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power. “Sergeant, right? Emergency Services?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “That’s gotta be somethin’”
    “It’s not dull.”
    The sheriff waved them to his desk in the freaky alcove. Damned sheriff’s office in a church. The whole thing gave Gabe the willies. He needed white walls, cracked ceilings, linoleum floors and interview rooms that held secrets most people couldn’t comprehend.
    “Have a seat.”
    “You alone here?” Gabe asked.
    “I am. Deputy is out on patrol. Receptionist leaves at five. We have a regional S.W.A.T. team here. Men from different towns in the area. Don’t have much call for them, but they train hard.”
    Gabe didn’t see a need to respond. His only job here was to make sure the sheriff had whatever he needed and not get into a pissing match over who the better officer was. Really, he just wanted to capture Martinson and go home.
    Without preamble, Jo flung the counterfeit Barelli on the desk. It landed with a whap and the sheriff jumped.
    And here we go…
    The sheriff glanced down at the bag, then back to her. “Well, that sure is a nice bag.”
    Prepare to lose a nut, pal.
    “Actually, no, it’s not,” she said. “You may recall from our earlier conversation that I’m an intellectual property attorney. One of my clients is Barelli Incorporated. Are you familiar with them?”
    “Heard the name.”
    “Yes. They’re a huge fashion company.” She tapped the knockoff bag. “This is a counterfeit Barelli. Whoever made this bag is responsible for copyright infringement. We need to stop them, Sheriff.”
    Connelly pulled a notepad from his desk drawer. “Right. You mentioned you’re looking for a fella.”
    Gabe sat forward. “Donald Martinson. He’s wanted in New York.”
    “And you think he’s here?”
    “We do. An informant indicated Mr. Martinson has family here and is hiding.”
    Connelly rolled his bottom lip. “Haven’t seen anyone new.” He made a note. “Let me check around.”
    As expected, this good ol’ boy wasn’t in a rush. He’d be losing his second nut any time now.
    “Thank you, Sheriff. We’ll also need to question the owner of the boutique across the square. She’s breaking the law by selling fake goods.”
    “Oh, hold on here. That’s Ellie. She’s a good girl. She probably doesn’t even know.”
    Gabe leaned forward. “That could be true, sir. Either way, she’s got to shut it down. Ms. Pomeroy is an expert on identifying counterfeits. She’d be happy to relieve Ellie of any illegal items.”
    The sheriff gave him a look. And it wasn’t friendly. Nope, this was more get-the-fuck-outta-my-town. “I’ll talk to her. See where she bought it. I’m sure she’s been duped.”
    “If that’s the case,” Jo said, “it’s unfortunate. She could be charged with a crime.”
    “Now hold on here. This is my town.”
    Jo blew that off. “Unless, of course, she’s willing to cooperate and help us catch the smuggler. Then she’d be a hero.”
    Gabe grinned. My girl . The sheriff didn’t look too good though. He’d gone straight-out green.
    “Give me until morning to get into this. I’ll talk to Ellie.”
    Gabe studied the sheriff, who obviously didn’t want Jo stomping through his playground. Maybe he’d help the guy out and convince her to let the man do his job.
    “Of course, sir,” she said. “It’s getting late anyway. Sergeant Townsend and I have an appointment at the Port Authority in the morning.”
    They did? Gabe shot her a look. So much for her laying low and letting the locals handle this.
    “Hey, now. Let’s not get too crazy here, little lady.”
    Little lady . Gabe sighed.
    The sheriff stood—a clear announcement that this meeting was over. “You let me handle it. I’ll let you know if we need help. You folks at the hotel?”
    Jo pulled her card and a pen from her briefcase. “We are. I’ll give you my number so you can reach this little lady anytime.”
    Second nut, gone. She wrote her number on the back of her