Running from the Past is a Nap-Sized Dream being published by Dreamspinner Press.
It's available to buy on the 15 June 2001 via this link: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=2366
And here's a little taster:
“WHY me?” Ford complained, his sandy blond hair falling into his face with the shake of his head. “Isn’t it enough that I arrested the son of a bitch, now you want me to hold his hand on the way back to Miami?” He glared at the sheriff, knowing by the stoic expression on the older man’s face that the subject was not open for discussion. “Come on, Dad… what about the extended vacation you promised me?”
“Once you hand him over to the DEA, consider yourself on vacation,” Will Mitchell replied, looking back down at the extradition paperwork in front of him. “They want my best man on this one, Ford, and that’s you.” He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “What do you want me to do, send Arnie?” He chuckled at the roll of Ford’s jade green eyes when he mentioned Eagle River’s other deputy. Arnie was just about ready to retire or keel over, no one was sure which would come first. “Come on, son, let’s face it, you know Beckett better than his mother does, so go home and pack up your Speedo, you’re going to Miami.”
Back at his desk in the outer office, Ford flopped down onto the chair and ran his hands through his hair. This was not happening to him. This could not happen to him. Why was this happening to him? He’d made the arrest, hadn’t he? Probably the biggest arrest in the history of Eagle River since Manny Webber got drunk and killed his wife because she forgot to put sugar in his coffee. He’d put the cuffs on Beckett himself, read him his rights, and now all he wanted to do was forget he’d ever laid eyes on the lowlife, but instead he was having to hand-deliver the lying scumbag to the Miami DEA, who shouldn’t have let him get away in the first place. If they hadn’t he wouldn’t have… they wouldn’t have—Shaking his head to clear the thought before it could take him down a road he had no desire to travel, he fired up his PC and Googled flights to Miami.
“FOR God’s sake, will you please talk to me? It’s been four days.”
Ford ignored the plainly frustrated tone of the deep, rich voice and kept his eyes firmly trained on the screen in front of him wishing, not for the first time in the last four days, that the cells weren’t opposite the deputy’s station.
“Ford, would you just—”
“Unless the next words out of your mouth are that it was your evil twin on America’s Most Wanted,” Ford said in a clipped monotone, stabbing the keys so hard that the keyboard slid across his desk and he was forced to pull it back toward him, “then there is nothing you have to say that I could possibly be interested in,”
“How about, I’m innocent and… I love you?”
Glancing up from the flat screen on his desk, Ford frowned at the man. He was standing at the door of the cell with his fingers curled around the bars and his forehead pressed against the metal. “Of course you are, but there are five outstanding warrants in Miami that say different,” Ford drawled, purposely ignoring the second half of his prisoner’s sentence, “including one in relation to the murder of one Vicky Nugent. God, Noah.” He couldn’t have prevented the break in his voice if he’d wanted to. “Was anything you said true?”
“Okay… I may have told a few white lies about my past,” Noah replied, his fingers curling and uncurling around the bars. “But you and me, that was the truth, Ford. How can you doubt that? You know how I feel about you. About us.”
Pushing his chair back and getting to his feet, Ford picked up his coffee cup and ground out through gritted teeth, “I don’t know anything anymore.”
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