The Colton Sheriff. Addison Fox

their waitress for bringing bread. Who did that?

      Not Aisha. She kicked ass each morning at her kickboxing gym. She continued kicking it all day when it came to her patients and their welfare. And then she did it again when it came to enjoying herself.

      As if Steve still sat in Trey’s office, whispering from the corner, his unsolicited advice seemed to swirl through the room.

       You should get yourself a wife. It’d make this whole business easier.

      Where had that come from?

      Especially with his thoughts full of Aisha.

      She was a strong, independent woman, not some small, shy mouse of a human who couldn’t stand up for herself. Or worse, who’d been pushed down so badly she had no idea which way was up. And she certainly wasn’t the type of woman to agree to a pretend engagement.

      Engagement? With Aisha?

      That was what he’d taken away from his morning visitors?

      Since Steve’s visit had obviously shaken him more than he realized, Trey figured he was due for a change of pace. His early arrival to work ensured he had a rare free hour and he was going to put it to good use downstairs in the gym. A rotation through the speed bag, the weights and a bit of cardio would go a long way toward settling his thoughts.

      He needed it, Trey thought as he grabbed his gym bag from the floor beneath his desk. Because for the briefest of moments, he’d actually considered asking Aisha Allen if she wanted to be his pretend fiancée.

       Chapter 4

      Aisha inhaled the warm scents of flour tortillas and gooey cheese and let out her first easy breath of the day. She’d waited all day for this moment and she was going to take a few seconds to enjoy it.

      She’d earned it.

      A patient she’d been working with for the past five months—and who she’d believed was improving—had a significant setback that morning. It had been a difficult session, followed by a discussion with the man’s wife about possible treatment options that went beyond office visits. It had been emotional and painful and the sort of experience she was grateful she didn’t have often.

      And then her day had gone even further downhill after that.

      The press had somehow glommed onto her comments from Tuesday night at the county meeting and had executed a surprise attack with an office visit at lunch. She was so incensed by their arrival and their insistence she give a quote about the state of the investigation that she finally had to have her assistant call the Roaring Springs PD out to help deal with the intruders.

      Since that had stretched past lunch, it had interfered with a patient due into her office, and the sight of the police had sent her into a tailspin. It had taken nearly their entire hour to calm the woman down to the point of coherency, and after that Aisha had been tempted to cancel the rest of her appointments for the day.

      So yeah, she thought to herself as Trey handed her the drink menu from the center of the table. She’d earned her sangria swirl margarita. Maybe even a second. And the ginormous plate of enchiladas that she’d already selected off the dinner menu, too.

      “Tough day?” Trey’s question had her eyes popping open but it was the sweet, understanding look that softened the subtle lines around his thick-lashed eyes that caught her off guard.

      It was those moments—those quick little shots of intimacy—that never failed to catch her off guard. He saw her. It was...well, something she’d do better not to dwell on.

      Resolutely ignoring that quick shot of attraction, she shared what she could. “I’ve had better. But before I bore you with the nonconfidential pieces I can share, I want to hear about your morning. You had a rather impressive visitor.”

      “The governor’s lackey hardly rates as impressive.”

      “Well,” Aisha pointed out as she reached for a chip from the basket at the center of the table, “it wasn’t the governor. When he starts showing up, you know you have a real problem.”

      “That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Trey said as he moved the menus to give the waiter room to set down their drinks.

      “Bright-side Allen. That’s my name, sunshine’s my game.”

      The joke had him smiling a little bit, but it couldn’t penetrate the heavy pall that seemed to weigh over him. They’d met at her office in Roaring Springs, then walked through downtown toward the southern end of the main drag. The upper end was reserved for any number of high-end shops and elite restaurants, but Aisha preferred the hipper and more eclectic choices at the south end. Besides, it was a pretty summer night to walk and she was going to need every step she could find after her enchilada fest wrapped up.

      She picked up her margarita and considered a new tack. The lighthearted joking wasn’t working. And she knew that stubborn, settled look on his handsome face. Left to his own devices, he’d brood into his beer for the next two hours.

      Which meant fixing his mood called for special measures. Time to activate Officer Do-Right.

      “The press showed up today.”

      “What? Where?”

      “At my office. Some enterprising reporter read the notes of Tuesday evening’s meeting and decided to come grill me on the murders.”

      “They had no right to do that to you.” He slammed his beer on the table, his golden-brown eyes narrowing. “No right at all.”

      “Which is why I handled it and called for support in the form of the Roaring Springs police.”

      “You didn’t call me. You didn’t even tell me.”

      “I’m telling you now,” she murmured.

      “It’s not the same—”

      She lifted a finger, silencing him. “See how it feels?”

      Recognition dawned, chasing the lingering anger from those golden depths. “That’s not fair.”

      “It’s incredibly not fair. And it’s not what friends do. And for the record, I would have told you but I had a few patient emergencies that kept me occupied with necessary paperwork until about five minutes before you showed up. So.” She took a sip of her margarita, savoring the cold tartness on her tongue. “Your turn. Tell me about the visit from the chief lackey.”

      “What do you want me to tell you?”

      “What happened? What did they say? Are they going to send the Feds in like you worried about?”

      That had become his most recent fear as the situation with the Avalanche Killer spun out. In addition to battling Barton Evigan and the overarching sentiment of the townspeople, Trey was worried about how far the FBI would throw its influence around.

      This was his turf. His county and his people to protect. The Feds might want a big score, putting a deranged killer in prison, but she knew that Trey wanted justice for his constituents. He wanted them to feel safe and secure.

      Was there anything sexier?

      The thought slammed into her, unbidden, and with it Aisha shot a wary glance at her margarita. She’d taken only a few sips and her brain had already shifted to images of Trey in full warrior-protector mode.

      It was one of her favorite fantasies and it usually involved the man shirtless, gun in hand, as he patrolled the streets of Roaring Springs like a Wild West sheriff keeping law and order. It was silly and stupid and she felt the blush creeping up her neck at the erotic images that had suddenly taken over her thoughts.

      And her body, if the tension curling low in her belly was any indication.

      “Aish? You