“I promise you that I’ll do my best.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as a wry grin touched his lips. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get out of you, huh?”

“Hey, I agreed to stay in the main house with you,” she said with a smile. “Take the win.”

Ryker pulled her to him and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She melted into him, feeling safe and protected in his big, strong arms. Alex was an animal who, judging by the file she’d seen, seemed to take a perverse pleasure in killing other people. He was dangerous. Truth be told, Spenser was more worried about what was to come than she was willing to let on. Ryker was worried enough about her, and she had no desire to add to his mounting pile of concern.

“Sheriff, do me a favor and try this.”

Spenser’s mouth immediately watered as she accepted the small éclair-style pastry from Lori Kavanaugh, the owner and operator of Sweet Dreams, one of the most amazing little dessert shops Spenser ever had the pleasure of enjoying. She made a point of staying well away from Lori’s shop most days, knowing if she went as often as she wanted to, her butt would be far too big for her ugly uniform pants in no time flat.

A groan bordering on the pornographic drifted from her mouth as she bit into the strawberry éclair Lori had handed her. It was only a small, sample sized pastry, a miniature version of the real thing that Spenser wolfed down in two bites. She had barely swallowed it and immediately wanted another. Or maybe twelve.

“These are incredible. Are you entering these in the contest?” Spenser asked.

“These? No. These are for fun. I’m entering my strawberry fritter into the bake-off,” she replied with pride.

“A strawberry fritter? Dear God, I think I gained ten pounds just imagining it.”

“You’ll gain twenty when you actually eat it.”

“I do not doubt that,” Spenser said. “Let me know when you put it on the permanent menu. I’ll have to swing by and try it.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Thanks for the sample. That éclair was amazing,” she said. “And good luck with the bake-off. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

Still savoring the taste of the éclair that clung to her tastebuds, Spenser gave the woman a smile and walked on. One of the many charms of the town that Spenser enjoyed immensely were the many unique fairs and festivals held throughout the year. They always brought the town out and put everybody in a festive mood. Book fairs, Christmas festivals, and the Founder’s Day festival were all staples, of course. Coming up in a couple of days, though, was the town’s Strawberry Festival. Being a lover of all things strawberry, Spenser found herself looking forward to it.

The atmosphere in the town center was festive. Music was playing, people were laughing, and as everybody was getting their booths and spaces set up and ready for the festival, folks seemed to be having a good time. Spenser walked around the square watching a group of twenty-somethings up on the stage at the far end of the green playing music. They sounded pretty good. Not that she was into poppy punk music, but they were catchy.

In addition to the bake-off, which was the main event of the festival, and the host of other booths and activities lining the town center, there was a list of musical acts playing the festival longer than Coachella. The guys up on stage were tuning up and getting ready for their time slot over the weekend. Everybody seemed so happy and to be having such a good time that Spenser couldn’t help but have that energy rub off on her. It helped take her mind off the crap flying all around her.

Until it didn’t.

She rounded the corner of a row of booths and almost walked face first into Rafe Johansen. She immediately tensed up, and the good mood that had enveloped her since getting to the town center starting to evaporate. About five inches taller than her and in good physical shape, the man had a presence. He seemed to loom over Spenser. His smile was gleaming white, his hair coiffed perfectly, and in khakis, a pale pink polo with a white sweater casually draped over his shoulders, and tasseled loafers, he was impeccably dressed. It was very politician chic.

“Sheriff Song,” Johansen said. “Pleasure to see you again.”

“Is it, though?”

“Just because I’m coming for your job, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“Actually, I think that’s exactly what it means. You’re trying to take my job,” Spenser said. “I tend to take things like that personally.”

“This isn’t personal, Sheriff.”

“Oh, it’s not? So, this has nothing to do with me arresting your son?”

His megawatt smile slipped as his face tightened, but just as quickly smoothed out again as he gathered himself. Like the slickest of politicians, Johansen had the innate ability to be a chameleon: he was able to blend in anywhere and avoided giving himself away.

“Let’s just say that spurred me to action,” he said. “I believe that abuses of power shouldn’t go unchecked or pass by without consequence.”

“Abuse of power? Mr. Johansen, that’s called doing my job. Your son and his friends viciously attacked two—”

“Boys will be boys, Sheriff. Yes, their hazing antics got a little out of hand and that’s unfortunate, but it wasn’t done with ill intent.”

Spenser shook her head and tried to quell the thunderheads of anger rumbling within her. She drew herself up to her full five-nine height and looked him in the eye, her body taut and her face undoubtedly reflecting the irritation flowing through her.

“One boy almost died, Mr. Johansen. Another was beaten savagely. And let’s not forget that both of them were sexually assaulted. With a baseball bat,” Spenser said. “I’d say that’s a bit more than things getting a little out of hand. What was done to those two boys was the very definition of ill intent.”

“They were trying to help those two toughen up. Trying to help them grow up a bit.”

“That is… ridiculous.”

“You’ve never been a teenage boy, Sheriff. Nor have you been a teenage boy playing competitive sports. You have to have a certain level of toughness and maturity to make it.”

“I see. So, sexually assaulting two teenage boys with a baseball bat was their way of making men out of them.”

“Well… yes. It sounds terrible, but in a way, yes.”

“Like I said, that’s ridiculous.”

“I suppose the voters will have to decide whose vision for this town is the better one.”

Spenser looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You’re not a cop. You’ve never been a cop. What do you know about being a sheriff?”

“There’s nothing in the law that says the sheriff has to come from a law enforcement background. Some people believe having civilian oversight would be beneficial. Look at the military. Who’s at the top of the food chain? The president. A civilian,” he remarked.

“All I can speak for is this town and the office of sheriff in particular. If you don’t know the law, you shouldn’t be the one tasked with enforcing it.”

He shrugged. “As I said, I suppose we’ll leave that to the voters to decide.”

Spenser turned to go, but Johansen moved quickly, putting himself directly in her path again. It wasn’t difficult to see where his son JJ got his sense of entitlement, self-importance, and complete disregard for other people from.

“I really don’t have anything more to say to you, Mr. Johansen.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Drop the charges against my son, and I won’t go through with my campaign for your job.”

Spenser gaped at him for a moment, temporarily stunned by his brazenness. She supposed she had to give him a little credit for being so bold. Not everybody could pull off a request like that with a straight face, and yet, he somehow managed. As ludicrous as the deal he offered her was, judging by the sober expression on his face, Johansen was obviously very serious about it.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Spenser said.