Читать книгу Tempting The Sheriff - Kathy Altman - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

“THIS IS ONE good deed I’ll gladly take the punishment for,” Clarissa murmured.

Lily kept an eye roll to herself, but her mind was made up. Whoever ran against Whitby next term—even if ninety-year-old Larry Katz threw his fedora in the ring—Lily’s vote was a sure thing.

Kind of like Clarissa, when it came to their new deputy.

Lily snapped out of her inertia and strode over to the counter. After lifting up the section that allowed access to the back, she waved Fulton through. “I expected you an hour ago, Deputy Fulton.”

He hesitated. No doubt he was used to hearing Officer Fulton. Too bad. He was hers now. So to speak.

“My apologies for being late, Sheriff,” he said. “And it’s Vaughn.”

“Deputy Fulton will do.” She gestured at Clarissa, who stepped forward with a wide smile. “Clarissa Dodd, our dispatcher.”

He reached for Clarissa’s hand. “I’m not a rookie and I don’t need a wrangler. I do know what I’m doing.”

After reclaiming her hand, Clarissa smoothed both palms over curvy hips. “I’m sure you do.”

“All right, that’s enough.” Lily clapped once and shooed Clarissa back to her desk. “We’re a government office, not a singles’ bar.” She did wish she could let Clarissa have her fun, since the dispatcher was still reeling from a nasty divorce. But though Clarissa had sworn off romance, she remained a big fan of sex, and Lily didn’t need any casual hookups complicating the dynamics of her department.

She turned to Fulton. He didn’t look fresh out of the academy, but it was close.

He also looked exceedingly fine in his jeans. Something you have no business noticing, Lily Anne. Especially when she suspected he was much younger than she was.

“How long have you been on the force?” she asked, speaking more harshly than she’d intended.

“Six years.”

Six years to her eighteen. Damn, she felt old.

He studied her, and one corner of his mouth slanted up. “You plotting revenge against me, or the mayor?”

Both, she wanted to blurt. Instead she said, “What’s done is done,” and waved him over to the office that had remained empty since Sam Weems had retired the year Lily won the election. “This is yours,” she said, and backed away, eyeing his T-shirt. “You’ll need a uniform shirt. JD’s office is the next one over. You can borrow his spare until you get one of your own.”

“JD. He’s out on a call?”

“Out sick.” She exhaled. “Guess that means you’ll be riding with me.”

* * *

OUCH. VAUGHN PUSHED a breath through his nose. The sheriff couldn’t have made it any clearer that she was less than thrilled to have him around. Not that he’d expected any different, but damn, she’d smacked his ego hard enough to make it sting.

Fine with him. Not like he was thrilled to be working with a woman who would arrest a dying man.

With a curt nod, Vaughn maneuvered around the sheriff and let himself into the office belonging to the absent JD. He glanced around the cramped space—battered metal desk, overcrowded bookshelf, spare chair with a faded cloth seat—but didn’t see a coatrack or anything resembling a closet door.

Door. He peered behind the office door. Bingo. A uniform shirt hung on a self-stick hook. Vaughn plucked the shirt free and gave it a sniff. It would do.

He had second thoughts after he’d peeled off his T-shirt and shoved his arms through the sleeves of the borrowed shirt. To say it was a tight fit would be like saying Clarissa Dodd was a little friendly.

Or Sheriff Lily Tate a little hostile.

Outside the door, Clarissa belted out a laugh, and Vaughn’s lips twitched at the sound. An odd pair, those two, but the affection between them was obvious. Had they worked together long? Did Clarissa know the reason her boss was such a hard-ass?

Vaughn fumbled a button and swore. Why do you care? Damn it, he didn’t want to be here in the first place. But after tallying the cost of repairs to the house, and to a cat whose owner was nowhere to be found, he’d realized any kind of income would come in handy. The clincher had been his mother ordering him not to take the job.

A paycheck and payback. Childish, yeah, but he hadn’t been able to resist.

And he was already regretting it.

He finally managed to button up the shirt, but only just. Shit. If he wore this for long, he’d lose all feeling in his arms. He considered putting his T-shirt back on and letting the uniform shirt hang loose, but he’d never fit the second set of sleeves over top of the first.

“Having difficulties, Deputy Fulton?” The sheriff’s long-suffering tone seemed to convey that a mere six years on the force wasn’t enough to qualify Vaughn to get into a uniform, let alone wear it.

To hell with it.

