while the department continued their investigation.
The memory of the sudden brightness of the headlights blinding her earlier this morning while she stood in the cornfields knotted her stomach. Could the anger of one of her fellow officers have turned to retribution? To show Becky just how wrong she had been to point a finger at another officer? To make sure she knew her place not only as one of the newer deputies, but also as a woman?
Support fellow deputies. Don’t testify against them.
Someone had left that note for her last week on her windshield, but she didn’t think it applied in this case. She couldn’t ignore when a fellow deputy crossed a line.
She brushed at her white uniform sleeves, convincing herself that yes, she had done the right thing. A law-enforcement officer didn’t have the right to beat up a young man, even if he had led him on a high-speed chase, barely missing a child crossing the street after getting the mail.
Becky slowed, allowing the first rays of morning sun to warm her face and the buzz of her nerves to settle a bit. An arm reached around her and grabbed the handle of the station door, surprising her.
“Oh, sorry,” Becky muttered, not realizing she had been blocking the entrance. She glanced up into the serious face of Deputy Harrison James, the only deputy with less time at the Quail Hollow Sheriff’s Department than she had. But she wasn’t naive to assume his lack of time in this department meant he had less experience. Everything about him screamed skill, confidence and an “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me” vibe. Three qualities Becky admired.
Three qualities she would like to purchase in bushels right now. If only that was a one-click option online.
Harrison nodded in a silent greeting and pulled open the door for her. He was standing so close she could see the flecks of yellow in his brown eyes.
“Thank you.” Becky averted her gaze and stepped through the door and he followed behind her. The brief exchange had probably been the longest one she’d had with Deputy James. He wasn’t exactly the chatty type. More like tall, dark and brooding. Considering the mood she was in of late, she could relate.
“No problem,” he said, his voice low and gruff. They walked slowly across the small lobby, waiting to be admitted into the secure office area. Deputy James frowned as he pressed the buzzer. He looked like a man who hadn’t had his morning coffee. But at least he hadn’t had the kind of morning she’d had.
The interior door buzzed, and Harrison once again opened the door for her. “Tough shift?” His comment startled her.
“Um, yeah.” Heat fired in her cheeks as she smiled meekly and jabbed her thumb in the general direction of where she’d climbed out of the tow truck. “Someone ran me off the road.”
His brow furrowed. “Did he stop?”
“At first, but he took off once I got out of the vehicle.”
Harrison looked like he was going to say more when Becky heard a stern voice calling her name.
“Looks like the sheriff’s looking for me.”
The corners of her fellow deputy’s lips turned down. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
Reflexively, Becky checked her collar, making sure her uniform was in place. Sheriff Thomas Landry tapped the door frame before disappearing back inside his office. No deputy made the sheriff call them twice.
Becky forced a cheery demeanor for Anne Wagner, the sheriff’s administrative assistant, as she passed. They had been peers before Becky had finished her training and become a deputy. Anne raised her eyebrows and returned a smile, a cross between friendship and I hope everything’s okay. No one liked to be on the new sheriff’s bad side. He had only been elected six months ago, and by all accounts, he was tough. All his officers toed the line or paid the price.
Exhibit one: Deputy Ned Reich, the deputy Becky had testified against.
“Good morning, Sheriff.” Becky lingered in the doorway, hoping this would be a quick chat along the lines of “How was your first day back?”
“You’ve had better mornings, I’m sure,” the sheriff responded, his tone calm and even. In the short time she had worked with him, he seemed unflappable. As cool as his demeanor in the ubiquitous political commercials that littered the airways: “Vote for me, Thomas Landry, for sheriff. The kind of transparent leader Quail Hollow needs.” The department was still trying to reshape its image after one of their own had been convicted in a twenty-year-old murder of a young Amish mother.
“Yes, but it’s all part of the job,” she said. “Anyone find the car?”
“We haven’t located the vehicle that ran you off the road yet, but everyone has the description.”
“It was hard to see. Sedan. Early model. Maybe a B in the license plate. Isn’t very descriptive, I know, but it was dark.”
He waved his hand. “Glad you’re okay. Probably some punk on a dare. Turns out the call to Robin Nest was a dead end, too.” He shook his head. “Like we have nothing better to do than respond to crank calls.”
“You think someone was dared to play chicken with a patrol car?” Becky asked in disbelief.
The sheriff leaned back and crossed his arms. “Or someone had too much to drink. Or maybe someone thought our country roads would make a great speedway. Easy to lose control.” He shrugged. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Still standing in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. The deputies were still wandering in for the start of the day shift. “I’m not exactly the most popular person around here.” But how could she suggest that one of her fellow deputies might be out to get her without sounding paranoid, or at the very least, like someone who wasn’t a team player?
The moment to offer a possible culprit passed and the sheriff gestured at her to come farther into his office. “Close the door.”
Becky’s heart sank. Close the door. Nothing good was ever said behind closed doors, unless it involved a raise or a promotion, neither of which she was in line for.
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” the sheriff said.
“Bad news?” What more could possibly go wrong?
Sitting behind his mahogany desk, the sheriff forced a tight smile and held his hand out to Becky. “Have a seat.”
Becky wanted to refuse the seat, hoping that whatever he had to tell her could be said while she was standing, but her knees felt warm and wobbly. Swallowing hard, she moved around to the front of the chair and lowered herself into the seat as he requested. “What’s going on?” She hoped her crossed ankles, hands politely folded on her lap and her square shoulders exuded outward confidence. Inside she felt like puking.
The sheriff tapped the pads of his fingers together and seemed to be looking right through her, as if collecting his thoughts. “I know you’ve been having a hard time since the Elijah Lapp incident.”
“Yes.”
