Rebecca Zanetti - Under the Covers

“Yep.” He took another bite. “The word around town is that we broke up, and apparently, the news doesn’t sit well with Mrs. Hudson.”

Heat climbed into Juliet’s face. “Well, it sits just fine with me.”

“Does it, now?” Quinn polished off his salad. “Good to know.” He stood—a strong man with a hard jaw. “I have a meeting in five minutes. Please tell Mrs. Hudson that I enjoyed the salad very much and to mind her own business.”

“You tell her that.” Juliet lifted her chin.

“I will.” He halted at the kitchen door. “Make sure Deputy Phillips is with you all day, Juliet. I’d hate to fire the guy.” Whistling a smart-ass tuned, the sheriff sauntered out of sight.

A raging headache set up camp behind Quinn’s left eye as he shoved open the door to the station. While he adored Mrs. Hudson, he didn’t need any help in figuring out his life. He needed time.

The silence in the station shot his blood pressure into overdrive.

Stopping at the reception counter, he pinned Mrs. Wilson with a hard look. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t you speak to me in such a tone, young man.” She shoved her glasses up her pointy nose, giving him the same glare she had when he’d stolen tulips from her garden to give to a girl. He’d been eight.

He fought the urge to shuffle his feet. “I apologize, Mrs. Wilson. Why is it so quiet in here?”

“I think everyone is upset about this.” She flashed a sympathetic grimace and slid the Billings paper across the counter.

Dread dropped into his gut. He turned the paper around to see a front-page picture of him helping Juliet out of the truck at the funeral. The caption read: “Sheriff Lodge Escorts Mob daughter Juliet Spazzoli.”

He scanned the article. Some of it touched on his reelection bid, but most of the article detailed the DEA’s case and offered speculation about Juliet’s crime family. Quinn handed the paper back to Mrs. Wilson. “Throw the entire thing away, would you?”

“Will this hurt you in the election?”

“I don’t know.” Right now, he didn’t have time to worry about the election. As he entered the main hub of the station, all of a sudden, everyone was either on the phone, typing, or out of sight. With a sigh, he stalked between people who wouldn’t meet his eye until entering his office.

“We could sue the paper.” Jake sat in a guest chair playing Angry Birds on his phone.

“Why? Most of the article seemed to be somewhat factual.” He skirted his desk and dropped into his chair.

Jake shot another red bird into the air. “You’ll need to campaign now.”

“I don’t have time.” Quinn shoved papers out of the way.

Jake clicked his phone shut. “Do you want to be the sheriff or not?”

Right now? “Not.”

“Liar.” Jake stuck his phone in his pocket. “I’ve booked you on two radio stations next week. The interviews will go quickly, and you need to do them.”

Damn it. “Fine.”

Jake grinned. “You and Juliet make up yet?”

“No.”

“Stop being such a stubborn bastard,” Jake said without heat. His eyes darkened with sympathy.

“She lied to me.”

“Yeah. People make mistakes, Quinn. Even you.” Jake cleared his throat. “Officially, I’m here to report that my client will testify to anything she has knowledge of regarding Freddy Spazzoli’s drug business in exchange for both state and federal immunity.”

Quinn lifted an eyebrow. “Does your client know anything she hasn’t already shared?”

“Er, no.” Jake grinned.

“Then not only is her testimony useless, she doesn’t need immunity.” Quinn doubted the DEA would waste time prosecuting Juliet without any proof.

The grin disappeared. “I still want the immunity. The money concerns me…and there’s a decent accessory-after-the-fact charge if the DEA wants to make an example out of her. Push your friend for the deal, Quinn.”

“Dealing with the DEA is your job, Jacob.” Quinn settled back in his chair. He didn’t deserve to be sheriff if he called in special favors. “You might also want to concentrate on the possession of false identification charge that will be heading Juliet’s way soon. The local prosecutor will love the case.”

“What false identification?”

“She brought false ID from New York to Montana.”

“Did she use any identification?”

“Don’t know.”

Jake picked at his faded jeans. “Have you either seen this identification or applied for a warrant to search her home or place of business?”

Quinn scowled. “Obtaining a warrant is on the agenda for today.”

Jake flashed the smile that made other attorneys quake. “Feel free. You won’t find any identification.”

Quinn gripped his desk. “You told her to destroy evidence?”

“Of course not. I didn’t tell her a damn thing.” Jake stood.

“Tell me you didn’t destroy evidence.”

