To Catch A Player

“We’re hosting some police training this weekend. I know it’s short notice, but I’m hoping you can make lunch for thirty on Saturday and Sunday?”

It was easy work and the pay would definitely make it worth the extra time. “Not a problem. Just get the menu back to me by the end of the day. I go shopping tomorrow.”

He blinked confused green eyes up at me. “That’s it?”

“Did you want something else?”

“Can we get some of those German chocolate cakes? Best damn chocolate cake I ever had.” Jackson patted his flat belly in a move that echoed Rafe’s from earlier—the only difference was my reaction.

“Mark down how many on the menu and it’ll be taken care of. Anything else?”

Tyson’s lips curled into a reluctant smile and he shook his head. “That’s it, Reese, thanks. What time should we pick it up?”

“Let me know what time lunch is served and I’ll have it delivered.” It was a service I offered when I could, especially to business customers because it gave them a reason to keep ordering.

“Thanks, Reese.”

“No problem, Sheriff. Happy to help.” With an expression that was meant to be a smile but felt more like a grimace, I tucked the pen behind my ear and walked back to the kitchen, sucking in a deep breath and…

“Oh no!” The scent of burnt sugar and bourbon went right up my nostrils, making me cough. “The sauce.”

Damn you, Jackson.Jackson“What was that all about?”

Tyson smirked over his mountain of barbecue chicken and fries, the tiny bowl of coleslaw looking ridiculous in his big hands.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It was a miracle that no one in town had managed to find out about my night with the pretty cook. A testament to how deeply Reese regretted it. It was too bad, really, because it had been one hell of a night. Definitely one worth repeating, but when I’d gotten back to town, she’d given me the cold shoulder. Hard.

“Yeah, I would. Reese is quiet. Nice to everybody in her way. Everybody except you, and I want to know why.” He folded those big arms over his wide chest and gave me his stern Sheriff look. “Well?”

“You’re not even friends, are you really gonna play the role of her protector now?”

Tyson gave one sharp nod, a sign that I’d learned from working with him for five years meant hell yeah, I am. “Do I need to?”

“No,” I sighed. “She’s the one person on the planet immune to my charms, and I like riling her up once in a while.” Whenever I could was more accurate. She was tiny and fierce, and I’d put money on her in a fight against anyone. Most importantly, when Reese was riled up, she was hot as hell. “New topic. Jarrod was spotted in Portland. Maine, not Oregon.”

“Why Maine?”

“Good place to lay low, especially this time of year. Lots of vacation rentals empty, so it could be days before he runs into another person. Weeks, if he has food and supplies delivered.”

He nodded thoughtfully as he chewed, and I took advantage of the quiet to dig into my ribs. Reese the made the best sauce I’d ever had, which only made it doubly tragic that she hated my guts. “How in the hell do you know all that?”

I shrugged. “Spent a lot of my off-time in upstate Wisconsin. And some in Maine, too. Lots of good fishing and hiking.” Working homicide in Milwaukee was nonstop chaos, and I’d spent as much time as I could enjoying being outdoors where it was quiet. Where animals behaved like animals and not monsters.

“Is that where you get off to when you’re not here?” Tyson leaned in, looking a lot like the women who spent afternoons here or at Big Mama’s, plotting world domination. Or something.

“Some of the time. Good hiking in California, and great fishing in Oregon.”

“Hm.” He shrugged and dug back in to his chicken. “They find him?”

“Nope. The marshals have plainclothes pairs combing the area.” I hoped they found him before he moved on and caused more damage. “We’ll know soon enough.”

He nodded and we ate in silence until our plates were empty and our bellies were full. It was the thing I most enjoyed about hanging out with men, they didn’t talk unnecessarily. “Good. The training this weekend should be interesting.”

I laughed. “You don’t have to make small talk with me.”

“Thank god,” he said on a groan, dropping back against the booth. “Ginger talks all the time, but not just to fill the silence—which means I have to listen. It’s exhausting.”

“Keep her naked.” That’s what I did when a woman wanted to talk too much or when she wanted to talk about things we didn’t need to discuss. “Works every time.”

Tyson laughed, and we paid the bill and headed outside. “That’s not our problem, Jackson.”