground as she moved. She wasn’t what Piper was expecting upon walking into the building, but the County of Sweet Hill was small and the city even smaller. Of course a grandmotherly type who looked like she should be home baking cookies would be working the front desk at the sheriff’s department.
At least the place appeared to be void of Sheriff Hale Walters. There was that.
She shifted on her feet, her tennis shoes squeaking slightly on the tile as she tried not to feel anxious. Soon, they’d be out of this place that made her skin itch and feel too tight for her frame.
As the moments ticked, she started wondering if there was still that gallon of Coffee Toffee Bar Crunch in the freezer. Sinking into the creamy sweetness sounded like bliss right now after this day, but she had a feeling that she and Malia had polished it off, and there was no way she could bring herself to stop and pick up another gallon. Now was not the time to splurge on pricey ice cream. Not after losing her job. Right now everything had to be about necessities.
Voices drifted from the back. She thought she made out the sound of a softer feminine voice. Soon Malia emerged holding a can of orange soda, the dispatch trailing her with shuffling steps.
Her heart leapt at the sight of her sister, safe and smiling as though nothing were amiss. She would never not feel that searing relief. Not after losing both their parents. Not after losing Cruz. Every day when she parted ways with her sister she held her breath a little until she saw her again. Until Malia was back in front of her with all ten toes and ten fingers. Even watching her on the soccer field, her stomach clenched with worry every time a bigger girl, which was just about every player, bodychecked her sister.
“Malia,” she breathed as her sister advanced. Her smile slipped as she noticed what her sister was wearing—or rather what she was not wearing. She was most decidedly not wearing the clothes she had left the house in today. No, she was wearing skinny jeans a size too small (even for skinny jeans) and a slinky tank top that refused to stay straight on her narrow shoulders. The scooped neckline dipped low, revealing cleavage she had never seen on her baby sister before. Mostly because her sister was built like her and lacking all cleavage. Malia didn’t own a bra capable of creating cleavage like that. The only thing she ever wore were sports bras.
She doesn’t own one, but you do.
“Is that my bra?” She leaned forward to hiss as her sister stopped before her.
Malia’s brown eyes widened and she nodded and shook her head almost simultaneously, clearly unsure how to respond. Evidently admitting the truth terrified her. Piper didn’t often get angry, but right now she was close to redlining.
“What has gotten into you?” she continued in a whisper.
Malia ducked her head, color burning her cheeks.
“Found her,” the desk clerk trilled as though Malia had been lost somewhere in the back—clearly oblivious to the tense undercurrent between them.
Piper grasped Malia by the elbow and tugged her close beside her. She pasted a smile on her face for the benefit of the older woman. “Thank you so much. Is there somewhere I have to sign her out? Or do you need to check my identification or—”
“Ah, yes.” She clapped her hands lightly and scurried behind the broad desk again. “It’s right here. The other parents already signed out their children . . .” She looked up and eyed Piper. “You hardly look old enough to be her parent.”
“No, I’m her sister, but her legal guardian.”
“Ahh. That explains it. You two are mirror images of each other. Cute as two kittens.”
Malia giggled as the woman resumed searching through the clutter of her desk.
Piper reached deep for patience even though a part of her marveled at how this woman fared in emergencies where speed was required. She did work in a sheriff’s department, after all. They had to have the occasional need for urgency.
Footsteps sounded, thudding deeply across the floor. Her nape prickled in awareness. She looked up just as a tall figure emerged from the hall, a big dark shape etched against the pale beige backdrop of the building’s interior.
Her throat closed up at the sight of the deep blue uniform with its shiny brass bits. At first it was all she noticed. The only thing. It was familiar enough. As was her physical reaction to the sight of it. She supposed it was an unhealthy reaction. And abnormal. The sight of a policeman’s uniform should provide comfort. But for her it never signified anything good to come.
Her gaze crawled over the uniform—and there was a considerable amount of it. Not just in breadth, but in height, too. The body that filled out the uniform was muscled and tightly built. Not an inch of fat anywhere on his bulk.
She dragged a breath in and forced her attention to his face as dread pooled in her stomach.
She knew what she would see. Who she would see. He was a tank of a man. There weren’t many men built like him sporting a police uniform.
