by Lora Leigh
“Get up, sugar.” Hunter’s voice was husky, and she thought he growled again when he bent and nibbled then kissed her shoulder. “We gotta talk.”
She moaned seductively, watching Hunter’s strong handsome face. He was right. They both had work to do, but this might be the last time she got to touch him like this. His lids were lowered, and with her free hand she cupped the growing bulge in his jeans.
“There’s all kinds of ways to communicate.” Her hand moved over the outline of his thick shaft that pressed against the rough material.
His hand closed over hers as she started to unzip his pants.
“Sam, baby, you’re killin’ me.” He cupped her cheek and kissed her. “I’d love nothing better than to stay in bed all day with you,” he whispered. He kissed her mouth once more, then her nose. “We need to have a serious talk, and I can’t think straight if you’re lyin’ there all naked.”
With an exaggerated sigh, she sat up again, pulling the sheet up and dreading what he had on his mind. “All right. What specific thing do we need to seriously talk about?”
“I want you to transfer to Deerhaven and work for me.”
That shook her for a moment. He said it like it was suddenly a given, like she wouldn’t think of declining his “offer.” Did he think he could be in control now that he had rocked her world sexually? Well, he was in for a huge disappointment. Maybe he was joking, maybe she misinterpreted his tone. She looked up at him, searching his eyes for the humor and finding none at all. “Hunter, I told you—”
“Yeah, I know, you have a better paying job up north.” He moved away from her to the dresser, picked up his wallet and his gun. “Just think about it a little longer, for me. This is and has always been your home. I think if you’re honest with yourself, you’d admit that’s true. You know you belong here.”
Did he realize how condescending he was being? It wasn’t all about the pay, and it was irritating that he seemed to think that’s all there was to it. Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
That slow, arrogant smile that always pissed her off curved his mouth. “Yeah, right. Sugar, you’re all grown up now, but I can still read you like a book. Look, it makes good sense. You’re gonna need more than a couple of weeks here to help me uncover this mess. We still have no lead on the mystery guy. Besides, Henderson wants you here. Why is that, Sam? Don’t you wanna find out?”
Hunter had a way of manipulating people to get them to do what he wanted while feeling privileged for the chance. Or better yet, making them think it was their idea in the first place. Well, she knew that condescending tone all too well. She’d fought too hard to move up the ranks. Hell if she’d let Hunter come in and belittle everything she’d worked for.
She kept her voice calm and steady, unlike the emotions rioting through her. “In spite of what you may think, I’m not your silly little Pixie Pest anymore. I’m highly trained and educated, and I worked hard for my position with Detroit PD. It isn’t disposable, neither am I.” Hunter opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand. “Don’t you dare underestimate me or my ability. I’m not gonna follow along behind you like some meek little thing. I will not be Henderson’s pawn, nor will I be yours.”
His smile became a firm straight line as he met her gaze. “Do you honestly believe that’s what I think?” He paused a moment, the muscle in his jaw pulsing. His voice was hoarse with the effort to keep it even. “Fuck that, Samantha. I’m not that simple. I would have thought you’d think more of me than that.” His hands on his hips, he shook his head, then met her gaze again. “You have a job if you want it. I hope you’ll take it because frankly, I need your help. I don’t need a pawn. I need an officer I can trust, but playing ‘the pawn’ with Henderson could give us an upper hand.” His voice was low and dangerously quiet. “If you want to go back to Detroit, fine. I have work to do. I don’t have time to defend myself against all your bullshit, and I won’t beg you. You can probably come by and pick up your weapon by the end of the week.” With that, he turned and walked away.
She jumped at the sound of the front door slamming so hard it rattled the windows. Had he ever been mad at her before? Really mad? Damn. That realization settled heavy in her stomach. She’d always been prepared for misogyny to rear its ugly head, and she’d battled it long and hard. She’d just automatically assumed that’s how Hunter was thinking. She heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed her hands over her face. Didn’t make any difference at this point. She’d made a mess of things. It stung to admit to herself that she was wrong; it was gonna sting a lot worse to admit it to him.
