Under the Covers

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “Darlin’, we both knew I was going to do that.” He started the ignition. “We obviously need to talk.”

  “You’re mad at me.”

  “Furious.” He nodded at a couple of people walking along the road toward the long line of cars. “Put on your seat belt.”

  “Does this mean we’re over?” Something in her chest splintered.

  “Right now? I have no clue. I need to deal with making sure Melanie is all right, making sure Colton doesn’t screw up his future, find out why drug dealers are killing people in my county, fight to keep my job, and get your stepbrother out of your life for good.” His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “You lied to me. There have been times in my life when trust was the only thing I could rely on. I…need time to figure things out.”

  The splinter in her chest exploded. “When I was eighteen, I fell in love with a guy named Sonny Mitchsi.”

  Quinn’s nostrils flared. “He was a criminal?”

  “No. Sonny was a genius—got a full ride to business school.”

  “All right.”

  “The second he found out about my family, he dumped me. Said he couldn’t be involved with somebody like me—somebody with a family like mine.” Remembered hurt slithered down her spine. “I didn’t want you to do that.”

  Quinn growled low. “You didn’t give me the chance.”

  She sighed—he was right. “I didn’t ask to get in your truck.”

  “I know.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Jake and Sophie needed a moment, and so did you and I.”

  “Am I going to go to jail?” Juliet asked quietly.

  “No. You have the best lawyer in the world, and frankly, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Quinn pulled the truck onto the main road. “Well, anything illegal. You didn’t do anything illegal.”

  Oh, but lying to him was wrong. Lying to him and then sleeping with him, that is. If they’d remained just acquaintances, the lying probably wouldn’t have mattered much. But now it seemed like everything. “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

  “Me, too.” He tossed his black Stetson on the dash. “You didn’t trust me, Juliet.”

  There was the crux of the problem. Everyone leaned on and trusted Quinn Lodge, yet she was the only person he’d opened up to. No wonder he was so mad.

  “I am curious. How long were you planning to stay in town?” he asked.

  Chills cascaded down her back. “I was planning on leaving after the showing.”

  His firm jaw snapped shut. “I see. Where were you going?”

  “I thought I’d go to Utah or Wyoming.” Somewhere there were mountains, cowboys, and a community. But no place would have Quinn Lodge. “I’m sorry.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, finally pulling to a stop in front of Melanie’s white farmhouse. A porch wrapped around the entire first floor, the planks faded and a few in need of repair.

  Quinn frowned through the windshield. “I hadn’t noticed Old Man Jacoby needed help. Apparently I should’ve paid closer attention.” He stepped out of the truck and crossed behind it to open Juliet’s door.

  She allowed him to assist her to the gravel. His hands lingered at her waist, and his eyes darkened.

  “Sheriff?” someone called out.

  They both turned and a flash went off. Several flashes peppered the air. With a growl, Quinn stepped in front to shield her.

  The photographer rushed toward a parked car and sped off.

  Juliet pursed her lips. “What was that all about?”

  “I don’t want to know.” Quinn closed her door and took her elbow to escort to the porch.

  “But, if that was a reporter, do you think they found out about me?” Oh, God. Any scandal could destroy Quinn’s campaign.

  “Maybe.” He released her. “I’ll see you inside.” Without another word, he hurried to where his mother emerged from a truck, her hands full of dishes. After pecking Loni on the cheek, he reached for the bundle.

  A lonely chill squeezed Juliet’s chest. She would’ve liked having been part of the Lodge-Freeze family. Sighing, she went inside for the wake.

  …

  The morning after the funeral, Juliet poked her head outside the gallery door. “Deputy Baker? Would you like some coffee?”

  The young officer shook his head. “No thank you, ma’am.” He turned his red head back to survey the quiet street.

  “How about you come inside and warm up? You can guard the gallery just as well from inside.” She fought guilt—the poor guy had been outside all night.

  “Thank you, ma’am, but the sheriff left strict instructions for me to stay right here until my replacement arrived.” The kid didn’t change his focus.

