His brows furrowed when he checked his watch—five-twenty. The afternoon had slipped away while he’d sat and thought about Sara like a moon-eyed kid. Disgusted with himself, he yanked the phone off the hook and speed-dialed the police department. A couple minutes later, he hung up after Detective Reece Cannon agreed to meet him for a beer before going home to his wife and kids. As he hung up, Charlene marched into his office without bothering to knock. “You took Mrs. Adams’ case, didn’t you?” “I’m beginning to think you’re psychic,” he muttered. “I’m not, just observant like any good investigator.” She hitched her hip on the corner of his desk. “Have you gotten any work done since she left?” Well, hell. Did he have a stamp on his forehead saying he’d spent the afternoon goofing off? Either that or he’d gotten sloppy to the point Charlene could “read” his every thought. She held up her hand to stop any comment he might have come up with. “Hey, I saw the way you looked at her.
