by Gen Griffin
“You're just mad I asked you to pay for your own food.” Brett reached for her arm and attempted to stroke her shoulder. She leaned closer to the door to avoid him. The car just wasn't wide enough. His fingers were clammy when they brushed against her arm. She didn't like the feel of his hands on her overexposed skin.
Gracie regretted letting Kelsey, her roommate, humiliate her into ditching her favorite tight jeans and paisley print halter top for the too short, too tight black skirt and silky black spaghetti strap top with a plunging neckline that left nothing about her b-cups to the imagination. Kelsey said Gracie needed to look sexy if she wanted to impress Brett. Gracie thought she looked like Hooker Barbie. Apparently, Brett thought so too. He had been shamelessly trying to grope her since they had left campus.
“Refusing to pay for my taco definitely isn't helping your cause.” The car inched forward through the drive-thru lane. Gracie shook Brett's caressing hand off of her arm and gritted her molars together.
“I thought girls liked being viewed as equals?” Brett asked. “A lot of the girls I've met don't want me to open doors for them or pay for their food. You telling me you aren't one of those liberated chicks?”
“Not really,” Gracie said. “Asking a girl out to dinner and then telling her she has to pay for her own $3 meal is rude.”
“A lot of girls only want to date me because I have money.” Brett admired his own reflection in the rear-view mirror. “Making girls pay for their own shit is my way of weeding out all the gold diggers, you know?”
“I honestly just think you're a cheap pervert.”
“A pervert?” Brett glared at her. “Don't act like you're doing me a favor by being here. There are plenty of other girls on campus who would be more than willing to do anything I asked them to do. You didn't have to come out with me.”
“And I wouldn't have agreed to go out with you if I had known that dinner and dancing at The Lounge would turn into driving in circles and Take-A-Taco.” Gracie tried to remember why she had thought going on a date with State University's most notorious playboy would be fun.
“What can I do to make you want me?” Brett put his hand back on her thigh. His fingertips brushed against the hem of her skirt. Gracie picked his hand up and shoved it back into his own lap.
“Nothing.” Gracie had never actually wanted Brett. She'd agreed to go on a date with him because she knew it would make Kelsey stupidly jealous.
Calvin Walker was the only guy Gracie ever wanted. Cal could sit behind the wheel of his truck and give her that come-on-over-here grin he'd been using since Little League, knowing that she'd practically melt into the ripped cloth seats of his jacked-up Chevy 1500. Brett wasn't in Cal's league. He wasn't even playing in the same ballpark.
“Nothing?” Brett's car moved ahead in the drive-thru lane by a single car-length. He pulled his hand back off of her thigh and began fidgeting restlessly with the collar on his $350 baby blue golf shirt. His phone chimed in his pocket.
“You're a liar and a pervert.” Gracie said. “Not to mention that the girlfriend you promised me you didn't have has been texting you all night.”
“You're a bitch. I'm thinking maybe I should give Susanna another chance.” Brett smirked as he replied to the text message he'd just received.
“Maybe that's a good idea.” Gracie wrinkled her nose at him in disgust. “It doesn't bother her you're a drug dealer?”
Brett's head jerked up and he nearly dropped the phone. “Hey, I am not-.”
“Save your breath.” Gracie waved one hand in the air dismissively. “I have ears. You promised to get someone a bottle of Lortabs and a two month supply of Viagra less than 10 minutes ago.”
“I have connections.” Brett didn't have the decency to look ashamed of himself. “It’s good pocket money.”
“I didn't think you needed the money?” The smell of greasy meat wafting through the air was making Gracie vaguely nauseous.
“You know, I can give you a little something to improve your mood,” Brett told her with a bold smile. “I have a bottle full of little white pills that will have you screaming my name in ecstasy before the end of the night.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Gracie didn't try to hide her disgust. “You can keep the date rape drugs to yourself. I'm done.”
“Done?” Brett repeated the word as a question as he drummed his fingers against the custom leather steering wheel cover.
“Done.” She double checked her purse to make sure her wallet and keys hadn't spilled out during the drive.
“You're not done until I say you're done.” Brett reached out and grabbed her wrist.
“Go to hell.” She reached for the door handle as his phone chirped to announce the arrival of yet another text message.
“I don't think you understand how this works.” Brett's gaze flickered over her. She could see the irritation in his eyes as she reached for the handle on the door. He made another attempt to get hold of her wrist. “You aren't in charge here.”
