Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk #3) - Samantha Young Page 0,103

ignoring Kell’s protests.

“Dahlia!” Michael called after me, but I pushed open the conference room doors and marched out of there as fast as my high heels would let me.

I was hurrying across the shiny tiled floor of the main reception when I was abruptly whirled around and hauled up against Michael’s hard body. He gripped both my arms; I pushed against him.

“Let me go.”

His expression was equal parts indignation and concern. “Dahlia, stop.”

“No. You stop,” I hissed, not wanting to make a scene. “Were you trying to humiliate me in there?”

His jaw clenched. “You know I wasn’t.”

“No.” I jerked away with all my strength and stumbled out of his grasp. “You were just metaphorically peeing around me.”

Jeff appeared beside us, the crest of his cheeks flushed. “Dahlia, are you okay?”

“I’m mad at you too,” I announced.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m sorry, we didn’t—”

“Didn’t what? Mean to act like Neanderthal teenagers?” I scowled between them as both their faces darkened at my insult. “You’re the sheriff, and you’re a detective. And I’m a person. You are not two dogs fighting over a chew toy.”

“Dahlia, you know that’s not fair,” Michael huffed.

“You know what’s not fair? Being gossip fodder for this town. What did you two think would happen in there?” I gestured toward the room. “You think it’s a joke? Michael maybe has an excuse, but Jeff, you’ve lived here long enough to know what happens when something like this gets out. Especially when a jealous Dana Kellerman is in the room. All of a sudden I’m the tramp who’s stringing along the sheriff and his new detective.”

“If anyone dares even say that …” Michael bristled.

But contrition softened Jeff’s expression—he knew I was right. When I broke up with him a few years ago, people had gossiped about me, and a lot of it had been nasty. “I’m sorry, Dahlia.”

Exhausted, irritated, dreading the consequences of their juvenile antics, I shook my head and was about to walk away when a commotion at the front of the hotel drew our attention. We turned to see Deputy Wendy Rawlins and Deputy Eddie Myers hurrying across the lobby toward Jeff.

“Sheriff.” Wendy almost skidded to a halt.

Jeff and Michael grew alert at the deputies’ drawn, pale expressions. “What’s wrong?” Jeff asked.

“I know you’re off duty but …” Wendy glanced around and saw I was close enough to overhear. She turned to Jeff. “Sheriff, we need you and Detective Sullivan to come with us right away.”

My heart raced at the grim seriousness in Wendy’s tone and the deep concern that etched itself into Michael’s and Jeff’s faces.

“On our way,” Jeff said. He looked down at me. “We’ll talk later.”

I nodded, my anger defused under the heavy, horrible vibe the deputies had brought into the hotel with them.

Jeff strode away with his officers, but Michael lingered. His expression softened at my concerned countenance.

“Be careful.”

“Always am.” There was so much in his eyes. So much I knew he wanted to say. He seemed to decide on an apology. “I’m sorry if I was a dick in there. I’m … I’m terrified of losing you again.”

Tears brightened my eyes as he lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that made him seem vulnerable. I didn’t like Michael vulnerable. I especially didn’t like him vulnerable as he walked away from me into a possibly dangerous situation.

“What was that about?” Vaughn crossed the lobby toward me.

He watched the officers disappear. I heaved a sigh, my stomach roiling with anxiety. “I have no idea. Something bad, I think.”

“So it would seem.” His spectacular silver eyes focused on me. “Are you all right?”

“My life is one giant soap opera, Vaughn.”

“That would be a no, then?”

“That would be a hell no.”

Michael had come to learn a lot about the Devlin family in the last month since his arrival in Hartwell. He knew Ian Devlin along with his wife Rosalie, who was a bit of a hermit, and their youngest child Jamie all lived together in the Glades. It was a community of wealthy homes in the north of Hartwell. The Glades, despite their price tag, was not the prime real estate in town. There were several houses down the coast from the boardwalk, separated by land, that were worth millions. Vaughn Tremaine owned one of the sought-after beach houses that sat out over the water. Michael had garnered enough knowledge to know it would be a craw in Devlin’s throat that he didn’t own