“Take a breath,” he instructed firmly, moving closer, stopping when she held up her hand. “You’re holding your breath.”

God, she was. The air whooshed out of her lungs in one big massive exit, leaving her deflated. She had no idea if that was relief that replaced it, or desolation.

“Now inhale,” he directed.

She did. And then again, ignoring him when he closed the distance between them and cupped her face. “This is panic,” he said, studying her features. “Not asthma.”

“I know!” She grimaced and pushed free. “I’m working on that. And for your information, I do care about my sisters.” At his raised brow, she crossed her arms. “Which means I’m your normal, average woman. A normal, average woman who’s just messing around with her local sheriff.”

“Chloe.” His laugh was short. “You’re beautiful, smart as hell, and can make me lose my mind. But you are not, nor will you ever be, average.”

“Hey,” she said, not missing that he didn’t correct the “just messing around” comment. “I could be average if I tried.”

“That wasn’t a put-down.” He ducked to make eye contact, his hands on her arms. “I like you just the way you are.”

Sweet, but doubtful. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a little bit of average, you know?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because…” She trailed off and rubbed her chest, which was still way too tight. Because his eyes were reflecting something far too close to sympathy, she scrubbed her hands over her face so she didn’t have to look at him. “Never mind. Just ignore me.” She got to the front door before he spoke.

“Chloe.”

“What?”

“Average is boring.” He came close, pulled her inhaler out of her pocket, and shook it for her before handing it over. “Have you ever thought that maybe your asthma’s triggered by emotional responses rather than physical ones?”

“It’s beginning to occur to me,” she admitted. “Not that it matters in this case. We’re just…messing around.” She felt the doorknob at her back and reached behind to grip it, desperate to flee. God. She was so full of shit. The man had taken the time to research asthma, for God’s sake. If showing meant more than telling, then damn, he’d hit the bull’s-eye. She opened her mouth, praying something brilliant would come out, but all she managed was a “bye” before she escaped.

Even after his morning coffee, Sawyer was still thinking about the look in Chloe’s eyes as she’d left his bedroom, the look that said he’d somehow disappointed her.

He was good at that, disappointing people, but admittedly, she’d really gotten to him. She’d seemed confused and vulnerable, which had caught him off guard.

He’d felt the same. Christ, they were a pair. And work wasn’t the time to think about it or he’d get himself or someone else dead, so he forcibly cleared his mind.

His first not-so-big surprise of the day was to learn that Mitch had been picked up at the crack of dawn, high as a kite. He’d already plea-bargained by naming his drug source.

Todd.

According to Mitch, Todd was doing some heavy dealing for a big drug lord. Unlike Mitch, Todd was smart enough to stay off the crap. Apparently Todd and Mitch were equal partners until Mitch had started caring more about his own consumption than selling for their head honcho, and Todd, worried about losing his meal ticket, cut Mitch out of a deal. Now Mitch was pissed and scared enough to point the finger.

But Todd was only the middleman to the bigger fish, a fish that the DEA was already trying to corner. They were now going to use Todd to lead them to him

Sawyer couldn’t say that he was all that surprised about any of it, but he was certainly angry. Especially as he went to Todd’s place to try to talk some sense into the ass.

“Christ,” Todd said when Sawyer got out of his SUV. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

Todd laughed. “Seriously, man? I have nothing to say to you.”

“I can get you a deal if you help us out.”

“You want me to give you a name,” Todd said.

“Yes.”

“Not going to happen.” Todd got into his truck.

Sawyer let out a breath. He wanted to say fuck it, but he couldn’t just walk away. He had no idea why. “It’s not too late. If that’s what you’re thinking. It’s not.”

Todd’s smirk faded, but his eyes stayed hard. “Yeah, it is.”

Sawyer watched him drive off, torn between the feeling of fury and failure. He knew Todd, whether Todd wanted to admit it or not. Todd was stupid enough to try to warn his supplier.

Sawyer would hopefully be smart enough to catch him at it. Sawyer shook his head and turned back to his vehicle. It was done, then. Todd had had as many opportunities as Sawyer to turn his life around, and at every single turn, he’d chosen to fuck himself over. Not happy, Sawyer called the DEA and gave the information to his contact, Agent Reed Morris, detailing everything that Mitch had provided and what Sawyer knew about Todd.

All they needed now was for Todd to lead them right to his next big deal.

