Page 12 of Hot to Trot

There was little Scarlet wouldn't do for Rayne... even if it meant knocking some sense into her.

But it was too late for such drastic measures, thanks to Officer Tight Ass.

She swung her legs off the bed and padded to the window. The sun sank behind the neighbor's house, thrusting brilliant fingers of light upon the deep green grass. It was peaceful and very, very different from the noisy streets normally outside her window.

Her mind flitted from her sister to the cop who had frisked her. Officer Adam Hinton.

When he'd touched her, she'd felt something that had been absent for well over a year-a stirring of desire. The flicker of feeling had rocked her. For the past few months, she'd been on a mission to feel something, anything, at a man's touch. She'd forced herself to flirt, purposefully drank too much, and bore sloppy kisses from strangers in clubs, but to no avail. She'd been dead to desire. Until a few hours ago.

So why now? Why him?

Adam Hinton wasn’t even close to her normal type. Until John, she'd liked young, wild, and irresponsible in a guy. Now she didn't have a clue what she wanted in a man. But something had been there between her and the cop. Perhaps his refusalto fall prey to her manipulation had poked her inner psyche. Maybe his by-the-book, take-no-crap attitude had reminded her of John. Had to be that. There was no other reason she'd felt anything other than anger at the squeaky-clean Officer Hinton.

She pressed her forehead against the warmth of the windowpane and touched the gold slipper nestled between her breasts. Her heart felt like tissue paper, so how could she even contemplate being with another man when she still hemorrhaged from the only time she'd taken a chance on love?

It didn't seem right.

Still, Adam Hinton was utterly tempting. Straight as an arrow, honest as a Boy Scout, and clean as a… she couldn't think what would be as clean. Not a whistle because spit got in it. Something about Adam made her want to smudge him with her fingerprints, and that baffled her.

Because she was still in love with John.

THE COFFEE REMAININGin the pot at the police station looked as if it might cure a bacterial infection, so Adam skipped an evening cup of java and grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge beside Roz's desk, which she kept stocked.

"Harvey Primm called again," his on-duty officer, Jared Mullins, hollered from the desk he'd set behind a makeshift bookcase to prevent anyone from seeing the colossal amount of time he wasted on the internet.

From over the barrier, Adam saw Jared switch his computer screen from something on YouTube to the screen saver showing his dog holding a duck in his mouth. Jared was a decent person. Mostly. He wasn't, however, a good officer. Because he was the nephew of the mayor, he'd stayed a permanent fixture at the Oak Stand Police Department for the past five years.

“Just saw him at the Hamilton reception. He'll be on our doorstep Monday. Bank on it." Adam twisted the top from the bottle. "So I'm guessing you found a suspect for the Porky case."

Jared rolled his chair backward and faced him. "Huh?"

Adam indicated the computer screen. "Find the culprit on YouTube? Is that how they got the statue from the parking lot? On a skateboard?"

Jared wasn't smart enough to show shame. "Well, not really. But I've been checking out social media in case any of the little punks posted something about it in their status updates."

Adam didn't blink. "Sounds like good detective work."

Jared grinned. "Yeah, I thought so, too."

"Not good with sarcasm, are you?"

"You being sarcastic?"

"Never mind," Adam said, pulling himself from where he leaned against the filing cabinet. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, head out and question the neighbors next to Porky's. See if they saw any kids hanging out around the joint last night. Whoever took Bud Henry's pig statue didn't waltz out without someone seeing something. It's pretty big."

"It won't be no trouble. I need to grab some grub anyhow."

"Well, don't let the job stand in your way of onion rings and a fried-chicken sandwich," Adam drawled, heading toward his small office in the rear of the station. The place had been built over fifty years ago and still smelled like cigarettes. Adam supposed the chain-smoking former chief of police had overlooked the ordinance banning lighting up in public facilities. He'd also overlooked the chest pains that had landed him over at the Overton Funeral Parlor. He'd died in the very chair Adam now sank into.

Actually, not the"very" chair. Adam had purchased an ergonomic model when he first arrived in Oak Stand. But DanDrummond had died in the office. The greasy fries got to him before the cancer sticks did.

Roz wouldn't even come inside the office anymore. The administrative assistant handed him messages and files when he passed her desk. She said she felt a presence in the office. She believed in ghosts and karma and crap like that.

Adam didn't believe in poltergeists, but he did believe the former chiefs influence hung over the station to the point of being stifling. Dan had been the chief for over thirty-three years before buying the farm, and Adam discovered very quickly the other officers and Roz believed Dan's way had been the only way. Which had become a bit of a problem.

The next time he heard another "But that's not the way we do it," he might dock some pay. Of course, he would never resort to something so cruel as to take bread from the mouths of his officers' families, but he was damned tired of having every suggestion and order questioned because it wasn't how they'd always done it.

Frankly, how they'd always done it had been ineffective. The files were antiquated, the equipment not up to standards, and the procedural elements redundant. The department had needed an overhaul for a long time.

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