Excerpt #2, Over 18: Warning this linked excerpt contains a scene which is sexually explicit in nature, so no fair peeking if your under eighteen.

Quarry spied, she took her time cornering him as the view was exceptional. As reported, said suspicious character was loading his shopping basket with a large pineapple which joined a bunch of carrots.

He was tall and tanned with broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his black T-shirt. A strong back tapered down into a muscled butt. His jeans were faded and fit like a second skin. If he had a face to go with the rest of the body, she might just have to follow him home--in the name of public safety, of course.

"Ahem."

He turned around, and the breath caught in her throat. He had the bluest eyes she'd seen this side of a movie screen, although his raven hair could do with a trim. A strand fell across his tanned forehead, meeting his thick, dark eyebrows.

"Sheriff." A lazy, lopsided grin took up residence on his lean face above a jaw so square she could've used it to build and level a deck. "Am I breaking some kind of arcane local law?"

His deep voice jolted her heart over the speed limit. As for his accent, Miss Tweedy was right. He definitely wasn't from anywhere below the Mason-Dixon Line. That fact in itself was enough to set her poor old teacher all atwitter.

"No, the cashier thought you were--uh, suspicious." She grinned to soften the statement. The man before her sure as hell didn't look suspicious. No way. He looked for all the world like a mischievous boy up to no good. But then most men were no-good whether they meant to be or not.

"I see." He added two red bell peppers to his basket. "And...?"

"Based on my years of experience with hardened criminals and other minor miscreants, I think Miss Tweedy was mistaken."

He flashed a smile this time that showed his soap-opera-star-white teeth.

"You're new in town." It wasn't a question--she knew everybody in town.

"Yes, and for the record, I'm Mackenzie Callahan. My friends call me Mac."

She extended her hand. "Sheriff Rilla Devane."

He took her hand in his. His grip was strong...and warm. "I just bought the old Victorian on North Main."

She knew the exact house and smiled. "She's had a lot of work recently. I wondered who bought her." Then she remembered to breathe and slid her hand from his. Dammit. The last thing she needed was another charmer like the up-to-no-good, scheming rat she'd left behind in Nashville.

"She had good bones," Mac agreed with a nod and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Would you like a tour sometime?"

She sucked in a breath, and then let it out slow and easy. She'd love to see the inside of the old house, but... "Sure. Just let me know when you're all settled."

"Oh, I'm settled." His dark brow arched and it matched the half grin--angle for angle.

"You're already unpacked?" She'd lived at her place for two months and still had a room of boxes whose contents had yet to see the light of day. What was his hurry?

He shrugged. "It's a character flaw, but I can't work when there's a lot of clutter."

"So you're stocking up the fridge?" Could she be anymore inane? Doubtful. Seemed her polite conversational skills had deteriorated since she'd moved back to the Springs.

"Yeah. I've O.D.'d on Papa Tommy's Pizza and Colonel J's Fried Delight."

She nodded. "Lot of that going around."

Mac reached to the back of the vegetable bin and added a healthy bunch of romaine to his basket. He turned around and treated her to that boyish grin of his again. "Would you like to have dinner when you come for your tour?"

"You cook?" A man with a great house and he could cook? Must be gay. Yeah, that was it. At least she wouldn't have to worry about his hitting on her.

His lazy grin kicked up another notch. "I can manage a salad, and there's a grill on the rear deck. You won't starve."

Considering how long it'd been since she'd taken time for a real meal--and the cook was a hunk--gay or not--she didn't hesitate. "Sounds great."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight?" Damn. He sure didn't waste any time. What was he up to? Maybe she ought to rethink dinner. He couldn't be that bowled over by her charms--could he?

"If you're off duty?"

"Uh, yes. Sure."

"Eight?" He gave her a satisfied smile, as if he'd known all along she'd accept his invitation.

"Yeah. Eight's fine. Want me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself." His gaze slid up and down the length of her body. "Drinks at seven-thirty?"

His long heated glance set her back. Maybe he wasn't gay after all. "Yes. I guess. Seven-thirty." She checked her watch. Five hours to find something to wear...and run a background check.

Emotions off-kilter, she nodded good-bye and trudged back to the front of the store to confront Miss Tweedy.

"Well, did you read'im his rights?" the good woman asked.

"No, but I haven't completed my investigation yet. I'll keep an eye on him." Yes, indeed, she would be keeping an eye on him. One way or another.

For all she knew he was a drug dealer or a serial killer. Killer blue eyes or serial killer? Only one way to find out.