We barely talk for the rest of the ride. It takes over an hour to get into town. When we pull into the police station, my annoyance resurfaces.
Jagger parks near the entrance.
Eager to get this over with, I open the door, sliding into the icy-cold air. I move cautiously, each step pressing into the thin veil of snow that's crept back over the cleared path. My only focus is to get my riders out of the slammer and return home at a decent hour. More anger fills me, and I push the door open, barely feeling the warmth.
Lucinda, an officer I've known since I was a little girl, looks up from her desk. She comments, "Merry Christmas. Sheriff said to send you back when you get here. Assuming you don't need me to instruct you where to go?"
Sighing, I reply, "Unfortunately not. Merry Christmas."
She smiles, and a loud buzz fills the room.
I nod and push the metal door open, with Jagger on my heels. Stale air grows thicker the farther down the hallway I walk.
"I hate this place," he mumbles.
"Then it's good you've been staying out of it," I point out, remembering several bar fights he'd been in over the years, mostly with my other brothers.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He points, directing, "This isn't about me. Besides, I'm an angel. Go pay off Danny so your riders can win this week."
I snark, "You're an angel with black wings," and turn the corner, stepping into an open area with several officers sitting at desks.
Sheriff Lorall stops talking and pins his stern expression on us. "Willow. Jagger."
Danny jumps up from his seat. He picks up his cowboy hat and points it at me, drawling, "Your riders destroyed my bar!"
A borderline toxic mix of guilt, shame, and rage churns in my chest, burning hotter with every passing second. Fire crawls across my cheeks, drowning me in further embarrassment.
These are my clients.
My riders.
This is a reflection on my agency.
"I'm sorry. I brought the money," I announce.
Danny glances at the bag in Jagger's hand. "Put it on the desk. I'm counting it before I leave."
"You think my sister would rip you off?" Jagger accuses, his voice laced with an unspoken warning, his eyes narrowing with fire.
I put my hand on his arm. "It's okay."
"No, it's not. Especially when he's ripping you off."
"Go look at my bar and tell me the value of the damage you think they did," Danny argues.
"Doubt it's sixty big ones," Jagger counters.
"Maybe I should make it eighty," Danny threatens.
"Now, now. There's no point making things more heated on Christmas. Sixty thousand was the price, and Willow's brought it, haven't you, sweetheart?" Sheriff Lorall says.
Revulsion coils in my gut, tightening into knots. I hate it when the sheriff or any man talks to me like I'm a helpless woman. Plus, he's my father's age. I'm not his sweetheart and never will be.
I fight through the disgust and force a smile. "Yes, sir. Can you release my riders, please?"
"I want to count it," Danny insists.
"You know where I live. It's Christmas, and I promised I'd read my nieces and nephews a story before bedtime. I assure you the money is all there, but if you find a discrepancy for any reason, you know where to find me," I state.
