Own the Night. Debbi Rawlins

into the receiver, his gaze coming back to her, briefly skimming the front of her blouse and then resting on something over her left shoulder. “Anything?” he asked the caller. “Right.” His brows puckered in a slight frown as he listened, and then he leaned way back in his chair, his hand behind his head, making his biceps bunch again.

      Alana didn’t care if he knew she was staring at him. Once she told him what she did for a living he’d understand that her interest was purely professional. Anyway, a man like him had to be used to the stares. So far, with his strong, square jaw and sexy eyes, his wide shoulders, broad chest and flat belly, she hadn’t found a single flaw. The search was the only thing that was keeping her halfway sane.

      It was a bit annoying, really. Unnerving, too, because he wasn’t even her type. He lacked the polished sophistication that normally attracted her. Or if a man could get a reservation at Per Se on a Saturday night, that went a long way in piquing her interest.

      All that crap aside, she’d do the sexy sheriff in a New York minute.

      “What about Gunderson?” he asked the caller, and her gaze shot up to his face. He was watching her again, his eyes probing hers. “Okay. Check back.”

      “Was that about me?” she asked before he replaced the receiver. “Was anything recovered?”

      He shook his head. “That was Deputy Tisdale who called earlier. He’s been talking to the boys who were standing outside the Watering Hole. None of them saw anything.”

      She slumped back. At least Sheriff Calder took this seriously enough to have his deputy on the scene. “That seems impossible. How many people are walking around town rolling a big suitcase behind them?”

      He raised his eyebrows, his dubious expression and head tilt difficult to interpret. It couldn’t be that he didn’t believe her…. Could it?

      Alana straightened. “You can’t possibly think I’m making this up.”

      “Didn’t say that.”

      “Why?” She threw up her hands. “Why would I do such a thing?” “No need to get upset.” He reached for the phone again. “You have family you want to call?”

      “Oh, God, no.” She waved him off. “I remember something else—a loud noise came from the bar, like glass shattering. And there was an alley close to where I was talking to Mr. Gunderson … Did your deputy question him?”

      “He hasn’t been located yet.” The sheriff slowly moved his hand away from the receiver. “What about this noise?”

      “It sounded as if a waitress might have dropped a tray, and everyone turned to look toward the door. That’s when someone could’ve grabbed my suitcase.”

      “By alley, you’re referring to that narrow walkway between Sadie’s and the bank?”

      “I don’t recall what was next door, but it led to a parking lot.”

      Nodding vaguely, he jotted something down at the bottom of the report.

      Alana watched him, the enormity of her situation once again sinking in until she could barely breathe. She had no ID to travel, no money, not even a toothbrush, or a flat iron to straighten her hair. At least she had a place to sleep, she reminded herself before panic could take over. And she had her Rolex for collateral, though she imagined a place like the Sundance would cut her a break. Surely they’d help her arrange for toiletries or clothes or whatever else she needed until she could repay them.

      “You know the people who run the Sundance, right?”

      The sheriff looked up. “The McAllisters.” He nodded. “Good folks.”

      “I was hoping …” She bit her lip. This was new territory for her. She wasn’t in the habit of asking for help, or needing anyone. “I’m going to have to ask them for some assistance.”

      His eyes narrowed, the sudden distrust on his face quite insulting. “Such as?”

      Alana cleared her throat. “I don’t even have a damn toothbrush.”

      “Ah. I can help out with that.”

      “Well, I’ll need a few more things than a toothbrush and toothpaste. Look, I’d like to call the Sundance.” She reached for the phone. “You mind?”

      He hesitated, then lifted the receiver and punched in a number. When it became obvious he was going to play facilitator, she leaned back, more than a little miffed. She hated being at other people’s mercy.

      She hadn’t realized she’d sighed out loud until she met his probing gaze. He was wasting his time in this small town, she decided. With that cool, stoic stare he’d make an excellent big-city detective.

      “Hey, Rachel,” he said into the receiver, and his expression was suddenly transformed. Jesus, he was even better-looking when his features relaxed. “No, haven’t seen him.” He leaned back in his chair again and went into what she now considered his telephone pose—one hand behind his head, biceps bulging, his broad chest tapering to his narrow waist. “Was he planning to stop by?”

      That he was making small talk instead of focusing on her problem took a few seconds to register. Irritation broke through her admiration, and Alana sat up straight, tall and pissed. He seemed to get the drift, but instead of getting down to business, he held up his hand as he continued to chit-chat with the woman. Maybe Rachel was his girlfriend.

      Finally, after a few more moments, Alana noisily cleared her throat.

      Sheriff Calder’s gaze touched on her face, then slid past her without hesitation.

      Good-looking, yes, but he sure could be annoying.

      “I’ll be on the lookout for him,” he said lazily. “Look, Rach, I got a small problem here with one of your guests. What? No.” His attention shot back to the window and his eyes narrowed in frustration. “But I’m warning you, that crap has to stop. Those gals …” He clamped his mouth shut as he resettled himself behind his desk and picked up the report.

      Alana didn’t try to hide her smile. She thought she saw a trace of color underscore his tanned skin, and suspected she knew what that part of the conversation was about. So the sheriff wasn’t impressed with his fan club.

      He focused on the piece of paper in front of him. “Alana Richardson. She hasn’t checked in yet, but—” He frowned at Alana, repeated her name into the receiver, then fell silent.

      She leaned forward. “What?”

      “There’s no reservation under that name.”

      “Yes, there is. I made it yesterday. I have a confirmation number right here …” No, she didn’t. She had no purse, no nothing. “Dammit.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and held out her hand. “May I speak with her?”

      He listened intently for a minute, now holding up one finger instead of his hand, his impassive gaze flickering over her face. “She remembers now. You made a reservation for two, but that was for yesterday. You didn’t show up so she sold the room to someone else.”

      “Because I missed my flight. But I gave her a credit card to guarantee the reservation.” This was a nightmare. A complete and utter nightmare.

      He held his palm over the phone. “Where’s your companion?”

      “What companion?”

      “You booked the reservation for two.”

      “No, I didn’t. She has me confused with someone else. I came alone. I’d like to talk to her.” Alana still had her hand out, and through gritted teeth, added, “Please.”

      “That’s okay,” he said to Rachel. “I’ll take care of it. I’m sure.”

      Alana watched him hang up the phone, her temper near boiling. “I asked to speak with her.”

      “I’m sorry, in the middle