Chapter Nine
Tanner woke up the next morning—he glanced over at the clock, nope, the next afternoon—feeling better after a few solid hours of sleep.
He’d hoped to catch Bree here, but she’d already gone to work, which was probably for the best. After that kiss yesterday afternoon, Tanner didn’t know if he could lie in the same bed with her again and not do anything about it.
He wasn’t a man given to fancifulness, but the skin of her thigh had been so soft he could damn near write poetry about it.
Seeing her around his family hadn’t cooled his ardor, either.
He liked watching her with them, seeing how she fit in, even when she was uncomfortable and unsure of herself thanks to Cassandra.
His sister could be a lot for anyone to handle, and he wanted to wring her neck for dropping the computer-teaching bomb on Bree.
Bree might have gotten upset initially, but they’d spent the entire ride home talking about what computer skills would most help the women at the shelter.
Bree had a basic syllabus all but planned out by the time they’d gotten back to the ranch.
It was easy for him to see that, despite her hesitation, she was going to teach the class.
Now he just needed to wait for her to realize it, too.
Watching her face her fears and step up to help others was pretty damn amazing. Bree was pretty damn amazing.
So yeah, it was probably better she hadn’t been there this morning, or else he definitely wouldn’t have been keeping his hands off her.
Tanner made himself a sandwich for lunch, washing it down with a big mug of coffee. He was outside checking on Corfu and the pups when Noah came riding up on one of his horses. He got off and quickly put the horse in the corral.
“You expecting company?” Noah asked.
“No.” Most people knew better than to come out here without being invited or calling first. Noah was not a people person.
“Looks like one of the Grand County sheriff’s vehicles.”
Tanner grabbed his phone out of his pocket to see if he’d missed any calls. Nothing. “I have no idea. They haven’t tried to contact me.”
Noah nodded then faded back into the wooded area surrounding their property, making himself unnoticeable. But Tanner had no doubt he’d be out in a second if he was needed.
Less than a minute later, the vehicle arrived outside Tanner’s door. Noah had been right—it was a Grand County SUV. But it wasn’t any of Tanner’s regular colleagues who was driving; it was Richard Whitaker.
“Dempsey,” he said as he got out of the vehicle.
Tanner raised an eyebrow. “You lost, Whitaker? Dallas is about eight hundred miles south of here.”
The other man pointed to Tanner’s cup of coffee. “Just now waking up?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. The stakeout I was on last night didn’t amount to anything, so I left. I called in that I was going home.”
Whitaker crossed his arms over his beefy chest. “I know.”
For the first time Tanner was a little more worried than confused about Whitaker’s appearance at his home. “Why are you here?”
“Sheriff wants to see you in her office.”
“Why? Has there been a break in the Newkirk case?”
Whitaker shrugged. “Possibly. I’ll let the sheriff talk to you about that. Did you go anywhere else besides your high-crime stakeout?”
Tanner ignored the small-town barb. “No. I’d already put in a full day then came back to work someone else’s shift.”
“You must’ve been tired. Why’d you come all the way out here rather than your place in Risk Peak?”
Tanner wasn’t going to discuss his relationship with Bree and that he’d wanted to see her. It was none of Whitaker’s business. “Why are you asking so many questions? Why are you here at all? The sheriff could’ve just called me herself and asked me to come in.”
Whitaker shrugged. “I’ll let the sheriff answer that, too. I’m just here to make sure you get to her with no problems.”
That was definitely not a good sign.
Tanner gave a curt nod. “I’ll follow you in.”
Less than an hour later, he was sitting across from Sheriff Duggan in her office. She’d invited Whitaker in also and then closed the door.
“I’ll cut straight to the chase, Tanner.” She walked back and took a seat in the office chair behind her desk. The same chair that had once been Tanner’s father’s when he’d been sheriff. “Peter Anders is dead.”
A low curse fell from Tanner’s mouth, although he could admit he wasn’t terribly surprised. Anders had been in and out of prison for the entire eight years Tanner had known him. Tanner had been the one to arrest him more than once.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “When? How?”
Sheriff Duggan looked over at Whitaker before bringing her eyes back to Tanner. “Roughly nine hours ago. The body was found about an hour later. He was stabbed multiple times in the back.”
“Like Newkirk,” Tanner said.
Whitaker crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, exactly like Newkirk.”
Tanner shifted to look at him. “I hope you’re not considering Bree as a suspect again.” Because Tanner damn well wasn’t going to stand for it.
