Borrowing Trouble by Stacy Finz Read Free Book Online Page B

down the driveway. “You ran the fire trail?”
    She nodded, then bent over with exhaustion. He waited a few seconds for her to catch her breath and noticed that she had her sidearm again. He didn’t know much about police protocol, but it seemed odd that she would run with a gun, especially in a place like this. Unless she was afraid of mountain lions.
    â€œI managed to run it the whole way this time,” she said, huffing. “I would’ve waited for you, but it was getting dark.”
    He didn’t want their running together to become a habit, yet he felt an acute sense of disappointment that he’d gotten home too late. Her top was tied around her waist above the elastic holster, and the cold did nice things to her sports bra.
    â€œI better get inside,” she said, sounding self-conscious. Maybe she’d caught him looking.
    â€œGood night.” He waited for her to get inside, then unlocked his door.
    But not before checking that the piece of paper he’d stuck between the top rail and the casing was still there.
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    A couple of days passed without incident and Sloane started to think that the troublemakers in RHD had moved on. Out of sight, out of mind. Isn’t that what they said? They were probably so inundated with robberies and homicides that they’d finally forgotten about her. They’d gotten what they wanted, anyway. They’d pushed her out.
    She looked outside to see if Brady’s van was gone. She knew he typically took off Wednesdays, when the inn was the least crowded. Today was her day off as well, and she wondered if he wanted to hit one of the slopes near Glory Junction if there was even enough powder. Just two people sharing a mutual interest in skiing. She’d seen his gear in the shed and noticed that he had a rack on his van.
    Other than Jake, she didn’t have any friends here. Connie had reached out, but Sloane was leery of getting too close to anyone in the department. That left Brady. She still couldn’t figure out whether he was seeing anyone. There’d been no signs of female life on his side of the duplex, though a couple of nights he’d gone out until late. Not that she was keeping track.
    She dragged herself into the kitchen, turned on the coffeemaker, and went to take a quick shower. After dressing, she assessed the stack of boxes that still lined her living room wall and decided to stay home and finish unpacking. Later, she’d go to Reno and buy paint. And groceries. At least sandwich meats for lunches, and dinner meals she could pop in the microwave.
    She’d just poured herself a cup of coffee when someone knocked. She grabbed her weapon off the kitchen counter and made her way to the front door. Through the peephole stood a dark-haired woman about Sloane’s age and a dog. Some kind of an Australian shepherd mix.
    Sloane tucked the gun in the back waistband of her jeans, covered it with her baggy sweatshirt, and opened the door. “Hi. Can I help you?”
    â€œI’m Harlee Roberts. I live just over the hill in the big log cabin house.”
    Sloane had probably driven past the house during patrol. “Would you like to come in?”
    Harlee told the dog—Max—to stay on the porch and followed Sloane into the living room.
    â€œSorry about the mess. I haven’t had time to completely unpack or organize.” Sloane cleared off the couch so Harlee could sit. “You want something to drink?” In LA, neighbors never came over to introduce themselves. Sloane had begun to think it was only a Midwestern thing.
    â€œSome coffee if you have it made.” Harlee probably could smell the fresh-brewed pot. It was a small place, scent traveled.
    â€œSure. You want cream and sugar?”
    â€œJust a little cream.”
    Sloane went to the kitchen to fill a mug for Harlee and grab her own.
    â€œYou have really nice stuff,” Harlee said on Sloane’s return, and took the cup