“Are you sure?” I ask.
Her eyes are wide yet hard. She means what she’s asking, and she’s not apologizing for it. She nods. “You can tell Damien I sent you if you see him.”
The sheriff claps his hands together. “That sounds like a plan. I’ll go ahead and get the truck going, Kissy.”
He walks off while Kissy heads toward the house. It takes actual effort to keep stride with her.
Something’s changed within her, but I don’t know what.
Micah peeks out the front window, looking at, I presume, the sheriff.
Kissy starts talking once we’re by the kitchen island. “Make sure Micah unpacks that bag of his before you leave him at his house. Park behind the house, too, if you can. The neighbors on both sides are nosy.” She grabs her purse off the counter and slings it across her.
“You know, we can take Micah home together, and then I can drive you to the sheriff’s department after,” I offer. “I assure you that they can wait for you.”
Kissy shakes her head.
She looks like she wants to say one thing but shifts to say another.
This time, she talks only loud enough so I can hear. She laces her hand around my forearm and leans in to double down on our privacy. The close contact scatters my focus for a beat, but then I’m all in. “Guidry’s room is on the second floor, end of the hallway. If he’s hiding anything, it would be there or in the attached office.”
I don’t understand immediately, which is a shame, given I’m usually better at reading between the lines, but as soon as the meaning sinks in, Kissy presses against me and goodness almighty, that takes my focus and explodes it.
Never mind when she’s placing her lips against mine.
The kiss is quick, but I only know it in retrospect.
In the moment it’s…
Quiet.
Warm.
Calm.
Not long enough for me to react but long enough for me to enjoy it.
To be surprised by it too.
Kissy breaks the quick kiss, and her feet flatten on the tile floor beneath us.
Her expression is severe. No smile, no reddened cheeks.
Just severe.
“Be careful, Beau. I mean it.” Kissy is off to Micah before I can say a word, then she’s out of the door to the sheriff.
Normally, I would’ve moved along with her.
But right now, I’m still stuck on her lips.
CHAPTERTWENTY
Kissy
Amant Parish Sheriff’s Departmenthas the pleasure of overseeing Robin’s Tree, the residents who find themselves living along Winn Parish Road 22, and teeny, tiny Baptiste Parish. Which means just about everyone is in-house when Sheriff Roland walks me across the parking lot that opens directly to the only crossroads in town and into the flat, one-story building.
I’ve never done this before, but the edge is taken completely off since I know everyone I pass as we hook a direct left into a conference room. Helene Barber is sitting prim and proper at her dispatch station, her daughter Calloway, in opposite form with her dyed-black hair and nose ring behind the secretary desk. Deputy Myers isn’t here, but Ronny McLennan looks pleased as punch to see me being walked inside. I guess I’d be just as happy to see the same if the situation was flipped.
