Page 18 of Dusty
“He’ll just send more people,” Sharon whispered.
“Let him.” Dusty’s hand rubbed circles on her back, his touch gentle, yet she felt every inch of skin he touched. “But first, Ineed to know everything. No more secrets, Sharon. Not if I’m going to keep you safe.”
The weight of her secrets—the evidence she’d uncovered, the murder she’d witnessed, Cooper’s sworn vengeance—it had been crushing her for months. The thought of sharing that burden, of not carrying it alone…
“Okay,” she agreed, her voice stronger than she expected. “No more running. No more secrets.”
For the first time since fleeing Chicago, Sharon allowed herself to imagine a future—Christmas morning, New Year’s Eve, perhaps even spring in this small Texas town she’d started to love.
A future with Dusty by her side.
“Whatever happens next,” she said, holding his gaze, “I’m done running away from the things that matter.”
His eyes softened with understanding. He knew she wasn’t just talking about Cooper’s people.
“Good,” he said simply. “Because I wasn’t planning on letting you go anywhere.”
Walking from the office into the main dining room, Sharon felt as if a giant burden was lifted from her shoulders. The Christmas lights twinkled, casting multicolored reflections against the big picture window. As the sheriff’s car pulled up outside and members of the Boudreau family emerged from other vehicles lining the street, Sharon felt something she hadn’t experienced in months.
Hope.
And the certainty that this Christmas in Shiloh Springs would be unlike any other—a season of endings and beginnings, of danger and deliverance.
And perhaps, if they survived what was coming, of love.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The interrogation roomat the Shiloh Springs Sheriff’s Office wasn’t much bigger than a storage closet, but Dusty had seen suspects crack in smaller spaces. But this trio of ne’er-do-wells hadn’t budged an inch since the deputies had picked them up at Daisy’s Diner.
“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Rafe said, his deep Texas drawl doing nothing to soften the steel in his voice. “We know you’re working for Cooper Madison. We know you’re looking for Sharon Elliott. What we don’t know is why you think you can come into our town and harass one of our citizens.”
The woman—Marissa, if her ID was to be believed—rolled her eyes. “We were simply having lunch at a local establishment. Last I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”
“You specifically told Daisy you were looking for this Sharon Elliott person. Said you were old friends. Daisy said you were harassing her waitress.”
The woman rolled her eyes but kept her mouth shut.
Dusty clenched his jaw, fighting to maintain his composure. The woman had been caught taking photos of Sharon as she raced toward the back of Daisy’s place. The two men with her had positioned themselves one at the front door and the other by the entrance to the kitchen, effectively boxing Sharon in until Daisy herself had called the sheriff’s office.
“Trespassing, harassment, stalking—take your pick,” Dusty countered, leaning against the wall with deceptive casualness. “You scared a woman who’s under the protection of this town.”
The taller of the two men, a hard-faced former military type named Richards, smirked. “Protection? That’s what you’re calling it when you’re sleeping with a fugitive, Warner?”
Dusty lunged forward before he could stop himself, only Rafe’s restraining hand on his shoulder preventing him from grabbing Richards by his expensive shirt collar.
“That’s enough,” Rafe said quietly, though his dark eyes flashed with the same anger Dusty felt. “Back off, Dusty, he’s trying to get a rise out of you.” Rafe turned back to Richards. “Mr. Richards, I suggest you watch your mouth. Former Dallas detective or not—and I haven’t seen evidence of your claim—my deputy here has a shorter fuse than I do, so you might want to watch your words.”
Dusty forced himself to back up, disturbed by his own reaction. He’d been a cop too long to let a suspect get under his skin like that. But the insinuation about Sharon had hit a nerve raw enough to surprise even him. Four days. He’d known Sharon Elliott for four days, yet somehow, she’d gotten under his skin in a way he couldn’t explain or defend.
The third member of the group, a barrel-chested man who’d introduced himself only as Smith, finally spoke. “We’re not looking for trouble, Sheriff. Our employer simply wants to speak with Ms. Elliott about some proprietary information she may have taken when she left her position.”
“Funny way to request a conversation,” Dusty replied. “Following her across multiple state lines, sending threatening messages, vandalizing her vehicle. Seems a little excessive for somebody who simply wants to talk.”
Smith shrugged. “I can’t speak to that. We’ve only been on the case a short time. If Ms. Elliott has been having problems, it didn’t come from us. We were hired to locate her and facilitate a meeting, nothing more.”
Rafe and Dusty exchanged a look. They both knew they’d get nothing more from these three, and without evidence of an actual crime committed in their jurisdiction, they couldn’t hold them.
“We’re done here,” Rafe said finally. “But listen carefully. You’re leaving Shiloh Springs tonight. I don’t care if it’s the holidays. I don’t care if the weatherman says there’s a blizzard coming. If I see any of you within town limits after sunset, I guarantee I’ll find enough charges to levy your fancy Chicago lawyers will be working overtime to get you free.” He pointed to the door. “Now get out before I change my mind.”
