I flip my visor down and pull my registration and insurance card free before reaching into my back pocket for my wallet to retrieve my driver’s license.
I hold all three out of the window before the officer even reaches the car. I’ve been through this routine far too many times to count.
That’s when I see in my side-view mirror that I’m not dealing with just anyone.
“Put that away, Mr. Rawlings,” Sheriff Turner says as he approaches the car. “You think I don’t have your information memorized at this point?”
Relief sinks into me that it’s him and not one of his deputies. They’re always hyped up on a power trip, but not him. He oversees the two towns that make up our little county, and I swear he knows every single person who lives in each one. He’s just that kind of guy.
“It’s because you’re so sharp at your job and surely not because you stop me too often.” I offer him a grin as I put my papers back under the visor.
“Let’s go with the first one.” He rests his hand on the roof, leaning down so he can get a better look at me. “Do I even need to tell you why I pulled you over?”
“Because you wanted a closer look at my car?”
He sighs, but I still catch the twitch of his lips. Honestly, I think the only reason I’ve received tickets from his deputies and not him is that Sheriff Turner used to be a fan of mine back in my playing days. I heard it through the grapevine and have been using it to my advantage since.
“You were doing 110 in a 50. That’s a serious infraction, you know?”
Really? Only 110 mph?
But I don’t say that. Instead, I put on my bestAw, shucksface and say, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware I was going so fast. Am I getting a ticket?”
“Sure you weren’t,” he mutters, then sighs again. “Look, I—”
“I’m sorry for speeding, Sheriff Turner, but I’m running late for physical therapy. Got that bad hip and can’t play hockey anymore, remember?” I’m wrong to exploit people’s emotions, but in this case, I’m using losing my NHL career to my advantage to try to drum up some sympathy. “Think I could be on my way?”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and something about it makes my skin crawl. I like Sheriff Turner, but I don’t at all like the look he’s giving me right now.
“Sure thing,” he says coolly, and the words instantly raise my hackles.
“Sure thing?” I repeat.
“Of course.”
He’s acting too chill about this.
“So, no ticket?” I ask.
He laughs quietly. “No, you’re getting a ticket, but that ain’t all you’ll be getting.”
My brows slam together. “What else?”
“Oh, Mr. Rawlings, I have the perfect punishment for you.”
Chapter Two
Summer
Sheriff Daniel Turner is Port Harbor’s favorite resident and their elected protector. He’s basically a king in this town, and if my calculations are correct, that makes me a princess. The last time I checked, princesses aren’t usually chained to tables.
“Is this cuff from Jenkins really necessary?”
My dad snorts from across the table in the interrogation room. “With you? You’re damn straight it is.”
“You know I can get out of this easily, right?”
“I have no doubt, Summer Anne, but you’re not going to because you love your father and you care about his job, so you won’t be causing yet another scene today.Right?”