“Have a nice night, Brett. I'll find my own way back to the dorm from here.” She tugged on the door handle. Nothing happened. It took her a minute to process that the car had automatically locking doors. She pressed the unlock button on the armrest. Nothing happened. She pressed the button again. Still nothing. She turned back to Brett. “Why won't this door open?”
“It’s locked. The only one who locks and unlocks the doors on my car is me. Sorry.” Brett didn't look at all sorry.
“Not funny, Brett. Let me out.” Gracie wondered if manually unlocking the door would override whatever he'd had done to keep her from being able to open it. She wished she didn't bite her nails as she examined the locking mechanism on the door.
“I can't let you out here. This neighborhood isn't safe. You're going to get mugged and raped if you try to walk through this neighborhood alone at night.” Brett rubbed her wrist as he pretended to genuinely care about her safety.
“I'll take my chances.” Gracie snatched her arm away from his manipulative caressing.
The car inched ahead in the drive-thru line on its own accord, nearly running into the bumper of the Ford truck ahead of them. Brett remembered to press the brake pedal with a quarter of an inch to spare.
His phone went off again. He looked down at the display on his phone and hurriedly put it back in his pocket.
Gracie wedged her fingers under the lock and pull it to the unlocked position. She tried the door handle again. Nothing happened.
“You're not getting out unless I decide to let you out.” Brett laughed.
“Look, you have about thirty seconds to unlock this door.” Gracie was beyond aggravated.
“Or what?” Brett taunted her.
“Or I'm going to scream bloody murder and say I'm being kidnapped when you pull up to the window to pay for your food.” She gestured at the window that was a mere two cars away. “I'm sure your uncle's campaign manager would love to explain why the governor's nephew is kidnapping girls. That backpack full of pills in the back seat is perfectly legal, right?”
Brett's hazy blue eyes got wide. “You wouldn't.”
“Try and stick your hand up my skirt one more time. See if I don't.” Gracie kept one hand on the door handle as she spoke. She fully intended to bolt the moment the door unlocked. She'd take her chances with the imaginary muggers and rapists on the streets.
The truck in front of them pulled up to the window to pay. Brett didn't follow it. Instead he sat in the driver's seat staring daggers at her. The people in the truck in front of them received their food and pulled away from the drive-through window. Brett's BMW was now the only car in the line.
“You want to go back to school?” Brett glared at her furiously. “You got it.”
He hit the accelerator with enough force to knock Gracie backwards into the passenger seat. He squealed his tires as he drove past the pick-up window without stopping to pay or picking up his food.
Gracie cursed under her breath as Brett's car slid
sideways on the pavement and barreled out onto the main road, heading the opposite direction from campus.
Chapter 2
Kerry Longwood was nearly overwhelmed by an impending sense of doom as he stared at the short, squat brick building that was home to the Callahan County Sheriff's Department. A tarnished CCSD badge sat in his left hand like a lead weight.
“I reckon it’s official. We get two weeks to prove ourselves, huh?” Ian McIntyre leaned against the side of his battered S10 pickup truck and studied his own dull, second-hand sheriff's deputy's badge. He was rubbing at it with the hem of a Breedlove Automotive t-shirt in an attempt to knock some of the rust off.
“Two weeks.” Kerry glanced down at his cell phone to check the time. He wondered why he continued to pay the phone bill. No one had called Kerry in weeks.
“I bet you ain't nervous.” Ian raked his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair and shrugged his slim shoulders. “You're way better qualified for this job than I am. You've got a bunch of degrees, right?”
Kerry looked up at Ian in surprise. He hadn't expected the Sheriff's favorite job candidate to acknowledge his own credentials. “I have a bachelor’s degree in Criminology and a master’s in Criminal Law. I've passed all the state police certifications as well as basic firefighter and EMT courses. If I were anywhere but Callahan County, the certificates might be worth more than the paper they're printed on.”
“What do you mean?” Ian looked baffled.
“I mean that it's total bullshit that the Sheriff has put us both on a two-week trial period. I've busted my butt educating myself to become a law enforcement officer. What qualifications do you have?”
“All I have is the basic law enforcement certificate from Callahan County Community College.” Ian stared at his badge regretfully.
“And yet, Sheriff Chasson considers us equal candidates for this job?” Kerry could hear the bitter resignation in his own voice. “I was halfway through law school when I had to move back to Possum Creek.”
“Yeah. I'd heard that. I'm sorry about your Dad.” Ian kicked at the gravel in the parking lot. His scuffed, battered boots created a sharp contrast to Kerry's own stiff, shiny loafers.