H
e would have to be on duty the one time she came here. She had feared coming face-to-face with him the moment she parked outside. Her brother’s friend, North, had warned her that he was a powerful man, the implication being that she should give him due respect. Only she hadn’t done that. Hopefully she wouldn’t pay for it now.
She squared her shoulders, bracing herself for the moment he looked up and saw her. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her. He’d seen her just once, after all. In a darkened club, no less.
She stifled a snort. Wishful thinking. She doubted he had forgotten the first time they met. If that encounter in Joe’s could even be called a meeting. The pitcher of ice water in his lap would have made a lasting impression.
Braced or not, when he looked up she was caught off guard.
Nothing could have steeled herself for the weight of those gray eyes. Somehow she had missed their magnitude in the dimness of Joe’s, but she felt the intensity of them now. In one sweeping glance, he took in their trio before advancing in a long-legged stride.
“Ms. Walsh.” He remembered her, all right. “Isn’t it?”
Damn his voice was deep. Full of gravel. It sounded like sex.
The completely inappropriate thought hit her out of nowhere. For starters, she could hardly count herself as an expert on sex. And secondly . . . this was Hale Walters. A rude, arrogant cop quick to judge. He was everything she despised.
She’d heard him speak in Joe’s but the music had been loud and she’d found him so offensive with his remarks that she hadn’t absorbed the gritty drawl like she did now in the stark quiet of the sheriff’s department.
“Sheriff,” she greeted, the word escaping as a treacherous tremor.
As he drew closer she was only more painfully aware of his size. He’d been sitting that time in Joe’s. She had no idea he was this big. This tall. He had to be pushing six-five.
She tugged her cardigan closer around her, feeling suddenly fragile in comparison, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable.
His gaze drifted to Malia. “Your sister, I presume?”
She nodded.
“Appears she got into a bit of trouble tonight.”
Her jaw clenched. The desk clerk had said as much, but she resisted nodding assent to him. Everything about him rubbed her the wrong way.
“Found it!” The older woman brandished a clipboard and abandoned her desk to offer it to Piper. “Just sign here.”
The sheriff plucked it from her hands just as Piper was about to take it. “Thank you, Doris.”
Doris beamed and turned for her desk again.
Piper stared at the sheriff expectantly, waiting for him to hand over the clipboard so she could be on her way.
Instead, he held it in his hands and looked in no hurry to pass it to her.
He and Piper stared at one another for an awkward stretch of silence. As the seconds ticked, her resentment grew. He couldn’t just be linebacker big. No. He had to be hot as sin, too.
Malia looked back and forth between the two of them mildly, taking a slurping sip from her can of orange soda.
Piper lifted her chin a notch. “Are you gonna let me sign that? Or just keep me standing here? It’s late.”
Malia’s eyes widened. Piper knew she was setting a bad example. She’d told her sister time and time again to always be respectful to authority figures. Even when it was hard. And here she was throwing sass at the county sheriff. She couldn’t stop herself though.
The corner of his mouth kicked up. It was almost a smile. Only his eyes didn’t smile. They stared coldly. “You know I thought my memory of you might have been wrong, Ms. Walsh.”
She fought the urge to demand he explain himself, but that made it look like she cared what he thought of her . . . or that he thought of her at all.
“It wasn’t though,” he finished.
And she was quite certain that was an insult.
“You two know each other?” Malia asked.
“No,” she snapped. “We don’t know each other at all.” She lifted her chin, making sure he understood that she didn’t want to know him.
This time both corners of his mouth lifted in a full-blown smile. It was devastating. Unfairly, it made him even more attractive. She bet the women in this town threw themselves at him.
And that only annoyed her more.
Three
The last time he saw Piper Walsh she poured a pitcher of water in his lap. Of course, he might have implied she was a bimbo. Fine. No “might” about it. He did say something to that effect.
It wasn’t his finest moment, but his sister’s involvement with North Callaghan had colored his behavior at the time. Could anyone blame him? He’d been pretty sure his sister was infatuated with the convicted killer living next door to her. Even worse, he suspected the convicted killer was taking advantage of her infatuation of him.
He’d gone to Joe’s to simply question North Callaghan (and maybe intimidate him). As the sheriff. As a brother. Whatever worked.
When he’d seen Callaghan talking to Piper Walsh he had assumed the two of them had history. He even thought that maybe their history wasn’t history and more like current events. Understandably he didn’t like the idea of his sister getting played by a felon who kept a piece on the side.