  Sighing, Juliet closed the door. Damn Quinn was punishing her for her decision to return to her apartment and not impose any longer on Sophie and Jake. She punched in numbers and asked to speak with the sheriff. Mrs. Wilson said she’d take a message, but that the sheriff was out on a call. Juliet decided not to leave a message.

  Instead, she hustled to her desk in the corner to balance her books. After the showing the other night, she was finally in the black. Thank goodness.

  An hour passed.

  Then another.

  Suddenly, the door blew open. She yelped and jumped. The sheriff stood in the doorway, gun out, his face a concentrated mask. “Juliet?”

  She pressed a hand to her chest. “Why is your gun out?”

  He frowned and set his gun back in the shoulder holster. “I got a report of screams coming from the gallery.”

  The young deputy sidled in from the other gallery. “There wasn’t anybody in the back entrance, sheriff.”

  Quinn’s gaze narrowed. “You didn’t hear any screams?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I think it’s a hoax,” Quinn muttered.

  “Who called it in?” The deputy scratched his chin.

  “I don’t know. It was a call to dispatch. Take point outside, Spencer. Phillips will be here in five to relieve you.” Quinn waited until the deputy took his leave to focus on Juliet. “I also had a message you called.”

  She ran her hand along the back of her chair. “I’m refusing police protection. Please keep your deputies off my property.”

  A veil dropped over his eyes. “You’re in danger, now there’s a prank call regarding you, and you don’t get to refuse police protection.”

  She glowered. “You’re trespassing, Sheriff Lodge. Please leave.”

  “No.” He crossed his arms.

  For the love of all that was holy. Stubbornness lived in the man, at home and comfortable. “We broke up.” She understood exactly what “I need time to think” meant. “As such, you no longer need to concern yourself about me. All of the truth is out, and Freddy probably has no interest in me. Especially since Jake explained to him that the money is long gone.”

  “Regardless of the status of our relationship, you’re a citizen in my county. If you’re in danger, you get police protection.” Quinn leaned against the door. “Deal with it, Juliet.”

  Anger rippled through her veins. So she plastered on a polite smile and straightened her shoulders. “Well, then, I thank you for your diligence, Sheriff Lodge. The citizens of Maverick are fortunate to have you protecting us.”

  Temper rippled across his face.

  His phone buzzed, but his dark gaze kept her pinned while he answered. “I’ll be right there.” Turning on his heel, he yanked open the door to reveal a different deputy at guard. “Stay with her and report in hourly.” Without looking back, he strode out of sight.

  The door drifted closed.

  Her phone rang, and she cleared her throat before answering, “Maverick Gallery.”

  “Hi, Juliet. This is Mrs. Hudson, from down the street?” an elderly voice chirped.

  “Hi, Mrs. Hudson.” Juliet took another deep breath. The sweet widow lived in a small cottage a block down the street, and Juliet often dropped off groceries or goodies for the woman.

&
nbsp; “What can I help you with?”

  “Oh, Juliet. I dropped my favorite earrings—you know the ones Arthur gave to me right before he died? Well, they slid behind the stereo.”

  “Oh.” Juliet glanced at the clock. “You need me to fetch them for you?”

  “No, dear. I grabbed them,” Mrs. Hudson said.

  Juliet frowned. “Well, good.”

  “But then the stereo dropped on my leg.”

  “What?” Juliet sprang to her feet. “Are you all right? Do you need an ambulance?”

  “Oh, no, dear. I’m fine. Well, not fine. My foot is bruised, and I can’t stand on my tiptoes.”

  “Do you need me to bring bandages or, well, anything?”

  “No. But I do need you to come and get my yellow bowl—the one with flowers on it—off my top shelf. I can’t reach that high, and I’m going to Betty Adam’s for Bunko tonight.”

  Relief flooded Juliet. “I’d be happy to help. In fact, I could use a walk right now. Give me a minute.”

  “Thank you, dear.” The elderly lady hung up.

  Juliet chuckled. Now that was a confusing conversation. She slid her arms into her coat and headed for the door. “Deputy Phillips, I take it?”

