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  Hero Revealed

  Anna Alexander

  As a female sheriff in a small town, Brett Briggs faces enough obstacles turning complacent good ol’ boys into a top-notch police force without the added insult of a vigilante apprehending her criminals. Her prime suspect? Kristos Kilsgarrd, the sexy river guide who has been open in his desire to move her away from her badge and into his bed.

  In his former position as royal guard, Kristos once failed a woman he cared for and as punishment was banned from his home on one of Saturn’s moons. He vows not to make the same mistake with Brett and uses his superpowers to protect her, no matter the foe. Or the cost.

  But Brett didn’t become sheriff by letting a man take care of her, and although the hot-as-hell Kristos is persuasive, she’s not going to start now—even after burning it up between the sheets with him. When her town is threatened, they cry out for a hero and she sets out to prove to everyone, Kristos included, that she’s the woman for the job.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Hero Revealed

  ISBN 9781419938665

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Hero Revealed Copyright © 2012 Anna Alexander

  Edited by Grace Bradley

  Cover design by Mina Carter

  Photography: 123rf.com

  Electronic book publication April 2012

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party websites or their content.

  Hero Revealed

  Anna Alexander

  Dedication

  For my Chicklets. I love you to Saturn and beyond.

  Acknowledgments

  I am fortunate to have a kick-ass support group in my family. Thank you for the unwavering faith you have in me in all my endeavors. Thanks also to my girls, Danielle Monsch, Crista McHugh and Gwen Mitchell, whose talents and friendship push me to be a better writer.

  Chapter One

  “Son of a bitch,” Sheriff Brett Briggs cursed and struck her clenched fists on the wood desk. She sucked in a deep breath, biting back the rest of the expletives blistering her tongue. When her heartbeat slowed and the red in her vision cleared, she turned to the deputy seated to her right. “Play it again. Please.”

  Deputy Mick Collins arched a blond brow but said nothing as he typed the order on the keyboard.

  Brett locked her knees and leaned in close until the electric hum from the monitor buzzed against her skin. From the corner of her eye she noted the time on the footage as 12:35 a.m. At 12:36 the suspect entered the scene, triggering the silent alarm that had notified the police of the break-in.

  The picture was grainy and the light poor, but she was able make out the tall, thin, jittery shape of Trevor Conkle maneuvering through the construction zone that was the Anderson’s kitchen remodel. He picked up a hammer that lay in the open tool box on the floor then attacked the drywall as if he were auditioning for Jack Nicholson’s role in The Shining.

  With the price of minerals at a premium, the copper pipes running in the walls were like buried treasure. A one-foot pipe scored enough cash to keep a junkie high for a week. It was one of the many reasons Mr. Anderson installed the security system and video cameras during the renovation.

  In Trevor’s clumsy grip it took several strikes for the pipe to snap loose and fall to the floor. At 12:41 he danced a little jig as he snatched it up and cradled it to his chest. The metal never had time to warm in his palm before a shadow stole across the camera, whirling around Conkle like a specter. Blurs of black and gray pulled at his arms and lifted him off the ground.

  Brett squinted, hoping this time she’d be able to make out something, anything that made sense. From its size and shape it had to be a man, but he moved like nothing she had ever heard of or seen before. In less than five seconds, Conkle was hog-tied and laid out on the tile floor. The film’s resolution turned his skin a sickly green as the color leached from his cheeks. He looked like a bass out of water as he thrashed on the floor with his mouth opening and closing in silent screams.

  One second the stranger was there, and the next, nothing but empty space. At 12:42 Brett entered the scene, gun drawn. Studying the tape, she felt her brow crinkle with the same confusion and frustration she saw on her video image. After three viewings she was still as baffled now as she had been when she found Conkle on the floor.

  “Are you sure that man’s not one of ours?” she asked Collins. Of all the deputies in her department, he was the one she trusted most not to jerk her chain.

  “You were the first on the scene.” His blue eyes rang crystal clear with sincerity. His lips pinched tight together, but in his eyes she saw the words she didn’t want to hear.

  Mother fucker, he struck again.

  In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe. “Where’s Conkle now?”

  “He’s in the right one.”

  Brett snorted. When she was a cop with the city police, she had an entire floor of interrogation rooms at her disposal. Here in little Cedar, Washington there were two—the left one and the right one.

  “Has he lawyered up yet?”

  “A public prosecutor will be here first thing in the morning.”

