by Jill Shalvis
"Oh, yeah!" She laughed. "Can't believe I forgot there for a moment. There's a stranger downtown, driving some sort of hot rod, causing trouble. We've received calls on and off all day, complaining about the loud music and reckless driving."
He opened his mouth to ask what had taken her so long to say so, but bit back the comment because it wouldn't do him any good. Back on duty whether he liked it or not, he rubbed his gritty, tired eyes and grabbed for his pants. "Theft? Injuries?"
"Nope, nothing like that. Just the music and speeding."
"Speeding?" He'd given up sleep for speeding? "Why didn't … hell, who's on duty right now … Tim? Why didn't he take care of this earlier if it's been a problem all day?"
"Seems Tim stopped off at his momma's for some pie after lunch and got sick. Food poisoning. He's been bowing to the porcelain god ever since. Poor guy, bad things like that don't usually happen here in Pleasantville."
Since he'd had plenty of bad things happen to him right here in this town, the least of which was caving in and hiring his ex on dispatch, Tag just rolled his eyes. "If nothing really bad could happen, why can't I manage a night with some sleep in it?"
"Because we all love your sweet demeanor too much. Now get your ass up. Oh, and careful out there, okay? Don't do anything I wouldn't."
Which was damn little and they both knew it. "Yeah, thanks," he muttered, looking for more clothes. He jammed on his boots, yanked on his uniform shirt and grabbed his badge.
With one last fond look toward his big, rumpled, very comfortable bed, he shook his head and left.
Halfway to downtown Pleasantville, his radio squawked. "Got the license plate and make for ya," Annie said, and rattled it off.
"Sunshine-yellow Porsche." Tag shook his head at the idiotic tourist who'd probably taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in Pleasantville. "Shouldn't be hard to find. Owner's name?"
"Let's see, it's here somewhere… Cassie Tremaine Montgomery."
Not a tourist. Not a wayward traveler lost by accident. Not by a long shot.
Cassie Tremaine Montgomery.
She'd belonged here once. Though now, as a famous lingerie model, she was as far from Pleasantville as one could get.
He might not have ever met her personally since he'd been several years ahead of her in school, but her reputation preceded her. A reputation she'd gotten—according to legend—by using men just like her mother.
If he remembered correctly, and he was certain he did, Cassie had been tough, unreachable, attitude-ridden and … hot. Very hot.
And she'd been practically run out of town after her high school graduation by rumors. They'd said she was pregnant, on drugs, a thief. You name it, someone in town had claimed she'd done it. Hell, even his loser cousin Biff had plenty of wild stories, though Tag had no idea how much of it was true given Biff's tendency toward exaggeration. He'd never expended any energy thinking about it.
But now he was sheriff and she was back, stirring up trouble. Seemed he'd need to think about her plenty.
He saw her immediately, speeding down Magnolia Avenue
in her racy car, with a matching racy attitude written all over her. Blond hair whipping behind her, her fingers tapping in beat to the music she had blaring.
Knowing only that things were about to get interesting, Tag turned his cruiser around and went after her.
* * *
Get what you can, honey. Get what you can and get out.
Cassie Tremaine Montgomery smiled grimly as she remembered her mother's advice on life and took Magnolia Avenue
at a slightly elevated speed than was strictly allowed by law. She couldn't help it, her car seemed to have the same attitude about being in this town as she did.
In other words, neither of them liked it.
As she drove downtown throughout the day, running errands, people stopped, stared. Pointed.
Logically, she knew it was the car. But the place had slammed her into the past. People recognized her. People remembered her.
Had she thought they wouldn't? Hadn't Kate warned her after she had been back in town recently to close up her mother's house? Good old Pea-ville.
There was Mrs. McIntyre coming out of the Tea Room. The Town Gossip hadn't changed; she still wore her hair in a bun wrapped so tight her eyes narrowed, and that infamous scowl. She'd maliciously talked about Cassie and Flo on a daily basis.
