Page 10 of The Mistletoe Mix-up

“I still got to take him.” Wren pulled her cuffs out and asked, “Where is the victim?”

“She had to split,” Quint said, his gaze steady.

“Uh-huh.” Wren went around the back of Peeper and secured his hands. When he started to whine, she said, “You’re lucky all she did was poke your eyes. Knock it off.”

The guy grumbled as she read him his rights and helped him to his feet. Shooting Quint a dry look, she pulled her card out of her pocket and handed it to him. When he took it, Wren said, “Let her know I’ll need her to come in and make a formal statement as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing, Wren.” Quint pocketed the card and led her and Peeper out of the room and down the hall. As they reentered the bar area, a familiar head of blond hair arrested her in place. Sam was leaning against the bar, chatting up a brunette who didn’t seem as enthralled with him as Wren would have expected. Then again, after the things she’d heard on the Jilly G Show, it seemed the entire female population of Idaho wanted a piece of Sam and not in a good way.

Tonight, he wore a red bomber jacket, the tips of his hair brushing his collar, and she could only see his profile. His jawline was tense, and she wondered if whatever the girl was talking about had to do with his on-air roasting last night.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Quint called loudly, most likely for Wren’s benefit, and she could have cursed the big man for trying to play matchmaker. That time had long passed.

Sam turned around, flashing a wide, crooked grin at Quint before he appeared to politely excuse himself from his companion and cross the floorboards to hug Quint. There was a lot of back slapping and manly guffaws, which made Wren want to gag.

Wren cleared her throat. “Excuse me,” she said, hauling Peepers around them.

She hadn’t taken two steps toward the exit when Sam’s deep voice called out, “No hi for me, Birdy?”

Wren grimaced as the old nickname stirred something warm and sensual inside her, swirling like a tornado straight to her pussy. Even with nearly two decades between those intimate moments and now, that name took her back to that time. To the frantic last kisses before curfew. Their first time next to the river. The last—

“Hey,” she said curtly, refusing to go back there. She’d left that girl behind a long time ago.

She continued past the dancing patrons and those lookie-loos watching her and her charge. Once they stepped outside, Peeper really started blubbering.

“Officer, you got me all wrong. I found those holes in the wall and was just curious what they were! I had no idea—”

“Sir, do you not understand your Miranda rights? Because being silent is the first one.”

“I’m just trying to explain,” he whined.

“Let me give you a rundown of what’s going to happen. I’m going to take you to the doctor’s office in town, who will check you over after hours. When he gives you the okay, I will take you to the station for processing. At that time, I’ll run your fingerprints, and I’m going to guess this isn’t your first offense. So, I suggest you keep your excuses to yourself and wait to unburden yourself to your attorney.”

Wren opened the back door of her cruiser and ducked his head with her hand on top of it, helping him onto the seat.

Duke pressed his nose against the metal barrier, and Peeper leaned forward, releasing a panicked yelp. “I’m allergic to dogs!”

“Womp, womp.” She shut the door with a thud and took a deep, searching breath. Why was the last call of her shift the craziest? The chief wasn’t going to be happy about the overtime, but unless she wanted to call in one of the other guys to take over, there was nothing for it. Besides, she was curious to see what other crimes this slimeball had in his past, and if her victim called, Wren wanted to be the first person she talked to.

“Hey.”

Wren closed her eyes at Sam’s low greeting and knew he was standing behind her, probably with his hands shoved in his pockets.

She turned slowly to face him, giving herself silent kudos for being right. He stood a few feet away, looking like a lost little boy.

“You’re looking well,” she said.

His lips quirked up in the corner. “High praise. I was thinking the same.”

“I take my vitamins.” Her fists squeezed when he chuckled, and she tried to ignore the tight tingling of her nipples. “You leaving already?”

“Seems I’ve earned myself a reputation, and all women in Mistletoe think I’m scum. Might as well head home and do something productive like clean my apartment.”

“I heard a bit about that. You called into a radio show looking for relationship advice?”

Sam shook his head. “My nephew called. I was innocently sitting on the couch, snacking and watching TV when he came out and let me know Jilly G wanted to talk to me.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry it went south for you.” She patted the top of the cruiser. “I should probably get him seen, or he’s going to slap a medical neglect suit on the department.”