Author: Jill Shalvis

“No, I mean it, Sawyer. In the past week, you’ve made it abundantly clear that we’re…well, I don’t really know exactly what we are—were—but whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t worth your time. So I have to know. What if I had been with Todd? What would it matter to you?”

Sawyer reminded himself that she didn’t, couldn’t, know his history with Todd, or the level of resentment and escalating violence that Todd directed toward him.

Or how the thought of Todd’s hands on her twisted him in knots. “It’d matter,” he said grimly.

“Why?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do.”

No way was he going to tell her that once upon a time he and Todd had been fellow thugs. That he and a group of other equally stupid thugs had terrorized the entire county together and had, in fact, outdone themselves on several occasions. The most memorable time being when the four of them had gotten drunk—God so fucking drunk—then stolen a car for a joyride. That had been the night that they’d reduced their gang by two when they’d hit a telephone pole.

Sawyer had earned a trip to juvie.

Todd, the driver, hadn’t been as lucky. He’d turned eighteen the week before, had been tried as an adult, and had been convicted for involuntary manslaughter. “There’s an old grudge between us,” Sawyer finally said.

To say the least.

“What kind of grudge?”

Todd had done some hard time, and when he’d gotten out, he wasn’t the same easygoing troublemaker he’d once been.

And even though they’d each made their own decisions, Sawyer had never been able to shake the guilt. This was because he knew without a doubt that if he’d been smarter that night, the accident wouldn’t have happened.

Two guys wouldn’t be dead.

Todd wouldn’t be on a one-way street to Loserville.

And Sawyer wouldn’t still be trying to straighten Todd’s ass out. “Let’s just say that Todd blames me for the way his life has turned out,” he said quietly.

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Chloe said. “And not your fault. We all make our own path.”

“Yes, and his is to fuck with me. I want you to stay away from him, Chloe.”

She looked pissed off again. “Look, I understand you’re trying to offer me advice, but—”

“Not advice,” he said. “I’m flat out telling you. Stay away from him. He’s trouble.”

She kept her voice low and even, but her eyes were flashing pure fire. “He’s a friend of my closest friend’s brother. So staying away from him won’t always be possible. I get that you have some sort of pissing match going with him, but he’s not that bad a guy.”

“Are you sure about that?”

She had no answer for him, but huddled farther into the seat with a shiver.

Sawyer blew out a breath and checked the heater output, but it was already on full blast.

Chloe sighed. “I need to tell you that Todd maybe had drugs in the back of his car.”

He slowed down and looked at her. “Maybe?”

“I can’t be sure. He had a duffle bag, and it was filled with small ziplock bags. I couldn’t quite see what was in them.” She shook her head. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m glad you did.” He fought with what to tell her. “He’s under investigation and being watched. If he’s got drugs, we’ll catch him.”

She nodded.

“And no one in Lucky Harbor knows that information.”

“Understood.”

He glanced at her again, and told her the other thing bugging the hell out of him. “And for what it’s worth, I stayed away from you all week because some distance seemed in order. Chloe…” He let out a breath. “We both know damn well we could give each other something we need, but it’s a real bad idea.”

Her gaze darted away from his, but not before he caught the flicker of unmistakable hurt. “Yes, all the kissing proved that,” she said to the window. “It was awful.”

He opened his mouth, shut it again, and waited for the traffic to get moving.

Chloe tried unsuccessfully to ignore the mud that had tightened uncomfortably on her skin. As she squirmed, Sawyer slid her an unreadable gaze. She ignored him, too, and he put the truck into gear, pulling back onto the highway.

She wasn’t mad at him anymore. She’d tried to hold on to it, but it was just too hard to stay mad at a guy who stopped to change a woman’s tire, not to mention rescued another woman from turning into a mud popsicle. “Tell me the truth,” she finally said. “You can’t drive and talk at the same time, right?”

He didn’t say anything, but his mouth quirked slightly, and she sighed. The ability he had to keep everything to himself drove her nuts. But only because she wanted to be able to do the same. It was another big reason to stay away from him. He wasn’t the yin to her yang; he was the Batman to her Joker.

