Once Broken (Dove Creek Chronicles) (3 page)

“Evening, sir.” It was probably too casual a greeting for the situation, but I was nothing if not polite.

“Ma’am, place the bow on the ground in front of you,” he ordered.

I did as I was told. Slowly. I shucked the quiver that was strapped to my back and put it down, too, just for good measure.

“You can put the shotgun away, too, Mr. Winslow.” The deputy looked back at me as the farmer obliged. “Care to explain yourself, ma’am?”

I nodded. “It was a hog . . . Nearly ran me off the road.” I put on a nervous face in an attempt to be convincing. “Thought I’d just go ahead and shoot it, but I lost it. I’m awfully sorry about all this . . . I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

I sincerely hoped that my story flew, such as it was.

“Well, ma’am, I’m gonna hafta take you in to the county for aggravated trespassing regardless. Please turn around.”

Trying for wide-eyed ignorance, I blinked like a deer in headlights. “Am I under arrest?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The deputy read my rights and handcuffed me like a
common criminal. Of course, in his mind, that‘s exactly what I was. He picked up my bow and quiver, and ushered me to the patrol car.

“Do you have identification with you Miss . . .?” He asked as he put me in the backseat of the car.

“Missus.” I corrected him. My name was still my married name. “Remington Hart. My ID is in the glove compartment of my jeep.” I told him all of that as politely as I could manage.

The deputy went and ducked into the passenger side and retrieved my driver’s license, then came back and settled into his place behind the wheel.

“That’s a helluva name for a lady, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

My father named me. He had been dead set on my big brother being John Junior, but my mother had other ideas. So, he insisted that he get to name his second son whatever he wanted. Mom agreed with little reserve, not knowing his designs on naming a child after his favorite gun maker. Needless to say, I came into this world quite without the necessary tools to be classified as a son. The name my dad had chosen seemed fitting nonetheless, so there I was: Remington Jean.

I suppose my mother should count her lucky stars that my father didn’t name my brothers, or they might’ve been dubbed Sig and Colt. 

“Yeah, it is. You could say that my daddy’s into guns.” I offered a little grin, despite the situation. The deputy just gave me a sidelong look as he typed something into the keyboard mounted to his dash.

“What’s your maiden name, ma’am?”

“McCoy.”

“Well I’ll be damned. You one of the McCoy kids from around here?”

“Yeah, Dove Creek.”

The deputy seemed to warm up to me a little more. I was thanking my lucky stars that when my father had still lived here, he didn’t know a stranger. Stuck handcuffed in the back of a patrol car, though, I was getting impatient. I still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, and I wanted to find out.

“So one of you defends the law and one of you breaks it, huh?” He laughed at his own joke. I didn’t share his amusement.

“Where’d your daddy end up, anyway? Heard he took off outta state to open a new shop.”

“He’s up in Alaska now. Says he likes the peace and quiet.” Well, it wasn’t a complete fabrication. He really does live in Alaska.

“I can imagine.”

The deputy nodded at something on his screen, then shifted in his seat to look at me.

“Everything checks out Mrs. Hart, but I’m afraid I still hafta take you in to the sheriff’s office. These people may press charges for trespassing, so the sheriff will wanna complete an investigation. You won’t be kept there long, I don’t think. It’s just a formality.”

I was visibly irritated. I could feel it in the tightness of
my expression. If those people knew what had been just outside their front porch, they’d be thanking me instead of having lawmen hassle me. It was something I was growing used to, though. More often than not, what we did was thankless.

“I understand.”

“Is there someone you wanna have come to pick up your vehicle? Mr. Hart, maybe?” He asked out of consideration, and I appreciated it.

I didn’t want to explain about how there was no Mr. Hart, though, so I just shook my head. “No, thank you. I’ll just come back and get it myself later if you don’t mind locking it up for me.”

“Sure thing,” he said as he stepped out of the patrol car.

I watched him pluck my keys from the ignition and use the remote to set the locks and alarm. The jeep’s top was still off, so I wasn’t sure how much good that would do, but I hoped that it being parked near a house would be deterrent enough for anybody who would consider harming it in any way.

When he came back, the deputy was kind enough to remove the handcuffs. I suppose being a child of John McCoy was enough to convince him that I wasn’t going to cause him any trouble.

The officer, bless his heart, made polite small talk as we zipped down the highway. Despite my uneasiness and impatience, I kept my hands folded passively in my lap and did my best to wear a neutral expression while I chatted with him. The very last thing I wanted to do was raise suspicion in the man who was escorting me to the
heart of county law. A jail cell just wasn’t in my plan for the night.

All I could think about was my cell phone digging into my rear through my back pocket and how I needed to call Hugo. I couldn’t kick the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right, and our chief would know if something was amiss. Even though the deputy had decided that I wasn’t much of a threat and had removed the handcuffs, I wasn’t feeling confident enough in his good will to start making personal phone calls. 

Once we got to the county offices, I was escorted to a holding area with huge bulletproof glass windows all the way around. In the middle of the room stood a plain wooden table that had seen better days. The surface was pockmarked and worn to the point of being splintered in a few places. A few orange plastic chairs surrounded it, and I chose a seat on the side of the table that was obviously for ‘visitors.’

I was allowed to make my phone call, and I used it to call Hugo. He was short with me and hung up almost as soon as I told him where I was. So much for getting answers.

Unsure of what I was supposed to be doing while I waited, I stood up and looked through the windows to check out the inside of the county sheriff’s offices.

