Brigg swallowed, the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “About Anthony Hawk?”
The name made her heart leap. She drew her shawl tighter and lowered her voice.
Deputy Brigg might have kept to himself, but everyone knew him in the small town. Abigail remembered him visiting her clinic from time to time. They were acquaintances, but she wasn’t sure why Anthony popped up in their conversation so casually.
Brigg must have seen them together. He must have.
“Yes,” Abigail answered. “About Vanburgh. About all of it. I don’t expect you to care, Deputy. You’ll probably report every word I say to Muldoon the moment I walk away.”
Brigg’s face fell, and for an instant, he looked more wounded than offended. He twisted his hat between his fingers, staring down at it.
“I won’t,” he said quietly. “Not this time.”
Abigail studied him. The man seemed frail in the morning light, his stance awkward. But there was a rawness in his tone that made her hesitate. She decided to test him.
“Do you even know what Vanburgh is doing?” she asked.
Brigg lifted his eyes and met hers.
“More than I’d like,” Brigg said. “I’ve seen barrels carted in after dark. I’ve heard whispers about the creek. I’ve watched men disappear after crossing him. And I know Muldoon’s no lawman anymore. He takes coin straight from Vanburgh’s hand.”
Abigail’s chest tightened. This was more than idle talk. Brigg had been watching. Listening. Perhaps even doubting longer than she realized.
“You should be careful saying that,” she warned.
“I know.” Brigg shifted uneasily, glancing at the sheriff’s office. “But I’ve kept quiet too long. You want the truth? Vanburgh owns Muldoon, owns the judge, owns half this town. The rest are too afraid to stand against him. If you’re thinking law will save Anthony Hawk, it won’t.”
Abigail felt the weight of his words settle deep. She already suspected, but hearing it spoken confirmed the hopelessness ofany legal petition. For a long moment, she looked down the street where shopkeepers swept their steps and a wagon rattled toward the mercantile.
Ordinary life went on, blind to the rot beneath it.
“Then what are you telling me, Deputy?” she asked, turning back to him. “That I should give up? That Anthony should keep running until Vanburgh decides he’s no longer worth the bounty?”
“No.” Brigg’s voice sharpened suddenly, though his eyes darted nervously toward passersby. “I’m telling you...I want to help. Quietly. I’m not Hawk. I’m not brave like him, or like you. But I see things Muldoon doesn’t. I hear things. People talk around me because they think I’m harmless. I can pass that along. Warnings. Supply movements. Anything that might keep Hawk one step ahead.”
Abigail narrowed her gaze, searching his face. “Why?”
Brigg hesitated, twisting his hat brim until it nearly bent. His voice cracked.
“Because I’m tired of pretending,” he said. “Every day, I watch Vanburgh crush this valley a little more. Families pushed off their land, men paid to look the other way, children coughing from the creek water. And me...standing beside Muldoon like a damn fool, writing down nonsense while people suffer. I can’t do it anymore.”
The earnestness in his voice tugged at her. Abigail folded her arms, studying him as she might a patient claiming pain she could not see.
Was it true? Or was it a trap?
“Do you realize what you’re saying?” she asked softly. “If Vanburgh even suspects you’re not loyal, he won’t just dismiss you. He’ll kill you.”
“I know.” Brigg swallowed hard. “I’ve seen what happens to men who cross him. But better that than doing nothing.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The clatter of hooves on the street filled the silence.
“Come with me,” Abigail said after a while. “Not here.”
She led him away from the main street and down a narrow lane behind the bakery where the scent of rising bread masked their voices. Brigg followed with quick steps, glancing behind them as though expecting Muldoon to appear.
When they stopped, Abigail turned on him.
“You said you can pass along warnings,” she said. “Fine. Start now. What have you seen?”
