The One who got Away

I drank my juice, tried to steal more breakfast from Kelly’s plate, then rushed upstairs and got changed into jeans and a t-shirt. By the time I came back down, Kelly was already waiting by the door, tapping her feet impatiently and urging me to hurry up.

“You’re not coming?” I asked Jenni.

“No,” she said. “I have to get to the diner, and then run a few errands. I’ll meet you both back here for dinner.”

“You really don’t have to do this, you know?” I said, although a large part of me was grateful for her being here. “We’ve put you through enough.”

“Shut up, will you?” she said, turning me around and pushing me out the door, much to Kelly’s delight. “Now get going, and give Baker hell.”

“I totally intend to,” I replied.

* * *

I dropped Kelly off at the hospital and made my way downtown. I knew I should have gone in with her, but I felt that if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to pull myself away from Samuel’s side. Right now, I was furious, and I wanted to keep that feeling alive until I got to the station.

Besides, I couldn’t shake away the feeling of guilt I had. I should have been there when it had happened. I should have dropped Jenni off, driven home and been at my father’s side when that bastard Heath came calling. My instincts had warned me about the possibility of something like this happening, and I had brushed it off, thinking that I was just being paranoid. That visit from Heath on the day I arrived was enough to give me an idea of how messed up he was. I had been naïve to think Kent was still the small town I had grown up in where everyone left their doors unlocked and you could take a walk around town at midnight without having to worry about anything.

So much has changed.

I clenched my teeth and shook my head in frustration. Changed or not, I wasn’t going to let Heath get away with this. If the Sheriff wanted to take his sweet time, I was definitely going to light a fire under his ass and get him moving.

The station was just off North Main Street, down Berkley Drive and surrounded by open fields. The post office sat idly on the other side of the road adjacent to the supermarket that boasted its rich supply of organic food. There were very few cars parked here, but my eyes immediately caught the Mustang parked at an obscure angle to the curb. I pulled up beside it, and as I climbed out of my car, I took note of the license plates and made my way up the steps and into the station.

Being a DEA agent in Miami, I was used to the welcoming sound of a busy police force running back and forth, rushing to get things done. Telephones would be ringing, fingers would be tapping furiously at keyboards, and someone would always be shouting in the phone. It was a symphony of activity I had learned to love and appreciate.

Walking into the Kent Sheriff’s Station made me feel like I had stepped into a church. A couple of officers sat lazily at their desk, staring at their phones with their legs propped up. A copy machine was being operated somewhere in the background, the swishing sound of paper falling into the tray almost deafening in the otherwise silent space. No one seemed to even notice that I had walked in.

I walked up to one of the officers and asked to see the Sheriff. The officer looked up at me, stretched and yawned, then looked back at his phone.

“What do you need to see him about?”

“I was asked to come down and give a statement,” I replied, fighting the urge to grab the phone and smash it against the wall.

“You can give your statement to me,” he said, swiping a finger across the screen of his phone.

“I would, but you seem a little too preoccupied by important police matters for me to bother you,” I replied. The officer shot me an annoyed glare that made me smile. “I’d rather talk to Sheriff Baker.”

“He’s in his office,” the officer said, returning to the phone.

I couldn’t resist the urge any longer and snatched the phone from his hands.

“Hey!” he sh

outed, standing up quickly.

I pushed him back into his seat and tossed the phone onto the desk. “Where’s his fucking office?”

“Mr. Logan?”

I turned to see the Sheriff standing by an open door, a mug in his hands and a cigarette in his mouth.

“Sheriff,” I greeted. “Your officer here was just showing me to you.”

Baker didn’t look impressed. He shot an angry glare at the officer and gestured for me to follow him.

“I’ll let you get back to your Candy Crush game,” I said over my shoulder as I made my way past the empty desks and into the Sheriff’s office. I stopped cold when I saw Garth Liston sitting inside.

“If it isn’t Alex Logan,” Garth smiled. “I was hoping to bump into you today.”