“You didn’t forget a ticket or miss a court date or anything like that?” I ask.
“No,” he says, this time with unwavering certainty. “There’s nothing, I don’t have anything.”
I nod and silence the voice running circles in my head. The reality is that if I’d managed to drive error-free after leaving the bar, which I had, and if we’d only been driving for five minutes, on the highway for a mere thirty seconds, than that leaves one possibility…
Whoever pulled us over had definitely followed us. And they’d been waiting.
Just then the door of the cruiser swings open and a wide frame emerges under the flashing lights. He’s too bulky for me to recognize. His lumbering pace isn’t familiar.
Then suddenly it is.
My jaw clenches and an anxious quiver pulses through my veins. I follow Sheriff Vernon’s frame in the mirror until he’s standing outside my open window. There’s a thin smirk on his lips when he first leans down, but it disappears almost instantly.
“Bell?” he asks, his thick face slipping into a look of utter surprise.
“Hello, Sheriff,” I reply. I’m making a concerted effort to compose my voice, but I can’t do anything to hide the fact that I’m sitting pulled-over in someone else’s vehicle, staring up at the face of the same man that furiously suspended me nearly two weeks ago.
His eyes shift to Noah in the passenger seat, but Noah remains gazing forward. Sheriff Vernon stands upright and his eyes flick back to me.
“What the hell are you doing?” he finally asks. His look of confusion has disappeared, replaced with the harshly accusatory tone that he uses like a whip.
“Driving home,” I say flatly.
His eyebrows bow and a new look of arrogance takes over. “I got eyes enough to see that,” he says in his cruel southern drawl. “I’ll ask again, what the hell are you doing?”
“I believe I just answered that, sir.” I glare into his eyes and all at once it’s like we’re back in his office arguing over my arrest of Quincy Walters. I picture him sitting stoutly behind his desk, pink anger in his cheeks, and the strangest part is that it makes me unusually calm. Like I’m reenacting a fight I’ve already endured. And this time I have an advantage.
This time I’ve done nothing wrong.
“Is there a problem, Sheriff?” I ask. “I’d like to get on with the night.”
His belly bounces as he chuckles. “This sure is a funny surprise,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see you two together.”
“Excuse me?” I feign a look of confused annoyance, though I hardly have to fake it at all.
Sheriff Vernon leans over and peers through the window. “Hi there, Noah,” he drawls, resting his arm in the windowsill.
I spin around, expecting to see Noah fuming with annoyance. But his expression is blank.
“You two know each other?” I ask, turning back to face Sheriff Vernon.
“We sure do,” he says, coughing another humorless laugh. “Old family friends. I would’a thought Noah here would’a mentioned somethin’ about it seein’ as you two seem to be gettin’ along.” He rests his other arm on the window, squaring his body so close to me that I can smell tobacco on his breath. “Found yourself a nice purty cop gal, huh?” he says to Noah.
“Excuse me,” I hiss again.
“I apologize, I’m just a little surprised is all,” he says. “Surprised to see you, Bell. But even more surprised to see you out with a knucklehead. You told him you’re one of my detectives, right? And my name still ain’t come up?”
“What a shame.” I crease my lips and narrow my glare.
“Noah, you sure are silent, son. Got any—”
“He’s under no obligation to talk to you,” I cut in.
“Well, maybe not in the legal sense,” the sheriff drawls. “But we’re all friends here and Noah sure ain’t bein’ too friendly.” There’s a vindictive sarcasm coating his every word.
My initial concern is starting to feel more and more accurate by the second—this feels a lot like deliberate harassment.
Fury is boiling in my gut. “Were you waiting for me outside the bar?” I ask, angrily expelling the words into the air.
“The bar?” Cliff exclaims. “You two ain’t been drinkin’ tonight, have you?”
“Answer my question.”
“You’re makin’ me suspicious, Bell. How’s about a quick sobriety test? Will you step out of the car for me?
“Are you serious?” A new sense of urgency constricts in my chest. “Sir, I explained that my passenger and I are on our way home. I am sober. He is not. That’s why I’m driving his vehicle and I’d like to get home. So if you wouldn’t mind—”
“I said out of the car,” he snarls.
I look over at Noah for what feels like the first time in hours. He watches cautiously as I unbuckle. I shoot him a look of frustration, but the expression he returns has a noticeable discomfort in it.
“Hands on the roof,” Sheriff Vernon barks before I’m even out of the car. “You ain’t got your personal on you, do you?”
I tell him no, I’m not carrying, but he pats me down regardless.
This is absurd.
Each pat intensifies my debate over whether to comply with my superior or launch into the furious rant that’s been brewing inside me for the last two weeks. But I stop weighing the options when I remember Noah sitting in the car. At the very least, I’ll have a witness for my harassment report.
“Turn around and face me,” Sheriff Vernon orders. “Now follow my light with your pupils, you know the drill, don’t move your head.”
I follow his directions without speaking. I could recite each and every procedure that’s about to come my way, but this is—officially—my first time undergoing a real field sobriety test. A fact that I don’t welcome in the slightest.