But that was a lifetime ago. To prove it, Cassie waved.
Mrs. McIntyre shook her finger at her and turned to a blue-haired old biddy next to her. That woman shook her finger at Cassie, too.
Well. Welcome home. Cassie squashed the urge to show them a finger of her own. She couldn't help it, this place brought out the worst in her.
But she wasn't here to reminisce and socialize. God, no. If left up to her, she'd have never come back. There was nothing for her here, nothing.
Kate was gone. She'd marched out of town hand in hand with Cassie all those years ago, each determined to make something of themselves.
Kate had done spectacularly in Chicago, with her specialty ladies' shop, Bare Essentials.
Some would say so had Cassie. But that she could afford to buy and sell this sorry-ass town was little satisfaction when just driving through made her feel young and stupid all over again. Two things she hadn't felt in a very long time.
Everyone in Pleasantville had assumed she'd grow up the same as the trouble-loving Flo. Destiny, they'd said. Can't fight it.
And if you counted going off to New York and becoming one of the world's most well-known lingerie models following her destiny, well then, that's what Cassie had done.
Now she was back. Not by choice, mind you. Oh, no. She passed the library. And yep, there was the librarian standing out front changing the sign for tonight's reading circle. Mrs. Wilkens hadn't changed a bit, either. She was still old, still had her glasses around her neck on a chain and … was still frowning at Cassie.
Cassie had spent hours at the library looking for an escape from her life, devouring every historical romance novel she could find.
Mrs. Wilkens had always, always, hovered over her as if she was certain Cassie was going to steal a book.
Oh, wasn't this a fun stroll down memory lane. With a grim smile, Cassie drove on. She passed the old bowling alley, the five-and-dime, the Rose Café.
Pleasantville had a scent she'd never forgotten. It smelled like broken dreams and fear.
Or maybe that was just her imagination. There was sound, as well. Other cars, a kid's laughter … the whoop of a siren—
What the hell? Craning her neck in surprise, she looked into the rearview mirror and saw the police lights. Her heart lurched for the poor sucker about to get a ticket. A serious lead-foot herself, Cassie winced in sympathy and slowed so the squad car could go around her.
It didn't.
No problem, she'd just pull over to give it more room. But the police car pulled over, too.
And that's when it hit her. She was the sucker about to get the ticket.
"Damn it. Damn it," she muttered as she turned off the car and fumbled for her purse. She hadn't been pulled over since … prom night.
All those unhappy memories flooded back, nearly choking her. She hadn't given thought to that night in far too long to let it hit her like a sucker punch now, but that's exactly what it did. Her drunken date. Then dealing with the sheriff, who'd been one of the few men in town she'd figured she could trust.
She'd been wrong, very wrong. No man was trustworthy, hadn't she learned that the hard way? Especially recently.
But after all the terror she'd been through in the days before she'd been forced back here, Cassie wasn't going to get stressed about this. She'd find her wallet, explain why she was in such a hurry, and maybe, just maybe, if she batted the lashes just right, added a do-me smile and tossed back her hair in a certain way, she'd get out of here ticket-free.
Please, oh please, let there have been a new sheriff in the past ten years, she t
hought as she finally located her wallet in the oversize purse that carried everything including her still-secret vice—a historical romance. Pirates, rogues, Vikings … the lustier the better. She hadn't yet cracked the spine on this latest book, but if the sheriff saw it she'd … well, she'd have to kill him.
"Damn it."
No driver's license in the wallet. Oh, boy. Her own fault, though. In getting ready for the club she'd gone to several nights ago with friends, she'd pulled out her license and stuck it in her pocket so she wouldn't be hampered by her heavy purse.
And she hadn't returned it, not then, and not in the shocking events since. "Damn it."
"You said that already."
Lurching up, Cassie smacked her head on the sun visor, dislodging her sunglasses. Narrowing her eyes at the low, very male laugh, she focused in on … not Sheriff Richard Taggart, thank God.
