Birdie frowned at him and came to stand in his open door. “Going on a field trip with the Marshals isn’t really a day off.”

“It wasn’t a field—” The phone rang, saving him from debating that point with her. He gave Birdie a sharp look. “Answer that.”

She wrinkled her nose and headed back to her desk. He was about to close the door when she crooked the phone between her head and shoulder and punched the hold button. “It’s for you.”

Birdie might be his aunt, but she was a horrible receptionist. If not for the glue of nepotism holding her in her job, he would have fired her a long time ago. “Who is it?”

She shrugged. “You want me to ask?”

“Yes. When you answer. That’s what a receptionist does.”

“Don’t sass me, sassmouth.”

“I’m not—never mind.” It was easier just to take the call. He closed the door, sat down at his desk and picked up the phone. “Sheriff Merrow.”

“Hank, it’s Dad.” Hank relaxed at the deep timbre of his father’s voice. “Thanks for putting us up last night. Listen, I’m serious when I say if you want to back out of this, you can. If Kincaid brings a war, we’ll deal with it.”

Hank would never let that happen. “I’m sure it will all work out.” Sacrifice was nothing new to a soldier. “How did Birdie not recognize your voice?”

His father snorted. “I’ve been practicing a British accent.”

Hank shook his head. “Whatever works.”

Griffin’s laughter was followed by a sobering sigh. “I love you, son. You’re going to make a great alpha someday.”

“That’ll be a long time from now.” Hank didn’t want to think about the day he’d replace his father as alpha of the Georgia pack, even though it was a role Hank had been preparing for all his life. First by going into the military, then by accepting the Ellinghams’ backing to run for sheriff when he got out—an election he’d won handily—but being prepared for the job didn’t mean he was anticipating it. Some alphas stepped down. A rare few were overthrown. Most kept the role until their death.

“Let’s hope. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I spoke to Clemens this morning and he’ll be emailing you his daughter’s details soon. What that entails, I have no idea.”

“Once I get her name, I can do my own background check.”

“Which is probably why he didn’t send them to us sooner. I’m surprised you couldn’t find her info yourself.”

“I just got into the office, haven’t had a chance to check. And it’s not like it’s going to make a difference.”

“True. Anyway, Clemens said to expect her soon, so keep an eye out.”

Hank sighed. “I have a feeling she won’t be hard to find.”

“Let me know how things go.”

“Will do. Talk to you later.” Hank hung up, then checked his email. Nothing yet. Back to work. Actual work. Searching for his bride-to-be wasn’t how he wanted to spend his time. He’d deal with that soon enough. Right now, he had two full holding cells that needed his attention.

He reached for the intercom to talk to Birdie, then realized the pointlessness of that action. He got up and went out to her desk. “Anything come back on Jane Doe’s prints yet?”

“Nothing. You going to let her go?”

“Not if Mr. Philips wants to press charges. Did you run the prints wide?”

Birdie shook her head. “Just through the state database.”

“Run them through IAFIS. Has to be a reason she wouldn’t give us her name or ID. Philips awake yet?”

Birdie started typing. “He was snoring last time I was in there. Probably hung over. Didn’t even touch his breakfast.” She shook her head. “Terrible waste of Mummy’s pancakes if you ask me.”

“Blueberry?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Terrible waste is right.” He headed back to the cells. Number one held Mr. Philips. He was sitting on the cot with his head between his hands, moaning.

“Good morning, Mr. Philips.”

The man groaned and didn’t raise his head. “What’s good about it?”

“You’re still alive. And you’re not in county.”

The man heaved, but managed to hold it down.

“Since we’d both like you out of here as soon as possible, I need to know if you plan on pressing charges against the woman who hit you.”

“Hell, yes, I’m pressing charges.” He raised his head. His face was black and blue, and his right eye was almost swollen shut.

Hank hadn’t expected the damage to be that extensive. The report said Jane Doe had hit him with her fist. Mr. Philips looked like he’d spent time in a batting cage with no helmet and an inability to duck. “You puke in my cell, you’re cleaning it up.”

He walked down to cell number three.

The woman inside lay on the narrow cot, one long, shapely leather-clad leg crossed over the other, arms folded behind her head like she hadn’t a care in the world. She looked up at him as he stopped in front of the bars, batted her dark lashes and smiled. “Morning, Sheriff. I take it you’re not here to send me on my way seeing as how Short Bus has decided to press charges against me.”

He stared at her, unable to help himself. He’d always had a thing for bad girls. What red-blooded man didn’t? And everything about her, from the silky mane of her black hair to the pout of her too-full lips to the generous curves of her body, said she was trouble. He cleared his throat and reminded himself that his love for bad girls did not include those currently housed in his holding cells. “You want to tell me your name?”