In the corner of the hallway, Connor kept his hand tight on his sister’s.
“Mama’s crying,” Emma whispered.
“I know.” It wasn’t Joe Dolin that had made her cry either, Connor thought. And it wasn’t Sheriff MacKade.
It was him, and only him.
While Cassie wept and Connor crept downstairs with grief and guilt heavy on his shoulders, Joe Dolin took his chance. He’d waited, oh, he’d waited so patiently, for just the right moment.
The creek rushed under the Burnside Bridge with a harsh bubbling sound. The trees were thick with leaves. His supervisor was gesturing to one of the other men, his attention distracted by a nest of copperheads they’d unearthed.
That was all it took.
Joe bent to gather litter, working his way toward cover, step by careful step. And then he melted into the trees. As he walked quickly through the woods he stripped off his orange vest and tossed it into the brush beside the creek.
He didn’t run, not right away. He still had trouble with the peripheral vision in his right eye, thanks to an injury he’d received when he attacked Regan MacKade. So he moved carefully at first, deliberately turning his head to judge his ground, and his distance.
Then he sprinted, wild as a dog, over rocks, through brush, and finally into the creek. Breathing hard, he kept to the water, following its curves and angles. Before long, he was wet to the waist, but he kept going, pushing himself.
Panting, he scrambled up the side of the bank, using rocks and vines to heave himself clear. Then he took a deep gulp of freedom. He would use the sun, and the direction of the creek, to show him the way he wanted to go.
When Devin made up his mind, he was as hard to swerve as a six-ton truck. So when Rafe wandered into his office, saw Devin sitting behind his desk, typing furiously with his face set in stubborn lines, he knew there was trouble.
“I’m supposed to ask you to dinner,” Rafe said easily.
“Beat it.”
“Regan wanted to have the whole family over tomorrow, plus Cassie and the kids.”
“I’m going to be busy. Now get the hell out of here.”
“I didn’t mention what time,” Rafe continued, and walked over to look over Devin’s shoulder. “What the hell’s this?”
“Just what it looks like.”
“Looks like a resignation to me. What wild hare do you have up your—?”
“Get off my back.”
Rafe did the brotherly thing and ripped the paper out of the typewriter. “Chill out.” Before Devin could lunge to his feet, Rafe slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Look, we can pound each other, I don’t mind, but why don’t we get the preliminaries out of the way? What the hell are you doing resigning as sheriff?”
“What I should have done a long time ago. I’m getting the hell out of this town. I’m tired of being stuck here in the same damn rut, with the same damn people.”
“Dev, you like nothing better than a rut.” Rafe tossed the paper aside. “What happened with Cassie?”
“Nothing. Leave it.”
“Aren’t you the one who came breathing down my
neck and made me face up to what I felt for Regan? One good turn.”
“I don’t have to face what I feel for Cassie. I’ve faced it for years. What I have to do is get over it.”
“She turn you down?” The vicious gleam in Devin’s eyes didn’t frighten Rafe; it touched him. “Go ahead, take a shot at me. I’ll give you a free one.”
“Forget it.” Deflated, Devin dropped back into his chair.
“Want to talk about it?”