Latimer's Law. Mel Sterling

even want him in her business in the first place, but by stealing his truck she’d dragged him right into her mess.

      What would she look like if she smiled? Would the smile reach her eyes, transform her from sadly pretty to beautiful? Or would she get a goofy grin on her face that made her more charming than pretty? What would it be like to be the man Abigail McMurray smiled at? He missed being the sort of man women looked at with interest, even pleasure. The scar on his face saw to that.

      Cade shook his head again, continuing to gaze at the river so Abigail would not see him scowling. When he scowled, he was truly a monster. He was unaccountably unwilling for her to view him that way. He might be ugly—he couldn’t help that—but he didn’t have to be frightening.

      She stole your truck, Latimer. Keep that in mind. He tried to summon his cop brain uppermost, but it was having trouble, fighting with the white knight living deep within. The two sides of himself weren’t always incompatible, but in this case he wasn’t merely a disinterested party. He was personally involved, and growing more so by the minute. The cop brain had made him one of the best at the undercover game. It was the knight that made him keep believing in the basic goodness and worth of most people. Some people were worth saving, and his instincts told him Abigail might be one of them.

      He fought down the urge to whack his own forehead with his open palm. He was acting like an idiot, thinking with his hormones instead of his brain. Abigail was pretty, sure. She was ragged and worn with care and fright. Likely he’d never have a chance with her, and he shouldn’t want one. She probably wasn’t the sort of woman who’d date a deputy for any reason, even if he weren’t ugly as sin these days. He hadn’t had the best of luck in the past with women, at least the sort of women who might want a long-term relationship. It took only one or two late nights on duty, a missed date at a swanky restaurant or a story about a dangerous takedown and a gunshot blessedly gone wide, for a woman to decide she was better off without the worry and fear her man might not come home some night. There were moments when he himself had wondered if scratching the adrenaline itch was worth it, if he might not find similar satisfaction in some other job where his life wasn’t on the line half the time. Maybe then a woman would find him a worthy recipient of her time and affection. Those kinds of women weren’t out stealing trucks, however. They were making vastly different life choices.

      He knew all that.

      It didn’t make a difference.

      Cade reeled in the lure and tossed it again. If only getting crooks to take bait was as easy as getting a fish to bite. Some of them were too smart, like this one. He stole a glance over his shoulder.

      Abigail was still seated like a good girl, her head drooping, staring at the picnic table’s wood grain. The sun blazed down on her head, turning the paler streaks in her brown hair to blazing gold. Even confined in a ponytail, it was the sort of hair that would look gorgeous loose around her shoulders, alive with gleaming highlights as it fell forward along her cheeks.

      Chapter 3

      Abby sat at the table, hands behind her back, sweating in the sauna heat of the humid sky. The table was out in the sun, and the sweet black shade of the nearby moss-hung oaks taunted her.

      What had just happened here? She would have sworn the man had started off in a murderous fury, having every intention of packing her off to the police. Somewhere in his interrogation of her the tone had subtly shifted from one of anger to one of curiosity.

      She eyed him where he perched on the incongruously small stool and leaned his back against one of the tall cypress knees that jutted from the river’s edge. His fishing line trailed lazily in the slow-flowing water, and every few minutes he reeled it in and flicked it back upstream to float past again.

      He sat with the scarred side of his face toward her. Now she had the leisure to study it, and reflect on some of her limited nursing training, the few years she’d had before taking a professional course designed to focus on adult day care in support of the business. It looked like a chemical burn of some sort, raised and raw-looking, ropy and rough in places, shiny and slick in others. The outer end of his left eyebrow was missing, giving him a somewhat quizzical appearance. He was fortunate that the worst of the chemicals had missed his eye. Even from a distance she could see his thick sandy lashes, which gave his startling blue eyes a deceptively sleepy look.

      His T-shirt fit him closely, limning muscles in his arms and chest and showcasing his flat belly between the open lapels of his fishing vest. With the single exception of the scar, he was a man she would have turned to watch on a street. Lean and strong, hair that was more gold than brown, tall. He had a way of moving that spoke of ease and friendliness, until his eyes caught those of an observer and the wariness surfaced. His voice, once the anger had drained away, was quiet and firm with only a slight trace of a Southern accent in the vowels.

      She had liked his laugh.

      Abby frowned at this thought. Overthinking this man’s general attractiveness was beyond pointless. Shortly he would tire of waiting for her to talk. He would shut her in the back of his truck and haul her off to the county sheriff. He had every right to do it.

      She wondered if the lawmen would give her a break if she showed them her bruises and filed charges against Marsh. It wasn’t the first time she’d fantasized about reporting Marsh’s various crimes. She was pretty sure she could make an assault charge stick, and maybe even domestic abuse. But it would mean facing him down in public, and he was so far inside her guard that he knew every last secret, every weakness. He had pried up the edges of all her insecurities and peered beneath to where her doubts and fears lurked, and he had magnified them.

      The telephone rang at all hours. It was a comfort knowing he thought about her, even at six in the morning or eleven at night.

      “How was the day? Got any good stories for me, Abigail?”

      “Oh...nothing fun. Just the usual grind. And messes. Sam had a bad seizure, so I had to call the ambulance, which upset everyone else. Rosemary cried and broke her soup bowl. Tomato soup everywhere. The new girl from the agency is still getting the hang of things, so most of the work is on me.”

      “Ah, Abigail, honey. I’m so sorry. Tomorrow will be better, I’m sure. In fact, I’ll guarantee it for you.”

      “Thanks, Marsh. I know you can’t do anything from there, but it’s just so good to hear a friendly voice. Someone who understands.”

      “Have you got any of that merlot I bought you left?”

      “A little.” Smiling to herself now, picturing his charming grin and the way the cork had resisted him when he opened that first bottle and they’d toasted Gary’s picture on the mantelpiece the night of the funeral. Two shared bottles and a crying jag later, she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder with his arm around her and the light cotton throw from the back of the sofa drawn across them both.

      Or a wake-up call, when she was drowsy and unguarded, warm with sleep and alone in a bed meant for two people.

      “Hey, there...how’s my gray-eyed sister-in-law this fine morning?”

      “It’s raining here.”

      “I didn’t catch you last night—I called a couple times but you didn’t answer. Were you out?”

      “Yeah...what time is it?”

      “Still early. You’ve got time to get a little more shut-eye, but I wanted to say hello before I have to start my commute. Were you out with Judy?”

      “Yeah. She made me go dancing with her and her hubby. Said I needed a little smoky air and loud music.”

      “Abigail...it’s too soon for that.”

      “I know. I came home early.”

      “I wish I was there with you.”

      “Me, too.”

      As the weeks after the funeral dragged on, she began changing her schedule to be home when she thought Marsh might call. She told friends