Читать книгу Starting with June - Emilie Rose - Страница 10
ОглавлениеJUNE HIT THE punching bag hard enough to rattle her teeth and make her wish she’d put in her mouth guard. Then she gave her leather target a one-two combination. The smacks of solid contact didn’t give her much satisfaction.
She usually took the Sunday shift so the other deputies could go to church with their families. But not today. Today she was wailing the tarnation out of an inanimate object. Because she couldn’t wallop her new neighbor.
Sam had taped the signed lease to her front door last night while she’d been out on her run. He hadn’t even had the decency to give it to her face-to-face. And he’d rumbled down the driveway this morning in his black Charger without visiting the henhouse for eggs. She wouldn’t mind if he never returned. The last thing Quincey needed was another sexist prick.
“Idiot.” Cross. Pow. “Jerk.” Uppercut. Thump. “Coward.”
As the only female deputy on the Quincey PD, not only currently but in the history of the department, she’d had her fill of males who considered her weak or inferior. She had to work doubly hard and be twice as good as her male counterparts to be taken seriously. There were those who claimed she had been hired only because she’d spent a chunk of her childhood at the retired chief’s house playing with his daughter. That might be half-true, but she’d make darn sure Piper’s dad never regretted his decision.
Liver punch. Hook. Elbow stab. Pivot. High kick. Sweat rolled into her eyes. She impatiently swiped it away with her forearm.
“Who rattled your cage?”
June spun around. Piper, the retired chief’s daughter, stood just outside the barn. June lowered her arms. “The new tenant. He’s a chauvinistic ass.”
“He’s here?”
“Moved in yesterday. Drove out at seven this morning.”
“What’d he do? I’ve never seen you so worked up.”
“I prepared a welcome basket and then took him dinner last night. He thought I was making a pass and let me know it was an unwelcome one.” Her skin burned anew with a fresh rush of humiliation.
Piper wrinkled her nose. “He’s not from around here, is he? What does he do?”
“He’s not a local, and I don’t know what he does.”
“Your interrogation skills failed? Because I know you tried.”
Okay, so she asked a lot of questions, but knowing what people were doing was part of her job description. “He wouldn’t say and since your husband ordered me to stay out of the station, I can’t run the guy’s tags or do a background check on him.” Though she had memorized his driver’s license number just in case she got a chance to slip into the office.
“Do you think you should check him out?”
“I’m going to live next to him. None of us lock our doors. And he’s...” She tried to find the words to explain her gut feeling. Sam made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know why. “I don’t know. He has a hard edge and he hides behind wraparound sunglasses all the time—even inside. Something’s not right.”
Piper frowned. “Your instincts aren’t usually wrong. I’ll ask Roth to check him out.”
“Why don’t you just call your dear hubby and tell him to let me go into the office and I’ll do it myself?”
“Roth looked at your file and said that you never use your vacation time. He claims you don’t know how to take one. Which is true, by the way. He’s the one who suggested I invite you to attend church with Josh and me to keep you from trying to sneak into the station.”
June prickled as the comment hit its mark. “I do too know how to relax. I sat by the pool yesterday for thirty-six minutes.”
“Wow. Thirty-six whole minutes. That’s a record. And you timed every wasted second. You have just enough time to shower and change if you want to go with us.”
“Thanks for the invitation, but no. Until I get a feel for this guy, I’m not leaving the property unprotected unless it’s for work. Madison will be returning late tomorrow night, and I don’t want her walking into any surprises.”
“Understandable and commendable. I’m going to miss our lunches with her when she marries Adam and moves to Norcross. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her and thrilled she found someone after all she’s been through, but...” She shrugged.
“Yeah. Me, too.” June had known Piper forever. They’d both grown up in Quincey, and when Madison had bought June’s grandfather’s farm and veterinary practice six years ago, the two of them had taken her under their wing. The trio had formed a single-gal alliance of sorts. Now June was the only single one left. An outsider. A fifth wheel. “I hope she’ll call if she needs us for anything.”