Whitaker’s eyes narrowed. “No, Bree isn’t our suspect.”
The implication was clear, but Tanner turned back to the sheriff, wanting to make sure he understood. “What exactly is Dallas PD implying over here?”
Before she could respond, Whitaker spoke again. “Is there anybody who can verify your whereabouts last night?”
“I was on a stakeout at Dunwoody’s auto shop in the southeast corner of the county. They’ve had some vandals. We think it’s high school kids and wanted to put a stop to it before Dunwoody decided to take matters into his own hands with buckshot.”
“Anyone see you out there?” Whitaker demanded.
“No. There was nothing happening, so I went home.” Tanner looked over at the sheriff. “I called everything in. It’s all logged.”
Whitaker shifted his weight in the chair, looking over at Tanner, eyes narrowed. “You went all the way back to your ranch when you could’ve just gone to your place in town.”
Damn it, Tanner still wasn’t going to drag Bree’s name into this. Especially since he hadn’t actually seen her this morning and she couldn’t provide an alibi anyway. “Yes. I have a place in town, but the ranch is my home. Everybody knows that.”
“It’s also a lot more isolated,” Whitaker quipped. “You’re quite a bit less likely to be seen there. If, say, you needed to wash up or something.”
Tanner jerked out of his chair, nearly knocking it over in his fury. “What exactly are you saying?”
“Hey, I’m just—”
“Enough, Whitaker,” the sheriff cut in.
Tanner ran a hand through his hair, getting himself under control, but he was too agitated to sit back down. “Fine. I get that someone else whose arrest I was involved in is dead, and that sucks. But to jump straight into accusing me of washing blood off my hands? What the hell?”
The sheriff held out one hand toward him. “You’re right, Tanner. And I don’t believe you had anything to do with Anders’s death.”
“Her belief is the only reason you’re not in cuffs in an interview room rather than in an office,” Whitaker muttered.
Sheriff Duggan slammed her palm down on her desk then pointed at Whitaker. “You watch it. The Dempsey reputation is multigenerational and stellar. So you can either present the facts with respect and let your colleague provide his refutation or you can get the hell out of my office.”
Whitaker shrank a little in his chair. “Yes, ma’am.”
And somehow, even though it should make him feel better, that exchange made Tanner even more concerned.
“Sit down, Tanner,” she said. “Tell us about your relationship with Peter Anders.”
He rubbed a hand down his face as he sat. “I first arrested him eight years ago. He’s been in and out of prison since then. Tends toward violent crimes. Assault. Assault and battery. Has—had—a pretty nasty temper.”
“And like Newkirk, you also reported to Anders’s parole board that you thought he shouldn’t be let out.” Whitaker’s more reasonable tone didn’t reassure him.
He met the sheriff’s eye. “Look, I’ll be honest—I do that with a lot of people.
I get these requests for my opinion from review boards, and I give it honestly.
Most of the time I do think the criminals should serve closer to their full sentence.
A lot of times it feels like we’re fighting a losing battle if the prison system just dumps them back on the streets too soon. But...”
“But what?” she asked.
Tanner sat forward and leaned his arms on his knees. “Peter got out almost a year ago after his latest charge—a bar brawl where he put a guy in a coma. But this time Peter seemed different. He’d found religion or something. I don’t know. I really thought he was trying to change.”
“So you’ve been in contact with him?” Sheriff Duggan asked.
Tanner shrugged one shoulder. “Some. Trying to help him get a job and get away from the people and situations that always seem to land him back in prison.”
“You ever been in Anders’s car?” Whitaker asked.
Tanner nodded. “Yes, a couple of weeks ago. He wouldn’t come inside the station to talk, so I went out to him.”
Whitaker gave a tiny snort of disbelief. “Convenient.”
Tanner turned to glare at the man. “If anything, that shows I wasn’t trying to kill him.”
Sheriff Duggan nodded. “I can see that. But here’s the real problem. We found this.” She tapped on an electronic tablet then spun it around so Tanner could see it. “This is a copy of all Anders’s texts for the last few days. We need you to address one in particular, Tanner.”
Tanner looked down at the one she was pointing to.
Peter: I can’t get rid of this Dempsey cop. He’s on my ass all the time.
Bugaboo2: Just tell him to go to hell.
Peter: Cop is scary. He’s threatening me. Seriously. So I’m a no-go for this weekend. Sorry.
Tanner tensed. “That’s not what it looks like. I knew some of his old friends were pressuring him back into the lifestyle he was trying to get out of. I told him to use me as an excuse to say no.”
