"Might not be loose anymore."
"The sheriff's been spending a lot of time out there recently. At that inn. He's kept a good eye on that place. Probably saved that family from another tragedy."
"I had my doubts about this sheriff but he's a good egg. Just hope he lasts."
"Quiet, quiet, something's happening," someone hissed.
The deputies closed in around Jackson while he opened the backseat door and reached in to collect the prisoner. They headed toward the station, Jackson walking with one hand on the prisoner's cuffed wrists, the other on his shoulder.
The questions and murmurs continued around me but I stopped listening when Jackson's gaze met mine for a heartbeat.
For that single second, everything was good and right and he was coming back to me and I'd fix everything.
But he looked away, turning his hard gaze and equally hard jaw toward the station and all my doubts returned. Then he disappeared inside.
The crowd lingered outside the station for a bit, trading theories and rumors as news trickled out from the Nevilles' neighbors. Some claimed the perpetrator was inside the inn, others insisted he was apprehended near the inn. It was said there was a cache of guns and knives found in the woods. It was also said there was a bag of rope and duct tape. There was talk of calling in the FBI, and then a hearty debate about keeping the feds out of our town.
No one knew all the details but one thing was decided: Talbott's Cove was keeping Jackson Lau. Any doubts the townspeople might've harbored toward this out-of-state transplant sheriff were gone. He was ours now.
And all I wanted was to call him mine.
23
Lamination
n. A preparation consisting of many thin layers of dough separated by butter, produced by repeated folding and rolling.
Jackson
I wasdead on my feet. Hadn't slept in two days, couldn't remember my last meal or shower, and didn't know whose shirt I was wearing. My scruff was crossing into beard territory. I was shuffling along, coffee and adrenaline serving as my only sources of energy. There was no other description for my current state of existence.
Even if I managed to drag myself home now that the dust was settling, I couldn't bear an empty house. Every room was scented with memories of Annette and I couldn't go there without walking out and heading straight for her. I wanted Annette's comfort more than anything. I wanted it but I wasn't certain I could have it, claim it as my own.
I went on shuffling, pushing forward as best I could.
Prior to settling in Talbott's Cove, I believed life here would be slower. Without the mad hustle of the city, it had to be. Small towns like this didn't experience ongoing cycles of crime and violence.
To a degree, I was right about the pace of life. Instead of investigating assaults and homicides, my days were spent mediating neighborly disputes and fishing dogs out of wells. That change made all the difference for me. But this small town wasn't immune from anything.
The team of FBI agents parked in my conference room proved that.
They were busy collecting forensic evidence from the inn, poring over the logs of my recent visits with the Nevilles, and interviewing damn near half the town. They'd already transported the prisoner to a federal facility in Vermont, which was one burden off my small office. Talbott's Cove didn't have the type of high-security facility necessary to jail a suspect who'd twice slipped out of state custody.
I passed the conference room on the way to my office, saluting the agents with a brief wave. Some of my residents disagreed but I was thrilled to have the feds here. No pissing contests from me. To my mind, they had a broader set of resources at their disposal to build the case against the Nevilles' attacker and they were best suited to handle the matter.
A call came through just as I dropped into my seat. In the two days since apprehending the attacker, my phone hadn't stopped ringing. Between reporters thirsty for details and state officials offering assistance or insisting I make Talbott's Cove my home for the long haul, I'd talked myself hoarse. I appreciated the wave of support from outside the town but it was the local backing that truly mattered. I hated that it took the thwarting of a deadly attack to rally the Cove around me as sheriff but I wasn't complaining.
"Sheriff Lau," I answered.
"Listen up, sheriff, because I'm only going to say this once," boomed Brooke Markham's voice. "Get off your ass and go to her."
A surprise laugh burst from my lips. "Excuse me?"
"I told you to listen," she chided. "Honestly, if you weren't Grade A man meat, I'd be done with you right now."
"I see," I replied, not knowing what else to say. In need of a prop to occupy my hands, I reached for my lukewarm coffee.
"Actually, you don't see a damn thing," she said. "You don't realize that you and Annette are rowing at different speeds and instead of moving forward, you're turning in a circle. That doesn't mean you need to stop rowing, bro. It means you need to match her pace, let her build up the strength and stamina to meet you at your level. Stop focusing on her shortcomings and start acknowledging her progress."
