If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

shaking her head. “It’s for all the vultures who’ve been in here, demanding to know what’s going on … you wouldn’t believe the questions I’ve had to deal with.”
    “Don’t bet on it,” he muttered.
    He headed toward his office but paused, looked back at her. “It’s probably going to get worse, once word gets out, Miz T. You up for it?”
    “Please.” She adjusted her glasses and gave him an arch look. “Don’t be insulting, Sheriff. It doesn’t become you.”
    He smiled at her and headed into the office, leaving the door open. She’d be in shortly with the messageshe’d missed for the morning, along with any news that had turned up. It was only 9:30, but in small-town America, that was pretty damn late, he knew.
    He should have been here before the crack of dawn, but he wasn’t forsaking his wife’s safety for the job, and getting here at dawn wasn’t going to get him answers any sooner, he knew.
    Weary, he slid into his chair and rubbed his eyes. Coffee. Damn it. Should have gotten coffee before he sat down.
    Too late now. He was going to make some headway on the messages he knew would be waiting for him before he got the damn coffee. The coffee would be the reward.
    He opened his eyes and sure enough, there were messages.
    Reports. One preliminary report—his eyes narrowed on that one and he grabbed it, but before he could start reading, a shadow fell across his desk.
    He looked up, expecting Ms. Tuttle.
    He found Carter Jennings. Roz’s husband—Lena’s sort-of boss. Sort-of because he did own half of the Inn, although Roz had more of a hand in running things.
    “Hi, Carter,” he said, leaning back.
    “Hey, Sheriff.” He gave him a tired smile, leaned against the doorjamb. “You look worn out.”
    Ezra shrugged. “Late night.”
    “So I’ve heard.” Carter’s grin flashed wider now. “You’ve figured out the small-town grapevine, right? You know how many tongues are wagging right now?”
    “Probably all of them,” he said mildly. “Now ask me if I give a damn?”
    Carter chuckled. “Oh, I don’t need to. You don’t give a damn. But I’m hoping you can tell me something,
anything
to set Roz’s nerves at ease. She’s stressing something awful.”
    “About Lena?” He shrugged. “Look, it’s more to put my mind at ease than anything.”
    Carter looked down, sighed. “No. Not about Lena. Just about … well. Whatever’s going on.” He looked up, his blue eyes intent on Ezra’s face. “So much weird shit going on around here lately. And after last night … well, she’s just worried sick. She was after me to go talk to Hank, but I don’t want to do that, ya know?”
    “It’s not like he can tell you anything,” Ezra said, shaking his head. “Right now, there’s nothing to tell. Just let me do my job. So I have something I can tell you.”
    Carter continued to stare at him. Then he sighed, and nodded. “Okay.”
    As he turned away, Ezra leaned back, scowling.
    Not a damn thing out of either of them.
    Carter wanted to hit something, smash something. Break something.
    He couldn’t indulge, though. No, all he could do was head out to his workshop, get some work done on his projects—he had some pots that needed to be glazed today and Roz was on his ass to get some new designs in for the summer.
    He couldn’t change anything about his behavior. Even as that thought circled through his mind, he laughed shortly. Not a damn thing. Not when he was surrounded by nosy cunts, cops who were too busy listening to nosy cunts, and bastards like Law.
    Sweat trickled out from under the hairpiece he wore, to run down his neck to his spine. A cool breeze drifted across the square, one that would have felt sweet if he could have fully let himself enjoy it.
    But he couldn’t do that—couldn’t relax his guard. Climbing into his car, he shot another look at Ezra’s window. He jolted when he saw the sheriff standing there.
    Watching him.
    He waved. And absently, he wondered why the sheriff had mentioned Lena at all.
    Carter hardly ever even thought about Lena …
    Law waited until they pulled out of the driveway before he asked.
    “So what did you take?”
    Nia stiffened. Her face turned a dusky shade of pink. Her eyes, still too wide and too unfocused, went glassy. “Huh?”
    “What did you take from Roz’s desk?”
    “I didn’t take anything,” she snapped, her voice just a little too harsh, a little too defensive. She had her arms crossed over her