Читать книгу Plain Outsider - Alison Stone - Страница 13

ONE

The headlights on Deputy Becky Spoth’s patrol car illuminated the lines on the deserted country road. Some of her fellow deputies complained about the overnight shift, but Becky had grown to like it. There was something calming about patrolling the quiet roads devoid of cars or horses, or more important, people. It gave her a lot of time for quiet reflection while still providing a means to pay the mortgage. She appreciated her job now more than ever when just a few days ago she wondered if she’d ever be out on patrol again.

That was the thing about this job. Things could change on a dime. The radio that had been silent most of her shift suddenly crackled to life as if to prove her point. “Report of a break-in on Robin Nest Road. How far away are you, Deputy Spoth?”

She didn’t have to give the location a moment’s thought. She had grown up in Quail Hollow and knew all the windy roads and farms, even the ones the town didn’t see fit to mark. That was the thing about a small town. Everyone knew everything about everything and everyone.

“I’m a mile out.” Despite a year as a deputy, her stomach bottomed out and her mouth grew dry. Would she ever get used to answering calls, especially alone at night? All the officers in the sheriff’s department traveled solo, but backup was usually only a moment away.

Backup. More than once over the past couple weeks, she wished she hadn’t been the first to arrive to help Deputy Ned Reich subdue a young Amish man, an incident that had turned the sheriff’s department upside down.

Had turned the small town of Quail Hollow, New York, upside down.

Forcing the distracting thoughts out of her mind, Becky weighed the pros and cons of turning on the patrol car’s lights and siren. She didn’t want to give the possible intruder a heads-up that a sheriff’s deputy was on the way, a chance to get away. But she didn’t want to surprise some unsuspecting driver. She stretched across to the control panel. Flick. Lights. No siren.

The engine revved under the weight of her foot on the accelerator. The power of the patrol car never failed to impress her, especially for a woman who didn’t get her driver’s license until she was twenty-five.

The first hints of pink and purple pushed into the black night sky as she drove toward Robin Nest. The only homes out this way belonged to the Amish. Perhaps a young Amish boy had been sneaking home after a night of shenanigans. A lot of the Amish youth went to Sunday singings and for some, the fun stretched into the early morning with unsuspecting parents who might glance outside at the most inopportune time and mistake their son for an intruder.

But that raised the question: Who called the sheriff? The Amish preferred not to deal with law enforcement. And there was the issue of a phone, but even Becky realized that some Amish were adapting to the modern world by allowing phones and cell phones in a limited capacity. Like a landline in a barn or a cell phone strictly for work purposes. She doubted she’d be seeing an Amish family sitting around the table at the diner in town all staring at their cell phones anytime soon. A bit of a slippery slope, all the same.

As Becky’s patrol car crested the hill, the headlights from an oncoming car blinded her. Instinctively, she jammed on the brakes as the approaching car veered into her lane. She gripped the wheel tightly and braced for impact, a prayer crossing her lips.

The tires skidded on the pavement. She swerved. The patrol car careened off the road and plowed into the nearby field, stalks of corn slapping at her windshield, her entire body jostling. The vehicle finally came to a hard stop and her seat belt dug into her chest. She let out a breath on a whoosh and slumped into the leather seat. She pried her fingers from the steering wheel and thanked God she was in one piece.

She contacted dispatch with her current predicament, then released the seat belt. She pushed open the door against the corn stalks. With heightened awareness, she stepped out into the field, her boots sinking into the soft soil. Her first concern was the other driver. Had he had a medical issue? Was he drunk?

The night air smelled thick, the combination of rich soil and burned rubber. She squinted against the glare of the red and blue patrol lights.

Plodding through the soil, she pushed the cornstalks out of the way. The other vehicle had stopped, positioned across the road, its extinguished headlights pointed toward her. A shadow of a figure sat motionless in the driver’s seat.

Is he watching me?

“Hello, are you okay?” she called, nerve endings prickling to life. Where was her backup?

The headlights flipped on and her hand instinctively came up to block the bright beams trained on her.

“Turn your headlights off, sir.” She cocked her head, straining to see past the blinding lights.

The high beams flashed on and she jerked her head back. What in the world?

Her other hand hovered over her gun. You’ve got this. You’re trained for this. She took a step back. Crops didn’t exactly provide protection, but they could provide a hiding place if necessary.

