Chapter Seven
The interrogation room at the Shiloh Springs Sheriff’s Office wasn’t much bigger than a storage closet, but Dusty had seen suspects crack in smaller spaces. But this trio of ne’er-do-wells hadn’t budged an inch since the deputies had picked them up at Daisy’s Diner.
“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Rafe said, his deep Texas drawl doing nothing to soften the steel in his voice. “We know you’re working for Cooper Madison. We know you’re looking for Sharon Elliott. What we don’t know is why you think you can come into our town and harass one of our citizens.”
The woman—Marissa, if her ID was to be believed—rolled her eyes. “We were simply having lunch at a local establishment. Last I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”
“You specifically told Daisy you were looking for this Sharon Elliott person. Said you were old friends. Daisy said you were harassing her waitress.”
The woman rolled her eyes but kept her mouth shut.
Dusty clenched his jaw, fighting to maintain his composure.
The woman had been caught taking photos of Sharon as she raced toward the back of Daisy’s place.
The two men with her had positioned themselves one at the front door and the other by the entrance to the kitchen, effectively boxing Sharon in until Daisy herself had called the sheriff’s office.
“Trespassing, harassment, stalking—take your pick,” Dusty countered, leaning against the wall with deceptive casualness. “You scared a woman who’s under the protection of this town.”
The taller of the two men, a hard-faced former military type named Richards, smirked. “Protection? That’s what you’re calling it when you’re sleeping with a fugitive, Warner?”
Dusty lunged forward before he could stop himself, only Rafe’s restraining hand on his shoulder preventing him from grabbing Richards by his expensive shirt collar.
“That’s enough,” Rafe said quietly, though his dark eyes flashed with the same anger Dusty felt.
“Back off, Dusty, he’s trying to get a rise out of you.
” Rafe turned back to Richards. “Mr. Richards, I suggest you watch your mouth. Former Dallas detective or not—and I haven’t seen evidence of your claim—my deputy here has a shorter fuse than I do, so you might want to watch your words. ”
Dusty forced himself to back up, disturbed by his own reaction.
He’d been a cop too long to let a suspect get under his skin like that.
But the insinuation about Sharon had hit a nerve raw enough to surprise even him.
Four days. He’d known Sharon Elliott for four days, yet somehow, she’d gotten under his skin in a way he couldn’t explain or defend.
The third member of the group, a barrel-chested man who’d introduced himself only as Smith, finally spoke. “We’re not looking for trouble, Sheriff. Our employer simply wants to speak with Ms. Elliott about some proprietary information she may have taken when she left her position.”
“Funny way to request a conversation,” Dusty replied. “Following her across multiple state lines, sending threatening messages, vandalizing her vehicle. Seems a little excessive for somebody who simply wants to talk.”
Smith shrugged. “I can’t speak to that. We’ve only been on the case a short time. If Ms. Elliott has been having problems, it didn’t come from us. We were hired to locate her and facilitate a meeting, nothing more.”
Rafe and Dusty exchanged a look. They both knew they’d get nothing more from these three, and without evidence of an actual crime committed in their jurisdiction, they couldn’t hold them.
“We’re done here,” Rafe said finally. “But listen carefully. You’re leaving Shiloh Springs tonight.
I don’t care if it’s the holidays. I don’t care if the weatherman says there’s a blizzard coming.
If I see any of you within town limits after sunset, I guarantee I’ll find enough charges to levy your fancy Chicago lawyers will be working overtime to get you free.
” He pointed to the door. “Now get out before I change my mind.”
Minutes later, Dusty watched from the sheriff’s office window as the three climbed into a black SUV with Illinois plates and drove away, icy rain beginning to ping their windshield.
“They’ll be back,” he said, not turning around as Rafe came to stand beside him.
“Not them specifically,” Rafe agreed. “But someone. Madison doesn’t sound like the type to give up easily.”
Dusty ran a hand through his hair, frustration coiling tight within him. “I should never have let her go back to the cottage alone. These people found her once; they’ll find her again.”
“Antonio’s helping her,” Rafe reminded him. “For the record, he believes she’s telling the truth about what she told him, and no, I don’t know anything more than you do. Antonio knows how to keep his mouth shut, even from his own brother.”
