Chapter Four
RILEY
The next day, Riley presented himself at the sheriff’s office in the center of town. He’d waited past midday, hoping that would give enough time for news of his presence to spread so he wouldn’t be cold-calling the sheriff.
The old red-brick building wasn’t exactly imposing, but the instant he stepped through the door, he realized how misleading that impression had been.
Fluorescent strip lights blazed overhead, leaving no shadows, nowhere to hide.
The sharp, chemical bite of printer toner hung in the air, mingling with the scent of stale coffee that had been left too long on a hotplate.
The entire place seemed designed to discomfit and expose the guilty.
Or maybe it was just Riley’s nerves making him feel that way.
The woman behind the desk met him with the same close scrutiny as the motel owner, her gaze piercing. She had the brusque, efficient air of someone who’d been running things for years. He introduced himself and explained he was hoping to talk to Sheriff Urban about crime statistics for Elk Ridge.
“You couldn’t look that up online?” she asked, her eyes sharp through her half-moon glasses.
He bit back an exasperated sigh. She evidently didn’t miss a thing. “Well, of course I could, ma’am,” he said, dialing up the charm, “but I was hoping, if the sheriff isn’t too busy, that by talking to him I could get a feel for the facts behind the figures.”
She made a distinctly unimpressed-sounding noise and told him to take a seat, while she went to see if the sheriff could be disturbed.
He did so, looking around him. There were three untidy desks out here, all of them currently unoccupied, and then there was the scarily organized one that the woman had been sitting behind when he’d arrived.
The nameplate on it said Janice Underwood.
The door to the sheriff’s office opened again, and he looked up with a hopeful smile on his face.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Janice said. “And no more. Sheriff Urban’s a very busy man, Mr. Clark.”
What was it with the people in this town and the way they told him what to do? He kept the smile on his face, picked up his messenger bag, and took a deep breath. It was time for him to meet the alpha of the pack.
Even though Riley’s research had told him Matt Urban was in his early thirties, he was taken by surprise by the youth of the man who stood behind his desk, offering Riley his hand.
When he thought of a sheriff, he tended to think of a grizzled man in his fifties, not a good-looking guy whom Riley would most definitely check out if he saw him at the gym.
Urban’s blond hair was messy, a lock falling over his forehead and drawing Riley’s attention to his green eyes.
From there, his gaze moved to Urban’s mouth, because those were pretty sensual-looking lips for a guy in law enforcement.
The sheriff filled his uniform in a way that left no doubt that, although he wasn’t huge with muscles, they were definitely there.
There was something else about the man, too—a sense of self-assurance and confidence. This man never doubted himself.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Clark?” Urban asked, as Riley took a seat.
The intelligence in his eyes put Riley on edge.
He decided against telling the detailed story of how he chose Elk Ridge and exactly what he had planned for his book, because he had the feeling Matt Urban would see right through it.
Instead, he gave the briefest context possible before plunging into his questions.
“I’m writing a tourist travel guide to the area and wanted to know how safe Elk Ridge is. Crime statistics, that sort of thing.”
Urban’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Elk Ridge, vacation central? That’s a little unexpected,” he said. “Tell me you’re not planning to build a theme park.”
“Nothing like that,” Riley promised. “Just somewhere for people to experience the real Colorado—or America, depending how far they’ve come. Somewhere the cowboys have horseshit on their boots.”
“Well, we can certainly provide the horseshit,” Urban drawled. “And probably rustle up a cowboy or two to model it.”
Riley grinned. In other circumstances, he thought he’d have liked Urban.
The sheriff then turned his attention to Riley’s question and answered in some detail.
He obviously knew his patch—the few offenses tended to be committed by the same people, who never seemed to learn they’d be the obvious suspects.
“The courts call it recidivism,” he said.
“I call it learning-absolutely-nothing syndrome.”
Riley smiled politely, but he was focused on what he was going to ask next.
He hoped his question didn’t make Urban mad, because no matter how casually he seemed to be slouched in his chair, there was a watchfulness to him that left Riley in no doubt he could be up and over that desk before Riley could so much as twitch.
He took a deep breath and opened the subject he’d been building up to all along. It had taken him a while to figure out a natural reason for a travel writer to be interested in shifters, and he was pleased with his solution.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, Sheriff, but I’m aware you’re a shifter.”
“I am,” Urban said.
His eyes were guarded, giving away nothing of his thoughts, yet Riley had the distinct impression of a predator who’d just caught wind of a tasty snack. He swallowed before speaking again.
“I mean,” he forced himself on, “I don’t want to encourage shifters to come here if they’re going to get the cold shoulder, but if the local pack’s been accepted by the community, then anti-shifter sentiment’s obviously not going to be a problem.
Has there ever been trouble here between normal people and shifters? ”
Urban didn’t answer right away. He surveyed Riley through eyes that were very slightly narrowed before he leaned forward, his jaw tight. Something hard and powerful in his gaze made Riley want to curl into a ball and rock softly in a safe corner.
“Seems to me you know very little about shifters.” Urban’s words were slow and deliberate. Each one hit like a bullet. “We don’t tend to vacation much, and you know what? Unless I turned into a wolf right in front of you, you wouldn’t have a clue I’m not one of you normal people, as you put it.”
Oh, shit. He’d never meant—he hadn’t realized—
“Sorry,” he said, and it was practically a squeak. “I didn’t mean anything by that.” He’d never spoken to a shifter before and so he’d never had to watch his language.
Urban’s gaze seared like lightning. Holding it was brutally hard, but Riley summoned everything in him, every bit of will, because he had to do this.
“I didn’t know about shifters not vacationing,” he said, determinedly moving the conversation on. “Is that because of the territory thing? Is this town pack territory?”
