Chapter 22
BLAKE
Iwoke up this morning thinking the last two days were a dream. The smell of diner coffee, the feel of cold handcuffs on my wrist, and the taste of cinnamon and maple syrup still linger in my memory.
Yesterday was a distraction. Fun but a distraction nonetheless.
It was a few hours where no one talked about serial killers, dead bodies, or threatening text messages.
I blame Santiago and his stupid charm, Levi and his stupid smile, and Walker and his stupid face.
These three men somehow occupy every available inch of space inside my brain.
But the illusion of easy times shattered the moment my phone rang this morning. Jolene called asking for my help with a witness sketch, and it all came flooding back to me.
A burning body. An interrogation room. An unforgettable kiss.
Walking across the station lot, I watch as the morning sunlight turns the windows into mirrors. For a moment, all I can see is my own reflection.
Tired eyes.
Messy hair.
A woman who thought she could stroll into town, save a few lives, and be on her merry way in no time.
So much for that plan.
“You’re here,” Jolene exclaims as I walk into the station.
I look toward the desk right inside. Jolene isn't even pretending to sound annoyed.
“I brought my supplies this—”
Bear trots in behind me, nails clicking against the old linoleum. His nose immediately goes to work, sniffing every chair leg and desk corner like he’s conducting an official inspection.
Jolene’s face lights up.
“Well, would you look at you.” She rounds the desk before I can warn her and crouches in front of him. “Aren’t you handsome?”
Bear sits automatically, tail thumping once against the floor.
“Oh, you're one of the smart ones.” She fishes around in her desk drawer before producing a dog biscuit wrapped in plastic. “Every police station needs emergency treats.”
“You just happened to have those?” I laugh.
“I have granddogs.” She tears open the wrapper and offers the biscuit to Bear. “And deputies who forget to eat lunch. Somebody around here appreciates snacks.”
Bear accepts the treat with surprising gentleness.
“Well,” Jolene says, scratching behind one floppy ear, “I think you can come to work whenever you want.”
“Thank you.” I smile.
Jolene switches back into work mode. “We got a hit and run. Wait for the witness over there.” She points to the same spot behind her where Mrs. Talbot sat yesterday.
“Thanks.” I dip my head as I make my way to two empty chairs beside the two desks. The desks are vacant just like before. The only sign that anyone uses them is the coffee rings stained on the wood and the mess of paperwork.
A printer hums somewhere deeper inside the station while a radio crackles softly overhead with dispatch chatter. The lingering smell of burnt coffee competes with old paper and pine cleaner. Small-town police station.
A large body stops me in my path. “What’re you doing here?”
Jolene answers for me. “She’s working. Same as you.”
Walker squints at me. “You don’t work here.”
Clearing my throat, I stand to my full height and pull my shoulders back. “Actually, I do.”
“Since when?” Walker’s large frame looms over me, but he doesn't intimidate me. I know he would never hurt me.
“Yesterday. Jo hired me.” I sass at him.
If he's shocked, he does a good job of keeping the emotion off his face. “Well, I’m firing you.”
My eye twitches. The man has spent less than thirty seconds in my presence today, and he's already testing my patience.
And yet, the way his arms fill out his shirt and the fact that I can count the ridges of his abdomen through the fabric have me clenching my thighs together.
My lady bits need to get with the program. We’re mad at Walker, not ready to jump his bones.
“No, you’re not,” Jolene interjects. “We need her.” Jolene rises from her chair, places her hands on my shoulders, and steers me around Walker. “Ignore him, Blake. Go do your thing.”
Doing as she says, I overhear Walker continue to object. “I don’t want her on the damn payroll.”
“Good thing she’s a volunteer.” Jolene quips back. “Now go get the Delaney kid, so Blake can do the sketch.”
Dropping my head, I bit my lip to keep an amused smile off my face.
“Sometimes I wonder who’s the boss around here,” Walker grumbles as he strides toward his office. On his way, Ridge passes Walker, heading in my direction. Walker pulls a plastic bag from his pocket and shoves it onto Ridge’s chest.
Ridge stumbles a step backward, catching the bag before it can fall to the floor. “What’s this?” Ridge spins toward Walker.
