Her voice was strained. “I need you to meet me at the station. Now.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just get here.” She hung up.
Logan raised a brow. “That didn’t sound like a social call.”
“Keep digging on the mine and whoever reopened it,” I told them. “Delta Five’s on their way, we need to have something when they hit the ground.”
Boone did a mock salute. “Yes, sir, Commander Anxiety.”
I flipped him off and headed for the door.
The sheriff’sdepartment was half-lit, most of the overheads off, the place humming with the kind of quiet that comes after a storm and before bad news. I walked past the front desk, nodding at a deputy who didn’t bother to hide his scowl.
Julia waited outside the Sheriff’s office, arms crossed, jaw tight. She looked like she’d been standing there for hours.
“What happened?” I asked.
She jerked her chin toward the closed door. “He doesn’t want outside help. Says if I keep bringing in ‘your people,’ he’ll pull the case and send it straight up the chain.”
“He’d rather send it to the same chain that’s leaking?” I asked.
Her eyes flashed. “He says there’s no proof anyone’s leaking. That I’m letting my ‘big city paranoia’ cloud my judgment.”
“And yet,” I said, lowering my voice, “our cartel friend ate a cyanide tablet just in time, the men at the mine knew we were coming, and someone keeps beating us to every lead.”
She looked up at me, the fight in her eyes warring with something like fatigue. “I know. But I can’t prove anything yet. And if I accuse the wrong person…”
“This whole town turns on you,” I finished for her.
Her silence was answer enough.
The door opened, and Sheriff Hayes stepped out. Broad shoulders, gray at his temples, the same man who’d hauled me in as a teenager for fighting behind the bowling alley. His eyes flicked over me.
“Jensen,” he said. “I didn’t ask for you.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, “you got me anyway.”
He snorted. “As usual.”
He looked at Julia. “You be careful with this. One wrong move and we’ll have feds crawling all over this town. People who don’t understand Copper Cove will make decisions that hurt a lot of good folks.”
“Or,” I said, “one wrong move and we’ll have the cartel crawling all over this town. People who really understand hurting good folks.”
His gaze slid back to me, tired and sharp. “Not your jurisdiction, son.”
“No,” I said. “Just my home.”
For a second, I thought he might swing at me. Instead, he sighed and walked away down the hall, the weight of the badge visible in the slump of his shoulders.
Julia watched him go. “He’s not dirty,” she said quietly.
“You sure?” I asked.
“I’m sure he’s stubborn. Suspicious. And he hates being told he needs help. But dirty?” She shook her head. “No. If it’s someone in this building, it’s not him.”
I studied her profile for a moment. “We got a call from D.C. tonight.”