  Phillips nodded a buzz-cut head. He stood to about six feet and was built like a truck. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How do you feel about a walk?” she asked.

  “You walk, I follow, ma’am,” he said with a smile and twinkling brown eyes.

  “Excellent.” She stepped into the chilly day and frowned at the gathering clouds. Not another heavy summer storm. She hustled down the block to Mrs. Hudson’s white bungalow. She knocked on the door and pushed it open. The elderly lady hollered for her to come in.

  Juliet left Deputy Phillips on the porch and hurried inside. “Mrs. Hudson?”

  “In the kitchen, dear.”

  Juliet removed her coat, entered the sparkling clean kitchen, and stopped short. “Quinn.”

  “Juliet.” He sat at the round table, a large bowl of oriental chicken salad set on the crocheted tablecloth in front of him.

  Juliet raised her eyebrows at Mrs. Hudson.

  The woman smiled and all but pushed Juliet into the chair across from Quinn. “The sheriff was kind enough to get down my bowl, but now I need a couple of testers for the salad I want to take tonight.” She dumped another bowl of oriental chicken salad in front of Juliet and smoothed her purple, velour pantsuit. “Now you two eat up, take notes, and I’ll be right back. I promised Henry Bullton next door some salad.” Humming to herself, she all but skipped out the back door.

  Juliet’s stomach knotted. “I thought she’d injured her foot.”

  Quinn took a bite of the salad. “Nope. She’s interfering.”

  Juliet’s hand stopped halfway to the fork. “Interfering?”

  “Yep.” He took another bite. “The word around town is that we broke up, and apparently, the news doesn’t sit well with Mrs. Hudson.”

  Heat climbed into Juliet’s face. “Well, it sits just fine with me.”

  “Does it, now?” Quinn polished off his salad. “Good to know.” He stood—a strong man with a hard jaw. “I have a meeting in five minutes. Please tell Mrs. Hudson that I enjoyed the salad very much and to mind her own business.”

  “You tell her that.” Juliet lifted her chin.

  “I will.” He halted at the kitchen door. “Make sure Deputy Phillips is with you all day, Juliet. I’d hate to fire the guy.” Whistling a smart-ass tuned, the sheriff sauntered out of sight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A raging headache set up camp behind Quinn’s left eye as he shoved open the door to the station. While he adored Mrs. Hudson, he didn’t need any help in figuring out his life. He needed time.

  The silence in the station shot his blood pressure into overdrive.

  Stopping at the reception counter, he pinned Mrs. Wilson with a hard look. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t you speak to me in such a tone, young man.” She shoved her glasses up her pointy nose, giving him the same glare she had when he’d stolen tulips from her garden to give to a girl. He’d been eight.

  He fought the urge to shuffle his feet. “I apologize, Mrs. Wilson. Why is it so quiet in here?”

  “I think everyone is upset about this.” She flashed a sympathetic grimace and slid the Billings paper across the counter.

  Dread dropped into his gut. He turned the paper around to see a front-page picture of him helping Juliet out of the truck at the funeral. The caption read: “Sheriff Lodge Escorts Mob daughter Juliet Spazzoli.”

  He scanned the article. Some of it touched on his reelection bid, but most of the article detailed the DEA’s case and offered speculation about Juliet’s crime family. Quinn handed the paper back to Mrs. Wilson. “Throw the entire thing away, would you?”

  “Will this hurt you in the election?”

  “I don’t know.” Right now, he didn’t have time to worry about the election. As he entered the main hub of the station, all of a sudden, everyone was either on the phone, typing, or out of sight. With a sigh, he stalked between people who wouldn’t meet his eye until entering his office.

  “We could sue the paper.” Jake sat in a guest chair playing Angry Birds on his phone.

  “Why? Most of the article seemed to be somewhat factual.” He skirted his desk and dropped into his chair.

  Jake shot another red bird into the air. “You’ll need to campaign now.”

  “I don’t have time.” Quinn shoved papers out of the way.

  Jake clicked his phone shut. “Do you want to be the sheriff or not?”

  Right now? “Not.”