“The paper from Derek’s mouth,” Walker voices over his shoulder. He stops in the doorway of his office and faces Ridge. “The partial symbol on the paper is the fire department logo.”
I can only guess the look on Ridge’s face, but I have a good idea by the way his shoulders sag. “How did I miss that?”
Walker keeps his tone even, but knowing him my whole life, I know it’s his way of going easy on someone. “You missed it because you were looking for what you expected to find. When investigating, you have to leave all bias at the door.”
“How?” Ridge angles his head to the side.
“You have to learn how to be your own devil’s advocate,” Walker explains.
Ridge shakes his head. “I…”
“It’s easier said than done,” Walker cuts in. “You’ll get there.”
“Thanks.” Ridge sighs, then trudges straight to the desk next to me.
The exchange between Walker and Ridge lasts less than thirty seconds, but in those brief moments, it's clear to me how and why Walker has held the position of sheriff for so long.
He may be gruff, but he's also patient and knows how to teach without shaming.
Bear wanders over to Ridge, sniffing curiously at the evidence bag before I quietly snap my fingers.
“Leave it.”
Bear sighs dramatically and returns to my side.
Walker brings out a teenage boy actively biting their nails, who is accompanied by a woman sporting what I would call a resting bitch face. If that were my mother, I would probably be biting my nails too. Walker brings out an extra chair for the woman and guides them toward me.
He gives me a nod, and I take that as his mark of approval. The glee that lifts my chest is almost inebriating.
I get to work asking questions and drawing with my charcoal pencils. When I'm just about done, my attention catches on a familiar face strolling in and out of a room next to where Walker interrogated me.
He's carrying boxes of files, piling them next to a foldable table in front of Walker's office that wasn't there yesterday.
Grant, one of Daddy’s best friends, sits beside a woman I vaguely recognize.
She’s somewhere around my age with chestnut-brown hair twisted into a practical bun and oversized tortoiseshell glasses sliding down her nose every few minutes.
She types with impressive speed, barely looking at the keyboard as the scanner hums beside her.
Bear's head lifts, and his ears prick forward. A low rumble vibrates in his chest.
I glance down. “Bear.”
His eyes never leave the pair across the room. Another growl.
Nora startles slightly, looking over her shoulder.
“Oh.” I gently touch Bear's neck. “It’s okay.”
Bear calms, but not before one last hard stare.
Poor Nora.
I return to my sketch, adding the finishing touches. When I’m done, the mother and her teen return to Walker’s office. I remain in my chair, adding bits of shadow and highlight to bring the portrait to life.
My light is blocked when I hear a voice state, “Jelly Bean, I didn’t know you were an artist.”
Peering up, I’m met with Grant's disarming smile. “Something like that,” I answer with a shrug. A quick glance informs me that everyone has left. Jolene and Ridge’s desks are vacant, and even the woman who was sitting with Grant is gone.
Maybe it’s lunchtime?
Grant lifts his brows a fraction, nodding his head like he is impressed. “Looks good. Who is it?”
Before I can answer, movement catches my eye. Walker steps out of his office carrying another file. His gaze lands on Grant. Grant notices at the exact same moment. Neither of them says a word.
They simply stare.
It lasts barely two seconds before Walker keeps walking, and Grant returns his attention to me.
Maybe I'm imagining things, but the air suddenly feels tighter.
I turn my sketchbook toward him, allowing him to get a better look. “Someone involved in a hit and run.” When he nods again, I return the sketchbook to my lap. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’ve been helping my girlfriend, Nora. She’s with the county clerk’s office. Her job is to upload all the files in the county to a central system. Evergreen Falls is going digital.”
“That sounds like a load of fun.” I return sarcastically.
“As fun as watching paint dry.” He jokes back.
Since he's already going through all the police records, maybe he won’t mind doing me a favor.
“Hey, could you possibly pull some files for me?” I ask with a slight wince, anticipating his reluctance.
Grant shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. What’re you looking for?”
“Cases concerning Walker Maddox.” My response ends on a high note as if I'm asking a question rather than answering one.
Grant's brows practically shoot up into his hairline. “He’s the sheriff, Jelly Bean. It’s safe to say most of the cases in these filing cabinets concern him.”
