“I’ve cooperated, Sheriff Huggins, but I must warn your deputy. My field of expertise is not limited to the art on this wall. I have another wall full of frames and those pieces of parchment beneath the glass will tell you I know a little about the law too. Unless you have a warrant, I’m afraid your five minutes are up and I need to get back to work. Please see yourselves out. And if you need anything else, I suggest making an appointment first.”

Charlie stepped into the sweltering heat outside the gallery and let out a frustrated breath. That woman had his insides twisted into a knot. Sheriff Huggins said nothing as they walked to the squad car.

“Will you get a warrant?” Charlie asked when they got into the car.

“Somehow I think Ms. Benedict might already have a plan for that,” Sheriff Huggins grumbled. “Before Annika Benedict entered the world of art, she followed in her daddy’s footsteps.”

“She’s a lawyer?”

Sheriff Huggins pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Knows enough about warrants, then.” Charlie sank into his seat and brooded over Annika’s arrogance. “You think she’s involved?”

“Yes. How, I’m still chewing on that.” Sheriff Huggins steered their vehicle into traffic. “But you leave that to me for now. You need to get home and get ready.”

“Ready?”

Sheriff Huggins gave him an amused look. “For the barbecue tonight at Judge Sullivan’s estate. Your aunt said Lane’s really looking forward to seeing you there, even if it’s under an official capacity.”

The memory of sitting in the sheriff’s office and being warned that Lane was special, that she’d been through more than her fair share, reverberated through his mind. Especially after what she confided in him about her depression—almost as though she thought it would chase him away. He’d wanted more than anything in that shared moment to assure her that it’d take a lot more than that to drive him away.

“I . . . um.” Charlie wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his uniform pants. He met the wizened eyes of his uncle. “I want you to know my intention . . .” Why were the words so difficult? Or was it the way his uncle stared at him—like he was torn? “I really like her. All of her. She’s told me about things and I . . . I just want you to know that I would never do anything to hurt her. Or Noah.”