The trouble with running away is you take yourself with you. After a case goes south, Colleen McDonald leaves her police job in Oregon for a fresh start as a civilian in Orlando. The last thing she needs is some cop with killer blue eyes coming around, looking for her missing landlord. The quickest way to get Deputy Graham Harrigan out of her life is to beat him at his own game.
Finding Jeffrey Walters might be Graham's ticket to a slot in the Criminal Investigations Division. Determined to prove he's the man for the job despite the stain of an unsavory reputation passed down by his training partner, he can't afford to be distracted by the pretty tenant in Walters' guest house. A tenant who seems to know more about the case than he does. A tenant with her own demons.
Will Colleen's secrets destroy Graham's chances for a promotion, or will love make theirs a permanent partnership?
Someone was at the door...
Colleen pulled the door open enough to talk, not enough to invite him in. Tall as he was, and with his eyes obscured behind mirrored sunglasses, Colleen fought the urge to slam the door.
“What do you want, Deputy?” She heard the raspy tone of her voice and cleared her throat. Her eyes automatically sought the nametag pinned to his broad chest. Graham Harrigan.
“I’m looking for Jeffrey Walters,” he said, removing his sunglasses.
Not for her. Exhaling with relief, she talked to his nametag. “I don’t know any Jeffrey Walters. Only Doris Walters, my landlady, and I’ve never met her in person. I got here last night. Try the main house.”
“I did, but there was no answer.”
“Is there something wrong?” That low-pitched sound rumbled through the air again, but if the deputy heard, he gave no indication. She fixed her gaze on his chin and waited.
“His daughter said he wasn’t returning her calls. Asked us to look in on him.” He pulled out a small notebook and pen. “Can I have your name, ma’am?”
His voice was more bored than belligerent, but he was a man, a cop, and she wanted him gone. She paused. No need to piss him off.
His tone warmed twenty degrees. “Good morning, Colleen McDonald. Scottish or Irish?” He gave her a congenial smile.
“Scottish.” As if he could disarm her that easily. She pulled her robe tighter and put her hand to the doorknob. “Why don’t you leave me your card, Deputy Harrigan, and I’ll tell Mrs. Walters, or this Jeffrey person—if I see him—to call you. I have things to do.”
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