Daddy Undercover (Crescent Cove 9)

All the way to my family’s house on the opposite side of Crescent Cove, my phone blew up with text messages. They were all variations of the same.

You are way late, sister. You’re in trouble.

Where are you? Where’s the pie?

Mama is losing her pimientos.

Are you with a boyfriend? I hope so. But I miss you, nieta. You can bring him, you know. Just make him pull up his baggy pants.

The last one from my abuela on my father’s side made me laugh. I definitely did not have a boyfriend. And if I did, he would not have baggy pants. Jared’s pants were always cut to—

Nope, that was enough of that one.

I stepped on the gas, darting my gaze from the speedometer to the time and back again, then flipped on my signal to swerve down a side street to miss some of the holiday overflow traffic from Main Street. I’d gone half a block when flashing lights behind me and an abbreviated siren made me groan.

He did not dare pull me over. If he could sleep with some random chick and then commission me to be his nanny on short notice without thinking I even deserved to be called Samantha’s aunt, he could look the other damn way when I went a scant thirteen miles over the speed limit.

That was not Jared getting out of the car, but Christian, his deputy. He wasn’t driving the sheriff’s vehicle either, so obviously, he couldn’t have been the cop-who-shall-not-be-named, but I just always expected his presence.

Because I was foolish in all ways.

But Christian pulling me over wasn’t great. In general, he was more easygoing than Jared, but not when it involved me. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was collecting special favors because I was close—ahem, used to be close—with the sheriff or what.

I rolled down my window as Christian lumbered closer. He was Murphy Masterson’s older brother, and like all the Masterson men, they could block out the sun when they stood at their full height. “Hi. Happy Thanksgiving.”

He tipped his hat to me. “Ma’am, do you know how fast you were driving?”

“Ma’am? Did I age overnight? I didn’t sleep much, but c’mon.”

I flipped down the visor to check myself out in the mirror. As far as I could tell, I looked the same as I always did, with the addition of kill-the-sheriff sexy makeup.

If he even noticed, the lout.

“Ma’am, you were exceeding the speed limit.”

I put up the visor. “I’m late for Thanksgiving dinner. You know how it is.”

“Ma’am, that’s no reason not to follow the rules of the law. On a holiday, no less. Innocent children walk the streets of Crescent Cove, and you run the risk of not being able to stop in time if one of them does something erratic.”

“Hey, weirdo, why aren’t you calling me Gina?”

He pushed his hat back farther on his head. “No shit. It is you. I didn’t recognize your car, and when I walked up here, all I saw was skin, long dark hair, and red lipstick.”

I couldn’t tell if I was flattered or annoyed. “It’s not that much skin,” I mumbled as I tugged my top back up over my cleavage.

I was wearing my best strapless push-up bra, and it worked really well with this shirt. The average man might even think I had decent-sized breasts.

A total optical illusion, but I’d take the wins where I could get them.

“I ran out of the house without my jacket,” I added. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“Did you do something to your hair? Curl it?”

“My hair is always curly.”

He whistled. “You look different out of your diner uniform.” Almost immediately, he sobered. He’d probably remembered the riot act the sheriff read to any man of breeding age in the Cove when it came to me. “I hate to do this, Gina. Especially on turkey day.”

I flashed him my most law-abiding smile. “I won’t do it again. Promise.”