“Speaking of people calling when they need something...have you heard from any of your siblings lately? Aren’t they overdue for wanting or needing something?”
June grimaced and tugged off her gloves. Her twin older sisters and two younger brothers were notorious for contacting June only when they wanted something.
“No, I haven’t heard from them, and I don’t know what they could possibly need from me. They already have everything.” Perfect spouses, children, homes and jobs. She was proud of them. But a little envious, too. She couldn’t find Mr. Right with a compass, a map and a bloodhound, and three of her siblings were living the American dream.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a loan they’ll never repay, a free babysitter or storage space, to name a few. You’ll be strong this time when they call?” Piper asked.
June rolled her eyes. “I will resist the urge to empty my bank account for them if they call, but my nieces and nephews are adorable, and it’s hard to say no when they need something.” Though she wouldn’t spoil her own kids nearly as much—if she ever had any.
“I know you like being needed, but at the rate your siblings spend, they’re going to burn through your inheritance. They’ve already burned through theirs. Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The lecture wasn’t a new one. Unfortunately, it was deserved, so she couldn’t protest. But she felt guilty that her grandfather had made her his primary beneficiary and left her father and his other grandchildren very little. PawPaw claimed it was because he’d given the others more than they deserved while he was alive and only June had asked for nothing. But her brothers and sisters didn’t want to hear that. “You sure you don’t want to join us? The tenant’s out somewhere and your dad’s a decent preacher.”
“I’ve heard Dad’s sermons all my life. We all did. Why do you think all my brothers and sisters moved away? And remember, I’m the black sheep. He’d have to make an example of me if I showed up. I’ve sinned. Big-time.”
“June, you made a mistake. We all make them. But I get your point. And it would probably give him a heart attack if he saw you in one of his pews. I’ll see what I can get out of Roth. In the meantime, if the new tenant does anything shady, don’t hesitate to call it in.”
“If he does, I’ll handle it. I might not be in uniform, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of business.”
Because if she called her fellow deputies for help, it would only reinforce their opinions that little Justice Jones didn’t belong on the force.
* * *
SAM DRIED THE last of June’s dishes Sunday afternoon and stuck it in the picnic basket with the others. He had to return them. And apologize. He’d read her wrong and embarrassed her. For the sake of his assignment he had to make nice.
He’d walked or crawled into hostile territory too many times to count. He was not afraid of five and a half feet of angry female, for pity’s sake.
So why was he stalling?
He didn’t have an answer for that.
He grabbed the basket and exited his quarters, heading next door. Except for paint color, externally, the structures appeared identical, but hers, unlike his, looked lived-in. Pots overflowing with flowers cluttered the outside edges of the steps leading to her porch. More flowers spilled from baskets hanging on the railings or from hooks in the eaves, and another bucket of blooms sat on the coffee table between her twin white rocking chairs—chairs bearing thick ruffled posy-print cushions. A water fountain—made from a series of brightly colored tilted ceramic pots—babbled on the far end.
There was so much color it looked as if someone had bombed a paint factory. With all the girly stuff littering the porch, the utilitarian boot scraper at the bottom of the stairs looked out of place. Then he spotted a toy box with a cartoon train painted on it tucked into the back corner, and every cell in his body screeched a warning.
Kids? She had kids? He’d seen and heard no sign of them. Maybe she was divorced and the rug rats were away for the holiday with their father. He’d seen plenty of that in the corps. But where would she put them in the one-bedroom house? More than likely she wasn’t the primary caregiver. But what kind of mom lost custody of her children?
Her front door stood open. A wood-framed screen was the only thing between her and anyone who might enter uninvited into her home. Absolutely no security. Through the mesh he registered that her floor plan was identical to his.
He could see June bustling about the kitchen concocting something with a series of bowls scattered across the countertop. She wore cutoff jeans that showed off her legs and a white T-shirt that molded every curve. Her feet were bare, her hair held behind her ears with a wide black band.
He rapped on the door. June startled, turning. “C’mon i-n.”