He yanked open the door and stepped out. The dispatcher’s eyes went wide and she bounced in her high heels when she saw him. Vaughn was proud of himself for not letting his gaze linger on her...bouncy parts.

A throat cleared.

His eyes met those of the sheriff, who was regarding him in a decidedly non-Clarissa kind of way. Then again, pretty much everything about her was non-Clarissa. Her dark hair was short and tousled, her mouth an unfriendly line, and the energy her slim figure radiated was more impatience than cheerfulness.

But the promise of softness was there, in her big hazel eyes and her pale pink lips. With her pointed chin and wide eyes, she looked like a too-tall elf.

An elf with a tendency to bite, he’d do well to remember.

His eyes dropped to the weapon at her hip. Too bad he never had been able to resist a woman in uniform.

Now was probably a good time to start.

Sheriff Tate shook her head at the fabric stretched over his biceps and muttered something about a waste of a good uniform. “It’ll do for now,” she said.

“I’ll say.”

The sheriff tossed Clarissa a scowl and the dispatcher stopped bouncing. As soon as the sheriff turned her back, Clarissa sent Vaughn a good-natured wink, then dropped into her chair. She scooted in close to her desk and put on her headset.

Vaughn let his shoulders go lax, which improved the fit of the shirt. A little friendly flirting he could deal with. More, he didn’t have time for.

Sheriff Tate was still giving him the evil eye. “Clarissa will give you the grand tour of our offices here,” she said.

“Castle Creek Sheriff’s Department, how may I help you?” the dispatcher lilted into her microphone. When she started tapping at her keyboard, the sheriff shot Vaughn a disgruntled look.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll give you the grand tour of our offices.” She pointed to the left. “My office.” She pointed behind it. “Break room.” She pointed straight ahead, at Clarissa. “Dispatch station.” She pointed to the two offices across from hers. “Deputies’ offices.” She pointed to the short hallway to their right, and the door at the end with the electronic keypad beside it. “Bathrooms and holding cells. Any questions?”

He scratched his jaw. “I feel like I should say no, but...how about a set of keys?”

“I’ll get you a set before the end of the day.”

“Sheriff? That was Mr. Katz.” The dispatcher made a face. “Mona’s being assaulted again.”

“Fudge.” The sheriff turned to Vaughn. “Sounds like the perfect opportunity for our newest employee to show us what he’s got.”

A domestic. Damn, he hated those. He strode toward the exit behind the dispatcher’s station. “I’m ready. Let’s hit it.”

But when he looked over his shoulder, he saw the sheriff hadn’t moved. Instead she watched him with a bemused expression. Meanwhile Clarissa had swiveled in her chair to follow his progress. She batted her eyes.

“Yeah, Deputy Fulton,” she said. “Show us what you’ve got.”

The sheriff made an irritated noise. “What I meant was, we can see him in action.”

Clarissa popped an eyebrow.

“Watch him do his thing.”

The other eyebrow came up.

“Gauge his level of experience.” When Clarissa laughed out loud, the sheriff gave her head a disgusted shake. “Know what? Never mind.”

Vaughn stared at them both in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?” His gaze shifted from the sheriff to Clarissa and back again. “There’s an assault in progress.”

The sheriff pulled a set of keys from her pocket, but she hadn’t taken more than two steps when the phone in her office rang. She held up a finger and veered toward her desk.

Vaughn shoved a hand through his hair. For God’s sake, what would they do if someone called in a shooting, stop to take orders for lunch?

The sheriff reappeared. “That was the mayor. He’s calling me in for an emergency conference. You’re on your own, Deputy.”

“Convenient,” Vaughn muttered.

“You said you didn’t need a wrangler. Here’s your chance to prove it.” She turned to Clarissa. “Give him the keys to his cruiser. Mr. Katz’s address, too.”

“Mr. Katz is at Ivy’s. The calendar, remember?” Clarissa bit her lip. “You sure you want to send the new guy out there alone?”

“He can handle it.” Sheriff Tate eyed his borrowed shirt. “As long as his arms don’t go numb.”

* * *

VAUGHN SHOOK HIS head as he steered the patrol car out of the courthouse parking lot. This call had to be some kind of initiation. No way anyone on the force would treat the report of an assault so casually.

The sheriff had it in for him. That much was clear.

Wherever you are, JD, I hope to hell you’re back on the job tomorrow.

Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be so damn touchy if he’d managed to sleep through the night. His foster cat and her brood had kept him up. Some of that insomnia was his fault, though, since he’d hauled his ass out of bed pretty much on the hour to check that everyone was still breathing.

He followed the directions on his phone to the address Clarissa had provided. Twenty minutes after he started out, he pulled into a winding driveway marked by a sign that had him doing a double take. The Dairy in Millbrook Dairy Farm and Riding Stables had been crossed out and replaced with Marry, and in the corner someone had painted a long-lashed Holstein wearing a wedding veil.

He shook his head and pressed on the accelerator.

The right side of the driveway was crowded with cars parked perpendicular to a fence that bordered a small paddock. Behind the paddock stretched an endless expanse of green that hosted the occasional cluster of fawn-colored cows, their noses buried in the grass. Vaughn counted three large barns to the left of the driveway. Straight ahead loomed the house, an elegant A-frame with a sunroom jutting off the side. Beyond the house and barns shimmered a thin strip of blue that had to be the lake.

Damn, it was pretty here.

As Vaughn stepped out of the cruiser, a group of people spilled out of the barn nearest the house. When they caught sight of Vaughn, they started talking.

“You seriously called the cops?”

“About time they got here.”

“You called 911? So help me, Larry, don’t you ever ask me to pick up your gout pills from the pharmacy again. You’re on your own, old man.”

“Since when did we get a new deputy?”

“Cute, isn’t he?”

Four women, a man and a pair of dogs made their way toward him. Three of the women were elderly. Two of them he knew. The Catlett sisters. What the hell did they have to do with this?

The man had to be in his nineties, and the fourth woman, a hot blonde leading the entire pack, looked to be around Vaughn’s age. She wore jeans and muck boots, and behind her trotted the two dogs, side by side, a chubby brown-and-black mix and a gray schnauzer. The dogs’ leashes trailed in the grass. Luckily neither dog seemed interested in taking a bite out of Vaughn.

The Catlett sisters and their friend, he wasn’t so sure. Hazel and June offered him brash smiles while the other lady simply stared at his chest.

When the tall blonde reached him, she held out a hand. “I’m Ivy Walker,” she said, voice friendly, expression curious. “Thank you for coming.”

“Deputy Fulton.” Vaughn started to put his hands on his hips, but his sleeves damn near cut off his circulation, so he let his arms fall to his sides. He nodded at the Catletts. “Ladies. What seems to be the trouble here?”

Ivy Walker’s eyes widened. “You know Hazel and June?”

The lady with the gelled gray hair and plastic T-bones hanging from her ears tapped him on the shoulder. “No offense, dear, but do you need a few laundry pointers?”

Vaughn blinked, and struggled to reconcile that baby-doll voice with its owner, whose shoulders were wider than his. Like Hazel and June, she looked to be in her seventies, but he bet she could kick some serious ass. He looked down at the material stretched across his chest and cleared his throat. “This is a loaner.”

June quirked her lips, which were the color of an avocado. “You’d be better off not wearing a shirt at all.”

Hazel raised a hand and waggled her purple-tipped fingers. “I’ll second that.”

The old man shouldered his way forward, scowling. “You said this calendar would be family-friendly.”

Hazel flapped a hand. “Considering the only photos we have of Mona are of her and Chance getting busy, that ship has sailed.”

Vaughn barely resisted the urge to slap a hand to his face. What the hell was going on here?

Ivy Walker sent him a pitying look and patted the old man’s shoulder. “He’s not here for the calendar, Mr. Katz. He’s here to help you.”

When the old man did nothing but stare and no one else moved, Vaughn clenched his teeth. “Does someone want to tell me where I can find Mona?”

The chorus started up again. Before Vaughn could holler for a time-out, Baby-doll Voice clapped her hands together. “Children, children,” she called out, and surprisingly everyone quieted.

Mooooooo. As a unit, they turned to stare at a sleepy-eyed Holstein that had ambled up to the paddock fence to check them out. The model for the sign out front? When the ladies all waved at the cow, Vaughn rubbed his face.

Shaking down gangbangers on the streets of Erie never looked so good.

Ivy Walker took charge of the introductions. “That’s Priscilla Mae,” she said proudly, and it took Vaughn a moment to realize she meant the cow. “Deputy Fulton, this is Audrey Tweedy—” she pointed at Baby-doll Voice “—and Larry Katz. And apparently you know Hazel and June Catlett.”

