Jack’s nose was three inches away.
He froze, afraid he’d scare the dog as bad as the dog scared him.
Neither moved for several heartbeats. Then, to Coop’s utter astonishment, Jack’s tongue snaked out of that massive jaw and licked him from chin to eyebrow. Twice.
Then, with a swish of his tail, the dog moved to the opposite corner of the back seat and sat down, head hanging out the back window.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Sam, “first time for everything.”
Coop shut the door with more composure than he actually possessed as he walked back to where Sam stood, wiping dog slobber off his face with a bandana. On impulse, he reached over and patted the head hanging over the side of the car.
The dog’s tail wagged so hard his butt rocked back and forth on the seat.
“We understand each other, don’t we?” Because dead people and dogs talk to me.
Jack’s chocolate-colored eyes scrutinized him, and the tail-wagging kicked up a notch.
“Traitor,” huffed Sam.
Coop leaned against the car and crossed his arms. “So, Dr. Samantha Fowler, what are you doing in Make-Out Cove with a dead body?”
Before Sam could answer, another patrol car sped down the lane, tires kicking up rocks and dirt as it slid to a stop beside Coop’s SUV. Fascinated on-lookers scattered like frightened birds to escape the flying debris.
A deputy stepped out, cocked his grey Stetson to one side, and looked around. While the sheriff exuded a quiet, but potent sex appeal, this newcomer flaunted his. All muscle and sinew, his uniform stretched tight across a broad chest and muscular arms. A square jaw, offset by matching dimples in each cheek, drew the eye to a sensuous mouth wearing a come-hither smile. Pearl white teeth sparkled against golden brown skin. He glanced at a woman on his left and the smirk widened. His index finger touched the brim of his hat, and one eye closed in a suggestive wink.
The lady licked her lips and winked back.
The man did not lack self-confidence. In fact, he reminded her of a strutting peacock looking for another notch on his bedpost.
The newcomer sauntered toward Coop, shoulders swaying side-to-side, his stride practiced and proud, the muscles in his legs flexing as he strutted forward.
“What’ve we got, Coop?”
“Help Billy Ray string tape. And keep those people behind it.”
The stranger turned the charm meter up a notch and faced Sam. “Jimmy Don Cannon, ma’am. JD to my friends. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“Cut the crap, JD,” snapped Coop, “I want this area cordoned off. Stuff’s in the back. Start over there behind my truck and bring it around to the pine tree.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.” He tipped his hat and winked at Sam before heading off to complete his assigned task.
Coop reached over and plucked the camera from the front seat. “What were you taking pictures of?”
The curt question put her teeth on edge, like fingernails on a chalk board. “The Taj Mahal.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw and his eyes narrowed.
She huffed out an exasperated snort. “I took some pictures before you got here because I thought you could use them later on. I’m a photographer—”
“I thought you were a doctor.”
“I’m both. You can have the film, just don’t screw around with my camera.”
He pushed it toward her, mouth drawn into a tight line.
She snatched it from his outstretched hand, ignoring the quiver when her fingers brushed his. She pressed the rewind button, and quickly handed him the roll. “I could print it for you if I had access to a dark room. It’s black and white film, but might be helpful. It’s time and date stamped, too. I know everything today is digital but I prefer the old-fashioned way.”
Coop’s brow furrowed, but he remained silent. He dropped the spool in his pocket, glanced over to where the other deputies worked, then back to Sam. “Start at the beginning.” He leaned against the door again, arms again crossed over his chest, “and don’t leave anything out.”
The intensity of his gaze drilled through mirrored sunglasses and sent her pulse through the roof. Everything about him disturbed her on some primal, unexplored, and intense level.
The man was sexy as seven kinds of hell, and it was difficult not to react, which ticked her off, so her voice took on the clipped, no-nonsense tone she used with unruly patients.
“I told you. I was driving around when Mother Nature called. This looked like a good place to answer. Saw this road and took it. I walked over there,” she indicated the area just to the right of the body, “found her, called you. End of story.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No.”
“No one came out as you drove in?”
“No.”
“But you took pictures?”
