the romantic fantasy. But believe me, in just a few weeks you and I won't be Mr. and Mrs. Dylan Matthews anymore."
Mr. and Mrs. Dylan Matthews. Something icy dripped down his spine. Bram Bennett leaped into his mind, the clawing agony on his face when the FBI told Dylan's best friend that they'd found his wife - murdered. Dylan thought again of Bram's deep, still-evident grief as he stood over her grave last night.
"Good," Dylan said hoarsely. "That sounds reasonable. Take care of it on Heritage Day." He looked out the window at the stern brick facade of the I.O.O.F. Hall. "Just give me a call in L.A. when it's done."
She didn't say "Yes."
She didn't say "Okay."
She didn't say "Fine," "Just as you say," or even "Of course."
She didn't say anything at all.
Slowly, so slowly that he heard her take two sharp breaths while he did it, he turned his head toward her. "Kitty?"
She swallowed.
"Honey," he said softly. "Have you forgotten all those ways I know to kill people? Have you forgotten number three-thirty-two?"
She swallowed again. "No."
"Well, right now I'm thinking that method is much, much too quick. I know another way, a way guaranteed to take hours, and I get to use my bare hands."
"I want you to be the sheriff for the rest of the summer," she said quickly.
"What?"
"You heard me."
He shook his head. "No. I was only teasing you about that yesterday. I'm going back to L.A."
"I was afraid you'd say that." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Here's the deal. If you won't be sheriff, then I won't get the divorce."
He froze. "Say that again."
"We need a sheriff," she said, leaning forward once more. "I don't have a whole lot of choices when it comes to replacements. As a matter of fact, I have no choices. And you would be an enormous asset to this summer s success of Old Town. People would come from all over to see you."
He stared at her. "That's not what I told you to say."
She gulped a big breath, the move exposing another half inch of softly mounding skin, then hesitated. "Oh, fine," she finally answered. "I said, if you don't do it, I won't get the divorce."
He tried remaining calm. "There are other ways to end marriages."
"Sure, longer and more expensive ways. And unless you cooperate with me, I won't cooperate with you." She bit her bottom lip again. "It's as simple as that."
His blood started simmering. He'd been mad before, and desperate, and coldly determined. But he'd never felt this incredible, burning anger. This ... this ... this sweet-faced jade wanted to force him to stay in Hot Water. She wanted to force him to face all the people he'd loved and lost because of what happened eight years ago. She wanted him to stay and face the memories that never let him sleep.
"That's extortion." His voice sounded deadly quiet.
She flinched. "Yes."
"Well, I won't do it," he ground out. "I don't negotiate."
Her blue eyes turned surprisingly hard. "Neither do I, Dylan. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
He couldn't get over her moxy. Or stupidity. "You expect me to play sheriff to your madam? You expect me to arrest you, drag you down the street, throw you in a cell?"
She didn't back down. "On Saturdays and Sundays, at two and four P.M. The rest of the time you just sit in the jail and answer questions. That's all I'm asking. And if you want a quick divorce, you will."
"Jesus Christ, I want to arrest you, drag you down the street, and throw you in a cell right now," he said through his teeth.
Her stubborn expression didn't change, and a sick sense of powerlessness made his gut roil. It made him think of that hot, stagnant afternoon when he'd gathered three terrified little kids close while watching Alicia Bennett being dragged into the woods.
That memory was overlaid by Bram again, his tormented expression the day he'd learned his young wife was dead, then his dark figure standing alone in the dusk last evening.
Dylan closed his eyes, trying to shut out the images.
It didn't help. Mr. and Mrs. Dylan Matthews. The words whispered rawly in Dylan's head. He opened his eyes to stare straight into Kitty's prostitute-in-the-first-pew face. There was no doubt about it. She was serious. Laughter from the Odd Fellows meeting drifted from the back room, and a weird sense of destiny fell over him like a shroud.
On the wall above Kitty's shoulder, one of the multitude of