Sawyer tried not to feel guilty, relieved, or any other useless emotion. No matter what went down, Todd would blame him. And with some effort, Sawyer hoped he wouldn’t blame himself.

Not your fault…

Chloe had told him that, not even knowing the full story. She was like a spring storm-wild and unpredictable, and yet somehow also a calm, soothing balm on his soul. He didn’t understand it, not one bit. Nor did he know what to do about the fact that they hadn’t burned out on each other as he’d supposed they would.

He still wanted more of her. And he had a sinking feeling that he always would.

And he was back to thinking about her. Perfect. He shook it off as he was called by dispatch to a house where some drunk guy was allegedly punching out all of his mother’s windows. When Sawyer arrived at the house, the front door was open. The woman who’d made the call was standing on the porch. “It’s my son,” she said, voice trembling. She leaned in to whisper, “Tommy’s got a drinking problem.”

“Is he still inside?” Sawyer asked her.

“Yes.” She was wringing her hands. “What are you going to do to him?”

“I’m going to have Tommy come outside to talk.”

“But not arrest him, right? He didn’t threaten me or anything.”

“Ma’am, he’s committed malicious mischief with the windows, and that’s domestic violence. Plus those windows are probably at least three hundred bucks a pop. If you add it all up, it’s a felony. I have to arrest him.”

“Oh, God. He’s going to be really mad.” She bit her lower lip. “I think he needs rehab,” she whispered. “Can you take him to rehab?”

Sawyer looked inside the house. Tommy was mid-thirties but looked fifty, like someone right out of a Cops episode. He was sitting on his couch in the living room, and in front of him on the coffee table were two rows of at least twenty empty beer cans. On top of one of the cans was perched a pair of sunglasses.

“What are you doing?” Sawyer asked him.

Tommy just kept staring at the cans with the intense concentration of the extremely inebriated. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Humor me,” Sawyer said.

“I’m testing my sunglasses. They say they’re polarized, but I think the manufacturer is full of shit. I’m gonna sue.” He bent, peering through the lenses, then unexpectedly slashed out with his hand, sending the cans and glasses flying against the far wall. “Fuckers.”

“Okay,” Sawyer said. “How about we go outside?”

“How about I punch you in the face?”

Sawyer hauled him up to his feet.

For the first time, Tommy looked up at Sawyer. And up, taking in Sawyer’s size and bulk, exaggerated by the Kevlar vest. The suspect lost some of his aggression. “I was just testing my sunglasses,” he said with far less attitude.

Thirty minutes later, he was testing out the bench in lockup, sobering up.

And Sawyer was at career day at the junior high school. God, he hated career day. He didn’t mind the no-drugs speech so much, or the kids’ questions. No, what he hated were the censorious looks from teachers who remembered him from his own junior high school days.

When that was over, Sawyer had a baseball game, and to his great satisfaction, they kicked the firefighters’ collective asses. Then he had a late dinner with Jax at the bar where he pretended not to be watching the front door for Chloe, who didn’t make an appearance. At some point, Sawyer was reminded by Jax that as upcoming best man, he’d better be planning a righteous bachelor party.

Sawyer called Ford and told him to get on that.

The next day, Sawyer was trying to catch up on his ever-growing paperwork when dispatch sent him out to talk to a woman who was claiming she’d been robbed. But when Sawyer got to the beauty salon on the pier, the woman wanted to tell him about her twelve-dollar manicure.

“Ma’am,” Sawyer said. “You said you were robbed.”

“I’m getting to that. The place is all new on the inside, you see?”

“So?”

“So there’s no way they can possibly be making it work with twelve-dollar manicures; clearly it’s a front for criminal activity.”

Sawyer nearly arrested her for being annoying. Instead, he told her if she stopped talking, he might see his way to being charitable enough to not ticket her for making a nuisance call.

Then, since he was there on the pier anyway, he went into Eat Me for food, where Amy took one look at him and promptly served him a double bacon blue burger and a huge helping of pie. “Oh, and heads-up-Chloe’s here.” She hitched her head in the direction of the table behind him, where Chloe was sitting with Anderson, the guy who ran the hardware store.

Amy left Sawyer alone to eat, and he forced his gaze away from the couple. It was no business of his who Chloe ate with. But as he sat there with his burger, Sawyer wondered how he’d feel if she were seeing other people.