When the local authorities ask Ruby Simpson to help them find a thief in the small town of Castle Cove, she doesn’t have much of a choice. She predicted the most recent theft, and the cops have no other leads.
There are just two small problems.
One, she’s not psychic.
Two, she’s not Ruby Simpson.
Okay, maybe they’re not small problems. But Charlotte needs a place to lay low with her younger sister, somewhere her parents won’t find her and the locals won’t ask too many questions. Getting involved with the cops, especially Deputy “Cute Butt” Jared, isn’t a smart thing for a reformed con artist to do. But Charlotte has to make a choice: raise her little sister on the right side of the law or put food on the table.
What the real Ruby doesn’t see in her crystal ball won’t hurt her, right?
My face burns with embarrassment as I remember our exchange from the other morning. What were my exact words? Oh yeah, What are you, a cop? He never answered the question, but apparently the answer is yes, yes he is.
How did I not see it sooner? The military-esque haircut, the too-observant eyes, the confident way of moving that makes me want to rip my clothes off and . . . oh, right. Okay, that’s how I missed it.
This is the last thing we need. What could he possibly want? Is this about that stupid trespassing thing? What if he found out I gave a fake reading to Cassie and he’s here to arrest me for operating without a business license and impersonating a . . . psychic? I’m not sure that deserves a late-night appearance, but who knows.
There are other options of course, since my past is a giant cesspool of illegal activity. Schooling my features to remain calm, I take a deep breath and open the door. I can do this.
Recognition lights his eyes, but it doesn’t disturb the professional mask he’s wearing.
“I’m Deputy Reeves.” He pulls the hat from his head, shaking water off the brim. “Do you mind if I come in?”
My brain stutters on the deputy part before finally connecting with my tongue.
“Of course not.” I step back and let him in and then shut the door, hanging onto the knob for support behind me while I face him.
He stands in the shop entrance, just a few feet from the door. I didn’t turn on any lights, so the only illumination comes from a wall sconce behind him in the next room and the porch light filtering in through the window behind me. From my vantage point, his eyes are dark and dangerous, and the shadows sharpen his features.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Rosa Losacco
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