Whitaker raised an eyebrow. “Convenient that it’s your word against someone who can’t say anything further.”
Tanner turned to the sheriff. With every passing minute, this was looking worse and worse for him. “Do I need a lawyer? I feel a little like I need a lawyer.”
The sheriff shook her head. “You’re not being formally charged. I already talked to Ryan Fletcher this morning. He has no interest in pursuing this case at this time. Says it’s all circumstantial. And, like me, he doesn’t think you had anything to do with it.”
Tanner nodded.
Whitaker all but threw up his hands. “We’ve got Dempsey’s fingerprints in the victim’s car. A text from the vic claiming Dempsey was threatening him. And he’s got no alibi. Worse than no alibi.”
Tanner’s eyebrows narrowed. “What the hell is worse than no alibi?”
He expected Sheriff Duggan to jump in, too, but she didn’t. When he glanced over, her lips were tight.
“Worse than no alibi is that the place you were supposedly staking out was vandalized last night,” Whitaker said. “Guess you missed it, if you were even there at all. Of course, not being there would’ve given you plenty of time to drive to get to Anders, even if he was across the county.”
“Or I stayed at the Dunwoody shop like I said, and the vandals came in after I left around four in the morning.”
Whitaker held both hands out in front of him and shrugged. “Just sayin’. Anybody else would already be in a holding cell.”
“But we’re not dealing with someone else,” Sheriff Duggan interjected. “Tanner has no motive for killing either Newkirk or Anders.”
“Except they were both violent criminals that kept getting put back on the streets,” Whitaker said in a low, reasonable voice.
That voice was so much more dangerous than his yelled threats.
“Dempsey said it himself. Sometimes you feel like you’re fighting a losing battle.
Maybe he decided to do something about it. ”
Sheriff Duggan steepled her fingers in front of her lips. “Like I said, I don’t think you did this. But until we get it sorted out, you’re going to need to go on admin leave. I need your badge and your gun, Tanner.”
He remained silent, not even glancing at Whitaker as he took both off his belt and slid them across the desk.
The sheriff took them and put them in a drawer. “I still need you to schedule a visit with Dr. Michalski. He told me you’ve missed the last couple of scheduled sessions.”
Tanner gritted his teeth. “I was busy.”
Whitaker gave a slight cough/laugh. Tanner wanted to punch him in the face but refrained, knowing it wouldn’t do anything but get him more admin leave. He stood.
“We’ll be in touch soon, Tanner,” the sheriff said. “Give us a chance to work on your behalf. Take this time to get caught up on your appointments with Dr. Michalski and any reports you’re behind on. That way when the dust clears, you’re able to hit the ground running. We’re all on the same side.”
Tanner gave a terse nod then walked out into the hallway, still wanting to punch someone.
Finding Dr. Michalski standing right there did not diminish that feeling.
“What are you, waiting for me to come out of the principal’s office?”
“You missed our last two sessions.” The psychiatrist’s expression and tone were even. The way they always were.
But seriously, did the guy have his ear at the door?
Tanner stuffed his hands in his pockets, conspicuously aware of the lack of familiar weight his gun and badge usually placed on his waist. “Sorry, Doc. I had real police work to do. Thought that took priority over rehashing past events in my life that can’t ever be changed.”
“I understand police work, Tanner. And I would’ve thought nothing of it if you’d just rescheduled like you’re required to do. The rules apply to you, too.”
Tanner grimaced. Because damn it, the man—and his goddamned even tone—was right. But hell if he was going to admit that right now, when he’d just basically been told that while the sheriff didn’t think he was guilty, she didn’t think he was innocent enough to keep wearing the badge.
“Yeah, I’ll get around to it.”
Dr. Michalski just nodded. “Be careful. That sort of arrogance can get you killed in this line of work. We work together as a team or everything crumbles quickly.”
Tanner took his hand out of his pocket and rubbed his eyes. The thing was, he totally agreed with the doctor. Mental health was important. Just as important as physical health. The country was figuring that out the hard way.
The work he’d done with Dr. Michalski had helped him come to grips with some of what had happened in that warehouse three years ago. Tanner didn’t always enjoy the company of the other man, but he had to admit their sessions had been valuable.
“Fine,” he mumbled, brushing past the doctor. He couldn’t do it right now. He just needed to get out of here.
“Make an appointment,” the doctor said in a just slightly louder but still even tone. “And keep it this time.”