Yeah, even with all the memories, it was still the easiest way to get to town. Added to that, Harlan wanted to take a look at it. A way of facing down the flashbacks and the nightmare that just wouldn’t go away.
Harlan kept his eyes on the asphalt ahead, but he could see Laney stiffen in his peripheral vision as the stretch of road came into view. The culvert lay ahead, ordinary in the dim morning light, and yet it was anything but. It would always be where the bomb had been found. Where David had gotten the fatal injury.
Without a word, Harlan reached over and closed his hand around hers. He gave a gentle squeeze, steady and sure, feeling the tension in her fingers and the way she didn’t pull away.
She didn’t look at him. Laney stared out the windshield for a long moment before speaking, her voice low enough that he almost missed it over the engine noise.
“I feel guilty,” she said. “I don’t think about David nearly as much as I used to. Honestly… the only time I thought about him lately was on my drives to work.”
Harlan kept his grip on the wheel, watching the road but letting his voice soften. “It’s been four years, Laney. You shouldn’t feel guilty for moving forward.”
She made a small sound in her throat, something between agreement and doubt, and then she turned her head toward him. For a moment, her gaze held his, and in it he saw a swirl of emotions he couldn’t quite sort out. Grief. Sadness. But heat was there too.
Unmistakable.
After a couple of moments, she looked away, her fingers slipping from his hand, leaving behind a faint trace of warmth he felt long after.
The rest of the drive passed in a silence that felt heavier than the hum of the tires on asphalt. Ahead, Redwater came into view, the small Texas town laid out in neat blocks. A mix of weathered brick buildings and newer storefronts lined Main Street, their signs faded by the sun.
The diner with its big plate-glass window was already busy with the breakfast crowd. The feed store’s display of pumpkins and hay bales sat out front, a reminder that Halloween was just around the corner.
Harlan turned onto the side street where the sheriff’s office sat, a squat tan-brick building with the Texas flag rippling lazily in the morning breeze. He parked in one of the angled visitors’ spaces out front, scanning the street out of habit before shutting off the engine, before Laney and he got out and went inside.
The sheriff’s office carried the faint scent of coffee and floor polish. A bulletin board near the entrance was cluttered with missing pet flyers, church supper notices, and the weekly crime blotter.
The front desk was unmanned for the moment, the sound of phones ringing and low voices drifting from deeper in the building. Harlan felt the shift in the atmosphere the moment they stepped in. Law enforcement buildings always had that undercurrent of tension, as if the air held its breath waiting for trouble to walk through the door.
Harlan caught sight of Sheriff Barnes near the end of the hall, his voice pitched sharp as he faced off with two men. Recognition hit like a snap to the gut. Billy Maddox stood stiff-shouldered, his narrow eyes darting between the sheriff and the man beside him.
Curtis Brannigan.
What the hell was Brannigan doing here?
Harlan slowed his steps as he and Laney approached. Billy’s voice cut through the space, ragged and loud. “You think I’m stupid? This is a setup. And I’ll tell you who’s behind it.” He jabbed a finger toward Brannigan. “Him. He’s been gunning for me for years.”
Brannigan’s face flushed a dark, angry red, but he didn’t say a word. His jaw worked like he was chewing on whatever reply he wanted to spit out.
The sheriff lifted a hand in warning, and the hallway went still as all three men turned their attention toward Laney and Harlan.
Laney’s gaze swept over both suspects before settling on Barnes. “What’s going on here?” she asked, her tone steady but edged with authority.
The sheriff let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck like he was one word away from losing his patience. “Brannigan just showed up,” he said, his voice clipped.
“That’s because he called me,” Brannigan shot back, pointing at Billy. “He was ranting on and on about being set up and that he was going to let everyone know that I was responsible. I came here to make sure the cops knew he was lying through his teeth.”
Billy stepped in, his fists curling. “You’re the one who set me up. You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”
Brannigan moved right into his space, their chests almost touching. The air in the hall tightened. Harlan saw the tension spike, saw Billy’s shoulder twitch like he was ready to swing. He stepped between them, pressing a hand against each man’s chest and shoving them apart.
“Enough,” Harlan snapped. “You want to throw punches, wait until you’re somewhere else. Not here.”
Both men glared past him, their anger still hot, but they stayed where they were.
The sheriff’s jaw tightened, and he turned to Brannigan. “Go cool off. Come back in two hours and give your statement then.”
Brannigan’s nostrils flared. “You’re letting him spin this before you hear from me?”
“Two hours,” the sheriff repeated, his tone brooking no argument.
