CHAPTER 10
Micah didn’t go home.
He should have. It was late, and the day had been long enough already. But the feeling in his gut—the one that had been sitting there since he’d seen Naomi standing on the side of Hollow Ridge Road—wouldn’t let him turn toward his own driveway.
So he went the other direction instead.
The Henderson property sat three miles off the main road, down a gravel drive that wound through scrub pines and overgrown brush. The house was low and sprawling, added onto over the years in a way that made it look like it couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. Lights were on in the front windows. A few rundown trucks sat in the yard.
Micah pulled up and cut the engine.
He sat for a moment, hands still on the wheel, and let himself think through what he was about to do. This wasn’t official. He hadn’t called the accident in yet. Hadn’t brought backup.
If this went sideways, it was on him.
But he was done waiting for Travis Henderson to make the next move.
He got out and walked toward the porch. By the time he reached the steps, the front door had already opened.
Travis stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, his trademark toothpick working slowly between his teeth.
The man didn’t appear surprised. That was the first thing Micah noticed. His face held no shock or confusion. Just a slow, easy smile.
“Sheriff,” Travis drawled. “Little late for a house call, ain’t it?”
Micah stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at him. “We need to talk.”
“About?”
“You know what about.”
Travis’s smile widened. He didn’t move from the doorway. Behind him, Micah heard voices—low, male, more than one. His brothers, probably.
Travis didn’t do much without an audience.
“You hit Naomi King’s vehicle this afternoon.” Micah didn’t mince words. “On Hollow Ridge Road. Then you left the scene.”
Travis shrugged. “Queen Naomi and I already talked about that. It was an accident. She knows it. I know it. Insurance is gonna handle it. Her insurance will, at least.”
“You left the scene of an accident. That’s a crime.”
“It wasn’t a hit-and-run. I stayed long enough to make sure she was fine. She was. So I left.” Travis leaned against the doorframe, casual, unbothered. “That a problem?”
Micah’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. It’s a problem.”
Travis’s smile didn’t falter. “You gonna arrest me, Sheriff?”
The question hung in the air between them.
Micah could. He had enough. Naomi’s statement. The damage to her vehicle. Travis’s own admission, despite how he tried to spin it.
But an arrest right now would mean paperwork, lawyers, and a court date Travis would probably weasel out of with a fine and a slap on the wrist. And it would mean tipping his hand—showing Travis exactly how seriously Micah was taking this.
He wanted more than a misdemeanor charge.
He wanted to nail Travis on a bigger charge that would lock him away somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.
“Not tonight,” Micah said. “But we’re not done.”
