Chapter 3
Chapter Three
SASHA
The ruggedly handsome, grumpy sheriff put me in jail.
Sitting on the bench in my solo cell, I pull my jean-clad legs into my chest. Thankfully, I’m wearing a form-fitting pink blouse with puffy sheer long sleeves. They provide some kind of warmth since the air conditioning in here is set to blizzard. I’d bet money that’s done on purpose.
Did Everett and Breann get locked up too? Or just me and my smart mouth? Bet they cooperated.
“If I have to work the secretary job and mine one more time, I will lose it,” a woman grunts, coming into earshot.
“Barb, we all have to chip in,” another voice says.
I remember the sheriff calling the woman who processed me Campbell.
“Well, I’ve got enough to do managing the calls coming in from residents,” Barb sighs.
Leaning closer to the bars, I glance at the two women.
Campbell puts a hand on Barb’s shoulder. “I’m sure the secretary position will be filled soon.”
Barb nods. “Yeah. I hope it’s a quiet night.”
She walks off toward another room.
This gives me a great idea. I need to find out who set me up.
What better way to do that than working right here at the Morgan County Sheriff’s Department?
It’s not like I have a job waiting back in Charleston.
My business is temporarily shut down, thanks to whoever decided to gut it out from under me.
Hugging my legs, I rest my forehead on my knees and let myself grunt out loud, because my life is a mess and there’s no one here to judge me for saying so.
I should get some sleep. Lying down on the unforgiving steel bench, I curl into myself and stare at the beige wall, running through what happens if I actually get this job. I’d have to see and inhale Sheriff Drake every single day. How will I survive that?
Positive thoughts. This is about finding out who destroyed my business, then getting out of town as fast as I can.
Before things go horribly wrong.
When an officer sits me down in the interrogation room, I have no idea what time it is.
I was half asleep when he walked me in here.
I wish I could see a mirror, because the bags under my eyes have to be the size of sandbags by now.
A good skincare routine keeps that youthful glow — I may be thirty, but that doesn’t mean I want to look it. I always lean toward youth.
The door opens, and the sheriff walks in, closing it behind him.
“Good morning, Ms. Walker.”
The only thing good about this morning will be me walking out of this station. I keep that to myself. I have to be nice, or he’ll toss me back in that cell for a few more hours out of spite.
My cuffed wrists rest in my lap and I twist my fingers in an effort to remain calm. “Good morning, Sheriff Drake.” I lay the southern twang on thick with a big smile.
He chuckles and takes the seat across from me.
“What’s funny?”
“I can tell you wanted to say something a lot less polite than ‘good morning.’”
“Do you study all your prisoners this closely? Or just me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Ms. Walker. I’ve been doing this job a long time. I can read people.”
Hmm, he’s been doing this job a long time, huh? He looks like he’s in his early thirties.
“So then you already know I’m innocent.”
“I know you’re a menace to a shop full of antiques and two grown adults. Innocent’s a stretch.”
“That’s slander, Sheriff.”
“That’s an observation. There’s a difference.”
“Well, Sheriff, I’d love to hear what other observations you’ve made about me.” I bat my lashes, all southern sugar. “Go on. I can take it.”
He leans back, arms crossed and lets his gaze drag over me slow enough that it should be illegal on its own.
“You talk when you’re nervous. You think faster than you should when you’re cornered.
And you’ve got a mouth on you that’s going to get you into more trouble than one antique shop before you leave my town. ”
“So you have been studying me.”
“I told you. I read people. Occupational hazard.”
“Uh-huh.” I place my cupped hands on the table. “And what did you read off Everett and Breann? Or did you save all your careful observations for me?”
Something almost like a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he wrestles it flat again. “I spoke to Everett and Breann last night.”
My eyes go wide. “Last night? While I was locked up ten feet away and nobody thought to wake me for it?”
Something flickers across his face — surprise, maybe, at the sharpness in my voice — before he smooths it back into flat professional calm.
“What happened yesterday?” he asks. “Walk me through it.”
I don’t have anything left to protect, so I lay it all out.
“Someone stole a painting from my gallery, Mahogany Grace, back in Charleston. It’s worth two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and it belonged to a very prominent family that trusted me — specifically me — to sell it.
Now it’s gone, and so is my reputation. A wire transfer connected to the sale traces back to the zip code of that shop I was in yesterday. ”
I shake my head because I refuse to feel sorry for myself in front of this man.
“That zip code could belong to any shop on that street,” he says.
“So you think the kids’ clothing store two doors down accepted a quarter-million-dollar wire for a stolen painting?”
“I’m saying it doesn’t prove it came from that particular store. Could’ve been used as a front to throw you off the trail.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “That’s actually a good point.”
Then it vanishes. “Why couldn’t Everett just be helpful instead of accusing me of trying to rob him?”
“Everett’s eccentric. He got slapped with a fine.” His jaw ticks. “He shouldn’t have put his hands on you in the first place.”
I catch it, something protective flaring under the words. Almost possessive, for a man who fined someone for grabbing my wrist and still won’t admit he noticed.
“Careful, Sheriff. Somebody might think you cared.”
“Somebody would be wrong.” He doesn’t blink saying it, which somehow makes it less convincing, not more.
“You know, for a man who doesn’t care, you sure fined one of your residents pretty fast for grabbing my wrist.”
“It’s called doing my job.”
“Sheriff, if you say so.”
“Ms. Walker, you can’t get into fights to get answers.”
I stare at him for a beat. “Everett’s little sidekick tried to shove me first. That’s the only reason there was a fight to get into.”
“File a report. Open an investigation. That’s how this works,” he grits out.
He stands, rounds the table, and grips my wrist to unlock the cuffs. I breathe him in without meaning to — forest floor, pine needles, storm-soaked wood, dark and close.
Goddess, I’m in trouble.
He drops my hand like it burned him and holds the door open. “You’re free to go. File the report. Then you can head back to Charleston, South Carolina,” he bites out.
The bustling office outside goes dead silent.
I stop in the doorway and crane my neck up at him, holding his gaze. “You don’t want me to stay?” I ask, sweet as pie.
“Goodbye, Ms. Walker.”
Thank goodness he didn’t use the alpha bark on me. Not that he has any idea I’m an omega.
He breaks eye contact first. “Everyone, back to work. I want the overnight report on my desk in ten minutes.” His voice cracks like a whip through the bullpen, and one of the deputies nearly falls out of her chair as she tries recovering the papers falling off her desk, sailing to the floor.
After collecting my personal items, I step up to the front desk. Fitch is manning it, looking entirely too amused for a man who’s watched me get arrested and released inside of twelve hours.
“I’d like a job application, please. For the secretary position.”
Fitch grins, slow and delighted. “You want to work here? After that?”
“I’ll manage.”
“I really hope you’re qualified. We’re desperate.” He slides a card across the counter — a website, a QR code, and what I’m fairly sure is a badly hidden smirk. “Fair warning. The boss is a lot.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.”
“He’ll fight it. Just so you know going in.”
“So will I.” I tuck the card into my bag. “Tell me a little about the job.”
Fitch glances toward Sheriff Drake’s closed office door, then back at me, grin widening like he already knows something I don’t.
He goes into detail about the position.
Sheriff Drake suggested I leave town. Not before I find out who ruined my career, my reputation, and my life.