The Three Week Deal

The Three Week Deal West Oaks Heroes Hannah Shield Copyright © 2023 by Hannah Shield The Three Week Deal (West Oaks Heroes #4) All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar Cover Design: Angela Haddon Diana Road Books Edgewater, Colorado Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Epilogue Also by Hannah Shield About the Author 1 “I am not going in there.” Neve tugs my arm. “Come on, Angie. You promised we could do whatever I want.” “Including torturing me?” “Hey, you said anything. What I want for my birthday is to buy you a present. Of my choosing.” She drags me forward. She’s won, and she knows it. Grumbling, I let her pull me through the doorway of a high-end lingerie boutique on Ocean Lane, the busiest commercial strip in West Oaks. “You’re the worst best friend ever. And technically, it’s not even your birthday yet.” “When have I ever been persuaded by the word ‘technically’?” The wealthiest residents of our town come to this street to drop their discretionary income. I’m not usually one of them. For one, because my salary doesn’t leave much room for discretion. And two, because I’m a practical girl. As a West Oaks PD detective, I have to be sensible when it comes to clothing. On any given day, I might be chasing down a suspect, testifying in court, or standing in on an autopsy. My fashion needs are particular, to say the least. And I’m not talking about those yoga pants that pretend to be work appropriate. My standards are higher than that. This is one of those stores where they have a sparse collection of items arranged artfully on modern tables. The sizes are small, tiny, and tinier. “I don’t even know how to put this on,” I say. I pick up the nearest negligee with way too many straps hanging from it. “The lace would probably rip at the slightest pressure.” Neve winks. “Exactly the point. Never had your man tear your undies off in a fit of passion? You’re missing out.” I glance at the label. “At two-hundred bucks a pop?” Also—what man? I have no man. “It’s my credit card, not yours,” she sing-songs. “My birthday. Remember?” I’m not saying I wear granny panties, not that there’s anything wrong with those. I enjoy dressing up and treating myself to a little pampering. I put in my time at the hair salon so that I can look my best. But I want it to be my choice. I don’t appreciate anyone telling me what I need, not even my bestie. “I want you to have something special that you’d never buy for yourself,” she says. “Why, exactly?” I ask, smelling a trap. And her answering smile is devious. “You’ll find out.” Neve’s birthday is next week, and I did promise to do whatever she wanted tonight. She’ll be leaving town in the morning for a month, so this is our only chance to celebrate until she’s back. But a girl has to draw the line somewhere. “Oh, no. You are not fixing me up with someone. Absolutely not.” I’m using my detective voice, which is loud and commanding. The other customers eye me, and Neve pulls me by my elbow to a corner before I make a scene. “I was going to work up to this, but fine. If you’re determined to skip ahead. This is an intervention.” “A what?” I know what the word means. But I certainly don’t need one. Neve’s forehead creases, which is saying something given how she loves her Botox. My friend is gorgeous, but she’s been sensitive about aging since we both hit our thirties. “It’s been almost two years, Angie. Don’t you think it’s time?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Ha, nice try.” “If you’re referring to Rupert, I’ve already forgotten about him.” My last boyfriend. He was exactly my type. Sophisticated, soft-spoken, fifteen years older than me. A man with a handle on his life. Unfortunately, he was so established that he was already married and didn’t bother to tell me. “You know I’m not talking about Rupert,” Neve says. Uh oh. This isn’t a conversation I want to have. A distraction. That’s what I need. I pick up a matching bra-and-panty set in red satin. I hold them up in front of me. “You know, I think I like this one.” “Nope, you wanted to have this chat here and now. So we’re doing it.” She rests a hand on my arm. “Angie, there’s no shame in struggling, but you gotta do what you need to do to get better. You can’t just ignore the problem and assume it’ll go away.” I want to argue she’s wrong. I am a hard-ass cop who never lets fear get the best of her. But then, the truth wells up inside of me. And more than anything else, it pisses me off to know how right she is. Neve is talking about what happened to me one year and ten months ago. When I was shot in the line of duty. I have a scar running along my collarbone, both from the gunshot and the surgery afterward. But the scar doesn’t bother me in the least. That’s not the issue. When I’m at work, I’ve got everything together. I’ve completed my