A text message flashed on her phone. So we’ve had our first disagreement. It may be the first of many, but I’m not a stupid fellow. I won’t let you stew on this. When I see you, I’ll explain everything. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Pageant. Knowledge places you in the line of fire. It doesn’t arm you with what you need. It makes you vulnerable.
First of many arguments? How about the first and last. Fuck off. Oh, she was mad.
I accept your apology. No need to type it out. Focus on the meeting and we’ll get together and make up later. LOVE, Randon.
She glared at the incoming text. This guy was a piece of work. Maybe you should’ve spent some time getting to know me before you decided to MAKE ME your mate. I’m anything but vulnerable. I’m strong and independent. Next time you take a mate, maybe you’ll find out more about her first. Good-bye, Randon. I’m turning my phone off.
Feeling rather pleased with herself, she jiggled her shoulders and leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms and turned her attention to the front of the room. Suck that up, wolf man.
A few minutes later, she was agitated, but her anxiety stemmed from something other than her typical impatience. A grueling meeting didn’t top her list of favorite ways to start or end the day, but it didn’t make her physically ill.
She was lightheaded. Perspiration dampened her brow. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she was coming down with the flu. All sorts of ailments had plagued their town in the weeks leading up to the mass murders. Maybe it had been a bad omen. And maybe it was her turn to spend a few hours in bed with a cool rag on her head, too.
She shifted in her seat. No, she didn’t buy the sick-symptoms. She rarely had so much as a cold.
On guard then, she turned to check out the room. Familiar faces surrounded her. Talking herself down, she
decided there wasn’t anything to be alarmed about.
She glanced to her left. A burly biker with the MC shot her a toothless smile.
Other than the fact that she was sandwiched between two deputized bikers, everything was quite normal. She groaned at the thought.
Sheriff McKinney stood behind a podium. “Officers, detectives, members of the press…”
A door slammed behind them. All heads turned, with one exception—hers—and she didn’t have to look. She knew who had just entered the building because her body had responded. Her pulse quickened. Electric sensations rushed up and down her spine and her palms became excessively sweaty. And that was before she heard the first heavy footstep in her direction. As the chuck-ching, chuck-ching of his noisy boots fell to the floor, her body became one vessel of arousal, purely in tune with the man walking her way.
“Mr. Shane, this meeting is closed to law enforcement, invited guests, new deputies, and select members of the press.”
“And I apologize, but this is important. I need to speak with Detective Keen.”
“Whatever he has to say to me, he can say right here.” She swiped at her damp brow, wondering if those in the crowd had noticed she was sweating bullets.
Recently deputized, Kurt leaned over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to piss him off?”
Turning sideways in her metal folding chair, she whispered, “You may not be aware of this, Mr. Dandridge, but Mr. Shane and I haven’t known one another that long. Just because we had sex last night, doesn’t mean he owns me.”
“If you say so,” Kurt said, leaning back in his chair.
“I say so,” she said smugly, facing the front of the room once more.
The bikers seated on either side of her snickered, but didn’t comment.
“Detective Keen will be happy to meet with you after we adjourn,” Sheriff McKinney said.
“Detective Keen needs to talk with me now,” Randon said, stalking her.
“I warned ya,” Kurt sang.
Helpless, and not at all happy about the situation, she looked at the burly fellow to her right. “Any chance you can put a stop to this?”
“Probably not,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
Before Pageant could fire off another remark, Randon grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her away from her seat. Weakened, she fell against him.
Unable to gain her footing, she realized she couldn’t put up a fight. She whispered, “Something is wrong with me, Randon.”
“It’ll pass.” He swept her into his arms, sticking one solid arm under her hips and one behind her back.