Beneath Blackwater River by Leslie Wolfe (love story books to read txt) 📕

that’s why she’d behaved so ridiculously juvenile, playing the old, “Are you going to arrest me, Detective?” game, shamelessly flirting with him.

He took her for a burger at Hilltop Bar and Grill, the usual cop hangout place. It was late when they got there, after nine, and she’d hoped they wouldn’t run into any familiar faces, but had no such luck. A gang of beered-up deputies hollered when they walked through the door, and it took all her willpower not to rush out of there. One look at Elliot’s face told her he was just as inconvenienced, and just as hesitant to admit it and walk out. They’d never hear the end of it if they did.

They sat at a small table, and she secretly hoped the deputies would find something else better to do, but no. They took turns coming by, bearing drink offerings to celebrate her joining the team, her first collar, and so on, but she knew better. They paraded just to be in their business, gathering tidbits of gossip for days to come. Still, she carefully controlled her every move, expression, and word she said, and a grim, visibly frustrated Elliot did the same, sitting across from her like a gloomy and barely functional speechless person. To anyone who was watching, they were two colleagues having a meal and a drink together at the end of their long day, and who’d apparently welcomed their colleagues at their table for a while.

Even so, she didn’t feel she could refuse the deputies’ invitations to raise a glass with them, without jeopardizing the team dynamics and her integration as the newest member of the Franklin County Sheriff’s Office. People might or might not remember someone’s actions for a while, but they never forgot how that someone made them feel. Rejection hurts the most and is the most unforgivable––and unforgettable––of all behaviors.

That one drink had turned into three or four, under the constant barrage of the deputies’ offers. Deputy Leach paid for a round of tequila shots, and she had to oblige, understanding it was a rite of passage, common in precincts all over the world, where the newbie had to prove themselves in more ways than one. She downed hers while they all hollered, then Daugherty ordered two more rounds, not giving up until she’d drunk them both, even if she would’ve preferred not to touch anything that deputy had to offer. He stood by their table, not caring he wasn’t invited to join them, and pushed the drinks on Kay as if he were a man with a mission. Maybe he was, or maybe he thought he could drink her under the table and embarrass her into leaving the precinct.

She downed the second glass under his insolent stare and slammed it on the table with a mischievous grin. “If you have money to waste, Daugherty, sure, keep ’em coming. We could do this all night long.”

His jaw dropped, then he walked away mumbling something, accompanied by his colleagues’ roars of laughter. “That chick can drink you under the table, Daugherty,” Deputy Farrell shouted, the only woman in the gang. “She’s one of us. Get it in that fat head of yours.”

But Kay didn’t care about the appreciation she received, her mind fixated on one particular deputy.

It irked her badly seeing Deputy Scott in that group, when she knew exactly who he was: a wife beater, a violent abuser who belonged in jail. Making it worse, he came by and muttered a half-unintelligible, “Hello, Detective,” his voice ripe with contempt and lust. He offered her a shot glass filled to the brim, his hand shaking slightly, and watched her down it with a grin that quickly faded under Elliot’s glare. None of his coworkers seemed to know anything about who he really was or, if they knew, they didn’t seem to mind. Someone must’ve known he was a violent man; the same someone who had buried his wife’s complaints, then ratted her out to him, knowing very well the damage it would do to the woman. And that someone was probably drinking with him, having a good time, not a second thought given to Scott’s abused wife.

Shooting the group a side glance, she had ground her teeth, muttering an oath that would’ve made a veteran sailor proud.

“My mistake,” Elliot said quietly. She could barely hear him over the ruckus in the bar.

“What are you talking about?”

“Bringing you here,” he replied, staring at the scratched melamine tabletop.

She smiled, then chuckled, seeing how looking in his eyes made her even tipsier than she already was. “Hey, I came with, didn’t I?” She tilted her head, continuing to smile, then remembered they were being watched and corrected her appearance, letting her smile wither.

“Let’s do this again tomorrow,” Elliot said, locking eyes with her. “Someplace else, far, far away.” His gaze was loaded with intense, mixed emotions, making her wish she’d declined raising so many shot glasses with the deputies, so she could decipher the mysteries of those Texas blues.

They’d finished their meal and left, waving at the deputies who hollered in a standing circle while Scott was dancing by himself in the middle, his moves mixed generously with obscene gestures that fueled his buddies’ whoops and cheers.

She followed Elliot to the parking lot, where both their vehicles were parked side by side, and she took out her keys.

“Please,” Elliot said, grabbing her hand and closing her fist around the keys. The contact with his warm skin sent a buzz in her entire body, heating her up despite the November chill. “Let me drive you home.”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, swallowing hard, unsure if it was his touch, the drinks, or her imagination running wild to blame for her knees feeling weak, for her heart throbbing in her chest.

She tugged at his hand, stopping him in place. He turned toward her, looking at her with a mix of yearning and concern. Looking in his eyes for a moment, then her gaze lingered on his lips,