He nodded. “Figured.”
I laid it out for him, fast and dirty: the code talk, the “family dinner,” the voices in the background. “He’s being watched,” I finished. “And it’s not my mother he’s dining with.”
Newt looked up from the pile of flash books. “Was that the Sheriff? Is he in trouble?”
Knox’s mouth went hard. “If he is, it’s the same trouble we’ve always had.”
I tried to think—who would have the balls to walk into the Sheriff’s office and play house? Only one person I could imagine: Vivian. And, if rumors were true, her hellspawn of a stepson, Levi. Which made sense, if you were the sort of person who believed in fate and poetic justice.
“I need to go over there,” I said.
Knox put a hand on my shoulder. “Not alone, you don’t.”
He took out his phone, dialed Latham, and put him on speaker. The call was short and to the point: Floyd’s ex-wife was at the station, and she’d brought backup. There was a “family matter” brewing, and according to Latham, “it’s about to get nuclear.”
Knox pocketed the phone, then looked at me with a sort of resigned pride. “You ready to play hero, little brother?”
I glanced around the shop. The mess could wait. The business could wait. Only one thing mattered. “Let’s go,” I said.
Knox grabbed his jacket and, with a single nod, signaled to Newt, who looked at us both like he was being drafted into a cult but followed anyway.
On the way out, I locked the front door behind us. For a second, I hesitated, looking back at the battered counter, the ash, the ruined art. Then I shut the door and walked into the cold.
Family first. Always.
The McKenzie River Sheriff’s Department hadn’t changed since I was a kid. Same scuffed tile, same bulletin board with the same “Drug-Free Is the Way to Be!” poster half-covered by mugshots and car accident PSAs. Even the secretary, a battleship of a woman with reading glasses chained to her neck, hadn’t aged a day.
The only new thing was me: storming in with my boots slapping the linoleum like gunshots, Knox and Newt at my six, looking for all the world like we were here to repossess the entire building.
I blew past the secretary, who made a half-assed attempt to block me with a manila folder. “Excuse me, sir, you need to sign in—”
I didn’t bother. “Emergency family meeting,” I said, and kept going. She yelled something about protocol, but I was already at the door to Floyd’s office.
I didn’t knock. I just pushed the door open so hard it banged off the stop and rattled the blinds. It was dramatic, and I enjoyed the look on everyone’s faces.
Floyd was at his desk, stiff-backed in the good chair. The skin around his stitches was healing but still angry pink, and he looked like he’d spent the whole morning calculating which vein would blow out first.
Next to him, perched on the edge of the desk like a blonde gargoyle, was Vivian Hardesty. I’d seen the ex-wife before at thehospital. Up close, she was like a weapon disguised as a woman. Petite, but coiled tight. Platinum bob, lipstick so sharp it looked like she could shank you with it. She wore a suit the color of spoiled milk, with gold buttons marching up the sleeve. Her nails were talons, French-tipped and ready for blood.
Across from her, slouched in a visitor’s chair and texting under the table, was a kid. Levi, I guessed. Seventeen, maybe eighteen, with lanky arms and a permanent case of “fuck you” written into his slouch. Dark hair, bad posture, boots untied. His face was all cheekbones and boredom, but the way his eyes flicked up told me he missed nothing.
No one said anything for a moment. Then Viv cocked her head and said, “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
I ignored her and made a beeline for Floyd. He stood when I entered, out of instinct or habit, but the look he gave me was all apology and warning.
“Didn’t know we had company,” I said, eyes locked on his.
Viv slid off the desk and stepped between us, trying to block my path with sheer force of will. “We’re in the middle of a family discussion,” she said. “Whatever you need, it’ll have to wait.”
I looked down at her—she barely reached my collarbone—and let a smile play at the corners of my mouth. “That’s okay. I’m part of the family.”
She arched one perfect eyebrow. “Since when does Floyd consider you family?”
I didn’t blink. “Since he became my business.”
Floyd made a noise, low and desperate, but I didn’t let him speak. I stepped around Viv, planted both palms on the edge of the desk, and leaned in.
“You okay?” I said, just for him.
