Chapter 34
Marcy
The station sits at the edge of the next town over from Black Pine Ridge like a forgotten shoebox—just another low brick building with dirty slush piled in gray-brown ridges around the cracked asphalt lot.
I sit in my car for a full minute before my hands finally unclench from the steering wheel, my knuckles bone-white against the black leather.
The windshield wipers squeak once, dragging a smear of melted snow across the glass.
Inside my chest, my heart pounds like it’s trying to make me turn back.
I don’t. Because Landon’s in there.
I push the door open before I can change my mind.
The cold slices across my cheeks, turning my breath into a cloud that vanishes too quickly.
My boots break through the thin ice crust with each step, the sound like tiny bones snapping.
The glass doors part with a mechanical whine, releasing a wall of heat that carries the bitter tang of burnt coffee and something chemical that burns the back of my throat.
My fingers tremble so badly I shove them into my pockets, and my heartbeat drums in my ears, drowning out the muffled police radio crackling somewhere inside.
“Marcy?”
I jump, whip my head around. Becket leans against the wall, one boot propped behind him, his leather jacket still zipped to his throat. His jaw tightens, then releases. The fluorescent light catches the stubble shadowing his cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” The words barely make it past the knot in my throat.
“I drove Landon here.” He pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms. His fingers flex once, twice at his sides. “Figured somebody should keep an eye on things.” He steps closer, his gaze traveling from my trembling hands to my face. “How did you know—”
“Nova called me.” My voice comes out hoarse, like I’ve been screaming. I dig my car keys deeper into my palm, the metal teeth biting skin.
Becket’s eyes dart to the hallway where they’re keeping Landon. “Good.” His jaw works back and forth. “Landon—” The rest dissolves into a head shake.
I nod. “Is he okay?”
Becket shrugs. “They’re still with him. Keep going in and out to check parts of his statement. They won’t let me near him, though.”
“I’m going to see if they’ll let me give a statement.”
I don’t miss the relief that washes over his face as he falls into step beside me, crossing the lobby toward the front desk.
The deputy behind it glances up, her pen freezing over a log sheet. Her eyes dart between me and Becket. “Can I help you?”
“I need to speak with whoever’s in charge.
” My voice cracks on the last word, and I clear my throat.
“It’s about Landon Hale.” I grip the counter’s edge, knuckles going white.
“He was only protecting me. All of this is a big mistake.” The rest spills out before I can stop it, words crashing into each other.
The deputy’s eyes widen, her pen suspended mid-stroke above her paperwork.
She looks over my shoulder at Becket, then back to me, lips parting silently.
“Okay. Slow down, Miss,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn. A man with a silver-streaked beard and a badge on his belt walks toward me. His face is weathered, eyes steady—the kind of man who’s seen everything and stopped being surprised long ago.
“I’m Chief Pike. Why don’t we head to my office,” he says gently. “We can talk there.”
Becket catches my eye with a quick nod that says he’ll wait. My boots catch slightly on the linoleum as I follow the chief past a cup-less water cooler and a bulletin board bristling with thumbtacks. The frosted glass door squeaks when he opens it—CHIEF RAYMOND PIKE etched in fading gold letters.
He waves me inside. The office is cramped, packed with old filing cabinets and a framed photo of a fishing boat. He gestures to a chair.
I fold my hands in my lap, knuckles still white. “Chief, Landon didn’t attack Brett. He stepped in because Brett came after me. He—”
“I know,” Pike says, his tone calm enough to cut me off mid-sentence.
I stare at him. “You… know?”
He nods, settling behind his desk. “We pulled the garage security footage. It shows Brett approaching you and refusing to leave when asked repeatedly. It also shows he threw the first punch. Landon clearly wasn’t the aggressor.”
My throat closes around a shaky breath. “So why is Landon still here?”
“We just finished reviewing the footage. We also needed to check security cameras at the local bar where Brett claimed Landon assaulted him as well.”
“Landon was only protecting me then too—”
“We know,” the chief says, tapping the edge of a manila folder against his desk. “The bartender’s statement matches Landon’s.”
My fingers dig half-moons into my palms. “So he can leave?”
The chief’s chair creaks as he leans back. “I was heading to tell him exactly that when you walked in.”
The room tilts slightly. I grab the chair arms, my knuckles going white against the worn wood. Something hot and liquid rushes through my chest, making my ears ring.
“Can I—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “Is he—”
Pike’s weathered face softens almost imperceptibly.
He nods once. “Down the hall. He’s free to go.
” His eyes narrow, studying me. “But I’d appreciate it if you stayed after seeing him to give your own statement.
We need details about Brett—everything he’s done.
” He taps the folder again. “Help us build the full picture.”
I rise on unsteady legs. “Of course. That’s why I came.”
Pike’s chair squeaks as he stands. “Good.” His boots scuff against the linoleum as he moves toward the door. “Wait here.” The frosted glass rattles in its frame as he pulls it closed behind him.
When it opens again moments later, Landon is standing there. Eyes wide, his breath catching as they find mine.
“Marcy?”