Page 29 of Tessa's Trust

Nick quickly called Sheriff Franco and reported the events of the evening.

Ozzie started to stir, and almost casually, Nick kicked him in the jaw. Ozzie’s head thunked back against the grill of his truck, and he slumped unconscious again.

“Asshole,” Nick muttered.

I couldn’t help it. Or maybe I didn’t want to. My hand shaking, I made sure my safety was engaged and then shoved my gun into the back of my waistband. Without letting myself think about it, I jumped forward and planted one on Nick’s mouth.

He took over the kiss almost instantly, using just the force of his lips.

Nick Basanelli knew exactly how to kiss. The air around us was freezing, but his lips were hot, his tongue volcanic.

I moved into him, no longer caring about the guy on the ground. Desire skittered through me, zinging down to my abdomen. Basanelli was a hard man; I had known that already.

But against him, body to body, his mouth taking mine? He was hard everywhere. Head to toe.

Sirens echoed in the distance.

I stilled and then took a step back, surprised that he’d captured me with only his mouth.

What in the heck had I just done?

Chapter 11

A frantic call from Smiley’s Diner had me out of my comfortable bed at my parents’ house at six in the morning. Darn it.

The previous night, Nick and I had checked out my new place above the restaurant after reaching town and being interviewed once again by Sheriff Franco. Afterward, I’d decided to stay with my folks for the night.

My cousins had done an all right job of placing what furniture I had left, but I hadn’t wanted to stay alone until the sheriff discovered who’d killed Rudy Brando, and I sure wasn’t letting Nick sleep over after that kiss.

Yeah, things got silent, tension-filled, and awkward between us afterward. Mainly because I just wanted to kiss him again.

I slowly drew on clothes, my mind filled with the feeling of his steel-hard body. So not good. I’d felt fine staying with my folks since the shooter had been after Nick and not me. My gut feeling was that Rudy’s murder had nothing to do with me, except for that darned quitclaim deed. It had to be fake. I hoped.

Man, I was tired. I paused in brushing my hair to dial the diner.

“Smiley,” Mert Smiley answered, his tone brusque.

“Hey. It’s Tessa. Are you sure you need me today?” I engaged the speaker button so I could lean toward the mirror and apply mascara without taking out an eye. “I have the next couple of days off before training the new workers.”

Mert growled. A true growl. The guy was around seventy and built like a linebacker, and contrary to his name, he was a grump. “One waitress has a sick kid, and the other some sort of personal problem. I’m swamped here already. People are tired of leftovers after Christmas and want food. Be here in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m over the pass.” I was more than used to Mert’s moods. “I’ll be there for the brunch rush in a couple of hours. You’ve already handled the early morning crowd—and you owe me.” I clicked off before his temper could explode because I just wasn’t in the mood.

I shoved everything I’d need for the day into my overlarge bag and quietly crept into the kitchen, where my dad had already left on a pot of coffee. He had no doubt headed to the mine a couple of hours ago to start his shift, and my mom was still asleep.

I poured myself a large travel mug, snatched a plate with croissants, and then headed out to my car, which one of my cousins had delivered to my folks’ house at some point. While a large family was often meddling and in your face, they sure came in handy, and I did appreciate them. I didn’t even know which cousin had done it, but I thought it was sweet.

My Nissan Rogue drove perfectly on the winter roads.

Taking a chance, I popped by the sheriff’s office, which was located in an old brick building in the middle of town. I walked inside and waved at the deputy behind the desk, who was answering a call about what sounded like a missing dog. I went right by him and down the long hallway past cabinets to the sheriff’s office.

“Hey, Sheriff Franco.” I moved inside. The place smelled like papers and Old Spice. “I brought you some of my mom’s croissants.” I’d figured she wouldn’t mind since she had made so many. I handed over the plate.

The sheriff looked up, his grizzly eyebrows rising. “Excellent. I was going to run down and grab something to eat at the little hotel, but this is better. How you feeling after your ordeal last night?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

The sheriff looked me over. “You’ve got a bruise on your chin.”

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