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СКАЧАТЬ nice, June. It won’t kill you. But it might come close.

      She stretched her mouth into a smile so wide it nearly cracked her cheeks. “Good morning, Rivers. On the contrary, I’m getting our assignment. Clock in. I’ll be waiting in the cruiser. The chief is sending us on an expedition.”

      She headed for the door and paused for Sam to step out of the way.

      “Hold it, Jones.” The chief’s voice stopped her inches from her new partner.

      So much for a quick escape. She pivoted to face the boss. The subtle aroma of man filled her nostrils. Sam. Not cologne. Her mouth dried. She was too close, but she refused to give away her unsettled reaction by backtracking. “Yes, sir?”

      “The idea you submitted for modernizing our records and converting our paper files to digital is a good one. When the equipment I’ve requisitioned comes in, you and Sam will be in charge of that operation. Copy that?”

      She wouldn’t be passing Deputy Rivers off to someone else anytime soon. Not good news. “Yes, Chief.”

      “That’s all.”

      She turned and looked at Sam. His cold gaze drilled hers, but he stubbornly held his ground, blocking half the doorway. Was he trying to intimidate her? If so, he was wasting his time. She’d endured far worse from her brothers and her fellow officers in Raleigh who’d been determined to run off the female country bumpkin—especially once she’d shown them up on the range.

      She brushed past him, being extremely careful not to bump him, but at the last second the duty pack on her belt snagged on him, jolting her pulse into a wild rhythm. Ignoring it, she headed for the break room. She needed coffee and distance before closeting herself in the car with him.

      Treat him like a brother, Madison had said. But neither Michael nor Rhett had ever had this disconcerting effect on her. On second thought, maybe she didn’t need the caffeine after all. Her pulse was pounding like a woodpecker against her eardrums, and she was already jumpy. If she wanted to be able to hit the target, she needed to steady her nerves.

      Calm. Cool. Whoop his butt.

      Yes, he was an ex-sniper. But that meant he was used to long-range rifles. Thanks to her grandfather, she was an expert with handguns. And as Roth had said, Sam had visual issues, too.

      Time for some humble pie, Deputy Sam.

      * * *

      SAM HAD NEVER minded silence. Before now. He was used to solitude and didn’t need entertaining. He definitely did not need or miss June’s chatter or stopping every five yards to meet Quincey’s people.

      Recon was his thing. The scenery—fields, woods, farms—was self-explanatory. He saw what he needed to see and made a mental map of the region. He didn’t need her to identify the plants that provided cover or the hollows where someone could hide, or for her to tell him stories about the odd characters who lived up each dirt driveway the way she had yesterday. Quiet suited him fine.

      But he was flying blind with no intel to their destination and he didn’t like it. June was edgy. He could feel tension rolling off her like heat off an airstrip. The uneasy feeling of being on the verge of walking into an ambush grew stronger by the minute.

      Another mile passed without June taking her foot off the gas except to allow a gaggle of geese to cross the road. On the outskirts of town she hit the turn signal. Sam muffled a groan. He should have known the reprieve wouldn’t last. After the kid fiasco yesterday she’d taken him to dozens of backwoods holes-in-the-wall to meet the citizens who operated Quincey’s mom-and-pop businesses. Was this yet another one?

      Then she turned the car into the gravel lot and a plain hand-painted sign came into view. Hunt and Bait Shop. He liked to hunt and fish. Maybe this wouldn’t be unbearable.

      June parked, climbed out of the patrol car and headed for the long, low cinder-block building without a word. He tracked after her. The sign in the window said the place wouldn’t open for another hour, but after a quick knock, she barged through the unlocked door.

      Sam followed a little more cautiously. Dozens of taxidermied dark eyes stared down at him from the walls. Deer, beavers, foxes, raccoon, bobcats, assorted fowl. There were a couple of pictures of a guy in ACUs tucked unobtrusively among them. A red steel door marked Live Fire Beyond This Point caught his attention.

      A shooting range? In Quincey? His day suddenly looked more interesting. Sam hadn’t fired a weapon in over six months—not by choice. He’d been warned after the surgery to avoid anything jarring like recoil for three months, but an hour before giving him the boot, his doctor had given the okay to resume normal activities.

      Normal. Ha. His life was anything but normal now.

      He itched to unload the semiauto in his holster. He’d come back tonight after work.

      “Tate?” June called out.

      A fifty-something buzz-cut-wearing man came out of the back office. The guy from the pictures—minus the uniform. A scar now marked the right side of his face and he walked with a mild limp.

      “June, I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” Then his gaze slid to Sam and he extended his hand across the glass display case containing an assortment of pistols, revolvers and a sweet Benchmade knife. “You must be the new deputy. I’m Tate Lowry, Master Sergeant, US Army, retired, but I won’t hold being a jarhead against you.” He delivered the rivalry insult with a smile.

      The guy knew who he was. Sam shook his hand. “Sam Rivers. Staff Sergeant, USMC. Former staff sergeant,” he corrected, and the words pierced him like an enemy’s bayonet. “And I won’t hold being a dogface grunt against you.”

      Lowry guffawed. “That’s the spirit.” Then he reached beneath the counter and set two boxes of .40-cal ammo on the surface. “Chief called an’ told me you two were coming. I don’t open to the public for an hour, so you have the place to yourself.”

      Shooting? That was the detail Roth had in mind for today? Thanks, buddy.

      “I’ve set targets on all four lanes,” Lowry continued, “and there are more stacked by the door. Have at it. If you need more ammo, you know where to find me.” The old guy winked at June.

      She grinned back, and her smile hit Sam like a sucker punch. “Thanks, Tate. I owe you a pecan pie.”

      “You owe me nothing, sweetheart, but I’ll take a pie off your hands anytime.” He turned back to Sam. “You need ear or eye protection?”

      Sam nodded, and Tate added clear-lens glasses and a set of earplugs to the ammo pile. Sam registered that he didn’t offer June either safety precaution.

      “Use of the shooting range is on the house for QPD. You’re welcome anytime. Rifle shooting is done out back. If you need to get in before or after my official hours, just give me a call and I’ll make it happen. I got nothing better to do.”

      “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it,” Sam said, eager to see the range.

      “You and I need to swap stories sometime. Not many people around here want to listen to an old fart talk about the good ol’ deployment days. Might be dumb, but I miss ’em.”

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