I entered quietly. Mr. Anderson was sitting on the edge of his desk, his right leg crossed over the other, filing his thumbnail. It was not quite the ...hip-cracking, pistol-shooting, whore-fucking behavior the sheriff Anderson on my fantasies exhibited. I didn't know much about Mr. Anderson other than that he spoke with authority and commanded respect. I assumed he was in his mid thirties; he was too old to be my big brother and yet not quite old enough to be my father. He was a little taller. She could feel her nerve endings tingle in the timeless warning of prey about to be seized upon by a predator. Finally, unable to stand the strain of the pretense one moment longer, she asked Max to take her home. Max had left her at the door with a quick kiss on the cheek and promises to call her next week to find out if her man had been reeled in. In disgust, Sara had pulled off her sexy black number, threw it in a corner and put on her present robe. He wasn’t going to call. He wasn’t. More

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