The Boudreau clan’s immediate rallying around Sharon had been something to behold.
From Ms. Patti’s maternal fussing to the brothers and their significant others establishing an impromptu security rotation, they’d embraced her as one of their own with startling speed.
It was what made Shiloh Springs special—and what made Dusty feel like he’d finally found home when he’d moved here.
“I’ll be heading over there myself once we’re done here,” Dusty said. “She is going to tell me everything tonight.”
Rafe gave him a considering look. “You’ve gotten invested awfully quick in Ms. Elliott’s situation.”
Dusty turned away from the window, avoiding his friend’s too-perceptive gaze. “It’s the job.”
“Uh-huh. Just like Tessa was part of the job, and I ended up married to her.” Rafe smiled, softening his words. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Just…be careful. We still don’t know her whole story.”
“I know enough,” Dusty said, more defensively than he’d intended. “I know she’s terrified. I know someone powerful enough to reach across multiple states is after her. And I know she hasn’t run again, because I asked her to stay. Which means she trusts us to help her.”
What he didn’t say—couldn’t articulate even to himself—was how his chest tightened when he saw her frightened face in the diner earlier.
How his dreams the last three nights had featured her smile, rare but radiant when it appeared.
How he’d found himself making excuses to drive past her cottage, just to assure himself she was safe.
Four days shouldn’t be enough time to develop feelings this intense. It made no logical sense—and Dusty had built his career on logic and evidence—not foolish flights of fancy.
“I need to pick up food,” he said abruptly, grabbing his jacket. “Daisy’s setting aside a to-go order.”
Rafe clapped him on the shoulder. “Tell Sharon we’ve got her back. All of us.” He paused a moment before continuing, “We’ve got yours, too—always.”
Dusty nodded, grateful for his friend’s understanding. “I’ll keep you posted if she shares anything actionable.”
The cold air hit him like a slap as he exited the sheriff’s office.
The forecast had called for light, icy rain and sleet, but the darkening clouds suggested Shiloh Springs might be in for their first real snowfall of the season.
Perfect weather for holing up, sharing a warm meal, and getting to the bottom of whatever trouble had followed Sharon to their doorstep.
And if his heart beat a little faster at the thought of spending the evening with her—well, that was a mystery he’d examine later. Right now, she needed protection, not more complications. Even if those complications had been simmering between them from the moment their eyes first met.
Dusty climbed into his truck and headed toward Daisy’s, wondering how exactly the line between professional concern and personal interest had blurred. Four days ago, he would have said a woman on the run was the last person he should be developing feelings for.
But four days ago, he hadn’t known Sharon.
Sharon jumped at the knock on her cottage door.
The sun had already dipped below the horizon, rolling dark clouds masking the sunsets she’d come to look forward to in the vast Texas sky.
The forecast had called for icy sleet later.
She gave a shiver thinking about how much she’d always hated when the roads got slick.
She wondered how well Texas drivers dealt with the mess.
Growing up in Chicago, she was used to inclement weather, but the differences between Chicago cold and Texas cold were like day and night.
She wiped her palms on her jeans, took a steadying breath, and peeked through the curtains.
Dusty stood on her porch, his broad shoulders dusted with the first icy clusters from the winter storm, a brown paper bag clutched in one hand.
The relief that washed over her was immediate—and concerning.
She’d grown to depend on his steadfast presence far too quickly for someone who’d learned the hard way not to trust easily.
She opened the door, the crisp December air rushing in. “Dusty. Everything okay?”
“Thought you might be hungry.” He held up the bag, steam escaping from the top. “And figured we could talk. Really talk this time.”
Sharon hesitated only briefly before stepping aside to let him in. The cottage Ms. Patti had arranged for her was small but cozy. It felt homey and warm, and to somebody who’d been sleeping in homeless shelters and in the back seat of a car, it felt like a palace after weeks on the run.
“I was about to make tea,” she said, fidgeting with the soft sweep of bangs, brushing them aside. “But dinner sounds better. With everything that happened earlier, I kind of missed lunch.”
Dusty set the bag on the small table by the window and began unpacking containers. “Daisy’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans. And—” he pulled out a smaller container with a flourish, “—peach cobbler.”
“You’re going to spoil me.”