Asher reached into his back pocket, taking out a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. “Very.” Danny had been in the same graduating class as Asher and the guys. He knew Remy well—the whole town did.
Danny added sugar to the coffee before putting on the lid. “Is she doing all right?”
Asher nodded. “She’s hanging in there.”
Danny finished up the next coffee. “That guy, Damon, or whatever his name was, he came in here all the time.” He added the coffee cups to a tray. “I never would have guessed he’d con anyone.”
“Which is what makes him so good at it,” Asher explained when Danny moved back to the register. “Criminals prey on nice people and act like they’re nice too.”
Danny frowned. “Sometimes I really hate human beings and wish there were more dogs in the world.”
“I can’t disagree with you there.” Asher laughed dryly and handed Danny the bill before grabbing the tray of coffees. “Thanks for these. See ya soon.”
“Later,” Danny said with a wave.
Asher strode through the coffee shop, catching two pretty twentysomething-year-olds making eyes at him. When he’d returned to Stoney Creek after leaving the FBI, he would have been all over that. Everything changed now. Remy getting back on her feet was all that mattered. And hopefully, finding his way back into her bed too. Last night remained on his mind. Every moan and every shudder she gave seemed imprinted on his brain. He could smell her, taste her. She was everywhere.
In quick time, Asher made it to the station. When he entered, he found a couple people in the waiting room. He waved to Doreen, their receptionist, and then headed into the back. The station’s halls were a pale dull blue. Cubicles were outside of Asher’s office, but most desks were empty now, with only a couple of the street cops working on their paperwork. The two jail cells were in the back of the station, which mainly housed those in need of sobering up before they were cut loose. Just like Damon was processed, then shipped off to the larger jail in Whitby Falls to be housed until his trial.
Asher passed the cubicles and headed into the command center, where all the investigatory cases were handled. Boone and Rhett were already there, sitting around the long rectangular meeting room table. When they were working a murder, the table was set aside, and the big white boards came out. Boone liked to pace while he thought. Rhett typically stood in front of the boards, staring at the photographic evidence. But today there was none of that; the last murder they solved had been when Peyton found a dead body in her lingerie shop. Asher was glad all that was behind them now, and that Boone and Peyton were planning their destination wedding for some time this winter. A vacation sounded damn good. Especially if that vacation included Remy in his bed. “Anything interesting happen last night?” Asher asked, placing the coffees on the table.
“Debbie Brown knocked out her husband’s tooth,” Rhett said, reaching for his coffee. “She’s still sleeping it off in the back.”
Debbie and Jon were regular troublemakers who drank too much, hated each other too much, and Asher was pretty sure that one day one of them was going to kill the other. “Nothing major, then?” He took his seat next to Boone, taking off the lid of his cup, revealing steam coming from the coffee.
“Nothing major,” Rhett confirmed. “The night was quiet.”
“Good.” Tourists typically caused the most trouble with their drunken adventures, especially when those adventures included the beach or rowdy nights
at either Kinsley’s bar or the nightclub, Merlots, farther down Main Street. Feeling better than he had felt in years, Asher took a long sip of his coffee, thinking of his own rowdy night, and assuming he needed three times the amount of caffeine to get through this day.
When he set his coffee down, Boone narrowed his eyes slightly.
“What?” Asher asked
Boone’s fingers rhythmically tapped against the table. “You either got laid or won the lottery.”
“Neither.” Asher snorted, having no intention of telling either of them about last night. His only thought was to protect Remy, and damn, that felt a whole lot better than the guilt that had been riding him for the past ten years.
Rhett cocked his head, regarding Asher intently. “It’s not the lottery. He’s got that stupid-ass grin.”
Asher stopped smiling, not even realizing he had been. Sex always increased his mood. Sex with Remy. Damn. He felt lit up.
“Was it that chick from the bar the other night?” Rhett asked.
“No,” Asher said, desperate to get the focus off him and onto their day. “What’s on the agenda for this morning?”
Boone’s body posture perked up. “It’s the new girl that works at the bakery?”
“Definitely not.” Asher sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “Again. What’s the job today?”
Rhett crossed his arms. “I’ll figure it out, just give me some time.”
“Good for you.” Asher reached for his coffee again and took a long, deep sip, trying to think of a way out. The downside to his lifelong friends being detectives was that secrets were hard to come by. He finished his sip, then said bluntly, “Now can we move on?”
Boone stared a little harder for another minute, then blinked. “Yeah, all right.” He finally succumbed and grabbed a file off the table before tossing it at Asher. “The chief”—who also was Boone’s father, Hank Knight—“had us look deeper into Damon, aka Kyle Fanning.”
Asher’s back straightened like a stiff rod had been shoved down his spine. “And?”