Since she was in the frame of mind to be honest with herself, she had to concede that Hunter had made a lot of sense. Her mom was in Florida with her new husband. Her friends were more acquaintances and fellow officers. Yeah, she had open cases up in Detroit, but the hard truth was that someone else could pick them up and close them just as efficiently as she could. Detroit was a big city, and the reality of her situation was that she was very expendable. Here she had a chance to make a difference.
Hunter said he needed her.
She looked at herself in the steamy mirror. “Don’t go there, Samantha,” she murmured. Hunter needed someone on his side in Deerhaven; he didn’t mean he needed her personally.
All right then, eating crow wasn’t gonna be fun. The sex had to stop, it had to. Once she was his deputy, it would be beyond inappropriate. It’s wasn’t forbidden, there’s “Freedom of Association,” but she’d seen officers ruin their lives and careers by “dipping their pen in the company inkwell.”
Just wouldn’t work out well for either of them.
She tucked her green, cotton, button-up shirt into her jeans and fastened the button and then the belt. They were a little snug from eating at the Night Hawk too much. She’d better keep all the good home cooking in check or she’d outgrow her clothes. Maybe there was a gym in town, or at the station. She’d have to be sure and ask. But first, she had to face Hunter and apologize. Perhaps he wasn’t still mad, and hopefully the job offer was still open.
chapter eleven
Hunter had driven through town, pretending to patrol while he simmered over the conversation with Sam. She inflamed him in every way, and this was not his favorite way. Stepping out of his cruiser into the heat of a California summer, he inhaled deeply and attempted to tamp down his irritation. It didn’t help that he had an impromptu meeting with the mayor. The man delighted in making Hunter’s life as difficult as possible. It was best not to let Henderson know just how bad his mood was. Oh, there was always the pretense, the big smile and the hard slap on the back, but they both knew it was an act.
“Afternoon, Sheriff,” Margie Reynolds greeted him as he entered the mayor’s outer office. “You’re lookin’ good. How’ve you been doin’?”
Margie was a bleached blond, forty-something soccer mom with delusions of regaining her high school days. She wore the makeup heavy—especially the bronze blush, blue eye shadow, and mascara—and she had thick, heavily permed hair. She was a good woman, though, and damned near always had a smile for everyone. How she put up with Mayor Henderson’s sour attitude and still kept herself pleasant, Hunter had never figured out.
“Morning, Margie, you’re lookin’ mighty fine yourself. How’s the mayor’s mood this morning?” he asked her in a near whisper, smiling down at her slow and easy.
She rolled her eyes at the question.
“Figures.” He grimaced, pretending to shudder. “Is he ready for me, or do I need to cool my heels a little longer?”
“He’s ready, but he has company.” She glanced toward the office to be certain of privacy and lifted her finely penciled brows. “Some slicked-up city boy out of Detroit.” She frowned.
Detroit? This had to do with Sam. Hunter kept his expression bland. “So do I just go in or wait on my summons?”
Margie fought her snicker and lost.
“Go on in, you gorgeous thing.” She waved to the
door. “Just knock first. He yelled at his daughter for ten minutes for not knocking first.”
Hunter shook his head. He strode to the door and rapped on the wood panel, perhaps a bit hard.
“What?” Henderson barked, obviously startled by the sound.
Hiding his smile, Hunter opened the door and stepped in. He kept his expression casual as he faced the mayor’s curiously smug demeanor and the oily superiority of the man with him.
The fella from Detroit was a pretty boy, there was no doubt about it. With his thick, sandy-blond hair just a bit long and brushed perfectly back from his long, arrogant face, thick light lashes, and baby face, he likely turned a few female heads. He was built along the lines of a bodybuilder, gym-created through power lifting, rather than a man whose body was honed from actual hard work.
Oh, he was strong, but how long could he last? It was apparent by the way he carried himself he was very proud of himself and felt all he surveyed should feel the same.
