If I didn’t have a full day of work ahead of me, I’d sit right here, demolish this third slice of blueberry pie and continue to watch sweet Maisie through the diner’s front window.
Alphas are possessive. We see what we want, and we go hard after it. That’s not an option with Maisie. She’s so wary that any step I’ve taken toward her, she’s taken one away. I need more answers about what chased her to Rios, and only one person can give them to me.
The sheriff's department is located halfway down Lincoln Road, Rios’s main street, which is lined with most of the town’s stores and restaurants. It’s quiet now, but it never stays that way for long. This is the heart of the town, and with all eight units in the condo we’re building already sold, Rios looks to be a fast-growing, popular area.
We were the last construction workers to arrive in Rios, opting to rent a farmhouse thirty minutes outside town. With our days starting around eight, we all thought the drive would eventually piss us off enough that we’d move into town. But in the seven months we’ve called Rios home, it’s actually started to feel like home. More than anywhere else has before.
After pulling up and parking in front of the sheriff’s department, I cut the engine and grab my keys and the pie box. Getting out, I slam the door shut and head for the entrance, spying Audrey, Sheriff Watson’s wife of thirty years, sitting at the front desk.
“Hi, Audrey,” I greet her as I push open the door and step into the sheriff’s department.
She takes one look at the box in my hand and subtly shakes her head. “Good luck.”
As greetings go, that doesn’t bode well.
The sheriff's department is a large room with three desks in the center. A closed door leads to the back of the building, where the holding cells and interview rooms are.
I walk past two neat but empty desks on my way to the only other person in the office, a dark-haired man in his late fifties wearing a khaki uniform and sitting at his desk.
As I lift the pie box, I waft its sweet and fruity aroma toward the sheriff. “I brought you a slice of pie. Blueberry. Best pie in the world.”
I’m not even saying that to butter him up. I wouldn’t be handing over this slice of ambrosia if it weren’t to protect a certain waitress.
“I can’t tell you anything.” Sheriff Watson doesn’t so much as glance at the delicious-smelling box.
“I’m just here because I’m worried, Sheriff,” I say, lowering the box since waving it at him isn’t getting me anywhere.
“You know I can’t dig into her past.” He turns a page and scrawls his signature at the bottom. “Which is exactly what I told you the last time you were in here.”
I set the pie on his desk and take the only chair on the other side of a desk damn near cascading with papers. If anyone walked into the police station, they’d know at a glance which desk belonged to the sheriff. “I’m not asking you to dig into Maisie’s past. Just into the person who hurt her.”
He gives me a long look that conveys I’m not convincing him of anything. “It’s the same thing.”
I should have listened to Audrey’s warning. This man is not budging.
“Youhadto have seen the bruises, and she’s skittish as hell. Someone put their hands on her. Could you just…” My voice trails off at his weary sigh.
He sets his papers down and turns in his seat to give me his full attention. “I can’tdoanything without her say-so. Even if I hunted down where she came from and who hurt her, I can’t file a restraining order or investigate any abuse she suffered without a statement from her.” His expression softens. “I know you’recoming at this from a good place, and you’re looking out for her, but this is personal to her. If she’s in trouble,sheneeds to ask for help. I let her know that I’m here, but I can’t force her to accept my help, and neither can you.” His eyes dip to the box I placed on his desk. “Pie or no pie.”
We’ve rehashed the same argument five times now.
A month ago, when I first saw Maisie in the diner, she was skittish and wary. I thought if she couldn’t talk to me about whoever hurt her, she could talk to the sheriff, a good man with a loving wife who works the front desk, and a married daughter with a family of her own. My first visit to the sheriff was later that same day, after work. He told me the same thing he just told me now: a request for help has to come from Maisie.
If Maisie doesn’t even want to accept help from the sheriff, I can’t help but wonder why. Is she still that terrified of the person who hurt her? Was he a cop, and she doesn’t trust cops?
“You’ve done all you can, Wyatt,” the sheriff says. “I have my eyes open. You know that.”
“I do.”
With a sigh, I get to my feet to leave.
“Your pie,” he calls after me.
“It’s yours.” I can’t help but smile at his suspicious look. “It’s no bribe. I had two slices this morning, and I don’t need another before work.” As much as my belly would thank me for it.
“Then I’ll enjoy it with my morning coffee,” he says with a grateful nod.
On my way out of the building, Audrey motions me over.
