Grayson, she said, her tongue flickering over her bottom lip. Maybe that was the reason his brain was firing warnings on all cylinders. She was a five-foot-six-inch memory of a different kind. The front door opened, and he spotted Eve. That required a deep breath, and he cursed himself for having to take it. There were a lot of places to duck out of sight…?. Along with his brothers, he had fished in the creek at the bottom of the hill. Grayson knew this part of the county like the back of his hand. No sign of anyone for that matter, but just twenty minutes earlier Eve had called his office to report that she had seen someone suspicious in the area. No sign of the cottage’s owner, Eve Warren. He lifted his head, listening, and glanced around the thick woods that were practically smothering the yellow cottage. He slid his hand over the Smith & Wesson in his leather shoulder holster and stepped from his patrol truck. Sheriff Grayson Ryland couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.
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