Welcome Home, Bobby Winslow

A loud whoosh filled her ears. An oversize vehicle raced by so fast the draft caused the chassis beneath her to rock back and forth.

What the—

Was that a Winnebago?

Leeann flipped on her lights and siren and tore out after the jumbo motor home as it disappeared around the first turn. She lost sight of it, but there was nowhere for a vehicle that size to turn off for a least a mile. She pressed on the accelerator and roared over the next small hill, spotting the RV ahead as it pulled to the side of the road.

With no room to move in behind, she was forced to park in front, angling her cruiser nose in. Keeping an eye on her rearview mirror, she finished her call to dispatch that included the North Carolina license plate number and stepped out of the car.

Pushing her short hair back from her face, Leeann settled the Destiny Sheriff Department ball cap on her head.

Tourists. Probably a senior citizen with a lead foot.

She paused at the rear of her car, one hand inches from her weapon, and assessed the situation. Nice and quiet. So far, so good, except that thanks to the angle of the sun she couldn’t make out the people inside the camper other than the fact there were two of them. At least.

She moved a few steps closer, motioning with one hand.

The driver understood and slid his window open. “Is there a problem, Officer?”

Okay, that was no grandpa.

The man leaning out the window had cropped salt-and-pepper hair and dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes. His arm was bigger than her thigh. The sleeve of his black T-shirt hugged the well-developed biceps, revealing a tattoo she couldn’t quite make out.

“Please step out of the vehicle.” There was no way she was dealing with this guy from where he sat three feet above her. “And bring your license and registration with you.”

“I’m going to have to use the rear door.” He patted the smooth surface beneath his hand. “We’re having trouble with this one.”

“Fine.”

He offered a quick grin and ducked back inside.

Leeann watched as he talked to his passenger, gesturing with his hands before he moved out of his seat and disappeared from view. She walked back along the side of her cruiser, keeping it between her and the camper.

Eyeing the motor home, she noticed it looked brand-new and custom-made with its fancy paint job and tinted windows, but she was still surprised at how it’d zoomed by her.

The shade from tall trees to her left made it easier to see, and she paused on the other side of her car, her gaze on the person still sitting in the front of the camper.

A man, also wearing sunglasses, his with mirrored lenses, and a weathered ball cap on his head turned backward. He’d glanced her way through the window.

Seconds later, he did the classic double take.

Leeann held her ground and his gaze. Thanks to his sunglasses she couldn’t be sure, but instinct and years of experience told her he was checking her out from the top of her ball cap to the tips of her steel-toed boots.

His scrutiny caused a heated flush to steal over her skin. It’d been many years since she’d had a physical reaction to a man’s gaze. A tinge of annoyance mixed with the surprise coursing through her.

Why now? Why him?

Did she somehow know this guy?

No, that was crazy.

The stranger finally turned away and she blamed her body’s response on the warmth of the Indian summer afternoon.

Still, it’d been a long time since she’d gotten that kind of response from someone. When she’d first started working as a deputy sheriff, it had happened often when she pulled someone over, be it a local or an out-of-town tourist who recognized her. But other than one of those celebrity magazines doing a “where are they now” profile on her a couple of years ago, Leeann was far removed from the bright lights and big city of her former life.

Did he know who she was? Or, more precisely, who she used to be?

Maybe he just didn’t like the law. Except the tiny hitch that pulled at one corner of his mouth had her thinking he’d been about to smile. To flirt his way out of a ticket?

Just then the rear door of the camper opened and out stepped a giant of a man.

He was easily over six feet tall, the rest of him as powerfully put together as that one arm he’d displayed out the window. The black T-shirt stretched tautly over his wide chest, matching black jeans fit him like a second skin and the scuffed work boots gave him a couple of extra unnecessary inches in height.

He walked toward her, his gaze locked with hers. Other than her usual watchfulness that was part of the job, she felt none of the physical effects from a moment ago during that silent exchange with his passenger.

With no time to figure out why, Leeann pushed the thought aside when the driver stopped a few feet from her. He offered another grin that appeared too good-hearted to be artificial and held out his hand.

She took the paperwork, looked at his driver’s license first then glanced back at him. “Dean Zippenella?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The picture on the New Jersey license matched the man in front of her, but his full name? “Dean Martin Zippenella?”

His grin widened as he shrugged. “I come from a large Italian family and my Nonni was a big fan. Most people call me Zip or Zippy.”

“You should meet his brothers Frank and Joey.”

Leeann glanced up as the guy still in the camper spoke. That voice. Barely above a whisper, and still the measured tone easily carried across the distance to where she stood. She hated to say it sounded familiar, because it didn’t, but still a nugget of awareness tugged inside her.

She then noticed the dog in his lap, its two front paws on the window frame. Bland canine features spoke of a mongrel heritage and its coat was a mix of browns and tans, except for the solid patch of black over one eye.

“As in Frank Sinatra and Joey Bishop?” she said, looking between the two men.

Both nodded.

“Which one are you?” she asked the guy in the camper.

“Huh?” The hand scratching at the dog’s ears stilled.

“Are you two related?” she pushed.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Their overlapping answers had her moving her gaze back and forth in suspicion. “Is my question too confusing?”

The driver crossed his arms over the impressive width of his chest. “We’re not blood, but we’re close as family can be.”