My Deadly Valentine - By Valerie Hansen & Lynette Eason Page 0,1

this beat. The wound in his shoulder had healed nicely. The trauma of watching his partner fall remained. He still ducked when he heard loud sounds, as if facing mortal danger.

That was one of the reasons he’d left Los Angeles and had accepted an enormous cut in pay to work here. His doctors had warned him to either make some changes or risk burning out. Being a cop was in his blood. He’d never willingly stop standing for what was right in a world where so much was wrong, so he’d accepted the first job offer he’d received and here he was—in the Arkansas Ozarks—freezing to death and hoping for an early spring.

He shouldered through the front door of the card shop, fully expecting to be greeted. No one came forward. He called, “Sheriff,” and paused, wary.

At the rear of the store, he heard what sounded like an argument. Releasing the safety strap on his holster, he placed his palm on the butt of his gun and waited, straining to listen.

“You did what?” came a woman’s voice that sounded more than a little peeved. “What did you do that for?”

Jace couldn’t hear the soft reply but since no one was screaming or cursing or hollering threats, he figured he’d be able to handle the situation with calming words and a logical approach.

Heading toward the origin of the conversation, he soon found himself face-to-face with two women. One was familiar because he’d introduced himself to many of the shopkeepers when he’d first been hired by Sheriff Allgood.

The other, much younger woman was new to him, and was undoubtedly the prettiest girl he’d seen in ages, with long, light brown, wavy hair and just enough freckles to make her look sun-kissed. She didn’t look a bit pleased by his arrival, though. Her blue eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. If anyone else had stared at him that way, he’d have been worried. On her, however, everything was attractive, even a frown.

Jace touched the brim of his cap and nodded politely. “One of you ladies reported a disturbance?”

“I did,” the sixtyish, shorter woman answered. “I thought somebody should and Rachel wasn’t about to do it.”

He looked to Rachel. “Pleased to meet you, miss. How can I be of service?”

“This really isn’t necessary,” she argued. “Somebody is just playing a bad joke.”

“Maybe you should let me decide that,” Jace said. He could tell by the way she kept stepping between him and an open carton on the floor that she didn’t want him to look at it. “The problem is in that box, right?”

“Yes, but…”

Deftly angling around her, he nudged the box with the toe of his boot. Bits of Styrofoam packing material were scattered across the bare floor and he could see the top of what looked like a bedraggled flower arrangement peeking through the snowy drifts left in the carton.

Scowling, Jace looked back at the women. “That bouquet must have been in transit a long time—long enough to wilt and die. That’s hardly a police matter.”

“I know,” Rachel replied tersely. “That’s what I told Eloise—Mrs. McCafferty. But she phoned the sheriff’s office anyway.”

He did his best to keep from sounding judgmental as he cautioned them. “Next time, I suggest you call your freight company or whoever delivered that in the first place.”

“What an excellent idea,” Rachel said.

Jace could tell she was mocking him but he let it slide. He needed to make friends here, not alienate the very folks he’d sworn to serve and defend.

“We can’t,” the older woman piped up. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. Nobody’s listening.”

“Ma’am?”

“There’s no shipping label on this box. Not even a return address. I don’t know how it got back here but it didn’t come in any of the usual ways.”

“Are you sure?” Jace could tell by the surprised expression on the younger woman’s face that this was the first she’d heard of the discrepancy. He watched her bend over, pluck a crumpled piece of paper from the carton and smooth it so she could read what was written on it.

Her eyes widened.

Jace relieved her of the note, taking care to handle it by pinching only one corner. The scrawled message made his heartbeat jump. It said,

Like my favorite girl. Once beautiful, now dead.

Rachel knew it wasn’t logical to be frightened by such a silly threat but it was still upsetting. “I’m going to have nightmares for weeks,” she muttered. “I know I am.”

Her brow knit as she addressed the