The second hand on the clock moved along like a snail in clover honey. Being stuck in the county lockup with no information as to what was happening with the other Amasai was wearing on me, and I began to imagine worse and worse scenarios. I was almost convinced that Hugo had left me to stew in my apprehension as a lesson to me.

The deputy in charge on the night shift came into the little room holding a manila file folder in his hand. Deputy Adams was a broad man with graying hair and an impressive fu manchu; I recognized him from around the area when I was growing up. He motioned for me to take a seat as he pulled out a chair for himself.

“Mrs. Hart?”

I nodded confirmation as the deputy sat down across from me.

“
Recognize your name from our investigation a few years ago. Was real sorry to hear about your husband. Don’t hear about mountain lion maulings ‘round here very often.”

“I appreciate that.”
I wasn’t sure what else to say.

Deputy Adams began to explain that I was being released without any charges being filed, and I wondered at my good fortune. I wasn’t left to wonder long. Before the deputy could finish his explanation, I heard a familiar voice in the lobby and cringed. I might have guessed that Hugo would send him, though I had hoped he wouldn‘t.

One look at Solomon Powell and you could see why he had attracted three ex-wives. He has skin the color of a roasted coffee bean, and he wears his short hair and goatee perfectly groomed. Straight rows of white teeth sparkle when he smiles and though he’s somewhere in his early forties, there is barely a line on his face. Even in jogging pants and a t-shirt, he had presence.

But as soon as he opened his mouth, you understood why they were
ex
-wives.

Sol is a gruff sort of guy, to put it mildly. He can be charming when he needs to be, but he’s typically short on words and doesn’t care who he might offend. There is nothing and no one that will stop him from doing his job.

I’m glad he’s on
our
side.

Dove Creek’s only detective
strode into the sheriff’s office with handshakes and a courteous greeting for the two deputies, and spared nothing more than a stern glance for me.

He’s always thought that I’m nothing but trouble, and makes no effort to let me believe otherwise. A small, mulish part of me wanted to stay at the jail rather than accept the huge favor he had apparently done for me, but my pride was of the least importance so I went along with him as graciously as I could manage.

“Is everything okay? Where’s Hugo?” I asked as soon as the glass door swung shut behind us.

“We don’t know yet.” He answered my first question succinctly, then continued as we strode through the parking lot. “He took Aric and went to help Gabriel, Casey and Jocelyn. Meredith is with their kids. We’re supposed to meet at headquarters as soon as we can get there.”

Without missing a beat, he pointed toward the passenger door of his unmarked sedan and said, “Get in.”

The ride back to my jeep was even pricklier than the ride away from it had been. I was glad to be out of the sheriff’s office and on my way to some answers, but I
wasn’t about to thank Solomon for that. We sat in silence, which was for the best. I was left to mull over what little information he had given me, and he kept his attention on the highway.

“Turn left right up there.” I finally spoke up as I pointed out a gravel road up ahead.

Solomon did as I directed, and it wasn’t long before he pulled over behind where my jeep was parked. I had never been more relieved to see that vehicle.

“Keep up,” was all Solomon said as I slid out of the passenger seat and shut the door. I nodded in response.

The police issue sedan handled the back roads better than I would’ve expected, and I had to punch the gas as soon as I got the jeep in gear.

It didn’t take us long to get back onto smooth highway. The Dove Creek town limits were announced by a rectangular green sign and a handful of street lamps on either side of the main thoroughfare. 

Our headquarters is located in an old two-story farmhouse on the edge of the north end of town, not too far from the lake. We had to drive the entire length of the community to get there, which took a total of about three minutes. It might have taken longer if we would have actually stopped at the two stop signs along our route, but there was no traffic around at that hour.

We pulled up in the long driveway, the last ones to join the party if the number of other vehicles was any clue.

The outside of the house is simple and innocuous – the last place anyone would expect to find an operation like ours. There is a large porch across the front with a balcony above it, a feature that is mimicked on the back side. A red brick chimney rises from ground level all the way up past the roof on the left side, and the gravel driveway runs up to the right side. Little does anyone know that under all that charm every warding and protective sigil we know is painted or carved on every wall, window, and doorway.

There’s a barn out back that serves as our armory. Under the aged wood façade is a steel frame and state of the art soundproofing. It’s as well protected as the house, even though no one would guess that there might be anything apart from a John Deer and a few hay bales in it.

The detective and I crossed the porch in silence. If he had any thoughts as to why we were all assembled, he didn’t share them as we headed for the front door.

Solomon opened the wide entry door to admit us straight to the great room. It’s a wide open area that’s
quite casual, considering the gravity of the business conducted here. There is a collection of various furniture – a great leather armchair, a squashy broken-in sofa, two recliners, and a low-slung wooden coffee table, among other things – in the middle of the space. A combination kitchen and dining area lies to the left of the sitting area, and several screens and monitors line the right wall along with their corresponding computers. There’s a stairway at the back that leads to a few living quarters that we use to crash in when need be.

At a glance, I could see that all of us were there except for Meredith. As Hugo’s wife, it had fallen to her to look after their two children. Hugo was sitting in the
armchair, in the center of the proceedings. The twins, Garret and Aric, were perched in wheeled office chairs that were usually situated at the computers. Gabriel and Jocelyn had taken seats on the sofa, and Casey was in one of the recliners without reclining in it.

I had the uncomfortable sensation that everyone was waiting for me. They were all deep in discussion, but their attention turned toward Solomon and me as soon as we stepped onto the slick tile floor.

My jaw set instinctively; I couldn’t help it, whether or not I was in the wrong. I had been through hell that night. But Jocelyn and Casey were both sporting fresh bandages, so they apparently had been, too.