Page 2
His voice was deep and sultry, but she knew a customer-service voice when she heard one. He was faking it as much as she was. It was a damn shame because she highly doubted she’d have to fake anything with the fine-looking man—not that she’d ever have a chance to prove it. Nope. She was in Antelope Rock for one thing and one thing only. Once she was no longer needed, she’d head back to civilization.
She retrieved her license from her purse and the insurance and registration cards from the glove box. “Here you go, Sheriff.”
He took the documents, scanned the information, and then tapped them against his palm. “Do you know why I stopped you today, Ms. Sparks?” His tone and expression showed no signs of recognition.
Well, crap. He doesn’t know who I am.
She kept her smile pleasant, though the edges began to strain. Then she realized he hadn’t told her why, even though he’d asked the same question moments ago. “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t, as I already said.”
“Do they not have stop signs in Studio City, California? You realize the same rules apply to both speed limits and basic traffic laws here, right?” His voice remained even, but an icy, sarcastic undertone had crept in. One she didn’t appreciate.
“Why, yes, Sheriff, they sure do, but the officers there also don’t pull you over for no reason.”
“I don’t consider speeding and running a stop sign no reasons, ma’am. Not only are both against the laws of this state, but they’re also reckless, and the safety of the people on my roads is my priority.” His jaw flexed as he repeatedly flicked a blunt fingernail against the corner of her license, the gesture betraying his agitation. “I’m going to run your information. Stay in the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them.”
She scoffed as he strode away.
Keep my hands where he can see them? What does he think? That I’m some crazy person or criminal or something? Un-freaking-believable.
He was gone for what felt like forever and a day, but she forced herself to be as patient as possible. Staring into her side and rearview mirrors gave her no clue why he was taking so long. She’d been nice and apologized, so surely he’d let her go with a warning.
Damn it. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than harass people? Where’s a car chase on the freeway when you need one?
Inhaling deeply, she huffed out a long breath before mumbling a few choice curse words at the SUV behind her. Finally, the sheriff climbed out and returned to the driver’s side of her car. He handed her license and papers back, along with two bright yellow tickets.
“I’m citing you for failure to stop and speeding.”
Amanda’s eyes bulged as she gaped at him, but he ignored her reaction.
“As indicated on the first ticket, you were traveling twenty-five miles over the limit. Combined with failing to stop, the fine will be three hundred and fifty dollars. If you wish to contest the charges, you have ten days to plead not guilty, and you’ll be issued a court date. The courthouse is in Butterfield, the next town over.” He gestured toward the tickets. “If you want to plead guilty, check the appropriate box on the back of both, sign them, and send them with the payment to the address listed, or drop them off at the county clerk’s office at the courthouse. Do you have any questions for me?”
Her brain was stuck on the charges and the fine. She floundered for a moment, her mouth opening and closing several times before she blurted, “What the hell? This is bullshit!”
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to refrain from raising your voice and cursing at me. If you feel I’ve wrongfully cited you, I’d be happy to explain to the judge exactly how you were speeding and rolled through that stop sign. You slowed down enough to look, so you can’t claim you didn’t see it.”
Seething, she glared at him as her carefully crafted public persona fizzled away like smoke. “I’ll be seeing you in court then, Sheriff.”
“That’s your right, Ms. Sparks. Until then, please drive safely.” He tipped his hat, oozing sweet-talking cowboy bullshit charm that did nothing to abate her outrage.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“According to your license, Amanda Sparks. Have a nice day, ma’am.” With that, he tipped his hat again and strode back to his SUV.
With one final withering look in his direction, she cranked her music back up and drove away. It took every ounce of her publicity training not to give him the finger out the window as she floored the accelerator and left him in the dust.
Chapter Two
Grady ground his molars together as he watched the vintage sports car take off down the road. The woman had balls—he’d give her that. She was also about to earn herself another ticket as soon as he caught up with her.
Before he could shift the department-issued SUV into drive, his radio crackled.
“Headquarters to two-oh-one.”
Growling, he grabbed the mic and pushed the button on its side. “Two-oh-one.”
“The owner of A Touch of Style wants to file a complaint. She won’t tell me what it is and is demanding to speak to you and only you.”
The female dispatcher’s exasperation came through loud and clear even over the radio. Unfortunately, this was a regular occurrence.