“Step out of your car,” she ordered, keeping her tone authoritative and even, like she had practiced. Becky was jacked up on adrenaline from nearly getting hit head-on, but the mood had shifted from apprehension to determination. She had a job to do.

The man was watching her. Toying with her. She planted her feet in the soil, ready to draw her gun. Her legs felt like jelly, but she ignored the sensation. Nerves came with the job. She had been trained to fire a gun and hit a target. She had never shot another human being and prayed tonight wouldn’t change that.

“Out of your car now!” she ordered, feeling her entire body tense.

The engine of the car fired to life, the sound rumbling through her chest. The tires spun, spewing the acrid smell of burned rubber. She fought back a cough, keeping her sharpened attention on the vehicle. The tires gained purchase and the car backed up, stopped abruptly, then raced down the road, back in the direction it had come.

Becky’s shoulders sagged and she drew in a few deep breaths. Staring toward the vehicle, she waited a moment, anticipating another drive-by. The early-morning chirping of birds seeped into her consciousness before she allowed herself to let down her guard. He’s gone. She strode back to the patrol car and flipped off the flashing lights. She pressed her shoulder radio and said, “ETA on the tow truck?”

“Five minutes,” the dispatcher asked. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, a not-exactly truthful reply, but a necessary one. A person couldn’t show weakness on this job. Not if they wanted to be seen as competent.

Becky gave the dispatcher what limited information she had on the car that ran her off the road. Maybe they’d pull him over, figure out what his problem was.

Becky leaned against the trunk of her patrol car and ran a hand across her clenched jaw. She didn’t know who ran her off the road, but she suspected he had known exactly who his target was.

Her.

* * *

This wasn’t exactly how Becky had envisioned her first shift back at work. The tow truck driver insisted he could drop her off in front of the sheriff’s station before taking the vehicle to the repair shop to make sure mud from her off-roading adventure wasn’t clogging anything up. She was pretty sure he had been more specific with some technical terms, but she had tuned him out after the second time he appeared to be hitting on her. Like that never happened before: a guy hitting on a female sheriff’s deputy.

Sorry, not interested.

“Stop. I’m going to get out here,” Becky said, growing impatient as he debated with himself whether he’d be able to weave the tow truck through the narrow parking lot adjacent to the employee entrance.

“No problem.” The young man stopped and gave her a silent stare while she scooted out of the cab. Her foot didn’t reach the ground and she almost missed the running board, which would have added insult to injury. It wasn’t exactly a good shift when a deputy returned with her patrol car trailing behind her.

She didn’t bother giving the tow truck driver instructions because she suspected her boss already had. After determining that his deputy was okay and that the call on Robin Nest was a false alarm, the sheriff had instructed her to report to his office the minute she returned.

On solid ground, Becky smoothed out her uniform shirt. She watched as the tow truck lumbered away, its engine chugging as the sun poked over the horizon. The day shift deputies had started to arrive.

Just great.

Becky might have been imagining it, but several seemed to give her the side eye as they strolled toward the employee entrance, and she suspected it had nothing to do with her going four-wheeling in the cornfields with a patrol car.

She sighed heavily. She had hoped her first day back on patrol was going to be a smooth transition after a rough week. Apparently not.

Fighting the urge to fidget with the cuffs of her sleeves, she approached the entrance. She had wanted to go straight home, take a hot bath and get some solid sleep. But she had strict instructions to report to the sheriff.

Becky walked at a steady pace. She squared her shoulders, determined to prove to anyone who might be judging her that she was confident and self-assured, despite the mud caked up in the wheel wells of her vehicle. She frowned, realizing her driving abilities weren’t the only thing her fellow officers would be questioning. Several had voiced their displeasure when she filed her official report last week against a fellow officer who had been placed on a long-term suspension while the department continued their investigation.

The memory of the sudden brightness of the headlights blinding her earlier this morning while she stood in the cornfields knotted her stomach. Could the anger of one of her fellow officers have turned to retribution? To show Becky just how wrong she had been to point a finger at another officer? To make sure she knew her place not only as one of the newer deputies, but also as a woman?

Support fellow deputies. Don’t testify against them.

Someone had left that note for her last week on her windshield, but she didn’t think it applied in this case. She couldn’t ignore when a fellow deputy crossed a line.

She brushed at her white uniform sleeves, convincing herself that yes, she had done the right thing. A law-enforcement officer didn’t have the right to beat up a young man, even if he had led him on a high-speed chase, barely missing a child crossing the street after getting the mail.

