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She is squaring off with a sheriff’s deputy, arms folded over her chest, and all sass.
Double shit.
“Emmaline Loral!” I rush to her, scooping her into my arms as the officer advances. I check her over, needing to see that she’s unharmed.
“Ben, I found her!” I shout, worried about finding him now that she’s safe in my arms.
The officer’s deep voice is harsh and demanding. “Let go of the child and back up.”
“She’s mine. I live over there.” I hold Em closer, ducking her under my arm.“My son is still out trying to search. If you’ll let me go, I can get us all home.”
“I said back up,” he growls.
Em pats my shoulder in reassurance, completely unfazed; at the same time, she points at the officer. “I said these was the good guys, and I’m 197 Willow Lane, and I?—”
The officer ignores her, his rough voice cutting in. “Until I see some ID, put her down and take a step back.”
“I don’t have ID. I ran out to get her. Back at the house?—”
“Ma’am,” he growls.
My spine stiffens, and I straighten. In the blinding-red strobe, the alpha looks wolfish, his features cruel. I know what that tone means, but I’ve managed for twenty-nine years not to wind my ass up in the county jail, and I’m hoping I can make it one more.
Em keeps right on jabbering, trying to explain why thegood guydoesn’t need to rescue her. “I’m a knight. Not a princess. I don’t fall off my dragon.”
Her dragon is her bike, custom-painted by the resident artist herself with nail polish scales from my last bottle of cherry red.
I take a deep breath, my hands shaking, and set Emmaline down.
She plants her feet, a scowl on her face. “You good guys or not?”
Triple shit.
“She’s got a smart mouth if she is yours,” the officer grumbles. “What’s your name?” He steps toward me, his gaze sharp.
“Cammie.”
“Your legal name,” he accuses.
“Cammie,” I say again, overly sweet and trying to keep my tone from leaking my annoyance at the question. Everyone always assumes it’s Cameron or Camilla, but it’s just Cammie.
Officer Slick’s face tells me he thinks Cammie reeks of dive bars and alpha-chasing.
I get it. It’s a dime-a-dozen name. But, I like how soft it is on the ends, almost like an omega.
The deputy leans in, sniffing, and at the same time, he releases a plume of his gunmetal scent.
Yeah, asshole, I’m a beta. And even with my nose, you stink.
I curse my luck, hoping he doesn’t draw this out but bracing for the reality that I won’t be that lucky. The deputy has got that gleam in his eye. It’s the one a man gets when he’s sure he’s got your number and will be phoning it in all night.
I can’t help but try anyway. “I’m sorry, officer. I promise we won’t let this happen again. It was an accident,” I say, lacing my voice with remorse. “I promise if you let us go, I will grab my son and get us home.”
Officer Slick cuts in, giving my bare feet and rumpled diner uniform a once-over. “You been drinking?”
“No, sir.” I shake my head.
“Momma don’t like drinks but iced tea and Dr. Pepper,” Em defends.