When Sheriff Vernon is done with the HGN test, he drops the small light to his side, smirks and says, “A DUI sure ain’t gonna get you back to work very soon.” He takes a few steps back, leans over the bulge of his stomach, and peers at Noah. “But he sure is an interesting piece of company you’re keepin’.”
“Would you like to breathalyze me?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“Yes.” He straightens his posture. “As a matter of fact, I think I would.”
I nod once over. “Go right ahead.”
I hold him in a scowl as I blow into the miniature straw. When it beeps, Sheriff Vernon looks down, then stows the Breathalyzer without saying a word.
“Am I good to go now?” I ask.
He looks at me with daggers in his eyes. “You’re fine enough, but I ain’t sold on your judgment, Detective. I’m startin’ to think we might need to change a few things once you’re back. Maybe make a few… arrangements.”
He takes a step past me and leans into the window again.
“But I must say, the judgment of ol’ Noah surprised me somethin’ tonight. Mighty smart of you not to get behind the wheel, son. Mighty smart,” he growls.
“Looks like I’m good to go then, is that correct?” I ask, stepping forward and joining the sheriff at the window.
He straightens and faces me.
“But hey, I really appreciate your concern tonight, Cliff.” It’s the first time I’ve ever used his first name and it rolls off my tongue with wicked bliss. Without spoiling the taste with another word, I climb back into the car and drive off.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Noah
Sophia’s hands are twisted firmly around the top of the steering wheel, her eyes laser-focused on the highway in front of us. It seems like we’re in route to her place, which is good. I’d much prefer to have her sleep in my arms tonight than to drop me off on her way home.
I just wish she’d say something.
I feel stone sober now. I’m not, but watching Cliff harass Sophia was more than enough to replace my buzz with seething anger.
Fucking Cliff.
He was waiting for
me. Waiting to try and pull some sort of bullshit intimidation.
The guy’s a goddam virus. Worse than a virus—he’s the highest and mightiest asshole of the county. And that’s exactly why our operations have worked, but Christ, he’s like my fucking shadow.
And this is the point of no return.
Cliff and Sophia have a history. Yes, he’s her boss, but they have a grudge between them. And if he knows her that well, and if he knows that she’s with me, than we’re both in danger. And Sophia has no idea.
I’m going to ruin her life.
She’s so innocent. She’s beautiful, optimistic, intelligent. Driven to do what’s right, driven to help. Even those that don’t deserve it. Like me.
I should’ve let her go when I had the chance. But I didn’t.
And now there’s no turning back. I’m not risking her involvement anymore—I’ve gotten her involved. I’ve gotten her very involved.
She stirs in her seat and the silence between us suddenly becomes too heavy to ignore. I turn to face her. “I rea—”
“I’m sorry abou—” She looks at me. “What were you saying?”
“No, you go ahead,” I say.
She sucks in a breath. “I’m really sorry about that.”
“Sorry for what?”
“I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up. I hate that you saw that.” She slides her hands irritably down the steering wheel and back up again. “I just… ugh.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Sheriff Vernon put me on administrative leave two weeks ago.” She glances at me, then immediately back out the windshield. “We’re not exactly on good terms right now, but I still shouldn’t have gotten so worked up.”
“Hey,” I soothe, returning my hand to her thigh. “You have nothing to apologize for. You handled that a hell of a lot better than I would have.”
She looks at me. I pull her right hand off the steering wheel and give it a soft kiss before intertwining our fingers, setting our joined hands on the center console.
“I know. But still. I’m a better cop than that and—”
“You did nothing wrong. Honestly, Soph. If anything, I’m the one that should be apologizing for making you drive home. I’m the reason we were in that position.”
She shakes her head. “Not at all.”
“My point is you have nothing to be sorry for.” I pause, but continue before silence can reinvade the car. “Does that kind of shit happen often?”
“What kind of shit?” Her eyes flick over to me.
“You know, the sheriff harassing you like that?” I ask.
“Right? Was that not complete harassment?”
“Absolutely.”
She huffs another angry sigh.
“You know you shouldn’t have to tolerate that, right?” I’m staring at her but she won’t return my gaze. “Hey, I’m serious.”
“He’s just an asshole.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
Sophia shakes her head.
“You’re not the only one dealing with that, are you?” I ask.
“Definitely not.”
“Then what’s the deal? Why hasn’t anyone put that dickhead in his place?”
“The sheriff?”
“Yeah. So?”
All she does is shake her head again. She draws in another breath, but this time it’s slow and steady.
“That guy is the judge, jury, and executioner for the whole county, I swear. He’ll turn any little thing into a power trip. I don’t how the hell he gets elected.” She looks at me. “How do you know Sheriff Vernon?”
It’s the question I’ve been waiting for, but my stomach still twists when it comes.
“Or—Cliff Vernon, I guess I should say,” she corrects. Her expression softens. “His full name sounds so strange to me.”
“I bet.” I muster a fake chuckle as I try to recall Cliff’s explanation. “He’s an old family friend,” I say. “Unfortunately.”
“Oh.” Her expression turns sorrowful.
“More of an acquaintance, really,” I add.
