Nash grudgingly shrugged off his heavy canvas and offered it to her.Without even glancing his way, she just shoved closer to the window.Eyes wide, he pointedly glared at Maverick, who merely lifted his chin in answer—do it again.
Teeth gritted, Nash tossed it over her shoulders and slumped down in his seat, arms folded tight.
She didn’t thank him or even look his way, but she didn’t shove the coat off either.Nash sat there cold and pissed off, though his old man’s nod of approval took some of the edge off.
Tipping his flask back, Nash drained it dry.
One fucking night, and everything shifted.
Connor was pulled into the Kings’ orbit.
Cassie too.Into his orbit.
And the goddamn weight of that never did seem to let up.
Chapter Six
Shedidn’tgetoutright away.
Couldn’t, actually.
Fingers locked around the steering wheel, Cassie merely stared at her reflection in the smudged glass.Margie’s food, a hot shower, clean clothes—those had helped, but not nearly enough.Everything still felt unreal, like she’d woken up in someone else’s life still wearing her own skin.
With a sigh and a shove, she stepped out of the car and made for the brick building, the sheriff’s office seal above the door cracked and faded.An American flag sagged from a reinforced pole, its metal dented like it had been clipped one too many times by a bumper.
Wierswood was the county seat—bigger than Clifton, but not by much.Like the ridge, it carried the hollowed-out look of a town that had bet everything on coal and lost.The main drag still had storefronts—mostly pawn shops and dollar outlets.A McDonald’s squatted at one end, a Subway at the other, with a row of ’70s-era government buildings slouching between them.
The entrance stuck before giving way, a small bell announcing her arrival.It looked more or less the same as she remembered—the walls still pale green, the floor the same scuffed beige, everything in need of repair.
At the reception desk, a blonde woman in uniform glanced up, giving Cassie an unimpressed once-over.A handful of deputies in the bullpen did the same.Cassie met every set of eyes, the silence tightening.
“Help ya?”the blonde asked, voice flat.
“I’m here for Connor Berry’s belongings,” Cassie said, matching her tone.“I’m his sister.”
“ID?”
Tugging her license from her wallet, she slid it across the counter.The blonde studied it a moment before lifting the desk phone.“A Cassandra Berry from New York is here for Connor Berry’s personal effects,” she said, clipped, and hung up.
She handed the license back with a flick.“Have a seat.Someone’ll be out shortly.”
The small waiting area offered nothing worth sitting for: cracked plastic chairs every bit as dirty as the floor and a bulletin board crowded with flyers for lost pets and vehicles for sale.Cassie stayed on her feet, pretending to study them without taking in a word.Behind her, the room held a deliberate silence, the deputies’ stares burning into her back.
A door squeaked open; a tall, lanky man stepped through, his dark hair streaked with gray, his face lined and weathered.His badge caught the sunlight, glinting above a cracked leather belt.
“Ms.Berry,” he said.“Deputy McCoy.Why don’t you come on back.”
She hesitated.She didn’t want to go any farther inside, but McCoy had already turned away, leaving the doorway open behind him.After a beat, she followed.
Down a narrow hallway lined with faded photographs of past sheriffs, he led her into a room barely bigger than a cell, where a battered wooden table with two chairs waited.He took one, setting a notepad and pen on the table, and gestured to the seat across.
Cassie stopped in the doorway, frowning.“I thought I was picking up Connor’s things?”
“We’ll get to that,” McCoy said, pen poised.“First, I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions about what?”
“Feel free to take the chair—I assure you, you ain’t in trouble.”