Becky slowed, allowing the first rays of morning sun to warm her face and the buzz of her nerves to settle a bit. An arm reached around her and grabbed the handle of the station door, surprising her.

“Oh, sorry,” Becky muttered, not realizing she had been blocking the entrance. She glanced up into the serious face of Deputy Harrison James, the only deputy with less time at the Quail Hollow Sheriff’s Department than she had. But she wasn’t naive to assume his lack of time in this department meant he had less experience. Everything about him screamed skill, confidence and an “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me” vibe. Three qualities Becky admired.

Three qualities she would like to purchase in bushels right now. If only that was a one-click option online.

Harrison nodded in a silent greeting and pulled open the door for her. He was standing so close she could see the flecks of yellow in his brown eyes.

“Thank you.” Becky averted her gaze and stepped through the door and he followed behind her. The brief exchange had probably been the longest one she’d had with Deputy James. He wasn’t exactly the chatty type. More like tall, dark and brooding. Considering the mood she was in of late, she could relate.

“No problem,” he said, his voice low and gruff. They walked slowly across the small lobby, waiting to be admitted into the secure office area. Deputy James frowned as he pressed the buzzer. He looked like a man who hadn’t had his morning coffee. But at least he hadn’t had the kind of morning she’d had.

The interior door buzzed, and Harrison once again opened the door for her. “Tough shift?” His comment startled her.

“Um, yeah.” Heat fired in her cheeks as she smiled meekly and jabbed her thumb in the general direction of where she’d climbed out of the tow truck. “Someone ran me off the road.”

His brow furrowed. “Did he stop?”

“At first, but he took off once I got out of the vehicle.”

Harrison looked like he was going to say more when Becky heard a stern voice calling her name.

“Looks like the sheriff’s looking for me.”

The corners of her fellow deputy’s lips turned down. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

Reflexively, Becky checked her collar, making sure her uniform was in place. Sheriff Thomas Landry tapped the door frame before disappearing back inside his office. No deputy made the sheriff call them twice.

Becky forced a cheery demeanor for Anne Wagner, the sheriff’s administrative assistant, as she passed. They had been peers before Becky had finished her training and become a deputy. Anne raised her eyebrows and returned a smile, a cross between friendship and I hope everything’s okay. No one liked to be on the new sheriff’s bad side. He had only been elected six months ago, and by all accounts, he was tough. All his officers toed the line or paid the price.

Exhibit one: Deputy Ned Reich, the deputy Becky had testified against.

“Good morning, Sheriff.” Becky lingered in the doorway, hoping this would be a quick chat along the lines of “How was your first day back?”

“You’ve had better mornings, I’m sure,” the sheriff responded, his tone calm and even. In the short time she had worked with him, he seemed unflappable. As cool as his demeanor in the ubiquitous political commercials that littered the airways: “Vote for me, Thomas Landry, for sheriff. The kind of transparent leader Quail Hollow needs.” The department was still trying to reshape its image after one of their own had been convicted in a twenty-year-old murder of a young Amish mother.

“Yes, but it’s all part of the job,” she said. “Anyone find the car?”

“We haven’t located the vehicle that ran you off the road yet, but everyone has the description.”

“It was hard to see. Sedan. Early model. Maybe a B in the license plate. Isn’t very descriptive, I know, but it was dark.”

He waved his hand. “Glad you’re okay. Probably some punk on a dare. Turns out the call to Robin Nest was a dead end, too.” He shook his head. “Like we have nothing better to do than respond to crank calls.”

“You think someone was dared to play chicken with a patrol car?” Becky asked in disbelief.

The sheriff leaned back and crossed his arms. “Or someone had too much to drink. Or maybe someone thought our country roads would make a great speedway. Easy to lose control.” He shrugged. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Still standing in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. The deputies were still wandering in for the start of the day shift. “I’m not exactly the most popular person around here.” But how could she suggest that one of her fellow deputies might be out to get her without sounding paranoid, or at the very least, like someone who wasn’t a team player?

The moment to offer a possible culprit passed and the sheriff gestured at her to come farther into his office. “Close the door.”

Becky’s heart sank. Close the door. Nothing good was ever said behind closed doors, unless it involved a raise or a promotion, neither of which she was in line for.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” the sheriff said.