  Perfect. “I need a moment with the kid, alone.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  With each step down the corridor, her blood bubbled like the lava under Mt. Etna. This was the fourth time since she joined the department when she was the first to appear on the scene to find the perp trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey without any clue as to how. No one in her department confessed to collaring her criminals and it hadn’t happened to anyone else. But now she had video footage. Her ghost had a physical body, and a body could be traced. The only question was who was playing her, and why.

  Brett stopped in her tiny office on her way to the interrogation room and retrieved a slim black case from her desk before stealing into the even tinier attached bathroom.

  A brush of powder under her eyes covered the dark circles caused by working an endless string of eighteen-hour days, and a splash of blush across her cheeks gave her a healthy glow. Cinnamon oil in the lip gloss stung her lips and shot the scent up her nose like a jolt of caffeine to awaken the senses. The carefully applied makeup was a mask, as much an important part of her uniform as the latte-colored shirt and brown pants she had tailored to fit her curves. Every crisp detail emphasized she belonged.

 
; She was the sheriff and one of the only women in the department. Appearance and attitude was everything when dealing with men who got a hard-on intimidating those they felt were weaker. One crack in her armor and her belly was exposed. All these months of hard work would not be wasted because she allowed some jack-off vigilante to jeopardize her credibility.

  Outside the interrogation room she paused to look through the glass in the door. Conkle was slumped over in the metal folding chair, shoulders and legs twitching with the remnants of meth coursing through his veins. She opened the door and let the metal slam shut. His arms flailed wildly with his surprise.

  “Hello, Trevor,” she said in a low, congenial tone.

  “Sheriff.” He wiped at the drool on his chin with the sleeve of his flannel. “So when am I getting outta here?”

  “The public defender will be here in the morning.” She slid into the seat on the opposite side of the table and laid open the file folder she brought with her. “How about you and I have a chat?”

  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head so hard she couldn’t tell if it was denial or meth shakes. “I’m not talking without a lawyer present. I’ve seen The Shield.”

  “If that’s what you’d like.” She closed the file and folded her hands on top. “Then I’ll take you down to holding, but I have to warn you, it’s a little crowded tonight. We busted up a bar brawl between a couple of 69ers and Demon Messengers. They weren’t too pleased to have their trip to Sturgis postponed. I’m sure you can help them pass the time.” She allowed a hint of a smile to play on her lips.

  His skin paled, the veins popping out on his forehead. “Were they those biker dudes I heard shouting?”

  Her smile widened. The animosity between the two biker gangs was legendary, but even more so were the stories of how they would band together for the simple pleasure of fucking with an outsider.

  “Fuck.” He dug both hands in his hair and rested his head on the table. “What? Just…what?”

  The click of her pen echoed against the cinder block walls. “Why were you at the Anderson’s this evening?”

  He lifted his head to peek at her through his stringy bangs. “Uh, Mr. Anderson said he wanted me to help with his remodel?”

  “He asked you in person?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “Was this before or after his daughter’s wedding?”

  His forehead puckered. “What?”

  “The Anderson’s daughter was married today in California and they’ve been out of town.” She narrowed her glare. “Cut the shit, Trevor. We have video footage of you tearing down the wall to get to the copper pipes.”

  “You do?” he asked, clearly confused.

  “Yep.”

  He looked to the door then to the two-way mirror. “Then what’s with all the questions?”

  She leaned forward, eager to get to the heart of the matter. “Who tied you up?”

  “Ah, geez.” He looked up to the ceiling, as if searching for divine intervention and his cheeks turned a deep pink. “Some crazy psycho.”

  Her nostrils flared and she restrained the urge to slap him. “Be more specific, please. Think. You’re in the kitchen. It’s dark and the pipe is in your hand and then…”

  “I don’t know. It was like this—thing—came out of nowhere and started grabbing at me. Everything was a blur and crazy and these big hands were pulling me in different directions, then I was just on the floor.”

  “Was it a man? How tall?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was a dude, and he was big.”

  “Did he say anything?” Her pen scratched across the paper as she took down his every word.

  He snorted. “Yeah, he said, ‘Let this be a lesson to you’,” Trevor repeated in a deep register.

  “Did you recognize his voice? Did he have an accent?”

  “Not really. I don’t know. It didn’t sound like he did.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know.” He threw up his hands. “It was dark and I was being assaulted, plus he had a mask on. I could only see his eyes.”

  Brett grunted in frustration. “What color were they?”

  “Weird.”

  She looked up. “Weird?”

  “Yeah, they were this freaky, glowy green color.”