Larry Katz. He’d reported the assault. Vaughn pulled out his notebook. “Mr. Katz—”

The old guy frowned. “Any relation to Emerson Fulton?”

“He was my great-uncle.”

“My condolences, Deputy. Your uncle was a good man.” Katz tucked his phone into the pocket of a plaid shirt that looked a lot like one Uncle Em used to wear. “And now I know where to find you if you don’t take care of my Mona.”

Vaughn scratched his jaw. Did the old man realize his words constituted a threat? When Katz’s mouth adopted a Clint Eastwood curl, Vaughn had his answer. But at least they’d gotten around to discussing Mona. Who was she? Katz’s wife? His daughter?

Hazel swatted Katz on the arm. “Lighten up, Larry. Mona’s a slut and you know it.”

“Enough,” Vaughn barked. “I need to see Mona. Now.”

Silence, until a hot breeze pushed past, and rattled Audrey Tweedy’s T-bone earrings. Wide-eyed, the five people facing him pointed.

Downward.

At the brown-and-black dog cozying up to the schnauzer.

Vaughn drew in a breath, held it until it burned then let it go. “Tell me what happened, Mr. Katz.”

“What always happens when Mona and Baby Blue get together. They try to—” Audrey Tweedy flushed a raw steak–red “—get together. You know.”

Yeah. He knew. Vaughn snapped his notepad closed and jammed it into his shirt pocket. Mona was in distress like Vaughn was in high heels.

“Mr. Katz,” he said evenly. “Would you like to arrange for a vet to examine Mona?”

“You mean Wilmer Fish? Who’s going to pay for that?”

“That would be your responsibility, sir. You can pursue compensation in court, but your failure to remove your dog from this situation won’t help your case.”

“Vaughn Fulton.” Hazel glared. “Are you trying to talk him into suing us?”

Katz held up a palm before anyone else could interrupt. “You mean they can’t be together? But they’re friends.”

“Friends with benefits.” June nodded earnestly.

Ivy Walker stumbled away from the group and slapped at her knees as if brushing off dirt. Vaughn saw her shoulders shake and knew exactly how she felt.

“You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Katz,” he said grimly. “You need to either keep Mona confined, or accept that if she comes across one of her...friends, they may...”

“Get busy,” Audrey Tweedy suggested.

Vaughn bared his teeth in thanks and turned back to Katz. “Has Mona been spayed?” When the old man nodded, he spread his hands. “Then maybe you should consider letting Mona be Mona.”

He spent another fifteen minutes admiring the photos June Catlett had taken for the Pets Are People, Too calendar they were putting together to raise money for the citizens’ center. Even Priscilla Mae, a former Lilac Queen, apparently—all righty, then—had a place in the lineup.

“How about your cat?” Hazel poked at his biceps. “Play your cards right and we’ll find a place for her, too.” She beamed at Ivy, who’d recovered from her coughing fit. “She just had kittens.”

“How sweet.” Ivy studied Vaughn with new respect. “How many did she have?”

“Three,” he said. “Two black, one gray. Want ’em?”

Ivy grinned. Vaughn sighed.

“Great idea, sis.” June patted her camera. “Not Franklin would make an adorable addition to the calendar. Let’s set up the shoot.”

Audrey fingered a T-bone. “Not Franklin?”

“We thought she was Franklin but she wasn’t,” Hazel explained.

Katz curled his lip. “For God’s sake, man. Name your cat.”

“She’s not my cat. And she can’t be in the calendar. She’s wearing a cast.”

“What happened? You kick her?”

Hazel glared at Katz. “He would never do a thing like that.”

“Know him that well, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, we do. When he was a child, he spent most of his summers right next door to us. So watch it, old man, or we’ll put you in a cast.”

Vaughn raised both hands, and his voice. “Nobody’s putting anybody in a cast.”

Katz grunted. “Wilmer Fish put your cat in a cast.”

“She’s not my—” Vaughn stopped and inhaled.

Ivy’s gaze gleamed with compassion. And mirth. “What’d Wilmer say?”

“Her leg’s broken. He figures she got hit by a car. She’ll heal, but she has to stay off the leg for two weeks.”

Ivy grimaced in sympathy. “You have her in a carrier?”

Vaughn nodded. He’d had to get one big enough for her and the kittens. Damn thing had cost him seventy bucks.

“We can still take a picture,” June said. “Casts can be sexy.”

“She’s right,” Hazel said.

Katz tugged at his sleeve and angled his wrist, showing Hazel a bandage on the meaty part of his palm.

