"Perhaps you should return when Ty is back," Samuel suggested.

"No," I cut in when I felt the vibe change and not in a good way. I turned back to the door. "It's okay. You can do it now. But, can Samuel and Deke and I stay while you do this? We won't get in your way."

"Of course, Mrs. Walker," Jamarr Gifford said, stepping in and the men behind him came in with him, fanning out. "We'll do our best to complete this quickly," his eyes went to Fuller and he finished on what sounded like a warning, "and without disruption or disorder."

"Okay, well, go for it," I invited then said, "And you can call me Lexie."

Jamarr Gifford's eyes came to me, he did a quick top-to-toe then nodded, all business. Then he turned and nodded to Officer Frank and Keaton and he and those two men moved forward.

Fuller planted his feet apart, his arms crossed on his chest and glared at me.

I pressed my lips together.

Samuel did not. "Are you not participating in the inspection?" he asked Fuller.

"I'm the Chief of Police," Fuller answered.

Samuel didn't miss a beat. "Is it protocol for the Chief of Police to attend a random inspection such as this?"

Fuller's face twisted as he replied, "It's protocol for the Chief of Police to do whatever he wants, includin' makin' sure this shit ain't no farce," he paused and his eyes moved, I followed them and saw he was looking at Gifford. "Seein' that it's all in the family," he concluded, his point not even slightly vague.

"Right," Samuel whispered, his anger not even slightly hidden. Then he asked, "Can I have your name?"

"What?" Fuller bit out.

"Can I..." Samuel paused, "have..." another pause... "your name?"

Fuller rocked back on his heels on a stubborn, good ole boy, "Nope."

"Arnold Fuller," Deke piped in and I swallowed back a hysterical giggle.

"Thank you," Samuel said to Deke then his hand came to my waist lightly and he murmured, "Lexie, why don't you come back, finish your soda. Okay?"

I looked up to him, nodded then moved back to the island.

Then I sipped my soda as men moved about my house inspecting things.

Five minutes later, I watched Keaton come down the stairs, round the railing and stop five feet from the island.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Walker, but there's a safe upstairs I'll need you to open."

I nodded, put my drink down and moved. Samuel started to move with me, I stopped and said softly, "It's okay, Samuel. Ty has nothing to hide."

He gave me a close look, nodded and settled back on his stool.

I led Detective Keaton back up to the safe, trying hard not to feel creeped out that this man was in our bedroom and in our closet and hoping he didn't paw through my underwear drawer.

I knelt down in front of the safe and opened it for him, getting back to my feet and stepping out of his way. He crouched in front of it and reached in.

Then, I didn't know why, but I spoke.

"Detective Keaton," I called, his head tipped back and his not at all unattractive blue eyes locked on mine. And when they did, I knew why I spoke.

Because his eyes were haunted.

"I..." I started on a whisper then softly went on, "suspect you know that Misty wasn't my favorite person." His eyes flashed then shuttered and I hurried on. "But even so, I'm sorry. It was a shock to hear what happened to her. She didn't deserve that. No one does. I met her once and she..." I trailed off then forged on, "I'm sorry, really, really sorry for your loss."

He stared at me.

Then his neck bent and I pulled in breath wishing I kept my mouth shut.

I was about to leave him to it when he pulled out one of my jewelry boxes and asked, "You work at the salon?"

"I, uh... yes. I work at the salon."

I watched him open the cardboard box, pull out the jewelry box in it and flip it open then he fingered my earrings.

Then he said in a voice so soft, I could convince myself I didn't hear it, "Then I suspect you know that my wife was not my favorite person either."

Oh my God.

I held my breath.

He flipped my earrings closed, replaced them in the box, put the lid on and placed it back in the safe, pulling out another one, going through the same motions as with my earrings, unveiling my necklace and as he inspected my necklace he went on in that same super quiet voice.

"But even so, I'm sorry that happened to her." Pause then even quieter, "She didn't deserve that."

He stared at my necklace, his thumb moving over the diamonds in an absentminded way that I knew he wasn't even seeing them.

"Are you..." I whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Walker always took care of his women," he murmured instead of answering, still thumbing my necklace and I held my breath again. Then I jumped when he snapped the lid closed. "Good that he finally has one who deserves it."

I stared, stunned silent and immobile while he replaced the box and shut the door to the safe. Then he stood, taller than me, my head tipped back and he moved so he was in the closet door. He looked across our bedroom to the staircase then he looked back at me.

Then he said in that super quiet voice, "Shit will go down, Lexie, it's gotten ugly and it's gonna get uglier. But do not be alarmed. Frank and I will take care of you and Walker."

I blinked, now stunned silent, immobile and thinking I might be in the throes of a coronary but he said no more, moved through the bedroom and at the top of the stairs he shouted, "Got nothin'."

"All good here, too." I heard Frank shout back as Keaton jogged down the stairs.

Then I ran after him.

I hit the downstairs after Keaton and Frank did, rounded the railing and stopped dead.

And I did this because Tate, Laurie, Bubba, Krystal and Jim-Billy were all in our kitchen. I was so absorbed in what was happening in the closet, I didn't hear them come in.

