I raised my eyebrows. “Is that what you want?”
He shrugged. “Better than juvie. Those people… they eat their own.”
I thought about the McKenzie farm, the chaos of brothers and noise and the way Rosie never let a kid leave hungry. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than what Levi had.
I said, “I’ll talk to them, but I can’t promise anything.”
He nodded, shoulders falling. “Didn’t think you could.”
Ransom came back, carrying a can of Dr. Pepper and two root beers. He handed one to Levi, who stared at it like he didn’t know what to do.
“Never had root beer before?” Ransom asked.
Levi grinned, this time with a flash of mischief. “Not from a can.” He popped it open, drank, and nearly choked. “Holy shit, that’s sweet.”
Ransom laughed. “Better than the alternative.”
We sat there, three men in a room, nobody talking for a while.
Finally, Levi said, “So what happens now?”
I leaned forward. “Now, you’re going to hang tight. Ransom’s going to keep an eye on you for the next couple hours while I make some calls. You don’t talk to anyone, you don’t leave the station. Can you handle that?”
He nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah. Sure.”
I looked at Ransom. He gave me the smallest of nods—message received.
I stood up, grabbed the notepad, and headed for the door. As I left, I heard Levi say, “He’s a good guy, isn’t he?”
Ransom answered, “The best.”
I closed the door, and for a second I just stood in the hallway, the notepad heavy in my hand. I had a dozen things to do—warrants to write, backup to call, parents to warn. But first, I needed a minute to let the fury cool, so I didn’t do something I couldn’t take back.
Levi had been brave. Now it was my turn.
I dialed the number for the McKenzie Homestead. When Hetty answered, I took a breath and told her everything.
* * * *
I told Levi to wait outside the office, on the bench in the hall where the vending machine only ever dispensed warm Mountain Dew and stale peanut butter crackers. He nodded, grabbing the root beer in both hands like a lifeline, and drifted out with the posture of a kid who’d learned early that walls made better company than people.
I closed the door, picked up the phone, and dialed Latham’s cell direct. He picked up on the second ring, voice already edged with caffeine and boredom. “Sheriff?”
“I need you to bring in Billy Rawlins,” I said. “Breaking and entering, hate crimes, and assault on a police officer.” My voice was ice. “He’s not going to come easy. Get Miller as backup and take both cruisers. And read him his rights, Latham—I don’t want this thrown out on a technicality.”
There was a beat of silence. Then: “Copy that. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing through the blinds to where Levi was hunched and staring at the floor. “If his old man gives you trouble, tell him it’s me that wants to talk. You don’t negotiate. You don’t leave until Billy’s in cuffs.”
Latham whistled, a low, sharp note. “Understood, boss. I’ll call when it’s done.”
He hung up before I could say anything else.
The office felt too small. The air, too thick. I looked at the statement on my desk—Levi’s writing, sharp and slanted, running off the edge of the page in places like he couldn’t keep up with his own thoughts.
The words were damning. Every detail matched the scene, from the color of the spray paint to the slurs on the wall to the way Billy and his crew had broken the glass and waited for someone—me, or Ransom—to show up.
It was premeditated, and it was personal.