So yeah. He and Piper Walsh might have gotten off on the wrong foot.
However, he was still a lawman. Most people respected a badge and what it represented. Not her though. In the flash of her dark eyes, that was instantly evident.
But then what could he expect? She had a brother in prison and a handful of uncles in lockup, too. Her old man had died in prison after getting five to ten for armed robbery. Repeat offender. And let’s not forget the mother, who killed herself and almost killed a family of four when she decided to drive after boozing it up.
Yeah, he knew all about Piper Walsh. The day she dumped water on him, he made a point to find out her story. He told himself it was because, at the time, he distrusted North Callaghan. He knew the guy was getting close to his sister. Closer than he or his father liked, and he wanted to know everything he could about the guy—and that included his relationship with one trouble making stripper.
But he’d been wrong.
At least about Callaghan. It seemed the guy loved his sister, and Piper Walsh wasn’t one of his playthings on the side. She and North were just friends, brought together by Piper’s brother, who had served time with Callaghan.
He didn’t think, however, he’d been wrong in his estimation of Piper.
She stared back at him with her eyes burning her dislike of him. Chin high. She didn’t project the slightest deference as someone in her position might do . . . as someone should do.
She was a tiny pain-in-the-ass package of trouble.
Doris had called all the parents some time ago. Piper was the last to arrive to pick up her kid. Clearly she was a questionable role model for the girl. If that made him a judgy prick, so be it. He’d seen the pattern. His line of work gave him a bird’s-eye view to it. First as an MP when he was in the Marines, then as a deputy under his father, and finally as sheriff. It always started at home.
He knew there were exceptions to every case, but considering he’d just picked up Malia Walsh traipsing through a rough part of town with kids who were already building a record for themselves? Yeah. The signs were there. She was headed for trouble.
He looked Piper up and down slowly, guessing where she had just come from. The gray cardigan she wore failed to hide the Joe’s Cabaret logo on her T-shirt. They’d interrupted her at work.
She felt his stare and pulled her cardigan tighter across the modest swells of breasts. As if she were shy.
“Do I sign her out somewhere?” She glanced around as though there was a form waiting for her to sign her kid out of gym class early.
“Are you her legal guardian?” He assumed she was, but his digging hadn’t uncovered that detail.
“Yes.” That chin went up higher,
challenging him like she wasn’t afraid of his authority.
He glanced from her to her sister. Piper Walsh was twenty-five. Another fact he remembered. He was good with details. Names, faces. It helped him do his job. It wasn’t because she was a person of particular interest. Not then. Not now.
She was very young to be responsible for a fifteen-year-old girl. It would be hard on any twenty-five-year-old, but someone poor and without family support . . . he didn’t know how she was managing it.
Except he did know. She was stripping at Joe’s Cabaret. He grimaced, inexplicably not liking that idea. Couldn’t she find a better job?
“Can I take her home?” she asked, her voice strained, and for the first time he heard the anxiety there as he continued to keep the clipboard from her. She was worried. Which meant she was cognizant of his authority for all her lack of deference to him. He almost felt sorry for her . . . if there wasn’t a child’s welfare at stake.
Malia watched the exchange with wide eyes, picking up on the tension.
She was scared earlier when he’d hauled her in with her friends, but she had relaxed as her friends left one by one and Doris doted on her like she was some adorable puppy, feeding her brownies and soda. He winced. He hated to admit it, but it really was time for Doris to retire. She should have retired when his father did. She looked like someone’s granny. Sometimes he wished he had someone with a little more steel in their eyes to be the first point of contact for his department.
“Piper?” Malia asked in a small voice.
As much as he thought a little fear was a good thing for a fifteen-year-old caught toeing the line, he didn’t want to launch her into full-blown panic. The girl had been through a lot with both parents dead and a brother in prison. And a sister stripping for a living. Who knew what Piper Walsh exposed her to on a daily basis?
Did she bring men home?
He knew a lot of the girls at Joe’s did tricks. It was a casualty of the trade. The thought that Piper might be one of them soured his stomach for some reason. He’d seen a lot of unsavory things in his career . . . but the possibility of Piper Walsh turning tricks and letting strange men climb over her body in the same house she shared with her little sister made him want to break something. One of his hands curled into a fist at his side.