Own the Night. Debbi Rawlins

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СКАЧАТЬ smirk turned a shade nasty. “Hell, no.”

      “Ah, then never mind.”

      “Sorry, miss …” He put out a weathered hand. “Didn’t mean anything by that.”

      She stared at his fingers, brown and wrinkled from the sun, unsure what he expected from her.

      After a long, awkward moment, he shoved both hands in his pockets. “You need help with anything? Directions, maybe?” He was showing lots of teeth now, suddenly a picture of charm, his voice silky smooth. “How about a drink?”

      Her lips parted but her voice failed her. Dear God, this man could not be hitting on her. He was old enough to be her father. Helplessly, she cast a gaze at the cute young cowboys several yards away. They were focused on the blondes.

      “No, thank you,” she said finally, and flexed her fingers. They’d started to ache from pulling all her stuff. “I was just headed for the sheriff’s office.”

      “Is there a problem?”

      Her patience slipped, and she glanced pointedly at her watch. “I have to go. Thanks for the offer.” She felt for the baggage handle, finding nothing but a brisk breeze that made her pull the lapels of her blazer together.

      He lightly touched her arm. “You have a ride to the Sundance?”

      She wouldn’t go with him, that was for sure. “Excuse me, please.”

      A loud noise came from inside the bar—of glass shattering, someone yelling. It sounded as if an entire tray of drinks had crashed to the floor. Everyone’s attention jerked toward the open door, and one of the cowboys hollered out something to Sheila, presumably a waitress, who responded with a salty curse.

      Alana smiled and again reached behind her for her luggage handle. Again all she found was air. She jerked around.

      And blinked.

      What the hell? She made a complete circle. Her suitcase, her purse, her laptop … they were all gone. That couldn’t be. Her hand had been resting on the handle just a moment ago. This was crazy.

      She spun around again, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. A red truck was parked at the curb a couple feet away. She glanced in the bed, then checked the pickup parked close behind it. Panicked, she turned and looked up the alley, but there was nothing there.

      “Dammit!”

      This cannot be happening.

      Frantic, she scanned the crowd, spotting the older man who’d talked to her walking in the direction she’d come from. “Sir, wait.”

      He ignored her and kept going, but then her voice barely carried above the music coming from the bar.

      In fact, no one seemed to have heard her except a cowboy in a tan shirt, who swung her an inquiring look.

      “That man,” she said, pointing and hurrying toward the older gentleman, pushing her way through the crowd.

      “Mr. Gunderson?” The cowboy frowned, but just when she thought he would ignore her, too, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Gunderson.”

      The older man stopped, his posture erect and imposing, and he slowly turned around, his mouth a hard, thin line. He obviously wasn’t someone who appreciated being summoned, and judging by the sudden tension radiating from the crowd, it didn’t happen very often.

      She felt a dozen pairs of curious eyes boring into her as she approached him. “My bags,” she said. “They were right next to me while I was talking to you.”

      With his forefinger, he pushed back the brim of his hat. He had icy, piercing blue eyes, almost lifeless. He might’ve been an attractive man at one time, but he had a hard, cynical look that left her cold. “What about them?”

      “They’re gone. Did you see anything? Someone had to have come up behind me while we were talking….”

      “Can’t say that I did.” He gave her a cool smile, then started to walk away.

      She caught his arm. “You must have.”

      He peered purposefully at her restraining hand, shook it off and said, “I believe I just told you I didn’t.”

      Was he being a bastard because she’d turned him down for a drink? She tensed her shoulders, tempted to hurl an accusation at him. If he hadn’t seen anything, then maybe he was involved. “Really?”

      His eyebrows rose slightly in challenge. “Really.”

      Damn him. “All right.” She adjusted her lapels, keeping her gaze level with his, furious that her hands shook a little. But only because she was angry and helpless, and she really would’ve loved to knock this guy down a few pegs. “The name’s Gunderson, right? I’ll need it for the police report.”

      His mouth twitched into an oily smile. “Wallace Gunderson. Everyone in Blackfoot Falls knows me.”

      “I bet they do,” she said sweetly, her eyes telling him a different story. “I imagine we’ll be speaking again soon.”

      “Looking forward to it.” He touched the brim of his hat and strolled across the street toward a big luxury SUV.

      She muttered a strong, unflattering oath, and spun toward the sheriff’s office.

      “FOR GOD’S SAKE, ROY, THE guy’s got over forty years on you. How the hell could you let him get away?” Noah yanked off his hat and pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “Go make sure his truck is still there. Block it off if you have to.”

      “Cripes, boss, you know that old son of a gun is as wily as a fox staking out a henhouse. The darn varsity kids were out making a nuisance and, well, it could’ve happened to any of us.”

      “Just go. Avery shouldn’t be driving.”

      His face flushed, the deputy swung open the door just as a woman was about to enter the office. She was tall, taller than Roy, who muttered an apology for nearly running her over.

      She seemed unfazed as she slipped past him and met Noah’s eyes. “Are you the sheriff?”

      Damn it all to hell. Not another one. Those women from the Sundance didn’t quit. This made three in two days, barging in, pretending she needed help with one thing or another. He’d begged Rachel to pull the silly reviews and pictures of him off her website, but she claimed they were good for business. He was gonna have to start working on his computer skills so he could hack in and do it himself.

      “I’m Sheriff Calder.” He settled his Stetson back on his head and discreetly got a look at her high heels. She had to reach six feet in those damn things. “What can I do for you?”

      “I need to report a theft. It just happened. If you hurry you can probably still—”

      He held up a hand. “Slow down.”

      Her brown eyes flared with temper, then narrowed. She pointed at the door, and not in СКАЧАТЬ