“Hunter, this is Tom Novak.” The mayor introduced him with the same officious pride of a man showing off his particular bright boy. “Tom, this is Sheriff Steele.” The mayor wasn’t skilled at hiding what he was thinking. For a man who was forever boasting about his business acumen, he had the worst poker face Hunter had ever seen.
“Novak.” Hunter nodded as the man stood silently beside the mayor’s desk. Hell, he wasn’t about to offer to shake that snake-faced bastard’s hand. They were staring at him like he had just crawled out from under some slimy rock.
“Tom’s in from Detroit; he works with the chief information officer for the Detroit city government. He’s here to see about a friend of his. He stopped by after he learned some disturbing news while having breakfast at the diner.” Henderson frowned in obvious disapproval. He might have actually pulled it off too, if Hunter didn’t see the smug sneer lurking in his expression.
Something was fishy as three-day-old bass about this whole thing. “And that was?” Hunter arched a brow, playing it cool, as he tucked his hands in his jeans pockets and regarded the newcomer.
“Seems there’s some question of sexual impropriety in your office.” Henderson crossed his hands on top of his desk and assumed his most pious expression. “This is greatly disturbin’ to me, Hunter.”
Hunter lifted his brows. “Me too.” First he had heard of it. “Who’s being sexually improper?”
“Novak heard tell it was you, with that pretty little Samantha Ryder, the officer I told you to hire. First, she went on a call with you, discharged her weapon, but was cleared of all that.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Not a problem since I’d already approved her hire. But sexual harassment is a mighty dirty way for a man to try and get a gal to come work for him.”
Hunter didn’t even bother to hide his surprise. “Just whom did Novak learn this from?” Hunter asked darkly. “Assuming I’m allowed to know.”
Novak stepped forward. “I overheard the rumors, as Mayor Henderson told you, at the diner this morning and was disturbed. But I’m aware of how small-town gossip can be. I immediately contacted Samantha, and she confirmed that you’d put her in a compromising situation. She’s very upset over this, Steele.”
Now Hunter was hard-pressed to hide his incredulity. “When did you talk to Ms. Ryder?”
Novak cleared his throat and looked at his very pricy watch. Hunter could almost see the gears turning as he calculated his lie. “I’d say about three hours ago.”
He knew that was a damned lie. Not three hours ago Sam was all curled up next to him, warm and snoring softly. He wasn’t about to tell them that.
“You will, of course, not harass Miss Ryder any more than you already have. We want to minimize her discomfort and embarrassment.” Mayor Henderson frowned at him heavily.
Hunter watched them both carefully, kept his expression stoic, and waited.
“I think a resignation would be in order at least, Mayor,” Novak suggested. “Samantha has been through enough, so I don’t think we should bring her into this—”
“Oh, I think maybe we should.” Hunter stiffened his shoulders. He gave Henderson a hard look. “I don’t know what the hell this is all about, Mayor, but you didn’t put me in that office, and you can’t take me out. I’ll be damned if you’ll run me out of it on some trumped-up, bullshit charge. Call Ms. Ryder in here and see what she has to say.” Especially considering he knew damned well they hadn’t talked to her.
“Samantha of course wants to cause no waves. She assures me she will press no charges if you leave quietly—”
“Mayor, do I look like a dumb redneck to you?” Hunter asked him coldly, staring into the man’s surprised face. “Let me assure you, I am not. And I doubt very much Ms. Ryder told Novak here shit. I’ll be more than happy to stand aside and let you ask her about it yourselves, but I have every right to face my accuser.”
Novak and the mayor exchanged a telling look. Of course they didn’t want him checking into this.
“There’s no need to be so profane,” Henderson objected with acute distaste.
“There’s no need to be a liar either, but someone in this room is, and I assure you it’s not me.” He gave Novak a chilling stare. “Now you two better get your stories straight and stop playing footsie here. I know damned good and well you haven’t talked to Samantha. I’ve known her near all her life; Samantha’s not one to bold-faced lie. So, I’d like to know what the hell is going on here.”