The last word fractured into two syllables when she saw him, and her smile melted. “What do you want?”
“I’m returning your stuff.” He swung the picnic basket into view.
Wiping her hands on a towel, she made her way across the room. “You could have left it with the lease.”
He ignored the jab. Not one of his finest moves to drop the paper and take cover. “I would have, but you said not to leave your dishes outside.”
She unlatched a hook inside, making her smarter than he’d thought, and pushed the screen open just enough to take the basket. “That’s hardly any security, June. Anybody who wanted access could cut through the screen and be inside in seconds.”
Her tight smile and the glint in her eyes took him aback. “That would be a mistake.”
“What would you do about it?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Overconfidence can get you hurt. If you’re not worried about yourself, at least think of your children.”
Confusion clouded her eyes. “Children? I don’t have children.”
He nodded toward the toy box. “Whose are those?”
Her face softened with what could only be love and...was that yearning? “My nieces and nephews. I babysit as often as I can. Don’t worry—I’ll keep them away from you.”
She reached for the basket and pulled the handle. He held on. He didn’t know why he was so determined to make her see sense. Probably because he’d worry about his sisters if they were in a remote place like this. “The owner of the farmhouse is away. You’re a half mile from your nearest neighbor. Who would hear you if you screamed for help?”
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Who says I’d scream or that I’d need help?”
Not the answer he’d expected. “You weigh what? One twenty-five? No match for a man.”
“My weight is none of your business. Was there anything else you wanted—besides to pester me, Mr. Rivers?”
This was not going as planned. “I apologize if I misunderstood earlier.”
“If?” She looked angry enough to spit. Red flagged her cheeks and chest, and fury burned in her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t give you the opportunity to misinterpret my Southern hospitality again.”
His teeth clicked together. He was trying to be nice. She wasn’t making it easy.
June snatched the basket quickly and with enough force to remove it from his relaxed grip. He hadn’t seen that coming. Then she stepped back, letting the screen slap shut, and closed the solid interior door in his face. The lock clicked.
“Guess you got tired of being neighborly,” he called out. “Thanks for the food.”
No answer. But then, he wasn’t expecting one—at least not a polite one. She was probably shooting him the bird through the door. He headed back to his temporary quarters. Antipathy between him and Blondie was a good thing. She wouldn’t ask questions about why he was here, and he wouldn’t have to lie. His mission was to help Roth, then get the hell out of Quincey. In. Out. Over.
June would have been a complication.
So why was he disappointed?
* * *
SAM ZEROED IN on his target—a ten-point buck—exhaled, slow and steady, then squeezed his trigger finger. His camera reeled off three rapid-fire shots. The deer stiffened, his ears pricking forward and the hairs along his back going erect. He searched for the adversary he hadn’t yet spotted and pawed the ground. Sam pressed the shutter button again. The buck’s head snapped up, his big dark eyes locating Sam in the tree above him. The deer snorted a warning, lifted his white tail, then bounded off through the woods. Beautiful.
Sam relaxed into his borrowed hide—a hunter’s tree stand that he’d come upon during his morning hike. In his line of work—former line of work—he’d seen a lot of nature as he’d crept up on his insurgent targets, and he’d learned to appreciate it, but during a mission, he’d never been able to take pictures. He’d been too worried about getting in undetected and out alive.
He checked his watch. He’d been perched in the tree for almost five hours. Time to call it a day. If he didn’t leave soon, it would be dark before he made it back. Not that darkness was an issue, but hunger was. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
He rose. Old injuries protested. They’d stiffened up while he’d sat practically immobile.
He turned and eased down the ladder, and only then did he notice the rain tapping on his jacket—he’d endured and tuned out far worse conditions. The rainy weather had worked to his advantage today. The people who should have been hiking the trails by the river on the Labor Day holiday had stayed inside. That meant he’d been able to explore Quincey’s surroundings without interference—and without his neighbor as a tour guide.
Using his compass, he hiked back toward his temporary quarters. Eight klicks. He circled the perimeter of the farm. From the edge of the woods he noted June’s diesel crew-cab truck still parked in the driveway. Diesel engines and sparkly sandals didn’t go together. He filed away the incongruity.
