Valentine’s Day rolled into Knockemout with four inches of snow and a wind chill that was best not mentioned. The library staff and I had decked the stacks with a variety of Valentine’s Day decorations from handmade pink and red hearts with handwritten affirmations in the children’s section to book displays of romance novels and the St. Valentine’s Day massacre on the second floor complete with a tape outline of a body on the floor. We’d covered our bases for our patrons, both the romantic and the grumbly.
Things were pretty damn good. We were all set up for the evening’s special event. My interview with the local paper about Mary Louise had been posted and had seen a positive reaction, which had led immediately to a second interview with the bigger, more important Arlington Gazette. And I had a sex date with Lucian Freaking Rollins.
“Just…one…more…inch,” I groaned as I stretched as far as my muscles would allow.
“Get your ass down here right now, Sloaney Baloney,” a familiar authority figure ordered.
I stopped what I was doing and glared down at Chief Nash Morgan. “Don’t make me shush you. You’re on my home turf, buddy,” I shot back from the top rung of the ladder.
“Your turf is about to be splattered with your pretty face when you fall,” he admonished.
I climbed down the ladder and slapped a purple, glittery heart to the man’s chest. “Since you’re so manly, you finish hanging the heart garland.”
Nash mounted the ladder in a warning-sticker-abiding kind of way and made quick work of the garland. I felt no shame in joining the rest of the female patrons in admiring his superior posterior.
“Did you come in here just to show up my decorating skills?” I asked when he climbed back down.
“I might have an ulterior motive,” he said, scanning the folding chairs we’d arranged facing a podium. “What’s going on here?”
“We’ve got a guest author coming in tonight. Cecelia Blatch. She writes dark and dirty paranormal romance. The book club has been obsessed with her since we picked up her series. We’re hosting her for a book wining.”
“A book whining?”
I grinned. “It’s like a book signing but with wine.”
“Nice. But shouldn’t you have a Valentine’s date?”
“Me? Why? What did you hear?” Did he know about Lucian? Had Lucian told him? Of course not. Lucian never told anyone anything.
Nash’s gaze sharpened. “Now that’s an odd reaction to me askin’ you how your dating life is going. With all those dates you’ve been goin’ on, I figured you’d have a hot date tonight.”
Oh, those dates. Not the secret kind that involved my downtown being invaded by Lucian Rollins. Great. Now I was thinking about Lucian’s penis. That wasn’t good. Had I waited too long to respond to Nash? He was looking at me strangely. Was I being weird? Was Lucian’s penis making me make things weird? Did every woman who ever slept with Lucian act like this?
I imagined a legion of penis-hypnotized women wandering like a herd of zombies behind Lucian as he went about his day.
“Ah. Yes. Well. I’ve had this event on the calendar for a while, and I didn’t want to miss it, so no date for me,” I said, sounding like I was being strangled.
Nash peered down at me. “You okay? You’re turning red.”
“It’s, uh, hot in here.” To illustrate my point, I whipped off my cardigan, accidentally dropping it on Ezra Abbott, the cherub-cheeked four-year-old ladies’ man.
“Look! I’m a thuperhero,” Ezra announced, lisping adorably through the space where his front teeth once had been. He zoomed off with my sweater flying behind him like a cape.
“I’ll get that back later,” I said, watching him disappear into the cushion fort. “Let’s get back to talking about you. What are your plans for tonight?”
“That’s one of the reasons why I’m here,” Nash said, looking sheepish. “I got Lina a present, and I wanted to run it by someone first. It’s our first Valentine’s Day, and you know Angelina.”
“She’s not a candy and flowers kind of girl,” I said.
He grinned. “Exactly.”
If it was possible for a man to have cartoon hearts in his eyes, Nash Morgan looked as if he’d been struck by Cupid himself.
“I’m honored that you came to me,” I said.
Nash got that funny, sheepish look on his handsome face again.
I planted my hands on my hips. “What?”
He winced. “I tried to get Stef, but Knox got to him first. No offense.”
“None taken. Stef would have been my first choice too. So what did you get Lina?”
Nash looked over his shoulder. I did the same. In Knockemout, the gossip ran fast and loose. If the wrong set of ears overheard us, Lina would know what her gift was before Nash left the library.
He fished his phone out of his pocket and opened his photos. “These.”
I took the phone from him and enlarged the picture of a pair of very sexy cowboy boots. “Shoes. Nicely done, Chief. You’re definitely getting laid tonight.”
Nash blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
“Now, what else can I do for you?”
“I’d like to book one of the conference rooms for some trainings over the next couple of weeks.”
“Sure. What kind of trainings?” I asked.
“Autism awareness for first responders. We’re starting off with my cops, then moving to fire, medical, and social workers. Figured the library would be a friendlier setting than the station.”
Nash had been working his well-defined butt off on this initiative since the fall. The whole town had turned out for his BBQ fundraiser that earned enough to equip every first responder vehicle with noise-canceling headphones and weighted wearables. “Good for you, Chief. I’m proud of you.”
Nash looked good and embarrassed. “Thanks, Sloaney.”
“Sloane, sorry to interrupt. But I found something in the book drop,” Jamal said, joining us.
I groaned. “Don’t even tell me it’s another squirrel.”
“No, not this time, thank God. My lunch was still intact. It was this.” He handed over a plain, white business envelope. “Probably one of the older folks mistook it for a mailbox.”
My name was written in neat block letters across the back. We had seen our share of interesting items in the book drop. School books with homework stuffed in them, gloves, a retainer, a mangled loaf of bread that was supposed to feed the ducks in the park until little Boo Walkerson decided the book drop looked hungrier.
“Thanks, Jamal,” I said, opening the envelope with my thumb. “Hey, can you let Belinda and her friends know that Cecelia won’t be here for a few more hours? They don’t have to reserve their seats yet.” I nodded to the crew of feisty, elderly readers who were claiming all the seats in the first two rows with whatever they could find in their oversize purses.
“Sure thing,” he said and scampered off.
I unfolded the paper and frowned.
“Love letter?” Nash teased, peering over my shoulder. We both tensed at the same time. “What the hell?” He snatched it out of my hand.
I reached for it. “Excuse me, Chief Grabby Hands. That’s mine.”
Gone was the easygoing, lovestruck man worried about impressing his woman with footwear. In his place was a stone-faced cop who was definitely going to take this way too seriously.
“Is someone threatening you?” Nash demanded, rereading the note. It was written in the same block script as my name on the envelope.
Stop now before someone gets hurt.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I insisted. “Someone probably got their panties in a bunch over late fees.”
“Have you had any issues with anyone lately? Besides Lucian,” Nash asked.
Lucian. What if the note was from one of his former dicknotized lovers?
“Ha. Funny. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m sure it’s nothing,” I insisted.
Nash held the note out of my reach. “All the same, a lot of my people found themselves in trouble these past few months. I’m not taking any chances. And I’m not letting you either.”
“Nash, it’s a note. A not very threatening one at that. What are you going to do? Fingerprint it and then run a handwriting analysis?”
Knockemout PD didn’t have a big-city budget.
“I’m gonna at least follow procedure,” he said stubbornly. “When was the book drop bin last emptied?”
I shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “It’s supposed to be done before closing and midmorning. But we were busy with the setup today, so not since last night.”
“I’ll check the exterior cameras, see if we have a good angle,” Nash said. “In the meantime, give a thought to anyone who might be extra pissed at you lately.”