  Her heart slammed to a stop while her hand reached for the clear twine around her neck. Necklaces were prohibited while in uniform, which was why she wore the elegant circle low under her blouse where no one could see it. The cool jade laying between her breasts was a forbidden thrill, and only the wild, impetuous woman who lived in her darkest, secret inner self knew why she broke the rule. Not even under pain of death would she admit out loud to why she paid a week’s worth of wages for the necklace.

  The amulet spun in a slow circle as she held it up to the light. “Were they this color?”

  “Yeah, just like that.”

  Green eyes that matched her necklace? Green like his eyes?

  The papers rustled in her trembling hands as she gathered her things and wobbled to a stand. “Thank you, Trevor,” she murmured and walked to the door. Excitement, dread and forbidden arousal stirred in her belly.

  She had her suspect.

  Chapter Two

  Brett took the corner at fifty miles an hour and accelerated out of the curve. The Crown Victoria held its ground as if it sensed her determination and didn’t dare lose traction on the slippery pavement.

  The parking lot in front of Cedar River Sport and Marine was empty of vehicles since the first guided raft tours didn’t gather until nine. If she didn’t strike now, it would be well after dark before she could question her suspect. The suspense was already grinding away at her concentration, spreading like poison ivy in an itch that desperately ached to be scratched.

  A chime over the door announced her entrance. Harlan Kilsgaard, the proprietor, lifted his head from the morning paper and smiled in greeting. In his red-and-black flannel shirt, he looked like Santa Claus out for a spot of hunting. “Hello, Sheriff. You’re a lovely sight on this dreary morning.”

  Normally a comment like that made by a man from Cedar was loaded with the expectation that she should bat her lashes and accept the compliment like a pat on the head for being a good girl, but Harlan had always treated her with the respect due to her position.

  “Morning, Harlan.” She smiled and wove her way through the display of fishing rods and canoe paddles and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue in anticipation.

  “I heard you had quite a night with those biker gangs traveling through town. I hope they won’t be passing this way again. Coffee?” He pointed to the urn behind him.

  “No, thanks.” She was so amped up she’d probably slosh the dark liquid all over the front of her coat. Wouldn’t that make an excellent impression? “Unfortunately I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them, but they’ll think twice before stopping.”

  His wide smile bunched his white-whiskered cheeks. “I bet they will. So, what can I do for you?”

  Now that the moment arrived, the words froze on her lips until she forced them out in a rasp. “I need to speak with your nephew.”

  “Lucian?”

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “The other one.”

  She hated to say his name out loud. Her tongue couldn’t help but caress each syllable like a lover. When niceties commanded she address him by name, the dimple would crease in his cheek and his eyes sparkled with an unholy light, as if he had super powers and was able to pull from her mind the illicit fantasies she refused to act upon.

  “Kristos?” A deep, lyrical voice spoke from behind her. “What has my brother done?”

  Lucian stood in the doorway to the storeroom. The eldest Kilsgaard brother was a drool-worthy hunk of man who had almost every woman under the age of eighty making comments about being the sole object of his regard. What Brett admired most about Lucian wasn’t his incredible good looks but h
is kindness. He was respectful and spoke to her as a person, not a silly female. Honor and chivalry bled from his every pore. Women wanted him and men admired him.

  Brett heaved a mental sigh. Oh, why couldn’t her nightly fantasies be about Lucian? While she wasn’t in a position to enter into any type of personal relationship, at least Lucian endeavored to be an upstanding member of the community, while his brother was the delicious bad boy, riding the rapids with an abandon bordering on suicide. Kristos lived as if there were no tomorrow, no responsibilities and no consequences. His ability to squeeze the enjoyment out of living down to the fleshy pulp drew his own large share of admirers. Most of them young and so bubbly they frothed over the tops of their shirts and out the bottom of their too-short shorts, which was why she became confused whenever his smoky gaze fixed on her. Why did he find her, an overworked sheriff, struggling to maintain the respect of the community, fascinating?

  She’d never find out, because Kristos Kilsgaard was an indulgence she couldn’t afford.

  She straightened her spine and asked, “I have a few questions for him. Is he near?”

  Doubt darkened Lucian’s eyes. “He’s in the back, preparing the kayaks.”

  “Thanks. If I don’t see you again, have a good morning, Lucian. Harlan.”

  She circled the front of the store, slowing her steps as she approached the corner. Sometimes she imagined he had super hearing the way he always seemed to know when she was near.

  With the rough-planked siding at her back, she crept closer, hoping for a moment of silent observation before alerting him to her presence.

  “Good morning, Brett.”

  Damn it, how did he do that? She sucked in a breath for strength and stepped around the corner, and promptly swallowed her tongue when he came into view.