It didn’t look as though she’d moved her vehicle since he’d left just before dawn this morning. There were no tracks in or out of the gravel driveway and the rocks beneath her vehicle were dry. He returned the same way he’d left—on the blind side of his house where his nearest neighbor couldn’t see him coming or going unless she was looking out her window at his porch. He climbed the stairs, eyeing no-man’s-land—the strip of wet grass between his quarters and his neighbor’s.
June’s blinds were open and her lights on as dusk approached. He could see her clearly through the window. Her sports bra and low-waisted knit pants clung to her curves, revealing the narrowing of her waist and swell of her hips. Her pose was unmistakably yoga. Power yoga had become popular on base. One of his commanding officers had required the platoon to attend classes because the exercise supposedly improved physical training scores and helped with PTSD. Yoga hadn’t been a total waste of time—it had increased his flexibility. But Sam preferred relieving his tension through other means. Emptying a couple of dozen clips on the range. Swimming or pumping iron until his arms felt as if they would fall off. A good run. The latter had a purpose because it could save his life if he was detected and had to haul ass.
A pang of regret hit him. He wouldn’t be running for his life anymore unless his eye healed and he could convince brass to let him re-up.
June shifted from a low lunge to a shoulder stand, then rolled smoothly down into a boat pose. She held the V shape steadily, toes pointed up, arms forward with nary a wobble. That explained her flat abs. Tight. Strong. He’d underestimated her muscle tone.
He shook himself. What in the hell was wrong with him, standing here on his porch gawking at a woman working out? His knuckles bumped the gun on his hip as he dug his keys from his pocket. He didn’t have a concealed-carry permit for this state, but he wouldn’t be here long enough for the paperwork to clear, and there was no way he’d go into foreign territory unarmed. He’d better mention that to Roth. He’d have to open carry when he wasn’t wearing his police issued weapon, and he wasn’t sure how Quincey’s citizens would take that.
He unlocked his door and entered his lodgings. His gaze immediately swung to the window but he kept out of sight and didn’t turn on the overhead light. June had her legs spread wide and her breasts pressed to the floor between them. The woman was flexible. That took his brain down a path it definitely did not need to travel. Undeniable hunger burned in his gut. It was unfortunately not an appetite that could be satisfied with a bowl of the stew he’d left simmering on the stove before he’d gone out this morning.
It was not one that would be satisfied—period—during this assignment. But she provided one hell of a view.
* * *
JUNE PUSHED OPEN the station door Tuesday morning feeling as if she’d been away for months rather than exiled for three days. Thank heaven her vacation was over. It felt good to be back in uniform and back to her home away from home with her family by choice rather than blood.
Unfortunately, Madison, her friend/landlord, had returned sometime last night after June had gone to bed, and her house had still been dark when June left this morning. Getting answers about the new tenant would have to wait until lunchtime when June could swing by Madison’s office to see if her friend had any details.
But on a positive note, June had managed to avoid Sam this morning. His cottage had been dark when she’d left for her prework run, and his Charger had been gone when she’d returned. If she was curious about where he’d gone at such an early hour, well, it was none of her business as long as he stayed out of trouble. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t see him all day. Nevertheless, she’d locked her doors last night and this morning—something she’d rarely done since returning to Quincey, and she’d silently locked Madison’s while her friend slept.
The other two deputies were already at their desks. That surprised her enough to make her toe catch on the tile with a noisy squeak. Once in a while the chief beat her in, but usually she was the first to arrive. She liked coming in early while the building was quiet and then preparing and sipping her coffee while she reviewed files and bulletins that had come in overnight. She had a lot of ideas about bringing the antiquated filing system up to current-day standards, and her new boss seemed receptive to them.
“Morning, Justice,” Alan Aycock, the oldest and most chauvinistic of her fellow deputies, stated.
