"I'm very aware."
"Your deputies..."
"Can wait." I kiss down her throat, finding the pulse point that makes her whimper. "You taste so good. Been wanting to do this all morning."
Her head falls back against the shelf. "This is insane."
"Completely."
"We should stop."
"Probably."
Neither of us stops.
My radio crackles. "Sheriff, you down there?" Torres's voice breaks through the haze. "We've got a situation at the front desk."
Reality crashes back.
I step away from Jessica, straightening my uniform, trying to get my breathing under control. She's leaning against the shelving unit, lips swollen, hair mussed, looking thoroughly kissed.
I grab my radio. "Copy. Be right up."
I look at Jessica. She's watching me with wide eyes, chest heaving.
"This conversation isn't over," I tell her.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I head for the stairs, adjusting my gun belt, trying to look like a sheriff instead of a man who just made out with his temporary dispatcher in the evidence room.
Behind me, I hear Jessica laugh. Soft and delighted and completely inappropriate.
I'm smiling again.
The rest of the shift passes without major incident.
Jessica returns to the dispatch station and handles calls with admirable competence. No raccoons. No unauthorized organizational projects. Just steady, reliable work.
Deputy Marcum stops by my office at end of shift.
"Sheriff, you okay?" He leans against the doorframe.
“Yes.”
"It's just..." He hesitates. "You’re smiling.”
“And?”
He pauses. "It's the dispatcher, isn't it?"
"Your speculation is noted and dismissed." I turn back to my paperwork. "Dismissed, Deputy."
He leaves, but not before I catch the knowing look on his face.
The station is quieter after shift change. The day crew filtering out, the night crew settling in. Jessica gathers her things and appears in my doorway, jacket over her arm, legal pad clutched to her chest.
