“Yes.” She swallowed - hard. He looked at her as if she were a criminal.
“I’m going to have to take you in for questioning.”
“What?” She forced the words past her parched throat. What on earth was going on?
Not a flicker of emotion passed over his face. “This vehicle is the same make and model as one reported stolen from Laramie this morning.”
Libby paled. “You - you can’t be serious.” Her legs trembled and she badly wanted to sit down. This couldn’t be happening.
“I’ll take you down to the sheriff’s department and we can get this straightened out.” His words might sound reasonable but she knew just from the way he looked at her that he’d already judged and convicted her.
“But I have ID in my wallet,” she protested.
“We’ll look at that once we’re at the station,” he informed her. He grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, then slid his hand under her elbow to escort her to his vehicle.
Her stomach fluttered at the slight contact and she felt him hesitate for a split second before he shepherded her to his SUV.
“I don’t understand.” She reluctantly sat in the back seat, thankful that at least he hadn’t handcuffed her. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“We can talk about it once we’re back at the station.” He checked that she had her seatbelt on and turned on the ignition.
“But what about my car? It’s got all my stuff in it!”
“It’s secure for now.” Libby decided to save her breath at his clipped tone. Once they got to the station, she would demand to call Sarah, and hopefully this ridiculous misunderstanding would get straightened out right away.
Twenty minutes later, Libby found herself sitting in a drab gray interrogation room. At least, that’s what she supposed you would call it, the only furniture being a scratched table and two chairs. She wriggled around on the hard metal seat, trying to get comfortable. The sheriff had deposited her in here and told her he would be back in a few minutes. Those minutes felt like hours.
The door finally opened and he walked in. She couldn’t help but look up at him. It was so unfair. How could he be so hunkalicious when he had a big stick up his butt?
He took the seat on the opposite side of the desk. Her eyes focused on his broad chest before moving upwards to study his face. She couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her. If only they had met in different circumstances - and he wasn’t so uptight. She signed inwardly, telling herself not to go there. Over the years, she’d found out from experience that most men preferred skinny girls. Why would this man be any different?
“Miss Grant, I need to ask you some questions.”
His brusque tone pulled her out of her thoughts. Should she answer his questions? Or should she ask for a lawyer? She was innocent of whatever he thought she’d done. Would asking for a lawyer make her look guilty?
“You’re not under arrest at this stage.”
“Good,” she blurted out. She saw a tiny flicker on his face that could be classed as the beginning of a smile. He quickly masked it.
“How long have you had the car you were driving today?”
“Two years. I have the loan paperwork in one of my boxes in the backseat.”
“With your permission, I’d like to see that paperwork.”
“Sure.” If he could see for a fact that the car wasn’t stolen, he’d let her go. Wouldn’t he?
“Why did you come to Coldwater Springs?” His eyes watched her carefully, as if he would know the instant she thought of lying to him.
“I’m moving here. The library where I worked at in Laramie had its funding cut, so when my cousin told me about the assistant librarian position here, I applied for it.”
“And you got the job?”
“I start work at the library on Monday.” She began to smile at the thought of hanging out with Sarah again before remembering that he was the enemy.
He shifted in his seat and she realized her reply had surprised him. “I’ll have to verify that.”
“Of course,” she replied sweetly.
“Just so you know, this morning we received an APB for a stolen car of your make and model. A notorious female con-artist is said to be driving it. I’ll be checking out your story very carefully.”
“Go ahead, sheriff.” Libby folded her arms in front of her chest. Did he really think she was a con-artist? A notorious con-artist? Seriously?
He rose from the table. “You’ll be staying in here while I make my enquiries.”
How long would it take him to do that? She‘d just bet he would take longer than necessary, just because he could. Libby didn‘t want to stay in that room one second longer than she had to. “When do I get my phone call?”