Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“Wait, you’re serious,” I say into the phone while turning onto Lakeshore Drive. “Why would he humiliate himself like this?”
“I get the feeling he hasn’t quite let her go.”
My stomach twists into knots. This asshole doesn’t get what he wants, so he makes her life miserable instead? Does this mean he’ll try again?
Not on my watch . I coax in a cooling breath.
“Fine, I’ll come in.” Though my brother is a cop, I haven’t set foot in the station since I was a reckless punk—god, twenty years ago? I’m not ashamed of those days, but memories are not my friends.
“Can you make it in this afternoon?” he replies. “Zach will handle it.”
Zach Hayes is Ev’s right hand man at the Finn River Sheriff’s Department and a good cop. I’d rather deal with Everett but because he’s a witness to what went down last night, it makes sense why Zach is running point .
“Any chance you can find out if her ex is hanging around?” I ask.
“Hmm,” he replies, meaning I’m pushing my luck.
“Last night might be a coincidence, or…” It wouldn’t be the first time Finn River had a stalker.
“He flies for Leap Airlines and a charter service,” Ev finally says. “Don’t worry, he’s on our radar.”
I get the feeling he’s told me as much as he can. “Good.”
We end the call and I turn left at the light and accelerate up the hill toward the high school sports complex.
School’s been out for a week, so there are only a few cars parked in the lot.
I head for the back door of the gym. The rhythmic thumps and thuds from the gymnasts tumbling or spinning on the bars mingles with the coach’s commands and praise.
It smells of chalk dust and stale popcorn.
I’m early, but I try to catch the end of Greta’s practice when I can. It gives me insight I don’t always get from my kid, who tells me less and less.
I climb up the bleachers and sit in the middle, giving me a good view.
Greta is working on her floor routine with one of the coaches.
Greta nods while tugging down the hem of her boy shorts.
White chalk marks dot her thighs, and flyaways have come loose from her ponytail, but she struts to the edge of the floor, takes a breath all the way into her lungs, and charges, a look of fierce determination on her face, the pounding of her feet on the stiff floor echoing through the gym.
“Yeah, Greta!” one of her teammates calls out just as she dives into a round-off followed by a back handspring, the staccato thud of her hands and feet touching down in such contrast to the fluid way her body flips and twists.
“Push!” her coach barks as Greta launches into a full twist, her body like a corkscrew.
She sticks the landing, but takes one big step back. I have to restrain myself from jumping up and cheering. Greta only started gymnastics seriously a few years ago, but she’s gone after it hard, and it shows.
“Good work!” the coach says, nodding. “Really kick that second leg back in your roundoff for more power.”
Greta’s reply is swallowed by the steady noise, then she steps off the floor and trots to the tumbling area, sneaking a quick glance at the bleachers. She’s got her game face on, so I don’t get a smile, but for just a fraction of a second, the tension in her face melts away.
Though she tells me I don’t need to be here, how could I pass it up?
I scan the other stations, all of them buzzing with activity.
One of the coaches is spotting a girl on the bars while another coach supervises the beams. A girl is practicing her back handspring layout combo and another is working on spins.
It’s amazing to me that these athletes can stay focused while surrounded by so much noise and activity.
Practice is almost over when three boys dressed in track pants and tight t-shirts stride into the gym.
From their swagger, I’d say they’re athletes too, though they’re too short for basketball.
Maybe wrestling? They settle in the middle of the bleachers, their attention fixed on the tumbling mats, where Greta and two other teammates are practicing their passes, their limbs a blur as they flip and twist.
“Who’s that?” one of the guys says after Greta completes a flawless tumbling combo like the beast she is.
They watch her and a teammate do tandem roundoff back handsprings into a back flip, then cackle with laughter.
“She’s the one who told Sam to stuff it,” one of the other guys says with a snicker.
My chest pinches. I don’t like the way they’re talking about my kid. And what’s this all about ?
The coach calls the team to gather on the mat, and the three guys stand and shuffle toward them.
After a brief introduction, the middle guy says a few words I can’t hear while the other two pass out flyers to the team.
When the huddle breaks up, Greta walks to her bag and slips on a pair of sweatpants and pulls a loose t-shirt over her top.
One of the guys trots over to talk to her.
I’m already moving, and get to Greta just as she slings her bag on her shoulder and turns away from the guy, a stoic expression on her face.
I glare at the kid, who’s watching her go with a mix of longing and frustration on his face. When he notices me, he spins away.
I fall in next to Greta. “What was that all about?”
She gives me a one-shoulder shrug. “They want me to try out for cheer.”
Now it’s making sense. The guys are yell leaders for the cheer squad. “Not for you, huh?”
“Hard pass.”
We punch through the gym’s doors. I glance back, but the three boys are huddled in the corner with a couple of the gymnasts.
Outside, the hot sun and fresh air knock back the tension in my neck and shoulders. “Are they pressuring you?”
She shoots me a warning glance.
“What?” I slip on my sunglasses.
“You’ve got that caveman look.”
“I do not.” I poke her in the ribs, and to my delight, I get a flicker of a smile.
“It’s fine. Promise.”
While this may be true, I’ll be monitoring this situation until further notice. “How was practice?”
“Good. I almost have my back full combo.”
“Looked like you had it wired today.”
“I need to keep my feet together. ”
This is another one of those lines I don’t know if I have a right to cross.
Is she pushing herself for perfection because she wants to, or is fear the driver?
She’s the newest kid in the program and it’s been tough to make friends.
I get the struggle to fit in, but not if it’s going to derail her mental health.
“You’ll get it.” I open the truck door for her and she tosses her bag behind the seat.
