Sandra Orchard - Emergency Reunion

The deputy who’d taken control of the scene outside the drug house motioned Cole to an interrogation room. “I figured you’d appreciate some privacy. Don’t pay any attention to Zeke. Trust me, no one else wanted his nephew to get the job.”

Taking a seat, Cole opted not to respond, since he had no idea who might be listening in on the other side of the two-way mirror.

I hope you know what you’re doing. Sherri’s words whispered through his mind for the hundredth time as the lanky deputy straddled a chair and laid a file folder on the table.

“Okay.” The deputy tapped his pen against the folder. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you were in the neighborhood?”

“I already told you.” At least a half dozen times when the deputy had interrogated him in the hospital. “It’s no secret that my brother’s an addict. I spotted him sneaking out his bedroom window. Figured he was up to no good. Followed him to the drug house and yanked him out before he could make a buy.”

“Did he stop at the variety store on the corner?”

Cole’s insides jumped at the new question. “No.”

The deputy studied him for an uncomfortably long minute. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, why?”

“The 9-1-1 call that summoned the ambulance was made from a phone booth there.”

The knots in Cole’s neck eased at the confirmation that his brother couldn’t have secretly made the call without Cole noticing. “I already told you he didn’t make the call. Since when is a deputy’s word not a reliable alibi?”

“You’re his brother.”

“Yeah, and I’m Sherri’s friend.” He winced at the memory of their argument in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. She’d been furious that he’d asked her to keep quiet about the pill bottle in his pocket. Or more accurately “to shelter Eddie from the consequences of his actions.” Consequences that might get him the help he needed...or so she thought.

Never mind that the pill bottle had turned out to be an old codeine prescription of their father’s. But yeah, the fact that Cole had asked her to conceal it a mere day after his brother had held a knife to her throat was testimony to how hard he’d smashed his head.

Any other woman would’ve been jumping at the chance to get Eddie off the streets. Except—Cole planted his elbow on the table and buried his fingers in his hair—with her hovering over him, those beautiful blue eyes filled with concern, he hadn’t had a hope of thinking straight.

Worse than that, he’d asked her to compromise her principles.

“You okay?” the deputy asked.

Cole blinked. Massaged his forehead. “Yeah, sorry, still nursing a headache.” And still nursing a seven-year-old infatuation that had started when Sherri found him pounding his fist into the fence that had separated their yards after he’d learned his father had been cheating on Mom.

Sherri had dabbed antiseptic on his grazed knuckles, and he remembered feeling as if just by allowing her to help him, he’d been sullying her somehow, tainting her innocence by exposing her to his family’s mixed-up morality.

Seven years later nothing had changed. Same girl. Same infatuation. Same insurmountable obstacle of his family.

Cole glanced at the clock on the wall behind the deputy and wondered if Dad was keeping a better eye on Eddie today. As much as he would have liked to avoid his dad, he’d had no choice but to allow Dad to visit him in the hospital to warn him about the prescription Eddie had stolen on top of sneaking out of the house to buy more drugs. The fact that Dad had seen the conversation as an invitation to pick up where’d they’d left off the day before his selfishness blew apart their family was proof of how mixed up his morality was.

But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.

Cole rubbed his forehead harder, wishing he could rub out the scripture verse that had flitted through his mind too many times since. He dropped his hand to the table and returned his focus to the deputy. “What are you doing to keep Sherri safe?”

“Sending a patrol car along on any calls. Not much more we can do.”

That was something anyway. It would give him time to hang with Eddie without having to worry about Sherri every second. Helping Eddie escape the mess he’d made of his life was the whole reason he’d moved back to Stalwart. The attacks against Sherri had sidetracked him, but getting through to Eddie was no less urgent. Kids younger than him died of drug overdoses every day. And Eddie was clearly addicted.

The deputy grilled Cole about what he’d seen around the house before the explosion, which amounted to nothing helpful. The fire marshal had already confirmed it was a drug house, but they had yet to identify, let alone catch, the guy who’d escaped on the motorcycle.

“The house was a rental,” the deputy explained. “And the name on the lease agreement turned out to be fake. Our working theory is that he’d already had the house rigged to blow to give himself a chance to get away if the need ever arose. It doesn’t seem likely he could’ve done it in the short time you were there.”

Cole studied the descriptions of the renter offered by neighbors. “Yeah, I’m not buying that he’s the one targeting Sherri, either. Not when he had to know his operation would be outed by luring her to the house. I think we need to look for the guy who gave Eddie the tip.”

“Sure.” Skepticism flickered in the deputy’s eyes. Apparently he wasn’t buying that Eddie was being framed. “But your brother’s description doesn’t give us much to go on.” The deputy closed the file. “The guy’s heavier than the motorcyclist and balding. That probably describes half the men over thirty in town.”

Yeah, and chances were the suspect wouldn’t risk making contact with Eddie again anytime soon. But if Cole could convince Eddie to show him around his usual haunts they might find him that way.

As Cole stepped out of the police station a few minutes later, the urge to drop in on Sherri before seeing Eddie drew his gaze across the street. The fire station blocked his view of the ambulance base, so he meandered toward the street. After all, the least he owed Sherri and Dan were coffee and a donut to thank them for yanking him away from that drug house the night before last. He pressed the butt of his hand to his throbbing temple. Besides, the caffeine might help kill his headache.

A guy in faded jeans and a dark hoodie skulked along the side wall of the ambulance base, his hands bunched in his pockets.

Cole quickened his steps. The guy who sideswiped Sherri’s ambulance had worn a hoodie. Cole’s gaze fixed on the punk’s pocketed hands. The uneasy feeling that they concealed a weapon tripped his pulse into overdrive.

Sherri stepped out the front door, calling “Double? Double?” over her shoulder, oblivious to the threat lurking around the corner.

“Watch out!” Raising his hand stop-sign style, Cole dodged traffic, narrowly escaping being hit by a horn-blaring car. He glanced at it only a moment, but when he turned back to the ambulance base, Sherri was gone.

So was the punk.

FOUR

Sherri braced her hand on the door as Dan careened the ambulance onto Park Street. “Dispatch said he was on the north side of the park.” She glanced in the side mirror as a patrol car turned onto the street behind them, and wondered what Cole had been shouting about when the call blared over the loudspeakers and she’d had to dash back inside. Her mind flashed to the sight of him cupping his forehead as they’d blasted out of the ambulance bay. He should still be on bed rest.

Dan pulled to the curb next to the four-acre park in the center of town. “He’s over there.” Dan pointed to a homeless man ranting at a rose bush. He wore several layers of filthy shirts and pants that once might have been tan in color. “It’s Harold again.”