She clapped the hand over her mouth, horrified.She’d hit one of the officers!
In the next instant, a uniformed man stepped around the tree to capture her.She almost dropped Chico in her fright.The dog snarled and snapped at the man.Jaws free, he latched on to the officer’s hand and bit.
This was Sheriff Hendricks, no doubt about it.Meredith didn’t have to read the nametag.His eyes glinted with menace, and he had a star pinned to his shirtfront.Face mottled with anger, he yanked his hand away from the dog’s mouth.
“You’re under arrest,” he said to Meredith.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, swallowing hard.“Chico is protective.”
“You gave my deputy a head injury.”
Hugging the Chihuahua to her chest, she glanced toward the path.The friendly officer who’d offered to help her earlier stood there, glowering at her.
“It was an accident, I swear,” she said.“I wasn’t aiming at him.”
“Slate, take this dog off her hands so I can cuff her.”
The deputy seemed reluctant to follow this order.When the sheriff gestured for him to hurry along, Slate stepped forward.Meredith passed him Chico, who was surprisingly docile now that he’d drawn blood.
“You don’t need to handcuff me,” Meredith said.“I’ll cooperate.”
“Take off your backpack and turn around,” Sheriff Hendricks said.
When she followed these directions, he snapped a pair of cold metal cuffs on her wrists.Then he patted her down roughly, recited the Miranda rights, which she’d memorized while watching television, and led her across the footbridge.
Before she could begin to process the trouble she’d brought upon herself, she was sitting in the back of a squad car, shivering from cold and fear.Slate transported Chico to the station while Meredith rode with the sheriff.The five-minute ride felt like an eternity.She moistened her lips, uncertain of her next step.
She had to ask for a lawyer, or a phone call.What she absolutely could not do was talk to anyone in a department headed by Hendricks.He was a man who’d abused his own wife.He wouldn’t be sympathetic to Meredith’s plight.
He might even deliver her to Tripp.
The idea brought ice to her veins, and she shuddered harder.The metal cuffs were too tight on her wrists.She could feel the bruising pressure as the sheriff pulled her out of the back seat.He directed her through a back door and into a holding cell with a concrete bench.When he removed her cuffs, she brought her arms forward to massage her wrists.Pinpricks of sensation tingled through her hands.She winced at the additional discomfort as Hendricks locked her inside and walked away.
“I want to call my lawyer,” she said at his retreating form.
His laughter echoed in her ears.
Deputy Slate settled into a desk across from the holding cell.
“Where’s my dog?”Meredith asked.
“I put him in a crate.He’s fine.”
“When can I make a phone call?”
Slate opened up his laptop and started typing.“What’s your name?”
“Mary.”
“Mary what?”
“Meadows.”
He sighed, shaking his head.“Why don’t you tell me your real name?”
“That is my real name.”
“Not according to the ID you were carrying.”He held up a card to show her.“This says Wynona Hendricks.”
