Chapter 15
The Night Move
Shane pulled out of the Vogue Vault parking lot and drove several blocks until he was sure he was out of the shop’s line of sight. He pulled over and exhaled a gust of frustration.
“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” he admonished himself. “The woman leaves the guy she’s been with for … forever, and not six hours later, you’re mauling her.”
But Jesus! That kiss had nearly blown his boots off. He’d loved having his hands on her lush curves, loved touching her velvety skin. The smell of her, the taste of her continued to fill his head, and his chest practically ached from wanting her.
He slammed the heel of his palm on the steering wheel.
Then he looked up and realized he was on the street behind her coffee shop. He let out a mirthless laugh. “Jesus, you’re hopeless!”
Shane had wanted to ask Amy out from the very beginning, but six years ago, he’d been so awestruck by her that he hadn’t been able to make a move. Why would a smart, beautiful woman like her be interested in a country bumpkin like him, he’d asked himself over and over—and was still asking himself.
Neve’s voice floated to the surface, and he replayed a conversation they’d had earlier today, when Amy had been out of earshot.
“Micky was never right for Amy, but she has such a big heart that if there’s even a speck of good in someone, she’ll find it.
I think that’s why she stayed in a relationship that’s all wrong for her.
I’m so glad she finally woke up and realized she deserves better.
” She’d given Shane’s arm a playful punch. “She deserves someone like you.”
Naturally, he’d scoffed, even though deep down he’d felt a rush of something warm and gooey fill his chest.
Then Neve had cocked her head and smiled. “You know, I have this theory. I think you don’t have a girlfriend because you’ve been biding your time, waiting for Amy to be available. Now that she is, you finally have your chance. You’re both getting your chance, and it’s one each of you deserves.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little soon to be playing matchmaker?” he’d quipped.
“No, I don’t. When it’s right, it’s right, and you have to grab it and run with it.”
It had occurred to him in that moment that if Neve thought he was worthy of Amy, then maybe he was.
Except he’d probably blown it by stamping her with that kiss that was more of a claim—a claim he hadn’t earned.
No, it had been way too soon to let his libido run wild.
There had to be a mourning period of at least six months for her, followed by a courting period of another six months by him, and only then …
Shit. Would he be able to wait that long before he busted at the seams?
And even if he could keep his desire under control, what if someone else swooped in and won her heart like Micky had all those years ago?
Shane was facing down a conundrum enveloped in a quandary wrapped inside a dilemma.
Headlights flashed at him in the gathering gloom, and he elbowed his problem to the side as he narrowed his eyes at the approaching SUV. A sheriff’s cruiser.
Shane powered down the window of his Sierra at the same time the driver’s side window on the sheriff’s car lowered.
“Thought that was you,” Sheriff Chesterton said as he leaned out. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
Shane quirked a questioning eyebrow.
“Had a report of some shenanigans a little while ago. I was on my way out and decided to check it out myself, and you’ll never guess what I found.”
Shane shook his head.
“A packet that had been thrown from a moving vehicle. A beige pickup this time. And lucky for us, this special delivery landed on the side of the road where it was easy to retrieve.”
Shane’s antennae shot up. “Did you apprehend the driver?”
Chesterton shook his head. “This one got away too.”
Shane growled in frustration. Chesterton was a little out of practice at this kind of thing.
Was he really the best candidate to check out “shenanigans”?
Then again, who else did he have to pick from?
Most on-duty deputies were patrolling their own areas far away, and Shane had been off-duty, enjoying his time moving Amy into her new place—and kissing the hell out of her.
“Did you have a look at the contents?”
“Not a close one before I double-bagged it and transferred it to the evidence locker. We’ve notified the DEA, and they’ll pick it up in the morning.
I’ll tell you this, though. It was in a clear pouch, a little bigger than a sandwich bag, and from the glimpse I had, it looked like a bulk bag of fentanyl pills.
I saw the M30 stamp on a few of them. I’m guessing the haul is close to a hundred grams.”
Shane let out a long, low whistle. A hundred grams was enough to kill almost every man, woman, and child in Grand Junction. “Do you think it’s tied to the vehicle I chased earlier today?”
“No way to know for sure, but I’m not a big believer in coincidences.”
