Chapter 10
Micah didn’t go home.
He should have. It was late, and the day had been long enough already. But the feeling in his gut—the one that had been sitting there since he’d seen Naomi standing on the side of Hollow Ridge Road—wouldn’t let him turn toward his own driveway.
So he went the other direction instead.
The Henderson property sat three miles off the main road, down a gravel drive that wound through scrub pines and overgrown brush.
The house was low and sprawling, added onto over the years in a way that made it look like it couldn’t decide what it wanted to be.
Lights were on in the front windows. A few rundown trucks sat in the yard.
Micah pulled up and cut the engine.
He sat for a moment, hands still on the wheel, and let himself think through what he was about to do. This wasn’t official. He hadn’t called the accident in yet. Hadn’t brought backup.
If this went sideways, it was on him.
But he was done waiting for Travis Henderson to make the next move.
He got out and walked toward the porch. By the time he reached the steps, the front door had already opened.
Travis stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, his trademark toothpick working slowly between his teeth.
The man didn’t appear surprised. That was the first thing Micah noticed. His face held no shock or confusion. Just a slow, easy smile.
“Sheriff,” Travis drawled. “Little late for a house call, ain’t it?”
Micah stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at him. “We need to talk.”
“About?”
“You know what about.”
Travis’s smile widened. He didn’t move from the doorway. Behind him, Micah heard voices—low, male, more than one. His brothers, probably.
Travis didn’t do much without an audience.
“You hit Naomi King’s vehicle this afternoon.” Micah didn’t mince words. “On Hollow Ridge Road. Then you left the scene.”
Travis shrugged. “Queen Naomi and I already talked about that. It was an accident. She knows it. I know it. Insurance is gonna handle it. Her insurance will, at least.”
“You left the scene of an accident. That’s a crime.”
“It wasn’t a hit-and-run. I stayed long enough to make sure she was fine. She was. So I left.” Travis leaned against the doorframe, casual, unbothered. “That a problem?”
Micah’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. It’s a problem.”
Travis’s smile didn’t falter. “You gonna arrest me, Sheriff?”
The question hung in the air between them.
Micah could. He had enough. Naomi’s statement. The damage to her vehicle. Travis’s own admission, despite how he tried to spin it.
But an arrest right now would mean paperwork, lawyers, and a court date Travis would probably weasel out of with a fine and a slap on the wrist. And it would mean tipping his hand—showing Travis exactly how seriously Micah was taking this.
He wanted more than a misdemeanor charge.
He wanted to nail Travis on a bigger charge that would lock him away somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.
“Not tonight,” Micah said. “But we’re not done.”
Travis’s grin sharpened. “I’m looking forward to it, Sheriff.”
Behind Travis, two men stepped into the light of the doorway. One was older, thicker through the shoulders, with a face that looked like it had been carved from the same stubborn rock as Travis’s. The other was younger and leaner. Micah recognized them both. Henderson brothers. Jared and Kyle.
“Everything okay out here?” Jared asked.
“Sheriff was just leaving,” Travis said, still watching Micah.
Micah didn’t move. He let the silence sit a beat, then another.
When he spoke again his voice was quieter. “By the way, were you at the hospital tonight, Travis?”
Travis’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes shifted.
“The hospital?” Travis repeated as if he were tasting the words. “Why would I be at the hospital?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
Travis tilted his head, the toothpick moving to the other side of his mouth. “My cousin had surgery today. Knee replacement. I did stop by to check on him.”
He said the words smoothly, as if he’d had the answer ready before Micah even asked the question.
“Which cousin?” Micah asked.
“Jerry. You know Jerry.”
Micah did. Jerry Henderson, mid-fifties, worked at the lumberyard, had bad knees from twenty years of hard labor.
The story was plausible. Easy to verify. And Travis knew that.
“What time were you there?” Micah asked.
Travis shrugged. “I don’t know. Six? Maybe seven? Didn’t stay long. He was half out of it from the meds.”
Micah held his gaze. Travis held it right back, the smile still there, patient and unbothered and infuriating.
“One more thing,” Micah said. “We found a dog on the road this afternoon, not far from your place. Yellow lab. No collar. You know anything about that?”
Travis’s smile faltered. Just for a second. Just long enough. “A dog?”
“Yeah. A dog.”
“Lots of strays out here, Sheriff. You know that.”
“This one wasn’t a stray. This one was abandoned. On the same stretch of road where you hit Naomi’s vehicle.” Micah took a step closer to the porch, and his voice dropped. “Funny coincidence, don’t you think?”
Travis didn’t answer. His jaw worked, the toothpick going still between his teeth.
Jared shifted. “That’s enough, Sheriff. You got a question, you ask it. Otherwise, you’re trespassing.”
Micah looked at Jared, then back at Travis. He could push. He could make this bigger than it needed to be. But he’d already gotten what he came for.
Travis was rattled. Not much. But enough.
“I’ll be seeing you,” Micah said.
He turned and walked back to his SUV without waiting for a response. Behind him, he heard the door close. By the time he pulled back onto the gravel drive, the lights in the house had already gone dark.
Micah drove back toward town with his hands tight on the wheel and the feeling in his gut louder than it had been all day.
Travis Henderson was lying.
He just didn’t know yet which part was the lie.