The Sheriff Gets His Lady

“Is this your current residence?”

“Yes.”

But he’d caught her momentary hesitation. Was she lying? Or did she simply not want to answer his questions?

“Where are you staying here in Texas?”

“A rooming house in Bitterwater.”

“Why?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Why what?”

“What are you doing in this part of Texas, Ms. Diamond?”

“I told you. I’m here to—”

“Get inspiration for a winter line of clothing? I don’t think so.”

“It’s the truth,” she insisted stubbornly.

“Then what do you want with my daughter?”

She sucked in a startled breath. “I...don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His jaw firmed. She was lying. That made it real easy for him to overlook her beauty and any attraction he felt toward her.

“According to my sources, you’ve been hanging around town for two days now, watching Lauren. I want to know why.”

Instantly, she bristled. “I don’t know who told you that....”

Her voice trailed off as her head turned. Alma stood against the nearby building watching them, hands crossed over her chest while she rocked back and forth on the heels of her boots.

“Ah. The town watchdog, I suppose.”

Noah didn’t respond. He could almost see the woman’s mind at work. He’d give a lot to be able to read the individual thoughts.

“All right, Sheriff. I was watching your daughter. But I didn’t know she was your daughter.”

Another lie? He couldn’t be sure.

“I saw her in town the other day and wondered if she’d be interested in doing some modeling.”

His gut tensed. The story was plausible given the way she dressed and acted, yet her body language was all wrong. One hand flexed nervously against her side. The other gripped her wallet tightly.

“Modeling,” he said softly, as if he’d never heard the term before.

Her fingers stilled. She drew in a breath. “Yes, modeling. You know, where a person wears designer clothing for the purpose of displaying said clothing to others.”

He’d give her points for a quick rally.

“Your daughter would be perfect for the line I have in mind.”

“I thought you designed the clothing. Don’t tell me you also hire your own models.”

“I do when I see a young woman who would do justice to them,” she argued. “She’s tall, willowy, blond, the perfect image of a young, upcoming executive. She’d make an excellent model.”

“Over my dead body.”

Noah heard a murmur of assent. He glanced around and saw that Alma had been joined by two of her cronies. Great. They were starting to draw a small crowd.

“I’m going to ask you to step over to my office, Ms. Diamond. The red brick building across the street.”

She tensed. “Am I under arrest?”

“Not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I want to run your identification through the computer. I’m asking for your cooperation.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll have to insist.”

Her lips tightened. She tossed her head in the direction of the onlookers. Alma looked smugly satisfied.

“Very well, Sheriff.” She reached for her briefcase.

“I’ll get that,” he told her quickly. “Head for that red brick building across the street.”

“The one that says Sheriff on the window?”

Without waiting for a response, she strode across the street, head high, her spindly high heels clicking against the pavement. He picked up her briefcase and followed, refusing to be distracted by the subtle sway of her hips. Skylar Diamond moved like a queen.

Well, she should have stayed in her own little kingdom. Darwin Crossing was his town.

The slim briefcase had no betraying bulge and not enough weight for a gun. He didn’t really think she was dangerous in a physical sense—unless he counted the sensual tug she created inside him without even trying.

Noah shook his head. The briefcase was unlatched. He hesitated only a second before lifting the flap. Papers, disks, files, notebooks. A manila file with some handwritten directions sticking out. Finders Keepers was written in a bold scrawl across one of them. Now, why did that have a familiar ring to it? He didn’t have time to read more because she reached the office door and stood waiting expectantly.

His lips curved wryly. He held the door open for her and allowed her to precede him into the office. The dispatcher, Marissa Hurtado, looked up questioningly. Noah gave her an imperceptible nod.

“Go straight back to that first desk and have a seat, Ms. Diamond,” he directed.

She paused to let her glance quickly scan the room, no doubt categorizing and dismissing the badly scarred furniture and the messy papers spread everywhere. He’d decided the papers bred in secret overnight just to frustrate him. Paperwork was the bane of his life. He set his hat on top of the newest stack and walked around his desk.

“You might want to take off your sunglasses,” he suggested as she perched stiffly on the edge of the visitor’s chair.