  “Liar.” Jake stuck his phone in his pocket. “I’ve booked you on two radio stations next week. The interviews will go quickly, and you need to do them.”

  Damn it. “Fine.”

  Jake grinned. “You and Juliet make up yet?”

  “No.”

  “Stop being such a stubborn bastard,” Jake said without heat. His eyes darkened with sympathy.

  “She lied to me.”

  “Yeah. People make mistakes, Quinn. Even you.” Jake cleared his throat. “Officially, I’m here to report that my client will testify to anything she has knowledge of regarding Freddy Spazzoli’s drug business in exchange for both state and federal immunity.”

  Quinn lifted an eyebrow. “Does your client know anything she hasn’t already shared?”

  “Er, no.” Jake grinned.

  “Then not only is her testimony useless, she doesn’t need immunity.” Quinn doubted the DEA would waste time prosecuting Juliet without any proof.

  The grin disappeared. “I still want the immunity. The money concerns me…and there’s a decent accessory-after-the-fact charge if the DEA wants to make an example out of her. Push your friend for the deal, Quinn.”

  “Dealing with the DEA is your job, Jacob.” Quinn settled back in his chair. He didn’t deserve to be sheriff if he called in special favors. “You might also want to concentrate on the possession of false identification charge that will be heading Juliet’s way soon. The local prosecutor will love the case.”

  “What false identification?”

  “She brought false ID from New York to Montana.”

  “Did she use any identification?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Jake picked at his faded jeans. “Have you either seen this identification or applied for a warrant to search her home or place of business?”

  Quinn scowled. “Obtaining a warrant is on the agenda for today.”

  Jake flashed the smile that made other attorneys quake. “Feel free. You won’t find any identification.”

  Quinn gripped his desk. “You told her to destroy evidence?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t tell her a damn thing.” Jake stood.

  “Tell me you didn’t destroy evidence.”

  Jake loped toward the door. “I believe I’ll take the Fifth on that one, Sheriff. Have a nice day.”r />
  “You’re a damn officer of the court,” Quinn bellowed after his disappearing brother. Son of a bitch. The relief sliding through him pissed him off more. With a growl, he started punching in letters on his keyboard. Those damn reports wouldn’t write themselves.

  An hour passed and someone tapped on his opened door. The scent of wild citrus hit him right in the solar plexus. Smoothing his face into interested lines, he focused on the door. “Hello, Juliet.” Standing like his mama had taught him, he gestured her into a chair.

  She gracefully crossed and sat. Her pale face and trembling hands made him feel like an ogre.

  “How can I help you?” He retook his seat before he could grab her up and cuddle her close.

  Her forehead creased. “I, ah, well, you requested my presence.”

  He leaned forward. “Who called you?”

  “Mrs. Wilson.” Juliet glanced at the door, no doubt seeking a quick exit.

  “Mrs. Wilson?” Quinn yelled.

  The file clerk poked his head inside the office. “She took a half-day sick day, Sheriff.”

  “I’ll bet she did,” Quinn muttered. He rubbed his whiskers. Had he forgotten to shave again? “I’m sorry, Juliet. Apparently I need to fire my receptionist.”

  “You’re not going to fire Mrs. Wilson,” Juliet said, her lips tilting slightly. “Anyway, I wanted to say how sorry I am for the newspaper article. I wish I could do something about it.”

  “Not your fault.” Her scent was driving him crazy.

  The file clerk returned to place a box on Quinn’s desk. “From Shelby’s bakery.” The kid disappeared, shutting the door behind himself.

  Quinn frowned at the box and flipped open the lid. Inside lay several cookies, all shaped as hearts and decorated with a Q + J.

  Juliet covered her mouth, her eyes lighting with amusement. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Quinn cleared his throat. If the old biddies in town thought they could force him into anything, they were freakin’ crazy. “I’m sorry about this. Their interference is ridiculous.”

  She lost her smile. “I’m sorry, too.” She rose, looking small and fragile.

  He stood. “I, uh, am probably going to get a warrant to search your place later for the doctored identification.” Damn it. He had no right to warn her.