No, Richard Taggart would be in his late fifties by now. Probably gray with a paunch and a mean-looking mouth from all the glowering he'd done.
The man standing in front of her wearing mirrored sunglasses and a uniform wasn't old, wasn't gray and certainly didn't have a paunch. In fact, as her eyes traveled up, up, up his very long, very mouthwatering body, she doubted he had a single ounce of fat on his tall, lean, superbly conditioned form.
Not that she was noticing. She worked with men all the time. Fellow models, photographers, directors … and while she definitely liked to look, and sometimes even liked to touch—on her terms thank you very much—this man would never interest her.
He wore a cop's uniform and a sheriff's badge, and ever since prom night she had a serious aversion to both.
Not to mention her aversion to authority period. "I don't have my license," she said, dismissing him by not looking into his face. Rude, yes, but it was nothing personal. She might have even told him so, if she cared what he thought, which she didn't.
"No license," he repeated.
What a voice. Each word sent a zing of awareness tingling through her every nerve ending. He could have made a fortune as a voice talent. His low, slightly rough tone easily conjured up erotic fantasies out of thin air.
"That's a problem, the no-license thing," he said. Having clearly decided she was no threat, he removed his sunglasses, stuck them in his shirt pocket and leaned on her car with casual ease, his big body far too close and … male.
She took back the whole voice-talent thing; he should go bigger and hit the big screen. She didn't need her vivid imagination to picture him up there as a romantic action-adventure hero.
Without the uniform, of course.
Obviously unaware of the direction her thoughts had taken, he nodded agreeably at her lack of inclination to apologize over not having a license. But one look at that firm mouth, hard jaw and unforgiving gaze, and Cassie knew this man was agreeable only when it suited him.
A car raced past them, a blue sedan with a little old lady behind the wheel. "Hey," Cassie said, straightening and craning her neck to catch the car vanish around the corner. "That lady was going way faster than me!"
"Mrs. Spelling?" He shrugged and tapped his pen on his ticket book. "She's late picking up her grand-kids."
"She's speeding." Cassie said through her teeth.
"Well, you were speeding first." He cocked his head all friendly-like. "And you're not carrying your ID because…?"
Because she'd left New York in a hurry. That was what happened when three incredibly shocking things occurred all at the same time.
One, she was being stalked. The man doing so had been a friend. That is, until she'd declined to sleep with him—which is when it'd turned ugly. Seems that if he couldn't have her, he wanted her dead.
Her agent, her friends and her fiercely worried cousin had all insisted she get the hell out of Dodge—and since Cassie was rather fond of living, she had agreed. What better place to disappear than in a town that had never seen her in the first place?
Two, her mother had decided to sail around the world with her latest boyfriend. She would be away indefinitely, which meant she'd left Cassie a surprising and early inheritance. That Cassie had been forced to come back to Pleasantville to take care of that inheritance coincided with her need to vacate New York for a while.
The third shocking thing wasn't life-altering, but had bothered her enough that she'd dreamed of it for the past several days. Kate had found their high school diaries and the ridiculous lists they'd each made that fateful night in the tree house after their disastrous prom. Lists that included their childish wish for revenge on a town that had always spurned them. Cassie's was inspired, if a bit immature, and she eyed the sheriff again, remembering what she'd written.
1. Drive a fancy car, preferably sunshine-yellow because that's a good color for me.
2. Get the sheriff—somehow, some way, but make it good.
3. Live in the biggest house on Lilac Hill.
4. Open a porn shop—Kate's idea, but it's a good one.
5. Become someone. Note: this should have been number one.
Amusing. Childish. And damn tempting, given that she had already nailed number one. Maybe that's all she'd ever accomplish, driving a fancy yellow car, but one thing she'd come to realize in her most interesting career, she had a zest for life.
She wanted to live.
But if anyone thought she wanted to live here, they needed to think again. She'd rather have an impacted wisdom tooth removed. Without drugs.