Jim-Billy pulled his head out of my fridge, looked at me, gave me a broken smile and said in a way like he was reminding me of something I knew but, of course, I didn't, "Thanks for the invite, girl. Like any time I can get my beer without payin' for it."

"Right, like you pay your tab," Krystal muttered loudly, crossing her arms on her ample bosom and rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

Jim-Billy closed the door on the fridge (with a beer in his hand, incidentally), and turned to Krystal.

"I do," he said.

"Yeah, once a year," she shot back.

"Well, I still do," Jim-Billy returned.

"And you expect a discount," she retorted.

"Anyone would, seein' as I order in bulk."

I giggled.

"We're done here, Mrs. Walker," Gifford called to me, Officer Frank and Keaton were already standing with him at the backdoor. "We appreciate your cooperation."

"Lexie," I told him, moving toward the kitchen.

"You are not fuckin' done," Fuller snapped and I stopped moving.

Gifford looked to him and asked, "Your boys said all's good and I didn't find anything."

"Gifford," Fuller clipped, throwing out an arm, "there's alcohol right in front of your face."

"That's not a condition of Walker's parole," Gifford returned and Fuller's eyebrows shot up.

"What?" he bit out.

"Tyrell Walker, even after repeated tests on remand and during his incarceration, never tested positive for drugs or alcohol. He has no history of problems with either or evidence of use of the former. Alcohol is only prohibited for those parolees who have an addiction or past incidents where alcohol was a factor."

Fuller's lips twisted, he leaned slightly to Gifford and clipped, "That's bullshit."

"It isn't," Gifford returned with restrained patience.

"Never heard of a parolee allowed to have alcohol," Fuller retorted.

"Lucky for you this is not a highly populated county like Denver and lucky for you your patch is even smaller so you don't have a lot of experience but it isn't unheard of for a parolee to be allowed alcohol and Tyrell Walker is one of them. He was a model prisoner, he earned benefits due to good behavior, his parole was recommended by the warden, his rehabilitation counselor and the guards and I personally inspected this home for its suitability for his occupation prior to his release. All was in order then, as I told you before your visit to my office this morning, and you have two of your own boys here, as requested, and it's all in order now. So we're done and we're leaving," Gifford replied.

"Then maybe I will have a look around," Fuller shot back, Gifford's back shot straight and the entire room went on hyper-alert.

But it was Tate who spoke and all he said was, "Arnie."

Fuller's eyes cut to him and he snapped, "What?"

Tate didn't reply; he just held Fuller's eyes. They went into stare down and I again found myself holding my breath.

Then the garage door could be heard cranking up.

My eyes flashed to the microwave clock.

Ty was home.

I didn't know whether to be relieved or pissed this wasn't done before he got home.

What I did know was that I didn't want my husband to be forced to share Arnold Fuller's air. What I also knew, unfortunately, was that I had no choice in that matter.

And that sucked.

Fuller instantly broke eye contact with Tate and turned to Officer Frank. "Walker's back, search his car."

"Arnie " Frank started.

"What'd I say?" Fuller snapped. "Search his fuckin' car." Then he finished, "And his wife's."

Frank sighed, looked to me and said quietly, "Sorry, Mrs. Walker, can I have your keys?"

Deke went up in a half-squat on the stool, pulled my keys out of his pocket and threw them across the island. Frank caught them the moment Ty made it to the top of the stairs. His eyes came to me and did a quick but thorough assessment. I tried to smile, his eyes dropped to my mouth, giving nothing away then his body rounded the railing and he took everything in.

Fuller opened his mouth to speak but Keaton immediately moved forward while talking. "Walker, we're here to do a random inspection of your house and we need the keys to your vehicle so we can inspect it."

Without hesitation or word, Ty underhand tossed them to him.

"He's also got an SUV. Search that," Fuller ordered sharply.

"Jeez, how long's it gonna take for these guys to go so we can get this party started?" Bubba muttered loudly.

"Careful, Jonas," Fuller whispered. "You don't want me lookin' into the permits for your wife's bar."

"Careful, Arnie, Krystal owns that bar with me," Tate put in angrily.

"Everyone just relax. We'll look at the cars then go," Gifford attempted to sooth the escalating tempers.

"Mama," Ty called and I looked to him. "Come here. Kiss."

I blinked at what I thought was an absurd request. Then I stared at my husband who seemed totally calm and was exuding complete patience like he was waiting in a not very long line to get popcorn at a movie.

Then he raised his brows, his patience waning but not with the proceedings, with the delay in my welcome home kiss.

So I went to him, put one hand to his chest, one to his flat, tight abs, got up on my tiptoes and offered my husband my mouth. He wrapped his arm around my waist, curled his fingers around my hip and took it.

When he lifted his head, I grinned, dropped back to the soles of my feet, turned slightly to the side and leaned into his long, strong body.

Then I looked at Keaton, "Keys for the Cruiser are downstairs on the hook on the door in the utility room."

He stared at me half a beat, nodded and moved.

I looked around the people in my kitchen, thrilled but not surprised at this show of support for Ty but wondering if everyone being there meant plans for my kickass celebration dinner were ruined.