For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Smith glanced at his passenger seat. It was weird working without Deuce by his side. A few times, he’d started to talk out loud, only to realize he was alone in the car.

Although, most people would probably consider it strange that he talked to his dog in the first place.

Most people didn’t spend nine or ten hours in a patrol car, either. He was willing to bet long haul truckers and folks in similar occupations tended to speak their thoughts aloud, even if their audience was mute—or imaginary. It was human nature to crave interaction with others.

Even if you were a danger to others.

The GPS informed him in a crisp British accent that he needed to turn left. He checked his rearview mirror, moved over, and made the turn. He knew Prattsville pretty well by now, but he didn’t often venture to this side of town. It was mostly office buildings and warehouses, and the car traffic was minimal. Some of the business owners had pooled their resources and hired a rent-a-cop to patrol their parking lots. If the guy had been a kid with a badge and a walkie talkie, Smith might have worried. But he’d talked to the patrolman a few times and had been relieved to learn he was a retired police sergeant from San Antonio. It helped to know there was someone competent on the job. Prattsville was small, but it could use another full-time officer. Smith couldn’t be everywhere all the time.

Like last night. If Dean hadn’t let Ashley go… The steering wheel groaned under Smith’s fingers. He loosened his grip and took a deep breath. It was best not to think about Dean Lacy—not until he’d accomplished what he set out to do this afternoon.

Keeping Ashley out of his thoughts was an altogether different story. When she’d stumbled into that streetlight last night, his heart had almost stopped. And when she’d thrown her arms around his neck, it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. After he’d closed the guest room door, he’d almost walked back in and declared his intention to stay the night. But that would have been inappropriate. He barely knew her. He’d done as much as possible to maintain the distance between them. And she’d just been attacked. The last thing she’d needed was a man in her space.

Still, he hadn’t been able to resist checking on her before he’d left for work this morning. She’d been fast asleep on her side facing the door, one hand curled under her cheek. Her long hair had streamed over the pillows. He’d stepped over a sleepy-eyed Deuce and tucked the blankets around her shoulders. Then he’d stood back and let his gaze roam over her face. He shouldn’t have. It was a violation, however mild. But if he was a thirsty man, she was a smooth lake. The temptation to drink her in had been too much.

The GPS interrupted his thoughts to tell him his destination was on his left in five hundred yards. Smith flicked his turn signal and pulled into a small office complex. The red brick building was trimmed in boxwoods that had turned brown for the winter, but someone had put bright artificial flowers in the holders under the windows that flanked either side of the door.

A bell chimed as he walked in. A young woman met his gaze over a tall reception desk and smiled, recognition in her eyes. Another benefit of working in a small town—the residents weren’t suspicious of law enforcement. “Hello, Officer,” she said. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to see the boss. Is he in?”

“Yes. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She reached for a phone.

“No need. He’s expecting me.”

Smith didn’t wait for her to ask questions. He walked past her desk and headed down a short hallway. He’d never been in the office, but it didn’t take a detective to figure out where the boss worked. He passed a small conference room, an even smaller copy room, and a darkened half bath. The main office was a corner unit at the end of the hall. Even before he reached the doorway, he could tell the room was mostly windows. The afternoon sun spilled onto the beige carpet. He stopped on the threshold.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean Lacy looked up from a computer screen. He sat at a large desk—one of those office supply store numbers made of particle board and veneer. Three floor-to-ceiling windows at his back bathed the room in light. Shock flashed across his face, followed by what might have been fear. Smith saw the moment he made a conscious decision to arrange his features into “polite, but mildly surprised.” The expression settled over his face like a mask. He half-rose from his chair.

“Chief Salvatierra. This is an honor. What can I do for you?”

Smith entered the office and approached the desk.

Dean stuck out his hand.

Smith ignored it, walked past the edge of the desk, and began closing the blinds on the window farthest from the desk.

The chair’s wheels caught the edge of the plastic floor mat as Dean stood and tried to maneuver out from behind his desk. The chair lurched—half on carpet, half on plastic. Dean jerked it out of the way and faced Smith.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” His tone was a mix of confusion and indignation, but he wasn’t alarmed. Not yet.

Smith moved to the middle window. Zip. The blinds crashed to the sill, slats bouncing. The sills were nice and deep, which meant the walls were thick.

“I said, excuse me?”

“No, you didn’t,” Smith murmured. He kept his back to Dean as he closed the third blind.

“What?”