“Don't be,” Kerry said. “He was so drunk he probably never saw the bridge that killed him.”
“Still. He was your Dad. My Dad died when I was 15. I still miss him.” Ian's sympathy appeared to be genuine but Kerry didn't want his competition's sympathy. “You moved back to take care of your Mom, didn't you?”
“Didn't have a choice,” Kerry admitted. “Mom has been bedridden since I was eight. We tried to put her in a nursing home but she screamed until her throat bled every time her sedatives wore off. The psychiatrist says she's developed a phobia about leaving the house.”
“That's too bad.” Ian probably meant it. Kerry's return to Possum Creek meant Ian didn't stand a prayer of hanging on to the badge he was holding.
“It’s life.” Kerry frowned down at the tassels on his loafers and fought the urge to tell Ian to go away. He didn't want to cause unnecessary hard feelings. Ian was the only member of the CCSD who treated him like a human being. He was going to have to work with Ian until the trial period ended and the Sheriff was left with no choice except to hire him. Kerry was, without question, the best qualified candidate for the single open deputy position.
“I really need this job.” Ian rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “I've been bagging groceries down at the Save 'N Shop since graduation.”
“Bagging groceries?” Kerry clenched his badge more tightly in his hand.
“Yeah. It was Frank's – Sheriff Chasson's idea for me to take the classes to become a deputy.” Ian shrugged. “He didn't know that you would be moving back to town right at the same time as the position finally opened up.”
“I was surprised when I saw it advertised.” Kerry already suspected Sheriff Chasson had promised Ian the job well before the legally required advertisement had been published in the classifieds.
If Sheriff Chasson had been able to get away with chucking Kerry's application in the trash can and hiring Ian, he would have. Kerry had politely informed the Sheriff that he knew state law required the most qualified candidate for a public service job to be hired.
The Sheriff had responded by hiring both Kerry and Ian on with the department for a two-week trial period. Whichever one of them proved to be the better deputy would be hired on full time.
Kerry knew the Sheriff had meant it when he'd told him he'd be watching his every minute on the clock. Not that Kerry was too worried. He hadn't gone to all those classes for nothing. Kerry was confident that Ian's time in uniform was going to make for a very short two weeks. Especially considering that his competition had spent the last two or three years bagging groceries.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but why do you want this job?” Ian startled Kerry with the question.
“I need something to keep me busy while I'm stuck in Callahan County.” Kerry stared at the bumper on his car. Applying for the job with the Callahan County Sheriff’s Department had been Kerry's last ditch effort to keep from sinking fully into the bleak depression that had been overwhelming him since he'd left law school. Not that he thought working day-in and day-out with the same backwoods boys he'd fled Callahan County to get away from was going to be all that enjoyable of an experience. He just felt an overwhelming urge to be doing something with his life.
“Oh,” Ian frowned.
“Besides, too many innocent people around here get cheated when they deserve justice,” Kerry said. “No offense, but this is a small town. If you're not from around here, the law around here doesn't care about you.”
“What do you mean?” Ian appeared genuinely puzzled.
Kerry closed his eyes as the familiar memory of a laughing 13-year-old-girl with dark hair and darker eyes sprung into his mind. He swallowed regretfully and pushed Casey's cheerful face out of his mind so he could focus on Ian. “I'm talking about the kids who get beat up and bullied every day after school. The families who lose everything they care about because they make the wrong person mad. I'm talking about the rapes that don't get prosecuted because the victim is from a bad family and the rapist is from a good one.”
“You think that kind of stuff happens a lot around here?”
Casey's face flashed before Kerry's eyes again. “Do you remember a girl named Casey Black?”
Ian, still leaning against his truck, blanched. “Didn't she go missing a long time ago?”
“Sheriff Chasson decided she ran away.” Kerry couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Last time anyone saw her she was going into the woods behind David Breedlove's house.”
“Oh,” Ian frowned at Kerry as he fingered the hem on his t-shirt again. A t-shirt that was advertising David Breedlove's mechanic shop. “David didn't do nothing to Casey. Those were just rumors when people said he'd hurt her. I know him better than that. David wouldn't hurt no one.”
“David Breedlove is a dangerous and cruel son-of-a-bitch.” Kerry held his badge up in the air. “I've spent every waking minute since high school studying the law. Now that I'm back here, I'm going to put what I've learned to good use. I'm here for justice. Getting justice for Casey is the first thing I aim to do.”
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