Falling for the Enemy (Private Pleasures 3)

Then he took Shaun’s statement, and her hackles rose even more. Crocker accepted Shaun’s version of events—which corresponded perfectly with hers—without hesitation or a single second-guess. As if a penis automatically made him a reliable witness, while her lack of one made her some kind of hysterical drama queen. If Shaun hadn’t been there, Crocker wouldn’t have listened to a word she said.

Or maybe good ole boy sexism didn’t explain why Crocker treated her like a second class citizen? Maybe the news of her running for mayor had reached the sheriff’s department? If so, Crocker’s attitude offered a strong indication they endorsed her opponent. Big surprise.

“Okay, Miz Boca.” Crocker turned back to her. “Let’s run through this again. Can you describe the person who spray-painted your wall and pushed you down?”

“Deputy, I’ve already told you I didn’t see him. I was locking up, and then I was doing my impersonation of a tackle dummy, and then I was on the sidewalk, seeing stars.”

The man gave a long-suffering sigh. “Short? Tall?”

“I don’t know. Shaun said—”

“I heard what he said. I’m asking you.”

She closed her eyes to block out the red hazing her vision and slowly counted to ten. “I didn’t see.”

“Dark coloring? Light? Any tattoos or distinguishing marks?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Crocker,” Shaun started, and the realization he felt the need to take control of the situation stretched the ragged leash she had on her temper. She hadn’t wanted to call the sheriff in the first place, but she sure as hell didn’t need Shaun rescuing her from this jerk.

“Let’s just take the gloves off, okay? I know who it was. You know who it was. We both know you’re not going to do a damn thing about it.”

Trent slammed back into the salon, and stopped short at the tension in the room. He looked questioningly between her and Crocker.

“Miz Boca,” Crocker replied, “I can assure you, based on the statements provided to us tonight we have no suspects at this time. Now, if you have additional information you’d like to add to your statement—”

“Justin Buchanan.” She spat the name at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Shaun’s head swivel her way, but she was too intent on watching Crocker’s reaction to abide by any cautions Shaun might have been attempting to convey.

“You think it was Justin Buchanan?”

“I know it was. I just can’t prove it. Put that in your report.”

Crocker looked at Shaun. “Was it Justin?”

As if Shaun’s word was gospel and hers, garbage.

“I told you—”

“I can’t say,” Shaun cut her off. “I didn’t get a clear look. Size-wise, he’s a possibility, but going strictly by size, a lot of people fit the description.”

Crocker gave her a “there you go” look.

And Shaun’s answer was the reasonable one. Deep down, she knew it. Too bad she’d lost her grip on reasonable around the time Crocker had shown up and treated her like the girl who cried wolf. “I’ve lived here my whole life, Deputy. Shaun’s been in town a matter of months. I’d love to know why in God’s name you’d place more weight on his opinion than mine.”

“Because I think Shaun here might recognize his own brother.”

“His own…” What? Crocker’s sentence sank in. A cold sensation spread from her chest to her stomach. She turned and stared at Shaun.

“Your brother?” Though it came out as a question, she already knew the answer. She could see the Buchanan on him clear as day now—hair, eyes, jawline. He’d been a grade ahead of her in elementary school. A tall, long-limbed pre-teen who’d transferred schools after his dad had remarried.

He looked back at her, his patented mask of stoicism in place. “Half brother.”

“You’re Shaun-freaking-Buchanan? I can’t believe you held back your last name. Didn’t you think that minor detail would be material to me?” Then a darker, meaner thought slithered into her mind. She hissed out a breath and narrowed her eyes. “Or were you playing me the whole time you were”—remembering they had an audience, she fumbled for some not-too-compromising way to reference last night—“in my chair?”

“I’m not playing anyone. I didn’t tell you my last name because I’d just as soon keep a low profile while I’m here, and avoid the small town soap opera. I didn’t consider it material to anyone but me.”

Yeah, right. She folded her arms across her chest and told herself to drop it. Now wasn’t the time to dig into the matter, because she didn’t need the deputies suspecting she’d done the deed with her opponent’s son. Neither Trent nor Crocker would keep a tidbit like that to themselves, and once the rumor started circulating her mayoral campaign would be over. But even so, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “I don’t believe you.”