A Touch of Scarlet. Liz Talley

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, Winchester, 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.

      “Already saw him at the Hamilton reception. He’ll be on our doorstep Monday. Bank on it.” Adam twisted the top off the water 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 Facebook 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 actual police work 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 Dan Drummond 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 chief’s 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.

      Lucky Adam. He got to fix it. Not an easy task.

      “You want me to pick you up something at the Dairy Barn?” Jared asked from the open doorway. Adam glanced up and suppressed a scowl at the way the man’s shirttail hung out on one side. He’d asked his officers time and again to make sure they looked professional. Jared seemed the most challenged in this area, especially as it seemed his shirt was a magnet for barbecue sauce, mustard and other nefarious condiments. But at least he was generous enough to ask Adam if he wanted a sandwich.

      “No, thanks. I’ll grab something later.”

      Jared sent him a wave, and moments later the heavy metal door slammed shut. The small building fell silent.

      Adam leaned back in his chair and sighed. He had plenty of paperwork awaiting him, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like diving into it. He closed his eyes and was immediately assaulted by the image of Scarlet Rose.

      He hated that he couldn’t shake the niggling of want that had burrowed inside him and taken root. He couldn’t act—

      The harsh ring of the phone interrupted his self-admonishment.

      Roz had clocked out. No one to answer but him. He should let the machine pick up, but it might be an emergency. He snatched the receiver off the hook. “Oak Stand Police Department. Hinton.”

      “Well, hello, stranger,” the voice purred.

      He closed his eyes. “Angi.”

      “Oh, you remembered what my voice sounds like.”

      Adam breathed a silent curse. One he’d never say aloud. “How could I forget? I heard it almost every day for the ten months we were together.”

      “You changed your cell-phone number,” she breathed, ignoring his gibe about the length of their marriage. Her voice sounded gravelly from the cigarette smoke of the bar she had likely visited the night before. He could visualize her on the other side of the line. Tight dress, too much makeup with a glass of sweet tea cradled in one hand. She’d be sprawled across the bed on her stomach, likely barefoot, chewing a piece of spearmint gum to give her tea mint flavor. She’d likely taken a break in getting ready for round two for the weekend, where she would probably hit two or three clubs with her girlfriends. He knew her, and he knew her schedule. It hadn’t changed with their marriage and it sure hadn’t changed with their divorce.

      “New life, new number,” he said.

      Angi didn’t respond. A few seconds slipped by.

      “That’s what you want? A whole new life? You want to just forget about us? About me?” Her poor-me routine was in full force, the one she’d perfected after losing their baby. The one that stirred guilt inside him every time.

      He tried to dash away the feelings of sadness, anger and bitterness her words brought forth. “Don’t start, Angi. There is no us anymore.” Adam rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger. He didn’t need this now. Not when he had a report to file on a certain speeder. Not when he had a giant pig statue to locate.

      “You didn’t think that the last time you were in Houston. It felt very much an us. In fact, it felt like old times.” Angi’s voice had returned to breathy and teasing. This was the voice she used on him every time she wanted something, whether it was a drink, sex or money. Usually it was all three. And damn his weak hide, he sometimes gave in.

      “That night was a mistake,” he muttered, wishing he hadn’t answered the phone. He also wished he’d shoved her out of his Houston hotel door the last time he’d been in the city. Instead he allowed her to wheedle herself inside for a nightcap. Which had led to sex so hot the hotel manager had called the room and requested they keep it down. Which had led to his writing her a check to cover her rent for the month—money over and above the alimony he paid her on a regular basis. As he’d scribbled his name on the signature line, he’d felt dirty and used. Shame had coursed through him. Didn’t matter that she had seduced him. Didn’t matter that no one had forced him to write that check. Guilt reigned where Angi was concerned. As it always had.

      Their disaster of a marriage had been his fault. He’d forced her into something she hadn’t wanted, tried to make her into something she could never be, and they’d both paid for his mistake.

      “Somehow I knew you’d say that, darlin’.”