I shrug, stepping farther inside. “Comes with the job. I want to see what I’m working with before I start changing anything.”
She nods toward the back. “Station’s quiet at night. You’ll probably regret saying that once the weekend crowd hits. We get the bar fights from the tavern, some noise complaints. Usually nothing serious.”
“Good to know.”
She swivels in her chair, gesturing around the room. “So… this is it. Dispatch here, holding cell in the back, offices down that hall. Two patrol cars—one’s got a broken taillight that Chief Patterson kept promising to fix before he retired. He didn’t.”
“Noted.”
I cross to the map pinned on the far wall—Driftwood, split into neat little grids with faded marker lines running through the streets. Handwritten notes clutter the edges:pier watch rotation, Vance house alarm, northern ridge patrol.It’s organized in a small-town way—functional, but messy.
Jasmine goes back to typing, but her eyes flick up occasionally, watching me move. I get it. I’m new. Outsider with a badge, coming in after a tragedy that left everyone raw. People here don’t give trust easily. You have to earn it.
“You can go if you want,” I say finally, still studying the map. “I’ll lock up after I’m done.”
She shakes her head. “Night shift.”
“Then I’ll keep out of your way.”
She smiles, returning to her work. “Suit yourself, Sheriff.”
I move through the station, checking doors, peeking into offices. Two desks, one stacked with paperwork, the other spotless except for a framed picture of a dog. The break room’s tiny—microwave, coffeemaker, and a corkboard littered withflyers for bake sales and missing cats. The holding cell smells faintly of bleach and metal.
Everything here feels honest. Lived-in. Nothing like the sterile efficiency of NYPD precincts. Driftwood’s station has heart, in its own way—heart and about fifty years of deferred maintenance.
I sink into the worn leather chair in what’s supposed to be my office, switch on the desk lamp, and stare at the thin stack of personnel files. Deputies. I’ll need to talk to all of them tomorrow. Get a sense of what I’m dealing with.
That’s what I tell myself I’m doing tonight—planning, assessing, settling in. Sheriff things.
But I know better.
I’m here because if I go home, I’ll start replaying it again. The sound of her voice, the way she looked at me across the room tonight, eyes wide and full of recognition. The way my stomach dropped when I realized what that meant.
If anyone had seen us last night—if anyone had walked by that damn truck—I’d be done. Career over. Sheriff of Driftwood arrested for indecency in a public place. No way to talk myself out of that one. And the thing is, Iknewbetter. I’ve spent my entire adult life building a clean record, doing things by the book, keeping my head down. NYPD internal affairs couldn’t find a speck of dirt on me. I was proud of that. I was careful.
Until her.
One night, one woman, and I threw away every line I swore I’d never cross.
I scrub a hand over my face, lean back in the chair, and let out a slow breath. The memory flashes again—her skin warm under my palms, her breath hitching, the sound she made that went straight to my head. I shake it off and open one of the folders.
Deputy profiles.
Henderson, Marcus.Five years with the department. Former Marine. Good record.
Cooper, Jamie.Two years, part-time. Lives near the pier.
Ortiz, Lucas.Fourteen years, longest tenure here. Apparently knows everyone.
I read every line twice, but none of it sticks. My brain’s too loud. Too full ofher.
The scanner crackles softly. Jasmine answers a quick call about a broken streetlight, logs it, and glances over. “Everything alright in there?”
“Yeah,” I say without looking up. “Just reading files.”
She nods, unconvinced, then turns back to her screen.
The clock on the wall ticks past eleven. I should go home. But I don’t move. I start making notes—small things. Patrol schedules, shifts, possible updates to equipment. Tomorrow, I’ll meet with each deputy, get a sense of morale, talk about safety measures. Maybe I’ll ask Gabe to join for the coordination plan. Keep busy. Keep focused.