Then I hand her the keys.
“You sure you’re up for this?” she asks, a sly grin on her face. In this light, her beautiful hazel eyes are a kaleidoscope of green, gold, and soft brown.
Teaching her to drive a manual transmission isn’t the problem, it’s the implication. Greta’s going to be on her own soon, and I’m having all kinds of feelings about it. “Hell yes.”
Greta arches an eyebrow. “No shouting this time, ‘kay?”
“I never shout.”
She snorts.
When I get to the police station, my nerves fried after Greta’s driving lesson, the waiting area is empty.
The stoic kid manning reception shoves the sign-in book toward me.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts before I sign.
Meg’s name fills the line above mine. I stare at it for a second, fighting the sudden tightness in my ribs.
Is she still here?
“Hey, Linden,” Zach says, startling me. He’s dressed in the summer version of their dark green uniform that reveals the serpent tattoo at his left elbow. No vest since he’s not on patrol, but the duty belt is proof enough that he’s ready for action.
It’s normal to be anxious when walking into a police station. The walls are not closing in on me .
I follow Zach past the bullpen clustered with cubicles, down a short hall lined with doors.
One opens, and a man steps out, dressed in a crisp white shirt and gray slacks, his thick brown hair streaked with a hint of gray.
Sitting at a small round table in the room behind him is Meg.
She’s wearing a simple t-shirt dress the exact color of her cornflower-blue eyes, her sunglasses pushed to the top of her head.
Her gaze lifts to mine for an instant. Her cheeks are red, like when she gets angry, but her eyes carry a look of defeat. I’m tempted to say something—anything to break the tension—but the door closes.
Zach leads me to the next room and ushers me inside. The other man joins us. “Thanks for coming in, Linden,” he says with an easy smile. “I’m the assistant D.A., Rex Rolland.”
I give him a polite nod. Though he wasn’t here when I was a kid, I have vivid memories of the man who was.
I ball my fists then force them to relax.
“At this stage, we’re still gathering information,” he continues as we all get seated. “With your permission, we’ll record this interview, then Zach and I will decide if filing charges is warranted.”
“I can tell you right now, it’s not.”
Zach arches an eyebrow. “Go ahead and walk us through what you saw.”
Rolland starts the recording.
I spend the next ten minutes rattling off the sequence of events, making sure to outline douche canoe’s moves. Recounting how he kissed Meg stirs me up and I have to lunge for one of the bottles of water in the middle of the table to steady my nerves.
“At any part of this interaction, did you touch Mr. Locke?”
Mr. Locke? How about we call him Russet? Yes, like the potato. He’s certainly pasty like one.
“Nope.” And a fucking miracle I didn’t.
“He’s claiming you shoved him. ”
I bite back my laugh. If I had shoved this guy, he would have ended up on his ass. “Didn’t happen.”
Rolland and Zach make eyes at each other, then Zach leans his elbows on the table. “What happened after you carried Meg back to the sidewalk?”
“I took her and her friend home.”
“You didn’t go after Mr. Locke?”
Hot anger spikes beneath my skin but I exhale another cooling breath. “Nope.” Is that his story? That I went at him? There were plenty of bystanders who will attest that I did no such thing, so I’m not worried.
I’m pissed.
If this asshole thinks he can stir up shit like this in my town, we’re going to have a very big problem.
“Who besides Everett and Sepp can back you up on this?”
The detail he’s after stalls on my tongue. I clench my fists and release them. “Trina Guthrie and her sidekick Stacy were with the pilots.”
A muscle in Rolland’s cheek flutters. I’m sure he knows about Trina and her past—thanks to the legal issues involved with her escape from Sons of Eden. Which means he probably knows about me and Ev, though our story is very different.
Rolland and Zach lock eyes for a second, and Zach rubs down his chin. The energy in the room has a charge to it that wasn’t there before I dropped Trina’s name.
I don’t know what it means, but my guard is up.
Rolland stands. “Hang tight,” he says to me with a nod. “We’ll be back.”
He and Zach slip from the room, leaving me alone with the buzzing clock above the door and the tall, blank walls that feel like they’re inching closer with each passing minute.
I lean back in the chair and remind myself that I’m not trapped here—I can leave whenever I want—but I last all of two minutes in the chair .
From my pocket, I pull out my hackey sack and push the chair out of the way so I can play. By the time Zach returns, I’m so deep in the zone it takes the cool rush of air from the hallway to snap me out of it.
“You’ve been cleared,” Zach says as I wipe my brow with my sleeve.
I frown. “What about Meg?”
He grimaces. “She got community service.”
“That’s bullshit.”
His eyes tense but he doesn’t reply. Probably because he can’t. “Thanks for coming in.”
I take the hint and step into the hallway. “What sort of community service?”
“Tree planting in that burned acreage on the north side of Bear Mountain.”
“What about her ex?”
Zach gives a grunt. “He got the same.”
I stop in my tracks. “Wait. Like, they’re doing it together?”
“Yep. The judge thinks it’d be good for them.”
This judge must have an odd sense of humor. Or he’s eager to get back to his golf game. Only in a small town .
“Her ex shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near her,” I say.
“I agree.” Zach rubs his chin with his thumb, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“When is it?”
“Next weekend.” He glances at me. “Why?”
I tuck my footbag into my pocket and cross my arms. “Tell you what. Add my name to the list of volunteers.”
Zach cocks an eyebrow. “Uh, okay.”
As I head out of the station, I add this tree planting to my schedule. Despite the warning signs that I’m pushing my luck with Meg, I’m not letting her face her ex alone.