And Batman was fully in his zone right now, complete with the dark reflective sunglasses and the blank face. “So…Lucille says you’re sweet.”

“She wears rose-colored glasses for everyone.”

This made her take a second look at him. “You don’t think you’re sweet?”

He grimaced and didn’t answer.

“It’s a compliment,” she said, amused. “Sweet is a positive quality.”

“Yeah,” he said. “In puppies.”

Chloe laughed, a little disconcerted by how easily and effectively he disarmed her, every single time. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I won’t tell anyone.”

His concentration was on the road. Apparently he’d exhausted his word usage for the day. “So does this happen to you a lot?” she asked, perversely determined to make him talk. “The rescue thing?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.”

Maybe. But he wasn’t on the job at the moment. “Tell me about the calls yesterday, the ones Lucille brought up.”

“They were nothing.”

“Fine. I’ll just go read Facebook. Probably it’s not too overly embellished.”

He glanced over at her. “Do you ever use your powers for good?”

“Not if I can help it. Tell me.”

He blew out a breath. “I got called out to Mrs. Perez’s house because she was shining a light in her neighbor’s windows. Apparently the neighbor—Mrs. Cooper—had cheated at bunco earlier in the week and pissed Mrs. Perez off, so Mrs. Perez was retaliating by scaring Mrs. Cooper.”

“What did you do?”

“I took the batteries out of Mrs. Perez’s high-powered flashlight.”

“Fast thinking,” Chloe said, impressed. “What else happened?”

“I got called to the Sorenson house.”

“Bill and Joanne, with the eight daughters?” she asked.

“Yes. Bill had plowed a pile of mulch in front of his neighbor’s driveway.”

“Why, had the guy been cheating at bunco too?”

“No,” Sawyer said. “The neighbor’s son got caught…in a compromising position.”

“Compromising position?”

“Pants at his ankles, in the company of one of Bill’s daughters.”

“Uh-oh. In that case, you’re lucky there weren’t gunshots.”

“No luck involved,” he said. “I took Bill’s rifle from him two weeks back when I heard the two teens were dating.”

She laughed. “You took his rifle? Are you allowed to do that?”

“Borrowed. And then accidentally disposed of it.”

“How do you accidentally dispose of a rifle?”

Sawyer turned and flashed her a heart-stopping grin, full-wattage. “You go sailing with Ford and dump it three miles out at twelve knots.”

Ford had been a world-class sailor, with an Olympic medal and many other awards for his efforts. He didn’t go out on the racing circuit so much anymore, but he did sail with Jax and Sawyer on their mutual days off. Chloe had seen them on the docks at the marina. Hell, she had a permanent kink in her neck from all the times she’d stared out the marina building window at the three of them wearing board shorts and nothing else.

The truck’s heater was decadently warm on her chilled skin, but the dried mud was still a huge irritant and she squirmed some more.

“What’s the matter?”

“You ever go naked on the beach and get sand in places that no sand should go?” she asked.

“Ah. I take it the same applies for mud.”

“Little bit.” Plus, she’d never worn jeans without underwear before, and it wasn’t nearly as fun as she’d thought it might be. The center seam kept riding up, and the zipper was cutting into her. She looked out the side window to distract herself, but all she could see was Sawyer’s reflection next to her. He wasn’t fidgeting. Of course, that was because he didn’t have mud in his cracks and crevices. But even if he had, she doubted that he’d fidget. He never wasted a single ounce of energy. He was driving, relaxed—maybe a little too amused at her dilemma—all his carefully controlled energy at rest.

Though he hadn’t been so relaxed when Lucille had been recounting the story about how he’d helped Suzie because she was a single mom. Chloe turned to look at him in profile. His hair was windblown, his face tanned. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and his square jaw was scruffy. She liked it. But there were lines of tension along the outside corners of his eyes.

He wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared to be.

He worked hard. He always did. From what she knew of him, he’d gotten that from his father, a hard worker himself, and a single dad. And it hit her. “How old were you?”

“When?”

“When your mom gave up being a mom.”

For a brief beat, he took his gaze off the road and looked at her before turning back. “Eight.”