Starting with June. Emilie Rose

with PTSD. Yoga hadn’t been a total waste of time—it had increased his flexibility. But Sam preferred relieving his tension through other means. Emptying a couple of dozen clips on the range. Swimming or pumping iron until his arms felt as if they would fall off. A good run. The latter had a purpose because it could save his life if he was detected and had to haul ass.

      A pang of regret hit him. He wouldn’t be running for his life anymore unless his eye healed and he could convince brass to let him re-up.

      June shifted from a low lunge to a shoulder stand, then rolled smoothly down into a boat pose. She held the V shape steadily, toes pointed up, arms forward with nary a wobble. That explained her flat abs. Tight. Strong. He’d underestimated her muscle tone.

      He shook himself. What in the hell was wrong with him, standing here on his porch gawking at a woman working out? His knuckles bumped the gun on his hip as he dug his keys from his pocket. He didn’t have a concealed-carry permit for this state, but he wouldn’t be here long enough for the paperwork to clear, and there was no way he’d go into foreign territory unarmed. He’d better mention that to Roth. He’d have to open carry when he wasn’t wearing his police issued weapon, and he wasn’t sure how Quincey’s citizens would take that.

      He unlocked his door and entered his lodgings. His gaze immediately swung to the window but he kept out of sight and didn’t turn on the overhead light. June had her legs spread wide and her breasts pressed to the floor between them. The woman was flexible. That took his brain down a path it definitely did not need to travel. Undeniable hunger burned in his gut. It was unfortunately not an appetite that could be satisfied with a bowl of the stew he’d left simmering on the stove before he’d gone out this morning.

      It was not one that would be satisfied—period—during this assignment. But she provided one hell of a view.

      * * *

      JUNE PUSHED OPEN the station door Tuesday morning feeling as if she’d been away for months rather than exiled for three days. Thank heaven her vacation was over. It felt good to be back in uniform and back to her home away from home with her family by choice rather than blood.

      Unfortunately, Madison, her friend/landlord, had returned sometime last night after June had gone to bed, and her house had still been dark when June left this morning. Getting answers about the new tenant would have to wait until lunchtime when June could swing by Madison’s office to see if her friend had any details.

      But on a positive note, June had managed to avoid Sam this morning. His cottage had been dark when she’d left for her prework run, and his Charger had been gone when she’d returned. If she was curious about where he’d gone at such an early hour, well, it was none of her business as long as he stayed out of trouble. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t see him all day. Nevertheless, she’d locked her doors last night and this morning—something she’d rarely done since returning to Quincey, and she’d silently locked Madison’s while her friend slept.

      The other two deputies were already at their desks. That surprised her enough to make her toe catch on the tile with a noisy squeak. Once in a while the chief beat her in, but usually she was the first to arrive. She liked coming in early while the building was quiet and then preparing and sipping her coffee while she reviewed files and bulletins that had come in overnight. She had a lot of ideas about bringing the antiquated filing system up to current-day standards, and her new boss seemed receptive to them.

      “Morning, Justice,” Alan Aycock, the oldest and most chauvinistic of her fellow deputies, stated.

      She’d given up long ago on convincing them to call her June rather than by the name her father and his cronies used. “Good morning, Alan. Mac. What’s going on? Did I miss a memo about a morning meeting?”

      “Nah. Chief hired a new man. He starts today,” Mac replied. “We wanted to check him out.”

      How had she missed hearing that? “When did he tell you that?”

      “Yesterday. You gonna make the coffee?” Aycock asked. “We’ve been waiting.”

      “You go ahead. I have to clock in and check the bulletins.” She ignored his sputtering and headed for the old-fashioned time clock. It was original to the building, which was only a few years short of historic. That meant it was temperamental.

      “What’s in the bag?” Aycock pestered.

      “You’ll find out after you make the coffee.”

      She heard him grumbling. Then his chair squeaked as he pushed to his feet. “Do I use four scoops or eight?”

      “Depends on whether you want to read through it or drink it.”

      She’d learned early on not to pander to Alan’s passive-aggressive personality. If he could get out of doing something by doing it wrong, then he would. But to her way of thinking, a man was never too old to learn new tricks. Like how to make coffee. And other than that and his chauvinism, he wasn’t a bad guy. He’d raised his two kids single-handedly after his wife had run off with the propane deliveryman. The kids had turned out all right. Both were on the high school honor roll. You had to give him credit for that and for being a fair deputy.

      “Hope you enjoyed your time off,” he groused.

      “Been a long time since you worked a holiday, hasn’t it, Aycock? Years? Right?”

      He stiffened at the reminder that she always covered for him and his complexion turned ruddy. “Yes. Which was nice... Time with the kids and all that.”

      “Thought so.” She went through her morning routine by rote, clocking in, then depositing the homemade donuts in the break room. The station door opened as she returned to the main room. Roth, the chief, walked in followed by Sam.

      Sam in a uniform identical to June’s.

      Shock glued her feet to the floor, and her stomach did a loop-the-loop up her throat and down again. It was small consolation that when Sam’s eyes—the first time she’d seen them without sunglasses save his DMV photo—fixed on her, the same dismay registered on his face.

      “Deputies, I’d like you to meet our newest officer. Sam Rivers.”

      Sam’s unblinking gaze held hers, then skimmed downward, taking in her badge, her equipment-loaded duty belt and her polished shoes, then returned to her face.

      “Sam, this is Alan Aycock, my senior deputy, and Mac Morris.”

      Sam’s attention abruptly shifted elsewhere. June used the reprieve to gather her composure while Sam shook hands with each of the men. But her break was short-lived.

      “You’ve already met Justice Jones,” Roth added.

      Sam paused a fraction of a second before extending his hand to June. “You told me your name was June.”

      His grip was warm and as firm as his accusatory tone. He held on a second longer than necessary, then released her, but the tingle traveling through her tissues lingered. “My friends call me June, but you can call me Justice or Jones since we’ll be working together.”

      A slight tightening of his lips was the only sign that he’d understood her insult. “Justice because you’re a cop?”

      “Justice was my mother’s maiden name. It’s Southern tradition to tag daughters that way.”

      “Jones is a native of Quincey,” Roth continued. “She’ll be showing you the ropes.”

      June’s and Sam’s heads snapped toward Roth’s.

      “Me?”

      “Her?” they chorused in horrified unison.

      “That’s right. Sam, you’ll ride along with Jones until you get a feel for Quincey. Then you’ll get your own cruiser.”

      “But, Chief—” June protested. Something dark and dangerous in the boss’s eyes severed her words. “Yes, sir.”

      Roth tossed her a key