“That’s a lot of interest in shifters for a travel guide,” Urban said.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes hooded as he regarded Riley. The immediate feeling of threat was gone, but there was still an air of danger that made Riley’s heart beat fast.
“But for your information,” Urban continued, “the town’s not pack territory. My pack come and go freely in town, but it’s not ours to claim.”
At last. He had confirmation there was a pack and that Urban was its alpha. Triumph zinged through Riley, and he had to fight not to let it show. This could be it—the story that finally made his name. It was big, and no one else had it.
He bit down on the rush of excitement and cleared his throat. Urban hadn’t ripped his head off yet, so he might as well push things a little further.
“Seeing as how I’ve put my foot in my mouth already, any tips for what not to say if I run into members of your pack?
I’m unfamiliar with shifters, and I don’t want to cross any lines just because I don’t know they’re there.
” If Urban could give him a way to identify shifters on sight, that would make his life so much easier.
Urban scrutinized him with hard, green eyes.
“I’d suggest you treat us just like you would anyone else.
” Then something in him changed, like a shaft of sunshine peeking briefly through storm clouds.
His eyes warmed, and his lips twitched slightly, genuine amusement flashing across his face.
“But keep an eye out for Bryce. Man could flirt with a brick wall and get it blushing.”
“Bryce?” Riley asked, laying his pen down on his notebook to make it obvious this was casual conversation, not research.
“He’s one of my deputies and my beta,” Urban said. “He’s also a hopeless flirt.”
Riley grinned. “There’s always one. The last place I worked, it was a guy called Carlos, who didn’t count his day complete unless he scored at least three phone numbers.”
Silence.
The hair on the back of Riley’s neck prickled, warning him. He’d just made a mistake, even though he didn’t know what it was.
Urban tilted his head slightly, his green eyes sharp, and when he finally spoke, his voice was easy. Too easy. “You’re not a freelance writer, then?”
Riley’s stomach turned over. Fuck. He’d let the rhythm of relaxed conversation, the disappearance of threat, lull him into carelessness, and now the floor had dropped out from under him.
Urban was watching him like he already knew the answer.
Riley hadn’t thought Urban was unintelligent, but he’d badly underestimated just how sharp he was.
“I’ve had a few jobs over the years,” he said too quickly. “Writing doesn’t exactly pay the bills on its own.”
He clenched his fingers around the strap of his messenger bag in case he had to bolt.
Urban didn’t break his gaze. He didn’t shift an inch. Then, finally, he spoke. “Anything else you’ve written I could read?”
Riley pulled a face. “Not unless you want to work your way through my stack of rejection letters.”
They didn’t exist, of course. But if Urban called his bluff, he could mock something up—just cut and paste from all the other times he’d been told he wasn’t enough.
Auditions, casting agents, his father. Not what we’re looking for.
Amateurish. This isn’t who we are. You carry the family name—start acting like it.
The intercom on Urban’s desk buzzed. Riley barely resisted the urge to flinch as Urban hit the button.
“Sheriff, your next appointment’s here,” Janice’s voice said.
Urban frowned for an instant, as if he weren’t expecting another appointment. Even if the sheriff didn’t get Janice’s hint, Riley did. He also wanted out of this office while he was still breathing.
He pushed back his chair and stood, offering his hand. “Thanks for your time, Sheriff. You’ve been a great help.”
“You’re welcome,” Urban said.
Riley was aware of those eyes studying him as he moved to the door. He pulled it open to find a young guy with tousled shoulder-length hair standing outside the office, his arms crossed, and one of his worn cowboy boots tapping the floor with irritation.
He huffed when he saw Riley. “Guess you had an excuse this time for forgettin’ our lunch date,” he said to Urban, his eyes flicking up and down Riley in a way that let Riley know he’d been well and truly noticed.
Not that he was complaining, because this guy had a certain something.
It seemed as if they bred them well in Elk Ridge.
And then the oooh, shiny part of Riley’s brain shut off, and he started thinking again.
He murmured an apology for keeping the sheriff, stepping past the guy.
But as he moved, he couldn’t help glancing back—just in time to see Urban kick his boots up onto the desk, eyes full of amusement and appreciation as he surveyed the new arrival.
“It’s not my fault you’re so damn impatient, Turner,” the sheriff said.
Before Riley could hear anything more, a throat was being cleared next to his ear. He started and looked around to find Janice staring meaningfully at him.
“You get everything you need?” she asked.
Riley could take a hint. He could also tell that Janice Underwood was going to watch every single thing he did if he stayed in that office, so he left the building and made his way to the nearby park.
There, his legs finally gave out and he collapsed onto a handy bench. Fuck. The intensity and threat in Matt Urban had been like standing in front of a loaded gun. He had no idea if all alphas were like that, but if they were, he could see why shifters scared normal people.
He paused. Normal people. He’d never even noticed the language he used about shifters. Urban had a point, and he hated that he’d needed to hear it.
Puffing out a breath, he pulled his pad from his bag. It had been nerve-wracking, but he’d come out on top. Urban would never have let him go without saying anything if he’d known what Riley was up to.
Bolstered by that thought, his triumph of earlier was back as he noted on his chart that Bryce was Urban’s deputy and beta.
He also wrote down Turner. That guy had been so comfortable with Urban that there was little doubt in Riley’s mind he was part of the pack.
Not that Turner was important—the only ones that mattered were the ones in charge—but he liked to be thorough.
He itched to follow up on those two leads, but his growling stomach reminded him it was well past lunchtime. Putting his notebook away, he set off for the diner where he could grab a bite and check if Jason’s smile really was as spectacular as he remembered.