Though Holt Gunderson had gone back to the area Shane had marked during his pursuit, he hadn’t turned up the mysterious packet that had sailed from the silver SUV into the ravine.
He’d been followed by a cadre of law enforcement personnel, including a narcotics expert, and they hadn’t turned up anything either.
The driver had either come back and retrieved it before the good guys got there, someone else had discovered it, or an animal had dragged it off.
Shane didn’t like any of those scenarios.
“Any idea where the vehicle was coming from?”
“As a matter of fact”—Chesterton hooked a thumb toward Mountain Coffee—“right out of this parking lot.” Shane’s stomach heaved into his throat. “I was on my way over to Micky Allen’s house to have a talk with Councilwoman Caufield.”
Shit, shit, shit! Chesterton didn’t know she’d moved out, and Shane wasn’t sure how much to tell him.
“Unless you’d care to question her,” Chesterton suggested. “This is your time off, and I don’t want—”
“I’ll do it.”
Chesterton didn’t hide his surprise. “Tonight?”
“Right after I have a look around her place.”
A beat, two beats passed. “It’s possible you might be a little too close to the situation.”
The fine hairs on Shane’s neck stood at attention. “Meaning what, exactly?”
Chesterton leveled him with a long, appraising glare, as if trying to make up his mind about something.
Finally, he flapped his hand. “Meaning I’m counting on you to handle the interview with the care and professionalism that comes with your position.
Just be sure to write everything up in a report and get it into the system. ”
Don’t I always? On both counts?
“And O’Brien?” Shane nodded for the sheriff to go on.
“We keep this under wraps. No passing this along when you’re bullshitting with your friends.
The last thing I need is for our supporters to find out we might have a powder keg and don’t know how to stamp out the fuse.
I don’t want more folks breathing down my neck. ”
The sheriff meant his supporters, of course.
Shane gritted out a Yessir, though he wasn’t sure whether his irritation with Chesterton or his growing uncertainty about Amy was making his jaw clench.
When Amy opened the door to her new place, her eyes went wide. “Did you forget something?”
Shane removed his hat. “Nope. I’m here in an official capacity.”
“Oh. Well, come in then, I guess.” She opened the door and swept her arm in a welcoming gesture.
She was dressed in a pair of snug blue jeans and had swapped her sweatshirt for a cream-colored sweater.
Her hair was loose and damp, as if she’d just taken a shower.
The strong scent of lavender and vanilla that wreathed her confirmed as much.
“Let’s go in the kitchen. It’s the least messy room in the place. ”
He followed her, and in a few short steps, they stood near her sink. A square window was centered above it, a little too high for Amy’s eye level but perfect for his. His gaze swept the dimness beyond, but he saw no lights, no movement. Just the inky night.
The kitchen was small but big enough for a table and two wooden chairs, which she’d arranged in a corner.
A fabric table runner made up of cheerful summer colors, salt and pepper shakers in mushroom shapes, and a napkin holder that resembled slices of Swiss cheese decorated the table top.
Funky and whimsical, like her store. A few empty boxes had been broken down and stood neatly on edge, pinned between the wall and a large cooler.
On the counter beneath an open cabinet door, dishes of various shapes and sizes were neatly stacked, ready to be placed on the cupboard shelves.
He motioned around the tidy room. “You’ve been busy. I thought you’d have been passed out by now.”
She shrugged. “I had a lot of pent-up energy, so I opened two boxes.” Her tone was even, giving him no inkling of her state of mind. He tried not to contemplate if the kind of energy she’d pent up was anything like what he’d bottled up after kissing her.
He invited her to have a seat and scooted out a chair for himself.
She crossed her arms instead and leaned her back against the counter top. “That bad?”
In her eyes, he could see that the day had taken its toll. Usually her expressions were so open, so guileless, but a wariness lurked there instead, and it stirred up an unsettled sensation in his gut that he shoved back down.
Pushing the empty chair back under the table, he filled her in on most of what Chesterton had told him, leaving out details about the packet’s contents. Instead, he referred to it vaguely as “suspected contraband.”
“What kind of ‘contraband’? Are we talking unmarked bags of coffee beans? Bootlegged CDs? Black-market cigarettes?” The caution from moments ago was replaced by amusement that flickered in her espresso depths. She wasn’t taking this seriously.
“Not that tame.”