Chapter 19 Nacho #2
"I just dispatched six police officers to arrest a raccoon."
"Technically, you dispatched them to investigate a reported robbery. The raccoon element was an unexpected development."
She stares at me. "Are you making a joke?"
"Perhaps."
"A very bad joke." Her flush deepens. "I'm so sorry. I'll reimburse the department for the wasted resources. Somehow. Eventually. Once I have money again."
"That won't be necessary." I pull the extra chair from the adjacent desk and position it next to her station. "We'll review the call log protocols together. Clarifying questions to ask before dispatching units. Species verification among them."
A laugh escapes her. Watery and embarrassed, but genuine. "Species verification. Right. Because apparently that's something I need to ask."
By the time I return to my office, Jessica has recovered from the raccoon incident and is approaching the dispatch station with renewed determination.
"No raccoons today," she announces when I check on her an hour later. "I'm going to ask clarifying questions. Species, threat level, whether the caller is a known wildlife enthusiast."
"A thorough approach."
"I made a list." She holds up a notepad covered in neat handwriting. "Twenty questions to ask before dispatching. I'm not making the same mistake twice."
She settles into the dispatch station with visible confidence.
For the next two hours, everything proceeds according to protocol.
She handles a noise complaint about a barking dog.
Logs a fender bender at the grocery store parking lot.
Transfers a medical emergency to the appropriate services with admirable efficiency.
I begin to think yesterday was an anomaly. A learning experience. She's adapted, adjusted, improved.
Then I realize I haven't heard her voice in forty-seven minutes.
I check the call log. Nothing since oh-nine-twenty-three. No unusual silence period is indicated in the schedule. The phone lines are functional.
I walk to the dispatch station.
It's empty.
"Deputy Marcum." I keep my voice level. "Where is Ms. Delacroix?"
Marcum looks up from his report. "Haven't seen her, Sheriff. She was here about half an hour ago."
I conduct a systematic search of the station. Break room. Restrooms. Conference room. Supply closet. Each location is vacant.
My radio crackles. "Sheriff Negrorio?" Deputy Torres's voice comes through. "I think I found your dispatcher."
"Location?"
"Evidence room. She's reorganizing."
I take the stairs to the basement two at a time.
The evidence room is a secured area requiring keycard access and a six-digit code. It contains physical evidence from every active and cold case in the county. Chain of custody protocols are strict. Only authorized personnel are permitted entry.
The door is wide open.
Jessica is sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by evidence boxes, a legal pad balanced on her knee and a pen tucked behind her ear. She's sorted the boxes into neat rows based on some organizational system I cannot immediately identify.
"Sheriff!" She looks up with such a bright smile. "Did you know your evidence room has no logical organization whatsoever? I found a box from 2019 sandwiched between two from 2007. And the labeling is inconsistent. Some boxes have case numbers, some have names, but no context."
I stand in the doorway. Processing.
"You're in the evidence room."
"Yes."
"A secured facility requiring authorized access."
"The door was propped open. Deputy Fowler went in to get something, and I noticed the disorganization, and I thought I could help while things were quiet.
" She gestures at the boxes around her. "I've developed a system.
Chronological by year, then alphabetical by primary suspect surname, with color-coded tags for case status.
Open cases in red, closed in green, cold cases in blue. "
"You've been in here for how long?"
She blinks. "Maybe half an hour? I just got started when I found one that was mislabeled, and then I started cross-referencing..."
She stops. Looks at me. Her expression cycles through realization, mortification, panic.
"The dispatch station. I forgot. Again."
"Deputy Torres has been covering." I step into the room and examine her organizational system more closely. "But you've accomplished something my deputies have failed to achieve in years."
She scrambles to her feet, scattering papers. "You're not mad?"
"Deputy Fowler has been unable to locate the evidence for the Parsons case for six weeks." I point to a box she's set aside. "Is that it?"
She checks her notes. "If Parsons is the suspected insurance fraud from March? Then yes. It was filed under Peterson. Someone transposed the letters."
I stare at the box. At the legal pad. At Jessica, standing amid the chaos she's both created and organized, looking like she expects to be escorted from the building.
Then I smile.
Jessica's eyes go wide. "Did you just smile?"
"I'm expressing approval of your organizational methodology."
"That's definitely a smile. An actual smile." She moves closer, her earlier panic forgotten. "Deputy Marcum told me you don't smile. He said he's worked with you for four years and he has never seen you smile.”
"Deputy Marcum exaggerates."
"He said you have a 'resting sheriff face.' Those were his exact words."
"Deputy Marcum will be assigned parking duty for the foreseeable future."
Jessica laughs. The sound fills the evidence room, bright and warm and entirely inappropriate for a secured facility containing criminal evidence.
And something in my chest cracks open.
She's here. In my evidence room. Reorganizing my files with handwritten notes and color-coded tabs. Making my brothers smile. Making me smile. Looking at me as if I'm not just the serious one, the cop, the one who follows rules.
