Page 77 of Sugar Coated Secrets

Every so often, I drill him for answers. I can’t go to Chris’s drug-addicted ass for solid information because he’s high all the time. I could beat him ten ways from Sunday, and he wouldn'tknow the difference. Besides, you can’t trust a drug addict. He’ll say anything for his next hit. Desperate people lie. It doesn’t mean that he’s off the hook. I let him think that I don't care, and Trent doesn't have the balls to tell him.

A war is never won if the enemy sees you coming.

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

In the morning, I head over to the police station to pay Officer Dickhead a visit. The station is small, and the smell of sawdust and old wood permeates the air. Two wood desks make up the office, and a chocolate-colored shelf has papers stuck on the edge of missing persons across the state. Persons of interest on others who haven’t been caught.

“How can I help you?” Officer Dickhead drawls, closing a file on his desk.

I knew he was here today and didn't have road duty. I checked. I threw my last name around, making it seem like my father was checking things out.

I take a seat, not bothering to take off my sunglasses. “I need a copy of the report from that night.”

He leans back, making the old chair squeak with a smug smile. He knows I’m asking for Dulce’s case specifically. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

I raise my brows. “Why not?”

“Because it’s still an open investigation.”

This asshole is lucky he was there to help Dulce, or I would have him fired so I could take him out and beat the shit out of him. Like the ole days when I would fuck around town with my friends. The shit we would get into wasn’t talked about. It wasn't reported because someone would disappear or lose their job.

“I can have the preliminary report, and I’m not asking,” I say in a stern tone.

His shit-brown eyes grow hard. “Make a phone call. Throw your name around like you rich boys do, but count me out.”

“Is there something you’re hiding,” I ask, looking directly at him, “or don’t want me to see?”

I don’t trust him, and he knows it. I don’t buy the bravado or hero act he puts on around Dulce. Like most people in this town, he’s hiding something.

"I'd like to ask you,” he volleys back. “Funny.” He sits up and leans over his desk. “Don't act like it didn’t take you four years to come riding into town on your white horse like some white knight.”

He isn’t wrong. It did take me four years to come back. To figure out that what was missing would always be her.

“It's also taken you more than four years to find out who attacked Dulce. Any leads?”

He flinches like I punched him.

“None,” he admits, but I can’t tell he isn’t looking into it.

“I find that hard to believe,” I fire back, leaning back in the chair and giving him a fake smile. “And frankly, no one in this town gives a fuck, but I do, and it’s also obvious you truly don’t give a fuck about Dulce.”

“That is where you’re wrong. I do care about her more than you think.”

“I got a different vibe when you took her to dinner,” I point out. “You kind of forgot to tell the girl you’re fucking that you’re interested in someone else.”

“Be careful, Keller. You might find yourself in a similar predicament.”

“I’m single. I don’t do entanglements.”

He snorts. "I'm sure Dulce would be impressed by that. And all the women you've screwed since then and the fact that you lack commitment—to your family, friends, or her.”

“And you’re so great,” I say with a menacing smile.

“I’m not a saint, but I have made sure no one else comes near her since it happened.”

“Like you did with old man Moody?” I sneer.

When I mention the old man's name, he stiffens slightly and then plays it off like he is arranging something on his desk.

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