A sense of defeat and disappointment pokes at my shoulders.
“You’re right.” I rub my lips, searching my brain for a better solution. “Um…What about cases where Walker is the intended victim or cases where Walker really pissed someone off? Same thing for Levi and Santiago.”
Grant nods in agreement, then inquires, “Care to tell me why?”
Tired of lying to everyone around me, I reply with a simple, “The less you know, the better.”
Grant seems to accept my reasoning. “Give me a minute, and I’ll see what I can find.”
He marches back to the table and gets to work, digging through the files around him. I return to my sketch to pass the time, losing myself in the slope of the man’s nose, the sharpness of his mandible, and the arch of his zygomatic bone.
I’m retracing lines I’ve already created when something lands on the desk next to me with a plop. “Here you go.
Jumping in my seat, my heart calms when I see that it’s just Grant. Three light brown folders are stacked next to me.
Like a dog with a bone, I snag the first one and flip it open.
I scan the document, hoping to find what I need.
“Excessive force complaint against Walk.” Closing the file in my hands, I set it on my lap and pick up the next, repeating the process.
“Police report. Officers respond to a call at Falling Sky Ranch. A land dispute.” Close and repeat.
“Another report. Officers break up a fight on Reynolds Family Farms between Sterling Reynolds and Levi Harding.”
My mind spins with the possibilities. I feel like a crazy person with a conspiracy board and yarn.
I probably am that person.
I pat files in my lap. “This is a good start. Thank you.”
“Not a problem, Jelly Bean. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Grant spins on his heel, heading back toward his spot. He only gets a few steps when he turns back and suggests, “There's a room over there if you want to spread out.”
“I think I will.” Gathering my things, I beeline for the simple pine door. Inside, I find a large table, several mismatched computer chairs, and a large empty bulletin board. No windows and only two unforgiving LED lights.
This will work just fine.
I pick the most comfortable-looking chair and settle in. Pouring over the reports in detail, I flip to a new page in my sketchbook and begin taking notes.
Bear circles twice beneath the table before flopping onto the floor with a dramatic sigh, resting his head across my boots.
Lucky. At least one of us knows how to relax.
I’m just finishing up with the complaint against Walker when the door swings open.
“What’re you reading?” Walker strides into the room, swiping the files from me.
“Nothing.” I scramble like I was just caught reading his diary. “Give that back!”
Walker opens Santiago's file first. He nods as if the memory of the instance comes back to him in a wave. “I remember this. Santiago’s neighbor shot one of Santiago’s cattle. He claimed the heifer was drinking water from his property. Santiago and the man got into a standoff.”
I furrow my brows. “What happened?”
“Santiago ended up purchasing the neighbor’s land. The guy was up to his eyeballs in debt and was looking for a way to weasel money out of someone.” Walker shuts the file and unceremoniously drops it on the table.
“Oh.”
So that's one file that won't be of any use to me.
Walker flips open the next. “Levi got into a brawl with a farmer when he was on a farm call and realized the guy was abusing his cattle.”
Knowing Levi, that other man definitely had it coming.
“And this one,” Walker lets out a humorless chuckle as he finally gets to his own file. “It was a drunk and disorderly. I had to restrain the guy when he started to go after innocent bystanders.”
Probably another bust with that one, too.
“Great,” I say, dropping my head into my hands as I prop my elbows up on the table. My fingers dig into my hair as defeat mixed with frustration makes me want to pull out the roots.
Walker slides the files into my view. “You’re looking in the wrong place, Baby Girl.” His voice is full of amusement, like my amateur detective skills are gifting him with a good laugh.
He can think this is funny all he wants, but I refuse to see the humor when his life is being threatened.
Releasing my hair, I bring my hands together into two fists and rest my chin there as I glare at him. “Then where should I be looking, Obi-Wan?”
The comedy lifts from his face, shifting his features into an expression as cold as stone. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
Walker’s confession bequeaths me with a sense of hopelessness as my stomach sinks.
He leaves me alone in the multipurpose room, the stillness of the space becoming too great for my need to act.
What hope do I have of figuring this out if the man whose job it is to investigate doesn't even know where to start?