Rebel in a Small Town

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Rebel in a Small Town Page 25

by Kristina Knight


  Part of me was angry, but mostly I was exhausted. I wanted to curl up under one of Gran’s quilts and sleep off the last three months. Hell, the last ten years.

  When I had opened Justin’s Visa bill, it had been an accident. Two envelopes were stuck together. I thought I was opening a phone bill, and instead I discovered that my husband was having an affair. It was either that or he really liked to take naps in the middle of the day at the Embassy Suites while wearing expensive lingerie.

  I’d thought for a moment there had been an error. The credit card was under his company’s name, but those were charges for hotel rooms, restaurants, jewelry stores... Where the hell were the OfficeMax and FedEx charges?

  White noise had filled my ears and my head began to throb. I was pretty sure I’d forgotten to breathe. Right before I’d passed out, I wondered if he’d get in trouble with the IRS, if he’d actually written off his skank-related expenses and whether or not I was in trouble, too, since we’d filed joint returns. Weird, the things you think about as you go under.

  When the cop strode back, I took a moment to appreciate the thick, muscular thighs his uniform couldn’t hide. “Chaucer, I’ve recently discovered it’s the little things that make life worth living.” Objectification may be wrong, but it sure was fun. Asshole or not, the man was beautiful.

  I turned to the cop and said, “Everything all right, Officer?” I hope, I hope. Last I heard, charges hadn’t been pressed. Or they’d been dropped. One or the other.

  He stared, and I felt sweat beading on my upper lip. “Ma’am, there’s a notation on your license about a destruction of property allegation.” He looked significantly at the abused sedan I was driving. “And resisting arrest. Do you know anything about that?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Resisting arrest? What kind of whiny cops complain about having their hands slapped? I’d be embarrassed if I were...” I trailed off as I watched his fingers drumming the handle of his gun. “I mean, resisting what?”

  “And destruction of property,” he reminded me.

  I looked up into his light blue eyes and felt a familiar jolt. “Well, see, I contend that since this BMW is in my name, too, it’s not destruction of property so much as adding air holes to better ventilate my portion of the car. Allegedly.”

  He appeared as stern as ever, but I could have sworn the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I see. Do you have a lawyer you’d like to call before you follow me to the station?”

  I’d met with a divorce attorney before I’d left California and headed east. She was not going to be pleased with me if I ended up in cuffs again.

  “I do, but as she’s on the West Coast, and it’s two in the morning her time, I should probably go it alone, although you can expect to hear ‘I’ve been advised by my attorney to remain silent.’ A lot. I’m sure if she were here, she’d tell me to keep mum.”

  The cop’s mood seemed to have shifted. He leaned one arm against the roof of my car, gazing out toward the ocean. While he contemplated life and whether or not he was going to allow me to continue partaking of it, I flexed my superficial, objectifying muscles. His jacket was hanging open, so I could see that those broad shoulders narrowed to a flat stomach. I tried not to look below the waist, but it was right there, framed by his big utility belt. I may have been new to this, but I was a fast study.

  He cleared his throat. When I peeked up, he was staring back at me, eyebrows raised. Busted.

  Copyright © 2017 by Seana Shelby

  ISBN-13: 9781488017131

  Rebel in a Small Town

  Copyright © 2017 by Kristina Knight

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9 Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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