“Tom?” The mayor feigned surprise, obviously uncertain how to proceed.
“Perhaps I haven’t spoken to Samantha,” he bit out, “but I have spoken to your officers, Steele, and I know how you’ve harassed—”
Hunter turned on his heel and stalked to the door.
“Steele, you have not been given leave to walk from this office.” The mayor’s voice rose in anger. “I have not dismissed you, young man.”
Hunter gripped the doorknob, glancing back at them, anger churning in his stomach now—anger and a suspicion that ate at his sense of pride in his job.
“I don’t need your permission.” His voice was harsh, cold. “You want my job so damned bad”—he sneered at Novak—“then come and take it, if you can.”
He jerked the door open and then slammed it as he stalked out. Son of a bitch. He ignored Margie’s look of shock as his boot heels thundered across the hardwood floor and the outer office door was given the same treatment as the mayor’s.
Damn, if he wasn’t getting good at door slamming. Best it was the door being slammed and not Novak’s overdeveloped body. He knew Henderson had been trying to get him out of office ever since he took the position, but he hadn’t expected this. This one had been more than a surprise. That the man would come at him with lies didn’t shock him. It was how ridiculously flimsy the lie was.
On the other hand, if his relationship with Sam hadn’t progressed to the point it had, he likely would have been willing to believe it. His fists clenched at the thought. His cool cynicism had become well known. Maybe that’s why Sam was all too willing to believe he’d been using her.
Hunter was laid-back, affable, but always silently suspicious. His trust in Samantha shocked him for a minute, though. She’d been right: He didn’t really know her; she could have been there to play traitor, but he knew to his soul she wasn’t. He hadn’t been using her, but Novak and the mayor sure as hell were, which made him madder than hell.
Hunter growled under his breath as he unlocked the car and got inside it. One sure way to find your opponent’s weakness was to arm yourself with knowledge. Besides Jacob, the best person to talk to for info was his brother-in-law. Mark Ferguson, an officer with the California State Police force, could get the answers he needed. It seemed Mark had connections all over. When he got back to the office he’d call Mark. He needed this Detroit bigwig checked out now. At this rate, he was going to owe Mark a whole week away from his sister, Hannah, and damn if that wouldn’t suck. Hannah was pure mean when Mark dropped her off for one of his h
unting weekends. So mean that Hunter refused to let her stay last year. Damn, he hoped his ole buddy was in a gracious frame of mind when he called.
chapter twelve
At exactly twelve forty-five Samantha swung open the station door, hiding her trepidation behind a stoic expression, and gathered every ounce of self-confidence she had. The station was only marginally cooler than outside and just as humid. Big metal fans blew dust around the small, dim area. A coffee pot sat half-full on an old metal cart huddled in the corner. Apparently Shane Warren made the best coffee, and he always kept it fresh when he wasn’t on patrol. If for no other reason, Samantha thought, her transfer was worth that coffee. Shane smiled cautiously up at her from behind the large metal desk facing the doors. It was as neat and orderly as Officer Warren himself.
“Hey, Samantha.” He grinned. “Uh, Sheriff’s in his office. Go on in.”
Samantha grinned back. “Okay, thanks.”
He blushed a little, his blond brows pulled together over those curious pale blue eyes of his. “I think he’s expecting you. He said to just send you back. I’d still knock first if I were you.”
“Thanks, Shane,” she said without glancing back at him.
“Samantha, I don’t reckon it’s anything to worry about. I can’t imagine he’d be pissed at you for anything,” Shane called out. “But Sheriff seemed to be in a pretty ugly mood.”
“That’s okay.” I’m sure he is. Samantha sighed.
She stood at Hunter’s office door for a moment, gathering inner strength. She didn’t knock; she just turned the knob and sauntered into the office, shutting the door behind her.
Hunter looked up at Samantha standing there, her hands on her hips. She hoped her face conveyed the determination she felt inside.