“I’m sorry I badmouthed—”
“Stop. Don’t apologize, Soph.” I squeeze her hand. “My parents died in a car accident when I was eighteen. Cliff’s been—well, he stepped in to help me out.”
“Really?” she asks with both regret and surprise in her voice.
I nod. I want to continue—hell, I want to spill everything to her, but the words feel too far out of reach.
“Oh Noah.” Her face gives in to a somber expression and I can feel the car gradually slowing beneath us. She squeezes my hand, holding her grip. “God, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say with as much positivity as I can find.
“I had no idea.”
“I know. But you still have nothing to apologize for.”
She relaxes her grip. I bring her hand to my lips and plant a soft kiss. She turns to me with compassion in her eyes, holding a gentle smile in the corner of her cheeks. Slowly, I rest our hands on the center console as she turns back to the road.
I don’t disrupt the silence when it settles in again. We sit comfortably still, me with my thumb caressing gently over her fingers, her with a much softer hold on the steering wheel. No radio.
Sophia slows to exit the highway. She coasts through the wide roads of her neighborhood, turns into her short driveway and brakes to a stop. I reach for her hand when she begins to unbuckle.
“Hey—” Her eyes find mine and I gape into their sapphire blue, still piercing in the car’s darkness. “Thank you, Sophia,” I murmur.
“For what?”
The smile that grows on my face pushes away the last bit of unease left in my stomach. “You’re more than I deserve.” I brush my thumb over her cheek.
She feigns a scowl. “Don’t say that.”
I brush over her cheek once more before brining my hand to cup the back of her neck as I pull her in for a kiss. Her lips press tenderly into mine and their touch releases every ounce of tension from my body. Our lips slowly come apart.
Then I kiss her again.
Her fingers trickle down my neck and settle on my chest as she catches my lip before we both pull away.
“What do you say we go in and get some sleep?” I whisper.
This is all fucked.
It’s 8:27 a.m.. I haven’t even made it 5 minutes into my drive home before a surge of guilt catches up to me. I rev the Audi and speed up as if it’ll do anything. My palms are smearing sweat into the steering wheel. I’ve been driving without the radio, but still, everything’s loud.
Sophia deserves to know.
Of course she does—but that’s not going to help anything. Nothing.
So I tell her that I’m a criminal and that she’s at risk just for talking to me, and then what? Then she gets pissed and gets rid of her only means of protection. She’s probably as good of a detective as they come, hell, probably the best. And she may know Sheriff Vernon, but she has no idea what Cliff Vernon is capable of.
I need to get home.
There’s no more time for playing in the gray area, not after last night. Cliff had been there to get to me, but now that he knows Sophia is in the mix…
The sight of my driveway only makes me speed up even more. I’m racing against a clock ticking in my head. I don’t know what it’s ticking towards and I don’t know how fast. But it’s ticking.
I round the corner of my driveway and instantly slam my brakes.
Parked in front of my house is a Marvel County Sheriff’s SUV. Cliff’s SUV.
I should have known.
There’s no stream of smoke drifting out his window this time when I get out of my car. I walk up alongside the SUV and smack my palm on the closed window when I’m close enough.
I throw open his door.
“The hell are—” I begin, but it’s empty.
As I walk toward the house, I graze my hand over the hood of the SUV. Cold. It’s been parked for
a while. There’s a stiff silence in the air and I reach absently for my revolver before remembering that I left it at home when I went to pick up Sophia last night.
The first thing that catches my eye is the shimmer of glass shards across the porch. It looks likes Cliff shattered the door’s window to reach in and unlock the handle. I take a long step forward and push through the open door.
I’m partially expecting him to be waiting in the kitchen with a glass of bourbon, but he’s not. I take a several cautious steps forward so I can see the entire kitchen and living room.
But he’s nowhere in sight.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Noah
“Cliff!” Even my own voice doesn’t seem to break the silence. His sheriff’s hat is sitting next to a half glass of water on the island. “Get the fuck out here,” I yell, taking another step forward.
There’s a creak on the stairs before the sound of his deep drawl. “There you are,” he bellows.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Just lookin’ around. Lookin’ for you.” He’s dressed in full uniform and his frame sways as he lumbers down the stairs. I’m about to fire back when I catch sight of my revolver in his hand.
He smirks and spins the cylinder when he sees me looking. “Don’t worry, I ain’t about to use it.”
“Terrific. I’d like it back.”
Cliff shakes his head, stuffing the revolver in the back of his belt. “I was thinkin’ I’d keep her for a while. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ any funny ideas.”
As much as I want to, I don’t take the bait. Not anymore.
“Get the hell out of my house,” I deadpan.
“I don’t have time for arguin’ today, son. I’m supposed to be gettin’ lunch and you ain’t have nothin’ good to eat in that fridge of yours so it looks like I’ll be goin’ hungry.” He points at a stool in the kitchen. “Now shut up and sit down.”
“What the hell is a sheriff out making traffic stops for?” I take a few steps forward, but I’d chop my own leg off before sitting down with him right now. “How long were you waiting for me last night? An hour? Two hours? And all on the taxpayer’s dime.” I feign a look of disappointment and click my tongue.
A Capital Mistake Page 12