Smith walked to the door and closed it. Locked it. He faced Dean. “You didn’t say ‘excuse me’ before.”

The flustered, incredulous look on Dean’s face was almost enough satisfaction to make Smith settle for taunting the son of a bitch and calling it a day.

Almost.

Dean recovered quickly. He drew himself up, indignation stamped all over his face. He was a tall man—almost as tall as Smith. Tall enough to make a woman fear for her safety.

Ah, no. Taunting him isn’t enough, after all.

Smith walked right up to the edge of the desk. He was so close, he could see the striations in Dean’s irises. With slow, deliberate movements, Smith pulled his badge from his back pocket and set it on the corner of the desk. He pointed to it. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not here in my official capacity.”

Dean let out a snort of laughter. “What the hell does that mean?”

A person unaccustomed to listening carefully might have missed the nervous edge under Dean’s laugh, but Smith knew how important it was to listen carefully. Like most bullies, Dean Lacy was secretly a coward. It was there in the slight hunching of his shoulders, and in the way his gaze darted to the door.

Smith let the silent, focused calm slip over him. He held his hands loosely at his sides, his body ready for what it needed to do next.

Dean finally seemed to scrounge up courage from somewhere because he puffed out his chest and said, “Look, I don’t know what this is about, but—”

“Quiet.”

To his credit, Dean recognized mortal danger when he saw it. A less intelligent man would have kept talking. But he snapped his mouth shut, and the glimmer of fear Smith had seen earlier reappeared.

Smith nodded. “Good thinking. Now, you should know I’m not a patient man.” He glanced at the computer. “And I’m sure you’re probably busy, so I’ll spare us both the trouble of explaining why I’m here.” He permitted himself a deep sigh. Then he lunged across the desk, seized Dean by the shoulders, and slammed him face first onto the surface. A sharp crack, followed by the metallic scent of blood, let him know he’d broken Dean’s nose.

“Fuck!” Dean writhed under Smith’s grip, his upper body flat on the desk. “You fucking asshole! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Smith gripped Dean’s hair and forced his head to the side so their gazes met. Blood streamed from both of Dean’s nostrils. He let out a harsh breath, and red droplets spattered across the faux wood surface. He pressed his palms flat against the desk and tried to heave himself up.

“No, no.” Smith angled his hand like a blade and struck the back of Dean’s elbow.

Dean’s arm collapsed. His fingers spasmed on the desk. He sucked in a breath. “What the fu—”

Smith tightened his grip on Dean’s hair and leaned down. “You assaulted Ashley Scobel last night.”

Guilt, brief but unmistakable, flared in Dean’s eyes. Then he narrowed his gaze. His features were still handsome, even with the swelling nose, but now they twisted into something ugly. He grimaced, showing blood-stained teeth. “Assaulted her? Is that the tale she’s telling? Trust me, Chief, that little slut wanted it. She’s a whore, just like her mother. Trashley Scobel.”

Faster than most people could track, Smith pinched the skin where Dean’s shoulder met his neck.

Dean jerked. For a second, his entire body stiffened. Then he let out a low, animalistic groan and went limp.

Smith put his mouth next to Dean’s ear and tsked. “That was unwise, Lacy. Now, I know you can hear me, even if you can’t move. Actually, you won’t be able to move for about fifteen minutes. But your ears still work, which is all we need. So hear this: If you touch Ashley Scobel again, you’re a dead man.”

Dean’s pupils dilated. It was the only sign that he’d gotten the message. Perhaps if he’d had control of his facial muscles—or any muscles—his eyes might have widened. As it was, his mouth gaped. Drool slid from the corner of his lips and dripped to the desk.

“If you come near her,” Smith continued, “if you think of coming near her, I will pinch just a little bit harder”—he touched Dean’s neck—“here. And you’ll be dead.”

More blood droplets spattered against the desk.

Smith released him and retrieved his badge from the desk. He moved into Dean’s line of sight. “Anything you’d like to say?”

Dean stared straight ahead.

“Suit yourself.” Smith patted Dean’s head. “Good talk.”

On his way out, the receptionist pulled the phone from her ear and put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Is everything okay, Chief? I thought I heard a bump.”

Smith turned, one hand on the door. “Right as rain.” He jerked a thumb toward Dean’s office. “I’d give it about a half hour before you disturb him, though. He said he wanted to get through some paperwork without any interruptions.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s him, all right. Have a good afternoon, Chief!”

Smith smiled. “Thank you, I will.”