We’re already stretched thin, and without those supplies...
I push the thought aside and pick up the receiver. “Jasmine,” I say to the dispatcher. “Get on the line with the fire department.Let them know we might need an emergency call tonight. Things could get... complicated.”
“You got it, Sheriff,” she replies, an undercurrent of concern beneath her professional tone. She knows as well as I do how precarious our situation is.
Next, I dial Jake Marshall. The phone rings twice before he picks up.
“Knox,” he says, and I can hear the exhaustion in his tone. “What’s going on now?”
“We have a problem with the delivery of the heat suppressants,” I say, getting straight to the point.
“What the hell happened?”
He’s quiet as I explain the situation to him. Once I’m done, there’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Shit. How bad is it?”
“Arnold is pressing charges.”
Another pause, longer this time. “I’m on my way.”
“Jake—” I start, but he’s already hung up.
I sigh and rub my temples. The headache that’s been threatening all day is now in full force. I dial my daughter’s number, needing to hear her voice, needing to know that at least one part of my world is still intact.
“Hey, Dad,” she answers, and I can hear some YouTube show playing in the background. “Are you coming home?”
“Not yet, sweetheart. Something’s come up.” I hesitate, not wanting to worry her. “How are you doing? Everything okay at the house?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just watching this show about these people who renovate old houses. It’s pretty cool.”
I smile, a genuine smile that feels out of place in the middle of this fucked-up day. “Sounds good. I’ll try to get home as soon as I can.”
“No worries. Take your time.” She pauses. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Clara.”
I hang up, feeling slightly better but still on edge. The town is a powder keg, and Arnold Bennett just lit the fuse.
There’s a knock on my door. “Come in,” I call out, expecting to see one of the deputies.
But it’s not them. It’s Millie.
She stands in the doorway, her hair a mess, a gash on her forehead crusted with dried blood. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of fear and determination. She’s wearing the same clothes from earlier, now rumpled and stained.
“Millie,” I say, sitting up straight. “What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital.”
Her scent hits me then, a complex mix of Omega pheromones that sends my Alpha instincts into overdrive. It’s sweet, like lavender and vanilla, but there’s something else too—something panicked and sour. It tastes in the back of my throat, a bitter reminder of everything that’s gone wrong today.
“I need to see Liam,” she says, her voice quiet but firm.
“Millie, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s being processed. Maybe tomorrow?—”
She steps into the office and closes the door behind her. I hear the click of the lock, and my instincts go on high alert.
“Please,” she says, turning to face me. “I just need to make sure he’s okay. I need to see him with my own eyes.”
Her eyes are pleading, and I find myself wavering. I know what it’s like to worry about someone you care about, to feel helpless when they’re in trouble.
I stand up and walk around the desk, stopping in front of her. I reach out, my fingers gently touching the skin just below the gash on her forehead. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.