She’d given up long ago on convincing them to call her June rather than by the name her father and his cronies used. “Good morning, Alan. Mac. What’s going on? Did I miss a memo about a morning meeting?”
“Nah. Chief hired a new man. He starts today,” Mac replied. “We wanted to check him out.”
How had she missed hearing that? “When did he tell you that?”
“Yesterday. You gonna make the coffee?” Aycock asked. “We’ve been waiting.”
“You go ahead. I have to clock in and check the bulletins.” She ignored his sputtering and headed for the old-fashioned time clock. It was original to the building, which was only a few years short of historic. That meant it was temperamental.
“What’s in the bag?” Aycock pestered.
“You’ll find out after you make the coffee.”
She heard him grumbling. Then his chair squeaked as he pushed to his feet. “Do I use four scoops or eight?”
“Depends on whether you want to read through it or drink it.”
She’d learned early on not to pander to Alan’s passive-aggressive personality. If he could get out of doing something by doing it wrong, then he would. But to her way of thinking, a man was never too old to learn new tricks. Like how to make coffee. And other than that and his chauvinism, he wasn’t a bad guy. He’d raised his two kids single-handedly after his wife had run off with the propane deliveryman. The kids had turned out all right. Both were on the high school honor roll. You had to give him credit for that and for being a fair deputy.
“Hope you enjoyed your time off,” he groused.
“Been a long time since you worked a holiday, hasn’t it, Aycock? Years? Right?”
He stiffened at the reminder that she always covered for him and his complexion turned ruddy. “Yes. Which was nice... Time with the kids and all that.”
“Thought so.” She went through her morning routine by rote, clocking in, then depositing the homemade donuts in the break room. The station door opened as she returned to the main room. Roth, the chief, walked in followed by Sam.
Sam in a uniform identical to June’s.
Shock glued her feet to the floor, and her stomach did a loop-the-loop up her throat and down again. It was small consolation that when Sam’s eyes—the first time she’d seen them without sunglasses save his DMV photo—fixed on her, the same dismay registered on his face.
“Deputies, I’d like you to meet our newest officer. Sam Rivers.”
Sam’s unblinking gaze held hers, then skimmed downward, taking in her badge, her equipment-loaded duty belt and her polished shoes, then returned to her face.
“Sam, this is Alan Aycock, my senior deputy, and Mac Morris.”
Sam’s attention abruptly shifted elsewhere. June used the reprieve to gather her composure while Sam shook hands with each of the men. But her break was short-lived.
“You’ve already met Justice Jones,” Roth added.
Sam paused a fraction of a second before extending his hand to June. “You told me your name was June.”
His grip was warm and as firm as his accusatory tone. He held on a second longer than necessary, then released her, but the tingle traveling through her tissues lingered. “My friends call me June, but you can call me Justice or Jones since we’ll be working together.”
A slight tightening of his lips was the only sign that he’d understood her insult. “Justice because you’re a cop?”
“Justice was my mother’s maiden name. It’s Southern tradition to tag daughters that way.”
“Jones is a native of Quincey,” Roth continued. “She’ll be showing you the ropes.”
June’s and Sam’s heads snapped toward Roth’s.
“Me?”
“Her?” they chorused in horrified unison.
“That’s right. Sam, you’ll ride along with Jones until you get a feel for Quincey. Then you’ll get your own cruiser.”
“But, Chief—” June protested. Something dark and dangerous in the boss’s eyes severed her words. “Yes, sir.”
Roth tossed her a key ring. “Jones, would you get Sam’s weapon and badge from the safe? The mayor will be here in a few minutes for his swearing in.”
She took advantage of the excuse to escape to the solitude of the back room and regroup. Her day—heck, her month, her year, her life—had just taken a nosedive into the manure pile. Her obnoxious neighbor wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Having him as her shadow was the last thing she wanted, but as the officer with the least seniority, she had no authority to complain.
She was stuck, and she didn’t like it one bit. Maybe Piper—
No. She would not put her friend in the middle and cause friction between the newlyweds. She would get through this. One way or another.
Without shooting the new deputy.
