Page 11 of No Strings Attached

But there was a nameplate on the desk. Mort Smith.

“Hey, Deputy Savani,” Mort said as he eyed Sam. The guy was of average height with a slender build. He wasn’t bad looking, but gave off a meek vibe.

“Hey, Mort.” Morgan nodded.

They were halfway down the hall when Morgan was stopped by a very handsome cop with mocha-colored skin. The skin between the stranger’s eyes wrinkled as he looked from Morgan to Sam. “What’s going on?”

“I have no clue.” Morgan’s tone conveyed his puzzlement. “Can I use your office?”

His eyebrows still squished together, the guy nodded.

The office was around the first corner. When Sam stepped inside the room, he saw a nameplate on the desk. Sheriff Dominic Harper. He’d just met the boss.

Sam held up his bound wrists when Morgan closed the door. “You can take them off now.”

Morgan parked his butt on the edge of the desk. Sam was surprised it held the deputy’s massive weight. “The handcuffs will come off when you tell me what’s going on.”

Of course Morgan wanted answers. The guy had not only found Sam bloody and unconscious, but Sam had cuffed himself and insisted on being hauled into the station like a lawbreaking perp. The deputy probably thought he was dealing with someone who had more than one loose screw.

Sam’s shoulders sagged as he lowered himself into the wooden chair behind him. “I can’t.”

“Look, Sam,” Morgan said, “in the hospital, I didn’t really press you. You’re injured and recovering, so I left things alone after my initial questions. I want to help you, but that’s not possible if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t,” Sam repeated. Life had been throwing him one left hook after another since he’d been kicked out of his parents’ house. Whenever he thought things were looking up for him, that left hook once again knocked him on his ass.

Too many times he wished he had just one person in his corner. Although Morgan’s kindness was deeply appreciated, the deputy was only another person in a long line of people who would blow into Sam’s life then disappear.

Besides, Sam still had no idea what Daryl was, and he refused to put Morgan in harm’s way. The deputy might have tons of muscles, but they wouldn’t do him any good against a monster.

“Are you looking to sit in a cell?” Morgan was a nice guy and probably only said that out of frustration.

Sam lifted one shoulder. “At least I’d have somewhere to sleep and get fed.”

While being temporarily safe from Daryl.

Tilting his head to one side, the deputy’s brows drew together. “You’re homeless?”

“It’s not a big deal.” That was what Sam constantly told himself, hoping one day he would believe it.

Morgan crouched in front of him and removed the cuffs. Sam refused to acknowledge how good it felt when Morgan’s fingers brushed over his skin or how starved he was for human contact.

Instead of moving away, Morgan continued to crouch there, his hands resting on Sam’s wrists. “I’ve never done this before, but I have a spare room. You’re welcome to it, no strings attached, until you get back on your feet.”

“Thanks, but I’ll manage.” The last time Sam was offered a place to stay that situation had turned into a nightmare. There were always attached strings.

With a heavy sigh, Morgan pushed to his feet and ran a hand over his hair. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Why are you trying to force me to take your help?” Sam countered. “I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”

Total damn lie.

Aggravation flared in Morgan’s brown eyes. “Your injuries prove otherwise.”

Sam eased out of the wooden chair. “Can I please just get my car so I can go?”

After what Daryl had done, there was no way Sam would ever trust someone’s kind offer again. It was a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget, and the most terrifying moment in his life.

Morgan clenched his jaw and yanked open the office door. Sam wasn’t sure why he felt so guilty as he followed the deputy to the front desk where the guy named Mort was seated. “I need Mr. Mercer’s keys.”

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