Trixsters Anonymous

Three thousand dollars to fix a key job? Anger starts to simmer inside; someone’s taking advantage of her.

“I told you I’ll look into it when I have some time, Emerson. The law can’t walk in and accuse and arrest someone. Have some sense.” Oliver lowers her hand from his chest and holds it between them. It doesn’t go unnoticed to me that he doesn’t let go.

The anger stirring inside ricochets up a notch seeing him holding her hand. At the same time, the feeling from the other night rolls in my gut. I watch for any sign of affection, wondering if these two have something going on, but my question is answered when she yanks her hand from his and turns her full body toward me.

Her face is flushed, there are splotches on her neck, and the small vein on her forehead is popping out. The honey-brown glow from the other night has been replaced with a blazing inferno in her eyes. There’s a flash of something that crosses her face the second her eyes hit mine.

“Who are you?” My chest spasms at the small sound of her breath hitching.

“This is Walker Scott. He’s a detective on the force,” Oliver answers for me.

Irritation sparks, but I don’t break my stare. In a split second, her eyes go from heated to sparkling.

“Awesome!” She bounces, her lips splitting into a smile. “A detective! You can help me!”

“I can help you wha—”

“Em, he investigates crime, not petty vandalism,” Oliver interrupts again, and this time I slice my eyes to him, signaling I’m not happy about the double interruption.

“Petty vandalism? You wait until I tell your mama you aren’t taking me seriously. She’s going to be miffed, Ollie.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, my name is Oliver at the station,” he mutters.

She shoots him another nasty look and then turns her attention back to me. “Hi, I’m Emerson Baker, and I’m here to report a van-da-lism.” She emphasizes the word while extending her hand to mine.

When I grasp her hand, a small tingle travels up my arm. Our eyes drop to our joined hands, and I know she feels it, too. Neither of us lets go until Oliver clears his throat.

“Em, if you actually want to report this, let’s sit down, and you give me the details without screaming.” He tries to appease her.

“Humph! You won’t take me seriously.”

His head falls in frustration, and I decide to intervene. “I’m on my way out. Let’s take a look at your car, and you can explain what’s going on.”

“Thank you

, Walker. Nice to know the law enforcement in this town takes its citizens seriously!” She smiles triumphantly and spins on her heel, but not before giving Oliver one last evil glare and storming away.

My eyes immediately go to her ass, appreciating the view of her swaying away in her jeans.

“I’ll handle this,” I tell him and follow, trying not to growl at his stare, which is also on her ass.

When I get outside, I find her standing beside a bright red Audi S5. Even from the distance, it’s obvious the sports car is scratched to hell.

She’s staring at her driver side door, where the word bitch is keyed perfectly all the way to the metal.

“Shit,” is all I can say.

“It’s like this all the way around. He was brutal.”

“You know who did this?”

“Carlton Breen. He blames me for his failed engagement.”

The asshole from the bar pops into my head. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“That’s a big accusation. Did you see him do it?”