LITMIR.BIZ

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sheriff’s office through the back door, Wyatt walked down the long hall. His boot heels scraped the scuffed boards as he passed the large file room, a small break room and a meeting room with a small table and chairs. The hallway continued, dissecting the stone building. To the right were the mayor’s office, the town records office and the utilities office. To the left were the sheriff’s office and a two-cell jail. The center reception area was lined with vinyl-covered benches and in the middle was a desk where a clerk sat. Wyatt looked at Corporal Dwight Quinby whose wide eyes sent a silent message that something was up here at the office. Dwight’s tangled light brown hair became more snarled as he ran his fingers through it.

      “Sheriff, there’s a woman in your office. When she said she wanted to see you, I told her to have a seat out here, that you’d be back soon, but she talked me into telling where your office is and letting her go back there. I don’t even know how she did it. First thing I knew she smiled and was gone,” he said, sounding dazed.

      “Dwight, slow down,” Wyatt drawled quietly. “Who is she? What’s her name?”

      “I didn’t get her name. I don’t know—one moment she was here and the next she was in your office. I don’t know what happened.”

      “Tell Val when he comes in that I’ve found the limo passenger. Tell him to look around town for a uniformed driver and get that thing moved out of my parking place. Or call Argus and tell him to come tow that limo away from here.”

      “You might change your mind after you meet her,” Dwight said.

      Startled, Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t think so. You call and get it towed,” he said, curious now who was waiting in his office and why Dwight would say such a thing or look so dazed.

      “Yes, sir,” Dwight replied, glancing through the oval glass in the front door that offered a good view of the red limousine.

      “Sheriff, you haven’t ever met anyone like her,” Dwight said, surprising Wyatt even more with such an uncustomary reaction.

      With a long sigh, Wyatt headed for his office. Whatever the woman wanted, she’d have to move the limo before they did anything else. He hoped she wasn’t moving to Verity. The town was filled with enough affluent people who thought they had special rights and privileges. It took tact and diplomacy to deal with them, including his own family sometimes.

      In this case, he felt the owner of the limo lost all rights to tact and diplomacy when she had the limo parked in the sheriff’s space.

      Wyatt opened the door of his office and walked in. Instantly he forgot all about the limo.

      His gaze focused on a long-legged redhead seated in a leather wingback chair that was turned slightly toward the door. Big green eyes immobilized him, a sensation that Wyatt was unaccustomed to. With an effort his gaze left hers, trailing over her while his breath left his body. Dimly, he wondered if another movie was going to be filmed in or near Verity and this was the star. A riot of curly auburn hair spilled over her shoulders, giving her a sensual, earthy look that heated his insides. Flawless, smooth skin heightened her allure. Her green dress emphasized the color of her eyes and clung to a figure that threatened to melt his thought processes. Lush curves turned the room temperature to the heat of a West Texas summer. He noted her tiny waist, but then his gaze traveled down where the dress ended at her crossed knees, down long shapely legs.

      “Well, good morning to the illustrious sheriff of Verity County,” she said, drawing out her words in a throaty voice that sounded like a suggestive invitation to sin instead of a greeting.

      Without conscious thought of what he was doing, Wyatt walked toward her. He stopped in front of her. A faint hint of a smile gave a slight curve to her full, red lips and he couldn’t keep from wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

      “Good morning. It’s Wyatt Milan,” he said, waiting for her to respond and give him her name.

      She smiled and his knees almost buckled. Her smile was dazzling and lit up her face as if she were the friendliest person in the state of Texas, and in that moment he understood why his clerk had been so dazzled.

      When she held out her hand, he took it, his fingers closing around a dainty, warm hand that sent electricity streaking through him. A beautiful pearl-and-diamond band was on one of her fingers. He glanced at her other hand to see it was bare of rings.

      “I’m Destiny Jones, Sheriff Milan. I’m from Chicago.”

      As if she had plunged a knife into his heart, Wyatt came out of his daze. He had never met the woman, but he knew the name and he knew about her. His wits began to work again and his breathing steadied, and he could almost view her without an intense physical reaction. As if his emotions were on a pendulum, his feelings about her swung in the opposite direction and he viewed her as pure trouble.

      “Destiny Jones, as in Desirée Jones’s sister,” he said, recalling the headline-making, temperamental, stunningly beautiful movie star he had once had an affair with while she was on location in Verity. An affair that had ended badly. He remembered Desirée talking about her older sister who hosted a television show about unsolved mysteries and had written a bestselling book, Unsolved Mysteries of the South.

      “Ah, you remember,” she replied.

      “I always remember a beautiful woman,” he said, his gaze traveling leisurely over Destiny’s features even as his guard came up. Both sisters were breathtaking, but they were both probably casual about their relationships. He had known that with Desirée and he guessed that now about Destiny.

      “I’ve been waiting three years to meet the illustrious sheriff of Verity, Texas, and now I finally get to do so,” she said with a smile that threatened to melt the polar ice caps. “You’re a Milan, the family involved in a feud with the Calhouns.”

      “So you know about the feud,” he said, suspecting trouble was coming his way within hours.

      He turned a leather chair to face her and sat only a couple of feet away. “So you’re in town for what purpose?” he asked bluntly, mildly amused that she had taken his parking place, made herself comfortable in his office and now with him. He saw no reason to waste time in polite chitchat. He was still idly curious, however, and he couldn’t deny the thought of asking her to dinner crossed his mind.

      “For one thing, I hope I can have an interview with you about the Lavita Wrenville house. I think it will be a wonderful subject for my Unsolved Mysteries television show.”

      Her words made him focus more rationally on her. He smiled only to be polite. The Wrenville house was where a Milan and a Calhoun had once fought over the same woman and both men, along with her father, had been shot to death. Century-old murders that could stir up the feud again.

      “The Wrenville house,” he said. “That place really isn’t very interesting and there is nothing you can do at this time to solve the murders that happened in the house. That was over a century ago, old news with cold clues. At best, you might come back next year when the town of Verity has full rights to the property.”

      “That’s interesting. I’d like to hear more about the town getting full rights. Even if I can’t get a solution, I’d like to present the story about the house and family because it’s unknown, unusual and I think it could be of interest to my audience.”

      “You might check Texas history because I think you’ll find other unsolved mysteries that are far more fascinating in places far more appealing.”

      “That’s interesting to know, too, Sheriff Milan,” she said, giving him a sweet smile. “But I really want to do this one. And you should know I pursue what I want.”

      “And I imagine you’re accustomed to getting what you want,” he said, his gaze flicking over her. He guessed most men found it difficult to tell her no, especially with her devastating smile.

      “That happens often,” she said, leaning forward and shortening the gap between them. “I’m curious, Sheriff Milan,” she said in a pleasant tone that probably ended most men’s resistance,

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