“Put that thing away,” she told him. “I have a boyfriend.”

Audrey clamped her arms across her chest. “Please tell me you’re not sticking with a name like Not Franklin. What about the kittens? Will they be Not Tom, Not Dick and Not Harry?”

Vaughn fought to keep his lips in line. “I’m not planning on naming them. I’m not planning on keeping them.” When the crowd around him sucked in a collective breath, he took a step toward his cruiser. “I don’t do cats,” he muttered.

June blinked. “But you have four.”

Hazel tapped a finger against her grape jelly lips. “Don’t worry. We’ll name them for you.”

“I’m not worried,” he said.

But he was thinking he should be.

* * *

CHIN IN HAND, Lily glared at the spreadsheet the mayor had ordered her to update. Office supplies, gas, auto repair, training—he wanted current figures for every expense the sheriff’s department incurred. No doubt because he intended to find somewhere else to cut.

Only, there was nowhere else. They didn’t even have petty cash anymore.

The mayor was probably spending it on candy.

The back door squealed open and shut, and paper rustled. Fulton, back with their lunches. Clarissa, clapping her hands. Metal squeaked as she pulled out her desk drawer to get her purse.

Footsteps headed Lily’s way. She had her hand on her glasses before she even realized her intent to remove them. What is wrong with you, woman? She let her hand drop and focused on her computer screen.

Vaughn strode into her office, bringing the smell of fresh bread and sunshine.

“Chicken,” he said, and tossed the bag onto her desk.

“I asked for tuna.”

“I meant you. I thought you said what’s done is done. Why’d you throw me to the dogs like that? Or should I say, the Catletts?”

Lily turned a snort into a cough. Busted. Slowly she raised her head, fighting a smirk. Surprise stole the urge to smile when she glimpsed the humor in his eyes.

Just her luck. He could dish it out and take it.

“You’re right,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.” She pushed to her feet. “Next time I’ll let you know what you’re getting into.”

“I’d appreciate that. Though if we’re going to be honest here, if I’d known what I was in for, I’d have gotten lost on the way over.”

“I’d feel less guilty if you weren’t such a good sport.”

“Yeah,” he drawled. “That won’t work for me.”

“Fair enough.” She grabbed her purse, plopped it on top of a stack of folders and rummaged for her wallet. “So...” She glanced up. “How was it?”

“As painful as you meant it to be, but I believe we reached an understanding.” He traded the bills she handed him for two quarters and a dime. “That calendar should be as popular as Mona appears to be.”

“She did earn herself a reputation.”

“So will I, if I don’t get rid of this shirt.”

Lily’s smirk won out. “So what did you think of Hazel and June?”

“I already knew them. They live beside my uncle.” He cleared his throat. “His house, I mean.”

“I am sorry about Emerson. I should have said it sooner.”

Fulton’s gaze flattened. “I’m sorry you arrested him.”

Lily stiffened. “I did what I had to do.”

“He was dying,” he said simply.

She wouldn’t defend herself. It wouldn’t do any good, considering the anger that simmered in his hard, dark eyes. She knew better than he did that not all of that anger was directed at her.

“What’s done is done,” she said.

“That apply to anyone else but you?”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“Well,” Lily finally said into the quiet as she gestured at the bag on her desk. “Thank you.”

He gave a curt nod, and turned toward the door.

“You’re not eating?” Damn you, guilt. The last thing she needed to do was connect with this guy, on any level. Especially a physical one, which meant she needed to stop checking him out.

Just in time, she averted her gaze from the enticing strain of biceps beneath his shirtsleeves.

He pivoted in the doorway. A hint of smugness flitted across his face, giving her the impression he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “The mayor invited me to lunch.”

Her knee jerked and banged against the desk. She swallowed a swearword. “Give him my best,” she said cheerfully.

Fulton lifted an eyebrow.

“Never mind,” she muttered.

“Nice glasses,” he said, and left.

I hope you both choke. Lily poked at the bag containing her sandwich. Too bad her new deputy had taken her appetite with him.

* * *

CLARISSA MARCHED FROM one buzzing streetlight to the next, too frustrated to care about the darkness in between. Resentment spiked with every strike of stiletto on pavement. What was the use of offering to do someone a favor if you couldn’t do it with a smile? But damn it, she’d been doing good deeds all day and her cheeks freaking hurt.

