The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

Aunt Faye nods solemnly.

Damn, damn, damn, I knew it.

I should’ve kept a closer eye on that little rat.

She also mentioned two men. The fact that he’s got friends helping him launch armed robberies against seniors sends rage pumping through my veins.

If Drake doesn’t find him first, I’ll kill him with my own bare hands.

Then my heart hits the floor as another thought douses my brain.

Shel.

She’s home alone, managing the place with that freak, who could sneak back anytime.

I slap Grady’s shoulder. “Unc, I gotta go.”

“Why? Hudson? Is he the pushy weirdo crawling all over town for antiques?” he asks. “That bastard’s been pulling this crap under everybody’s noses the whole time? We’ve got to tell Drake.”

I don’t take time to answer. I just bolt from the room, jogging down the hall to the waiting room.

“Marty!” I call, nearly bowling him over.

He holds up a hand and gestures to the phone pressed to his ear.

I hope to everything holy he’s talking to Shel.

Scrambling to his side, I try to listen in while Thelma grabs my arm.

“It’s a guest,” she whispers up at me. “He called my phone because I have the number posted on the front desk. He needs to check in, but apparently, he can’t find Shelly. She should be there.”

Fuck. Thelma doesn’t have a hint of what’s going on like we do, but concern lines her face.

My heart bangs like a war drum now, hammering so hard my vision blurs.

It’s a miracle I don’t exit my own skin when my phone goes off.

Snarling, I pull it from my pocket, praying I’ll see Shelly’s name on the screen.

Nope.

DALLAS POLICE (DRAKE).

That’s what I see as I swipe the answer icon.

“Sheriff, it was Carson Hudson that assaulted Aunt Faye. She smelled those damn nuts he’s always got and he had an accomplice—”

“Weston,” he says slowly, cutting me off. “Listen to me.”

The seriousness of his tone turns me to stone.

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, now, I’m already on it,” Drake says. “I’m gonna start at the beginning and let you know what’s happening. I’m driving as we speak. A North Earhart chopper is about to lift off from the oilfields to be our eagle eye”

It’s definitely serious if he’s breaking out one of the company eggbeaters that doubles as a police search vehicle when times get rough.

“What the fuck is going on, Drake?” I whisper. I can’t take not knowing.