“Okay, maybe the bronzes are at the other end,” I said softly, just in case Lavinia was listening and might offer her help.

I started down the row, then noticed a little alcove off to the left. “Is it here?” I whispered.

I took the sharp corner and almost jumped out of my shiny black pumps. Standing in front of me was Sheriff Eddie Striker … and he didn’t look happy.

***

“Were you talking to someone?” Striker’s gray eyes drilled into mine, then shifted to look behind me.

“Me? No.” He was standing in front of a two-foot square alcove indented in the wall. I tried to peer around his wide chest to see what was in the alcove and caught sight of a mahogany pedestal … was a bronze on top of it?

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“What are you?” My hands fisted on my hips and my brows dipped in an angry V. I felt like we’d been through this routine before. At least he wasn’t pointing a gun at me this time.

His lips curled in that annoying half-smile and butterflies flittered in my stomach. I suddenly felt glad I’d made an attempt to tame my hair, and then immediately admonished myself for feeling that way. What did I care about looking good?

“Don’t tell me you were coming here to borrow a book dressed like that.” His gaze wandered from my face, down my body to my shoes and back up, lingering in some places longer than others.

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling self-conscious about my clingy dress and scarred leg.  At least the leg wasn’t one of the parts where his gaze had lingered. It started to ache as if it knew I was thinking about it and I shifted my weight onto my right leg.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “But I don’t think you got all dressed up to borrow a book. You’re up to something and my detective skills tell me you’re here for the same reason I am.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Striker stepped aside to reveal what was on top of the pedestal … a bronze statue of a cowboy on a bucking bronco in amazing detail. It was a deep chocolate color and I knew if I touched it, it would feel silky, but hard and cold. Which was exactly the same way Striker was looking at me right now.

“There are four of them,” I blurted out.

“I know. They’re all here.”

“Are they really that valuable?” I asked.

“I just had an expert here and he said only one is original, but even the recasts are worth thousands.” Striker glanced back at the bronze. “The library is moving them out today and putting them somewhere more secure.”

“How did you find out about them?”