Brantley stared at him, hating that the man could be so level-headed about this. Brantley was itching for a fight, yet it was clear the governor was not going to give him one.
“Why’d you call me here?” Brantley demanded, sitting up and putting his elbows on the arms of the chair. It took everything in him not to shoot to his feet and march out the door.
“I thought I owed you the respect of telling you face-to-face that, as of January fourth, the task force will no longer exist in the eyes of the state.”
“The fourth. Monday. Jesus Christ. You told me there’d be a discussion around it.”
Governor Greenwood was watching him, his eyes intent when he said, “It’s come to my attention that it’s no longer necessary. I’m not in a position to win the vote.”
Brantley wanted to slam his badge down on the man’s desk, to tell him to shove it up his ass, but he refrained. He immediately thought about Reese, about JJ and Baz, Trey and Charlie. He had a team to consider before he burned bridges he couldn’t afford to burn.
He stood, inhaling deeply and nodding at the governor before turning toward the door.
“Brantley, I assure you, this wasn’t my plan.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” he grumbled on his way out.
An hour later, after taking the scenic route back from Austin, Brantley pulled into the driveway of his cousin’s house. Because he hadn’t wanted to burden Reese with the news—not yet, anyway—he had called Travis.
“Hey, man,” Gage greeted as he was walking up to the front door.
Travis’s husband was sitting on the porch swing, one-and-a-half-year-old Maddox—the youngest of their five kids—perched on his lap.
“They relegate you to the yard or what?” Brantley joked.
“Mad likes it out here,” Gage said, gripping the little boy firmly when he tried to squirm to the ground.
Maddox didn’t appreciate the gesture, throwing his arms out in Brantley’s direction, clearly looking for a change of scenery.
Brantley grinned, reached for the kid, and hefted him into his arms. “What’s up, little man? You keepin’ your daddy busy this mornin’?’
Maddox offered a shy smile, his eyes darting back to Gage as though he wasn’t quite as content with his decision to relocate anymore.
Laughing, Brantley passed the baby back. “Travis inside?”
Gage’s expression shuttered when he answered with, “In his office.”
Brantley considered explaining himself, assuring Gage that he wasn’t here to discuss Juliet Prince or the task force’s attempts to find her, but he didn’t have the breath to do it. He was running on caffeine fumes and mounting frustration as it was. No sense getting into an argument over something that wasn’t even on the agenda.
He stepped inside the old, historic Victorian that had belonged to Gage’s grandmother, if Brantley remembered correctly. Kylie, their wife, had restored to its original splendor, the hardwood floors and wainscoting gleaming with a thick varnish.
The house smelled like lemon cleaner and fresh bread, a combination that made him think about his childhood home. It had always been welcoming like this.
From somewhere in front of him, he heard the television. Every so often, he heard a couple of kids arguing over what they were going to watch. Even that made him smile.
Turning to the right, he rapped his knuckles on the closed French doors.
“Come in,” Travis called out, his gruff, deep voice booming.
Brantley stepped inside, closed the door to block out the noise.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” Travis asked, motioning toward the couch that acted as a separator between the desk and the doors. “You didn’t give me any details on the phone.”
No, he hadn’t because he hadn’t been sure how to phrase it at that point.
He propped himself on the couch arm rather than sitting down. “Just had a conversation with the governor.”
Travis leaned back in his chair, rested his elbows on the armrests, steepled his fingers. “And it wasn’t good news, I take it?”
