rel="nofollow" href="#ua294ec84-9f7b-5deb-9252-3463fc41d101">Chapter Ten
Chapter One
Zoe Russell had created hundreds, no thousands, of scenarios that had her face-to-face with Ryan O’Connor once again. None, however, had her wearing mud across her cheeks and heavy metal cuffs around her wrists.
She looked at her shackled hands, and tried not to wince at her twenty-five dollar manicure gone wrong. Zoe had no idea what Ryan was doing back in Riverbend, but it appeared for the moment he was all that stood between her and freedom. Showing any sign of weakness would be a mistake. He needed to remember Zoe Russell wasn’t a woman to be pushed around or trifled with.
Zoe squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and letting it out slowly, walked to the front of the cell keeping her gaze locked on his. “This has all been a terrible misunderstanding.”
Ryan cocked a brow, rubbed his index finger along his chin. Yep, she could see that the all-too-sexy cleft was still there. Along with the little scar from a baseball thrown awry. He rocked back on his heels, smiled. “That’s what all crooks say.”
Oh, and that smile, bracketed by dimples that still sent shivers down her spine. The little stubble across his jaw didn’t hurt, either. The man sizzled sex. Zoe steeled herself. No weakness. Especially not in front of the man she’d once considered her best friend—the man who’d broken her heart even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. Hadn’t she promised herself she wasn’t ever, ever going to be taken in by his smile again?
She wouldn’t think about what her hair must look like, or that a decent burial—not dry cleaning—likely would be the fate of her designer denim overalls. Forget about making a fashion statement. She was wet, tired, hungry and late for her dress fitting for her sister Kate’s wedding.
And from the uncompromising coplike look on Ryan’s face, she also was in big trouble. She still couldn’t understand why she was the only person arrested at the senior citizen’s rally. All she’d been doing was her job, interviewing the protesters, thinking she might have a good story for Wake Up, America.
“Shouldn’t you be catching criminals in Philadelphia?” She winced at the petulance in her voice.
“I’ve discovered that the more interesting—” he paused and threw her a pointed look “—criminals visit Southern Ohio.”
“I’m not a—”
“Save it for the judge. I’ve read the police report. Resisting arrest. Punching an officer…”
“He tripped and fell.”
“Then you wrestled with him in the mud.”
“He handcuffed me.”
“Before the both of you landed flat on your faces in the fishpond. Rumor has it that’s going to be the front-page color picture in tomorrow’s Riverbend Tribune.”
She took a deep breath to steady herself, trying not to imagine how much damage a photo like that could do to her TV career. And took another deep breath because seeing Ryan had shook her to the core. “As usual, you’ve got your facts wrong.”
“So, enlighten me Ms. New York City TV star.”
“I would rather eat snails.”
“There’s a new French restaurant in town.” He paused. “Want me to check and see if they have take-out?”
Her stomach rolled. She couldn’t stand the slimy things. And he knew it. “No,” she said faintly. Then she steeled her voice. “But thank you.”
“Guess it’s pretty hard to look and sound haughty when you’re dressed in mud.” Ryan smothered a grin, but barely. Oh, if she only had these handcuffs off she’d wipe that silly, sexy grin right off his face!
Patience had never been her strong suit. She closed her eyes, mentally counted to ten. “If you’re not going to help me, go away.” And opened them when she heard his full-bodied laugh.
With a shrug, he started to do as she asked. Then he paused, turned, and cocked a brow in her direction. “Nah.” He shook his head and walked away.
“I know my rights,” Zoe shouted after him. “I want my phone call. And my lawyer. I want to talk with the person who’s in charge here!”
“That person—” Ryan turned to face her “—would be me.”
She stared at him, trying hard not to let him know he’d caught her off guard. Again. But inside she was reeling. Ryan O’Connor was in charge of the Riverbend Police Department? The last she’d heard—not that she’d been paying attention to any gossip about Ryan—he’d received some commendation for heroism and was headed for the top-cop spot in Philadelphia.
So what was he doing back in Riverbend? It wasn’t as though she cared…or did she?
She had to let him know she meant business. She held out her cuffed hands. “You have no grounds to arrest me. I didn’t break any laws. I want these off, and I mean now.”
“Actually, I do have grounds. You disturbed the peace. Something, I recall, you’re very good at. The key’s at the bottom of the pond,” he said with an exaggerated patience that didn’t fool her. She just knew he was enjoying her predicament. “My deputies are searching for it.”
“And you’re not guarding the master key?”
“They tell me it was lost the day the jail opened. That would be…let me think…some twenty-five years ago.”
She tried to keep calm. “What about a locksmith?”
He shrugged. “Closed. It’s Friday, after five o’clock. Riverbend isn’t New York City. We don’t do 24/7.” With a smile that indicated he was anything but apologetic, he disappeared around the corner.
“Wait! Where do you think you’re going?” She awkwardly raked the bars with her handcuffs. The resulting noise sent shivers through her teeth. “We’re not finished here. You can’t just walk away. Ryan! Get back here!”
She was sure she heard him chuckle. Otherwise, she got no response. Not that she expected one. Great. She was being held hostage in her hometown jail, and it appeared her jailer was none other than the last man on earth she’d ever ask for help.
It had been ten long years since she’d seen him. But she’d never been able to erase him from her thoughts. Now—suddenly, unexpectedly—he plops back into her already complicated life and for just a moment, a brief ridiculous moment, she felt tempted to ask him the one burning question left unanswered for the past decade.
She considered it a miracle he hadn’t listened when she demanded that he get back here. Lord only knows what she would have said and how he would have responded.
Zoe gazed around the eight-by-twelve-foot cell. About as much room as her upper West Side studio apartment. And with about as much warmth. The single cot with its regulation flat pillow and scratchy gray blanket screamed uncomfortable. The tiny-screened window barely allowed in a stream of sunlight, let alone any fresh air.
“And
