Mary Sullivan - No Ordinary Sheriff

But it wasn’t Frank.

His deputy, Wade Hanlon, stepped in, ready to relieve Cash as he did every night.

Hating himself for it, Cash rushed past Wade out the door, looking both ways up and down Main Street. Just past the edge of town a car veered off the road and rumbled onto the unpaved shoulder. A ball of dust enveloped it before it righted itself into the lane. The rusted old junker.

Dad.

When the dust cleared, Cash could just barely tell that the car he was driving was the old junker that had been parked in front of the station.

Dad didn’t have money.

Cash started to run. To catch it.

Dad. Stop.

He’d made it a block before someone honked, startling him to a halt. Timm Franck eased his old pickup closer and rolled down the window. “Hey, Cash, are you okay? What are you doing in the middle of the road?”

Had he actually run out into the street to chase Dad?

He’d just made a fool of himself on Main Street.

Had anyone else seen Frank? Had they realized he was related to Cash? These were Cash’s people, Timm a good buddy, but they knew nothing about his past. He intended to keep it that way. Cash settled on a lie. “I was trying to catch someone speeding through town.”

“On foot?” Timm laughed. “That’s a new one.”

“I saw a car rushing past, tried to get the plate number.”

Timm smiled. He’d bought the lie. “Wonder who it was?”

“I didn’t recognize the car. Someone driving through, I guess.”

He’d always promised himself he’d be a better man than Dad, but here he was, lying to a friend.

How could he stand here and behave so calmly when his stomach was turning somersaults? Because you learned a long time ago to bury emotion. Mom had done enough crying for the both of them and Cash had learned to be the strong one.

“See you later,” he told Timm and strode back to the office.

Everything was fine. He was fine.

* * *

SHANNON CALLED HER superior at the Domestic Field Division of the DEA in Denver.

“Have you found anyone to help me out?” she asked Sam Morgans.

“Nothing’s changed since you called yesterday. We’re working at max. I’ve got no one to send to Ordinary right now.”

“You’ve got me.”

“You’re on vacation—one I practically begged you to take. Remember?”

“I remember, but—”

“Stop. There’ve been plenty of studies. Police officers working in stressful positions need regular time away from the job.”

“I know. I’m on vacation, okay?”

“Good. Now rest. As soon as I have a team available, I’ll send them up to Montana.”

“But still not likely for another month?”

“That’s right. You enjoy your vacation. Got it?”

“I’ve got it. Thanks, Sam.”

Shannon cursed.

This sucked. Someone had sold her brother bad meth and they were still out there, selling that crap to others. Tom had said it was being cooked in Ordinary, Montana.

Despite the overdose, on that point, he had seemed lucid.

Whoever Dave Dunlop had spoken to in Ordinary had said there was no way the meth had come from there. “Look somewhere else” was about all Dave could get from them.

When she’d protested, Dave had said the cops knew their town. He couldn’t butt in.

So the local cops were a dead end.

Maybe Dave couldn’t do anything, and maybe the DEA had no one right now, but she was available. She could snoop around. And would. Vacation or not, Tom’s overdose trumped everything.

She got out of her car and entered the hospital. It was Thursday. Tom had been here since Monday. So had she, sitting with him every day.

She entered his room. No change. Tom, wake up. Please.

She stayed with him for a while but the whole situation ate at her. She was sitting here in a hospital room with her sick, and probably dying, brother while a meth manufacturer and drug dealer walked free in Ordinary.

No way.

Shannon stormed out of Tom’s room and did what she always did in times of stress. She took control.

A couple of hours later, she arrived at Janey’s house just outside of Ordinary. She had a quick meal then jumped into the shower to wash the city’s grime from her skin, along with her anger and grief, wishing like crazy this was a normal Thursday night and that this had been a normal week.

But it hadn’t been, and this was a bad time for wishful thinking.

Tom still floated in his coma—and she still hadn’t told her sister.

She dialed Janey’s cell number. “Janey? It’s me.”

“How’s Tom?” Some kind of animated music played in the background.

“Not good. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Just a minute. The kids are watching a Disney movie. I can’t hear.”

A second later, it went quiet on the other end and Janey said, “What were you saying?”

“Where are you?”

“In the bathroom of the hotel room with the door locked.” She laughed. “It’s the only way I can have peace and quiet. About Tom?”

“He overdosed. He’s in the hospital. In a coma.”

She heard Janey gasp. “Oh my God. We’ll come home right now.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. I almost didn’t call because I knew you’d say that, but I had to tell you.”

“But—”

“No buts. Honestly, there’s nothing you can do.”

“Poor Tom. Life has been too hard on him.”

“It sure has.” Shannon changed the phone to her other ear and took a sweater out of a drawer Janey kept packed for her. “I’m staying at your place, okay?”

“Of course, but why are you there?”

“Tom got the drugs in Ordinary. I’m taking a look around.”

“Ordinary?” Janey’s voice held disbelief.

“Apparently the town isn’t the source. It isn’t being made here, but he definitely got it here.”

Shannon’s next bet was on the biker bar Janey used to complain about.

“I’m going to check out the biker bar in Ordinary first.”

“Biker bar? That’s gone. The Sheriff chased them out of town. They’re all over in Monroe now at a place called Sassy’s.”

“Okay, I’ll scope it out.”

“Shannon, be careful,” Janey warned in her big-sister voice.

“I will. I’m good at my job.”

“I know. I worry anyway.”

“I’ll see you when you get home Sunday.”

No matter what her sister said about being careful, Shannon was going to check out that bar. The distance between bikers and drugs was no big leap for imagination.

She hung up and spread her favorite lotion over her skin, then dressed in panties, a bra and a pair of jeans. She had just picked up the sweater when she heard something downstairs.

She stopped and held her breath.

Another noise. A creak on the stairs. Damn.

There was definitely someone in the house.

She finished pulling on her sweater and took her gun out of her purse. Hiding behind the bedroom door, she waited.

CHAPTER TWO

NAVIGATING A MINEFIELD of children’s toys, Cash crept across the veranda to the front door of the Wright house. With the toe of his cowboy boot, he nudged aside the cop car he’d bought for Ben’s third birthday.

Cash’s buddy, C.J., was married to Janey and crazy about his wife. They had a bunch of great kids C.J. adored. Cash was still single—children a daydream—and nothing but an honorary uncle to his friend’s children.

Now Dad was dying and Cash might be the end of the Kavenagh line. He wanted what C.J. had with Janey, a family life instead of the horror show his childhood had been.

‘I was a rotten role model. You never got married and had kids.’ Was it Dad’s fault?

Yeah. Maybe. He didn’t know.

The crisp wind that had arisen with nightfall spoke of autumn running into winter. He inhaled the scent of leaves breaking down on damp earth then exhaled on a sigh. If he had a bunch of kids, he might be in California visiting Disneyland, too, like the Wrights.