Jake loped toward the door. “I believe I’ll take the Fifth on that one, Sheriff. Have a nice day.”

“You’re a damn officer of the court,” Quinn bellowed after his disappearing brother. Son of a bitch. The relief sliding through him pissed him off more. With a growl, he started punching in letters on his keyboard. Those damn reports wouldn’t write themselves.

An hour passed and someone tapped on his opened door. The scent of wild citrus hit him right in the solar plexus. Smoothing his face into interested lines, he focused on the door. “Hello, Juliet.” Standing like his mama had taught him, he gestured her into a chair.

She gracefully crossed and sat. Her pale face and trembling hands made him feel like an ogre.

“How can I help you?” He retook his seat before he could grab her up and cuddle her close.

Her forehead creased. “I, ah, well, you requested my presence.”

He leaned forward. “Who called you?”

“Mrs. Wilson.” Juliet glanced at the door, no doubt seeking a quick exit.

“Mrs. Wilson?” Quinn yelled.

The file clerk poked his head inside the office. “She took a half-day sick day, Sheriff.”

“I’ll bet she did,” Quinn muttered. He rubbed his whiskers. Had he forgotten to shave again? “I’m sorry, Juliet. Apparently I need to fire my receptionist.”

“You’re not going to fire Mrs. Wilson,” Juliet said, her lips tilting slightly. “Anyway, I wanted to say how sorry I am for the newspaper article. I wish I could do something about it.”

“Not your fault.” Her scent was driving him crazy.

The file clerk returned to place a box on Quinn’s desk. “From Shelby’s bakery.” The kid disappeared, shutting the door behind himself.

Quinn frowned at the box and flipped open the lid. Inside lay several cookies, all shaped as hearts and decorated with a Q + J.

Juliet covered her mouth, her eyes lighting with amusement. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Quinn cleared his throat. If the old biddies in town thought they could force him into anything, they were freakin’ crazy. “I’m sorry about this. Their interference is ridiculous.”

She lost her smile. “I’m sorry, too.” She rose, looking small and fragile.

He stood. “I, uh, am probably going to get a warrant to search your place later for the doctored identification.” Damn it. He had no right to warn her.

“Oh.” She tugged open a monstrous purse and rummaged inside. “I’ll give the identification to you now.”

“No.” God, no. He hadn’t wanted to set her up. Not at all. “Don’t do that.”

“No more hiding, and no more lies, Quinn. Take the ID. I bought it off a guy in the Village.” She yanked out a wallet and searched through it. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t tell me—it’s gone?” Relief dropped him back into his seat.

“Um, yes.” Juliet frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I do.” He shook his head. While part of him strongly disapproved, the other part wanted to buy his brother a drink later. As a thank you. “You should probably talk to your lawyer. Either way, there’s no reason to search your place.”

She nodded and turned toward the doorway. “Very well. Good-bye, Sheriff.”

“’Bye, Juliet.”

The door shut behind her with a sad sense of finality. Quinn Lodge glared at the damn cookies. What now?

…

Although early, the country-western bar was already hopping. The band blared a quick tune, and several couples two-stepped across the sawdust-covered dance floor. Juliet eyed the clear liquid in the shot glass from her table near the bar. “I’m not sure doing shots is such a good idea.”

Sophie shrugged and sipped her ginger ale. “Why not?”

Anne tipped back her head and downed her shot. “Yeah. Why not?” Then she sputtered, her eyes watering.

“That’s why,” Juliet said slowly. But what the heck. She grabbed the glass and poured the heated alcohol down her throat. The liquid rushed down and exploded in her stomach. She gasped and coughed.

Sophie smacked her on the back. “There you go, girlfriend. Now, did Quinn eat one of the heart-shaped cookies?” Her laugh competed with the band.

Juliet flushed. “Not while I was in his office. They just ticked him off.” She sighed. “I don’t think he’ll let anybody push him into forgiving me. This whole plan by the town is going to backfire.”

“I told Loni that.” Sophie’s eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean, I, uh—”

“Loni’s in on this?” Juliet gasped.

“Yep.” Sophie nodded. “She likes you. A lot.”

That was just sweet. Her heart warmed. “Well, that’s nice.” Juliet brushed sawdust off the table.

The fast song stopped, and Dawn Freeze stepped up to the mic to sing a country ballad. The entire place quieted. Low and sexy, the young woman’s voice crooned around the room, creating a cocoon of intimacy. Several couples slid onto the dance floor.