Starting with June. Emilie Rose

them to the lady they stole the eggs from and promised they’d reimburse her. Then your deputy took them to her father’s church and volunteered them to wash cars for a church fund-raiser. She never Mirandized them. And that’s not by the book.”

      “No, it isn’t, but neither is it out of line. They weren’t formally charged.”

      Matter of opinion. Not Sam’s. “After that she took them to school and told their science teacher that the boys would like to do a report and a presentation to their class on how eggs damage auto paint. She touted it as a great learning experience for all.”

      Roth’s face remained inscrutable. “Is that right?”

      “Only then did she drive each one of the brats to his daddy’s office and tell the fathers what their sons had done and where the boys would be on Saturday and about the school project. Instead of wasting an entire afternoon on these little vandals, she should have hauled them here and tossed them into a cell to cool their heels until their parents posted bail and picked them up. June is more mommy than deputy.”

      Roth rocked back in his chair. “I told you small-town policing is like nothing you’ve ever seen. I had issues with June’s technique, too, when I first started here, and then my father-in-law set me straight. June’s approach may be unconventional. It certainly wouldn’t work in Raleigh, where she trained. But it works here. For what it’s worth, Miss Letty barely scrapes by since her husband died a few years back, and the boys attend Pastor Jones’s church. They’re probably even going on the mission trip. Reparation might not be a bad idea. As for the school thing...we could do with a few less juvenile delinquents. They’re Quincey’s biggest problem.”

      Dumbfounded, Sam stared at his friend. “What has small-town living done to the rule-following Marine I knew? June’s dispensing her own brand of justice. Hell, she was judge and jury, too.”

      “Supposing she’d done as you suggested and brought the boys to the station and charged them with petty vandalism, following textbook procedure. Tyler’s daddy’s a lawyer, a good one, I hear, and Joey’s dad was Quincey’s all-star quarterback fifteen years ago. He took the team to the state championship and threw the winning touchdown. That’s something folks around here don’t forget. I suspect the judge would have thrown out both boys’ cases.”

      “You have to be kidding me. We caught them red-handed.”

      “I hear what you’re saying, Sam, and now you understand some of my frustration. In reality, strings would have been pulled, charges dropped, etc. The boys’ punishment would have been over before the ink dried on the paperwork, and they’d have learned that their daddies can get them out of trouble. Or if by some fluke the charges weren’t dropped, the boys would have a permanent juvenile record for stealing and throwing a couple dollars’ worth of eggs. You and I both did worse as kids.

      “Now put yourself in their current situation.” Grinning, Roth shook his head. “June’s going to torture the ever-livin’ hell out of them for a week. Tyler and Joey will also serve as examples to their peers when they’re stuck washing cars Saturday afternoon while their buddies are eating barbecue and throwing around the football on the church lawn. And when they’re forced to stand up and give that oral report, the message will be driven home again. Screw up in Quincey and you pay. You tell me which punishment is more likely to discourage repeat offenders.”

      As soon as Roth said it, Sam got it. He didn’t like it. He preferred rules and clear-cut consequences for breaking them. He liked going through the proper chain of command. But he understood June’s angle. He nodded.

      “I hear you, but I’d still like to work with Morris or Aycock tomorrow. That woman likes a captive audience. She nearly talked the boys’ ears off. Mine, too.”

      Roth cracked a smile. “Sam, she’s the most even-tempered woman I’ve ever met or worked with. How did you manage to get on her bad side so quickly?”

      The chair suddenly felt harder. “What makes you think I did?”

      “She’s beat you in here by ten minutes to request that your training be handled by one of the other deputies.”

      That rankled. Sam had never had anyone refuse to work with him before. On the contrary, he’d had more ask to be assigned to work with him than his superiors could accommodate. He was imperturbable, eternally patient, a damned good shot, and top-notch at calculating trajectories, wind velocities and spindrift.

      “She doesn’t want to work with me? What’s her problem?”

      “You. She claims you’re too rigid and used excessive force when you handcuffed Tyler Newsome for throwing eggs.”

      “I cuffed the little bast—brat for evading arrest. He ran.”

      “He’s barely thirteen.”

      “So were two of the suicide bombers I was sent to take out.”

      A sobering silence filled the room. Roth had been there, done that. The first kid Sam had been sent after hadn’t even started shaving, but the explosives wrapped around his chest as he’d strolled into a crowded marketplace that had included many Marines had been impossible to miss. That had been a hard one. The bastards over there had used women and children on a regular basis. Subsequent assignments hadn’t gotten any easier. But Sam had done what was necessary to save lives.

      He replaced the bad memories by dredging up an image of angry green eyes and golden hair pulled into a stubby ponytail instead.

      “What else is she whining about?” Sam groused.

      “She claims you were abrupt with the citizens who tried to welcome you. You even refused Mrs. Ray’s turtle soup.”

      That bit him like belly-crawling over a ground nest of yellow jackets. “I don’t like turtle soup, and I met a hundred people today. June never got the car above ten miles per hour. And then she took me to the diner for lunch. A cavity search would’ve been less invasive. It was like being autopsied while I was still alive.” He’d barely been able to eat for people dropping by their table and grilling him.

      Roth’s grin widened. “Welcome to Quincey. Give it time. It’ll grow on you.”

      “Like fungus?”

      Roth laughed. “Ah, you remember my description of coming home. See you in the morning. If you’re nice, maybe June will let you drive.”

      Frustrated, Sam rose. “If I wanted to be tortured by females, I’d go home to my sisters.”

      “Good idea. I’ll give you three days’ leave if you want to visit your family. But you’re still partnered with Jones.”

      His sisters made the citizens of Quincey look like amateur sleuths.

      “I don’t need leave.”

      At least he and June agreed on one thing. Neither wanted to work together. But he’d change her mind. Then when he repeated his request for a different partner, maybe Roth would listen.

CHAPTER FOUR

      JUNE PACED HER tiny den, waiting for Madison to get home. But instead of her landlord’s truck, she heard the low growl of Sam’s high-performance engine rumbling up the driveway. Tension snapped her nerves as tight as overwound guitar strings. He parked in front of his cottage and headed for his front door.

      If it had been anyone else, she’d have invited them to join her for dinner. It was the neighborly thing to do. But not Sam. She’d had enough of his impatience and disapproving glares today. Not that she’d been able to see his condemning eyes through the dark lenses, but the way he’d looked at her, with censure pleating his brow and turning down the corners of his compressed mouth, she’d seen all she needed to see.

      Why had he taken this job if he hated small-town life so much? Or maybe he just hated her. That bothered her more than it should have. His opinion did not matter.

      A