Page 6 of Captive of Outlaws

A chill runs down my skin, sending sweat beading cold at the small of my back. Have a judge sign what?

“Excellent,” comes John’s voice. “Knew I could count on you to make the whole process smooth.”

The sheriff chuckles. There’s a clink as he takes a pull of what must be his bourbon. “Well, we can’t leave things like this to amateurs,” he says. “That’s an awful lot of money for a girl to be left with. Especially one who’s not, you know, mentally all there.”

Now it’s John’s turn to chuckle. My stomach goes to absolute ice.

They’re talking about me. Me, my money, and my so-called lack of mental capacity, which is bullshit. Yeah, I might have the occasional fainting spell. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be in charge of my own life.

“It’s for her own good,” John chimes in. “I’m just looking after her best interests—after everyone’s best interest. Wouldn’t want her getting tangled up in the same kind of, ah,businessthat took away her mommy and daddy.”

“No, sir,” agrees the sheriff. “No sir, you would not.” He laughs, a rich, masculine sound that nevertheless turns my stomach.

There’s the scrape of a chair on the floor, and footsteps.

“Best be going,” says the sheriff. “Got to make my rounds tonight. You know how it is, keep the streets clear of riffraff.”They both chuckle again, and I startle like I’ve been shocked with a jumper cable.

In three giant steps, I’m back across the shop floor, and by the time the door swings open to the office, I’m fiddling around with socket wrenches, pretending to be busy and trying to calm my breathing.

“Always a pleasure, Sheriff,” John says in a slightly louder voice, like he’s doing it for my benefit.

“Likewise,” the sheriff says. I turn just in time to see them shake hands.

“Miss,” the sheriff says, tipping the brim of his hat. “Don’t get into any trouble, now. Lots of unsavory folks out there in the forest, you know. Good to stay safe and sound right here.”

“Sure,” I say.God, please, just leave.

“I’m keeping an eye on you.” He smirks, like it’s supposed to be funny instead of chilling, and strides out, the heels of his boots clicking ominously on the concrete floor.

John sees me and frowns. “What’s gotten into you?” he demands. “You look like you’ve seen a damn ghost.”

I snap to standing straight. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just a long day of work. You know how it is.”

He doesn’t, of course. He wouldn’t know a long day of work if it smacked him upside the head.

But John just smiles. “That’s what we like to hear. A hard-working girl.” He jingles his keys. “I’ll close up here. Got a few things to finish and then an important meeting in town later on.”

Meeting?More like slamming booze at the Fox Hunt Club, I think—because yes, Sherwood County is that old-school that actual foxhunting is still considered a respectable gentleman’s pastime. But “Sure,” is all I say. My voice sounds hollow, likeit’s coming from somewhere outside of me.

There’s a pounding need in my chest to investigate, to ask, to find out what they’re up to. Do I even dare? I clutch the socket wrench in my fingers.

“Everything good with the sheriff?”

“Hmm?” John glances up from the papers in his hands, which he tucks swiftly under his arm when he catches me staring at them. “Oh, yes. Right as rain,” he says. “Right as rain.”

My gaze lingers on the stack of papers, and it becomes clear. I need to get my hands on those. I need to see what he’s up to. If my future is in danger—if myfreedomis in danger—then I sure as hell want to know, and fast.

I don’t know what he’s up to, but it can’t be good.

John clears his throat. “Well, don’t linger now,” he says. “I’m not paying anyone overtime.” He chuckles at his own joke, and with that, he turns and disappears back into his office.

I speed through the rest of my closing routine, leaving Ms. Donovan’s keys hanging on a peg for her to pick up on the way to work—no charge. My pulse is pounding in my temples, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

Because to think I assumed the most complicated thing in my day would be dealing with Mr. Yankee and his stupid Porsche.

No. Now I’m going to have to break and enter.

Chapter Two

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