A pause, and then Wade said, “Yeah. You too.”
Jericho wanted to argue that Wade needed to be significantly more careful than Jericho needed to be, but he didn’t get the chance, because he heard voices in the background and then Wade said, “I have to go. Take care of yourself.” Then the line was dead.
Jericho was left lying alone in bed. He thought about Wade hearing about the shoot-out and not knowing whether Jericho had made it through, and groaned. It wasn’t—what? Wasn’t workable. Wasn’t acceptable. Jericho wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life worrying about Wade’s safety. Wade had decided it the other night in the parking lot, and Jericho decided it right there in bed: In the future, if Wade was going to be in danger, then Jericho would be right beside him. Keeping him safe, hopefully, but at least doing something, being there for whatever happened, good or bad.
If Jericho had known where Wade was right then, he would have gone. Wade wouldn’t have appreciated the interruption to whatever business he was conducting, but that would have been too bad.
But Jericho had no idea where to go. He didn’t know what Wade was doing. He didn’t even know where the son of a bitch lived. As usual, Wade had all the information, all the power, and Jericho was helpless. Damn it.
So he stayed in bed, but he didn’t sleep for a long time, and when he finally did drift off, his dreams were restless and filled with blood.
Coffee.
Jericho let his eyes drift shut as he leaned against the office wall and lifted the mug of salvation to his lips. It was morning, and Wade hadn’t been brought in to the station, so that was something.
“Rough night?” Hockley’s familiar voice asked from close beside him.
“Do you guys pay us when you drink our coffee?” Jericho asked. “We’ve got three times as many feds as locals working out of this building, and you all make yourselves at home. I know we bill you for the space and the photocopier, and I know you get our reception services for free, which is bullshit. But what I care about is the coffee. Do you all pay us for that?”
“If I were paying, I’d expect something better than this crap,” Hockley said, and Jericho opened his eyes in time to see the agent grimacing as he filled his mug.
“Looking for a more robust blend or a subtler roast? Or is it the brewing method that’s the problem? You’re a French press guy, I bet.”
Hockley raised an eyebrow in Jericho’s direction. “You don’t want to drink a good cup of coffee?”
“I drink coffee for one reason only, and it isn’t the taste.”
“It’s good that homosexuality is gaining social acceptance; it’ll be truly valuable for gay people to develop their aesthetic appreciation of the finer things with help from their heterosexual brothers.”
Jericho snorted. “I swear, being straight is wasted on some straight men. You have the freedom to just grunt and swill caffeine without any extra effort, and you still decide to care about all that worthless crap? Total waste.”
“Good coffee is not worthless crap,” Hockley said with a prim sniff. Then he glared down at his mug. “Not that you could be expected to appreciate that if this is all you’ve got to choose from.”
“You found anywhere in town yet that sells coffee you like?” Jericho asked mildly. He was getting ready for a speech about outsiders and being judgmental and maybe he’d even riff off into something about twenty-first-century hipster consumerism, but then he was distracted by a cluster of new arrivals climbing the stairs. “Shit,” he muttered, and Hockley turned to see what he was frowning at.
“It’s okay,” Hockley said. “Kay’s got it under control.”
He didn’t sound completely sure, though, and from the smug expression on Jackson’s face as he ushered his entourage of local politicians into the central office, something non-Kay favorable was definitely going on. Jericho set his mug down on the counter.
“Hold on,” Hockley warned him. “You’re not going to demonstrate Kay’s strong leadership by acting like an overprotective jackass.”
“I am getting really, really tired of being told to do nothing about things,” Jericho growled back at him.
“Too bad. It’s Kay’s call; she’ll let you know when she wants you to—to be you.”
Jericho glared at him, but didn’t say anything more because Kayla had come out of her office and was walking toward the visitors, and he wanted to hear what she said.
It turned out he didn’t need to strain his ears, because when she spoke it was in a voice loud enough to fill the room.
“I think everyone’s probably aware of what’s going on by now,” she announced, “and I know it’s becoming an unwelcome distraction from the work we should all be focusing on. So to tidy this up once and for all: I have been asked to resign from my position as sheriff with the understanding that my under-sheriff would step in and take over for me. I have refused this suggestion. As far as I’m concerned, the matter is now closed.” She turned to Jenny Taylor, the county commissioner, and said, “Anything beyond this is on you.”
To her credit, Taylor didn’t look too enthusiastic about what she was doing. Still, she stepped forward, a file folder in her hands, and said, “We’ve been gathering names for our recall petition, and we’re close enough that we’re confident we’ll have no trouble completing the requirements. With that in mind, we wanted to give you one last chance to step down—”
“May I see the petition?” a strong voice rumbled, and Special Agent Casey rumbled across the floor, his one good arm outstretched toward the documents.
Jericho glanced at Hockley, but the man didn’t seem alarmed by the development. “This a plan?” Jericho hissed.
Hockley smiled enigmatically but didn’t answer.
