Her chortle has me chuckling. Carla is an amazing person, but her laugh is either going to sound like nails on a chalkboard or make you laugh right along with her. There’s no middle ground.
Thankfully, it makes me laugh.
“I do plan on heading out to Mr. Jacobson’s place later to see if he needs help with anything, but between Nash and Kimball, he’s been good lately. I just don’t want him to feel like he’s too far out there to have protection or someone to call if he needs help.”
Carla’s eyes go soft and she nods. “You gotta follow your gut, Sheriff.”
With a roll of my eyes and a huff, I walk around Carla’s desk and head back toward my office. I give a chin lift to the few deputies I pass. Once I close my door behind me, I blow out a relieved breath because no one stopped me.
When I look at my desk, I can’t help the way my face scrunches up. While some things have been digitized and have been for years, other things still have to involve paper. It’s ridiculous, but you work with what you’ve got.
The first thing I do is get my computer going and then look through the reports my deputies have submitted since I clocked out yesterday. Looks like it was a quiet night. There was a small fire on the edge of the county, but they haven’t determined how it started just yet.
I glance up at the framed map of Loudon County on my wall and mentally mark where the fire was. With a grunt I force myself to get up, grab a dry erase marker, and mark the glass. It’s always better to really mark it. Not just mentally.
Just as I’m about to start in on the paper in front of me and the files, so many damn files, the dogs we found a few months ago—the ones I watched Kimball, who runs the county’s animal shelter, put her all into saving—pop into my head. I know there’s no way to shake off the image. Not now.
I grab my phone and dial Monroe County’s sheriff—Raymond Lyons—over in Dogwood Ridge. We have to work together, especially with our towns so close together. Close enough that they’re the only rivals we’ve ever had.
The competition is fierce, especially when it comes to high school football. Call it ridiculous if you want, but you take what you can get for entertainment sometimes. A feud born of competition without any real heat behind it can’t be that bad. Right?
Even if it’s Dogwood Ridge that’s been labeled to be on the wrong side of the ridge. I think. I hope.
Maybe.
He answers on the second ring, his voice gruff with a sharp edge, “Lyons.”
“Sheriff Lyons,” I try to make my voice warm, unlike the greeting I got. I’d like to think I’m much more approachable when I answer the phone, but what the hell do I know? “This is Rhodes Wilder over in Sweetwater Valley.”
“Hey,” he chuckles, his tone changing when he knows who is on the other end. I suppose it’s a good thing he’s giving me respect because of my badge and position. “Your ears must be burning.”
“Why is that?” My eyebrows furrow together in confusion even though he can’t see me.
“I was just thinking about calling you,” Raymond says. He lets out a small sigh, “Mayor Cowell wanted an update. He knows we’ve been working together and coming up empty. I figured I’d check in with you to see if there have been any changes since we last talked, and to invite you to the meeting.”
I wanted to grumble. Mayor Edgar Cowell wasn’t my favorite guy. He’s a little on the pompous side and far too elitist for a man in a town like Dogwood Ridge. I’d say the same about Sweetwater Valley’s mayor, but Granger Lowe is one of my best friends. He’s a good man and he sure as fuck doesn’t hound me about my job.
“Right,” I grunt before clearing my throat. “Well,” I sigh, hating the truth of what I’m about to say, “there hasn’t been any changes on my side. No one knows anything, at least they’re not talking, and there hasn’t been any sightings or murmurs about a location popping up in my county.”
“Same,” he rumbles and I can hear the frustration in his voice.
The dogs Kimball is still nursing back to health, since they had such a long way to go if they could even be saved, were found in his county. I’d be frustrated as fuck about not having something.
But that place had been abandoned. Only the echoes of torment and violence remained in the air along with the whimpers and the snarls of dogs who had only known the darkest side of humanity.
“If you want me there,” I offer simply, letting my words trail off.
I won’t lie—Dogwood Ridge isn’t a place I go often. Not willingly anyway. Every time I’m there, I wonder why Lyons hasn’t done something about the motorcycle club who calls the town home. When they come into my county, which doesn’t happen often, I make sure to have eyes on them.
There have been plenty of rumors about the men who ride with the Saint’s Outlaws MC patches on their backs. I won’t say I believe all of them, but I’m willing to bet more than a few have some truth to be found within the tall tales.
Since their clubhouse isn’t in my county, they sure as fuck aren’t my problem.
Now Lyons? It seems like he hates the club, but they’re still there. Is he all talk? I don’t know, but I’m willing to work with the devil himself if it means we get closer to taking down whoever is behind the dog fighting rings.
The thought of people going to one of their fight nights, wanting to see the kind of violence they’d have on display there, has my stomach clenching and I have to swallow hard.
“Might as well,” he grumbles. “Cowell is a good man; I’ve known him my whole life. He wants this dealt with the same as we do, just for a different reason.”