I move toward her. Two steps and I'm close enough to catch her scent properly. Brown sugar and honey cutting through the musty smell of old paper and cardboard boxes.
Her laughter cuts off. Her breath catches. "Nacho?"
I cup her face in my hands. Tilt her chin up. Her skin is soft, warm, and her scent wraps around me in a way that makes my alpha purr.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
"For what?" Her voice comes out whisper-soft.
"For trying. For caring about getting it right."
Her eyes search mine. "I messed up your entire evidence room."
"You improved it." My thumb strokes along her jaw. "You saw a problem and you solved it. That's not messing up. That's initiative."
"Nacho." My name comes out breathless.
I lean in slowly. Giving her time to pull away. To say no. To remember we're in a government facility surrounded by evidence and security cameras.
She doesn't pull away.
I kiss her.
Soft at first. A brush of lips, gentle and reverent, tasting the surprised gasp she makes. Then deeper when her hands come up to grip my uniform shirt, when she rises on her toes to get closer, when her mouth opens under mine in invitation.
I pour everything into this kiss. Appreciation. Want. The gratitude I don't know how to put into words. She tastes like the coffee she had this morning and something sweeter underneath, something uniquely her.
My hands slide from her face to her waist, pulling her closer. She melts into me, soft curves against hard muscle, and a sound escapes her throat that goes straight to my groin.
I gentle the kiss before I lose control entirely. Pull back slowly. Rest my forehead against hers while we both catch our breath.
Her eyes are closed. Her lips are swollen. Her cheeks are flushed pink.
Beautiful.
"That was very thorough," she whispers.
"I'm thorough about everything I do."
She opens her eyes. They're dark, pupils blown wide. "Is this appropriate workplace behavior, Sheriff Negrorios?"
"Absolutely not."
"Good." She grins and pulls me back down for another kiss.
This one is less controlled. More demanding. Her fingers tangle in my hair and I groan against her mouth, backing her up until she hits the shelving unit. Evidence boxes rattle. I don't care.
My hands find her hips. Grip. She arches into me and the friction makes my vision blur.
"Nacho," she gasps against my mouth. "We're in the evidence room."
"I'm aware."
"There are cameras."
"I'm very aware."
"Your deputies..."
"Can wait." I kiss down her throat, finding the pulse point that makes her whimper. "You taste so good. Been wanting to do this all morning."
Her head falls back against the shelf. "This is insane."
"Completely."
"We should stop."
"Probably."
Neither of us stops.
My radio crackles. "Sheriff, you down there?" Torres's voice breaks through the haze. "We've got a situation at the front desk."
Reality crashes back.
I step away from Jessica, straightening my uniform, trying to get my breathing under control. She's leaning against the shelving unit, lips swollen, hair mussed, looking thoroughly kissed.
I grab my radio. "Copy. Be right up."
I look at Jessica. She's watching me with wide eyes, chest heaving.
"This conversation isn't over," I tell her.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I head for the stairs, adjusting my gun belt, trying to look like a sheriff instead of a man who just made out with his temporary dispatcher in the evidence room.
Behind me, I hear Jessica laugh. Soft and delighted and completely inappropriate.
I'm smiling again.
The rest of the shift passes without major incident.
Jessica returns to the dispatch station and handles calls with admirable competence. No raccoons. No unauthorized organizational projects. Just steady, reliable work.
Deputy Marcum stops by my office at end of shift.
"Sheriff, you okay?" He leans against the doorframe.
“Yes.”
"It's just..." He hesitates. "You’re smiling.”
“And?”
He pauses. "It's the dispatcher, isn't it?"
"Your speculation is noted and dismissed." I turn back to my paperwork. "Dismissed, Deputy."
He leaves, but not before I catch the knowing look on his face.
The station is quieter after shift change. The day crew filtering out, the night crew settling in. Jessica gathers her things and appears in my doorway, jacket over her arm, legal pad clutched to her chest.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asks.
She smiles. Soft and warm and aimed directly at me. "Thanks for the second chance, Sheriff."
"Third chance, technically. The raccoon incident occurred on day one."
"Right. Third chance." Her smile widens. "I'll try not to need a fourth."
She turns to leave, then pauses. Looks back at me over her shoulder.
"Nacho?"
"Yes?"
"That kiss was really good."
Then she's gone, disappearing down the hallway. I listen to her footsteps fade, then the front door opening and closing.
The station feels emptier without her.
I tell myself that's a normal observation. That any change in personnel affects the atmosphere of a workplace. That I'm simply noting the absence of an additional staff member.
I don't believe myself for a second.
Friday is approaching. The hockey event at six. But before that, we have to deal with Callum showing up expecting to collect Jessica like she's a package he ordered.
He'll find four brothers who have no intention of letting that happen.
And one sheriff who's discovering that no amount of training prepares you for an omega who reorganizes evidence rooms and kisses like she means it.
I return to my paperwork, pen in hand, reports spread across my desk.
The smile on my face refuses to fade.