If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

Well, I hope it was very important. Now … I assume you’re ready to handle
business
matters, Sheriff. There’s a young lady here to speak with you. Claims she knew Sheriff … Sheriff Nielson.”
    Ms. Tuttle’s eyes gleamed brightly for a second, too brightly, and she looked away. To give her a moment, Ezra frowned and pretended to study the ruthlessly organized calendar she always provided for him.
    “I don’t see anybody on my schedule.”
    “Hmph. Like you would know what to do with that schedule if I didn’t
give
it to you,” she muttered. Then she sighed and reached up, patted her hair. “She’s not on the schedule, Sheriff King. Her name is Nia Hollister—”
    Ezra looked up. “Hollister.”
    “Yes.”
    Their eyes locked, bright and snapping green with dark, deep forest green. Ezra looked away first.
    That name would echo through this county for decades. None of them knew the woman who had died here. Died in their town. But none of them would ever forget her either.
    “Nia,” he murmured. “That would be Jolene’s—the victim’s—cousin.”
    “Yes. Do you have time to speak to her?”
    Although it was a question, it was asked in such a way that Ezra knew if he said no, he might as well hold out his knuckles to get them rapped. Not that he’d planned on saying
no
, anyway.
    Still, he couldn’t let her think she had him completely cowed. Right?
    He folded his face into stern lines and met her gaze somberly. “I’ll make time. But we need to try to stick to the schedule.”
    “I make the damn schedule,” she sniffed. Then she turned on her square heels and let herself out.
    Letting his head fall against the back of his chair, he muttered, “Dwight, I appreciate you leaving me the dragon, but geez. How do I rein her in?”
    There wasn’t an answer, of course, and three minutes later, he forced himself upright as he heard the familiar
tap-tap-tap
of Ms. Tuttle’s heels on the tile floors. He didn’t hear anybody else behind her, although he imagined Joely Hollister’s cousin was there.
    And she was … A second later, the door opened andMs. Tuttle stepped aside, allowing a woman to enter before she closed the door and tap-tapped down the hall.
    Once Ms. Tuttle was gone, he focused on his visitor.
    She was tall—that was Ezra’s first impression.
    She was gorgeous—that was his second impression.
    She was heartbroken—that was his third, and final, impression.
    Even after all this time, she was still broken inside. And there wasn’t much of anything he could do to help her with that, either. He couldn’t give her the closure she needed, because he was still having trouble finding it himself.
    “Sheriff King, right?”
    He rose from behind his desk. “Yes, that’s right. And you’re Nia Hollister.”
    She gave him a tight, strained smile. “Yes. Thanks for seeing me like this.”
    “Not a problem.” He gestured to the seat across from his desk and waited until she’d sat before he lowered himself back to his chair. As she crossed one jean-clad leg over the other, he folded his hands. “What can I do for you?”
    She swallowed and looked down, studying the black messenger bag she carried. “I … this isn’t easy,” she said quietly. She looked back at him, once more giving him that tight, strained smile. “I usually have something of a reputation for being very calm, logical … rational. I don’t … well, I don’t know exactly, but lately, I’m so paranoid, I’m even annoying myself and that’s not like me.”
    Ezra cocked a brow at her. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here?”
    She reached inside the black bag, pulling out a file folder. “I … I don’t know if you know much about my cousin.”
    “There’s not a person in this town who doesn’t know about your cousin, Ms. Hollister. We’re all terribly sorry,” he said softly.
    “Thank you.” She nodded, gripping the folder so tightly her toffee-colored skin went bloodless. “I … I’d been out of town for a few weeks before she was killed. And not in very good contact before that. It had been probably close to three months since I’d seen her. Her fiancé, well, he just—he couldn’t cope with anything after he was told she’d died, and she was in bad shape. We had a closed casket ceremony.”
    She stroked the folder, her gold eyes staring off into the distance, seeing something. Memories, Ezra assumed. Unpleasant ones, he suspected, judging by the way her mouth