She took off her sunglasses and immediately wished she hadn't. The glare of the sun made her squint, and she hated to squint. She also felt … exposed. The way she hadn't felt since her very first day of kindergarten, walking in with a big smile that slowly faded when all the other kids and their mean moms had stopped to whisper.
Tremaine.
White trash.
Daughter of a tramp.
Wild child.
At age five, she'd had no idea what those whispered words meant. But even then she'd recognized the judgment, so she'd simply lifted her chin to take the verbal knocks. She did the same now. "I don't have my license because it's not in my purse," she said, refusing to explain herself to anyone in this town. Including a cop. Especially a cop.
"Hmm. I hadn't realized Cassie Tremaine Montgomery was famous enough to not need ID."
"You know who I am."
His lips curved. "I've seen the catalogs. Interesting work you've gotten for yourself."
"Those catalogs are for women."
"With you in silk and lace on page after page?" He shook his head, that small smile looking quite at home on his very generous mouth. "Don't fool yourself. Those catalogs are scoured from front to back by men all across the country."
"Is that why you pulled me over? You wanted to meet me in person?" Disdain came easily for any man with authority, especially this one. "Or is it because I'm driving an expensive and brightly colored sports car?"
"Contrary to popular belief," he said conversationally, "cops don't necessarily have an attraction to all cars painted red or yellow. What we do have, however, is an attraction to speeding vehicles."
"And this has to do with me because…?"
"Because you were speeding," he said in that patient—and incredible—voice that told her he thought she was the village idiot, not the other way around. Then he straightened and waved his ticket book. "The question now is, were you going fast enough to warrant reckless driving."
Cassie never gaped, it went against the grain, but she did so now. "You've got to be kidding me."
As he had before, he leaned in, resting his weight on his arm, which lay across her open window. It wasn't a beefy arm, or a scrawny one, but somewhere in between, more on the side of tough and sinewy.
Again, not that she was noticing. He was probably a jackass, as Richard Taggart had been. He was probably prejudiced against anything different from his small-town norm. He was probably mean-spirited and stupid, as well—most men that good-looking were. For the second time she considered going the bat
ting-the-eyelashes route. It would work. She'd been rendering men stupid with her looks for a very long time now.
In that spirit, she put her saucy smile in place to butter him up. His slate-blue eyes went as sharp as stone. He wasn't going to fall for the saucy smile, damn it, so she let it fade. "Look, I wasn't reckless driving. And you already know who I am so the license isn't really necessary."
In front of them, an older couple started to cross the street. Cassie ignored them until they stopped and stared at her, then started whispering furiously to themselves. Recognition came sharply to Cassie—they'd run the drugstore years ago, where she'd done her best to prove to the town she was just as wild as they thought by purchasing condoms regularly. "Oh, forget it," she said on a sigh. "Just do what you have to do."
"Which would be what, do you think?"
Well, hopefully it wouldn't be to make her get out of the car so he could try to feel her up. "You could let me go."
He smiled at that. A slow, wide smile that had her heart skipping a beat. "But you were speeding."
"Maybe I'm in a hurry to get out of here."
"Wouldn't be the first time, so I hear."
Now what would he know about her fast exit after graduation? She took another long look at him, squinting through the bright sun to see his name. Taggart. Oh, my God. "You're…"
"Sheriff Sean Taggart. You can call me Tag, most do."
Suddenly she could hardly breathe. She couldn't have managed a smile to save her life. Pulling back, she stared straight ahead out her windshield. "You're Richard's son."
"That would be correct."
It wasn't bad enough she'd had to put her entire life on hold because some jerk had decided if he couldn't have her, he'd terrorize her. Or that she had to be here while her life was on hold. No, she had to run into her old nightmares to boot. That, added to her current nightmares… God, she needed a cigarette.
Too bad she'd quit smoking five years ago. "Just give me my ticket then."
He was silent for so long she broke her own code and turned to look at him. Silent—still, even—but not idle. His eyes reflected all sorts of interesting things, mostly curiosity. "You know my father."