First her neighbor in the apartment above hers had needed help picking out a suit for his job interview. Then the elderly couple below had needed a ride to the grocery store. After lunch, JD had called from his sickbed to ask her to find the designer sunglasses he’d spent an entire paycheck on. When she wasn’t on the phone or the radio, or running an errand for her grumpalicious boss, she was rifling through trash cans and walking the corridors of the courthouse, scanning the scuff-marked linoleum for JD’s shades. It might have been fun if she’d managed to recruit Vaughn to help. But he’d spent most of the afternoon with the mayor.

Which had nearly sent the sheriff over the edge. Hence Lily’s fouler than foul mood.

In the end, where had Clarissa found the blasted shades? In JD’s mail slot. Lily must have put them there then forgotten all about it. By the time Clarissa discovered them, she was mad enough to break the stupid things in half.

To top it all off, Lily had asked her to work late so they could finish three months’ worth of expense reports. That was what Lily did when she was upset—she worked overtime on top of her overtime, and every now and then Clarissa got to do it with her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Clarissa had thought to order more than one sandwich at lunch, or if the vending machine had offered more than pretzels and chewing gum. Lily, who never seemed to eat enough for half a person, let alone a workaholic, never even noticed Clarissa’s stomach grumbling.

Of course, she did have a lot on her mind. A lot of man on her mind. Clarissa doubted her boss was thinking about Vaughn Fulton for anywhere near the right reason, but still. She hadn’t seen Lily so infuriated since the mayor informed them he was cutting their office supplies budget because they used too much toilet paper.

Clarissa shifted the stack of books in her arms, almost losing the entire pile when the library’s air-conditioning unit kicked on. She passed the small garden built to screen the unit and breathed in the sweet, thick smell of honeysuckle. Her sour mood faded.

This was her final favor of the day, returning half a dozen hardback romances the clerk of the court had inadvertently left on one of the benches just inside the courthouse entrance. A quick text had ended up with Clarissa agreeing to take them back. Easy peasy. But if she hadn’t had to work late, she’d have been able to take care of it in the daylight.

Hang in there, chickie. As soon as you get rid of these, you can head home, scramble yourself some eggs and see what’s on BBC.

And tomorrow she’d tell anyone who asked for a favor to suck it.

She rounded the rear corner of the library and strode over to the heavy metal drawer built into the brick. Since all six books wouldn’t fit inside at once, she set the stack down on the brick pavers. She scooped up the top two books, opened the drawer and slid them in. No satisfying thunk from the other side of the wall. Shouldn’t there be a thunk?

She opened the drawer as far as it would go and peered inside. Nothing but black. She’d just have to trust the books had made it to safety.

She turned to grab the next two and almost choked herself. Her scarf pulled taut, yanking her backward. She’d gotten it caught in the drawer.

Oh, this is freaking unbelievable.

Her heels wobbled on the uneven bricks as she twisted around to face the chute. She tugged lightly on the length of silk, but it didn’t budge.

She swore again then remembered the LED light on her key chain. She reached into the front pocket of her capris and snagged her keys. She clicked on the light and aimed it into the drawer. One edge of her scarf had caught on the head of a screw. With her free hand, she reached for the fabric looped around her neck. Might as well pull the thing over her head so she didn’t choke herself for real.

A small shape swooped at her from the right and something leathery smacked against her cheek. Dear God, a freaking bat! She shrieked and dropped her keys. They rattled down the inside of the drawer and instinct made her dive after them. When her chest smacked into the edge of the drawer she jerked backward, hissing with pain.

She didn’t get far.

The other end of her scarf was caught.

She gulped down a half laugh, half sob and massaged the skin over her breasts. She’d have bruises in the morning. She’d also have a permanent hunchback if she didn’t get to stand up soon.

Bracing her hands on her knees, she stared down into the black maw of the library’s drop box. The stretch of her beloved silk scarf kept the drawer open. She gripped the edge of the metal to take the tension off the fabric, and realized she didn’t have enough slack to pull her head free.

She heaved a sigh. Time to play tug-of-war. Damn it, her one true piece of designer clothing and she was about to rip it to shreds.

“Fart!” she shouted, and a muffled version of her voice bounced back up at her. She wrapped a fist around each end of the scarf, drew in a breath and braced herself by spreading her legs and shifting her hips. She couldn’t help snorting. Praise be she didn’t have an audience, because she could only imagine what she looked like from behind.

“Evening.” A deep, amused voice sounded directly behind her. “You seem to be having some trouble.”