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much.”
    Ready to close her sale, Ellie swung to the register and Jo waggled her eyebrows at Gabe. Mission accomplished. She now had the evidence she needed to get the sheriff fully on board. This would be easier than she’d thought.
    —:—
    “Happy now?” Gabe said when they reached the sidewalk.
    “Ecstatic, sergeant. Now we have proof that someone is moving counterfeits through this area. Counterfeits with my client’s name on them. With your informant’s lead and now this, it has to be Martinson. I want this guy. Bad.”
    “I love it when you talk dirty.”
    Jo poked him in the chest. “Save it, buddy. Let’s find the sheriff.”
    Gabe climbed the church—uh, the sheriff’s office—steps while staring at Jo’s exceptional ass. Why not? It was right there and her slacks fit in a certain way that wasn’t tight, but showed off the rounded fullness. If they hadn’t been in public, he’d smack his palm right over that gorgeous work of art.
    At the top of the steps, Jo turned the handle on the huge arched door. If that thing fell off its hinges, it’d crush someone. “Ooh, it’s open.”
    Oh, goodie . Gabe crowded behind her to push the door open and caught the lingering citrus scent of her soap. He inhaled, thought about all the distractions she created and—sure enough—the little brain came alive, tightening his jeans in the crotch area.
    Focus here, dumbass .
    Before too long, one of them would have to flinch and give up the task force. And it would most likely be him. He was okay with that. Jo wasn’t. She wanted each of them to be able to keep their task force positions. By her way of thinking, they should be able to bend their task force jobs to fit into their personal lives. Nice thought, but unrealistic. What she didn’t understand was that working together messed with his mind, and a guy who did what he did for a living needed all brain cells in working order.
    The task force work gave him a rush, no doubt. Work wise, it had been a solid move because it put him in direct contact with the mayor of New York, a man who could fast-track Gabe’s career. Right now though, he wasn’t sure if he liked the assignment because it was good for his career or because it let him hang around Jo.
    Later . He set his hand flat on the door and pushed. “Let’s see what’s what.”
    A bell jangled as the door swung wide.
    “Afternoon, folks.” A barrel-chested, balding guy—mid-fifties easy—came around a desk tucked into an alcove on the right side.
    Career cops, wherever they came from, had a certain way of moving. A self-assuredness that became a defining factor easily recognized by other cops.
    Gabe glanced around at the cavernous space. Church pews had been replaced with desks and metal cabinets, but the marble floors and ceiling fresco of angels and a robed woman remained. The idea of processing a murderer or a junkie under a ceiling depicting what looked like a woman’s ascent into heaven was just plain bizarre.
    Jo strode toward the man and extended her hand. “Hello. I’m Jo Pomeroy. Are you Sheriff Connelly?”
    Like most red-blooded men, the sheriff took in Jo’s long legs and the silk blouse she’d buttoned back to a professional level, as opposed to the screw-me-stupid level Gabe enjoyed. This might be fun to watch. If this sheriff didn’t cut the crap, Jo would hit him with a remark sharp enough to slice his balls off.
    One at a time.
    On cue, she circled her finger around her face. “Right here, Sheriff. Come on now, up you go.”
    Atta, girl.
    The man’s head snapped from the middle button on her shirt to her face.
    “Much better,” she said.
    Gabe puffed out his cheeks because, damn, it was hard not to laugh.
    “Sorry, ma’am.” The sheriff grasped her hand but released it quickly. No lingering after she’d made that first nick into his balls. “Welcome.”
    Gabe held his hand out. “Gabe Townsend.”
    The sheriff shook his hand. Not too hard, but enough to exert some