“I think that’s probably a good idea, Simon. Let’s go down to the station so you can make the call.”
Sheriff O’Rourke was a good man. He didn’t cuff me, and I could tell he didn’t want to arrest me either. But he had a job to do. He helped me into the back seat of his truck, and we rode to the station.
We walked in, and Martha Daniels stood there glaring at both of us.
“What are you doing, Sheriff?”
“Martha, don’t get involved. I don’t have a choice.”
“This is Simon, for crying out loud!”
I’d known Martha all my life. She looked at me pleadingly; her kind eyes begged me to say something. For an unashamed gay man in the Midwest, Martha knew I didn’t quite fit the stereotype. She’d seen me defend myself on more than one occasion when I was growing up. She knew exactly what I was capable of.
And murdering the asshole who beat up my sister for over a year was definitely something I was capable of.
“There’s the phone. Call your lawyer and get him down here so I can get a statement.”
I stared at the phone. I knew as soon as I made this call, I’d really be up shit creek. Tony wouldn’t just be pissed; he might actually kill me himself.
I dialed the number and waited for him to answer.
“Hello?”
The sound of his voice did things to me that would make a whore blush. The gravel caused from years of smoking made him sound angry all the time. And he would be angry, but his sleepy hello told me he hadn’t looked at the caller ID before heanswered.
“Tony, I’m at the police station. I need you to come down here.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
He was awake now. Gone was the sexy baritone that purred in my ear, replaced by the angry growl of the man who refused to admit his feelings for me.
“That’s probably not something I should answer over the phone.”
“Goddammit, Simon! Don’t say a fucking word.”
I pulled the phone away as he yelled and then hung up on me. I stared at the receiver before setting it down, then sat in one of the chairs that lined the wall and waited for the sheriff to put me in an interrogation room; instead, he left me sitting out in the middle of the station.
There were no curious looks from the night shift deputies; they were all at Alan’s house, I imagined, sifting through everything, looking for evidence.
I didn’t have long to wait before the door slammed open and Tony stomped his way past Martha, acknowledging me with only a glare before he kept going straight to the sheriff’s office. He slammed the door shut, and the two men shouted at each other.
I couldn’t decipher what they were saying, but the heated words were about me. A few moments later, Tony stormed from the office and, without looking at me, said, “Let’s go.”
I looked back at the sheriff, who shook his head.
Tony held the door open, and that was when he noticed I hadn’t followed him. “Simon, get your ass up and let’s go.”
“Matlock, I need his clothes. And he needs medical attention.”
“Patch can stitch him up at the clubhouse.”
“Chain of custody. He needs to go to the hospital,” the sheriff said.
“Then why the fuck didn’t you take him there?”
“He wanted to call you first,” the sheriff replied, his voicetired and weary.
“At least he did one fucking thing right.”
