Free The Hunk Next Door by Debra Webb, Regan Black Page A

close for comfort. She didn’t dare consider what might be next.
    “Are you sure?” he pressed.
    She’d offended him. “I value you, Deke,” she confessed, hoping he’d understand. “As a citizen and as a friend. Whoever wants me out of here is willing to hurt those around me to make a point. I don’t want them to hurt you.”
    “I’m quite capable of watching out for myself,” he assured her.
    The tension in his voice had given way to something gentler. She could picture that barely there smile on his face. “You’ve done a fine job.” Abby rocked back in her chair. “Will you give me a rain check on dinner?”
    He sighed. “Tonight, tomorrow, next week. Whatever best suits your crime-fighting schedule. Consider the invitation open.”
    “Thank you. That means a great deal.” And when this was behind her, she’d make up for lost time.
    “Is that just the chief of police talking?”
    “No.” Was he flirting with her? “True friends seem hard to find under the current circumstances.”
    “I’m here for you, Abby.”
    She felt her cheeks heat with his steady reassurance. Thank goodness, they weren’t having this talk in person. What was it about this man that made her waffle so much? One minute she wanted him to be more than a friend, the next she wasn’t so sure. “I’ll be in touch, Deke. Thank you again for going above and beyond for opening weekend. Please be careful and call in if you need any assistance.”
    “Always. You do the same.”
    “Definitely.” She was smiling when the call disconnected and it felt genuine for the first time in ages. This nonsense in the media and with whomever had decided to terrify her town had only started a little over a week ago, but she couldn’t deny the stress was taking a toll.
    She checked the time. It was too soon to expect any news from the officers who’d come by when she’d found her garage door hanging open. With little more than half an hour before the hardware store opened for business, she decided to check her email. Buying a new lock for the garage wouldn’t be a high point of her day, but she needed it secure for her peace of mind. And a new snow shovel to deal with the fresh snow predicted for this evening. Hers had been taken to the crime lab to analyze what had appeared to be dried blood on the blade. The idea that someone had borrowed her snow shovel and used it for something untoward was a little out there, as theories went, but considering the other strange happenings around here lately she wasn’t taking any chances.
    Half an hour would be enough time to review the overflowing email in-box and send any threat with a clear target up the line to the feds.
    Braced for more hateful messages, she set to work.
    * * *
    R ILEY TURNED DOWN the volume on the radio clipped to his ladder. All of Belclare was enamored with Deke Maynard and his unflinching support of Chief Jensen. It was the third time this morning he’d heard the new ad for the Christmas Village opening weekend.
    The artist—in his mind he added a sneer to the word—made him edgy. There was more going on behind the sparkling windows of the man’s perfectly restored home. A great deal more than the sketches and scenic oils on canvas displayed with such care in the gallery window down the street evoked.
    Riley knew his role here. He understood that he couldn’t jump at every shadow while he was learning the landscape. This wasn’t a short game Casey had him playing.
    That didn’t necessarily rule out the immediate trouble closing in on Chief Jensen. Filmore, the uptight snob who wanted to lift the added patrols, particularly the foot patrols, was near the top of Riley’s list. The man’s priorities were way off. Being passionate about architecture and history was fine. But what kind of person preferred historical accuracy over the safety of the general public?
    A man with something to hide, in Riley’s opinion. Or something more to gain.
    In less than two days, the