Page 43 of The Keeper

The shock of Seth’s words reflected on Rueben’s face. Brown eyes widened as his mouth fell open, turning him almost cartoonlike. Rueben’s fingers dug deeper into his biceps as if Seth was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Dead? Mick Carson is dead?” Rueben’s voice sounded numb, but the frantic expression betrayed his frenzied thoughts.

Seth wanted to comfort him, but there was no time. “Yes, Mick Fucking Carson died in my county jail.” He could tell Rueben was going to ask a follow-up question, but he needed to get on the road. Seth cupped Rueben’s neck and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I need to get going. This is likely to take a while, and we’re due for another round of severe storms. You could probably get back to the ranch safely if you—”

Rueben rose on tiptoes and cut him off with a kiss. “I’m staying right here, so just come home to me when you can.”

Home to him. Seth loved the sound of that so much. “I love you.” He’d never end a conversation or leave Rue’s company again without speaking the words because one never knew if they’d have a chance to say them again.

“I love you too.”

Fat raindrops pelted Seth’s face as he dashed to his truck, and the skies opened up before he had a chance to back out of the driveway. His windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the deluge, and he switched on his bright headlights to conquer the darkness swallowing his truck. The time on the dash clock read five thirty, but the dense, dark storm clouds made it seem much later. Wet leaves covered the asphalt, making it hard for his tires to gain traction in the curvy access road winding through the forest surrounding the lakeside properties. His back tires swung out at one point, and Seth gritted his teeth as he regained control. He eased off the gas to a safer speed while his brain pressed the accelerator on his thoughts.

What the fuck had happened to Mick? Craig Daniels, his lieutenant who supervised the county jail, had said Mick appeared to have died of natural causes. He’d been fine when they’d delivered his dinner but was unresponsive when they came to retrieve him for a meeting with his attorney. Fuck! Their chance to avoid a trial grew dimmer with Mick’s death. A better man would at least spare a thought for the loss of life, but Seth was more concerned about Mick’s victims. With the elder Carson dead, Quinton could gamble on a trial where his lawyers would pin everything on Mick. Quinton Carson was no victim. He’d sat through or taken part in enough interviews to know Quinton was no one’s patsy. His evil shone in his eyes. Quinton’s attorneys would get plenty of time to coach Quinton on how to hide his diabolical nature behind a pitiful and contrite expression.

Seth could nearly see it playing out in court and suspected the guy would take the stand in his own defense. Law enforcement, himself included, had already painted Mick Carson as an abusive cult leader who manipulated and corrupted everyone in his realm. While Seth believed that was true, he viewed Quinton as an equal participant and not just another victim. The younger Carson only needed to inject the tiniest amount of reasonable doubt to walk free. If a jury acquitted him of local or state crimes, it would make it harder for a federal prosecutor to win their case too. It was the worst kind of domino effect and one that benefited guys like Quinton Carson all the damn time.

Seth’s visibility improved once he cleared the trees and turned onto the main highway. Leaves didn’t cover the road, so he could increase his speed again. His personal truck lacked the lights and sirens of his official vehicle, but traffic was light due to the inclement weather, and he made the trip in good time. Daniels met him as soon as he entered the building, and the significance of the situation reflected on the faces of everyone he encountered.

“Is the medical examiner on the way?” Seth asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you informed Mick’s attorney or Prosecutor Lyndhurst?”

“I waited for you,” Daniels replied.

That heavy burden fell on Seth’s shoulders. Sometimes being sheriff felt more like losing a game of Pin the Badge on the Idiot than winning an election. “The shit will hit the fan.”

A petite brunette wearing navy blue scrubs waited outside Mick Carson’s cell. She stood straighter when she spotted them and greeted Seth professionally. She was a recent hire, and he was grateful her badge identified her as Sherry because Seth couldn’t recall her name to save his life.

“So what the hell happened?” Seth asked. Daniels and Sherry talked over one another at first, so he cut them off with a raised hand. “One at a time, please.”

“I did a med pass at four twenty because Mr. Carson was due to have an early supper prior to a meeting with his attorney,” Sherry said.

“And he was fine?” Seth asked.

Sherry nodded. “There were no outward signs of physical stress, but I don’t know the man well enough to offer an opinion on his mental state. He was polite and thanked me for his medication.”

“For diabetes?” Seth asked.

“Yes, sir.” She rattled off the medication and dosage.

“Is it possible the medication played a role in his death?”

“Only if he had an underlying medical condition that wasn’t detected,” Sherry replied. “This prescription arrived with Mr. Carson and is not something prescribed through our facility’s medical staff.”

“Good to know. Thank you.” He turned to Daniels next. “What happened after Mick received his meds?”

“He received his dinner in his cell a few minutes later,” Daniels said.

“I literally passed the guard with his food on my way back to my station,” Sherry said.

“What guard, and why isn’t he here?” Seth asked.

“Jasper Odell,” Daniels said. “We’re trying to find him, but we think he’s left the building.”

Seth’s brows and temper rose, but his voice lowered. “You think? How can you not know?”

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