Slade pulled his gun from the holster on his side before following the sheriff into the building. Considering there wasn’t an exchange of gunfire, he figured it was safe to go in.
He realized he was right a moment later when he opened the door and walked in.
“Wow. That’s kinda creepy,” Atticus mumbled under his breath.
He was referring to the fact there was a brand-new, plush red chair sitting on the far end of the room, farthest from the windows. There was a string of rope in a pile on the floor, obviously what they’d used to tie JJ up.
Brantley disappeared down a hallway at the back only to return a moment later, sliding his gun into the holster.
“Clear,” he said.
That was obvious based on the fact Brantley was practically vibrating. His tension level was still amped up to ten.
Slade holstered his weapon, too.
“I’m goin’ outside,” Atticus said before pivoting on his heel and heading for the door.
Slade fought the urge to follow. He figured Atticus was going to talk to Carson, and though he wanted to hear what was said, he knew it was none of his damn business.
“We’ll get prints,” Sheriff Endsley told Brantley. “And photograph the scene.”
“Yeah. Do that. It ain’t gonna fuckin’ help,” he grumbled as he headed for the door.
Reese shot the sheriff a sympathetic look before following.
And that was that.
“You need any help?” Slade offered.
“No. Manor PD’s sendin’ a couple of detectives,” Jeff explained.
“Cool.” Although it was anything but.
Glancing once more at the lone red chair, Slade turned and headed for the door.
Brantley and Reese were already in their truck, heading for the exit.
Atticus and Carson were standing beside Slade’s truck, deep in conversation.
Slade approached slowly. “You ridin’ back with me or him?”
Atticus looked up. “You.”
And the surprises just kept on coming.
Based on the crease that formed on Carson’s forehead, he hadn’t expected it either.
***
“I can drive you back,” Carson toldhim as Slade walked around to the driver’s door.
“We’re still workin’,” Atticus lied. “Paperwork and all that.”
Carson nodded, his blue-gray eyes flashing with skepticism.
Atticus wished the man didn’t look so fucking good. He wished last night hadn’t been so damn good.
While he was at it, he wished JJ had never been kidnapped and that he wasn’t about to spend six weeks in Dallas. And more than anything, he wished that Slade hadn’t told him that Carson liked to watch him fuck other men.
