Page 5 of First Surrender

Is this the Sheriff of Rollins County?

He doesn’t flinch at Zeek’s language and the lack of conflict spurs the group to turn and leave. Spewing more nonsense from their mouths as they go.

“I had it handled,” I snap. Something deep inside of me can’t stand a helping hand when I didn’t ask for it. Or, maybe I was hoping to elicit a reaction from him when Zeek couldn’t.

There isn’t one.

He doesn’t even shift in his seat. I take pride in making men uncomfortable and I hate to fail.

“I know.”

The lack of interest in his voice grates at me. Cops don’t scare me and I can’t stand a hero complex.

Now, I’m in the mood to fight with someone and he is too boring to challenge me. I turn and stalk out of the courthouse as quickly as my heels will take me.

I hate cops. I hate drug dealers. I hate men.

They’re all pigs. All of them.

Chapter Three

Jackson

“The Motion to Suppress the warrant used to search the Defendant’s residence is granted.” Judge Reisner pounds his gavel once, punitively. The murmuring in the courtroom increases as he rises from his seat and dismisses everyone. It’s only been a week since the last Motion to Suppress Hearing.

The judge pulled everyone in for an emergency session because he was tired of this case being dragged out. It barely gave me enough time to look further into the victim of this case, Nicole Halstead, and just how dangerous Declan Randolph is.

Not only is he a drug dealer, he has a rap sheet stemming back to his adolescence. Vandalism, graffiti, and drug possession before he turned twenty years old, and it only gets worse from there. He even had a report made against him for Domestic Violence from ten years ago, though no charges were filed and he was never convicted of the crime. It shows there is a history of violence but unfortunately, in the eyes of the law, it doesn’t count.

The defense attorney slaps Declan on the shoulder while the prosecutor gathers his paperwork silently. The dark-haired woman who has become my companion on this side of thecourtroom is frozen behind him with her spine locked straight. Although her head remains high, I know this is a hard blow.

I’ve been in and out of this courtroom with my own cases enough to tell when certain evidence is crucial to an investigation. This news is devastating for her and this case.

Natalie Halstead. The victim’s daughter.

Her mother was killed by Declan’s drugs and I suspect that she, more than anyone, wants to see Declan go down for his crimes. Even more than I do.

Those text messages from the last Motion to Suppress were crucial. That’s how they obtained the search warrant that the judge just voided. Now, it’s up to the prosecutor to make a strong argument without them.

He leans over the bar, speaking low enough that only she could hear. I don’t know what he said, most likely giving her some false hope for the future of this case, but she snaps her head to look at him directly and he leans back like she might smack him.

She doesn’t. Instead, she gathers her jacket and purse and storms out of the courtroom, but not before shooting unsolicited daggers in my direction.

I ignore her look of disdain because it gives me a chance to look at her fully for the first time this afternoon. A dark purple top with a v only low enough to show off her sharp collar bones. Black pants that fit like a second skin and the same heels from last time.

She’s a knockout even though her appearance screams venomous, I can tell that her attitude problem isn’t strong enough to keep people from staring at her.

I’m not staring at her. I’m only gathering information.

The same way that I observe every other person in this room and their behavior. Judge Reisner’s restlessness with this case directly correlates with the months ticking down to hisretirement. Prosecutor Fulton isn’t nearly as invested in this case as he should be and I suspect his personal life is taking precedent. He hasn’t stopped checking his phone since the judge dismissed us.

The punks from last time jump up and make their exit after Declan is led out of the courtroom, and I keep my head averted as if I’m preoccupied with something else. As soon as they’re through the doors, I’m up out of my seat because I’ve also had a chance to look into Declan’s associates. They’re younger than the man on trial but following in his criminal footprints.

My goal was to exit behind them so they wouldn’t see me coming but as I enter the lobby, a squat middle-aged woman with harsh highlights stops me, nearly putting a hand on my chest. “Sheriff, I have been hoping to run into you.” Vanessa Porter, the late Sheriff Donahue’s widow, steps into my path.

“Ma’am. What can I do for you?” She’s been calling me incessantly for months and I’ve been avoiding her.

“Ma’am, oh so formal. I have wanted to bend your ear about some projects I was working on when my husband was in office. God rest his soul.” She motions the shape of a cross over her heart.

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